Vision of Shadows

BOOK ONE OF THE VISION SERIES

VISION

OF SHADOWS

VINCENT MORRONE

Vision of Shadows

Book 1 of The Vision Series

Copyright © 2013, Vincent Morrone

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Publisher’s Note:

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

THE STUFF DREAMS ARE MADE OF

IT WAS GOING TO BE ONE OF THOSE MORNINGS

WE FINALLY MEET

OOPS, YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO SEE THAT

FINDING JARED

A CHAT WITH GRANDPA

DON’T GET DRESSED ON MY ACCOUNT

HE’S A GREAT CATCH

PAYNE’S SECRET

WELL, THAT TOOK LONG ENOUGH

DON’T LIE TO HUNTER

BOOM!

AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR

HAVING A BLAST AT AUNT BREANNE’S

GOING OUT ON A LIMB

SOMETIMES, DREAMS DO COME TRUE

JAY, REVEALED

FIVE MINUTES

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ONE

THE STUFF DREAMS ARE MADE OF

Journal of Bristol Blackburn

Sunday, March 17th

There are times when being psychic really bites, and this is one of them. Here it is, three in the morning, and all I can think about is the boy who will eventually have his hands on me.

I have no idea what his name is. We’ve never met, but I feel like we’ve grown up together. I’ve had visions of him since I was six years old. Now, eleven years later, I know we’re getting closer and closer to finally meeting. I think it’s going to happen any day now.

And the thought scares the hell out of me.

I know what Dream Boy will look like. In a word: hot. Dark hair that falls loosely over his deep blue eyes. He has an angel’s face and the devil’s grin.

I know he’s got a bad boy attitude. Half the time, I get flashes of him getting hurt. Sometimes he’s playing the hero. Other times, he’s just being an idiot. Many times, it seems like there’s someone who enjoys hurting him.

What I don’t know is what he’ll be to me.

There are times when he seems to love me. Don’t ask me why. But he’ll look at me with nothing but love and contentment in his eyes. Earlier tonight, I had one of those dreams. One where he couldn’t keep his hands off of me. Weird that I know every inch of his body, yet I have no idea what his name is, huh?

Then there’s the other vision. It was the first one I had of him, and the one I have most often. It’s the one I woke from tonight, the feeling of his hands still on my skin.

In that vision, he doesn’t look at me with love, but with hatred. He has his hands wrapped around my neck as he slowly squeezes the life out of me.

So any day now, I’m about to meet the boy of my dreams—literally. Then I get to see if he’s going to be the love of my life or the end of it.

Funny thing is, I’m not sure which idea scares the crap out of me more.

TWO

IT WAS GOING TO BE ONE OF THOSE MORNINGS

IN CASE YOU’RE WONDERING, I’ve done a lot of the things you’d expect psychics to do, including talking to ghosts. Some people might think the idea of talking to the dead is scary. Nothing could be further from the truth. I’ve never been afraid of ghosts. If anything, I’ve found it easier to talk to the dead than the living.

Take Claire, who had just appeared to me, for example. Her blond hair reached the base of her neck and framed her pear-shaped face. I could tell she had been a lovely woman when she was alive. Which, judging from the up-to-date pretty blue dress she wore, wasn’t too long ago. She must have been in her early forties when she passed.

We were sitting at a restaurant with outside seating. I was waiting for my parents to show.

She was there for other reasons.

Please, call me Bristol. I smiled, hoping she understood why I was whispering. You’d be surprised at how many ghosts take offense to the idea that I don’t want to look like I’m talking to myself.

That’s such a lovely and unusual name, Claire said. And it fits you. You’re a very pretty girl.

I blushed. I’d never thought of myself as pretty, especially not compared to my parents, who looked like models. My mom had soft, blond, pin-straight hair, exotic grey eyes, and a model’s waiflike figure. My dad was solid as a rock with jet black hair, a square jaw, and green eyes.

I’m so happy that I can have someone to share this with, she said. You’re sure I’m not bothering you?

No, it’s nice to have the company.

That’s my daughter, Chloe, and her boyfriend, Adam. Claire pointed to the couple she’d been watching. They were sitting a few tables away. They’ve been together for three years. She met him after that stupid car accident took me away from her. I was always afraid she would never fall in love. You see, first her father walked out on us when she was only twelve. And then I left…

You didn’t leave, I insisted. If it was an accident, it wasn’t a choice.

Claire smiled. It’s nice of you to say that. You seem very at ease. I take it I’m not your first ghost?

Definitely not.

