Chronicles of Han: Preserving Creata: Part 1: Learning Curve

We were pulling into Luke’s parking area when the comm crackled.

“Vehicle 23, homicide at 1504 Mountain Drive. Tucker, uniforms already on scene but we need extra hands to secure ASAP. Please respond.”

“Vehicle 23 responding. ETA 15 minutes.”

We had been called out to a murder crime-scene to help control and cordon off the area.

It was at a huge mansion in one of the better suburbs of the city and, of course, the driveway was crowded. Parking our vehicle in the street like an unwanted relation, we were directed to the house by another uniformed officer.

A detective escorted us up the stairs to help maintain a clean crime-scene. It was not unusual for Sergeants and their rookies to be called on to help out by Homicide. The detective told me to monitor the entry to the room for unauthorized personnel. Only the coroner and photographer were to be admitted. Tucker went inside the room to monitor the crime-scene.

A Homicide Detective was already on the scene. It was considered an initiation when a rookie is allowed to see his first murder victim and the good-looking, dark-skinned detective invited me in for a peek.

I shuddered as I walked into the room. There was a body of a woman on the double bed, tied up, spread-eagled. Her throat, wrists and ankles were severed and there was blood all over the place.

My physical senses took in the gruesome picture, but my spiritual senses were drawn beyond the bed.

A stunning young woman was looking at me. She was the spitting image of the body on the bed. She opened her arms towards the body on the bed, begging me soundlessly to help her get peace.

I jumped as the detective touched my elbow and I became aware that he and Tucker were staring at me.

“Sorry to have startled you. Are you okay?” the detective asked. He was looking at me in a disconcerting way.

As I glanced over at Tucker, I started putting things together. This was the person he had had an argument with this morning.

“We are here by request, aren’t we?” I asked Tucker.

“Yes,” Tucker replied. “This was one of the Politician’s daughters. I know the potential of you skills. Please try to help.”

The dark-skinned detective offered his hand and introduced himself.

“Hi, I’m Lieutenant Racewater. I’ve had some exposure to people like you. I’m not sure how you work, but if you can do what Tucker says . . . Please. Do you think you can help?”

“I’m not sure,” I replied, releasing his firm handshake, an idea forming in my mind.

“I mostly see things. Sometimes before they happen, sometimes during, sometimes after. But not like this. This is outside of my limited experience,” I answered him.

A black cat, covered in blood, was presented before my inner eye.

“You saw something when we came in,” Tucker prodded, seemingly having a natural instinct for these psychic things.

“You were staring at the other side of the bed and looked as if you had seen a ghost. Care to share?” he continued.

“What’s the victim’s name?” I asked, buying myself some time to get over the worst of my shock.

“Cheryl Papinidis,” Racewater replied.

“She’s still standing there in the corner,” I told them. I perceived her as alive as Tucker and Racewater.

It was extremely disconcerting for me.

“You mean her ghost?” both Tucker and Racewater enquired at the same time and stared at the corner too. They were not comfortable with the information.

“Yes.”

“Is she talking or communicating to you in any way?” Racewater wanted to know.

“Not really. I wish to touch her blood, if it’s allowed.” I continued on to avoid further discussion of the stunning deceased woman. “I do not know what will happen. I only know that I need to touch what represents her life essence.”

“Yes, okay” replied Racewater.

Turning to Tucker he said “Close the door and stand guard, I’ll handle Storm”.

After Tucker had secured the door, he turned back to me and nodded, “When you’re ready.”

The Psych teacher, Zane, always insisted that the left hand was for receiving and the right for giving, so I carefully dipped the fingertips of my left hand into the blood on the floor . . .

It felt as if I was thrown back in ‘time’ to this place, approximately ten minutes or so before the actual deed happened.

I opened the front door with a key, but my hands were manicured with red-pink nails, the same as Cheryl was wearing.

Something, or somebody told me I was NOT her, that I was simply experiencing what she had experienced.

This someone was screaming at me to get out of her body and be a third party.

I did not know how to separate from Cheryl.

For now, I was Cheryl, stuck in her body.

I saw my reflection in the mirror – Cheryl was looking back at me. She fixed her hair and she/I went through to the bedroom.

