To Tell a Tale (Season One)
Ep 4 - Part One: Fate Deprived

-One Month Later-

Nash looked at his watch for what felt like the hundredth time in the past hour. Fifteen minutes until he could go home to his lonely house where he ate from a can and watched TV—though he never remembered what he’d watched. Something felt missing from his life, and he couldn’t find anything to fill the void.

“You look like shit.”

Nash looked up at his partner. Smitty stood before his desk, watching him.

“Just waiting to go home and watch some TV.”

Smitty scoffed. “Yeah, sure. You’re pining away for the girl, and you know it. You haven’t been the same since you wrongly accused her of murder.”

Nash grumbled. He couldn’t even deny that he had wrongly accused her anymore. The day after Airianna was arrested, they’d discovered that the girl had been telling the truth. She had nothing to do with Daemen’s disappearance. If Daemen himself hadn’t said he had never seen the woman or heard of her, Nash would probably still be thinking she was involved.

How else did she know where his friend was being held?

“You still don’t believe her.” Smitty watched Nash’s face.

Nash shrugged. “We know she had nothing to do with Daemen’s disappearance. But how did she know where he was and the position he was in…?”

“Dude, how the fuck did you and Maribelle get along all that time you were together if you can’t believe in the unbelievable?”

“Just what you said. It’s unbelievable.”

Smitty snorted. “No. You’re unbelievable. You’re miserable because, as Maribelle said, you two were meant to be together, but you keep fighting it. And for what?”

“I won’t be dragged into her world,” Nash grumbled.

Smitty rolled his eyes and looked up at the clock on the wall. “Well, it’s time to go home. Hope you enjoy your can of soup or whatever the fuck you’re having tonight. You should get yourself a burger; you’ve lost weight.” He lifted his jacket off his chair and headed for the exit.

Nash frowned as he stood from his chair. Is this misery worth staying away from Airianna?

“Yes... yes, it is.”

~🔮~

Airianna picked up her paint brush and looked at the blank canvas before her. She hasn’t had a dream in a month. She has never gone that long without a dream since she was three. Airianna started to paint and smiled when her brush swept across the canvas. She may not be having dreams, but she hasn’t stopped painting.

“Airianna?”

Airianna paused when a hand tapped her shoulder. She turned to her father and smiled.

“Good morning, Papa.”

Her father smiled as he held a plate out to her. “You must eat, dear one.”

She looked at the plate of food, and her stomach growled. With a sigh, she placed her paintbrush in the cleaner and took the plate from her father.

“Are you feeling better today?” he asked, holding her chin up so she could read his lips.

She shrugged. “I don’t know what’s wrong, Papa. I feel as though my world has been stripped of something important. I can’t place it, but it feels…empty.”

Her father sighed and kissed her cheek, then left her art room.

Airianna shrugged and dug into the food on the plate so she could return to her new painting.

~🔮~

Jeremy Williams walked into his kitchen and leaned his hip against the counter. Something’s wrong with his little girl, and he has no one to talk to. The phone rang, and Jeremy instantly knew who it was.

“Hello, Mother,” he said as he answered the phone.

“Jeremy Williams, when am I going to meet that talented daughter of yours?”

Jeremy closed his eyes. “Mother, you know why you can’t meet her.”

“She’s my granddaughter, and I intend to meet her….”

“Mom, please, not right now.”

“She still not having dreams?”

Jeremy shook his head. “No, none. She paints, but they’re not dreams.”

“Hmm. Tell me again what happened last month.”

Jeremy sighed and told his mother about the events of the month before.

“I see.”

He could envision his mother tapping her chin with her finger. She has always done that when she’s thinking.

“Have you found anything out about Maribelle and her aunt?”

“Oh, yes, that is what I called about. Maribelle Fernend is the niece to Helen Scottsdale.”

Jeremy sucked in a breath. “The Scottsdales?”

“The ones and the same. She doesn’t have any gifts, but as you noticed, she does have power in her blood. She will probably pass down the gift to her son or daughter. As you know, the gift can easily skip a generation.”

Jeremy knew all too well how that worked. He wasn’t born with the gift, but he had the power in his blood, just like Maribelle Fernend, and he’d passed the gift on to his daughter. The gift of the seer usually went to the daughter, and he had no sisters, but usually, it would stop with the son, not this family. The gift will continue as long as a daughter is born to the son. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Does her mother have their gift?” he asked his mother.

“She got her powers from her father. Helen is Maribelle’s father’s sister.”

“That explains a lot. It’s usually weaker in the males.”

“Yes, and him having a sister who has their gift makes his even weaker.”

“Mother, I don’t know what to do right now. Airianna is in a stoop I can’t seem to get her out of.”

“Tell me how she met this young detective.”

Jeremy closed his eyes. He hadn’t told his mother because he was afraid she would tell him what he did not want to hear about Detective Jackman and his daughter.

“Jeremy, tell me, or I will come over and meet my granddaughter and find out through her….”

“All right, Mother, sheesh.”

~🔮~

Nash looked up at the house before him. Shit, why was he here? He’d been heading home but ended up at the Williams house instead. He turned off the motor to his vehicle and sat in the driveway, wondering what the Williams would think of him showing up out of the blue.

With a deep breath, he got out of the car and headed to the front porch. The front door opened as he stepped off the last step onto the patio.

“Detective,” Jeremy Williams grumbled.

“Mr. Williams, I…” What did you say to the father of the woman you accused of murder? Not to mention the other wrongs he did that day.