I never believed in ghosts until I was one. Claire grinned. Have you ever been scared?

No, I’ve been around them since I was little. I’ve had a few that could be annoying. You’re fine, but I once had a ghost that hung around for two weeks singing Copacabana over and over, each time getting the words wrong. Finally, I had to download the song and teach it to him. He was able to move on afterward.

Claire laughed. Oh my, that must have been horrible. Her face went all motherly. Still, I imagine it can’t be easy being… different.

I glanced at my watch. My parents were twenty minutes late. Big surprise.

I’m sure they’ll be here soon, Claire said.

Man, she must have been great at the whole mother thing. You never know with them, I whispered. "This is going to be the first time I’m with the both of them in I don’t know how long.

Probably the last time."

Claire offered me a sympathetic smile, the kind mothers give their small children when putting Band-Aids on their knees.

I’m sure that’s not right, Claire said. Your parents are probably just busy. Maybe you should tell them how you feel.

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. "They’re coming here to tell me they’re filing for divorce.

They think I don’t know, but it’s kinda hard to hide things from me."

I’m sorry, she said with a grimace. Do they fight a lot?

"They don’t see each other enough to fight."

Bristol, they’re still your parents, Claire insisted. Her eyes locked on mine firmly. They’ll always love you.

She was sweet, but we both knew better. Not all parents were like Claire. Mine weren’t. We didn’t even feel like a family, just three people who shared an address. Hell, I spent more time with Ricky than my parents. Of course, Ricky is my hamster, so I’m not sure he counts.

Bristol, Claire said. I think he’s getting ready to do it!

I followed Claire’s gaze to the horse and carriage pulling up. While Chloe was distracted, Adam rose from his chair and circled around the table to stand in front of her. Chloe’s eyes darted back and forth between the carriage and Adam. Claire sniffed beside me. Then Adam dropped to one knee, popped out a box from his pocket, and asked Chloe to marry him.

And I was instantly enveloped by the torrent of emotions from everyone around me.

One of my many weird talents is I sometimes sense what others are feeling, emotionally and physically. Like dreaming of the future, I can’t control when it will happen. Although, it usually only occurs with really emotional situations, like a marriage proposal.

Unhindered joy radiated from Chloe. I sensed Adam’s fading fears that he hadn’t gotten everything right replaced by overwhelming elation when she said yes.

Claire was positively glowing. Not in a weird, paranormal way. Just in that wonderful, motherly, I couldn’t be happier for my sweet little girl way.

Quite a few waitresses, and even one of the waiters, were weeping. When Adam got up, there was a moment of silence as they lost themselves in each other’s eyes. They kissed and everyone applauded.

I’m so happy for you, I said to Claire, taking advantage of the fact that no one would notice me talking right now. I think he’s going to make her very happy.

Claire cried. "I’m so glad I could see this. I wish I could be there with her for everything. I do wish I could’ve gotten to know him. He seems to love her so much."

I heard the unspoken fear. I’m sure Claire was happy at some point with her husband before the louse skipped out on her and Chloe. She was doing her best not to think about it, but it was there in the back of her mind. How could it not be?

I made a quick decision.

What did you say you did for a living? Back when you were alive.

Claire thought for a moment. I was a music teacher.

What did your students call you?

Claire looked perplexed. Mrs. Caldone. Why?

I walked to where Chloe was getting into the carriage, a giant bouquet of flowers being placed in her arms by the coach. Chloe seemed overwhelmed, almost dizzy with joy. But I could sense a tinge of sadness within her as she gazed at the beautiful ring with the tear-shaped diamond. Hi. I offered my hand and smiled. Congrats! I thought I recognized you. Your mom’s a teacher—Mrs. Caldone, right?

Thank you, Chloe said, still glowing. And yes she was. Were you one of her students? I nodded.

I’m afraid she died in an accident a few years ago, Chloe said with a tear in her eye. I wish she was here, so I could share this with her. She’d be so happy.

I gripped her hand. "I’d bet a million dollars she can see you right now, and that she’s thrilled for you. Trust me. I reached my other hand over to Adam. Really, congratulations." After a final wave, I made my way back to the table where Claire was waiting.

See, I sometimes get these visions, I explained. Mostly when I dream, but I have been known to get them while awake. When I’m touching two people who have a strong connection, sometimes I get a flash. Circumstances help. So does luck.

Claire, however, didn’t want a lesson in Weirdo 101.

Well, did you see anything?

Just a flash of them putting a crib together.

