Murder vision, p.1
Murder Vision, page 1
MURDER VISION
MURDER VISION
RAEGAN TELLER
Pondhawk Press LLC
BOOKS BY RAEGAN TELLER
Murder in Madden
The Last Sale
Secrets Never Told
The Fifth Stone
Time to Prey
Murder Clause
Murder Vision
Copyright © 2024 RAEGAN TELLER
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
Pondhawk Press LLC
PO Box 290033
Columbia, SC 29229
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
ISBN 979-8-9880730-2-4
Dedicated to local newspaper reporters everywhere—
the unsung heroes who tirelessly serve our
communities.
“Sometimes, our journey leads us back to where we started, but with new eyes and a wiser heart.”
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Contents
MURDER VISION
Title Page
BOOKS BY RAEGAN TELLER
Copyright
Dedication
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
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
CHAPTER 65
CHAPTER 66
CHAPTER 67
CHAPTER 68
CHAPTER 69
CHAPTER 70
CHAPTER 71
CHAPTER 72
AUTHOR NOTES
Acknowledgments
About The Author
PLEASE…
CHAPTER 1
Death is not something most people think about every day. That is, not unless you’re an oncologist, trauma doctor, or funeral home director. Or a fortune teller.
Cassandra thought about death every day, because she was afraid. Not of dying but of seeing other people dead or dying. As a third-generation seer, she had the “gift,” as her grandmother explained to her. Cassandra’s mother, also a seer, called it a curse.
Today, Cassandra was working with a new client, Mara Sterling, the wife of a prominent financial advisor. As she always did, Cassandra had her client read a disclaimer and sign it. The disclaimer stated that no one, including Cassandra, was totally accurate, and the readings were for reflection, consideration, and primarily for entertainment. Cassandra, the document stated, was not responsible for actions taken by the client as a result of her readings. Despite this disclaimer, no one who worked with Cassandra had any doubt of her ability or her accuracy. And they understood her visions could not be turned off and on. Some days, Cassandra saw nothing and rescheduled the client’s session. Rarely did she go more than a day or two without having visions, even though she asked God every night to make them go away. Before committing suicide, her mother, too, had prayed to be relieved of the curse that eventually drove her mad.
Mara Sterling was a later-in-life new mother. At thirty-one, she had finally conceived the child she had always wanted. Her husband, Grant Sterling, advised upper income families on how to maximize their returns and minimize their taxes. All for a hefty fee, of course.
Cassandra could learn a lot about her clients by how they were dressed, how they sat, how they spoke. “Do you have any questions about the disclosure form?” Cassandra asked.
In response, Mara signed the form and put the clipboard back on the table. “No. I understand the need to protect yourself.” She smiled. “My husband trained me well.” She laid the pen on top of the clipboard. “But you came highly recommended.”
“Can you tell me who referred you?”
Mara shifted in her seat. “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. But you’ve seen her for several years, let’s just say that.” Mara glanced around the room, as though she was looking for something.
Cassandra had many clients she had worked with long-term, and many of them were about Mara’s age. “That’s fine. I was just curious.”
“Is Cassandra your real name, or a stage name, so to speak?”
“Yes, it’s my real name.”
“I remember reading about Cassandra in Greek mythology. It was a terribly difficult course, and the professor was boring,” Mara said, drawing out “boring” and rolling her eyes. “As I recall, the god Apollo was smitten with her and gave her the gift of prophecy in order to win her affections. But when she didn’t reciprocate his feelings, he put a curse on her, so that no one would believe her prophesies, even though they were true. So when Cassandra warned about the fall of Troy, no one believed her. I even had to read Homer's Iliad, but I just read the CliffsNotes.
Of course, Cassandra had heard all of this many times from her grandmother, who had insisted on the name. “I’m surprised you remembered all that. I can barely remember my studies.”
“I have a good memory. Or at least I did when I was using my brain routinely.” Mara shifted again. “I understand this process, I mean your process, works best when you have specific questions to be answered. Is that correct?”
Cassandra smiled. If it was only that simple. “Sometimes that helps. But I’m not a psychic. I am a seer, which means I only see the future. Sometimes it’s specific, sometimes symbolic.”
“And sometimes you see a picture or an image, according to my friend.”
Cassandra shifted in her seat. It was true that sometimes the future of a client played like a movie in her head. Those were the most accurate predictions, but often hard to interpret until after the fact. “Sometimes, yes.” Cassandra held out her hand. “May I take your hands?”
