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  VISION OF SACRAFICES

  VINCENT MORRONE

  Book Three in The Vision Series

  Vision of Sacrifices

  Book 3 of The Vision Series

  Copyright © 2016, Vincent Morrone

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Publisher’s Note:

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First Printing, April 2015

  Edited by Conley Lyons

  Cover and interior design by Kelli Neier

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Vision of Sacrifices (The Vision Series, #3)

  Chapter One | Driving People Crazy

  Chapter Two | Woof

  Chapter Three | Send In The Clowns

  Chapter Four | Facing the McKnights

  Chapter Five | My Oldest Friend

  Chapter Six | Place Your Bets

  Chapter Seven | Pizza vs. Raw Fish

  Chapter Eight | The Girl With The Balloon

  Chapter Nine | Rescuing Seth

  Chapter Ten | Haunting Seth

  Chapter Eleven | In A Galaxy Far, Far Away

  Chapter Twelve | Home Sweet Home

  Chapter Thirteen | Date Night

  Chapter Fourteen | Face To Face With Shadows

  Welcome To The Family

  Chapter Sixteen | The Last of the Connors

  Chapter Seventeen | Aunt Rose Pops In

  Chapter Eighteen | Location B

  Chapter Nineteen | The Earth Moves

  Chapter Twenty | The Shaws

  Chapter Twenty One | Visions of Rose Popping in my Head

  Chapter Twenty Two | Defensive Driving

  Chapter Twenty Three | Coming Clean

  Dedication

  Writing Vision of Sacrifices made me reflect on the idea of motherhood. For better or worse, nobody in the world has as much of an impact on us than our own mothers. I’m honored to be the very proud father of two incredible young ladies who I know wouldn’t be the smart, independent, caring and wonderful people they are today if not for my wife, who is to my mind, the best mom ever.

  Mothers are the people we look to for guidance, the person we most wish to make proud and the person whose love we count on the most to be unconditional. It doesn’t matter if we’re talking about biological mothers or those who adopted their children, for most people, our hearts always belong to our moms.

  Of course, I often think of my own mother. Mom passed about a year before I got my first contract to have the first of the Vision books published. She never got to read it, even in its unfinished form, let alone hold it in her hands and see my name on the cover. It is and always shall remain one of my greatest regrets to be able to talk to me about what she thought about the stories I created. I like to think that she’d have become one of my biggest fans, and would have been proud to show my novels to anyone who would indulge her, like the grandma who always has more pictures of her grandchildren. I got a lot of my creativity from her. I’m often told I also got a lot of her heart and sense of humor. And as my wife likes to tell me, I also got my loudness from her as well. (Neither of us could be described as shy, wallflower types.)

  I am an amazingly lucky guy. Although my mom was never able to read my novels, I’ve been blessed with a mother in law who has always been enthusiastic about my work. She’s bragged about me to her friends and acquaintances and never failed to make feel loved. While mother in law jokes are considered old hat, I’ve been extraordinarily fortunate to have a Mom-in-law who loves, supports and encourages me far more than I could have hoped for. And although nobody could ever replace my mom, she’s filled my heart with a mother’s love from the moment I became a part of her family.

  So I’d like to dedicate Vision of Sacrifices to both of my mothers. Maryann and Teddy, I hope you both understand how much I love and cherish you both. It's been an honor to have each of you in my life as my Mom, and a privilege to be your son.

  Chapter One

  Driving People Crazy

  Journal of Bristol Blackburn

  There used to be a time where my psychic visions were actually useful. Often times, a vision would warn me, help me prepare or even avoid something that was coming down the line. Maybe they didn’t always spell things out, but most of the time, they at least gave me a clue as to what’s to come. Something that was useful.

  For example, I can still remember having a dream where Missy Blatt told me and a few other girls at our lunch table that she had a crush on Bobby Moore, the most popular boy in our class. By the next day, the entire sixth grade knew. One of the other girls at the table named Trudy had blabbed the news to the rest of the school, humiliated Missy. I knew I had to find Missy and warn her to keep her mouth shut!

  In my freshman year of high school, I had a late night vision of Joey Rizzo pulling the fire alarm and me getting blamed for it. When it actually happened later that week, I made sure when that thing went off, I was talking to the principal in his office, interviewing him for a school project. That sure showed Joey. (I got an A on that project to boot.)

  The most useful vision happened was when I was eight. I had a dream that told me Tommy W. was going to be sick at school right as lunch began. I knew to sit far away from him. Now that was useful.

  But what I saw last night? Not helpful at all.

  In my dream, I saw myself crying—shaking with grief.

  “He can’t be dead.”

  I didn’t know who or what that meant. Whoever ‘he’ was must be someone I cared about, although these days, that’s an awful lot of people. The dream could mean I lose my grandfather, or Varick McKnight. They’re both older; it would make sense. But could it be my Uncle Mark? Could life really be that cruel, to make Simon and Zack lose their other parent? It could even be Simon and Zack themselves. My family can’t take any more deaths right now. I’m still reeling from losing Bryan a few months ago.