I felt elated and aroused at the sight of the naked young man on the bed, experiencing them coming together in an animal way, totally absorbed in their passion.

And still I knew I was being prompted by someone, or something, to get out of the shared body memory and become an observer only.

Being stuck gave me all the emotional and sensory experiences of the victim.

I felt surprise when my throat was slit. It was quick, almost painless, wet and hot.

I followed as Cheryl’s spirit slipped out of her body to observe the mutilation. I was angry at the man and I silently cursed him. A name filled my mind – and then - nothing!

Someone was tugging at my left hand.

I heard voices.

The sound was distorted, as if it was coming through a tunnel.

The gruff voice of Tucker broke through the tunnel.

“He’s coming to”.

It was a struggle to reclaim myself and orientate where I was.

I opened my eyes.

I was sitting in a bathroom.

The photographer was busy in the bedroom . . .

Tucker and Racewater squatting next to me.

Tucker was cleaning my left hand . . .

a paramedic bending over me.

I finally focused.

“You had us all in a bit of a panic,” the paramedic told me. “You fainted in the room, smearing your hand with the poor girl’s blood. I gave you a calming agent for the shock. I’ve never seen anyone take it so bad. Women faint, but men usually vomit.”

I thought it a great idea, pushing Tucker out of the way to get to the toilet, depositing my meagre breakfast in it.

As the paramedic prepared to leave, Racewater asked Tucker to take me home while he wrapped up.

I was just too glad to leave the crime-scene, nodding to the girl’s spirit as we passed the bed, thankful that she indicated that she would stay near her body.

We did not speak until we were inside our vehicle.

Starting the vehicle, Tucker remarked, “You gave us quite a scare. You touched that blood and went down in a heap. You were out cold and nothing we did would wake you up.

Luckily, the paramedics arrived quickly and gave you an injection. Then they stuck some strong smelling stuff under your nose. It is unusual for someone to overreact like that. What happened?”

I tried to explain as best I could, stating what I had ‘seen’ rather than what I had experienced myself, skipping the sex and sticking to the ‘facts’.

I also tried to explain that this was my first vision through a deceased person and a learning curve for all of us. Next time I would be prepared as to what to expect and should be able to handle the situation better.

“I also need a sketch-artist. I saw the guy’s face and have a name to go with it”.

Tucker was stunned. “So your visions can give us clues. That’s great news!”

We drove back to the Precinct where I gave an accurate description to the sketch-artist of the man that had killed the woman.

At the end of the session I was battling to keep my eyes open. Tucker noticed and unobtrusively ushered me to our squad vehicle and drove me home.

We kept our thoughts to ourselves until we reached my building. I, for one, was too tired to think, yet sleep did not come in the vehicle.

“I’m worried about you, Han. Your body obviously took a huge amount of stress. Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes, I think so,” I replied. “What’s going to happen now that the Lieutenant has confirmation that I am psychic?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ll bet you’ll be having a new partner within a day or so. You’ve done your duty on this case, Han. Whatever else needs to be done, I feel sure, are for others to do. Go rest now. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.”

For once, the lift worked and I did not have to climb up the stairs.

I made sure my door was locked behind me.

On my way to the kitchen I glanced in the passage mirror. My handsome looks were blunted by a deathly pale skin. My eyes were made even larger than usual by the dark circles under them. Combined with my dark hair, I really could pass for a corpse.

I quickly walked to the kitchen and poured myself some juice, then went out onto the patio to soak up the morning sun.

Reflecting upon all that had happened, I wished I had paid more attention to Professor Zane, the Psych teacher to which one of my foster families had sent me for some lessons early on in my life.

That was during the time my strange dreams began.

Even then, I had to figure out what day it was and what life I occupied every time I woke up in this body. All of it was pretty confusing for a young child without a regular support system. It is still very confusing for a young adult.

And now the New Haven Security Forces knew about my abilities. Now I’ll get no rest whatsoever. They will use and abuse me until I end up in a place similar to the one Tucker showed me this morning.

I shrugged.

It was only a matter of time anyway. I was too tired to care and went to bed . . .