What's a forensic psychic?
Do dead guys tell tales?
Can a psychic see their own death?

To find out the answer to these questions you'll have to read my book Visions of Justice.
In the meantime here's an excerpt.

     Chapter 1
      Nantahala, North Carolina

     “He’d been stalking her for weeks. He knew her schedule by heart and she was just his type. She had long straight black hair and was petite. He liked his victims small because it made him feel like even more of a man.”
     Eve Donaghue paced along a secluded patch of river, shattered by echoes of the horror she felt inside. Mud stuck to the bottom of her boots like a wad of chewed gum. She ignored it just like she ignored the camera crew that followed her every move.
     “He pulled her into the van in an instant and punched her in the face until she stopped screaming. She started crying and pleading for her life. This was his favorite part. He felt the most perfect sense of control over his world when a woman was begging him not to hurt her.”
     The images flooded her mind and Eve waded through them to see the face of a killer. She felt the gentle warmth of the sun on her bare neck but still shivered in the cold terror of the brutal death she saw psychically.
     “The more she cried and begged the more peaceful and determined he felt in the center of his being. He was aroused by her helplessness. When they got to the river, he raped her, strangled her and then dumped her body in the water.”
Eve paused and focused on the man in her vision. “He’s tall with sandy-colored hair and. . .”
     “Cut!” Jerry’s voice jolted Eve out of her vision and into the present. “Eve I need you to do that again only slower. I want to change the camera angle too. Just cool your jets for a few, okay, babe?”
     Eve gritted her teeth and clenched her hands. She was about to rip into her obnoxious director when Sheri stepped between them.
     “Why don’t you and I take a short break, okay?” suggested the diminutive blonde.
     Eve sighed, took a deep breath and relaxed her fists.
     Sure, why not?” she said shrugging her shoulders.
     The two women walked away from cameras and crew, and stepped into a small trailer. Neither one said a word until the door closed behind them.
     “God damn it, Sheri! I’m not some stupid freak on display, I’m looking for a killer! My visions come to me how they come to me. I’m not going to slow down for Jerry or do it again. I should never have agreed to do this show in the first place and, believe me, I ’m glad it’s almost over.”
     During the rant, Sheri casually combed her expensively razored platinum-colored hair with manicured, blood-red nails. She wore a plain men’s business suit that emphasized her cleavage and tiny waist. “Eve, you’d think that since this is your last show you’d give it a rest. I mean, really, if nothing else, take pity on me,” Sheri commented. “After all, you’re already costing me a lot of money by not signing on for next season.”
     Eve shook her head. “It’s good to know your heart’s in the right place.”
     “Hey, I didn’t get to be a producer with LawTV on just my good looks,”
     Eve chuckled and flopped down onto a chair. Visions of Justice had been on one season with abysmal ratings until she was brought in to replace the previous forensic psychic. After two episodes with Eve, the show became a ratings gold-mine for LawTV. With her closely cropped dark brown hair, piercing blue eyes and fair Irish coloring, Eve looked more like a model than a forensic psychic, but her talent, not her looks,  had made believers out of a lot of cynics, including homicide detectives across the country. Her visions were compelling, and her fans hung on her every word.
     Unfortunately for Sheri, and LawTV, Eve discovered that having a film crew follow her was more of a strain on her abilities then she’d anticipated. She was determined to get out for good after they wrapped this last episode. She wasn’t swayed a bit by the schmoozing, pleading, and outrageous sums of money Sheri had thrown at her to sign on for next season. Standing up for the dead, being their voice, bringing their killers to justice, was Eve’s true passion. She didn’t need to be on television to continue her work.
     “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?  I’m sure I can even get rid of Jerry if you’ll agree to sign a new contract,” Sheri remarked.
     “I’m sorry. I know I’ve put you in a bad spot but I want to go home and spend more time with Rachel. You’ve been a good friend to me, Sheri. I’m sorry I’m messing up your career plans.”
     “Oh well, you know me. I always land on my feet. But I know you’ll regret this decision in the long run.”
     There was something about the way Sheri said the word regret that caught Eve’s attention. For a second Eve felt like she couldn’t breath, and then it passed through her as quickly as it had come. She wanted to look psychically at what was behind Sheri’s words, but a production assistant banged impatiently on the trailer door.
     “We need you back on set, Eve.”
      “Back to the salt mine,” Sheri said, smiling amicably, and Eve’s chest tightened again.  But the moment passed and they headed back to the set.

©2008 Mary-Frances Makichen