Mercurial. Perilous. The vision overwhelms me, and I travel tothat realm beyond earth where past, present and future merge and the dead speakto the living. I sink toward the bottom of a murky pond. What am I doingunderwater? My lungs burn, and I pump my legs, pushing myself upwards. Thewater seems to extend above me for miles. My eyesight sparks with electricpulses, and I am dizzy when my face breaks the surface. Retching, I thrashthrough the water like a fish on a line, somehow keeping myself afloat. I’mnearly to the grassy banks of the pond when I see a woman standing in theshallows under a willow.
She weeps silently, not bothering to wipe away the tears as theyglide down her face. A large stone rests in her arms, the weight of it causingthem to shake. Both the stone and the woman are bound together with a rope. Fragile-looking—thinand middle-aged—her face has an aura of faded prettiness about it. Like a watercolorpainting left too long in the sun, the subtle tones of beauty are now bleachedand drab.
Her forehead creases with pain. “Stop, please stop,” the womanbegs, stumbling further into the pond. “You’re right. I deserve to die.”
Maybe it’s that I nearly drowned a moment ago. Or because Ifeel such pity for this tragic figure. Whatever the reason, she’s going tolisten. “Not another step!” I yell.
The woman looks up in astonishment. I’m surprised, too. Not somuch over my ability to yell in this realm but by the fact we can communicate. Mostpeople in my visions are oblivious to everything but their own pain. They don’tlisten to me. Have my powers begun to evolve as Mary Arden said they would?
Making my way through the water to the suicidal lady, I moveawkwardly in a saturated dress, pond mud sucking at my feet.
“Who are you?” she asks.
I rub the stitch in my side, breathing hard. I really mustexert myself more. “H-Hester. What’s your name?”
“Marie-Louise Lennox.”
“And today’s date?”
The woman puzzles over the answer. “November. November fifth, Ithink.”
Two days ago. She’s probably the suicide Kelly discussed withhis coworker. I move closer, until I am at arm’s length. “Why are you takingyour own life?”
Looking fearful, Marie-Louise steps back and shrugs.
I reach for the rope around her waist, but she evades me. “Don’tdo it. Please don’t.”
Then I cover my big mouth. Why did I say that? The woman’salready dead. And what if she changes her mind and doesn’t kill herself? Idoubt the immortals would look kindly on my altering the past. Marie-Louiseisn’t paying attention to my foible, however.
Head cocked, she’s listening to something else, eyes fillingwith new tears. “You can’t change my fate, Hester. I must pay the price.”
Her slim body bows as though she’s been struck. “Oh, how myhead hurts! He’s so angry. He can’t forgive me.”
“Who?” I ask. “Who can’t forgive you?”
Fresh agony strikes her. “I won’t tell,” she whimpers. “Nomore. I beg of you.”
The woman turns, walks a few feet and enters deep water,throwing herself beneath the surface of the pond. I hurry toward the placewhere Marie-Louise went under but an unnatural current forms and pushes me back.Bloody hell. What trickery goes on here? Fighting the tide, I thrash-swim forseveral minutes, but I am swept out of the vision the same way I entered it. Sinkingto the bottom of the pond, I pass a lifeless body tied to a stone, floatinggently to and fro.
Marie-Louise.
Desperate for air, I writhe as darkness engulfs me. The psychicrealm fades away and I return to myself, back at the hospital morgue, holding acold hand. I release it quickly and step away. Patting my bodice and skirt, Ifind them completely dry. I am as I was before the vision. Well-dressed. Blind.Mute.
O di immortales. Take a moment and breathe, Hester.
I sink to the floor, onto the cloth that had coveredMarie-Louise. Forcing myself to be calm, I cross my arms over my abdomen andexhale. The vision’s done. She isn’t your responsibility—it was a suicide, nota murder.
Although I feel for Marie-Louise, she can’t assume ghost formand follow me from this place or haunt me like Freckles the Cornishwoman does.Those who end their own lives fall outside my supernatural job description. Butwhy then did I hear Marie-Louise call? What does she wish me to learn from herdeath?
The voice is still speaking from the body on the table, callingout for relief that is beyond my power. I stand up and drape the cloth over thedead woman. Memory teases a corner of my mind. I’m missing something important abouther. What is it? Flashes of color and motion appear. Mountains, early springsunshine, a male voice. The scene repeats several times at high speed, so fastit barely registers… Now slower. Slower. It’s of Freckles being murdered, justbefore she was thrown off the cliff. Then my exchange with Marie-Louiseoverlaps the Cornishwoman’s death, like a dress pattern covering a piece ofcloth. They must be connected somehow. Not at face value, of course, but truthvibrates through my bones at the thought of a common thread.
Comparing the superimposed visions, I find a link—Mr. Murderand Marie-Louise both seemed to converse with an invisible person. And theyexperienced pain. Almost like a punishment for disobedience.
What was it Mary Arden said? That our enemy uses others toaccomplish his work? Weak, impressionable souls who lack the will to resist.She told me I’d hear it in their voices if I listened hard enough.
Inhaling slowly, I feel my skin go cold. The killer and the suicidewere weak and impressionable. I heard it, smelled it on them. Mary Arden couldbe right about Archimendax’s heir. He may be at work in Stonehenge.
I’m drawn out of my thoughts by sounds from within Kelly’soffice. Papers crinkle, a drawer closes. After grabbing my cane, I retrace mysteps from the morgue to the chair in the hall. I sit down, weak with relief,and Kelly opens his door.
“What say you to three scones, Hester?” he asks. “You’re aslight bit of goods, but you might be able to polish them off.”
10
Amantes sunt amentes.
Lovers are lunatics.
Wefollow the waiter to our table in
