Victim. Victim. As soon as he said those words, I felt Fagan slice his sword through my chest. This time, however, I didn’t react with hysteria as I bucked back and forth in my bed. I brought up one hand, rounded it into a fist, and pressed it against my chest. “Yes,” I stuttered. “I… I think I know who his next victim will be.” It was a miracle I could control my tone. A miracle I could stem the tears that were threatening to wash down my cheeks like snowmelt.
Max’s cheeks slackened with obvious hope. “Who is it? Did you manage to catch a glimpse of their face? Any identifying features? Do you know who committed the murder?”
“Yes,” I answered numbly.
“Thank god.” Max half closed his eyes and drew in a relieved breath. Then he opened them and settled his gaze on me. “Who is it?”
I faced him, and I did nothing whatsoever to control my expression. I let the fear, the loneliness, the dejection, the horror – I let all of it just swell and swell in my expression until once more hot tears touched my cheeks.
Though usually Max did a pretty good job of ignoring my emotion – this time it was obvious my reaction touched him. I saw his cheeks slacken, his eyebrows peak, and he even pressed forward and offered me a somber smile. “Chi, it’s okay – you’re safe. It was just a vision – it didn’t have anything to do with you.”
“No,” I answered. “It did have something to do with me.”
“It can appear that way at first. But once you get used to these visions, you’ll be able to separate yourself from the victim,” he schooled in a serious tone.
I just watched him. In a detached kind of way, I wondered who Max really was. A fairy, sure, my bodyguard, maybe. But underneath? Underneath his scaly exterior, underneath his secrets, underneath that grass-and-sunshine magic? Who was the man underneath? And, more to the point, could I trust him?
Though my vision of dying was now mostly a mass of emotion and fear, I could still remember what Fagan had said to me – Max had abandoned me.
I turned my head from him, focusing instead on the door.
“Chi, it’s important you tell me everything you know,” his voice hardened.
There we go again – Max trying to be my moral compass, always scared I’d start lying.
I didn’t answer him.
So he simply pushed away from the bed, walked around it, and faced me on the other side. His once caring expression now had an edge of anger.
I stared at that edge of anger, and it deadened me even more.
“If you don’t tell me everything now, a person could die. Chi, pull yourself together,” he snapped.
Did he have a timer or something? Was he only capable of being compassionate for about five minutes until his true brutish, angry nature shined through?
I didn’t answer him. I continued to stare at him with that same dead, cold expression.
He parted his stiff white lips, showing his equally stiff white teeth. “Chi?” he demanded, voice just as angry as ever. But maybe there was something about my expression, maybe there was something about my cold, withdrawn silence, because he didn’t continue to push me. I watched him take a breath, watched his shoulders deflate like a balloon that had been popped with a pin.
For several seconds, he couldn’t face me. He tilted his head down, stared at the floor, narrowed his eyes, and then finally, finally tipped his head back and looked at me. “Just tell me,” there was a defeated note to his voice.
For some reason, that defeated note affected me.
Not looking at him – never looking at him – I opened my mouth. “Me,” I answered.
“What are you talking about? Who will the next victim—” he stopped abruptly.
“Me,” I answered again, that same cold, withdrawn, deadened tone issuing from my cold, stiff, white lips. “Me, I’m the next victim. Fagan will kill me.”
Silence spread between us. Though silence cannot echo, for some reason it felt as if I’d been transported into a massive empty room and the only two people in it – maybe the only two people left in the world – were Max and me.
“Me,” I answered again, rocking back and forth against the bed, “Fagan will kill me next.”
“… Chi, you’re mistaken. You’re identifying with the victim—”
The numbness holding me in place broke. I snapped my gaze up to Max, tears of anger and defeat swelling in my eyes. “No,” I spoke through clenched teeth, the tears trickling down my cheeks and spreading over my lips, “Max, I’m not mistaken. He kills me. I saw it. He talked to me, taunted me, then,” I tried to push my words through a throaty gulp, “then he plucked up a sword and cut my heart out of my chest. He kills me, Max. He kills me,” my voice kept getting louder and louder.
Max cast his gaze over his shoulder, towards the door, obviously checking to see if any nurses were about to run in to check on me.
He pushed forward, clamped a hand over my wrist, and stared at me, his eyes becoming so narrowed it was like he was attempting to stare at me through straws. “Chi… you have to be mistaken,” he said. There was a strange quality to his voice. It was all screwed up, all twisted as if someone had suddenly clamped two hands around his throat.
Though all I wanted to do was turn around,
