Beyond Physical Read online

  BEYOND PHYSICAL

  A Mystery Romance

  D. Pichardo-Johansson

  BEYOND PHYSICAL

  A Mystery Romance

  © 2018 by Diely Pichardo-Johansson.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying form without written permission of the author.

  ISBN: 978-0-9990313-7-7

  Cover Design by Elliott Davis www.papercrowncreative.com

  Developmental Editing by Christine Whitmarsh

  Copy Editing by Christina Schrunk

  Proofreading by Marla Esposito www.proofingstyle.com

  Formatting by Champagne Book Design

  This Book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, institutions, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  © 2018 Diely Pichardo-Johansson, MD

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Epilogue (Prologue for Next Book)

  Exclusive Bonus Scenes!

  Note from the Author

  About This Book Series

  About the Author

  Dedication

  To my friend Julie. With eyes clouded by love, you gave me the push I needed to rescue this book—and my passion for writing— from the file of broken dreams.

  To my friend Robin. Without you, I wouldn’t have pursued this dream in the first place.

  To my parents, who reunited in heaven while I drafted this book for the first time. Only your unique combination of talents, depth and eccentricities could have given birth to the unusual writer I am.

  Prologue

  On a warm and humid Florida night, Michael O’Hara walked out of a house toward his silver Mercedes-Benz convertible. His slow pace and drooping shoulders suggested exhaustion and despair. A hint of tears shone in his blue eyes, and his blond hair, usually camera ready, was slightly disheveled.

  Loosening his silk tie with one hand, he used the other to search for his car keys in the pocket of his expensive suit pants and then unlocked the door.

  Frowning, he got in the car and drove off in silence. Tonight he didn’t try to tune in to the news or listen to music.

  The full moon was breathtaking, high over the cypresses and palm trees. On his right side, the distant lights of the city reflected on the waters of the Indian River. The view of the causeway over the water would usually catch his eye, but tonight he was unable to tend to anything but his dark thoughts.

  Without warning, a fiery sword pierced his soul, and he felt as if lightning struck him.

  Gasping, he brought his right hand to his chest.

  And then all the lights went out.

  Chapter 1

  Richard Fields had nearly died three times in the past four years. He’d been shot, stabbed, and run over by a motorcycle—small nuisances of working undercover among sociopaths for the FBI. However, today he could’ve sworn this hangover was the sickest he’d felt in his whole life.

  And now this.

  Sitting in the passenger seat while his friend Samuel drove, Richard wondered what he’d done to deserve being punished. When the FBI promoted Samuel to Assistant Special Agent In Charge, leading the Fort Sunshine resident office, Richard was glad to have a boss who didn’t hate him for the first time in his life. But maybe he’d been wrong, and Samuel did hate him. Why else would he drag him to the county jail on a day when he felt so sick? And all to interrogate a lunatic—a woman who claimed she’d killed the Alaska governor from her house in Florida, by “using her mental powers.”

  As usual, Samuel’s dark lips struggled to keep a repressed smile from breaking through as he drove. Richard groaned. “Sam, you’re always in such a good mood. It’s irritating.”

  Samuel chuckled. “I’ve told you my secret. Find a woman who feels like your best friend in the world. Then marry her.”

  Richard glowered at him. Sam remained the only person he knew who’d been with the same woman for thirty years and was still enjoying it. “No, thank you. The years I spent married to the hypochondriac, drama-queen mother of my son were enough punishment.”

  Rolling his eyes, Samuel replied, “You’ve been divorced for seven years. It wouldn’t hurt you to at least try to find a nice woman. You know, one you didn’t pick up from a bar or a club or . . . a methadone clinic.”

  Richard snickered. “Thanks, Sam, but I don’t need a steady woman making me miserable. I’m pretty good at that myself.”

  “You’re spoiled because women always go for the tall-dark-and-handsome man with the rock-hard body.” Samuel rolled his eyes again. “But your looks aren’t going to last you forever. If I were you, I’d hurry up and settle before turning forty. Trust me, everything goes downhill from there.”

  Only two more years for that. The thought made Richard’s pounding headache worsen. Trying to ignore it, he straightened in his seat. “Anyhow, let’s focus on work. My brain’s been replaced by concrete today, so you’ll have to spell it out for me. From what I know, Governor Connor Adams wasn’t killed. He died in a car accident. It was a perfect storm—the right amount of ice on the Alaska Highway, the right amount of wear on his tires and brakes, and his car ended up skidding to the bottom of the Yukon River.”

  Keeping his eyes on the way ahead, Samuel replied, “That’s the official story. The problem is, the autopsy reported no water filling the governor’s lungs, in spite of the car windows having broken. As you know, that means he did not die from drowning and was already dead by the time the car sank.”

