The other man blinked at him. “Are you sure? Why?”

  “I just…” Chris looked down at the patient. He was glad the surgical mask covered most of his face, hid his facial expression. He wished he had a good excuse. What was he supposed to say to explain this? “Please, I have a feeling. Just humor me on this. It won’t harm him to use a different drug.”

  His colleague shrugged and turned back to a tray of prepared medicines. “Have it your way, he said, dropping the syringe of atropine into a hazard disposal bin.

  Chris felt a momentary wave of relief at the thought that the atropine was gone. Somehow, even without proof, he knew. He just knew.

  Laura was right.

  Even so, there was fear – because if Laura wasn’t right, if his own judgement in this case was wrong, then he was about to administer medicine to a patient without justification. And if the patient still died… there would be questions.

  And there was fear, too, that Laura was right.

  Because what did that mean, if she really could do the things she said she could do?

  He blinked his eyes to try to clear his mind, reaching for a scalpel from the tray beside him. There was something more important to focus on right now. All other considerations floated away as he prepared to do his job – the thing he was best at.

  He could think about the implications later.

  ***

  “Are you sure this is the right file?” Chris asked, holding it up to show the nurse. She glanced over and then nodded.

  “Yep, that’s definitely it.”

  Chris pondered it for another moment, pursing his lips, folding his arms, and then unfolding them. “It’s just – this says his name is George Elwood, and he’s allergic to atropine.”

  “That’s right,” the nurse replied, sounding a touch bored. “Just like you said.”

  “Right.” Chris shook his head, rubbed a hand over his forehead.

  “What’s wrong?” the nurse asked. “You made the right call. If he’d been given the atropine, he would have died. You must be pleased that he’s in recovery, surely?”

  “Of course, I am,” Chris said, his voice then dropping to a mutter. “I just don’t know how.”

  “You said you had a feeling, right? You didn’t actually know he was allergic?” the nurse asked.

  “Yeah.” Chris felt bad for not telling the whole truth, but half the truth was already wild enough. “I just feel a bit weirded out, I guess.”

  “That’s just doctor’s intuition,” she confided. “I’ve known a good few cases where it saved a life. I’ve even had it come up a couple of times, myself.”

  “Right,” Chris nodded, as if this was actually any kind of explanation. “Right, that must be it. Anyway, I’m heading out.”

  The nurse smiled as she took the file back, and Chris turned away. He was already wearing his coat and carrying his briefcase, so she had no reason to question him as he walked in the direction that would eventually take him towards the exit.

  She had no way to know the turmoil that was going on inside his head. No way to understand how conflicted he was.

  Because he had done the right thing. He’d trusted Laura’s word, and she had been right, and together through that they had saved a life.

  But it was the implications that were weighing heavy on him now. Because if Laura was right about the information – right down to the patient’s name and the day he would come in for an unplanned emergency procedure, as well as the precise drug that he was allergic to – then she had to have known it somehow. And there was no way anyone could have known that, no matter how good an investigator they were. It was a thing that hadn’t happened yet, and before it happened, there had been no indication that it would.

  So, what he had to answer now – a doctor, a man of science, of facts – was how someone could possibly have known what would happen in the future before it did. Not in vague terms, like how a fortune teller would use cold reading to supply something that sounded right for everyone. But in real terms. In facts. In things that couldn’t be confused or fudged.

  Right now, the only thing that Chris could possibly think of as an explanation was that she had been telling the truth about all of it.

  Everything.

  Including the fact that she had psychic powers.

  And he wasn’t sure yet if he could reconcile that reality with the one he could see, hear, taste, and touch around him – and if he couldn’t accept something that had literally been proven to him, then he wasn’t sure how he could live in his current reality at all.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Laura groaned, giving up and just putting both of her hands flat on top of the desk, covering as many of the photographs as possible. “It’s not working,” she said.

  “Are you sure you were just touching the photo before?” Nate asked. “There wasn’t any other particular trigger, anything else you had to do to make it work?”

  “I would be the one to know,” Laura said, glaring at him and then regretting it. “Sorry. I didn’t do anything particular. I just touched the photo.”

  “Okay, well, maybe there aren’t any more visions to be had from the photos, then,” Nate said, not unreasonably. “We need to try something else.”

  “But what?” Laura asked. She rubbed her eyes, frustrated, and tired and sick at heart. Chris wasn’t talking to her, Rondelle was on the warpath, someone else had died before they stopped the killer, and now she couldn’t figure out how to trigger a vision or where to go from here. And they were waiting for the two families to come in, having figured it would be quicker to get Cortez to arrange it all while they carried on working, a decision that now struck Laura as wasteful on time.

  “The family members,” Nate said. “Maybe they’ll bring something you can touch. Medical records or something. I don’t know.”

  “Who brings a copy of their murdered loved one’s medical records to a police interview without being asked to?” Laura asked, staring at him.

  Nate shrugged. “Okay, fine. I’m just trying to come up with ideas.”