A crib? Claire gasped. A baby! Oh, that’s wonderful. Wasn’t their baby, I added. "They were much older. Adam was working with their oldest son on putting the crib together. Their youngest son was painting the room. There was another man painting, who was their son-in-law. He was about Chloe’s age now. I saw Chloe walk in with her daughter. It was your granddaughter who was pregnant. And I’m pretty sure your granddaughter’s name was Claire."

I watched as Claire tried to take everything in. Chloe had met the right man. They’d be happy as they raised their family together, and Claire wouldn’t be forgotten.

Thank you. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.

I blushed. I don’t handle gratitude real well. But my embarrassment was forgotten as soon as I spotted my parents walking down the block.

This was it. This was the moment my parents would tell me we were no longer a family. What would I say? Should I say anything? Would it even matter? I tried to picture how it would happen, but my mind was blank. I almost didn’t hear the scream.

Tires squealed as a large black car blasted past a red light into a busy intersection. The car was going at least sixty as a second car smashed into its rear right side, sending the black car fishtailing right toward the sidewalk.

And right into my parents.

I called out to them and ran, but the weepy waiter from before grabbed me. I fell to my knees, screaming. I felt their shock and pain, right before they died. I stopped struggling. It didn’t matter anymore. I knew they were gone.

The waiter holding me tried to calm me down, stroking my hair as I wept. Who were they?

I turned away, not wanting to look. There beside me was Claire. They were her parents, she said before fading away.

My heart pounded as I searched for my parents’ ghosts. Where were they? They had to be here, someplace. They were dead. Certainly, they would come to me now. If I could see the dead, hear the dead, talk to the dead, why wouldn’t I be able to see my parents? If only for one last time. But everywhere I looked, all I saw was the living. And I never felt more alone.

Journal of Bristol Blackburn

Wednesday, March 20th

It’s been three days, and I still can’t believe it. My parents are dead. I can say it out loud, write it my journal, even talk to Ricky, but it doesn’t seem real.

We were never close, but they were my parents, and I hate that they’re dead. But there doesn’t seem to be a hell of a lot I can do about it.

The saddest part is, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal for someone like me, right? So they’re dead. They could be here if they wanted to. We could still share those special moments like my first kiss or first breakup or stuff. After all, I’m Bristol Blackburn. I talk to the freaking dead! Sometimes I can’t get the dead to shut up. Claire was nice, but some of the others, oh my God! I’ve had ghosts insist on telling me every last detail about their lives.

Or worse, their deaths.

So why won’t my parents appear? I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised they want nothing to do with me now that they’re dead. They didn’t while they were alive. It’s no big deal. I’ll be fine. Life goes on.

And yes, I realize how lame this sounds.

I’m going to live in their old hometown, Spirit, which is in upstate New York, with my dad’s brother, my Uncle Mark. I don’t know how to feel about him. He’s always sent me birthday and Christmas cards, but until now I’d never heard his voice. He’s called me three times since the accident. He seems nice enough, if a bit persistent.

The first time he called was that night. Told me how sorry he was, if there was anything he could do to just say so, and he was looking forward to finally meeting me. Hard to buy that. Why would he? But I’ll give him points for trying. He offered to drive down and get me that night. Said I shouldn’t be alone. But I told him I had things to do, and I wasn’t alone. Like he’d want to be stuck in a car with a grieving teenage girl for over six hours. I told him I’d just get a bus ticket.

He called this morning to tell me he’d made all the arrangements for the burial, was working on getting me enrolled in school there, and he didn’t want me to worry. I’m sure he’s thrilled to have to do all this for a girl who’s never spoken to him. Never bothered to pick up the phone and call him and say, hey Uncle Mark, thanks for remembering my birthday this year, my parents didn’t. I appreciate he’s making an effort, but he and I both know he’s simply stuck with me.

He mentioned coming to get me again, this time saying his sons are really anxious to meet me. Right. I’m sure they’re delighted to have to share their home with some whackedout teenager they’ve never met. I turned him down again.

I hate buses, but I can’t stand the thought of asking him to drive all the way down just to drive all the way home again. I’m going to have to live with them for a few years, so I figure best not get them all to hate me just yet. God, they must be tired of me already.

Uncle Mark just called again. He told me he’s about an hour away. I guess some people can’t take no for an answer. So, he’s coming to get me, and he’ll take me back to the place that my parents ran away from. Can hardly wait. At least I won’t have to deal with the damn bus.

By the way, my parents are dead, and I loved them.

