Page 97 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
My vision blurs as my fingers touch the mask.
I’m no one. I lose Caldwell’s feelings and his sight. I’m floating, watching…
The visions come through in fragments now.
Amelia is with the student, but it’s not the same one. There’s no blood.
No, it’s the first body I found on campus—the day I found the watch. It’s more than a body—but a living person. They’re at a restaurant with Amelia. It should be an innocent scene.
They’re alone together—it’s intimate and candlelit. I can’t see anything else. Her teeth are in their neck.
Not teeth. Fangs.
The vision changes again.
Amelia is with Poppy. I try to let out a scream, to tell her to run, but I can’t. There are no words where I am now. I am past the veil. I am watching.
Even Caldwell’s voice can’t come through me. I’m helpless.
Amelia’s mouth is against Poppy’s next.
Instead of screaming, Poppy giggles as the fangs sink into her neck. She moans. It’s not fear—it’s pleasure.
I desperately want the vision to stop. It does—it’s as if Caldwell can hear me. Another fragment comes through.
Poppy sits on a throne. Amelia approaches, and her smile is all fangs. The room is too dark to make out. All I can see is them.
The vision fills withfog. It is nothing.
I’m me again. I can feel my body—a foot shorter and so much weaker. I wiggle my fingers, my toes. My eyes flicker open. Caldwell and Margaux peer at me.
Neither of them is as disjointed as I am.
I don’t want to be me anymore.
“Take me back to Poppy,” I whimper. “Please.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
For one more night, we live… and so does Caldwell. It was strange to be thrust into his visions so suddenly. It could be a trick, something Margaux and I both point out, but we have a feeling it isn’t.
It feltreal. How else could he know what Poppy looks like?
I don’t have the words to talk about what I saw. When the visions end, we’re shaken and silent. The blood has drained from Caldwell’s face. I’m sick to my stomach.
Margaux silently opens a bottle of wine. We can get lost in the vision, or we can move forward. We must choose to move forward.
Caldwell is on our side, and it’s more important than ever to capture the killer. Otherwise, he’ll be framed… and it will be my fault.
We might regret it, but when we untie Caldwell, he doesn’t hurt us. He continues the meal with us as if he were there all along. There are no words to share and no idea what kind of plan to make. We’re in over our heads.
“Should we tell the investigators?” I ask over dinner.
“No,” Margaux says. “They couldn’t even find Caldwell, and—no offense—you’re not exactly slippery.”
“You’re right,” Caldwell says.” We have to do this ourselves.”
“Then we’re on the same page,” I say. “I’m done waiting around.”