Mara quickly put her hands in Cassandra’s. “Yes, of course, I mean if that’s how it’s done.”
“Sometimes I use cards and sometimes the vision comes from touch. At times, I see things after the client, and if that happens with you, I’ll contact you to come back in so we can discuss it.”
“Of course.” Mara’s hands were soft and her nails perfectly manicured. She wore a pale pink polish that matched her skin and provided a subtle canvas for a large diamond ring.
“What questions do you have about your future?”
Mara shifted in her seat. “Lately, I’ve had this sense of dread. Like something was about to happen to me. Or my baby. I want to know what my future will be like.” She hesitated. “And I want . . . I want to know how to be happy again. What kind of wife does Grant need?”
Cassandra had learned not to judge the questions people had. She wanted to dig deeper into the last question but knew it was really none of her business or necessary for her vision. “I’ll keep those questions in mind but I can’t guarantee the vision will be related. Or, as I said, it might be symbolically related.”
Mara nodded. “I understand.”
“Now, please don’t speak again until I tell you to. The silence helps my vision.”
After all these years, Cassandra still wondered why people came to her. Especially people like Mara. Her clients were typically women, and a few were wealthy, as Mara appeared to be. But there was something different and unsettling about Mara. Something Cassandra couldn’t put her finger on.
Pushing all these extraneous thoughts aside, Cassandra invited the vision in. When she was doing readings, she had no concept of time. Her clients often said it was “quick” or “I thought you had gone to sleep,” but to Cassandra, all readings felt like the same length. In the past, this phenomenon had caused scheduling problems, so she had learned to allow ample time for each session.
At some point, the familiar, yet dreaded, feeling took over and the movie began playing. Sometimes there was no sound, like a silent movie. Rarely, Cassandra heard runni ng water, cars crashing, or something else.
Cassandra’s vision was unusually clear today. She saw Mara in her house, in her kitchen, looking out the large window over the sink, as though she was looking for someone in the backyard. Suddenly, Mara turned around and the vision went blank. Cassandra forced herself to stay focused on the feel of Mara’s soft hands and the energy of the woman across from her who wanted to know what her future held.
When the vision returned, Mara was lying on the floor in a pool of blood. She was on her side, her body slightly twisted, with her face staring up, toward the ceiling. The eyes caught Cassandra’s attention. Unlike the eyes of the vibrant woman who had come to see her today, Mara’s eyes in the vision were lifeless. Blood rushed from the slash in Mara’s neck. In the distance, Cassandra heard one of those rare sounds. A baby crying. And then another vision. A man was leaning over the body and then looked right at Cassandra, as though she was standing right there with him.
Cassandra’s hands were shaking when she opened her eyes.
“What did you see?” Mara asked.
CHAPTER 2
Cassandra released Mara’s hands immediately and clasped her own shaking hands. “Give me a moment, please. I need to reflect and to collect my thoughts.”
Cassandra recalled her grandmother’s teachings, that a vision of death is often symbolic. The brutality of what she saw could mean that changes in Mara’s future would mean giving up something, or making drastic changes that went against her nature. The change would not be easy.
Cassandra rarely saw actual death, unless someone was suffering from a known illness, like cancer. In which case, the client often wanted to know how long they had left. Of course, there were no calendars in Cassandra’s visions, so it was impossible to be specific. Typically, her visions were about change, like someone who was stuck in a job that was killing their soul, depleting their joy.
But this vision was so real that it unnerved Cassandra.
She cleared her throat and forced herself to relax her taut facial muscles. “I saw a difficult time ahead for you. You’re going to give up something precious and you won’t like it.”
Mara’s eyes reflected her concern. “I’m not sure what that means exactly. Should I be worried?”
Cassandra took another deep breath. “It could also be a danger ahead. I saw some conflict in your home. Your kitchen specifically.”
Mara made a pouty face, much as a child might when told to clean up her room or finish her veggies. “I love that kitchen. We spent a fortune remodeling it last year, but Grant doesn’t like it.”
“Why is that?”
“As I said, he’s a financial advisor, so he always watches our money closely. He thinks I spent too much on the renovations. He really flipped out when I ordered reclaimed wood floors from a barn up in the North Carolina mountains.”