  At least I don’t have to worry about Payne. Since we’ve met, I’ve seen him survive a fire, a severe stabbing, a major car crash, a fall from a ten-story building, and various gunshot wounds—even dinners with Grandpa. (He’ll never admit it, but the dinners with Grandpa are probably the most painful.)

  So I’ve got to figure out who’s in danger, again. Great. To make matters worse, I’m about to do one more thing that I’m really not sure that I’m ready for.

  “I can’t,” I said. “I can’t do it.”

  “Yes,” Payne said. “You can.”

  “No,” I responded. “No, no, no. I’m not ready. I’m not. Payne, this is a mistake. I’ve changed my mind.”

  “You can’t change your mind,” Payne said. “You gave your word. You promised.”

  “But Payne,” I whined.

  “Bristol,” Payne said, more harshly this time. “It’s time. You know it. I know it. Trust me. Once you get the hang of it, it’ll be no big deal. You may even like it.”

  “I doubt that,” I said.

  “Just relax,” Payne ordered. “Start slow. You can do it.”

  “Look, if I really have to do this,” I said. “Why can’t it be with you?”

  “I’d be happy to,” Payne said. “But you know your grandfather. He’s insisting. Besides, he’s taught all of his sons how to drive, I’m sure
you’ll be fine with him.”

  I looked over to Ricky, my oldest friend who is also my pet hamster. He was staring out at me from him tank with a look that said, ‘leave me out of this.’ As usual, Ricky was of no help to me.

  “You’re laughing,” I said to Payne. “Aren’t you?”

  There was a noticeable pause from the other end of the line.

  “Not at all,” Payne said. “Look, maybe you can come by here. Pop on by. I’d love to see you.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I just bet. Maybe I will come by. Might just run you over.”

  Now Payne did laugh.

  “I love you,” He said.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “I love you too,” I said. “I’ll see you later.”

  I ended the call and walked over to Ricky’s tank and gave him a little food. Then I got ready.

  It was still a little strange for me to be able to say those three words to Payne. They didn’t come easily at first, but they felt right. I did love Payne. And he loved me.

  Why, I had no idea.

  What did Payne see in me? I asked myself that as I looked in the mirror. I never thought of myself as drop dead gorgeous. I was only about five feet, eight inches tall. Brown hair, blue eyes and an average build. Payne tells me all the time how beautiful I am. I just don’t see it. Personally I think he’s nuts.

  That explanation makes as much sense as any. Payne has to be crazy to have a girlfriend who has dead people drop in on her all the time.

  The last time we were on a date we were interrupted by a seven piece polka band that had died in a fiery accident the night before. They were on their way to defend their title as the Best Polka Band of New Jersey. They were all in their seventies, dressed in matching green shorts, white shirts and bright maroon vests, and their last collective thought was that they would never get to play their signature song, “Beer Barrel Polka” ever again.

  How they managed to find me all the way in the small town of Spirit in Upstate New York I’ll never know, but they did. So what could I do? I sat there and listened to a full set. They played “Polish Sausage Polka” and I cheered. They ripped into the “Chicken Polka Dance” and I applauded. At the end of a very long night, they were all able to move on. And I had a hankering for polish food.

  Payne sat with me the entire time, just like he always does. Payne can never hear or see the ghosts that visit me. (Which in this particular case may have been a blessing.) But Payne is always okay with my life.

  Like I said, he must be crazy,

  Speaking about crazy, I went downstairs to have my driving lesson with Grandpa.

  “Stop slamming on the brakes like that! Just press down with your foot. Slowly. You want to bring the car to a stop, not launch your passengers through the windshield.”

  Grandpa kept both hands locked on the dashboard as we drove.

  “Sorry,” I said. I looked to the right, then to the left. Then to the right again, and then left again....

  “What are you doing?” he asked. “Why aren’t you driving?”

  “I’m looking both ways.”

  “A dozen times? It’s a one-way street!”

  I kept looking back and forth. “When I was twelve, I talked to this guy who got hit by a tracker trailer because he only looked one way on a one-way street. The other driver was going the wrong way.”

  “Oh, geez,” Grandpa said, shaking his head. “Just drive.”

  When I saw there was nobody coming, I slammed down on the gas and pulled onto the main road so fast that Grandpa’s head knocked into the passenger side window. He rubbed his forehead as I straightened out the car, swerving slightly as I went down the road.

  Grandpa slanted me an annoyed look.

  “You trying to kill me?”

  “No,” I answered. “I just wanted to hurry up and get out of there before anyone else came.”

  “Just relax,” he told me, as we came close to an intersection. I hit the brake. He jerked forward and then slammed back into his seat as I hit the gas again. “You’ll be fine.”

  I hit the brakes again at the next intersection.

  “Stop braking at every corner. You have the right of way here. And don’t tell me about some other sad sap who got killed because they ran a stop sign. Just be aware of what’s happening around you.”

  “I’m trying,” I said. “I don’t know why I have to do this.”

  “Because you’re eighteen. Most kids can’t wait to get behind the wheel. Never saw anyone resist as much as you. I used to think you would be a natural.”

