A Plea for Help

Lynn stared at the only man privy to her secret, barely glancing at the officer who handed her a Styrofoam cup filled with lukewarm, muddy, black coffee.

Barry’s compassionate glance left her with no illusions. They both understood the attitude police officers adopted when dealing with people claiming “psychic abilities.” She could not blame them for living in a world filled with fakes, crazies, and frauds.

After a lifetime of hiding, revealing her gift felt wrong. The truth would expose her, ripping away the unquestioning trust of friends, colleagues, and clients—people who thought they knew her. She glanced at the slightly scruffy interrogation room, unsettled by the fading greenish color of the walls.

Lynn vividly recalled the way people had treated her mother. The name-calling behind her back… and to her face. The dripping disdain in their voices when speaking of the “crazy psychic lady from the trailer park.” Neither did she forget the pitying glances directed at her—the child who had to live with her “mentally unstable parent”—although they used less savory words of description.

Barry Parsons was family; he knew more about her and her history than anyone.

He had dispatched Officer Roberts to track down Senior Detective Holloway with a concerned frown aimed at her. They both dreaded the consequences, and under different circumstances, she knew he would shield her by discreetly following up on her leads.

He felt he owed her his life, but this case had caught the media’s eye. Pressure came from on high to get results, and Lynn understood the politics of policing better than most.

She was once brilliant at her job. Barry often told her she was the best ADA he ever met and the day she had walked from her former life, the world lost a champion for the victim’s rights.

“Are you sure about this?” he quietly asked her, and she nodded, but her attention was not entirely on him.

“Sir? There is some Looney in Detective Parson’s office. She claims she ‘witnessed’ the Boy Brunswick murder in a vision,” Officer Roberts informed Senior Detective Steve Holloway in a room on the other side of the office, but she followed the conversation inside her head.

Lynn could not fault him for it. Most so-called “psychics” were a croc, and she despised them, but her scorn for the grifters and scam artists did not distract her from her current situation.

Usually, her sixth sense was not as hyperactive, allowing her to tune it down to her immediate vicinity, but the state of her nerves would not allow such comfort.

The furrow between his brows deepened, and Steve nodded at the officer in dismissal. His face darkened, and that familiar expression proved her suspicions.

He hated psychics, mediums, fake tipsters, and anyone else who wasted the police force’s valuable time—a trait she remembered from former experience working with him in what felt like another life. It was also the chief reason for her dread.

She knew that he would not even entertain the notion of psychics if their department did not need to follow every lead, no matter how flimsy or ridiculous, in this specific case.

Barry usually dealt with these matters or delegated them to another detective. Still, Steve would understand that his best detective would not call him in on such a matter without something worthwhile to warrant his attention.

She watched him make his way to the interrogation room, a vague headache settling in her temples.

Irritation, impatience, and displeasure marked his tread—a clear warning to those with sense to steer clear, and her expression alerted Barry.

The big man lumbered to his feet, bracing his legs and folding his arms across his breast in a defensive posture.

In any other, she would view it as a sure sign his boss intimidated him, but, although Barry respected Steve, he would defy his superior in her defense.

“No, Barry. I can take care of myself,” she warned a moment before the door swung open.

Sierra-Lynn Mills Parker, former ADA, was the last person Steve Holloway expected in his interrogation room. He had never seen her with her hair in its natural chocolate brown, finding it both attractive and disconcerting. He frowned.

Even as a child, Angela dyed Sierra-Lynn’s hair platinum blonde like her own, and it bothered him even then. When Sierra-Lynn kept doing it even as an adult, he assumed she preferred it that way.

The change in color altered her face’s angles and planes, contrasting more sharply with her stormy gray-blue eyes.

She had been his best friend since they were children. Sierra-Lynn had even married his other best friend and first detective partner, Tommy Parker.

He met Tommy in seventh grade during a playground brawl, and they clicked. After graduation, both studied criminal law but joined the police force instead of becoming lawyers.

Although six months younger than Steve, Lynn finished both school and university three years ahead of them. She was not just brilliant; her roots and her past drove her mercilessly.

Despite getting straight A’s throughout his school years, he had enjoyed having friends his age, going to parties, and savoring the experiences of life–while she barely ever took a moment to breathe. After taking the scholastically gifted girl under her wing, his mother’s subtle pressure on Lynn didn’t help.

The fleeting expression on his achingly familiar face, after his initial surprise, betrayed both pain and pleasure. He glanced at Barry, revealing his belief that they had been playing a prank on him, and his noticeable relief at not having to deal with “some crazy” almost made her want to laugh it off and play along.

“You were kidding? Barry, you dog!” Steve smirked, approaching her with outstretched arms.

Lynn feared the effect of his touch on her gift in her current state, but he was her friend—something that might change when he learned the truth, and, selfishly, she wanted this moment to last a little longer.

Steve hugged her close with the warmth of friendship, and, ignoring the fleeting images filling her mind, Lynn hugged him back. She took in his familiar scent and the subtle tones of his cologne.

She had missed him so much. These days, she rarely touched people, and hugging had become something alien to her nature. She missed it, but contact intensified her gift.

Steve let go, leaving her emotionally drained. She recalled some of his very vocal opinions on psychics from the cases they worked for the DA, but never learned the reason for his intense dislike. His presence made her choice more complicated than she imagined.

Why did fate not choose some other Senior Detective? Instinct had led her to Barry. Her subconscious guiding her to the one person who would understand, help and believe. Yet it also led her to the one person she avoided for so long because he would not understand, support, or believe her.

“You could have just told me you’re in town and left out the shit about a psychic!” Steve enthused.

Lynn just stared at him, and his smile faltered, as she considered him with unreadable thoughts. This ill-kept woman with her mussed brown hair, ugly yellow jacket that had seen better days, mismatched socks, tacky trainers, the sickly pallor of her skin, and bruised gray-blue eyes was not the woman who dressed for success with never a hair out of place.

He recognized the shadowed edge of pain, but the stranger before him left him disconcerted.

“There must be some misunderstanding. Officer Roberts said something about a ‘Looney’ with a ‘psychic story’ about the Boy Brunswick murder. We get that shit every day, but if you observed something, learned something, or heard anything… it might change the game.”