A serial killer is loose in the city of Seattle stalking women in the downtown area near Elliott Bay. Detective Nate Cliff ton is assigned to the Monroe case, tagged with that name by the newspapers because the victims all look like 1950's pin-up models. Nate is relentless in his hunt for this smart killer who keeps eluding police to fulfill his bloodlust. Meanwhile, John Carpenter's peaceful life is changed forever following a terrible car accident. Awakening from a coma, John now has an ability to see events from the past - to flashback. During one such flashback into the past, John sees a distinctive tattoo when he witnesses a murder in an alleyway near Pike Place Market. Who can he trust? He certainly doesn't want to involve his family, so he turns to Nate. Nate is skeptical of John's newly acquired ability at first. Will the detective believe him, or will John become the number one suspect in the investigation into the brutal crime? When John sees the tattoo for a second time in another flashback, Nate must learn to use the past to alter the future. Another woman will die if the killer is not stopped. The clock is ticking. John must learn to accept his gift, and then learn to use it as he becomes mixed up in the hunt for a serial killer. Will John Carpenter end up a hero, or will he end up dead?
Flashback to the Dragon
By Terri L. PowersAbbott Press
Copyright © 2012 Terri L. Powers
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4582-0560-5Chapter One
April
John Carpenter loudly sang along to Katy Perry's "E.T." as the radio broadcast looked at the history of Top-40 hits over the past several years. The song blasted from the speakers of his car stereo as he drove to A.I. Technical where he worked. The top was folded down on his Mustang convertible, allowing the unseasonably warm morning breeze to play with his thick, brown hair and the slanting rays of the sun to warm his shoulders. He switched to the lower tones of Kanye West, following the words in the song and sounding out the technically altered vocals and staying mostly on-key.
He drove past the ice-cream parlor on Third Street and watched as a pretty girl opened the shop, cranking out the red-and-white-striped awning. He could almost taste the chocolate, marshmallows, and nuts of rocky road ice cream, his favorite flavor. It was getting to be that time of year when flowers bloomed, kites appeared in the sky, and eating ice cream again sounded like a good idea.
The song was over, and the news team came on as John brought the car to a stop at a red light. As he sat there waiting for the light to turn green, he started to mentally list off his day's agenda: finish the month-end report, call the auditors to get a list of their most recent findings, and set up a lunch with Brandy on her next day off.
John was the oldest sibling in the Carpenter family of East Essex Circle, and Brandy was John's baby sister. The two were as different in appearance as they were in actions. Where John was dark, soft-spoken, and deliberate, with interests in history or historic events, Brandy was blonde, outgoing, and hyper, interested in what was happening on a current reality television show or the latest fashion trend to hit the city. John loved her completely and looked forward to their monthly lunches. No matter what mood Brandy might be in that day, it was usually an entertaining hour. Maybe they should check out the new bistro over on Cavanaugh Avenue. He would call her from the office after ... shit!
A block from work, he remembered he was supposed to bring in bagels for the staff meeting at nine o'clock that morning. There would be hell to pay if he didn't. He knew not to get between the office staff and food. He swore a person could put out a serving platter filled with mouse turds, and there wouldn't be a single one left by noon.
Where could he get bagels between there and work? Mentally pulling up maps of the area, he searched around in his memory for a likely bagel place. Maybe I can show up with some story about having purchased the bagels but then leaving them at home because my apartment building caught fire, and my only thought was to get out of the building safely, leaving the bagels behind to the smoke and confusion. He shook his head, bringing himself out of his reverie. No one would believe him, or if they did, they would wonder why he hadn't waited for the fire fighters to put the fire out and gone back in for the bagels.
He took his foot off the brake and moved the car forward when the light turned green, thinking that he could turn left at the block his office was on, go down to Turner Street, and get bagels at Morning Sunshine Deli, a place that opened for the breakfast crowd. It would be expensive, but that's what he got for forgetting until now.
He never saw it coming. One minute he was moving forward, thinking about bagels and cream cheese, and the next he was looking over to his left and thinking how big the grasshopper was in the front grill of the semi-truck that seemed much too close for comfort.
John's world exploded with bright lights and the jangle of breaking glass. He threw one arm up to protect his face as his windshield caved and exploded inward. His head didn't feel attached to his body any longer, as it was whipped to the right and then left, hitting hard against the body of the car. He heard a crunch and imagined more than felt an explosion of white light inside his head, and then everything faded to black.
Chapter Two
The Mack truck driver was in a hurry and talking on his cell phone, getting a major ass-chewing from his boss over being late, laced with threats of losing his job. Ralph Thompson needed the job because it was the only thing that stood between him and living out of a discarded washing-machine crate on the streets of Seattle, eating out of garbage cans, and begging for enough money to continue his addiction to crack cocaine.
He had started on the drug a couple of years back to stay awake and to deliver the goods within an impossible timeline, beating out the competition, flying high like a superhero. At first, he was invincible, delivering truckload after truckload to the warehouse in record time; the golden boy of the shipping yards. But soon the crashes came, at odd hours of the day, and he needed more crack to keep going. It's only a little after eight-thirty, for chrissake; I'll get there in five minutes, he wanted to yell into the mouthpiece.
When the light up ahead turned from yellow to red, he figured it was more like orange anyway, and besides, who would challenge a big rig like that? Someone sees me coming, they will get out of the way and let me through, he thought, so he opted out of hitting the brakes, deciding to keep going straight through.
His boss on the other end of the line had pretty much wound down, and Ralph started to say, "I'll be there in five minutes. Don't get your shorts all in a bunch," when he saw a flash of red and felt the impact. Whatever his vehicle ran into made the cab shutter and jerked the steering wheel to the left. He threw the cell phone to the floor and grabbed onto the wheel with both hands, standing on the air brakes to stop.
"Oh God, oh God, oh God," Ralph muttered under his breath. Over the screaming metal, he still could hear his boss's voice, tinny and far away. "Please, no." Ralph started thinking of what he could say that would throw the blame anywhere but in his lap.
When the truck came to a stop, the silence was deafening. He felt frozen to the seat. Slowly he reached his hand down to disengage the seatbelt, pushed his stringy blond hair out of his eyes, and opened the door. He stumbled down from the cab to see what he had hit, thinking he didn't want to be around when the cops got there. What if they take me in and give me a blood test? If they find crack in my system, my boss is going to can my ass faster than a judge can say guilty, and I will no longer be searching for that perfect discarded carton, I'll be in jail. And it won't be my ass anymore; I'll belong to Butch in the lower bunk. Hold on there, the cops don't automatically arrest someone, right? He fought the urge to run. Hell, it was only an accident.
As he looked at the crumpled metal that once passed for a car, all he wanted to do was go home, do some coke, eat one of those frozen burritos, and crawl into bed to never come out again. Instead, Ralph moved shakily toward the red lump of metal caught up under the cab of his truck. Maybe I can help the person in the vehicle and be a hero, Ralph thought as the scene started to attract observers and halt traffic. He could hear a siren in the distance and absently wondered if it was headed to where he was. As soon as he caught sight of the driver stuck behind the steering wheel of the wreck and beneath the Mack's emblem on the front of the cab, Ralph's shitty day showed signs of getting worse.
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