WELL, THEY SHOULD BE HERE any minute now. Not that we care, do we? I asked Ricky. After all, we’ve gotten along fine without them.

I lived in an apartment building in Manhattan, on the twenty-second floor. My stuff was all packed neatly in the dining room. I was waiting for the doorman to signal my uncle was here. Until then, I was trying to be as patient as possible. For the record, I don’t do patient.

They’ll hate me, I ranted. "Why wouldn’t they? Who wants to be stuck with me? Probably expect me to be like what’s her name, Snow White? Cinderella? Or Ariel? No, she was the one with fins. Whatever, it doesn’t matter.

I know you think I’m nuts, I continued. But I have no idea what these people are like. I know they’ll act wonderful at first, but it’ll be fake. Fake wonderfulness! I can just hear their first words.

I paced. "They’ll probably pat me on the back, say ‘buck up, sport,’ or ‘it’ll be all right,’ or something that’ll set me off like ‘I know how you feel,’ and I’ll flip! No one knows how I feel. Finally, I stopped pacing and sat in a chair. And no one cares. Do they? No one but you, Ricky," I whispered to my hamster. Like there would be anyone else that would listen to me rant.

The buzzer rang, and I knew that meant Eddie, the really cute—but most likely gay— doorman was telling me my uncle and cousins were on their way up. Don’t worry, Ricky. If their mom hates hamsters, we’ll run away. I’m not losing you, too.

With a huff, I walked to the door and waited for these strangers to become my family.

It seemed to take forever for the elevator doors to open. All I could think the entire time was: Who will say what first? Will they say something that they expect me to respond to? I have no idea what to say. What if it’s awkward? What if I break down and cry? I don’t want to cry in front of them. I don’t even like to cry in front of Ricky.

Finally, the doors opened and a really cute kid ran down the hallway. He had a mess of dark blond hair and freckles covering his face. Adorable, except his eyes were bulging and his face was red, not to mention he was holding himself.

He winced in pain, both hands pressed over his jeans zipper. For Pete’s sake, where’s your bathroom?

Taken aback, I opened the door and pointed to the bathroom. Without another word, the boy dashed off into my apartment.

Leave it to my brother to make an entrance. Another boy ambled down the hallway, tripping at least three times over his own feet along the way. I’m Simon and that was my little brother, Zack. Sorry about him.

Taller than the first boy, this kid was very thin, with glasses and combed blond hair. He wore neatly pressed jeans and a button-down shirt with red and black stripes.

Behind him was my Uncle Mark, who looks a lot like my dad, tall with dark hair, very green eyes, and a very kind face. Also in jeans, he wore a plain black tee. The boys must have taken after their mother, my aunt whatever her name is.

Oh. My. God. I had no idea what my aunt’s name was. This couldn’t be good. I could picture her in my head upon hearing the news of my parents’ death: You don’t hear from your brother in how long, and now we’re saddled with his teenage daughter! Well, she’s your responsibility. And she better not hog the bathroom!

Hi, Bristol. I’m your Uncle Mark. He hugged me. I hate that we have to meet under these circumstances, but I’m glad to finally see you. Me too, I lied.

Uncle Mark walked to the dining room where all my stuff was and looked it over. Not too bad. We can take it down in two, maybe three trips.

Zack strolled out of the bathroom, looking far more relaxed. His face was rounder than his brother’s, and he wore a Transformers shirt. Zack walked over to Ricky and stared into the tank. Man, I can’t believe how much I just peed, Zack said. It wouldn’t stop. I bet even John John never peed that much, but I feel much better now. I thought I was going to explode. But anyway, are we leaving right away, or do we get to look around? We already saw a few homeless guys. I even saw one peeing on a building, but Dad said I couldn’t do the same. Anyway, I want to eat a hot dog from those cart things I see. John John says those guys wash their socks in that water, which is gross. But I think he’s lying, and I want to try one so I can decide for myself. Hey, cool hamster. Dad, can I get something to drink?

I had no idea what to say. I’d never heard anyone say so much in one breath. I just stood there and blinked rapidly.

Zack, you drank three bottles of water within the last two hours, Uncle Mark said.

Yeah, but I just peed it all out, and now I’m empty.

Has it occurred to you that perhaps the amount you urinate and the amount of water you consume are directly related? Simon asked.

Zack tapped on Ricky’s tank. His adorable face scrunched up. Huh?

Simon sighed. The more you drink, the more you pee.

Oh, Zack said, but I’m thirsty. Simon shook his head.

