The Final Catch: Book 1: See Jane Charm (A Tarot Sorceress Series) Read online

  When I got to my car the locks popped up without me even using the key, and the car started on its own, too. I got in and locked the doors, but I was so unnerved I forgot my grocery bags in the cart. When I finally got up the courage to take a good look at the weirdo who followed me, I thought I’d made a mistake, he looked pretty good! Probably not someone Manuel would send to off me. He didn’t have the same kind of dark, dramatic presence as the first stalker, but he had a kind of movie star grunge that was appealing.

  Still, he hid in the shopping parking lot down between cars and had scared the crap outta me. When I’m scared I get angry and when I’m angry I shout! I lowered the window a crack. “Tell Manuel his scare tactics aren’t going to work and if he doesn’t stop he’ll need to watch his back!” I yelled from the safety of the interior of my car, and hit my window for effect. My ice cream began to melt and drip from the bag to the tarmac.

  “Sure, Janey. I’ll tell Manuel that. Anything else?” he said, his voice was deep and gravelly sounding, like he needed to clear the crap off his larynx. Still the sound of him relaxed me! I found myself wanting to hear more from him, but another part of me knew talking to this guy was my first mistake.

  My second was to allow him to help load my groceries into the car, that’s when I noticed the tattoos running up his neck. The symbols looked Asian. When he reached for a bag of groceries I noticed a strange star on the back of his hand, in the webbing between thumb and finger.

  I offered him five bucks once the last bag went in; he laughed at my offer. “Keep your money. But can I have one of those brown paper bags?” He asked politely. It meant I had to take the groceries out and distribute them to the other bags, but, hey, what the heck. I stared long and hard at the bags, imagining how to reorganize them into the other bags, trying to figure out some kind of equation. The sneeze began to creep up on me, the lip chew, the nasal heave, and suddenly the heavier items, the jug of milk, that ten pound bag of potatoes, the giant box of kitty litter began to vibrate inside the bags, and when I thought the stranger wasn’t looking, I imagined milk plus potatoes equals kitty litter and boom they all hopped from where they sat and redistributed themselves into the other bags, leaving one bag empty. The street man, he licked his lips like a hungry dog, and I noticed something odd about his teeth. They looked slightly pointed.

  “There,” I said, handing him the empty brown paper bag. And so the deal was sealed. He took the bag from me and disappeared into the hedge around the parking lot.

  I was pretty naive. When I got home I tried to make those groceries move. Eventually, I had to carry them into the house one by one and throw out the melted ice-cream. It seemed I had to be worried or scared to make anything happen. I had a date that night and I loved to get ready for my dates, a pedi and mani, find a piece of jewelry to catch the light, and maybe even find the latest erotic movie just in case. So, I threw the groceries into the fridge and the cupboard. I knew I had to get to the triple X before it closed for the afternoon to rent my date movie. I always like to have a special DVD ready to set the atmosphere, in case the evening went in a sexy direction. When a ripped, pumped up guy exposes his swollen triceps, and does a little flex, and makes me melt like hard candy on a hot tongue, I’m his.

  That’s how I ended up at this ATM machine and my preoccupation with getting money blinded me to the street guy that I kept seeing everywhere. The ne’er-do-well from the grocery store; the one I decided looked a lot like a pirate; with the right eye that winked a bit, and he always looked like he needed a shave. The thought of those teeth nipping my flesh—Mmm--

  What was the matter with me?

  I was too busy swearing and slamming my palm against the mechanical monster, to notice him at first. Finally, I sensed someone behind me, and I automatically adjusted my body to block a sneak peek at what I was doing. But I should have paid more attention. Maybe there was a chance to save myself from my eventual predicament.

  Anyway, the effing ATM refused to give me any cash. I hate it when a machine tells me there's no money, and I know for a fact there is! “They cooperate if you talk nicely to them, but I’d lost any patience, especially when, once again, the screen flashed zero balances.

  That really pissed me off.