“I don’t think you should be here,” Mr. Williams said, staring Nash down.

Nash nodded and started to back away. The man took a deep breath and held the door open for him.

“But since you’re here, I guess you can come inside, but only if you’re here to apologize and not harass….”

“No, sir, I’m not here to harass your daughter. I’m here to apologize….”

“Good.” Mr. Williams turned and headed back into the house, leaving the door open behind him.

Nash took the door being open as an invitation and entered the house.

“She’s in her art room.” Mr. Williams pointed down the hall.

“Yes, sir.” Nash headed toward the art room, remembering where it was from the only other time he was here, and saw her horrifying yet beautiful paintings.

~🔮~

Airianna felt her body vibrate and quickly moved her painting out of the way before the dream hit her. Once the new canvas was before her, she lost her sight and all feelings except the dream absorbing her.

~🔮~

“Airianna?” Nash stepped into the art room and paused when he saw Airianna at her easel painting.

He moved closer and watched her paint. She was beyond talented. He looked around the room and noticed a dozen new paintings in different styles. She was talented beyond belief.

He looked back at Airianna and paused when he saw the darkness of the painting. It wasn’t like the others. It was dark and dreary, whereas the other dozen around the room were bright and beautiful. He moved closer and watched her paint the start of a foot, then a leg, and a second one. A waist came into the painting, and soon a woman’s body was on the ground, her hands covering her face—as if she was protecting herself from something or someone.

“What are you painting?” he whispered, the thought of her not hearing him floating away from his mind as he watched her paint the scene.

Airianna made no noise and never moved away from the painting.

Nash moved around the painting and looked into her once beautiful grey eyes. They were clouded over like she was blind—but wouldn’t her father tell him if she’d become blind in the past month?

Nash moved back around to Airianna’s side so he could watch her paint. There was something mesmerizing about the way she painted. Her strokes were perfect. The picture became clear, and he felt like he was in the painting with the woman. Airianna continued to paint, and a man appeared, hovering above the woman, a gun in his hand, aimed at her head.

Airianna shook her head as she came out of her dream.

“I wish I could help you,” she whispered to her new painting.

The woman looked terrified. If only Airianna had someone she could tell about her paintings… Airianna screamed as she turned and found someone other than her father standing beside her—watching her paint.

“It’s okay; it’s just me,” Nash said, catching her wrist when she swung at him.

“Detective Jackman?” Airianna finally recognized the man before her.

He was skinnier than she remembered, and his eyes looked hollow and dead.

“Hi.” He smiled at her.

Airianna frowned. “What are you doing here?”

Nash sighed as he released her wrist. “I came to apologize for how I behaved….”

“I don’t want to hear your apologies,” she growled, trying to push her way past him.

“Airianna,” Nash said, stopping her from passing him. “Please?” He looked into her once again beautiful grey eyes.

Had she had a dream? Is that why her eyes were glazed over, and she painted this woman in distress? He looked back at the painting. He wondered if this was in the future or the past.

“Is this how your gift works?” he asked, looking at her so she could understand him.

Airianna blinked as she stared into the detective’s dull brown eyes. They had once been full of light. What happened to him?

“I haven’t had a dream in a month—until this one.” She looked at her painting.

Nash looked at her, then back at the painting. They stood together and stared at her painting—as if they were trying to figure it out.

“Can you tell me who the girl is?” he asked, looking at her again.

Airianna turned her head to the detective. She’d caught his voice and a couple words but didn’t know what he was asking her.

Nash smiled at Airianna. He sometimes forgets that she can’t hear him very well. He repeated his question so she could read his lips. She shook her head and looked back at the painting.

“I don’t know names, only faces and what has or will happen to them.”

He gently turned her to face him, so she didn’t freak out.

“How did you know the name and address of that girl you sent us to?”

“I investigated it. Something told me that I needed to find out who she was and where she was because I would receive help soon. I looked all over the web until I found her Facebook page.”

Nash chuckled. “A seer with brains and beauty.”

Airianna blinked at the detective. Does this mean he believes her?

“Why are you here, really?” she asked, watching him for any signs of a lie.

He sighed and took her hand into his, unfolded her fingers, and kissed the pads of her fingertips. He looked up into her eyes, and her heart skipped a beat.

“I am sorry for not believing you and for accusing you of killing Daemen. I know you didn’t have anything to do with his disappearance….”

“Of course, I didn’t….”

He placed a finger to her lips to quiet her. “I have a hard time believing in people with your gift….” He looked at her painting again. “I’m still not completely sure I can trust everything you say, see or do.” As he spoke, he turned back to look into her eyes, so she would understand his every word. “But I think I can try.”

Airianna smiled. He can try? That’s a hoot.

“Thank you for your apologies, but I don’t think….”

“Please believe me when I say I am trying.” He looked back at her painting. “With all my heart.” He whispered, not meaning for her to hear or read his lips.

Airianna caught his silent words. How her hearing aids picked it up, she will never know. Maybe fate was shoving them back together.

“Nash,” she whispered.

Nash’s head whipped back to Airianna. His eyes were brighter, and his heart fuller than they had been just moments ago, all from hearing her say his name.

“Why do you not trust people with a gift?”

Nash took a deep breath. He should have known this would come up. From what he was told—everyone had told her that he had a reason for not trusting people with gifts, but none of them had said why. They had all said it was his story to tell.

Well, maybe it was time to tell this beautiful seer why he despises and distrusts anyone who claims to have a gift.

He looked at the painting and realized he’s met his first genuine psychic.

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