  Laura closed her eyes for a moment, trying to breathe. Trying to remember who she was actually mad at: the killer. Not Nate. Not her boss, who had targets and pressure as well. Not even herself, even if it felt that way pretty often.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Yes?” Nate shouted.

  Sergeant Cortez put her head inside the family interview room. “I just thought you’d want to know. Genevieve Granger is here.”

  “Send her in,” Larua said, hastily sweeping all the photographs from the crime scene into a pile and then shutting the folder to hide them away.

  Not a moment too soon, as the grieving widow then entered and crossed the room to sit on the comfortable sofa opposite them; had they been left out, she would have easily been able to see the photographic evidence of her wife’s dead body.

  “Thank you for coming in,” Laura said right away, trying to switch herself into that more compassionate mode so there was no risk of her snapping at Ginny. “We wanted to give you some updates and talk a little more about Jessika and her work.”

  “Of course.” Ginny dropped onto the seat and placed her purse beside her, then looked at them expectantly. Her face was still pale, marked by the tracks of grief. She looked thin and small. Like the last few days had already diminished her so much.

  “I’m afraid the first update we have is not positive news,” Nate said, his tone suitably grave. “We have identified a further victim of the same killer, who was murdered last night in a very similar manner to Jessika and Brooke Ware.”

  Ginny gasped, her hand going to cover her mouth. “When are you going to stop him?” she burst out, her words slightly muffled.

  “We’re doing everything we can, and we’ve already questioned and released several suspects,” Nate said. Laura was glad he’d taken the question because she wasn’t sure how sincerely she could answer it herself. “I know it’s difficult to hear, but we have a lot of hands on deck here and we’re following every single line of inquiry very seriously.”

  Ginny seemed to accept this, nodding wanly. “You said you had more questions for me?”

  “Yes,” Laura said. “It’s about Jessika’s work. I understand that she worked with primarily patients who had gone through a near death experience. What was the inspiration behind that? Had she been through one herself?”

  Ginny’s eyes opened wider in surprise. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, she did. Is that relevant?”

  “Well, it may be,” Laura said, not wanting to give too much away, excitement thrumming under her skin. “It’s a line of inquiry we’re following. Can you tell me about that event?”

  “It was about ten years ago,” Ginny said. “She was trying to get home during a storm and she was hit by lightning. Her heart actually stopped, but just by total coincidence, there was an off-duty EMT driving by who saw her fall to the ground. He called backup while he saved her life and got her heart going again, and they got her to hospital quickly enough that she recovered fully.”

  Laura’s own heart was racing now. They’d been right. The near death experience was the link. This was what connected everything. Now they just needed to know how that factor connected to the killer, and they would have him.

  “Oh!” Ginny exclaimed, cutting through Laura’s winding-up of the interview. She suddenly dove into her purse and pulled out a small wallet. She rifled through it for a moment and then took out a small silver coin, holding it out. Laura took it without knowing what it was, a pulse of pain striking through her head like thunder as she did so.

  “Jessika gave me -”

  Laura was looking into her face. Jessika. But she was alive now, not pale and dead as she had been on the coroner’s slab.

  She was alive and vibrant, moving out to the sidewalk as she locked up her building’s door behind her. She turned to walk towards her car, getting out her keys. It was clear that she was only thinking about getting home, seeing her wife, eating dinner, having some rest.

  Until the wire twisted around her neck and she was yanked back, out of Laura’s line of sight, gone. And Laura knew to what end.

  And like a blink, without any warning, she was there again. Jessika Granger walking down the street, much younger, carefree, a purse on her shoulder and her long hair swaying behind her. There was a storm rolling overhead, heavy clouds rumbling, rain lashing down, but Jessika had an umbrella over her head and didn’t seem to mind. She even smiled, tilting her head back just enough to avoid getting wet and looking up at the sky. A car went by and splashed through the puddles near the gutter and she shrieked as she dodged the water. Then she laughed, mostly to herself, shaking her head and walking on down the street as if the storm didn’t bother her at all.

  There was a flash of lightning, close by – too close. Jessika’s face pinched, her steps faltered. A moment later there was a crash of thunder, so loud she winced.

  And then the rain stopped.

  Jessika frowned in confusion, hearing the sound of the rain hitting her umbrella stop. She moved it to the side, looking up at the sky, her face lighting up in wonder at the fact that everything was suddenly dry.

  And then an arc of cold light flew down from the sky and hit her, and she screamed and flew into the air, and Laura inhaled the pungent smell of burnt flesh –

  “This,” Ginny said. “She was carrying it in her purse when the lightning struck her. She said it was lucky because she hadn’t died. I always laughed and said maybe it was unlucky because she got hit by lightning in the first place, but she insisted I carry it with me after we first moved in together.”

  “Then you should keep it safe now,” Laura said, her voice tight with strange emotion. She handed it back firmly, pressing it into Ginny’s palm so there was no risk of dropping it. “Was there anything else related to near death experiences that Jessika was involved in? I know that she worked with other survivors, but was there something else? For example, a support group, or an online forum, or something like that?”

