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Going to kill two birds here.
***
I head outside, lock the door, then slip around into the alley behind the building.
Once I’m sure no one is looking at me, I teleport up to the roof and walk a few paces away to get out of sight from the ground. One more full turn to make sure no one in any nearby elevated positions can see me, I strip to my birthday suit and wad all my clothes together into a bundle.
That done, I close my eyes and call out to Talos. No, I do not plan to drive two hours to Idyllwild.
Hello, Samantha. It is good to see you again.
Thank you for always being there for me.
Of course.
Hints of sadness in his voice put a small lump in my throat. In another life, ages ago, we’d been soul mates. I have no memory of ever having reincarnated as a dragon, but I also do not doubt it happened. We’re presently separated by a dimensional boundary, so even if we found a way around the inherent physical problem of a dragon-human coupling, it would be next to impossible for us to carry on any sort of relationship. My feelings for him are not romantic, but they do qualify as love. He, too, knows our time is past for that sort of thing. It’s difficult to describe exactly what sort of feelings we have for each other. It’s beyond friendship, more like family.
Before anyone notices a giant dragon sitting on top of the building, I grab my bundle of clothing and leap into the air.
In this form, I can cover ground much faster than driving—or even using my own wings—while also having the enhanced vision of a dragon to help scan the ground for signs of a crash. I’ve gotta stay objective here. As unlikely as it seems, a chance remains that Carson might really not be a serial killer and something bad happened to both of them. All the evidence makes it sound like this guy’s already killed his wife and Gemma Fulton is victim number two. Picks her up at a bar, has unusual charm, no one sees her after she leaves with the guy.
Crazy idea. Wonder if he might be an incubus? Everything I’ve heard about Gemma makes her out to be this incredibly shy, risk-averse sort of person who barely wanted to go out for dinner much less the type of woman who’d leave the same night with a guy she’d only seen for a few minutes. It wouldn’t surprise me if paranormal charm happened to be involved.
On the flight, I chat with Talos about the Gemma situation. He’s pretty clueless when it comes to human psychology and crime, offering mostly ‘I suppose it’s possible’ to just about every theory I come up with to explain what happened. Can’t say he’s wrong. Until I find more evidence, anything istechnicallypossible however unlikely, up to and including Gemma and Carson running off to Texas to become rodeo clowns.
Idyllwild is north, though a bit more than two hours away by conventional transportation—and traffic. Heeding a—most likely normal—hunch, I follow the route I’d be most likely to drive. After going a distance roughly equivalent to ‘two-ish-hours’ by car, I start looking for gas stations. When I spot an Arco station, I aim for a spot reasonably close to land.
Now shifted and dressed, a strange feeling comes over me when I step onto the property. Not bad strange. Urgent strange. It’s as if my subconscious brain is trying to tell methis is the place.
Of course, a woman walking without a car into a gas station on the side of a small highway is unusual. People are looking at me. By their facial expressions, I guess they all assume I’ve broken down somewhere in the distance and have walked here looking for help. Their faces are a mixture of concern and hesitation like they don’t want to have two hours drained from their day by a total stranger in need.
Lucky for them, I’m not in need. Well, at least, not in need of a ride back to my car.
I stop near the pumps, gazing back and forth from them to the small convenience store. For no logical reason, I’m certain Carson and Gemma were here. Having no better ideas, I decide to see if my psychic feelers are up to the task. Inconveniently, this ‘psychometry’ thing requires me to touch objects. It’s super doubtful Carson or Gemma poured much emotional significance into anything at a gas station. However, if Gemma was, in fact, abducted and fearing for her life, she might have left imprints on anything she got a hold of.
I approach the pumps—thankfully there are only four—and gently grab the gasoline nozzle as if about to pull it out of the socket it sits in when not in use. I don’t pull it out. Too weird. Just hold it for a moment and concentrate. Yeah, this looks completely normal to anyone watching me.
Hmm. Nothing.
Within seconds of my hand making contact with the nozzle on the second pump, I catch a fleeting glimpse of Carson’s Jeep sitting beside me. Gemma’s in the passenger seat, laughing about something. She looks at ease. Still under his charm, I suspect. Ted Bundy’s victims tended to be calm around him right up until the monster came out. At the point I’m seeing him, they haven’t gotten to where he intended to do the deed yet, so he’s still pretending to be charming and normal.
Or I’ve become cynical.
In the vision, Gemma asks something about a cabin. Like… how much farther is it. There it is again. Cabin. Oh boy. That’s not going to end well for her. He’s taking her to that damn cabin somewhere in the woods of Idyllwild to do unspeakable things to her.
Next, Carson’s voice emanates from about where I’m standing. It’s blurry like trying to listen to a forty-year-old audio tape, but I manage to make out something about his uncle on his mother’s side owning the place and he can use it whenever he wants.
Hmm. That might explain why the police didn’t find it. The cabin wouldn’t be in his name.
Additionally, the cabin comes into greater detail: it’s surrounded by trees. It doesn’t look like it’s made of logs or anything, merely out in the middle of nowhere. Carson hasstrongthoughts about the place. Unfortunately, he didn’t leave enough of an imprint on this gas pump to give me a cluewhyhe feels so strongly about this vacation house. It could be anything from the place being associated to good memories to tragedy happening there. Or, worst case scenario, he really is a killer who gets such a rush from murder hejust can’t waitto get her to his killing ground.
Bear in mind, the fact that he left an imprint on a gas station pump he touched for only a few minutes at all is significant.
Before too many people stare at the ‘weird lady’ feeling random gas pumps, I walk away from the gas station heading back the way I came from. It’s tempting to try teleporting to the house I saw in the vision… but also iffy. A real photograph is one thing. I can use an image to concentrate on and teleport to a place I’ve never been before. Visions, on the other hand, may or may not work. It would depend entirely on the accuracy of the image and whether or not it’s real—rather than a dream or imaginary fantasy on Carson’s part. I still don’t know for sure if I’m dealing with a perfectly sane guy, after all.
Still, it’s more to go on than I had.
I hurry back to my landing spot, hurriedly strip out of my clothes and bundle them up, then pester Talos again.