  *

  I carry a pair of mini needle nosed pliers around my neck, on a chain, like a necklace, and this damn teller machine wanted to take my card, but I’ve got a way of pushing my card partly into the machine's slot and hanging on to the wafer thin thing with the pliers. I didn’t realize it at the time, but you’ve got to be the slightest bit magical to make this trick work.

  While I was in a vulnerable position bent over the ATM, someone ran his hand over the curve of my butt; his hot breath tickled my shoulder. I wanted to turn and smack him, instead I yelled, “I'm not done!” Again, it started to swallow my card, but I grabbed hard with my needle nose and pulled like a succubus stealing a last breath. I did it. I beat the machine. But I didn’t get any money. I was ready to whack the head off of who ever had touched me, but when I turned around all I saw was a long, dark shadow slip around the corner of an office building. That really made me nervous.

  I quickly headed home, defeated. I contemplated my failure with the ATM. Normally, I was the money-machine whisperer, but not today. I went through the steps in my head. Different ATM’s require different approaches. Usually I could get the machine activated, hang on to my card with the pliers, and then coax out some cash. Time and patience had shown me how to achieve success by stroking and whispering out money. Patience is a rare quality for me even at the best of times. I hadn’t yet perfected my money borrowing ability, but it was getting there.

  As I drove home I rolled passed a street person. At least that's what I thought he was, with his hood up and his hand out. I paid him little attention, but I guess I should have, because it was him, the guy from the turkey aisle.

  I was being followed.

  I rolled on down into the underground parking and only then did I remember that I didn’t have any crunchies at home for Sia. I was afraid to go into my place without food for her. I’d have to pick up some cat food, and I had no money.

  Chapter 3

  The Devil Crosses Her

  I'm begging this corner all night waiting for Jane, the light of my life.

  Made some cash,

  Stole some cash,

  Spent some cash,

  Froze my ass.

  You won't be sorry I got you some coffee money.

  Here I come, Jane.

  --The Knowitall Journals--

  I dug through all the pockets of my clothing and down between the couch cushions for coins and scratched enough cash together to get Sia her favorite food, at least she hadn’t disappeared and killed anything, in the meantime. She was happy. Soon as I got more money I’d buy her that new collar. I cancelled last night's date because I couldn’t get any money which meant I couldn’t afford the most fun part of the evening – getting ready for the date. Anyway, here I am struggling with another effing ATM. I nearly got arrested for kicking the crap outta one of these things the other day.

  Not having a teaching job through the summer really sucked! Last night I set my alarm for five a.m. and intended to drive out to the most god forsaken ATM available and try again to get cash, but this morning I was too tired to go any further than a block from home.

  When I got there a few zombie like night folk were hanging around on the corner, even though the sun crept up on them. One of them spied me and I saw him coming my way, no doubt to make his pitch for cash. "Back off you effing freakoid!" I yelled.

  The freakin’ street person pointed a finger at himself, questioning me; do I mean him? He pulled at his hoodie and brushed at the rips here and there. Yeah, I mean him, “I mean you!” I tried to hide the ATM screen because I sensed Mr. Street-creep looking over my shoulder. "I'm not done." It never occurred to me that he might be the “toucher” from the other day.

  I slammed away at the buttons. "Ef
f, eff, eff off!”

  "Looks to me like you're done. All zeros," he said in a very familiar deep and gravelly voice.

  “The only zero here is you, creeper," I said.

  Undaunted, the creeper, said, "Need some money honey?"

  I ignored him.

  Jane you’re so hot when you fight with the machanica. Can’t wait to get you where I want you.

  I stopped smashing the buttons because I swear I heard his thoughts in my head as clearly as if he’d spoken them.

  “Where's the effing security when you need it? Where are the police when you need them? Where is anyone when you need him?” I craned my neck for security to get rid of this guy. When I didn’t see any security, I hammered at the machine with my fist.

  "Allow me to the rescue, bitchy lady."

  Wow! The nerve of this guy. I stepped away who knows what he’s packing. He smacked the screen with his palm. "Like that’s gonna work." Then - the machine spit out money -- like the slots at Vegas. My account showed full-- full of cash. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I reached for the money. "Hey, thanks, creepy man." But when I looked around he was gone. The street people gathered round me like hungry zombies and started clapping. I gave them each a twenty.

