Hits & Mrs. Read online

  Hits & Mrs.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © Karen Stollznow 2016

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover art by Matthew Baxter

  Dedication

  For Blade.

  Contents

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  About The Author

  Epigraph

  “The manipulator knows that his mark will be inclined to try to make sense out of whatever he is told, no matter how farfetched or improbable. He knows, too, that people are generally self-centered, that we tend to have unrealistic views of ourselves, and that we will generally accept claims about ourselves that reflect not how we are or even how we really think we are but how we wish we were or think we should be. He also knows that for every several claims he makes about you that you reject as being inaccurate, he will make one that meets with your approval; and he knows that you are likely to remember the hits he makes and forget the misses.”

  The Skeptic’s Dictionary

  Chapter 1

  “Your husband is here with us now,” announced Gil Godsend in his deep, smooth voice. He opened his piercing blue eyes slowly and gazed across the table at his client. The curtains were drawn and the room was dark, but through the soft yellow light of the flickering candle he noticed tears welling up in the widow’s sad brown eyes. He also noticed that from this angle he had a view of her firm cleavage peeking through the plunging neckline of her silken wrap dress.

  “Mrs. Thompson, I validate my psychic readings for my clients by sharing information I couldn’t possibly know if I wasn’t in communication with their deceased loved ones,” he said. He stared off into the distance as he tried to see across worlds. “I’m getting the name Al, Alan, or Alex…”

  Kate Thompson’s heart rate sped up at the mention of her husband’s name.

  “His name was Alex,” she confirmed.

  “That’s right. Short for Alexander.”

  “Yes. But I only ever called him by his full name when we were having sex,” she blurted out before she could stop herself. “He liked that,” she explained as a hot blush crept up her neck. Gil looked at her kindly, as if to say that this was a safe place and there was no need for embarrassment.

  “Alex tells me he’s pleased to see you’re wearing the diamond earrings he gave you for your third wedding anniversary,” he said. In shock, Kate’s hands rose instinctively to touch the chandelier earrings that glimmered as they dangled from her ears. “He was also honored when you wore them to his funeral.”

  She gasped. “How do you know all of these things?”

  Gil grinned. “Aren’t you here to see the world’s best psychic medium?” he bragged with a charm that would have reeked of arrogance from anyone else. “I can hear and see your husband, Mrs. Thompson. He’s here in the room with us,” he said, waving his hand through the air. “We psychics don’t use crystal balls anymore.”

  Gil didn’t use tarot cards, pendulums, or other psychic paraphernalia.

  “Props are unnecessary bullshit. Real psychics don’t need gimmicks,” he liked to say. His house was filled with antiques and objets d’art rather than wind chimes, Himalayan salt lamps, and other new age knickknacks, with the exception of an enormous amethyst cluster. The magnificent natural crystal was proudly on display in the reading room where he received his clients. During a spiritual trip to Sri Lanka a Buddhist monk gave it to Gil as a gift and he cherished it. A jagged mass of vibrant violet crystals, it had an imposing phallic-shaped point thrusting out from the middle of the cluster. Gil found that his female clients always commented on his bulging purple crystal, and he saw Kate eyeing it at that moment. She looked a little embarrassed that she had been caught.

  “I’m wearing one of your amethyst pendants,” she said, directing his attention to the lilac-colored stone around her neck. The necklace was an item from Gil’s popular line of Celestial Jewelry. He hadn’t failed to see the pendant resting on her chest, rising and falling slowly as she breathed in and out.

  “I see that,” he nodded approvingly. “Did you know that amethyst is a variety of purple quartz that was once believed to be as precious as diamonds? That is, until large deposits were discovered in Brazil. The word amethyst comes from the Greek word amethystos that meant, “not intoxicated”. In Ancient Greece, the gemstone was worn as an amulet to protect its wearer from drunkenness and people drank wine from amethyst cups in the belief that this would prevent intoxication. Today, amethyst is believed to be a healing crystal that can cure addiction. Placing it under your pillow at night is said to ward off insomnia and induce prophetic dreams.” He fixed his eyes on her. “Amethyst is a 7 on the mohs scale of mineral hardness,” he added.

  How did Gil know all of this weird stuff? Kate wondered if he’d memorized this information from Wikipedia.

  “No. I didn’t know that,” she said with a confused blink. “That’s… very interesting.”

  “Let’s get on with the reading,” Gil said, as though she was the one who had interrupted the session. “Alex shows me that he passed about three years ago.”

  Kate nodded.

  “He was just a young man when he died. I feel that he was in his early thirties.”

  “That’s right. He was only 33-years-old.”

  Gil frowned and began massaging his forehead.

