Chapter 12

I stood with my hands on my hips blowing out frustrated puffs of breath. My purse had been turned practically inside out, and a thorough search of the living room had left it a mess, as well my kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom, yet here I was, still with no fucking keys.

Growling beneath my breath, I peered about the living room one more time, then eyes landing on the couch, I debated dismantling it. Though I’d removed the cushions and shoved my hands down into its creases, resulting in the discovery of some candy wrappers, exactly five cashews-halves, and an unopened stick of gum, my keys still remained missing. I’d looked everywhere—the only thing left that I could think to do was take the couch apart.

With the decision made, I moved in its direction, but before I'd reached it, a silvery glint caught my eye from beneath the coffee table that sat before the broken-down, slug-colored couch—a yard sale special—and pulling a face in disbelief, I made my way over to the table, then dropping to my knees, I peered beneath it. Confirming it was the jumble of keys I’d been searching for, I swore softly. No fucking way! I’d looked under the damn thing—several times in fact!

Shaking my head, I snatched the keys, and climbed to my feet, then made my way across the room to my purse, where after shoving everything back into its interior, I pulled the strap over my shoulder and exited the cabin—I needed paint supplies.

Minutes later I was barreling down my driveway, only easing off the gas when my teeth snapped together and I bit my tongue from being jarred half to death on the pot-holed drive. Testing my tongue for soreness, I screwed up my face at the feel of the tender tip. Damn, if that’s not going to be sore for a while.

As with anything that irritates, I couldn’t keep myself from running the tip of my tongue across my teeth until I’d made it so sore, I had to force myself to fold the blasted thing in half so the tip rode on the main bed of my tongue.

While I drove, I contemplated the last few days. My God it had been awful! One thing after another, and I was damn sick of it.

Minutes later, I was pulling into the parking lot of where I purchased my art supplies, and drawing a breath, I opened the driver's door and stepped down onto the pavement. Afterward, wiping my hands down my pants to remove the claminess that had overtaken my palms, I prepared to enter the store. I was not a social person, and even this little outing was going to strain the hell out of me. If I never had to go out in public, it would not be an inconvenience to me.

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Hours later, I was once again poised in front of my canvas, applying the last swipe of my paintbrush. I had a client to deliver to, and I would, even if Hell froze over.

As I peered at my work, critiquing it, I gave a startled squawk when a female voice whispered, “You must learn who you are!”

Holy, shit-balls! Who the fuck was that?

Jerking around, I peered about the room, but didn’t see anyone. This was a first. I’d had visions my whole life, but I’d never heard voices.

The studio was flooded with light from the overhead lamps that dotted about the ceiling, and I peered closely at every corner, as well every nook and cranny, thinking the voice might have come from a vision, and I just had to look for the distortion of space they always appeared within. However, I found the room empty of anything but what it normally held, and shrugging, I turned back to recap my paint tubes and fastened the top on the jar of linseed oil.

After everything was back in place, I padded my way back into the living room, where sitting down on the couch, I turned on the television, then sat blindly staring at the screen and wondering if I was losing my mind.

Within minutes, I began hearing the whisper of voices, and as they began converging together, they became one until all I could hear was a loud annoying humm within my ears, then overriding the humm, came the female voice of earlier. “Please, Sydney, you must learn….”

Okay, I hadn’t been prepared for that! Whoever the female was, she knew my name, and obviously held knowledge about me that I didn’t.

Shaken, I rubbed at the bumps on my arms as I lowered my feet toward the floor, then standing as I couldn’t sit still any longer, I made my way into the kitchen, where I put on a pot of coffee. It was going to be one hell of a long night.