“Six.” I sigh and glance out the window to the sidewalk. “He killed someone last night. They just follow me. Sometimes, their mouths move like they’re speaking, but I can’t hear them. It’s frustrating as hell.”
“The answer is in the dream-walking,” Millie says.
“How do you know?” I ask.
“Because you never dream-walked before this. It’s new. And because no one is going to find him without you seeing where he is or who he is. It’s up to you, and I hate that for you, but I also kind of think it makes you a serious badass.”
“I mean, I am a badass,” I agree with a grin. “And I hate that it’s up to me because I feel like I’m failing.”
“I don’t even want to suggest this,” Daphne says, “but I think you need to fully surrender yourself to it. Let your shields down completely when you go to sleep.”
“No,” Millie says, horrified.
“It’s the best way,” I agree, thinking it over. “If I keep protecting myself, it’s less likely that I’ll see everything I need to. I’m missing things. Daphne’s right.”
“We’ll be with you, as always,” Daphne reassures us.
“Right now.” I stand and reach for my bag. “I want to do it right now.”
“You’re just going to force yourself to go to sleep?” Millie asks.
“You can give me something to make me sleep.”
“It makes you so damn groggy, we’ll be lucky if you wake up by Thursday.”
“It’s only Monday,” Daphne says in surprise.
“Exactly,” Millie agrees.
“So, give me a smaller dose.” I shrug. “But whip it up fast because we’re heading back to my apartment.”
“You’d better give Cash a heads-up,” Daphne warns. “I don’t want to be on his shit list.”
“Are you afraid of Cash?” I ask, surprised.
“No, but he’s going to be around for a long time, and I want him to like me.” She smiles smugly.
“How do you know that?”
“Oh, please,” Millie says as she measures something with a special spoon. “We don’t have to be psychic to see that the man is completely in love with you.”
“It’s weird, isn’t it? We were thrown together because of a serial killer, and we’re falling in love.”
“There are weirder ways to fall in love,” Daphne points out. “It could be in prison or something.”
“You’re not helping.”“You’re back.”
Sarah’s sitting on her little bed.
“You’re still here.”
“Damn right, I am.” She smiles thinly but it doesn’t reach her tired eyes. “It’s happening faster now, though. So many girls…gone.”
“Why hasn’t he hurt you?” I wonder aloud.
“Because I fight back, and I think that scares him. Or excites him.” She hitches a shoulder. “And I’m gonna keep fighting back.”
“Do you still have the knife?”
“Yep. He was mad when he couldn’t find it. Sick fuck.”
I nod and glance around. At least one more girl I don’t recognize. Maybe two.
“He’s taking so many now.”
“And killing them faster,” she agrees.
“I’m going to try to go out there now. I have to see him. I have to figure out where we are so I can bring the police here. We’re working really hard, Sarah. I promise.”
She only nods as I walk to the door and try the knob.
This time, to my utter surprise, it gives.
I can walk out the door!
It opens to a hallway, with the smell of pine hanging in the air. As if someone came through with a cheap can of aerosol air-freshener and doused everything with it.
He must be covering the smell from the room.
I gingerly walk down the hallway. Nobody should be able to hear or see me, but Sarah can, so I’m not taking any chances.
I can hear music playing. Soft strains that sound like something from the ’40s. Big band-style, but slow. It’s the only nice thing I’ve seen or heard in this place.
The floor creaks under my foot, and I stop, waiting to see if anyone comes running around the corner.
No one does.
I pass one open doorway and glance inside, then have to fight off the urge to throw up.
It’s a shrine. A fucking shrine with candles and flowers and incense burning.
And a picture of ME in the middle.
He’s made a shrine to me.
Who the hell is this sick bastard?
I back away and keep going down the hall. On the left is another open door with another shrine.
But it’s not my photo in the center.
It’s Millie.
The air whooshes out of me as I back away and come to another room, this time with a shrine built around a photo of Daphne.
So, it’s not just me he’s after.
It’s all of us.
The living room is neat as a pin. The furniture is old with holes and faded fabric, but the pillows are placed precisely in the corners. The green shag carpet has recently been vacuumed.
Footsteps in the kitchen grow louder as someone walks my way, and I stiffen, hoping with all my might that I recognize him and that he doesn’t know I’m here.