  “I’m starting to get a headache.” He squinted, closed his eyes and turned his head away. “My vision is blurred and my eyes are sensitive to light.” His hands dropped to his stomach. “I’m not feeling so good.” He took a few deep, calming breaths until the episode passed. Then he opened his eyes and looked straight at her. “Mrs. Thompson, I’m sensing that your husband died of a stroke or maybe an aneurysm?”

  “Yes,” Kate replied as she shut her eyes tightly in pain. “He died of a ruptured cerebral aneurysm.” She couldn’t hold back her grief any longer. Tears began streaming down her face as she recalled the day that changed her life. “It was sudden and I raced to see him as soon
as I found out he was in the hospital…but it was too late. I…I never had the chance to say goodbye to him.”

  “But you did,” Gil assured her. “Alex heard you say goodbye before he crossed over. He also felt your final kiss on his lips.”

  Kate remembered the last kiss she planted on Alex’s cold, blue-tinged lips as she held his cool, clammy hands. She began sobbing uncontrollably.

  Gil nudged a box of tissues across the table towards her and gave her this time to grieve. In his clients’ eyes, Gil was a psychic medium who communicated with the dead, but he was also a spiritual counselor who offered comfort and peace of mind to the living. They saw him as a confidant and friend, albeit one who charges $1,000 an hour. Gil’s psychic reading room became a confessional for sins, secrets, and skeletons in the closet. He had heard more personal stories and gossip than any psychologist, priest, or hairdresser. Crimes and affairs were common confessions, while one client even revealed she was an accomplice to a murder. She’d convinced her young lover to kill her husband for his insurance money so the two could run off to Fiji together.

  Gil’s clients feel like they can tell him anything, because he already knows.

  With a final sniff, Kate collected herself and Gil continued.

  “Alex wants you to know that he’s okay now. There’s no more pain. He doesn’t want you to worry about him but he worries about you, being all alone by yourself in that big old house.” Gil paused and then chuckled. “He’s getting bossy! He has many chores for you to do around the home. You’re to get the furnace and chimney inspected professionally. He wants you to test the smoke detectors and clean the leaves out of the gutters this fall. He also warns you of a possible problem with one of the toilets.”

  What she once saw as her husband’s incessant nagging now cheered Kate up considerably. She’d happily put up with his whining now if it meant he was still alive.

  “He thinks the garden needs some attention too, especially the plum trees he planted.”

  She pictured all of the fallen, rotting plums scattered across her backyard and resolved to rake them up as soon as she got home. Presented with all of these specific details about his personality, there was no doubt in Kate’s mind that Gil was in contact with her dead husband.

  “You’re talking with Alex alright!” she said. “He was always such a practical man.”

  “Yes, he was practical,” agreed Gil, “but he had his romantic side too. He’s telling me right now that he likes the way you’re wearing your hair today. He says this is the style you used to wear when the two of you went to a party.”

  Kate raised a hand to her upswept hair and wistfully ran a finger through one of her honey brown-colored ringlets, the way he used to do. The appointment with her hair stylist that morning had been worth the money. She wanted to look good for her husband, wherever he was.

  “Mrs. Thompson,” said Gil, “I hope I’m not overstepping any boundaries by saying this, but I agree with him.”

  She smiled shyly as that annoying blush crept up her neck again.

  “Please, call me Kate.”

  She was still in mourning for her husband, but she was uncomfortably aware of the handsome man in the stylish navy blue suit sitting across from her.

  Gil didn’t have the appearance of a stereotypical psychic. There weren’t any turbans, tie-dyed t-shirts, or capes in his closet. He wore suits, but he hated baggy, boxy, ill-fitting off-the-rack ones. Gil preferred the sartorial splendor of bespoke suits custom-made by tailors on London’s Savile Row. He dressed more like a stockbroker or a fashion model than a mystic. He didn’t carry an evil eye, wear chunky crystal rings on his fingers, or dangle a cheesy pentagram pendant around his neck, but he wore a limited edition platinum oyster perpetual Rolex watch on his left wrist. He didn’t grow his hair long or sport a Merlin the wizard-like beard; his thick, chestnut brown hair was styled perfectly and he treated himself to a straight razor shave twice a week. Gil didn’t smell of patchouli incense and sage smudge sticks like the psychics at the metaphysical fair. As he walked by he left a trail of expensive cologne lingering in the air.

  “You know, I often think I’m smelling his cologne.” Kate murmured as she inhaled the air deeply. “I swear, I can smell you right now Alex!” she called out to him.

  “He enjoys it when you’re alone and you talk to him,” Gil said.

  “Sometimes I think he talks back to me. I hear him whispering my name.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. What’s wrong with me? I think I’m going crazy!”

