Mia Perrone is a New York horticulturist and sometimes clairvoyant, who consults for the NYPD. For the most part, she's helped on routine cases, but when asked to assist on a homicide strange visions start to appear leading her into a world she'd never believed existed, not even in New York. Detective Jayson Thorten is the lead on a serial homicide case and needs Mia's help to find a killer. However, when an unusual autopsy report and a past he's been hiding from begin to surface, he's forced to handle more than just catching a killer.

PAINLESS SAVIOR

IMMORTALS IN NEW YORKBy Mimi Logsdon

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2012 Mimi Logsdon
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4772-8600-5

Chapter One

Mia walked out of her old building attached to a storefront and backed up onto the wide steel step looking out at the pouring rain pounding the concrete in front of her. The sounds the drops made on the manhole covers reminded her of the pops from a carpenter's nail gun. This section of the city always had a gothic look to it when it rained. New York's Soho district, short for South of Houston, made her feel like she was living in an old mystery movie complete with dark gloomy skies, grey fog and occasional mist whenever it rained. An old Dylan song her dad use to play, sang through her thoughts, "It's a hard, it's a hard, it's hard rains a gonna fall" as she twirled her hair on top of her head, flipped her hood and ran to the nearest newsstand for her daily set of newspapers.

Joe greeted her with his usual phatic tone, "How's it going Mia?" as he handed her a pile of printed papers, "I added the New York Observer thought you'd like it too. Since you give me steady business there's no charge for it." She smiled and handed him a gold cash card, "Thanks but I can't accept the freebie; Joe, I know you can't afford to be giving papers away." Paper had become a luxury item now that trees were endangered and almost extinct. Stands were limited to only three per borough, staying afloat due to support from customers who were either nostalgic or eccentric. Mia fell into the nostalgic category they reminded her of her grandfather. Loving the feel of holding the printed sheet that smeared on her fingers like charcoal pencil, although she realized she'd have to let go eventually now that everything fit and not so fit, to print was accessible through screens, disks, visual booths and portable devices in homes and everywhere else around the world—this was one of the few memories she needed to hold on to.

Stowing the papers inside her hoodie zipped tight, she continued on to The Brew Shop, for her usual beverage of choice, Chamong Autumnal Black Tea, one of the rarest teas from the Darjeeling region, found in a valley of the Himalayan Mountains of Northern India. "People just don't appreciate an excellent cup of tea anymore," she complained to no one in particular as she opened the lid and inhaled the smell of Evergreen. The taste of English Rose filled her palate with the liquid strength that gave her the kick in the ass she needed. "This truly is The Champagne of Teas," she sighed.

As she walked back wet, the drops didn't bother her in fact, she could barely feel them as they pelted her to the doorstep. She waved to the concierge and decided to take the stairs to save time since she had one more hour before logging into work. The door opened with her print key and she immediately kicked off her sneakers, opened her hoodie to lay the newspapers on the floor, dropped the key and wallet on the desk by the huge picture window and ran to the bathroom.

Emerging from the bathroom minutes later in a tattered powder blue robe and a hand towel rubbing her hair, she grabbed the papers, her phone and plopped onto the sofa stretching out her favorite section, the crime blotter reports asking anyone who had any information to call the confidential hotline, promising if the tip checked out a cash reward would be transmitted to their account. She read the articles feverishly, they were like honeysuckle to a bee for her, and she couldn't tear herself away. Sure some were ridiculous, even sadly funny, but the majority tragic. A Horticulturalist by trade, having graduated with a B.S. from Texas Tech University and a Masters from Cornell, she knew everything about soil, plants, trees, etc. and nothing about Criminology, but a connection was made at a very young age that would leave her with an uncontrollable attachment and mixed emotions.

It began on a family trip to the Bronx Zoo just before her sixth birthday. She and her siblings were enjoying the sunshine and cotton candy while walking to the kiddie rides when their parents asked them to take a picture on The Wishing Rock. Mia loved having her picture taken, which would cause her dread now, so she happily complied. Climbing onto the large sparkling warm graphite rock with its oblong lumpy seat, she fanned out her dress and adjusted herself in position ready for the photo. Suddenly an awful feeling overtook her and her eyes began to water, her nose stuffed up and the vision slowly appeared. Closing her eyes in an attempt to stop what was happening to her, she became paralyzed with fear then anxiety set in causing her to blow out short breaths. The vision appeared before her eyes, projecting like a film and she sat in the front row seat, watching a robbery take place in what looked exactly like their home. Men ran past windows, across ecru colored walls with pillowcases in their hands, curtains drawn and cushions overturned with items scattered all over the room.

Wishing as hard as she could, as the tears rolled down her face she attempted to talk, a shaky voice reciting a mantra, "Please don't take our things, I wish they don't rob our house, I wish they don't rob our house." Her parents immediately removed her from the rock asking what was wrong, fearing they'd have to rush her to the nearest hospital. Mia couldn't stop crying and wishing. The tears sticking to her lashes like clear rubber glue drops, wiping her nose with the back of her tiny hand she managed to say between hiccupped short breaths, "We need to go home. I want to go home."

Thinking it was the overactive imagination of a child, they tried to calm her down. When that didn't work they threatened to punish her, but she stood her ground as children often do. She had to make them believe her. She insisted, creating a scene her parents didn't want, so with much chagrin from her siblings they headed home.

When they arrived, her father gingerly approached the front door with the intent to prove everything was fine; only to find the door ajar and the house ransacked. The shock on everyone's faces would never be erased from her memory, especially the look on her mother's face after she walked to close the front door and stepped on something next to the opening. The bright blue turquoise stone glistened in the middle of a tiny frame as her mother covered her mouth and cried, "They dropped it as they ran out." It was her birthstone ring, a gift her parents were saving for her sixth birthday.

Chapter Two

Dalia Perrone glowed with pride knowing that her daughter had inherited a trait from her side of the family. She spoke of her grandmother and great grandmother's abilities to see and connect with energy forces. This was often explained as a sixth sense or gut feeling, but she was certain it was much more—only time would tell. Her father wanted no part of it tossing it off as nonsense, a coincidence—after all, if you didn't believe it, pay attention to it, it didn't exist. Yet, both were aware of the consequences that could result if this became common knowledge explaining to her the importance of being careful and using discretion. The world was full of people that wouldn't believe her. Some would use her and lead her to disappointment, embarrassment and heartache.

As she grew, the visions came in spurts but proved helpful to those close to her and in many circumstances, to law enforcement. Her visions always began the same, watery eyes, stuffy nose, strong heartbeat and anxiety, she'd close her eyes as the vision projected in front of...