  By mid-day I wondered if all that money really did come from my accounts, or did that gravelly voiced creepy-man actually rustle up someone else’s account? Maybe he used sleight of hand to impress me and there really wasn’t any money. Or, what if that was his money and he took it from his own account? I know some street folk are little off and do things like give away their stuff. Whichever, I spent it all. I paid bills. I don’t normally do that, at least not as regularly as I should, but I’m sick of the collection agency calling me. I struck a deal with the worst one. I offered to pay him half my owed debt and he agreed. Hopefully, I won’t be hearing from that collector again. I bought things for my next date; wine, h’oderves, new naughties, sheets and lots more, oh, and cat food for Theodosia.

  “Merrrrrroooww.”

  I swore that cry came from the kitchen pantry, but the door to the pantry stood open and when I stuck my head in there all I saw were my shelves of neatly packed pickled items, and my herbs and spices. Nothing appeared amiss.

  “Merrooowww!”

  This time the sound came from the bedroom. I ran there. I had a distinctly uncomfortable feeling in my bra, as if a rather large rodent crept and crawled around inside one of the cups—almost like, I hate to say it—as if a kitten wriggled around in there. I snapped the bra off and tossed it across the room, too terrified to look inside the cups in case an insect of some variety crawled there.

  I went to the closet to look for Sia. No cat! When I looked back to where my bra had landed, I saw it mysteriously sliding across the floor.

  As I watched it closely, my pink lacey bra went from a really slow slide to a quick scurry across the room. I didn’t see any cat legs beneath it, but I figured she had to be in there somewhere.

  “Theodosia, stop!” I ran over to grab a strap, but each time I reached down for it, my fingers passed right through as if a holographic garment lay on the floor. The bra stopped its pink scurry and lay still. With both hands, I went in for the ‘kill’ and grabbed the garment with way too much force and slipped, fell on my butt and tossed the bra to the ceiling. It landed on my head, one strap around my chin!

  That eerie feeling to put things in order and make patterns took hold of me again; the compulsion hit hard. I smoothed the surface of the bed spread. I found one of Sia’s favourite cat toys, a small knitted rainbow ball and placed it on the bed. I got a cup of cat litter and sprinkled it carefully around making a circle.

  I don’t know why I did these things. The vision to do so came into my head, and I felt compelled to carry out this ritual until it looked exactly like my vision.

  I placed my bra on the bed and pulled the straps out from either side. I made minute shifts and adjustments to the objects until it felt right, until I created a kind of picture, or equation of story, the same way I had with Sia’s dead animals. The almost sneeze began to itch at me and I let go with a stifled aachoo. Once again, this small but intense force blasted from me, but the feeling of release began with the thoughtful chewing of the bottom lip. Aaaachoo! I sprayed everywhere.

  Afterward, I put away my bra and returned Sia’s ball to her basket and vacuumed up the kitty litter.

  A short time later, I found my beloved Theodosia, fast asleep deep inside my dirty laundry basket. I felt a wave of relief. I sat a few minutes and watched her dream and twitch; a small ear flicked at something invisible. Her pink heart-shaped nose was too adorable for words. I ran my fingers through Sia’s velvety fur. She went on breathing heavily and twitching her lovely whiskers. I’d noticed a pattern. When Sia slipped out of her collar, she disappeared-- literally. Maybe I would shop for that new collar a little sooner rather than later.

  Chapter 4

  The Tower Crowns Her

  I really don't want a relationship any deeper than a teaspoon with the opposite sex. Theodosia and a few reliable girl-friends are all the entanglement I need. Most of the men I date, I find online and even though they claim to be looking long term, most aren’t.

  Tonight my young date played Ouija with me, drank my wine and didn’t seem to mind that I didn’t serve beer. Not that I don’t like beer. I forgot to buy any, and my bff, Glendie had been over the day before and drank me dry. Anyway, my shy polite date, and I, asked Ouija a few naughty questions, drank some more, smoked a little dope, played strip poker; he lost, and then we hit the sack.

