Smoke on the Water by Lori Handeland Read Free Book Online Page A

“Which would make the woman lying on the stone a witch.”
    â€œWe have to figure out where they were. Who they were.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œTo stop it!”
    â€œWe’re incarcerated.”
    â€œWhat’s the point of a vision if you can’t do anything about it?”
    I’d been asking myself that since I’d understood I was having them.
    â€œNo one will believe us.” Even if they did, a stone altar in “some” forest wasn’t going to get them very far.
    â€œTry again.” Mary pointed to the window. The storm had blown past, but there were still droplets on the glass.
    I went back where I’d been, tried as hard to see something now as I’d tried to scream about what I’d seen before. I had the same amount of luck. The drops were just drops.
    â€œI got nothin’.”
    â€œTry harder.”
    I’d never been able to have a vision by trying. Never been able to stop having one by trying either. Visions were funny that way. Or maybe funny wasn’t the right word.
    Annoying? Terrifying? Excruciating? Pick one.
    Mary laced our fingers together and tugged. “Let’s run water in the tub.”
    I pulled back. Even though I’d told Dr. Frasier that I was as dangerous as Mary, I still didn’t feel like going into a small room with her and running enough water so that she could drown me.
    â€œI need to rest,” I said. “Visions are exhausting.”
    Another good word for them. I had a dozen. None of them were complimentary.
    â€œYou can sleep on my bed.”
    From the slightly manic sheen in her eyes, I knew how that would go. She’d either stare at me and keep me awake or pace the room with the same results.
    â€œI’ll go back to my own.” She released me reluctantly, but she did it. I paused at her door. “Don’t tell anyone what we saw.”
    â€œNot until we see something that’ll help.”
    That wasn’t what I’d meant, but it would do.
    So far I’d never seen anything helpful.
    *   *   *
    â€œFreakiest storm I can remember.”
    The maintenance man, who’d introduced himself as Justice Finkel, was old enough for his observation to really mean something. He appeared to know how to fix a generator, or he was at least doing a good imitation.
    Sebastian handed him a Philips screwdriver upon request. He was just glad the rain had stopped and the creepy green clouds had disappeared. From the utter silence of the machine and the decrepit appearance, they were going to be out here a while. He hoped the staff was able to quiet the patients. When he’d walked outside, the door closing behind him had cut off the sight and sound of bedlam. He’d searched for Willow amid the chaos—hadn’t seen her or Mary. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
    â€œIsn’t the purpose of a generator to go on when the power goes off?” Sebastian asked.
    â€œYeah.” Justice squinted into the motor, which gave off an odd but vaguely familiar smell.
    â€œWhat’s its excuse?” Sebastian pointed to the machine with a hammer that he was trying his best not to use on the still-silent generator.
    â€œIt’s not talkin’, but I’m thinking lightning strike.” Justice sat back. “This thing is toast.”
    Sebastian sniffed again and got a whiff of … not burned bread but ozone, with a hint of gasoline. They were lucky the whole place hadn’t gone up in flames. Probably would have if the building weren’t made of stone.
    Sebastian gave in to temptation and smacked the flat of the hammer on the corroded shell of the junk generator. Justice didn’t seem disturbed by his lack of control. Justice didn’t seem disturbed by much—a good trait for an employee of a mental health facility. Sebastian wished he could say the same about himself.
    He set the hammer back in the man’s huge toolbox.