Dark Visions Read online

  DARK VISIONS

  by

  Jonas Saul

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Imagine Press

  ISBN: 978-0-9869376-4-4

  Dark Visions

  Copyright © 2010 by Jonas Saul

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Dark Visions Book 1 - A Synopsis

  Sarah Roberts has a unique problem. Routine blackouts occur to her on a random basis. What's different about her temporary unconsciousness is she wakes to various notes written by her own hand.

  These notes are prophecies. Dark Visions. Future events with dire circumstances. Circumstances that she can avert, for Sarah is what they call an Automatic Writer.

  The novel begins with Sarah perched under a bridge with no idea why she's there, except what the note said;

  Sit under the Elizabeth St. Bridge at 10:18am. Bring hammer.

  There's a car accident on the bridge, plunging a vehicle into the river below. If Sarah wasn't there at the right time, with the hammer to force her way into the car, people would've died.

  The novel's intensity increases as more blackouts occur, causing her to note them down. Her next task is to avert a kidnapping. She's done it before. Couldn't be that hard. But on this one, the kidnappers recognize her and nab her instead of their intended victim.

  People are killed. Witnesses place Sarah at the scene. The police find her notebook riddled with prophecies of accidents and crimes.

  They want answers. They want to know how she has such information.

  All this happens while the eighteen year old star in this first novel of a trilogy suffers from trichotillomania, which means she's a puller.

  Most of her hair is missing.

  The story has numerous twists and turns and finally ends with a massive climax and a lead in to The Warning, which is Part Two of this trilogy.

  Overall a great read, combining the likes of John Saul, and Dean Koontz.

  To my wife and all that she does

  Other Titles by Jonas Saul

  The Warning

  The Threat - coming July 2011

  Bad Vibes

  Suicide Notes

  Trapped - A Short Story

  Contact Jonas Saul

  Website: http://www.jonassaul.com

  Twitter: @jonassaul

  Email: [email protected]

  Chapter 1

  Life and death was the difference of a choice, a moment of indecision, an expensive thought that cast a silky web around her. The snare was always set, gripping and pulling, but would she be strong enough when the time came? Would she be able to save whomever it is she's supposed to save?

  Sarah Roberts looked at her watch again.

  10:15am.

  Three minutes until the precognition came true.

  She reached back and found a few stray hairs above the nape of her neck. She massaged them until they were firmly in the grip of her fingers. Then tugged them out. Her eyes closed, she leaned back on the dirty cement. The sharp pain that crawled over her skin soothed her, calming her nerves.

  She could hear vehicles crossing the bridge above her. Next time she had to wait under a bridge for whatever was supposed to happen she would bring a pillow to sit on. The piece of cement angled toward a small river at forty-five degrees. The grass on either side looked more comfortable, but the message had been specific. If there was anything Sarah knew, it was to follow it with absolute precision.

  Sit directly in the middle, under the St. Elizabeth Bridge. 10:18 Am. Bring hammer.

  Bring hammer.

  She had no idea why, but she'd brought it. The hammer sat beside her on the cement.

  She lifted her wrist and checked the time.

  10:17am.

  Some of the remaining hair on her forearm stood. Within a minute something was going to happen. This heightened state always made her hair rise in the anticipation of what was to come. It also showed Sarah the location of more hair to be pulled at a later time.

  She lowered her right hand and picked up the hammer.

  Her pulse quickened. She looked down at her feet where a pile of cigarette butts were scattered from previous occupants who had loitered under the bridge too. Her focus was on her breathing. Keep it regular.

  Wait and see.

  A dead fish smell wafted up from the river.

  The water made a soft curling, whooshing sound. Any other time it would have been soothing.

  Cars cruised by above her. Something louder came and went.

  10:18am.

  A tire screeched. A horn blared. The sound of metal hitting metal was surreal. It made her jump. Tires squealed again.

  A vehicle came into view at an impossible angle. It fell towards the river, along with pieces of the guardrail. The car's roof took the impact in the water. It was upside down, angled at a slight degree on the passenger side.

  Sarah hustled and reached the car in seconds. She kneeled close and glanced in the window on the driver's side. A woman who looked to be in her twenties was trapped in the seat belt. She was inverted, her arms dangling toward the water that was slipping in where it could. A small line of blood was on her forehead. She appeared to be unconscious. There were no passengers.

  The river was quite shallow in this area. The water rushed by just below Sarah's knees. But it was high enough to cover the head of the woman. An odd thought struck her. How come the precognition didn't say anything about proper footwear for wading through water? Mom's going to be pissed that I soaked my new shoes.

