Visions in Death (In Death 19)
Page 115
When Eve risked a glance back, she saw the silver star now filled the screen, and that Celina’s gaze was riveted on it.
“You’re floating toward the star now. It’s all you see, all there is to see. Close your eyes now, and see the star inside you. Let yourself float with it. You’re very relaxed, light as air. You’re absolutely safe. You can sleep now, and while you sleep you’ll hear my voice. You’ll be abl
e to speak and respond. You’ll keep the star inside you, and know you’re safe. I’ll count, and when I reach ten, you’ll sleep.”
As she counted, Mira set the screen aside, and once again moved around Celina to check her medicals.
“Are you sleeping, Celina?”
“Yes.”
“And are you comfortable?”
“I am.”
“You can hear my voice, and respond to my voice. Will you lift your left arm?”
When she did, Mira nodded to Eve. “And lower it. You’re safe, Celina.”
“Yes, I’m safe.”
“Tell me your name.”
“Celina Indiga Tereza Sanchez.”
“Nothing can hurt you. Even when I take you back, when I ask you to see something difficult to see, to tell me something difficult to tell, you’re safe. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I’m safe.”
“Go back to the park, Celina. To Central Park. It’s night, a cool night, but comfortable. What do you see?”
“Trees and grass and shadows, streetlights glowing through the leaves.”
“What do you hear?”
“Cars passing on the street. Music, a little music through an open window as one goes by. Neo-punk. It’s harsh. I don’t care for it. Footsteps. Someone’s crossing the street. I wish she wouldn’t come here.”
“Do you see the woman? The woman coming toward you. She has a little dog on a leash.”
“Yes. Yes, I see her. It’s a little white dog, silly little dog trotting along. She laughs at the dog.”
“What does the woman look like?”
“She’s pretty. A homey sort of pretty. She has brown hair, light brown hair, straight to her shoulders. Her eyes are . . . I can’t see the color, because it’s dark. They might be brown, too, but it’s too dark to tell. She’s white, and looks very fit and healthy. She looks happy as she walks the dog. She talks to the dog. ‘Just a quick walk tonight,’ she says. ‘You be a good doggy now.’ ”
Her breath hitched, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “There’s someone there. There’s someone watching.”
“It’s all right. He can’t hurt you. He can’t see you or hear you. Can you see him?”
“I . . . It’s dark. Shadows. In the shadows, watching her. I can hear him, breathing—fast—but she can’t. She can’t hear him. She doesn’t know he’s watching. She should go back now, go back into the lights, away from the shadows. She needs to go back! But she doesn’t. She doesn’t know he’s there until he . . . No!”
“He can’t hurt you, Celina. Listen to my voice. Nothing can hurt you. You’re safe. Breathe in the blue, breathe out the white.”
Celina’s breathing evened, but her voice continued to shake. “He’s hurting her. He jumped at her, hit her, and the little dog ran away, trailing his leash. He’s hurting her, hitting her. She fights. Blue, her eyes are blue. I see them now, and they’re afraid. She tries to run, but he’s too big. He’s too fast! She can’t scream, can’t scream when he’s on top of her. Crushing her.”
“Celina. Can you see him?”
“I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to. He might see me. If he sees me, he’ll—”