As I approached her, another knot forming in my gut, my gaze darted toward her head. I couldn’t see the back of her head. Her hair was artfully arranged. But I had seen the wound in her skull pretty clearly when I’d been cleaning up her hair.

  I walked softly over to her coffin. I let my hands rest on it. I stared at her. Before I knew what I was doing, I gently leaned forward. I went to grab her head to get another glimpse at her wound – not that I knew why – but that’s when I felt something. This energy jolted through me. It was an exact replay of what had happened last night. As it built in my fingertips and rushed through my body, I gasped and jolted back, but it was already too late.

  I had a chance to stare down at my fingers before I saw something pick up in the shadows.

  The early morning sunshine spilled in through the window. It cast a long shadow along one side of the coffin.

  As I stared in total gut-wrenching horror and surprise, I watched the shadow change.

  I saw it morph. It expanded then contracted like a heart that was just remembering how to beat.

  I threw myself backward. I slammed into the wall, then slid down it. As my fingers became sweaty and my breath caught in my chest, I watched… I watched the moment Cindy had died.

  The report we’d been given claimed that she had fallen over while drunk. That’s not what I saw. I saw a large man chasing her shadow. As my gaze locked on him, though I couldn’t take in too many details, considering I couldn’t actually see his face or what he was wearing, I realized he held himself in the exact same way as the guy who’d murdered the woman I’d found yesterday. I watched in total terror as he chased Cindy. I couldn’t see where she was. I wasn’t permitted to note that many details. But I did watch as he reached her. She screamed. Then she fell to the side. He had the brick raised, but he never had to use it. She tumbled, and her head struck some kind of stone. Then she lay still.

  I sat there, my hands clamped over my mouth, my whole body shaking. I didn’t think I would ever be able to move again.

  But slowly, slowly, my fingers parted from my mouth. “What?” I hissed.

  The guy leaned down. He pulled nail clippers out of his pocket. Then he sliced off a section of her left thumbnail. He placed it in his pocket along with the clippers. Then… then the sick bastard did what he’d done last night. He leaned down, trailed his finger through her blood, then placed it in his mouth.

  I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to hurl. I jerked up. I ran over to the sink. Thankfully I made it. As I turned the water on to full, I retched.

  There was a quick knock on the door. Stanley walked in. “Kid? You okay? God, you are sick, after all. Finish up here and head home. If you want to,” he added, obviously reminding himself of why I was here in the first place. “Or at least head to the break room. Lie down on the couch. I’ll have Stella come check on you when everything’s done. We’re ready to take Cindy out, anyway.”

  I pushed up. I pressed my fingers against my mouth. Slowly, I turned. With wide-open eyes, I waited to see more of Cindy’s death. No. Murder. She might’ve hit her head – but she’d only done that because she was being chased.

  “Kid?” Stanley asked, catching sight of my freaked-out expression.

  I let my hand drop. I went to nod at Stanley, but I stopped. “Hold on.” I washed my hands. Trying to hide how much I was trembling, I walked over to Cindy. “I think I mucked up some of the makeup on her hand,” I whispered.

  I had to control my stomach. There was nothing left in it, but that didn’t mean it didn’t want to dry retch. I reached Cindy. As I stared at her, I no longer looked at her as just a corpse. She wasn’t even just a name to me, either. Now she was a story. One I couldn’t keep from replaying in my head – a shadow play that beckoned me on.

  Carefully, I grabbed up her left hand. I stared down at her thumb. Her nail had been snipped. I almost dropped her hand, but I controlled myself at the last moment. Remembering I actually had to do something, I rubbed off a little patch of concealer that had fallen onto her wrist. “There we go,” I said quietly.

  I forced myself to take a step back. My whole body was as hard as a plank.

  Stanley offered me a kind smile. “Always conscientious, even when you’re sick. You’re one of our best employees.” He placed a hand on my shoulder affectionately.

  I didn’t want to point out that I was technically his only employee, considering the rest of them were family. I nodded.

  Then my mind started ticking over.