  Sarah grabbed the handle and tried to open the door. It didn't move. She reached over and tried the back door. It was also stuck, or locked. She glanced in the window and looked across to the other side of the car. The doors on that side were bent inward. That was the side that hit the river first, buckling it a little.

  Her stomach churned when she looked at the woman. The water had risen to her hair line and was swirling around the top of her head.

  She could hear people yelling from the bridge behind her. Someone was asking if everyone was all right.

  Water was touching the woman's eyebrows. Sarah had to act and she had to do it now.

  The hammer.

  She looked at the hammer in her right hand. If she bashed the driver's side window it would shatter and could hurt the woman. It would have to be the back door window.

  She raised the hammer and whacked the pane.

  Nothing happened.

  She looked back at the woman. Her eyes were submerged now. Sarah guessed she had less than a minute before the woman's nose started taking water on.

  She brought everything she could muster to the next blow. The back window shattered and blew inward. She used the hammer to remove stray pieces of glass still attached to the door frame.

  The water was tolerable when she stood in it, but it was cold on her arms and stomach when she dropped down on all fours. She went as fast as she could while being careful to maneuver around the shards of glass.

  She was completely inside the back, lying down in the water that rushed in faster now. A book that must have been in the back seat floated by. She brushed it aside while reaching for the woman.

  From the back,
she angled herself between the front seats. She reached out and lifted the woman's head just as water flirted with her nostrils.

  That was where she stopped.

  Sarah reasoned it would be difficult to undo the seatbelt that suspended the driver. How could she push or drag her from the car? Impossible for Sarah alone. Especially since she couldn't go through the driver's side door.

  She would have to stay here leaning on her side, holding the woman's head up against her shoulder. She used her free hand to cling to the steering wheel.

  The water level inside the car matched the outside now.

  Until help arrived, she had done all she could do. It was over.

  Another unknown reality had become known.

  Minutes later, she could hear sirens. And not soon enough, she thought. The adrenaline rush was ebbing and the shivering had started. With her strength diminishing, Sarah held the woman's head above the water until firemen showed up. The firemen went to work on the driver's side door. They cut the seatbelt and then lifted the driver out.

  Another fireman reached in and helped Sarah out and up to the bridge. A Paramedic provided a blanket for her. She sat on the bumper of an ambulance. They asked her if she'd been a passenger. Did she see the accident? How was she involved? As before, in situations like these, she was evasive. She hated cops. Even the sight of them. She told a police officer she would answer his questions after she warmed up.

  Paramedics were attending to a minivan where a man in the driver's seat was being fitted in a neck brace. A garbage truck had lost one of its wheels, which looked to be the cause of the accident.

  In the confusion of people, some hurt, some helping, Sarah dropped the blanket and disappeared behind the ambulance. She removed the red bandana she wore to cover her missing hair. She never wanted to be identified as the girl with no eyebrows and hardly any hair on her head. She knew without the bandana she would stand out a lot more.

  She started to run a little. She had to get home before her mother began asking questions of her whereabouts.

  She hated it when she had to lie to her.

  Chapter 2

  Sarah pushed the doors open after having paid her fee at the main desk and entered the Psychic Fair. Why was she here?

  She clutched her notebook against her chest and held it tight. Within four strides she was around an aisle corner and hustling down through a throng of people.

  She woke this morning and found a note on the floor with these three words; Dolan save yourself. On the back of the note it said to go to the psychic fair in town to find him.

  The part that scared her was save yourself. Was this a reference to her or was she supposed to tell Dolan to save himself?

  Strange smells came to her. Soft music, trancelike, issued from small speakers on a table to her left. She moved on, lost, with no direction, only purpose.

  Sarah adjusted and tightened her bandanna. She couldn't have it get loose and fall off in public. People would stare and be horrified with all the hair she was missing. She was diagnosed with trichotillomania about six months ago. The doctor said she was a puller as opposed to a cutter. She remembered her mother flipping out when she discovered all the missing hair was Sarah's fault.

  Her nose clogged with the smell of incense. She moved on down the aisle, anxiety twisting her insides. She realized this could be a failed effort. Men walked past her every few seconds. She couldn't start asking if they were this guy Dolan. She didn't want the attention. Why did she have to get these messages anyway?

  A bell sounded somewhere in the building. She felt people staring. Maybe it was her missing eyebrows drawing their attention.

  She despised weakness. Frustration set in because her hands were tied. What next?

  Oh man, why am I here, she thought again. I am nothing like these people. I'm different. I'm real. What happens to me is not the same as what these people are doing.

  It was time to leave.

  She made it three steps before someone grabbed her arm.

  Sarah jumped and snapped around.

  "Hold up there, young lady."

  "What's up?" she asked, angry at being startled.

  "I know what you are."

