Visionary Investigator Read online

  I unwrapped the paper packaging, pulling out the pink set of fingerless, arm length gloves; my fingers rubbed the soft material.

  "Don't hate these beauties. Look at this material!! I can wear these all day and not even get a rash! O.M.G they’re water resistant! OH, I need to search if they’re blood resistant! That would be so helpful."

  "Yup, I wonder why the heavens haven't killed you off yet?"

  "UM hello, someone has to help you finish your massive ice cream collection. Which reminds me." I placed the gloves back into the box, taking a second to enjoy the smooth, fake fur material before making my way to the fridge.

  I pulled opened the freezer handle, revealing stacks of Oreo Cookie ice cream. I pull out an unopened tub, letting go of the handle so it closes as I walk to the kitchen counter and tug the drawer open to kidnap a spoon.

  I opened the lid and threw it in the garbage bin a few feet away from me. I pulled at the clear sealing, opening it with little effort. The addictive scent brushed against my nose as I readied my spoon.

  "I dare you to take a spoonful of that."

  I practically jumped; my best friend who had been standing in the middle of the living room was now next to me, without making a sound.

  "Baby Jesus, how the fuck do you do that? I didn't even hear you!" I yelled. She smiled wickedly, taking the spoon out of my hand. She took a fat spoonful of my ice cream, putting it in her mouth.

  "HEY! That's my ice cream! You have eleven more tubs of it!"

  "Don't get distracted next time then." She giggled, spinning around to walk to the fridge, opening the freezer door to grab her own tub.

  She turned around to face me; her blonde hair falling into place.

  "Now that we have some much-needed ice cream, Spill."

  "Go home, grab that sexy outfit you bought last week and make sure you wear red lipstick, NOT pink. We're going for sexy, fierce, and this bitch wants to get laid look. You understand, Scar."

  I groaned, slipping my black, arm length gloves on, followed by my brown glasses. I turned to face my best friend.

  "I don't need to get laid. I have a boyfriend, remember?" I reminded her.

  "Oh please. That sorry excuse of a penis! Like, seriously, do you pretend to climax just so you can use little Jimmy? You know, the vibrator in your bottom left drawer hidden, between your stolen graduation gown and LET'S BE FRIENDS photo album. I should say, it's a really good hiding spot. Jake would never guess it's there. With the way you argue, I bet you use that bad boy every other day." She revealed.

  I stared at her wide eyed; my jaw dropped at her statement.

  "How the hell do you know about Jimmy? I hid him perfectly!!!" I demanded, feeling my cheeks flush.

  "Remember the time you got so utterly wasted and you were horny and –" She purred before I raised my hands up.

  "STOP! No more. Enough. I don't want to even know about my drunk adventures. I'm leaving. Don't tell anyone about Jimmy. He's my little secret!"

  "Our not so little secret, Scar."

  "Ugh, I'll be ready in an hour!"

  "Alright bestie, pick you up in an hour. Remember! SEXY! FIERCE, SEX –"

  I slammed the door shut, cutting off her farewell announcement. The neighbor next door glanced my way. She smiled, giving me a wink before walking away. Damn you, Cece...

  I walked out of the steamy hot bathroom. It felt nice to go from the intense heat to the chill of my air conditioned flat. I made my way to my room. I quickly and subconsciously keyed in the lock code, listening for the ping noise before turning the crystal knob. Only I was allowed to lock up my sanctuary. I couldn't deal with Jake touching my stuff, leaving unnecessary memories behind.

  Installing a lock with a two-step authentication was the best decision I made since going to Cancun for my twentieth birthday; the trip that pushed me into meeting my one and only best friend.

  All it took was a few drinks, an hour of sweaty dancing and me tripping and falling into her arms by accident. Cece always seemed to appear when I was in a pinch. Our meeting wasn't any different. After my collision with her that night, I didn’t expect her to bail me out of the sticky situation I’d landed myself in – the potential fight with those three bitches who’d backed me into a corner, wanting to prove their worth. Thanks to her, I came out of that epic party with a hangover, broken cell phone, zero bruises and still had my panties on. I still question where my red, lace bra went off to...who knows.

