“How much can she know?” Zahra’s dark eyes were bouncing all over the place, as if she might suddenly get up and make a run for it. She looked really alarmed.
Stella realized Zahra had her own secrets, maybe as shattering as her own. “I have no idea. My past was very well documented. I don’t know how well documented yours is. Whatever you’re worried about, if no one knows about it, or wrote it down, or had pictures of it, she wouldn’t be able to find it.”
Zahra took a deep breath and let it out. “That sucks to be her. She must feel like a peeping Thomas.”
“Tom,” Stella automatically corrected. “It is difficult for her. I’m sure that’s part of the reason she stays a little apart from everyone. But in any case, what I was trying to say in regard to the serial killer …” Stella frowned as she dipped the zucchini in sauce and took a bite. “It isn’t like we have a huge circle to draw on and we can’t talk to anyone else about this. No one, Zahra, not Bruce, not anyone.”
Zahra nodded. “I get it. I come from a place where the wrong word can get someone killed. I’m not about to mess up when it comes to your life. This is one of those situations where we can’t trust anyone until we know for certain they’re clear, and how do we know that?”
“I had another nightmare this morning. This time it was two backpackers. It was such a small, tiny piece of a campsite that it was impossible for me to recognize. I know I’ve been there before, but there’s thousands of miles of trail in the Sierras, and the campsite I know I’ve seen, but it was so dark. I believe the killer is going to stay close to home, stay in our county, so odds are I might be able to identify where he’s going to strike.”
Zahra wasn’t a dedicated backpacker. She would camp occasionally, and go out on weekend backpacking trips, or day trips, but not week-or monthlong trips. She didn’t want to hike the John Muir Trail. That wasn’t her thing at all. She would generously resupply her friends if they were hiking the JMT, but that was the extent of her “hiking” expertise.
“You have four more chances to find the right place he’s going to strike, right?” Zahra asked.
Chances. Stella had never considered each nightmare a “chance,” but that was what it was. Another clue. Another reveal of the larger picture. “If this goes the way it’s always gone in the past, then yes, I should have a nightmare every night for the next four nights and see more of what the killer sees.”
“Wait.” Zahra sat up straighter. “Do you actually see through the killer’s eyes?”
Stella shook her head. “Not exactly. It’s like I’m a bystander, a witness, watching from somewhere apart from them all. In this instance, I’m behind the couple. I can’t see their faces. It’s frustrating. I can’t shift positions to see any more of the trail. There’s no way to move the lens of the camera.”
“Is it an actual camera lens you’re looking through?” Zahra asked.
Stella had never thought of that. She’d been a child and then a teen. No one had ever asked that question. She wasn’t a photographer. She didn’t know anything about cameras. She could barely take a selfie with her phone. The rest of her friends laughed at her efforts when she tried. She did have hundreds of pictures of Bailey on her phone. And the lake. She loved the lake, especially at sunrise.
“I don’t know. It’s a dream, Zahra, how would I know, and what difference does it make?” Stella asked, looking around, suddenly needing coffee.
Shabina was busy cleaning her machines, but she looked up as if she had a sixth sense when it came to her customers. She moved quickly to catch up her coffeepot and bring it all the way to the back of the shop to pour the aromatic liquid into Stella’s mug.
“Thanks, Shabina. You’re a goddess.”
Shabina laughed. “It’s a new pot, just for you. That’s why it’s a mini-pot.” She turned and left them to it, not even asking why they needed to meet alone where no one could overhear them. She didn’t seem the least upset that she wasn’t included in their conversation.
Stella took a sip of the coffee. It was very hot. Too hot, just the way she liked it. “Why would it make a difference? I’ve always concentrated on what I’ve seen through the lens, not on the lens.”
Zahra leaned closer. “What if you could make the lens wider yourself, Stella? If there were details on the lens you’re looking through, the camera itself, you might be able to adjust it, shift the view a little each time. I don’t know, it’s just a thought. When I dream, I can sometimes change my dream a little.” She shrugged and dabbed the zucchini stick in more sauce.