Page 1 of Reclaiming Chaos
Ridge Bennett
“She must have seen us coming, Sir,” Melony said as she entered the apartment.
That was an understatement. The woman we were chasing claimed to be able to predict the future. She’d also proven that remote viewing wasn’t a thing of science fiction but real and possible. Holding an object and being able to describe details of a room and the things in it, seemed like something you’d read about in fairytales; with this woman it was all real.
The search for our fugitive had led us here, and we’d arrived ready to toss the place in search of the next clue, but it appeared it had already been done.
The room was almost exactly how I imagined it would be. Carlee Tate hadn’t been at this address long. Not even three days before we found her. A pity she hadn’t had time to decorate.
Empty picture frames sat stacked atop each other on the table. The couch cushions were removed to show she hadn’t used it as a hiding place. The drawers were left open like she was saving us time and had done us a favor. Ms. Carlee Tate had upped her game from the last time we’d almost caught her. It was time to rise to the challenge.
“I want this whole place torn apart. Look for any hints as to what she was up to and where in the hell she’s going,” I ordered. I slowly moved around the room as my team set to work.
My phone rang. “Special Agent Ridge Bennett.”
“Ridge, tell me you’re packed for your flight,” Clara, my sister asked. I don’t know why she was asking when she already knew the answer. Her Bennett talent was the all-knowing kind. She never had to guess.
“I’m at a crime scene. I’ll call you back when I’m done.”
“Ridge…”
“I don’t have time for this. I’ll call you back.” He cut her off and disconnected the call.
The apartment came furnished. The worn brown cushions looked flat and in need of deep cleaning. White walls, tan carpet, and a scratched coffee table that needed some TLC. There wasn’t anything in the living room with personality. Nothing to suggest Carlee Tate had added her personal touch.
The agents were taking out the drawers and turning them over in search of clues as to where Ms. Tate might be going next. We’d played this cat and mouse game for so long. I knew she’d leave at least one clue. She always did.
It was kind of refreshing to be a step behind when I was always three feet ahead.
I was a natural hunter, but she wasn’t my average prey.
“Ridge, in here,” Melony called out from the bedroom.
I’d worked with Special Agent Melony Michaels for the last five years. She was better than the average FBI agent. She could often predict things we needed before even I could. I often wondered if she had a heightened intuition just like me. Not that I’d ever ask. Some secrets needed to stay buried deep.
I abandoned my living room and stepped into the bedroom. Melony had made quick work of searching the area. The white bedding with purple flowers lay in a crumpled pile against the wall. The top mattress was sitting askew. The bedside table and dresser drawers had been pulled out and dumped onto the bed. Duck taped beneath one drawer was a manilla envelope with my name scribbled across the front.
“Looks like she knows your name,” Melony said, using her gloved wrist to swipe at the sweat on her forehead.
I ripped the envelope free and slid my finger beneath the flap. I pulled out a slim brown leather book from inside. A yellow sticky note was attached to the cover. She’d pressed a lipstick kiss beside my name. “Agent Bennett, I’ve got some special messages to share. Are you ready to listen?”
Melony nudged my arm. “Well, her case file says she’s psychic and does that automatic writing thing while channeling spirits. Maybe the messages are from a deceased loved one.”
“Yeah, probably not. If it were from one of my dead relatives, they would have told me to quit screwing around and catch her already because I’m making the Bennett name look bad.”
Carlee’s abilities worried me. If she really could communicate with the dead, there was no telling what secrets they might be sharing.
I’d been warned she would be a hard target to catch. I just hadn’t realized the extent of it.
As Melody left to check the rest of the house, I flipped the book open.
Writings and hand-drawn pictures filled the notebook. A rough pencil-sketch of my face was on the last page—the word danger written beneath it. A sentence scribbled at the bottom of the page made me pause. Next to the sentence there was a heart.One day we’ll laugh when we tell this story.
Laugh? Not hardly. Carlee was smart, and it was official that I’d underestimated her… again.
I crammed the book inside my jacket pocket to review later. The gently used furniture was sparse. The bedside table was empty, except for a cheap looking light sitting atop. In the bathroom, her toiletries and toothbrush sat on the counter. A razor sat on the edge of the tub. An empty box of autumn brown hair dye was in the trash. Had she died her blonde hair, or had she planted the box just to throw us off?
She was that good.