Why don’t we all sit for a little bit and talk to Bristol, Uncle Mark said. How are you holding up?

I shrugged. They seemed nice enough, but I didn’t feel like sharing at this point.

I guess it’s hard to talk about, Uncle Mark said. Especially to strangers.

But we’re not strangers, Zack said. "She’s our cousin, and Grandpa said Blackburns look out for each other. Bristol is coming home with us, right? Grandpa said Bristol belongs to us now.

She’s still coming home with us, right? We can keep her?"

Geez, Zack, stop treating her like a poodle, Simon replied.

Poodles are weak, Zack affirmed. If anything, she’d be a boxer or a lab or something.

Zack, she’s not a dog at all, Uncle Mark said.

Really, if anything, I’d probably be a hamster, I added.

This earned smiles from everyone.

Grandpa says—

Enough Zack, Uncle Mark interrupted. I don’t care what Grandpa says and neither does Bristol. This is hard enough on her.

Uncle Mark took my hand and led me to the couch in the living room.

"Bristol, we are your family, Uncle Mark began, his all too caring eyes looking right into mine. I know this is rough, having to leave the only home you’ve known. I know you haven’t been given much of a choice here."

It was true; I hadn’t been asked, but I had nowhere else to go. I didn’t want to stay here. Besides, as zany as they seemed, I was already starting to like these people. I want to get out of here.

Uncle Mark nodded.

Bristol, we all know how you feel, Simon said.

Simon, you can’t know what this is like. I hated the bitterness in my voice, but really, how could a kid like this understand how I felt? It was absurd. Insulting. Just plain old wrong.

I d-didn’t mean… I’m sorry, Simon said. It just reminds me of when my mom was killed.

I could see the pain in his eyes brought on by having to remember his mother’s death. The fact that his concern was over how I felt only made me feel even worse. My stomach twisted in a mix of grief for my parents and guilt for what I’d said. Uncle Mark’s warm green eyes reflected the same pain as Simon’s. Zack’s eyes were closed, his tiny frame slumped back in the chair.

I’m so sorry, I said. I didn’t know…

My brother never told you? Uncle Mark asked, the sadness in his eyes replaced by anger. Never mentioned Eve was killed four years ago? I shook my head.

Did you know your grandmother died seven years ago? Uncle Mark continued. Or about your cousins? Mark and Emily? They died in a fire soon after we lost Mom.

I shrank into the sofa. Why wasn’t I told? I had no answer. Maybe my parents were trying to protect me? Maybe they knew about my gifts and figured if my dead relatives wanted me to know, they’d just show up and tell me themselves? There was a theory I wasn’t planning on sharing anytime soon.

Uncle Mark closed his eyes and reached for my hand.

"I’m sorry. It’s not your fault, Bristol.

I guess we really do have a lot of catching up to do."

I looked into his face, into the faces of his sons, and saw nothing but compassion and sympathy. I couldn’t understand any of this. Why in the world did my parents not let me have these people in my life before?

Well, let’s get you packed up and ready to go, Uncle Mark said. We have a long drive ahead of us, plenty of time to get to know one another. We can stop before we leave for one of those dirty water dogs for Zack.

With a huff, Zack got up and followed. S’ok. Not hungry.

It took three trips to bring my stuff down. The first two were done mostly in silence, which made me worry I had already overstayed my welcome. But the third started with a huge fight between Simon and Zack over who got to carry Ricky in his tank. After an eye roll, Uncle Mark decided he would carry the little critter. Simon and Zack were left to grab the last of my bags.

That left me with nothing but my purse.

We got this, Uncle Mark said. Take your time. We’ll meet you in the car. He herded the boys off, leaving me a moment to say goodbye.

I walked throughout the apartment, room by room, remembering different things that had happened in each of them. Every time I turned a corner, I hoped to see my parents there, waiting to say goodbye, but the place was cold and barren.

I headed to the front door, stopping one last time to take a look. Ghosts, spirits, whatever you want to call them, appear for a number of reasons. Some just aren’t ready to move on. Some have unfinished business or can’t let go of someone who is still alive. The reasons go on and on.

Whatever motivations might exist, they obviously didn’t apply to my parents. They were clearly done with this world and done with the living.

They were done with me.

When I got to the truck, Zack was sitting in the back playing his PSP, and Simon was next to him reading a book. Up front was Uncle Mark. His eyes found mine as soon as I stepped out. I barely knew this man, but I could see the kindness and patience within him. I’d learned over time to trust my instincts about people. My old life was over, and it was time to start again. Somehow, I was