  An old woman stood before her; the classic look of a fortuneteller with a headband of her own and wrinkly skin.

  "What do you write in that notebook?"

  "What are you talking about?" No one ever got to look at her notebook.

  "Come back to my booth where we can talk."

  "Forget it. I'm done with this place," Sarah said and started to walk away. Before getting too far, she turned back. "What did you mean when you said you know what I am?"

  "Come back to my booth. I've got a message for you."

  A message?

  Sarah nodded and followed her, but not out of curiosity. She followed her because it was a rare event when someone didn't stare at her missing eyebrows. This woman held her gaze as she talked. Sarah followed out of respect.

  The old woman shooed away a few people who huddled around her table and gestured for Sarah to sit down.

  "Before we talk I want to know how much you'll charge when you invited me."

  "No charge." The woman raised her hand in protest. "I know what you are and you have to stop."

  "What am I?"

  "You write something in that notebook. Whatever it is, I feel you act on, or alter your routine because of it."

  How could she know this unless she was psychic? Sarah bent forward as her stomach clenched. The fear involved in what she did when answering her precognitions was nothing compared to being found out. This woman sat across from her and talked about her notebook as if it's homework and she needs to see the grade. Impossible. This couldn't be.

  She didn't come here to be found out.

  What about Dolan? How was he important? Was she still supposed to find this guy?

  "I want to see your notebook."

  Sarah tightened her grip on it. Her palms were sweaty, just like every other time she blacked out.

  "Never." She leaned back in her chair. "No one sees what's in here." She looked around. She needed to get out of here. "Do you know a man named Dolan?"

  "Why did you say that name? Is it in your notebook? I need to see it because I'm one of the real ones and I can see you're in a lot of danger. I might be able to help."

  It came out so easily; a warning of danger.

  If that were true, how could she just say it like announcing it was a sunny day? How could she help?

  "What danger?" Sarah asked.

  The woman leaned forward on her chair and tried to rise. Sarah noticed how long the woman's earrings were and wondered how her flesh still held them. They were red dangling things that rested on her shoulders. They'd long since made this woman's lobe look like Sarah's baby finger.

  "What're you talking about?" Sarah asked again.

  "You're in danger. It'll happen within twenty-four hours. I've seen people like your kind before. I know what you are." The old woman was standing now, her face turning a shade of her earrings. "You're an Automatic Writer, just like me. That's why I need to see what's in your notebook. Then I'll be able to tell you about the danger you face because I wrote down that I'd meet you today."

  "Why are you talking in circles? Why aren't you telling me about the danger?"

  "You have a gift," the woman said.

  "Hold up. When you told me about danger, were you threatening me, or were you talking about my gift?"

  "Sarah, whatever message is in your notebook I think it's a message for you. I think you need to save yourself."

  How did this woman know her name? And how does she know the message or where they come from?

  Fear almost paralyzed her.

  Sarah looked down at her hand. It twitched a little.

  Oh no. Not here.

  Her hand twitched again, this time with more urgency.

  Breathing became an effort.

  She stood, hopped over the railing on her right a
nd hustled down an aisle that led out through a crowded area to the main doors.

  She looked back.

  No one was following her.

  If what that woman said was true, then trouble was coming and it would be here soon. She felt very alone in a filled pavilion.

  Two people were standing in her way. She bumped into them, lost her balance and hit the floor.

  She felt the familiar signs of a full blackout as her vision closed down.

  Someone was asking if she was okay. She opened her eyes and immediately went for her notebook.

  It was gone.

  Her pen rested on the floor beside her.

  She made to get to her feet, her eyes scanning the ground around her for the notebook.

  "I was asking if you were okay."

  "I'm fine," Sarah said as she bent to pick up her pen.

  "You appeared to blackout or something. You scribbled in your notebook and then...are you sure you're okay?"

  The man glared at her. He appeared quite upset. His voice contradicted his eyes. Some of her resolve came back. She regained her footing and along with that, some of her tenacity.

  "I'm fine," Sarah repeated. "Where is my notebook?"

  "Let me introduce myself. I'm the president of the Psychic Fair. My name is Dolan Ryan. The woman giving you a reading was Esmerelda."

  Dolan.

  In the flesh.

  She couldn't believe it. Here he was, the man she was to see, but her notebook was gone.

  "Do you have my notebook?"

  "I saw you writing in it. I was talking to my assistant Alex when you bumped into us. Then you got up. I don't see it anymore."

  What did he have to look so mad for? It was an accident. She could see it in his eyes. A fleeting glare, a flame meant to express distaste.

  If her notebook fell into the wrong hands, Sarah was done for. It held information about the last six months of accidents and crimes she witnessed and stopped; a beating, the kidnapping of Mary Bennet, car accidents.