Zero Tolerance Policy In Effect

Copying this material in any way, shape, or form, without the express consent of the author will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law, including via civil suit.  The author has had enough.

Chapter One

Megan sat up in bed, a cold sweat coating her skin, her trembling hands already clutching the telephone.  Sure it was upside down, but that was sort of beyond the point.  Obviously, her subconscious thought this was it.  The big one.  Time to do some good.

Her eyes were drawn to the television on the far side of the room.  She’d fallen asleep with the set still on, and at the moment, it was showing a photo of the missing woman, Sarah Dresden, smiling at the camera, obviously unaware what the future held for her.  Underneath the photo was a telephone number; the Pinedale Police Department’s “Tipline.”

Bringing the receiver closer, she dialed the number.  She had never phoned the police department after one of her episodes before.  Never.  God knew her visions had never inspired much action up to now.  Certainly nothing police-worthy.

“PPD Tipline, can you help us?”

Quaint, she thought.  “I um . . . I need to speak with the chief please.”

“May I ask who’s calling?”

She didn’t want to answer that.  “It’s about the missing woman,” she said instead.  “I know where she is.”

“Hold on.”  The voice betrayed no emotion, but there had been a brief hesitation before the reply. 

A second later, a male voice came on the line.  “Chief Skinner speaking.”

“Good,” she said.  “Look, I’ve never done anything like this before.  But . . . I  think I know where your missing woman is.  Sarah Dresden.”

“Uh-huh.  And how did you come by your information, Miss . . . ?”

She swallowed hard, gathered up her courage.  “I get . . . visions.”

She heard his sigh, and realized she’d better talk fast before he hung up on her and filed her call away with all the other cranks he must receive.  “Never anything this important.  Actually, I’ve always wished . . . but it doesn’t matter.  My visions are always on the money.  I swear.”

“Look, lady, I don’t have time for–”

“Sarah is twenty-five, a pretty redhead, a runner–”

“And all of that information has been covered by the local news, ma’am.”

“She had a butterfly tattoo on the back of her neck, and was wearing red sneakers with white laces.”

He paused for a moment.  Then said, “I don’t know if that’s right or not.  I’d have to check the reports.”

“Check.  I’ll hold.” 

“All right.”  She heard papers shuffling.  “Why don’t you tell me where you think she is while I look?”

Maybe she had his attention.  Maybe he was going to take her seriously now.  No one in her life ever had.  God, this could be a banner moment for her.  If only the information she had to share were more positive.  “I had a dream about her last night.  She’s not alive, Chief.  Her body is in the river, snagged on some rocks underneath the Amstead Road Bridge.”

“Uh-huh.”

She swallowed hard.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes, chief.”

“It would give you considerably more credibility if you’d give us your name.  Not that we can’t find that out anyway with the telephone system we have here, but–”

“Megan Rose,” she said.  “I live here in Pinedale, out on Sycamore Street.  I own the Celestial Bakery in the village, corner of Silver and Main.  And I’d appreciate your discretion about this.  I’m not sure how my customers would feel about my calling you like this.”

“I’m not sure that will even be an issue ma’am.”

“Excuse me?”

“I found the reports on the Dresden Woman.  She was last seen wearing suede hiking boots, not red sneakers.  And there are no unusual markings on her body, no tattoos of any kind.  Sorry ma’am.  It was a nice thought, though.”

She felt her jaw drop and her head swirl.  What the hell . . . ?  How could such a vivid dream be so wrong?  God, would her so-called gift ever be of any use to anyone?

She swallowed hard.

“You have a nice day now, Ms. Rose.”

“Uh–Chief?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

She sighed heavily.  “You left your headlights on when you left your car this morning.  You might want to check.”

“I’ll do that.”

Megan hit the cutoff button and set the phone down, then leaned back against her headboard, and wiped the sweat from her brow.  Damn, damn, damn.  She thought she had finally seen something important.  Something more than the useless tidbits her visions provided every day of her life.  Something big.

No such luck.

The damn dream had started out as the same one she’d been having since she was twelve years old–the one where she saw the handsome man’s face hovering in the mists and heard a voice telling her she was going to break a curse and save his life.  Then it had taken a unique turn, and the image had changed to the one of the missing woman, first smiling like in the photo on TV, and then lifeless and pale, her hair tangling around her face just below the surface of the Genesee River.

Megan licked her lips.  Probably her subconscious had heard the television news report talking about the missing woman.  Probably her mind had woven what she heard into her dream, a bad case of wishful thinking.  Not wishing the woman was dead of course, but wishing she could help find her, and finally be believed. 

She thought again of the man, the one she was supposed to save from some kind of curse, and she sighed.  “Whoever you are, mister,” she said softly, “my feeling is, you’re doomed.”

#

Sam Sherridan knocked twice before stepping into the chief’s office.  “Morning, Chief.”

“Morning Sam.  How’s your Mother?”

“Mom sends her love and a slice of apple pie.”  Sam set the Tupperware container on his boss’s desk.  The older man had been an intimate family friend a lot longer than he’d been Sam’s boss, and old habits died hard.  “She says you’re expected for dinner on my birthday and she won’t take no for an answer.”

The chief smiled, his wrinkles showing more deeply when he did.  “You bet your ass I’ll be there.  Your old man would come back from beyond and knock me senseless if I missed it.”

Sam nodded, a twinge of sadness twisting his belly, even though it had been twenty-seven years.  Ed Skinner turned to move to the window, absently parting the drapes and looking out over the parking lot below.

“Listen, Sam, I wanted to talk to you about this Dresden case.  There’s–well I’ll be damned.”

“Chief?”  Frowning, Sam moved closer to the window.

“I left my headlights on,” the chief said.

Sam smiled.  “Old age creeping up on you, that’s all.  I’ll flip ‘em off on my way out if you want.”

The chief let the drapes fall back into place, turned to face Sam again.  “Where you heading?”

“Questioning some witnesses on the Sarah Dresden case.  People who might have seen something in the area along the riverbank, where we found the body this morning.”

The chief nodded.  “Press hasn’t been notified about the body yet, have they?”

“No, sir.  Hell, she’s barely been out of the water an hour.” 

“No leaks, that you know of?”

“None.”

The chief pursed his lips.  “Sam, I’ve got something else I’d like you check on for me.”

Sam lifted his brows.

“Woman by the name of Megan Rose.  Knows a little more about this case than she ought to.”

Sam tipped his head.  This was the first thing remotely like a lead they’d had in the series of rape-murders plaguing the small Western New York town.  “Like what?”

“Like where the body was.  I just got off the phone with her.”

Sam felt a little shiver go up his spine.  “Did she say how she knew?”

“Yeah.  Claims she’s some kind of psychic.”

Sam would have laughed if the topic had been a less serious one.  As it was, he just shook his head.  He didn’t believe in that sort of garbage, despite the fact that his grandmother claimed a touch of abilities herself.  She’d never predicted anything beyond his own impending demise, and he wasn’t about to give that any credibility.

“I’d like to find out how she really knew–and what else she might know,” the chief said.

Sam nodded.  “You want me to question her?”

“I’m thinking we might want a more subtle approach, we don’t want to scare her off.  Let me do a little checking on her first.  Stay available.  I’ll let you know how I want you to proceed.”

Sam nodded.  “Whatever you say, Chief.”

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