Destiny's Wrath (Destiny Series - Book 3) Straight, Nancy (mobi reader txt) 📖

set up house inside him; that was a choice he’d made. His destiny had to be something else. I was pretty sure I couldn’t go back in time and change things, but I should be able to modify someone’s path; at least, that’s what Renny had told me.

But how? I couldn’t just will a new destiny for someone, could I? I couldn’t simply “wish” the nine people back to life. They were gone forever. I closed my eyes and tried to picture that kid’s face again, tried to imagine the sense of dread from that day all those months ago. That day I had been so overwhelmed by the danger all around me, that I felt nothing but relief when the “host” showed up at the front door. Then it came, my “power-of-sight” tunnel appeared. It looked a lot like the concourse in the Detroit airport, a tunnel with bright lights all around the sides of the tunnel with an invisible end. I visualized Jimmy in my head and stepped into my awaiting tunnel.

I was transported to a jail cell. The kid was wearing an orange jump suit, lying on a cot. His eyes were open, staring at the rack above him. A man was sitting beside him in the cell. Neither spoke for a very long time. It had been so long since I’d used my “power of sight,” I wondered if it was even working, until I heard the man say, “Jimmy, I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”

Jimmy’s bitter answer: “Screw off, Doc. You can’t help me.”

“You have a lot of anger. I can help you with the anger if you’ll just tell me about it.”

Jimmy didn’t respond. He didn’t turn his head to make eye contact. He didn’t fidget. The kid looked almost empty.

The doctor wiped beads of sweat from his forehead, closed his notebook, and looked to be at a loss. “Jimmy, I need for you to talk to me. I need to know why this happened.”

“It happened because I made it happen.”

“So, you’re telling me you just woke up yesterday and decided to kill two of your closest friends, their families, and a couple strangers who were unlucky enough to see you ditch a car?”

“I killed those last two because they were going to jump me, and I didn’t want to be late getting home.” The doctor opened his notebook again and made some notes. He waited for Jimmy to continue. When he didn’t, the doctor prodded Jimmy further, “So the last two in the parking lot were threatening you? Then that was self defense.”

“Yeah, they wouldn’t let me by. I thought they were going to beat the crap out of me.”

The doctor made notes. “What about your friends.”

Jimmy turned toward the wall, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He and the doctor sat in silence for a time. The doctor prodded him several times before giving up and asking the guard to open the door. I followed the doctor out of the cell. The cell where Jimmy lay smelled of disinfectant - almost making me nauseous to be in there with him.

A gruff man was waiting in an office as the doctor opened the door, “Well, Doc, did he waste your time?”

The doctor flipped his notebook open, “He says the first seven murders were intentional; he seems to have acted alone. He claims the last two were self-defense.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Most psychopaths find a way to rationalize their actions: everything is someone else’s fault. From that perspective, his self-defense claims fit the profile. He seemed to have no remorse for the first seven murders. He didn’t brag about them and refused to talk about them at all, other than to say he was responsible. The perplexing issue is, in my experience, killers nearly always convince themselves that it’s the victim’s fault. This kid only sang that song for the last two; he didn’t try to convince me that any of the others had it coming.”

“So, is he sane enough to stand trial?”

“I don’t think he’ll have to stand trial. The kid says he did it to seven. You could ignore the last two, and he still gets the death penalty.”

“So your recommendation is we not charge him for the last two?”

“I’m not a cop. He doesn’t strike me as mentally unstable. He knew what he was doing, and he knew it was wrong. I watched the grainy video; it looks like an unprovoked assault. But is it worth it to roll the dice at trial if he’s willing to plead guilty to seven?”

“You’re right, Doc. Thanks.”

There seemed to be no hope for the kid, and I had seen enough police stations to know I didn’t want to stick around. I decided to return to my body. When I looked up, it was into Max’s eyes. His eyes were a near sea foam-green color with brown specks in them, and I never tired of staring into them. I could feel his hand caressing my arm. He must have known that I’d used my power of sight to look in on Jimmy Jacobs.

When he realized I was back in my body, he casually asked, “Where’d you go?”

“I wanted to see the kid.”

Max nodded, “I was guessing that’s where you were. What’s his defense? A demon made me do it?”

I shook my head, “No, not a word. From what I heard, two of the kids he killed were his friends. Several of the others were their families.”

“He didn’t say why?”

Wishing I had gotten better answers, “No, he was talking to a psychiatrist, and the doctor says he’s not a psychopath. It was sad, even the doctor talked about the death penalty for him.”

“Did the kid say anything, you know . . . about Samael?”

“Not a word.” I took a deep breath. I hated that I felt this way, but Max needed to know, “I wouldn’t do anything differently.”

Max reached over and caressed my cheek. I could look into his eyes for days and