Laura held up a hand, making his voice trail off. This wasn’t the point of her coming here. She was sure he had a lot to say to her—he seemed like the kind of guy who always had a lot to say. But she was here to talk to him, and she wanted him to listen.
“Look,” she said. “I have something to say first. I know you’re not a psychic.”
Nolan’s forehead creased slightly, the beginning of a frown, and he opened his mouth—but she held up her hand again to stop him. Miraculously, he obeyed, staying quiet.
“Or maybe you think you are, and I accept that,” Laura continued, mercilessly. She needed to do this. She needed to say it. It was like a trial run. A test. She hadn’t been able to say this to Nate. But here, with this stranger, in this crowded and noisy club where she could pretend he had heard her wrong—here, maybe she could do it. She could be brave enough. “But you aren’t a psychic. And I know that, because I am.”
A smile curved Nolan’s lips. An amused grin. Like he thought this was all part of some kind of trick, some joke that she was leading up to. Maybe even a performance. He just wanted to see where it was going, to get in on the punchline. “Prove it, then,” he said, toying with his glass on the table. Like this was all just a big flirtation, a lead-up to her asking him back to her place or something equally stupid.
“I don’t need to prove it,” Laura said impatiently. “Besides, it doesn’t work like that. If you had the visions too, you’d know already. I see things, Nolan. They come at random, and I can’t control them, and sometimes they don’t have any real consequences. But sometimes I see really serious things from the future, like the fact that someone is going to die. I see their deaths.”
That crease had appeared in the middle of Nolan’s forehead again. He was puzzled, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “What do you mean, you see their deaths?” he asked, his voice uncertain.
“It’s like I’m there,” Laura said. She gestured wide, her lemonade all but forgotten on the table. Now that she could say it, it was spilling out of her like it had all just been waiting to come out. “I see everything. I watch them as they die. Victims, usually. That’s why I’m in law enforcement. I use my visions to catch serial killers, to stop them so they can’t hurt anyone else.”
Nolan stared at her for a moment, unblinking. She met his gaze levelly in return. “You think you’re able to see dead people?” he said, at length. His tone had changed. From playful to straight. From light to somehow harsher.
“I don’t think it,” she said. “I know it. If I touched you, there’s a chance I could see your death. I would know how you were going to die, and when. I would be right there watching it. But sometimes I don’t see anything at all. Sometimes I just see something stupid, like the fact that you might trip on your way to the bar or walk into something carrying a drink. But mostly, because I look for it, I see death. I’ve seen hundreds of people die. Some of them over and over again. Some of them, I managed to save.”
Nolan shook his head at her. “That’s not funny,” he said, swigging his drink down and finishing the glass.
“I’m not laughing,” Laura told him, keeping her steely eyes on his. “I see people die. That’s my power. I see the future.”
There was what felt like a long pause. He stared at her, like he was trying to work out whether this was all a joke. But then, apparently deciding that it wasn’t, Nolan’s face twisted into a disbelieving sneer. “I don’t know what you think your game is, but it isn’t working,” he said. “You’re crazy. I don’t have to sit here and listen to this.”
“You contacted me because I said I was psychic,” Laura pointed out.
“Yeah, but not for real,” Nolan said, getting up. “You know what? You could have just said you weren’t interested. This is a waste of my time.” He pushed his way around the table and walked
away angrily, until he was lost in the crowd of people between Laura and the door.
Laura wet her lips, hesitating. She could see his glass on the table. It was empty. That was probably a good thing, or she might have reached out to finish it off for him.
He hadn’t believed a word she’d said. She was right all along. He was just using the forum as a place to pick up women who were simple-minded enough to giggle and sigh when he claimed to be a psychic. He probably thought they were all the same—just indulging in fantasies, pretending. Claiming that they dreamed something once that came true, or that they knew when someone was about to say their name. The kind of thing that could happen to anyone.
He hadn’t been expecting someone who really believed it.
Laura took a gulp of her lemonade, trying to pretend to herself that it was something stronger. When she’d refused to tell Nate about her abilities, he had walked away and left her.
When she told Nolan everything, he had walked away and left her.
She was damned if she did. Damned if she didn’t. And the only thing she knew for sure was that she was still absolutely alone, because there was never going to be anyone she could talk to about this without looking like a freak who needed medication.
And no one she could keep this secret from who wouldn’t, sooner or later, get suspicious and ask for the truth.
Laura put her lemonade down on the table and stood, sweeping out of the club. It was the only way she could be sure that she wasn’t going to get drunk.
Not that leaving guaranteed it either.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Laura sat up in bed, rubbing a hand over her eyes. It was useless. No matter how much she tossed and turned, she couldn’t sleep.
It had been a long day. A lot had happened. Amy and her father, the social worker, Nate, Nolan. She should have been exhausted. Add a vision on top of that, and the sensation of Nate’s shadow of death, and Laura should have been sleeping like a baby.
Instead she was wired, unable to sit still. Sleep wasn’t going to come to her when she was like this. She could already feel it.
She got up, pacing restlessly through into the kitchen. She knew why she was going in there, even though she told herself that wasn’t it.