Crossroads Revisited Read Online Free PDF Page B

you attribute it to?”
    “Pardon, sir?”
    “It’s a simple question. Do you believe
the students walked into the Patuxent like the police claim or do you think
nefarious undertakings are underfoot?”
    He hesitated and wondered which answer
the man wanted. Deciding to go with his gut feeling he said, “I don’t believe
it’s possible that five men, about the same age, would die under the same
circumstances in the same city without some assistance.”
    An interminable amount of time passed
before McBride spoke. “In other words, you believe, as do others, a serial
killer stalks the streets of Baltimore?”
    “Yes, sir, I think it’s more than
likely.”
    “Very well, Mr. Brennan, our little
tête-à-tête is over. Remember what I said about participating in class from
this day forward.”
    “You can count on it, sir.”
    With that, Rand scrambled from the desk
and rushed out the door of the classroom, too horny at the moment to think
about anything but jacking off in the restroom.
     

 
     
     
    Chapter Four
     
     
     
    Frank picked up his briefcase, closed
the door to his office, and stopped at his assistant’s desk. “I’m leaving for
the day, Grace. I have several stops before I meet Hayworth at my home.”
    “You have an appointment at eight bells
in the morning, Mr. and Mrs. Dondelinger.”
    “The name rings familiar. Who are they
again?”
    “Husband and wife from New Jersey. Their
eighteen-year-old daughter disappeared two months ago.”
    He chewed on his lower lip. “Oh, yes,
after prom.”
    Grace nodded. “You spoke to them on the
phone a week ago and promised to sniff a piece of her clothing, see if you can
channel a location where they might find her.”
    “Very funny, Grace. Must you use the
word sniff ?”
    “What’s wrong with that? I think in
another life you were a wolfhound or perhaps a tracker.”
    “See you at eight,” he said with a shake
of his head.
    He didn’t really have several stops to
make, but he wanted to get home, dim the lights, and channel his Inner Spirit.
With any luck, something would cut through the dissimulated messages. He’d have
to meditate before Hayworth arrived, and of course, Rand would be home at
seven.
    He parked the Denali in his usual underground
parking spot, locked it and, too tired to tackle the stairs, took the elevator
to the main level. After dropping his briefcase on the kitchen table, he lit
the candles in the great room, left the lights off, and settled into the La-Z-Boy.
Without an object in his hand, he’d have to delve deep into meditation, place
himself in a subconscious state, and hope something—anything—would materialize.
    Five minutes into a series of deep belly
breaths, his sixth chakra opened—the Inner Eye. He willed his muscles to relax
and closed his eyes, studying the shield that always appeared. The screen
wasn’t important, but rather the images that, with any luck, would appear. A
kaleidoscope of colors writhed before him—white, red, and yellow—similar to the longitudinal
stripes on garter snakes. He focused on the twisting ribbons
without attempting to interpret them right now. That step came later when his
consciousness shifted, and hopefully he’d slip into a dreamlike state. Only
during that stage would his mind be malleable enough to connect with his Inner
Spirit, the channel pitching him into a higher level of awareness.
    Scenes flashed through his head, a
montage of vague distortions. Snapshots of the victims rushed forth, hazier
than the water they floated in. Their arms akimbo, their legs flaccid, there
could be no doubt they were dead.
    Frank placed his fingers to his cheeks
to ease the sudden pain to his sinuses. He struggled to breathe, and in the
next instant developed a full-blown nosebleed. Warm and sticky, the blood
trickled into his mouth and stained his shirt.
    “Jesus,” he said, jumping up from the
chair. He swore again with the realization the