Page 5 of In Her Eyes

She laughs, but her gaze turns serious. “What happened back there?”

I look at the objects I purchased, now lying on my lap. “It was...” I suck in a breath. “It was terrifying.”

She waits while I gather my thoughts. The images flash back in my mind, and instead of fading like they usually do, they intensify. The acrid smell of metal, blood, damp earth, and fear burns my nose. The sting of scratches and scrapes on my skin. I’m in the mind and body of a dead woman.

“The necklace. I saw the girl it belonged to. And how she died.”

“Oh.” Lynn’s hand goes to her mouth. “I’m sorry. I should have never pushed you to go in there.”

“No. It’s not your fault. This is our game. You ask me to read something. I pretend I don’t want to, but I do it anyway. That’s what we do, what we have always done. And it’s not the first time I have seen someone die. It’s just that . . .” I don’t know what to say. I can’t put words to it.

“What?” Her voice is gentle, barely a whisper over the low hum of the car’s engine.

“This is recent. This girl, she just died. Days.” Phantom fingers press into my throat, and I swallow, trying to dislodge the pressure building there. “A week at the most and it was so intense. The energy is so fresh.”

Lynn’s eyes widen. “How do you know it just happened?”

I search my mind for any clues to timing. There’s no tangible indication of any kind of timeline. But the energy . . . it’s so strong, so raw. Nothing like the artifacts I usually work with. “I don’t know. I just do. This will sound insane, but time has a certain flavor and smell. That’s not the right description, but the closest thing I can think of. The older an object is, the more pungent the flavor and smell are. This necklace? It’s fresh, and new, and strong.” The certainty of it sits on my chest like a boulder.

Her hand finds mine, and she squeezes. “Want to talk about it?”

“No.” I want to forget what I saw. “But maybe it will feel better if I do.”

I tell Lynn everything and leave out no detail. With each horrific description I give, her face goes whiter, her eyes widen, and her mouth drops. She wipes her face with the heels of her hands. “Jesus, she was murdered. And this just happened?”

I inhale deeply and answer her with the exhale. “Yes.”

Her watery gaze searches my face. “What’re you gonna do?”

I look away, the weight of the vision suffocating me.

Lynn puts a hand on my shoulder. “We have to go to the police.”

“I know, but what will I tell them, Lynn?” I run my hands through my hair, strands getting caught in the ring Grandma gifted me. I yank at the curls, shove my hands into my hair again, lean into my fists, and close my eyes. The images come back, one after the other, demanding to be seen, heard, and acknowledged.

Lynn rubs my back. “Maybe we can call in an anonymous tip?”

We.I love her for that. For letting me know she’s in this with me. I shake my head. As much as I hate exposing myself, revealing my gift, I know I must do this in person. And it twists in my stomach like a hot knife. “I must talk to the police face-to-face.”

She nods once. “What’re you gonna say?”

I tap the gear shaft. Hell if I know. “Drive. Let’s find the police station.” Something will come to me. It has to. And if it doesn’t, there’s always the truth.

* * *

In a small town like this one, and with the help of Siri and Navigation System, it takes less than ten minutes to drive to the police station. Lynn parks across the street and digs in the cup holder for quarters to add to the meter.

She looks at me. “Now what?”

Now what indeed. “Now we go in.”

She lingers, hand on the door handle, and waits for me to do the same. Lynn’s giving me time to change my mind. As much as I want to leave and forget I ever saw that necklace, I know I won’t. I can’t. The images imprinted in the necklace are as real as my own memories. And they won’t go away. I can’t save the girl in my visions, but maybe I can help the police catch whoever hurt her. And perhaps prevent it from happening again.

I leave the picture frame in the console between the seats and put the box with the necklace in my purse.

She searches my face. “You sure?”

“Yes, we’ll just go in and ask to talk to someone in charge of homicides, give them the necklace, tell them what I saw, and leave. They’ll do the rest. That’s their job. We’re not cops. That’s the plan.” I can hear Grandma’s voice in my head now.Make plans if you want to give the universe a good laugh. The Fates just love messing with plans.

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