  “You’re not crazy,” Gil insisted. “This is your intuition alerting you to the presence of your husband’s spirit. Whenever you smell his scent, whenever you hear his voice, whenever you see him out of the corner of your eye, and all of those nights when you cry and think you can feel his touch on your skin…he is there with you.”

  Kate stared into the mesmerizing glow of the candle flame. She thought about how lonely she felt every day as she wandered around the cold, empty house and jumped at shadows. There were constant reminders of him everywhere, his clothes, photographs of the two of them, and her memories. Most nights she dreamed he was still alive only to wake up with a start in a pool of sweat and remember that he was gone. She didn’t know how much more she could take. Sometimes she wished she were gone too.

  “I miss him so much. I don’t think I’ll ever be happy again until I’m reunited with him,” she thought to herself but realized she’d said it out loud.

  “He misses you too.”

  “Tell him I miss him every day!” she cried. “Tell him I’ve been faithful to him since he died! Tell him I ache for his touch! Tell him I need him!”

  “He hears you, Kate,” said Gil sympathetically. “He sees your pain. He wishes there was some way he could be here to comfort you.” Gil fell silent. His expression went blank and he stared past her into nothingness. “No. I can’t do that!” he yelled suddenly, seemingly talking to someone invisible. He shook his head. “No… I will NOT do that!” He locked eyes with Kate and said sternly, “I’m sorry, but we must end this session immediately.”

  She wasn’t ready to be torn from her husband yet.

  “Why?” she asked in a panic. “What’s going on?”

  “Your husband…he is a very persistent and passionate man, but what he’s asked me to do goes beyond my job description,” he said sternly.

  “W-what’s he saying to you?” she stammered. “Please tell me!”

  Gil exhaled deeply.

  “Your husband wants to use my body to be able to touch you again. But I simply can’t put you in that…position,” he said as he reached over and touched her hand gently.

  Kate’s eyes widened. “Really? You can do that?”

  “Yes, I can,” he replied. “I’m not only a psychic medium but I’m also a trance channeler. Channelers manifest spirits of the dead, but most can only allow spirit beings to speak through them. Spirits can not only speak through me, but also have full control over my body for short periods of time.”

  Then that meant...she could be with him one last time…

  “Please, bring my husband back to me,” she asked with a steely look in her eyes.

  “No,” he replied. “I won’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t like to channel spirits because I can’t control what happens when they take over my body,” he explained. “I develop what’s known as “psychic amnesia” and I won’t have any memory of what takes place,” he said with a frown. The idea of privacy appealed to the shy woman even more.

  “Please,” she pleaded as her body shook. “I need this…”

  “It’s a kind of possession. It could even be dangerous for you,” Gil warned her.

  “I can trust my husband!”

  “I’m sorry but I just can’t do it,” he said firmly. “It’s unethical.”

  “But I’m desperate!” she begged him with tears in her eyes.

  “…I don’t normally perform this service�
��”

  “I’ll pay more!”

  Gil paused.

  “I see how much this means to you…” He looked down at the floor. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Kate gushed in relief.

  “I hope you don’t regret this.”

  “I promise I won’t!” she vowed. “How do we do this?”

  Gil leaned in towards her and covered her hands with his.

  “Here’s how it works. I will create a psychic protection field to shield us from negative energy during the channeling. Then I’ll grant permission to your husband’s spirit and he will be able to use my body as a vessel. This means that he’ll be able to see you, talk to you, and touch you through my body, just as if he were living. This is only a temporary state that usually lasts about an hour, and then he will have to cross over again. When he departs my body I’ll be left feeling drained and depleted and will probably require a short nap. This time with him will be your own because I won’t have any recollection of what transpired. Now…are you ready?”

  “Yes…” she whispered nervously.

  “Imagine a bright white light in front of you,” Gil instructed. “Focus your mind on it. Imagine the light surrounding your whole body like a bubble. Now say to yourself, this light will protect me against psychic attacks and banish all negative energy. I am blessed with love and light. I am ready.”

  Kate mouthed the words to herself.

  Gil closed his eyes and began breathing slowly and deeply. His rhythmic breaths made the candle flicker every time he breathed out until one powerful exhale blew out the flame. There was complete darkness and silence. Kate could only smell the smoke rising from the freshly snuffed candle. She sat there in the pitch-dark room for what seemed like minutes, her body trembling with excitement and terror at the same time. She had no idea what to expect.

  She felt a gentle caress on her hand and she jumped. The hand moved teasingly up her arm to her shoulder. Then she felt her hair being softly stroked and a finger ran through one of her ringlets, the way he used to do. Two strong hands cupped her face.