Cassandra recoiled slightly at the mention of her home state. Visions of her own life, pattering around barefoot on the wide wooden floors that were worn smooth by several generations of her family. “In my vision, at least, it was beautiful.” Cassandra paused. “Is this something that causes ongoing tension between you and Grant?”
Mara looked off into space momentarily and then nodded.
“I can’t be sure of the timeline, but just be careful around your house and when you’re in the kitchen.” She paused. “I saw you looking out the window. Does your child play in the backyard?”
“Oh, goodness no. She’s barely a year old. But I often look out the window. We have a nice backyard, although it’s not as large as I’d like.”
“Well, then just be careful, keep your doors locked, and don’t let strangers into your home.” Seeing the question on Mara’s face, Cassandra added, “Just standard advice when I see, well, danger or symbolic danger ahead for someone.” Cassandra couldn’t bring herself to say “death.” She looked at the calendar on her phone. “Can you come back sometime later this week? You can think about what we’ve discussed, and if it has any meaning for you. Just think about big decisions ahead or anything you may have to give up, especially related to your home or family.”
Mara gave her a smile that Cassandra was sure Mara used often at dinner parties—that superficial smile that sometimes covered up so much hidden truth.
CHAPTER 3
Approximately a week after Cassandra's vision session with Mara Sterling, this article appeared in newspapers across the South.
Tragic Mystery in Columbia: Mother Found Dead
Columbia, SC - Tragedy struck a serene and affluent neighborhood in Columbia this past weekend, as local residents awoke to the shocking news of a mother's untimely death. Mara Sterling, 31, was found dead in her family home late Sunday evening by her husband, Grant Sterling, a well-known financial advisor.
According to the Richland County investigator, officers were called to the scene around 8 pm following a 911 call from Mr. Sterling. Upon arrival, they discovered Mrs. Sterling deceased under circumstances that have led investigators to pursue the case as a homicide. The nature of her injuries has not been disclosed, as authorities are withholding details during this early stage of their investigation.
The couple are known for their philanthropic efforts and active involvement in local charities. Their infant daughter, who was home at the time of the incident, was unharmed.
As the investigation unfolds, the Richland County Sheriff’s office has appealed to the public for any information related to the case. "We are doing everything in our power to bring the perpetrator to justice," stated Lieutenant Albright. "We urge anyone with information, no matter how insignificant it may seem, to come forward."
The loss of Mara Sterling has left a void in the hearts of those who knew her, with friends and neighbors describing her as a loving mother and wife. The Sterling family has requested privacy during this difficult time as they grapple with this unimaginable loss.
This is a developing story, and more details will be released as they become available. The community stands united in mourning and in hope for justice for Mara Sterling.
CHAPTER 4
Enid was alone in the small house she and Josh rented near downtown Columbia. Josh was traveling and wouldn’t be home until the next day. Since they were new to the area, they had decided to rent the modest brick bungalow in an older neighborhood near uptown Columbia instead of buying.
Their one-car garage was still full of boxes and things they would most likely discard or donate later when they had a chance to fully unpack. The yard was full of leaves, as Fall was approaching. Since they had both jumped into new jobs immediately upon arriving in town, these kinds of household chores had taken a back seat to more pressing matters.
The second bedroom was an office space she shared with Josh. He had his own uptown office in the consulting firm in the Vista district, but he often worked from home. Most of his work required travel anyway: visiting clients and gathering information on the target’s background. Most days, Enid had the small bedroom to herself and could work uninterrupted.
Tiffany, owner of the consulting firm where Josh worked, had asked him to attend a large event this evening in Greenville, South Carolina, to observe a target, a woman who was up for a big corporate promotion.
Enid had smiled when she saw Josh packing a suit and tie earlier that morning. Having spent most of his life in law enforcement, first in New Mexico, where he often worked undercover, and then as police chief in Madden, and later as the Bowman County sheriff, terms like “business casual” or “formal attire” were foreign to him.
Their client was Bob Larkin, former governor of the state. Josh had worked a couple under-the-radar assignments for Larkin, who had then recommended Josh to Tiffany, the consulting firm’s owner. He and Enid moved to Columbia when Josh took the job.
With the quiet house to herself, Enid focused on her assignment for the paper, an article featuring several food vendors at the weekly Soda City market in uptown Columbia. When her cellphone rang, she instinctively looked at the screen with the intent to let it go to voice mail. But it was Enid’s editor at the newspaper, so she answered. “Hi, Grace, what’s up?”
