tried to conjure up that first time, but she'd had the sight for so long, since she was so young, that she could not recall ever being without it. Still, she never knew where her second sight might next lead, whether she would find her way or become lost, dead-ended, or if she'd fall over the edge of the labyrinth, or psych herself into a meaningless corner filled with useless images and symbols of no apparent or corporeal value; or if, on the other hand, she might discover revelation. And she never knew going in if she'd return intact and unscathed, for within the netherworld she visited, angry monsters freely roamed, searching for psychic prey of their own. Often psychic scars resulted, invisible to others, but painfully obvious to her, scars which did not heal so easily as fleshly ones. Scars which often must be denied so strongly by the psyche that they were healed over only by forgetfulness, though forgetfulness got in the way during an investigation of this sort. What she'd felt in Paul Zanek's office the previous day, when she had literally become the killer, she wanted more than anything to forget, yet she must court the memory, tease it back, squeeze every detail from it, if she were to crack the case of the Heart-Taker of New Orleans.
Her work often meant facing terrors and unimaginable suffering, yet unlike many a burned-out psychic who'd looked into the mind of a killer or through the eyes of a victim, Kim had always been fortunate to have a strong hold on the here and now, on current time and reality. As a result, she was able to hold at bay the dogs of fear, at least to the degree that, even while in trance, one small part of her mind knew the truth of her situation, that she was in no real or immediate danger, however horrid or graphic her psychic visions might become. She likened it to reading a Geoffrey Caine archaeological horror novel, which was among her favorite pastimes; she could always set the lurid motion picture of the terror tale aside and say to herself that it was foolish to fear the images contained and controlled by a higher force-the author-within the pages of the book; so too with the pages of her mind, where she was author and authority, where she was in control, molding from chaos some semblance of order, however dastardly and grotesque that order might be. Until now, until this time. Holding this killer's rosary beads had shaken her faith in herself to stand on an objective baseline and direct and orchestrate what her trance-self should next do. There was always the chance that she could become lost inside a vision, and in Zanek's office she'd lost all control.
That control had always been the one saving grace that kept her fit for such work as this. Many psychics far more gifted than she were unable to divorce themselves from the physical violence played out on a victim, or to withstand the mental pressure of having to climb around inside the mind of a fiend in order to think like a killer. She could, doing both in her career as first a cop for the Miami-Dade Police Department, when she'd first learned of her special talents, and later as a self-employed psychic and psychoanalyst, and finally now as an agent for the FBI.
Just then Kim's thoughts and her peace were suddenly interrupted when the cockpit door opened outward and Dr. Jessica Coran stood before her in a pleated and pleasant lime-green suit, a pleased half smile on her face as she stared at her surprised colleague.
“ What, you didn't sense I was aboard?” Jessica said, attempting a wan joke. Then she pointed at the display of files scattered across the table. “I see you've leapt right into the workload.”
Kim Desinor tried to regain her composure first by quickly closing her gaping mouth, a signal to Jessica Coran that she had taken Kim by total surprise, a lesson no psychic wanted pointed out to her. Was Jessica intentionally testing her? Kim wondered. Was she here as Zanek's watch dog? If so, Kim reasoned, she'd have to give the bitch enough leash to hang herself. For now, however, Kim was merely trying to hide her complete bewilderment on learning that she and the pilot were not alone on the plane after all.
“ Why, Dr. Coran, I thought you'd already left for New Orleans with Stephens… yesterday.”
“ Learning to pilot one of these things; never know when the skill might be useful, and I've been wondering where to put some of my money. Ed-Lieutenant Sand up front there- let me take a turn at the controls. Sorry if I startled you.”
“ You mean that takeoff was… was your doing?”
“ Sorry. I know it was a little rough.”
“ No, no… I hadn't noticed,” Kim lied, still angry with herself for being so totally taken in.
“ Now you're lying like a rug, Doctor.”
“ No, really…” Jessica closed the door behind her and said, “Don't tell me you didn't sense me nearby?”
Kim could not tell whether Jessica Coran was being facetious or straightforward with her innocent question. Stalling for an answer, Kim caught her breath and, staring up at Jessica from where she sat, replied, “Actually, you were the furthest thing from my mind.”
“ Really?”
“ Yes, really.”
Jessica came closer, seduction oozing from her along with the faint odor of alcohol. That Jessica was consuming a great deal these days took no great psychic knowledge; it was common gossip among the FBI family, along with the feeling “Who can blame her?” Still, if she'd actually been flying the plane while juiced, Kim would make sure to file a complaint with the powers-that-be. She didn't care to have her life placed in danger by Jessica Coran or anyone else whose judgement was impaired by either despair or booze or both.
Kim had done a little digging on Jessica Coran before she left for New Orleans, where they were to ostensibly work in tandem. She wasn't altogether sure she could trust the other woman, at least not in her current state.
Now, rather than entering from the opposite side of the semicircular seat in the alcove here, Jessica nudged Kim to move over, joining her on this side and brushing past the files that Kim had laid there moments before.
“ Really,” Kim said, echoing her last remark, not knowing what else to say to Dr. Coran.
“ Hey, I wanted a chance for us to get to know one another better before we get embroiled in this brouhaha down in New Orleans, you understand? 'Sides, once we're there, we're to look like we aren't on the same team, right? Don't want you getting the idea that I'm some cool, scientific type who has all the answers, but that's the part I'll be playing down there, so…”
Her cool tone and the silky voice placed Kim somewhat at ease, but did not completely convince her of Jessica's sincerity. “Yes, it would tie nice to get our Indians in a row.”
“ I see you've been doing just that.” Jessica fingered the medical examiner's reports and pawed at some of the photos. She'd already studied the same information in duplicate at her apartment.
“ There's another reason you lagged behind to come away from Virginia with me, isn't there?” Kim pointedly said now.
Jessica visibly stiffened, but said nothing.
“ You… I sense some dread in you,” Kim went on. “Nervous energy and a joking demeanor don't always hide the truth, Dr. Coran.”
Jessica dropped her eyes, and her head followed easily into her hands. “I must look like shit. I haven't slept in days.”
“ If you wish to talk about it, please do so.”
“ It's just that… well, you'd think I could get used to it… but it's ruining my life. Every waking moment, knowing this madman is stalking me, knowing he will never rest until either I'm dead or he is…or both of us…”
“ Matisak… the one who's become obsessive about you. Yes, I've heard the story. Escaped the asylum, killed his doctor there and masqueraded as an orderly to gain his freedom?”
“ He's since murdered many more, and from time to time he checks in.”
“ Checks in?”
“ Part of his god damned sick game of hide-and-seek. It's all a freaking head game to him.”
“ A head game?”
“ With the intent to drive me crazy, I suppose. He's doing a pretty good job of it, wouldn't you say?”
She disagreed instantly. “No, not at all. In fact, when I met you the other day in Paul's office, I thought you quite composed and in charge.”
“ Ever hear of Prozac?”
“ I hope you're not popping them like Excedrin.”
Jessica ignored this. “Do you think New Orleans'll be interesting this time of year? Kinda off-season of the Mardi Gras, isn't it?”
“ Well, we're not going for fun and frolic, now, are we?” Kim felt the knifelike edge to her voice and knew she was sounding bitchy, but was unable to help herself. What does she want from me? she wondered. I know she wants something, but what? “Do you think it's really safe for you, going there like this, I mean… now? Isn't Paul