  “Were the impact injuries massive enough to cause instant death?”

  “No. The brainstem wasn’t severed. There was no lung collapse, no heart contusion or fluid around the heart . . .”

  Richard grunted. “Sam, that’s a typical case of ‘death from inhibition.’ The shock of the accident or the freezing water causes a strong, involuntary nervous system response. The heart is inhibited, and the body shuts down.”

  “Good memory! I find the concept of death from inhibition fascinating. Right before what would otherwise be a painful death, someone, somewhere, turns off a switch as if to spare the dying person from suffering.”

  Richard threw him a cautious look. “And that makes you think this crazy lady we’re heading to see really sent the governor a long-distance telepathic order to die?”

  Samuel shrugged.

  Rubbing his throbbing temples, where gray was starting to show on his dark brown hair, Richard cursed his luck fo
r being trapped in such a ridiculously boring town. A place where, not having anything else to do, the police and the FBI followed even the stupidest leads.

  Nothing ever happened in Fort Sunshine—a lazy beach-town located on the Space Coast of Florida, where most of the population was a hundred years old. The only reason the FBI placed a resident agency there was because of the city’s strategic location between NASA and Patrick Air Force Base. Richard’s last undercover mission—stopping a gang from introducing drugs into the country through Port Canaveral—nearly killed him, but at least it kept him busy for the past two years. Now that the operation was over, he dreaded returning to the slow life of the town.

  Richard glanced up. The hazel eyes in the rearview mirror, framed by frown and laugh lines, looked so old and tired today. Florida had deepened his tan. I have to start using sun block, he thought. But he knew what he meant was, I have to cut down on drinking and start going to bed before sunrise. He knew he was too old for that nightlife, but he’d never been able to say no to a woman looking for fun.

  As they headed north on Florida US-1 highway, Richard caught glimpses of the majestic Indian River and its sailboat marinas as they were revealed between the vacant commercial buildings populating the roadside. Getting close to their destination, Samuel left the highway. “Let me explain. A few months before his death, Governor Adams started a controversial project for offshore oil drilling that had ecologists all around the country screaming.

  “This woman is Laura Bonas from Fort Sunshine. She’s a high school teacher during the day and a psychic reader after hours. A month before Governor Adam’s death, she marched with her students on Fort Sunshine’s streets, protesting his plans for oil drilling. It was a peaceful protest, but it got enough media coverage that the Anchorage field office asked us to interrogate her after the governor’s death—strictly routine since she was in Florida when he died. During her interrogation, she confessed.”

  Richard stared at him blankly. “She confessed that she killed him with a voodoo spell from across the continent.”

  Ignoring his mockery, Samuel explained, “This woman may be the tip of an iceberg. She confessed to belonging to a new cult spreading across the country. They’re hard to define. They refuse to be called a religion, but we have information that they meet secretly and engage in some sort of rituals.”

  “They? She and who else?”

  “She pointed us in the direction of a man whom she calls her ‘spiritual guide.’ Apparently, he’s the ultimate leader of the group. Dr. Carl Andrews.”

  “That name’s familiar.”

  “He’s a well-known man in town. He’s a nationally acclaimed psychologist and life coach with a top position in a publishing company that specializes in New Age books. He’s also been a philanthropist, involved in many charities. I was disappointed to learn that he might be involved in something like this, but she claims this man is who taught her to use her ‘mental powers.’ This group maintains that all human beings are gods, and they promise that if you follow their instructions, you’ll be able to achieve anything, including defeating the laws of physics and curing incurable diseases. She says their leader—Andrews—does it routinely. She calls it ‘manufacturing miracles.’”

  Arriving at the jail parking lot, they left the car and walked toward the building entrance. Breathing through the waves of nausea, Richard asked, “So, why are we wasting our time interrogating someone who’s obviously insane?”

  “Because she’s the only clue we have right now.”

  “I hope she has a good lawyer.”

  “She declined one. She said that ‘lawyers send out a vibration that attracts bad things.’”

  Richard chuckled. “Great, at least this is going to be fun.”

  * * *

  The moment the guard brought Laura Bonas into the room, Richard could see something was wrong with her. The middle-aged woman’s brown hair was poorly groomed, and her eyes had the lost, glassy look of someone who’s not truly present.

  With her handcuffs still on, she lifted one index finger as if asking for a minute. She then reclined in her chair with her eyes closed, breathing deeply and not moving a muscle.

  A minute had gone by when she abruptly straightened herself in the chair, startling Richard. She opened her big green eyes and announced, “Thank you. I needed to adjust my vibrational frequency. Now, how may I help you, gentlemen?”

  Richard chuckled. Oh yes, this is going to be fun.