  Ginny thought for a long moment. “Yes,” she said at last. “Yes, there was something. There was a book.”

  “A book?” Laura repeated.

  “This was, um…” Ginny screwed up her nose and shook her head. “I don’t know. Two years ago? Three? Anyway, someone approached her for comment in a book about near death experiences, and she ended up doing a whole interview with them. She was used as one of the case studies. It was pretty cool, actually.”

  “What was the name of the book?” Laura asked immediately. “And the author, if you remember?”

  “Oh, yeah, it was something like… I don’t know, something like The Secrets of Near Death or Near Death Secrets or something like that. And the author was a local man – this Sean Jardine. I remember him pretty well. He came by the house a number of times for the interviews, and we went to the book launch party too.”

  Laura glanced at Nate and saw him jotting down the name and title in his notebook, meaning that she didn’t have to. “That’s great,” she said. “We’re going to look into this connection, so thank you for providing all of that information.”

  “That’s all we need for now,” Nate said. “If you find any more information at home, or a copy of the book, please do let us know – it would be great to read it.”

  “I’ll go see if I can find it,” Ginny nodded. “Jess had a lot of books, so it might take me a while to look through them all, but I’ll hand it in as soon as I can grab it.”

  “Thank you,” Nate nodded. He got up, shadowing Ginny to the door, his hand hovering in the air behind her to guide her along. “I hope that next time we speak, we’ll be able to provide you a more concrete update.”

  Ginny nodded. She looked for a moment like she was going to say something, but then she closed her mouth and nodded and disappeared into the hall.

  Nate closed the door after her and looked back at Laura, who was still sitting on the sofa.

  “You saw something?” he asked.

  Laura looked up at him with a wan smile, feeling the headache pulse inside her temple as she moved her head. She was tired enough already – the visions coming on top of one another weren’t helping. “I did.”

  “You need something for the pain?” Nate asked perceptively.

  “Maybe.” Laura cleared her throat. “I brought some, at the desk…”

  “Wait here.”

  Nate was gone before Laura could even react or tell him to wait. She hated feeling helpless, like she needed to be looked after. On the other hand, there was undeniably something nice – like a guilty pleasure – about being waited on hand and foot, having someone fuss over you. She rested, propping her head in her hands, before the door opened again and Nate pushed a glass of water and a pill in front of her face.

  Laura took them gratefully, swallowing the pill with a mouthful of water and then nodding her thanks. Nate set the glass down and sat beside her. “So?”

  “It was two deaths again, just like with Townsend,” Laura said. The intervening moments and the time to analyze what she had seen were useful in being able to explain it. “I saw her being strangled – attacked, just like we knew. It was kind of a different angle from the security footage, but all the same. And then I saw her walk down the street and get struck by lightening exactly as Ginny described it.”

  “We just need to hear what happened to Brooke and we’ll be there,” Nate said. “If this is a definite trend, one of the first things we need to figure out is how the killer is identifying the victims. You think the book could be a link somehow? Or that Jessika might have been part of some kind of group that Ginny didn’t know about?”

  “I would be very interested in going through their social media accounts,” Laura nodded. “Maybe something like a Facebook group where survivors share stories and coping strategies. I imagine that if Jessika was part of one of those, it would be a really great way to get referrals for patients.”

  “You’re right about that,” Nate nodded. “I saw Cortez out there – she has Bree Ware with her.”

  “Okay,” Laura nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  “Are you sure?” Nate asked. “Your painkillers can’t possibly have kicked in yet.”

  Laura smiled at him, trying to make it a braver one than last time. “I’ll be fine. I’ve been doing this for a while, you know.”

  Nate made a grunting noise low in his throat which sounded like a disagreement, but he got up and went to the door anyway. He made a motioning movement while leaning out into the hall, and before long, Cortez appeared there with Bree Ware beside her.

  “Hi,” Bree said, and there was none of the fire she’d had yesterday. Today she looked defeated and tired and ill. She was clearly progressing through the different phases of this process. Laura was relieved – Bree had been so confrontational before that she hadn’t been looking forward to the interview.

  “Miss Ware,” Laura said. “Please, take a seat.”

  Bree moved over and sat, moving her purse in front of her. She was wearing a long knitted cardigan, with sleeves that covered her hands.

  “We just wanted to speak with you about some leads we’ve discovered,” Nate said. “The questions might seem random, but every little bit of information we can get is really going to help.”

  “Okay,” Bree said. She seemed hesitant, restrained. Laura thought she probably felt a little embarrassed at how she had snapped at them yesterday, only to realize that it was her sister’s own fault that her records didn’t show what she’d thought they had.

  “Did your sister ever have a near death experience?” Nate asked. “Before this, I mean.”

  Bree frowned. “No, she never had anything like that. I don’t think she ever even broke a bone.”

  Laura froze, her heart stopping in her chest for a second.

  No?

  If the answer was no, then…

  Laura’s head span. She had been so sure that they had finally figured out the connection. If Brooke Ware didn’t fit the pattern, then quite simply, the pattern they thought they were building was wrong.

 

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