  R.I.P my favorite bra of 5027. You accomplished your duty to the very last unhooking. I'll always remember you.

  I walked into my little paradise, closing the door behind me. Jake was in the living room, watching another football game while drinking his third beer. By the time I would come back tonight, he'd be knocked out on the couch or in the second bedroom, aka OUR bedroom.

  It was annoying to explain why we had two bedrooms. It's not like it was anyone's business. I needed Jake’s friends to be as cool as Cece. She never asked stupid questions like "Why do you guys sleep in separate rooms when you’re dating?”

  Well, I don't know, Sherlock. Maybe if your boyfriend was an alcoholic who smelled of whiskey and vomit half the time, you'd want your own space too. Did I mention he likes to touch my stuff? I'd like to avoid passing out every five seconds from touching all my belongings thank you very much.

  I guess I should explain about the whole "fainting" ordeal. I was born with this terrible gift called ‘Foresight.’ Apparently, it's been in my family for generations, only appearing in the female kin every now and again. I was chosen to be that lucky person.

  When I touch an object, it can reveal its dark secrets to me.

  All I can say is ninety percent of the time, I pass out. If I do stay conscious for the duration of the vision, I'm usually in a trance like state, staring into nothingness till I finally come out of it. Then, I have to quickly jot down the vision before the immense amount of details vanish from my mind and the vision feels more like a foggy dream.

  Maybe my fifteen years of experience in scribbling my visions and images down contributed to my A-list art skills? Now, it took me no time to draw a masterpiece. If only convincing my aunt to accept my wish to be a criminology student would've been that easy. It took me ages for her to accept, that I declined my direct invitation from the CEO of the Royal College of Art in the UK. Someone must have sent him a picture of my art during my senior year in high school, resulting in the gorgeous black envelope with a gold seal on the back to landing in my aunt's mailbox.

  Don't get me wrong, I love art and design, but I could never devote myself to my hobby. In the beginning, it only served as a coping mechanism for understanding the visions that attacked me, not for pleasure or enjoyment. But as time went on and I matured, I yearned to draw the visions I witnessed and for the pleasure of projecting beautiful imagery. It’s what lead to me being the artist I am today.

  Either way, I was five when my gift took a chaotic turn and became really problematic for my life. Not to mention my mother's murder that same year.

  I had to admit, my childhood was a lonesome one. It’s not like I didn’t want a friend or two, or to get the chance to be a part of a group of kids that loved the same shows as me. It was because I was different from everyone around me, and let’s be real – no one liked different.

  From the whispers that reached my ears as I walked the halls, to the paper notes that hit my head during class and the words – weirdo and loser written inside the colored pieces of scrap paper.

  The bullying got worse after that: The laughter and fingers pointed in my direction to the exclusion in group projects. Or better yet, the last one to be chosen during dodge ball; both teams begged the teachers to let me sit it out instead of being on their team.

  You’d expect the teachers to be an advocate for innocent me. Nope – instead, they feared me as well. Maybe even contributed to my suffering. I saw the way they looked at me or flinched when I stood too close. All I had was Auntie Nela and Kendrick.

>   I didn’t want to bother either of them. Auntie Nela was not a part of my family, her memories and bond with my Mother drifting away as the years went on. She too moved on to focus on her life.

  This left me with Kendrick; who had helped keep me occupied. Kickboxing was a form of release – to let out the pent-up frustration and anger that coursed through me when I couldn’t handle the bullying any longer. It had helped people stay away from me, not just because of my visions, but knowing I’d kick their asses if they tried to touch me.

  Although Kendrick was loving behind closed doors, he always had to keep it hidden. For the sake of Marilyn's name, and to silence the rumors of him cheating with Mother, he couldn’t show compassion when we were in public together.

  I knew he cared dearly for my mom, and I didn’t believe false accusations. But with a dad like mine, it was an assumption many would believe.