  Then at some point I started dreaming, one of those dreams where you can’t escape from the bad thing that is after you. In my lucid dream, I looked down and saw myself asleep on the disarrayed mattress, clad only in a bit of bed sheet, my skin accentuated by the room's early morning light, golden and warm.

  My earrings glittered against my skin. I bought the earrings from a jewelry artist, who tried to sell me the matching necklace of twisted and braided wire, but that necklace didn’t have enough of the rose quartz crystal I love.

  We looked like a photo shoot for a boho chic fashion magazine. The remnants of last night’s sexual romp were strewn all over the room; my lacey pink bra, his white t-shirt, my skirt, his jeans; the clothing made little wrinkled islands.

  Hot sunlight sliced through the tightly shut blinds; the white hot forks of early morning rays penetrated the room giving a striped shadow effect with narrow dust motes. The pattern of stripes broke when someone outside the window skulked by. I floated away from the bedroom scene and out into the foyer of the condo. I noticed the front door handle moved up and down. OMG! Someone tried to get in. I watched helplessly as I realized I’d left the door unlocked and the intruder entered.

  He came through my door as if he owned the place. He stopped a moment and looked around, sneered, as if my things were pathetic to him. But it was only a dream, I thought, and I took comfort in that. I noticed his hand on the brushed stainless steel interior. I noticed his tattoo, a star.

  He moved quickly through the living room. My Ouija board still out, sat on the coffee table, the planchett pointed to the answer of the last question my date asked of it. I don’t remember the question but the answer: “No,” glared up at me. The intruder took my glass of wine! Oh, I wish I’d wake up; I’d finish that half-glass of Concho del Toro, Cab Sav then – SMASH!

  He knocked the glass over, spilled the wine on my white carpet, and broke my beautiful bubble bowl wine glass. The cabernet bled all over the Ouija. He chuckled, a deep, growling sound.

  He grabbed a piece of wine soaked French cheese and popped it into his. Then he grabbed the cracker and crunched one, then another, and pinched off more cheese! I didn’t understand why I didn’t wake and chase this guy out, but I figured that the superb California gold dope toked before bed relaxed the body for a looong time. This whole intruder-in-my-house scenario probably wasn’t really happening -- all a smoke dream.

  He decid
ed to explore more of the living room and moved from the couch to my desk. He sat there and rummaged through my personal things! “Oooh,” I heard myself moan from my bed; He looked casually over his shoulder at the sound I made from the bedroom behind him, but he quickly turned back to my desk.

  And then I heard his thoughts!

  Oh, Jane, beautiful Jane with your beautiful things, delicious things. What’s this, a little black book?

  He looked inside my book as if it was this month’s best seller. I made my dreaming self float back to my room, and I struggled to awaken, but my limbs were heavy, my eyes sealed shut, and my bed, -- oh, so comfortable; the Egyptian silk sheets impossibly warm, and soft, and snuggly, and the young man sleeping there so perfect and beautiful.

  Then from my front room, I heard -- “Oh, ha, ha…,” in that deep growly voice. He read my little black book and laughed! I floated back to the living room unable to do anything to stop him.

  With his nose buried deep inside my book, he examined the notes I made after a date. He held the book up and read it with such delight, devoured it the way he devoured my wine and cheese and crackers. He held the book as if he sat on the beach in the summer and read a Dan Brown thriller. I designed it myself because I do possess a certain artistic flair.

  The title: My Little Black Book-A-Boo -- It’s so embarrassing when you see the things you do unexpectedly reflected back to yourself. And, omg, I heard his thoughts again…

  …. Oh, you like a little bondage! Tie me down, clown. Do we have a safe word, ha ha, let’s erase that. I clapped my hands over my ears and blocked out his screechy thought-voice.

  His fingers took on a life of their own as they sped through the pages of my book, flipping, scoring, underlining, rewriting, changing names, ruining all my work! I floated to a spot that allowed me to stare over his shoulder. My check marks and stars beside male companion’s names appeared to be in tact but his touches on the little tally marks of my conquests seemed to make them change.