“You didn’t vomit,” he said.
“I didn’t feel nauseous,” she said, looking up and shrugging. “Maybe I’m getting more desensitized to this. I don’t often have this many dreams looking through the same person’s eyes. I haven’t thrown up since that night in the jail. I don’t know. I feel like I’m getting deeper into his mind.”
“You said he took someone. You mean he killed again?” Manny asked.
“No. I mean took, as in abducted.”
“Okay, tell me exactly what you saw.”
“I’ll try.” Maureen got to her feet and began to pace around the kitchen, running her hands through her hair, as if trying to massage the memories out of her scalp.
In spite of the gravity of the situation, Manny couldn’t help himself from being distracted by her body. He did his best to focus.
“It was another boy,” she began slowly. “I’m sure about that. He was younger than the other two, and he was taken right out of a car. A black car, four doors. I don’t remember much more about the surroundings than that; there’s always a blur on the edge of my vision when I’m in the dream. Maybe there were some trees, but I can’t be sure. I remember more about how I felt—he felt. It was the first time I could discern which emotions were mine and which were his. He felt a rush of . . . justification is the only way I can really describe it. But it was like the feelings weren’t directed at the kid. They were directed somewhere else. And he said something, too. What was it . . . ? It’s on the tip of my tongue.”
“What?” Manny asked eagerly. “What did he say?”
“Give me a second!” she shot back. Maureen closed her eyes and turned her head side to side.
Manny looked on, hoping whatever she could come up with would break the case for them.
“‘Rebirth first,’” she said. “That’s all I can remember. Rebirth first.”
“Well that certainly doesn’t help,” said Manny, crestfallen at the meaninglessness of it. The frustration didn’t help his hangover, either. “What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know, it’s not like they were my words!”
“I didn’t mean to snap at you, I apologize.” Manny moved over to Maureen, put his arms around her, and held her tight.
She returned the hug, though it seemed that she pushed away awfully quickly. “I should throw some clothes on, and we should hit the road and try and figure out what this is all about.” She turned and headed toward his bedroom.
“I can barely move after all that drinking,” Manny said, taken aback by the fact that the previous night had seemed to leave no ill effect on her. “Maybe I should make us something to eat first.”
“You call that drinking?” she said mockingly over her shoulder. “I’m gonna jump in the shower, so get something to eat and pull yourself together. I’ll drive. Ten minutes.”
With that, Maureen disappeared around the corner. Manny stood still in the kitchen, dumbfounded for a moment. From the moment he had grabbed her from the bar, she had acted as though the investigation was an imposition on her life. Now she was taking the lead. What had changed?
Manny moved over to the refrigerator. Three pieces of pizza from the previous night were left. He grabbed the box, tossed the cold slices onto a plate, and put them in the microwave. He punched in forty-five seconds and flipped on the sink faucet to pour himself some water while he waited. Mindlessly, he drank down half a glass and filled it up again. He sipped his water slowly while staring out the window into the yard, continuing to ponder the enigma that was Maureen.
The beep of the timer snapped him back, and he headed over to the microwave. The pizza’s cheese was still cold, but Manny didn’t care. The crust was warmed up enough, and the sensation of food in his mouth and stomach was easing his nausea. His headache, however, was getting worse, and he couldn’t believe that Maureen wasn’t hungover. Moreover, she hadn’t complained of any pain following her dream. Perhaps she was right and something was changing the more she saw through this psychopath’s eyes. Anything was possible.
Manny was chewing on the crust of the final piece when Maureen came back in, wearing her jeans from the night before, a clean T-shirt she had stolen out of his dresser, and her flannel shirt tied around her waist as usual. She let her hair hang wet, but he knew that eventually, it would be put up in a ponytail. She walked over to him, grabbed the half-full glass of water out of his hand, and drank it down.
“You need a good roll of deodorant and some mouthwash,” she said, as if he were a child. And yet, there was something off about her tone. It was too somber for her to be playfully chiding him. “And you should try to wear something professional. Maybe even a tie.”
“Why?” he asked, puzzled by her words. “Where are we going?”
Maureen didn’t say anything. Instead, she slowly made her way into the living room, leaned over the couch, and picked up her bra. She turned her back to him, hoisted up the T-shirt she was wearing, and quickly clasped it on. She smoothed the shirt back down over her torso and walked to the window, pulling a curtain aside to stare out.
“Maureen,” Manny said, taking a few steps toward her, “you’re acting odd. What’s going on?”
“I didn’t want to tell you until we were on the road,” she said, shaking her head before turning back toward him. “I was thinking about my dream in the shower, and I realized that I recognized the
