Page 6 of Dead O’Clock

“Yes, you do, Tenny,” Rogers sneered. “I can see it in your eyes. Your husband, decorated Cold Case Detective Ronan O’Mara, is the one responsible for my pain. How the hell do you lie next to him every night, knowing what he’s done to innocent people?”

“Which innocent person are you talking about?” Ten asked, instantly regretting his words. He just made it sound like Ronan was in the business of railroading people, which certainly was not the case. His gut felt queasy, as if it were filled with wriggling earthworms. He might not be getting much information from Dan Rogers, but what he was getting made him feel very uneasy.

“You’re the psychic. You tell me, hotshot.” Rogers crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his seat, as if he had all day to wait for Tennyson to come up with the correct answer.

Ten was sick and tired of playing this man’s games. “Look, you made needing to speak with me seem like a matter of life and death. I’m a very busy man, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to tell me why you’re here or ask you to leave.”

Rogers grinned. “You know exactly who I am and why I’m here.” He reached forward and grabbed Tennyson’s hand, squeezing tight.

Pure, unadulterated rage slammed into Ten’s body. He felt the kind of anger that ended with inevitable bloodshed. There was also grief so deep that it had somehow morphed with the rage, creating a new, and frankly terrifying, emotion Ten had never experienced before. Whoever this client was wanted to rip apart the man who caused these feelings. Ten was about to pull away from Rogers when the emotions slamming into him stopped, as if a switch had been thrown. What came next was somehow worse.

Images flooded Ten’s mind. Jumbled pictures of things that made no sense and were moving too fast to properly identify. He thought he saw a headstone, but couldn’t focus in on the name carved into it. There was a flash of handcuffs. A corrections officer kneeling beside a prone body. Last, was an image of Ronan, his hands balled into fists, looking as if he were ready to take on the world.

As the final image faded, Ten could hear raised voices coming from the shop. He yanked his hand away from Rogers, who still wore a self-satisfied smirk, and raced toward the door to his reading room.

“You need to help me!” a man screamed. His eyes looked wild and were filled with fear. “Please, you’re the only ones who can save me.” The man waved a piece of paper toward Carson. “He’s going to kill me. I don’t want to die. Oh, God, I don’t want to die.”

“Sir, I need you to take a breath,” Carson said.

Ten heard the front door jingle. In walked Ronan and Jude. Both men headed toward the screaming man. He saw Ronan had his badge in his right hand.

“Sir, we’re with the Salem Police Department.” Ronan shot Ten a questioning look.

All Ten could do was shrug in response. He had no idea what the hell was going on with the man and his gift was of no help. As a matter of fact, now that Ten checked himself over, his gift wasn’t working at all. The emotions and images Dan Rogers flooded his mind with had overwhelmed all of his senses, his sixth especially. He’d have to wait a bit before he’d be able to rely on it again.

“Whatever is going on, we can help you.” Jude reached for the man’s arm. “Let’s go back to the conference room and talk, okay?”

“I want the psychics. They’re the only ones who can save me,” the man pleaded. He wore a desperate look. “I’m a dead man walking! A dead man walking!”

Ronan didn’t look like getting the psychics to help the man was such a good idea. “Let’s get you settled first.” He took up a position on the other side of the man and led him, along with Jude, toward the back.

“What the hell happened?” Ten asked Carson, who looked shell-shocked.

“I have no idea.” Carson shook his head. “One minute I was talking to Matteo about an order for the shop I needed him to track, and the next that man burst in shouting that someone was going to kill him at midnight.”

“Midnight? That’s oddly specific.” Ten shook his head. In all the years he’d worked with Ronan in connection with the Boston and Salem Police Departments, he’d never heard of murder being scheduled like an item on a to-do list.

“I thought so too.” Carson looked at Ten. “Are you okay? What the hell did that client want?”

“I’m still not sure. I’ve got time left with him. I’ll do my best to figure it out.” The absolute last thing Ten wanted was to work with Dan Rogers one second longer. “As for being okay, I’m not.”

“Do you want me to sit in on the rest of the reading?” Carson asked, stopping just outside Ten’s door.

“Please. Maybe you’ll pick up something from him that I couldn’t. Just be careful with your gift. He blew mine up. I can’t see or feel anything at the moment.”

“You got it.” Carson walked into the reading room and grunted in surprise. He poked his head out of the room wearing a surprised look. “He’s gone.”

“What?” Ten hurried into the room. Dan Rogers was no longer sitting at the table. The folder with the intake form lay on the table, but the form itself was gone. Slashed on the folder in bold red script was, “I’ll be back.”

“Jesus, what the hell is going on?” Carson asked, looking scared. He wrapped his arms around himself as if to provide solace. “I’ve never felt anything like this before. It’s like this room is filled with the contents of Pandora’s Box. Like all the evils of the world are swirling around us.”

Ten nodded. He didn’t have words to explain what he’d experienced and wasn’t looking forward to filling Carson in once he felt more like himself.

The words on the empty folder swam back into focus. Dan Rogers would be back for what? Another reading? To kill Ten? Ronan? Sighing, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, Ten grabbed his legal pad and walked out of his reading room. Someone needed to sage it before he’d be able to work in there again.

There would be time for that later. Now, he and Carson needed to focus on the screaming man who apparently had a midnight appointment with the Grim Reaper.

3