Duncan's Rose Read Online Free Page A

before, this one seemed to be screaming for her to investigate.
    The mansion, according to her research, belonged to his family—but what was her connection to the mansion? The intensity of her visions, as well as the frequency, increased when she started working on this story. That was the reason for her trip. She wouldn’t get rid of her nightmares until she resolved the secret.
    Visiting her psychiatrist hadn’t helped. He’d wanted her to be hypnotized. “We need to uncover the past,” he had said.
    Hell, what past?
    Miranda enjoyed a normal childhood and loving parents. She went to school and had friends, and had lived life to the fullest. But she had been plagued by near-visions, which grew stronger as she grew up. After her father passed away, they became full visions. In them, she could vividly feel, smell and even communicate with people, unlike in her nightmares. She could handle even the most frightening nightmares more easily than these visions.
    What puzzled her most was that, in those visions, Miranda was in the body of another woman. She saw herself as a beautiful brunette, tall and delicate. A feeling of sadness for a lost love and guilt clung to Miranda throughout the visions. Miranda didn’t know why she felt this way, or how these visions were related to her. One detail she could not explain scared her: the name of the woman in the visions, Rose. That was too close for comfort. It was Miranda’s middle name.
    Miranda felt a strange attraction toward Rose, although they were different in many ways. Miranda was a redhead and shorter than Rose. Yet they had the same green eyes. Miranda remembered looking at her reflection in the mirror during one of her visions, and she saw piercing green eyes…Rose’s. Miranda felt as though she stared into her own soul, and that scared the crap out of her. Then the visions stopped for a while.
    Why, in God’s name, had the visions come back so strongly after she started working on the little boy’s murder case? What made it even worse was discovering the mansion she’d seen in her visions actually existed. When she had foolishly told her doctor, his eyes had grown huge. He asked if she was claiming the possibility of a past life?
    That day, she left his office politely mumbling, “I am not crazy.” Maybe he believed in past lives, but Miranda certainly did not. Or maybe I am crazy, after all. But then why, in her visions, did she feel she was living in another age, maybe the 1800s or even 1700s? Why was she dressed in a long, gorgeous ball gown?
    I look like I’m a woman from two hundred years ago, she had thought, recalling the visions. That couldn’t be possible. Maybe I really am going mad .
    As the men guided her to the main, carved oak door, she noticed there was no bell, just a golden wolf head doorknocker the size of a basket ball with the initial “W” etched into it. The bald man pulled the knocker and pushed it, and the golden metal piece made a drumbeat noise. In a few seconds, another man wearing a black suit and white shirt opened the door.
    “Welcome, Miss Blair.” He bowed. “I’m the butler, William, at your service.” His voice wassteady and warm.
    “Hello, William, thank you.” She walked into the hallway, her sneakers squeaking with each step on the shiny marble tiles. The escorts disappeared in the blink of an eye. “This way, Miss Blair,” the butler said. He showed her to a winding staircase. “I heard your trip was dreadful.” A concerned smile spread on his warm face.
    “I’m glad it’s over,” she replied, “but my belongings—all of them—burned with the plane.” She winced, remembering that she didn’t have anything to wear except her jeans and the shirt and sweater she had on. She didn’t even have her toothbrush.
    “I wouldn’t worry about that, Miss,” William said. “Everything will be ready for you in your room by the time you are ready to retire for the evening.” They walked through a wide hall on