  I’d come to terms with reality in my teens, going through high school with my passion to draw, my kickboxing classes, and other activities that would help me with my career goal. I accepted that my visions were a part of me, and if that meant I wouldn’t be accepted, so be it.

  University was no different. Thankfully Cece, being the best friend that she was, suggested I wear my gloves to hinder me from having direct contact with an item or person – my palm being the leading cause of my induced visions. I always gave her my stock of gloves, and she’d sprinkle some voodoo magic stuff she had bought from eBay and BAM, they’d work like a fucking charm. I totally believed the heavens felt sorry for my twenty years of chaos and brought Cece to help me enjoy life a little.

  Cece warned me to wear my gloves on the first day of school, but NOOO, I wanted to be the cool girl and not have to wear my gloves in thirty-degree Celsius weather. That went downhill in less than ten minutes. Brad from Kinesiology just had to bump into me the day after his sister's funeral. I hoped he was happy that I was now a laughing stock thanks to him. After that, I was known as the hot, fainting girl of Mc. Ryerson’s School of Criminology and Special Ops.

  I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the memories. Yes, my childhood, teen years, and bits of my adult years sucked, but the times spent with my best friend were enough to stop me from my self-pity party. When we chilled together, I knew we'd get wrecked and that was something I needed. To party hard and feel free as I enjoyed the blissfulness of adulthood with someone who understood me.

  I let go of the towel, allowing it to fall to the ground as I made my way to my dresser. I pulled at the wrapped towel in my hair, undoing its secure hold. My neon orange locks dropped messily down my back, clinging to my skin.

  I pulled open the drawer, revealing the rows of bras on one-half of the drawer and matching underwear on the other side in color formation. I was still trying to convince Cece that I didn't have OCD. I just liked my clothing, especially my undergarments, to be arranged by color and material type. It wasn't a big enough deal to accuse me of having a disorder.

  "Hmmm, what sexy lingerie should I wear to impress me today?" I sang; my finger slid down my collection as I swung my hips.

  I need comfortable undies that don't ride up my butt tonight. Especially if we're dancing. Oh God, I'd love to go pole dancing again. That was fun.

  My finger stopped at the dark red bra. I pulled it out, analyzing the black lace design; jewels spread across the top half. It had a black bow in the middle with a heart shaped diamond. I smiled wickedly, tugging out the matching panties. This shall do.

  I slipped them on with ease, checking the mirror while shaking my butt. The panties fit like a glove, not moving an inch as I shook my waist. Damn, I can twerk in these and they would stay in place.

  Being only five-six, I made sure to wear my three-inch heels to give me a five-nine look.

  My curves matched my height; although, my five days a week gym sessions with my trainer had contributed to my perfect athletic build. My six-pack made an appearance, seeing as I'd had little to eat today. I was most proud of my round, lifted booty. The amount of weighted squats and lunges I had to complete to get this butt was a pain in the…well, pain in the fucking ass, but damn – she was a show stopper.

  My eyes landed on the large tattoo on my back; the multiple swirls and knots spread outward. The silhouetted woman in the middle of a puddle, frozen in a dance, as different colored lines wrapped around her arms, all meeting in her chest, directly into her heart.

  Surrounding her were eight different orbs; each a different color that represented a specific element – fire, ice, water, wind, earth, light, darkness, spirit.

  Whenever I went to the beach, everyone assumed it was a tattoo, receiving multiple compliments on the intricate design. They had no idea that the apparent tattoo was a birthmark, changing and growing in shape as I grew. It had been a mere droplet falling into the puddle when I was a baby. Now, it was this beautiful masterpiece.

  Any normal person would freak out and go to every skin doctor they could find to solve this mystery, but with how crazy my family history was and my gift… having a growing tattoo on my back was the least of my concerns. At least it was beautiful.

  I walked over to my walk-in closet, pulling the doors open to reveal racks of clothes. It had been a struggle to find a flat with this beauty; its interior large enough to hold the large amount of clothes Cece loved to spoil me with. If I didn't get a new outfit in two weeks or less, something must be wrong.