  “Me?” I asked, and tapped the brakes again. “Why? Just because I beat Simon and Zack playing pole position?”

  “You’ve got good instincts,” Grandpa said after he was back in place. “You get those feelings that tell you what to do or not do. I bet if you just relax and trust yourself, you’ll be fine.”

  “How am I supposed to relax? Do you know what kind of ghosts I see the most? The ones killed in car accidents. I think it’s because they’re so sudden.”

  Grandpa closed his eyes and shook his head.

  “Relax,” he said through gritted teeth. “For the love of God.”

  I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and tried to relax. Meanwhile, I was gripping the steering wheel like my life depended on it. Passing the next intersection, I forced myself not to touch the brake. Once I did, I turned to smile at Grandpa. He grabbed the wheel and stopped me from smashing into someone’s mailbox.

  “About those instincts,” Grandpa said. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

  “What?”

  “Well,” he said. “I noticed it a few weeks ago when you and Mark went to get Zack a new bed. Kid fell in love with that bunk bed, and Mark said you told him he should get it. I also noticed that you’ve been buying those little juice boxes. Why is that? Nobody likes them that much.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. I remembered both of those things. Uncle Mark and I had gone grocery shopping a couple of weeks ago. I’d spotted the small juice boxes sitting on their own in a display in the middle of the aisle. I’d probably passed them a few dozen times while shopping and never paid any attention, but on that day I noticed that they were on sale, and grabbed a few. Now, they were just sitting there in the pantry, untouched.

  I thought telling Grandpa about the dream that I had, but I didn’t. Part of that was just not being comfortable talking to him about it. I was also worried about the car that was now inching closer to us.

  “There’s plenty of room,” Grandpa said. I could see him tense as he watched me eye the car coming up on my left. “Just let him pass. Keep going straight. It’s a two lane street. No, don’t—”

  I jammed my foot onto the brake, and the car came to a sudden stop. Both Grandpa and I jerked forward. The car passing me suddenly shifted over into my lane, without signaling.

  “Sorry,” I said with a wince. “I just had this feeling.”

  Grandpa’s eyes opened slowly as he glared in my direction.

  “Keep going,” he said.

  I lifted my foot off the brake.

  Twenty minutes later, I was turning down the street where Payne lived with his cousin Hunter and his grandfather Varick McKnight.

  Hunter was one of my best friends. She and I had something in common. We were both girls in families that were almost entirely made up of boys. If I felt average looking at myself in the mirror when the only one around was Ricky, I felt positively plain next to Hunter, who was absolutely stunning. Hunter was tall and thin with red hair and exquisitely green eyes. Hunter was always put together so perfectly in the latest fashions, but it was the easy, friendly smile she wore most often that made Hunter so distinctive. Despite her being stunningly beautiful, she was easy to approach and super nice. She was amazing, though—not just because of her ability to be a human lie detector, but because she was so laid-back.

  Varick used to be best friends with Grandpa, which seemed strange because he was very sophisticated
. He liked art and opera and drove many expensive cars. Grandpa, on the other hand, liked that painting of the Last Supper that pictured all dogs, and drove a metallic green Buick that was older than I was and took forever to start. That’s what we were driving now.

  “Can we stop by and see them?” I asked, as we got near the driveway. “Please?”

  “Fine,” Grandpa said. “Just don’t crash into the house.”

  I turned into the long driveway and slowly made my way to the huge house. I was surprised to see that Payne was outside.

  Just seeing Payne took my breath away. His dark hair fell in front of his deep blue eyes and framed an angelic face, but when he saw me, he gave me a devilish grin.

  Payne wasn’t alone. He was outside playing basketball with his grandfather, Hunter and one of his cousins. Archer McKnight.

  Like all of the McKnight boys, Archer looked like he had walked out of a catalog of teen male models. His had light brown hair that was neatly trimmed, a square jar and a face that melted hearts.

  In the past, Archer and I hadn’t always seen things eye to eye. When I had first arrived in Spirit, Archer had been a school bully. It wasn’t that he didn’t have a nice side. He just hadn’t shown it very often.

  But a few months ago, that had changed. It had started when Archer had been possessed by his own Uncle Jasper and had nearly killed me along with Hunter. Then, a few months later, he tried to make peace with Eric Wilson, a boy who had lived across the street from me and had been the target of bullies all of his life.

  Despite Archer’s attempt to make amends, Eric had committed suicide. It had truly shaken Archer down to his core. So much so that Archer had nearly taken his own life—as a result of being pushed and manipulated by a long lost member of the Blackburn family.

  I hadn’t seen much of him since then. He had been out of school for a few weeks, and since his return, he had mostly kept to himself. It was good to see him out with his family.

  I pulled to a very sudden stop about twenty feet away from them all. With a little urging from Grandpa I moved up closer at a snail’s pace, slamming to a halt every few seconds, then crawling a few more inches again. The McKnights all watched with a mix of amusement and horror as I made my way closer. Finally, with Grandpa’s blessing, I hit the brake one last time and put the car into park. I tried to ignore Grandpa making the sign of the cross as we both escaped the confines of his jalopy.