  What… what if what I’d seen had actually happened? No, not what if – I hadn’t been aware that her nail had been chopped off before I’d seen it in that vision.

  I became rigid as I pressed myself up against the sink. I had to be careful not to shake. If I rocked too much, the old thing might pull away from the wall.

  Cindy was a murder victim – and a serial killer had attacked her – so didn’t the police need to know? Didn’t they need to check the body?

  But how the hell could I tell them?

  More to the point, how the hell could I not tell them? I closed my eyes, and all I could see was that reverie I’d had where Cindy had beckoned me into the cemetery.

  “Kid?” Stanley asked, his voice wavering with confused concern.

  My eyes opened quickly. I took a jerked step forward. I looked up at Stanley. He’d been through a lot. He was well in his sixties and had been managing this funeral home since his father had died when he’d only been 35. And in that time, Stanley had seen his fair share of bodies, including murder victims.

  I didn’t want to burden him with my troubles, but I couldn’t see any way past it. If I wanted to call the cops, I would have to have him on board. “I found a corpse in the forest last night by accident,” I spluttered.

  He clearly hadn’t expected me to download on him, but he was ready for it. He nodded. “Stella told me. It must’ve been quite a shock.”

  I plastered my sweaty hair over my forehead. I looked down at my feet. I really didn’t want to drag Stanley into this – considering I had no clue what this was…. But I had to do something. I looked up at him determinedly. “Though I’m sure I shouldn’t share this detail, they suspect she was murdered by a serial killer,” I managed.

  He became pale with fear. “You serious?”

  I nodded. “I… saw something while I was at the police station. I think the killer chopped off the thumbnail on the left hand of the victim. And—” I pointed over at Cindy. I couldn’t speak anymore. It was as if I had just spluttered through my allocation of syllables for the week and now I would have to be as silent as a monk.

  Stanley got this really deep frown. It etched its way across his aged lips. He shuffled over to the coffin. Respectfully, he plucked up Cindy’s right hand. He had no problem with telling which hand I’d indicated – he was just thorough. He moved over to the left side and pulled up her left hand. Sure enough, the thumbnail had been chopped smoothly.

  He looked at me. I couldn’t tell what the look meant. I had no clue if he thought I was insane or not. He set the hand down. He took a deep breath. “You head into the break room, and I’ll call the police station. We’ve still got an hour or two until Cindy’s family gets here.”

  I nodded. Then I shook my head. I shoved a hand into my pocket. I was in the same clothes I’d worn yesterday. That detective – Timothy – had given me his card. I pulled it out. “I should probably be the one to call him. He’s gonna question why I know about the thumbnails. I don’t want you getting embroiled in this.”

  “But I’m the owner of the funeral home. It’s all right, kid—”

  I didn’t let him finish. I shoved my hand into my pocket and pulled out my phone. Trembling slightly, holding my lip between my teeth, I started dialing Timothy before Stanley could tell me not to.

  Despite the fact it was the weekend, Timothy answered promptly.

  I took a breath. “My name is Penelope. I’m the woman from last night—”

  “What is it?” he asked quickly, obviously sensing the fear in my voice.

  I looked steadily at Stanley. “Look, I know it’s not my place, but when we were interrupted yesterday, I saw that lady walk in and point to her left thumbnail. And though I didn’t mention this last night, I saw that the left thumbnail on the corpse had been chopped off.”

  Timothy was silent for a few seconds. “Did you call to admit that?”

  I shook my head. “This might be a coincidence,” I said in the kind of voice that suggested it very much was not a coincidence, “but I’m preparing a corpse today for burial. The left hand… the thumbnail’s been cut off cleanly. The other nails are all intact.”

  There was an even longer silence.

  Stanley was standing beside me, his whole body tense. I knew he only cared about doing the right thing. If Cindy really had been murdered, it wouldn’t bother him that he would have to delay the funeral – or even how distressed her parents would get. He had an enduring sense of justice.

  “Just wait there. I’m on my way.” With that, Timothy hung up.

