“It was just a vision,” he said in a far clearer tone, speakingwith a slow kind of certainty you would use on a child.
I shook my head. “It was so real. I wasthere. I felt this guy—”
Before I knew what was happening, Maxreached forward and gently pried my hand back from my throat.Though I shivered, it wasn’t out of fear – just the thrill of histouch.
I looked up into his gaze.
“It was just a dream,” he said once more with the kind ofcertainty you could not deny. “But it was also a clue,” headded.
“… A clue?”
“To the murderer. Am I correct in assuming that you momentarilypossessed the victim’s body?”
Slam. I hadn’t thought about it like thatuntil now. Suddenly, I realized what had happened. And that justmade the situation all the more horrible.
I clamped a hand over my mouth as Ithreatened to retch.
“Oh god, oh god,” I said through my stiff, wet fingers. “I was inthe victim’s head? Oh god. But thatdoesn’t make sense – she’s dead. Dead. I saw her body in thatphoto. Wait, how did that photo get there? What-what—”
“It got there because I put it there,” herevealed. “But that’s not important. What’s important is that you accessed thevictim’s mind. And before you ask, yes, you can do that. It’s anextension of your ability to see the future. You saw her beingkilled, right?”
I usually had a cast-iron stomach. I was the kind of girl whocould eat two-week-old Chinese take away from the back of herfridge. I would just brush off the mold or chew aroundit.
Well, right now, that cast-iron stomachdid a flip. I lurched backward, headed straight back into thebathroom, and unceremoniously threw up in the sink.
When I’d evacuated the contents of mystomach, I looked up and caught sight of myself in the mirror.
I was a mess. A total mess. My bedraggled,wet hair hung around my face. My eyes were sunken in, and my cheekswere as white as snow.
I heard Max clear his throat from thedoorway. “The effects will wane.”
“Effects?” I asked in a shaky voice as I washed my mouth andlocked my fingers over my lips.
“The directness of the murder will passwith time. But now, while it’s fresh, you must take advantage ofthis fact. What do you remember?” He took a direct step into the room.
I sliced my gaze to the side and watchedhim in the edge of the mirror.
Though this morning all I’d wanted to do wasrun from this murder, now I couldn’t. Because I’d experienced it.It was locked in my body, in my hands, in my throat.
Without bothering to dry my hand, I clutchedmy neck once more, almost as if I were trying to keep it whole.
“Chi, I know this is hard, but it isimperative that we catch this fiend. He will murder again. Do youwant that—” he began.But he stopped.
I ticked my gaze towards him once more,eyes narrowing. I knew what he’d just been about to say – did Iwant that kind of blood on my hands. The old Max – the brutish,arrogant prick I was so very used to now – he wouldn’t havehesitated to insult me. The guy standing in my doorway? He had tobe someone else,because there wasn’t a hint ofanger crumpling his brow, just concern.
It distracted me enough that I managed tostraighten, pat my mouthdry after rinsing it with water, and turn. I knew I looked awful, Ididn’t care.
I twisted around, walked over to the bath,and sat on the edge.
“Careful,” he snapped as he reached a hand out, “the floor isstill wet.”
Wet? That was an understatement. The floorwas inundated. It was like a tropical island that had beenswallowed by climate change.
“I’ll be fine,” I said as I proved my point by not falling andcracking my head.
I let my eyes drop, let my gaze lock onthe sodden bath mat. I watched the remnants of the bubble bath popand turn to scum. “He chased me through some kind of forest. Therewere… pine trees, spruces, birches. It was close-knit. I tried torun away, but…” I suddenly stopped, incapable of saying anotherword as my throat seized up. I could feel it – I could feel itagain. Theknife going in.
I squeezed my eyes shut as I clamped ahand so tightly around my throat, I started to chokemyself.
Suddenly, Max was there, right by my side,hand weighing down into my shoulder. “It's not real,” he said oncemore, his brogue thicker than usual. I swore it shuddered down hisarm and rattled the bath.
Still, with a handover my throat, I tightened my grip and swallowed. “I tried to getaway. I couldn't—”
“It's not you,” he said with a soft voice. “It was thevictim.”
I opened my mouth and hesitated before Isaid, “She… she tried to get away,” I said, trying the wordsheon for size. But it didn't fit.Yes, maybe technically I'd been possessing the victim’s mindmomentarily, but it didn't feel that way. It felt as if I had beenchased through that forest as if Ihad been split from ear-to-ear.
I squeezed my eyes so tightly shut, Istarted to see stars spread across my vision.
It reminded me how dark it had been inthat forest. Howthick the canopywas.
“Any details, do you remember any moredetails?” I heard himcrouch down beside me, felt his hand lift slowly off myshoulder.
I almost wanted to reach forward, grab hishand back, and place it exactly where it had been on my arm.Because there was something so reassuring about his touch, aboutthe pressure, about the heat shifting through my already soddensweatshirt.
“Chi,” he prompted when my silence went on too long.
“The canopy – it was dark. The trees werethick. It was night, but none of the light could make it through. Iwas running into trees, kept snagging my arms on the branches—”
“Chi,” I heard his brogue by my air once more, “it wasn't you. Itwas the victim. Now quickly, before the sensations dwindle, what doyou remember of your attacker?”
He’d just said I wasn't the victim, thenhe turned around and said your. Ididn't bother to correct him. I screwed up my face, and Iconcentrated. Even though it was categorically