  I reached for the third, rose gold hanger on my right, revealing the outfit I'd bought a few days ago when my bestie and I raided the mall near our campus. I bet the multiple outlet stores knew us by name thanks to our shopping addiction.

  I slipped on the glittering one piece; the rose gold dress sparkled as my nearby lamp shone against its reflective material. The dress hugged my body, showing every curve and stopping right below my butt. I made sure to try it on in the store, wanting to avoid the struggle of dresses riding up as you attempted to dance the night away. Once I had a few shots in me, it wouldn't matter. I'd be perfectly fine being naked.

  I had a serious obsession with the pinkish gold color lately. It had become one of the new trends, and I was fully enjoying all my recent purchases. Seeing as my dress was attention central, I decided to be simple in the jewelry department. Simple diamond earrings, a few rose gold bracelets, and my mother's locket which I wore at all times.

  I'd gotten the little trinket from my mother, wearing the little trinket around my neck and changing the chain over the years as I grew. I wondered if my mom knew I'd grow to have an obsession with rose gold; the locket being that exact color. A beautiful engraved design of vines and petals surrounded the surface. The same image displayed across my back was engraved on the back of the locket.

  Either the markings were also part of the family trait or my mom had somehow known the image would be a part of me. Now that she was gone from this world, this was my good luck charm – my protection. I always wore it, remembering the last words she told me the night before she was murdered.

  "Always wear this around your neck Scarlet. It will protect you from any bad people."

  "Why mama? I have you, Auntie Nela and Moonlight. What will my locket do?"

  "It's very powerful and hides you from the bad people. Only take it off if your life depends on it. Understood?"

  The little, curly, orange-headed me nodded, confused by what she meant. Who knew I'd never get the opportunity to ask her again.

  I sighed, walking to my vanity to start my hair and makeup. I looked at myself in the mirror.

  My eyes were a mixture of blue and green. They even had a hint of grey in them when the light shone on my iris. My lips were smooth and full; the leftover tint of my previous pink lipstick remained on their plump surface.

  My wet, orange hair reached just past my shoulders. I decided to grow it out after going through one of those I need short hair phases, regretting the decision instantly as the pair of scissors started working their magic. Never again.

  I gave Cece
permission to slap me if I suddenly had another urge to cut my hair again. Long hair was more fun to play with. Not to mention, it was a turn on when a guy grabbed your hair to kiss or fuck you. Too bad I never got that kind of action.

  Little Jimmy was my bedroom friend for four out of the five years I’d been with Jake. Five, agonizing years of disappointing sex. I really did need to get laid by someone else. If it wasn't for my morals, I'd be jumping on the first, hot man my eyes landed on in the club. Maybe if I had a few drinks, such ambitions would fade away, and my needy body would get her way.

  It took me fifteen minutes before I was rated as sexy, fierce, and I'd fuck any hot guy who can keep a ten-minute conversation with me. If only my guilty conscience would let me fulfill the last part. That part of my mind always told me to be the good girl and loyal to Jake. Maybe I should just gather the courage and break up with him. Then, I wouldn’t need to feel ashamed of such thoughts.

  My hair was in curls, bouncing lightly as I whipped my hair back and forth to assess my handy work. I wore my contacts, putting my glasses away. The cream colored heels I slipped on added height and made me look model-worthy. I walked up to the mirror, pulling out the bright red Anastasia Beverly lipstick from my Louis Vuitton Nano Speedy. I wasn't into many brands, but Cece knew them all; LV being one of her favorites. I applied the liquid slowly, allowing the applicator to glide over my lips, making sure it was absolutely perfect. Once finished, I stepped back to take a look at the final product.

  Yes, I looked smoking hot. The struggle will be to not get laid tonight with this look. Too bad I have no choice. Don't be an idiot like me and stay with a man who you've fallen out of love with. No wonder people cheat all the time. All I needed was the motivation to dump him.

  My phone began to ring; the music box sound alerted me that Cece was probably downstairs with her bodyguard boyfriend.