  Samuel said, “Remember me, Ms. Bonas? I’m Senior Special Agent Samuel Elliott, and this is Special Agent Richard Fields. I’d like you to please tell Mr. Fields what you told us during your last interview. Were you involved in Governor Connor Adams’s death?”

  She remained quiet. Richard was about to repeat the question, when she answered, “I’m afraid yes. But it’s not that I killed him, it’s that I may have caused his death.”

  “Can you explain yourself, please?” Samuel asked. “We both know you were here in Fort Sunshine the day he died. Did you give orders to someone else to manipulate his car in Alaska?”

  “No.”

  “Then why do you say you’re responsible for his death?”

  Smiling sadly, the woman answered, “Because I couldn’t love him. Carl kept telling me to let go of the negative energy because it was lowering my frequency of vibration and keeping me from alignment. He told me the guy’s own karma would take care of him, but I couldn’t let go.”

  Samuel and Richard exchanged a puzzled look. Samuel said, “Please explain. What do your feelings toward him have to do with his death?”

  She sighed. “I was furious with him. I couldn’t stop thinking about baby polar bears swimming in black oil. I was obsessed with saving them. At one point, my desire turned into passion, and I did it! I . . . I started visualizing!”

  Frowning, she paused, her hand on her chest as if what she’d said was a serious statement and she expected the two men to gasp in surprise. They stared at her blankly.

  “Don’t you get it?” she said. “I visualized a clean North Pole and beautiful healthy animals playing happily on the icebergs. Getting what I wanted was unavoidable. But I didn’t realize that the only way to achieve it would be . . . with his death.”

  A long silence fell.

  “So, you’re saying,” Richard intervened, cautiously, “that you wished for something so hard . . .”

  “Passionately,” she corrected.

  “You wished for something so passionately that it became true.”

  “Not only did I wish for it passionately, but I applied my powers of visualization toward it. You know, guys, it was fail-proof!”

  Richard tried to hide the amusement in his voice. “You’re telling me that you have powers.”

  She looked at him as if he was crazy. “No, we all have powers.”

  Richard stared at her. “So, I have powers too.”

  “Of course!”

  “Why can’t I use them, then?”

  She spoke slowly, as if speaking to someone with a mental handicap. “Because you don’t have faith in them.”

  Reclining in his chair with half a smile, Richard asked, “You’re saying that if I had faith in my . . . powers, and told this fake wood table to grow a tree in the middle, it would do it?”

  “Sure it would.”

  “Well, you have faith, right? Go ahead and do it.”

  “No, I won’t!”

  He narrowed his eyes. “But I thought all you needed was faith.”

  Her exasperated sigh indicated that, in her opinion, the answer was obvious. “Yes. I have faith, but you don’t. It would be pointless for me to create a tree for you right here. Your lack of faith is so strong that your eyes would be blind to it—to any miracle, for that matter.”

  There was compassion in her eyes. “You see, Mr. Fields, our frequencies of vibration are so far apart that what you see in your reality is completely different from what I see. It’s like we live in two different, parallel dimen
sions and are only coming together for the brief time that this interview will last.”

  * * *

  Every answer they received for the rest of the interview consisted of similar jargon.

  Her face beaming in excitement, the woman related how she’d learned to make the rain stop falling for the time it took to walk from her car to her work building. “. . . and I never got my hair wet and frizzy again!” She paused as if trying to recall something. “Well, except on some rare days when I slid back into doubt, and the rain got me again. But those were the minority. Isn’t that great?”

  Richard forced a smile. “I’m done.” He signaled the security guard standing at the door.

  Bonas’s solemn expression was only matched by the seriousness in her voice. “Go in peace, gentlemen. Remember, keep your vibrational frequency in check. In alignment lies the power.” She got up.

  Amused by her goodbye, Richard intervened one more time. “Ms. Bonas, can you read or . . . Geiger count, or whatever, people’s ‘vibrational frequency,’ as you call it? Can you read mine?”

  The woman turned to him with a piercing look. “Your vibrational frequency is terribly off. You’re very misaligned, sir. No wonder you’re feeling sick.”

  He eyed her, frowning. “How do you know I feel sick?”

  Pity exuded from her eyes. “There’s no way you couldn’t feel sick when you’re vibrating so low. Let me guess, you have a headache, and you’re feeling nauseous.”

  Richard gaped as the young guard escorted her out of the room.

  After a brief silence, Richard exploded. “Samuel, have you lost your mind? That woman’s completely crazy. I can’t believe we’re wasting resources on investigating one of her delusions!” Grunting, he got up from his chair and grabbed his head with both hands.

  Worried, Samuel asked, “Shouldn’t you take something for that headache?”

  “I took some aspirin, but it’s not working, and now my heartburn’s killing me. I want to go home.”