  “What did he say?” Stanley asked quickly.

  “He’s coming,” I whispered. I shoved my phone back in my pocket. Slowly, I turned, and I stared over at Cindy. Just for a single moment, I thought I saw her shadow. I honestly didn’t know what precipitated my ability to see shadows moving, but this time, it wasn’t a full-on vision. I just saw a flicker around her mouth. It was almost as if she was smiling – thanking me for doing this.

  I rubbed my face and sighed hard.

  Stanley clapped a hand on my shoulder again. “You look really tired. You head into the break room, okay? I’ll come get you when this guy arrives. What’s his name?”

  “Timothy Waters.”

  A strange smile flickered across Stanley’s lips.

  I was in no mood to note subtle details, but I couldn’t ignore it. “What? Do you know him?”

  “I knew his father,” Stanley said quickly.

  “Who was he?”

  Stanley ignored me. He walked out of the room. One of the other morticians was shifting past. He let them know what was happening and asked them to stall things.

  Then Stanley came back in the room and practically shoved me out of it. He shepherded me until I reached the break room. He even made me a cup of coffee and plopped it down in my hands. I sat there on the couch. I didn’t take a single sip. There was an open window to my side. It was letting streaming sunshine in. Though that was usually one of the nicest things about this room, and I would always curl up on the edge of the couch like a cat, now I stared at the sunshine warily. It wasn’t the light per se that was bothering me, but the long shadows it cast.

  With a shaking breath, I clutched my cup to my chest, drinking in the warmth.

  I thought Timothy would take a while. In the back of my head, where the rational Penelope lived, I appreciated Timothy would think I was mad. Or worse. Maybe he’d think I was the serial killer.

  I hadn’t appreciated that, but enough facts were starting to slip into place that he would become suspicious.

  I jammed my thumbnail into my mouth. I balked when I realized it was my left hand.

  Glancing down at it, all I could remember was what that serial killer had done. The way he’d dragged his fingers through his victims’ blood….

  I shivered again. Just what kind of sick bastard would do that? Was it for the thrill? Or was it for something else?

  I don’t know why I added that last bit, but I couldn’t get away from the possibility. My shoulders hunched, and it felt like the weight of the world had descended onto them.

  I had to wait barely another minute before a car quickly pulled up in the staff car park. The break room stared out onto it. As I shot to my feet, I saw Timothy jumping out.

  He smoothed down his tie. From this angle, I couldn’t see his face – just the rest of his body. My attention was drawn to his Jupiter finger. He had a tan mark on it as if he’d worn a ring there for most of his life but he wasn’t wearing it today for whatever reason.

  He quickly jumped up the steps and knocked on the back door. I heard Stanley’s vibrating voice. He’d been waiting for Timothy.

  I dumped my cup of coffee on the chipped linoleum table beside me and ran out.

  I got halfway down the corridor that intersected with Cindy’s mortuary room, and my gut froze. What if Timothy really did suspect me? Wasn’t there some old adage that murderers always went back to the scene of the crime? I mean, had I adequately explained how I’d found her body in the first place?

  A cold sweat started to slick across my brow. I teetered on the spot, wondering whether I should just head back to the break room and pretend I was too sick to answer any questions, but once more my curiosity won out. No – it was more than that. Out of the corner of my eye, I swore I saw a flicker. It was a shadow. Fortunately it didn’t burst into life and try to kill anyone, but it centered my attention like nothing else could. With a deep breath, I walked to the mortuary room. I stood there waiting as Stanley led Timothy my way.

  Timothy had a completely unreadable expression. When he saw me, it cracked a little, and he smiled slightly. “Is she in there?”

  “How do you know it’s a she?” I don’t know why I asked that. It was such a stupid thing to quiz a detective on. Presumably, Stanley had already shared Cindy’s life details. But the question still slipped out.

  “Because the serial killer we’re dealing with only ever murders women,” he answered blankly.

  I felt cold all over at that.

  I’d made a set of assumptions that there was a serial killer out there. Now they’d just been confirmed.

  I stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do, getting colder by the second until Stanley cleared his throat. Finally I opened the door.

  I walked in. I stayed as far away from Cindy’s coffin as I could. I simply couldn’t afford to have a vision right now.

  Timothy did not wait. He walked over and peered down at Cindy. “Do you have any gloves?”

  Stanley walked over to the dispensary, grabbed a pair, and handed them over. Timothy pulled them on with practiced ease. Then he carefully pulled up Cindy’s left hand.

  I watched her, not him as he stared at the cut nail. I don’t know why. She was dead. But as my gut kicked, it told me she could give me so much more information than he could.

  I didn’t know how it was with other homicide detectives, but Timothy certainly had a way with the dead. The way he moved was respectful yet efficient. It was clear that Cindy wasn’t just some corpse to him.

  He got close to her thumbnail. He ran his hand over it. Even as a frown parted his lips – one that would’ve told anyone that his suspicions were kindling – I continued to stare at Cindy. I simply could not afford to be pulled into a reverie right now, but I also couldn’t yank my gaze away.

  As Timothy moved into the light, a shadow passed across her face. Her expression changed. I couldn’t tell what it changed to, though, because Stanley suddenly got in the way of the sunshine.

  I almost went to ask him to move, but I controlled myself. No, no, no – this wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. I wasn’t seeing ghosts, and all of this… it’d been some kind of coincidence and the result of a mind that had been destroyed over years of sleep deprivation.

  I rubbed my face.

  Timothy pulled out his phone. He messaged someone. Then he put the phone back in his pocket. He looked over at Stanley. “You’re going to have to delay the funeral.”

  “I see,” Stanley said. He’d obviously been prepared for that news. Unlike with me, he’d been watching Timothy like a hawk, and from the moment the detective had walked in the room, Stanley had become paler.

  Stanley wasted no time in walking out of the room and making several quick discreet phone calls.

  Meanwhile, Timothy continued to look at Cindy. He gently picked up her head and stared at the back of her skull. “You did an unfortunately good job,” he said.

  I wasn’t following the conversation. “Sorry?” My voice kicked up. My fear told me this was the prelude to him dragging me into the police station and charging me for Cindy’s murder.

  He looked over at me. He took a moment, then his lips flattened into a subdued smile. “I take it you’re the one who did her makeup?”

  I nodded.

  “You did an unfortunately good job on her wound. It doesn’t really matter too much. There will be photos from the coroner’s office. Still, we’ll probably have to question you again.”

  I slowly nodded. Then I shook my head. My breath became trapped in my throat. “So… are you… telling me….”

  “Cindy was killed by a serial killer?” He shrugged. “I don’t know, but that sure is a neat cut.” He let his fingers slide down the jagged section of her missing nail.

  My gut clenched even tighter.

  Stanley walked back into the room. “What exactly do you want me to tell the family?”

  “Nothing. Hand me the contact details, and the police will talk to them directly.”

  Stanley quickly searched through his phone. He shoved a hand into his pocket and pulled out one of Timothy’s cards. Obviously Timothy had already handed him one.

  I watched as Timothy’s phone pinged.

  He went to call the family right then and there. I started to shuffle out of the room, wanting to give him some privacy, but he pulled his mouth away from the receiver. “Stay here for a second. I’ve got some questions for you.”

  The phone was still ringing. Stanley stood dutifully beside me.

  Once more Timothy pulled his mouth away from the receiver. “I know this is a bit of an ask, but can you get me a coffee?”

  “Of course,” Stanley said in his always friendly tone. He shuffled off quickly.

  I would be more comfortable if he’d stayed in the room. My paranoia was telling me that this was a prelude to Timothy pointing his gun at me and telling me I was the serial killer.

  I waited for Cindy’s family to answer, but they didn’t.

  My gaze darted over to Cindy once more. I couldn’t see her shadow anymore. The sun had moved. Anyway, Timothy was obscuring it with his broad body.

 

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