Chapter 61

 He followed Rachel upstairs, into what appeared to be a small bedroom. Yet there was no bed: it contained only a large, emerald green yoga mat that covered the middle of the hardwood floor, a chair, and a hand-woven basket full of white candles.

One wall was almost completely given over to an eastward-facing window. The view of the beach and ocean was stunning.

“What is this room?” he asked.

“It’s where I pray and meditate,” she said. “Aunt Betty used to tell me to always pray facing the East, ‘cause God resides in the East—the other one is in the West.”

“I didn’t know you were into meditation, that kind of stuff.”

“You’re going to learn a lot about me from coming here.” She sat on the mat, pulled off her sneakers and shrugged out of her jacket. Underneath, she wore a plain white t-shirt.

A revolver was holstered on her hip. She set it aside.

“We need to talk about these guns too,” he said.

“We will. Take off your shoes and sit in front of me, legs crossed, please.”

He did as she requested. She took his hands, clasped them in her lap.

“Close your eyes,” she said. “Breathe deeply. Think about Eddie. His face, his personality, your friendship with him. All of the things that come to mind when you hear his name. Hold it all in your mind.”

He shut his eyes, and drew in deep breaths. He concentrated on his friend, summoning his face in his mind’s eye, dwelling on their twenty-year-plus friendship.

The only sounds in the room were their measured breathing, the creaking of the old house in a breeze, and the whispers of the waves.

After a few minutes, Rachel’s grip on Joshua’s hands suddenly tightened. She gasped.

“Rachel?” Joshua opened his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Eddie’s hurt,” she said, in a hitching voice. “Alive, but hurt bad.”

“How do you know?”

“I used your connection to him to reach out to him. When I did, I got an impression of pain . . . suffering.”

He stared at her. “You’re saying you contacted him by like . . . telepathy?”

“Sort of like that.” She hugged herself, shuddering, though the room was warm. Joshua grabbed her jacket and draped it over her shoulders, and she pulled it tight around her.

Rachel is psychic, Joshua thought, and found that the idea had always been there, the so-called elephant in the room. He’d long known that there was something unique about her, something extraordinary. How many times had her “good feelings” predicted an event that later occurred? Before Dexter had invaded their lives, he’d taken to calling her, jokingly, his good luck charm.

Good luck charm, indeed. If she hadn’t given him the gun, Dexter probably would have killed him.

“Rachel, you need to explain to me . . . how you can do these things.”

“I can’t say exactly,” she said. “It’s always been a part of me, ever since I was a little girl. Did you teach yourself your artistic talent?”

“No. I refined it with practice and education, but I’ve always had the raw talent.”

“This works the same way. For as long as I can remember, I would get dreams, visions, or strong feelings about things, and usually, they would actually happen at some point. Or I can sometimes make a mental or emotional connection with someone from a distance. I’ve never been able to bring it under total control, but meditation helps me tap into a bit of it.”

“If I hadn’t seen evidence of your gift so many times, I wouldn’t believe it,” he said. “But I have, and I do. If you hadn’t given me your gun . . .”

“Dexter would have killed you,” she said simply. “I’ve been trying to keep track of everything he’s been doing, everyone who’s in danger of him. Sometimes the knowledge comes too late to make a difference . . . like what happened to my aunt Betty. Other times, I can warn someone, and they don’t listen to me. Like Tanisha.”

“You warned her about Dexter?”

“I did, for all it was worth.” Rachel sighed. “I knew she wouldn’t listen. I can offer information on what might happen, but ultimately, people have to make their own decisions. Everyone has free will.”

“Can you see what’s going to happen to us while we’re here?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t received any clues yet, and I’ve never been able to consciously access foreknowledge about myself. It’s one of the weird things about the gift that affects a lot of people with similar talents. They can predict what will happen to everyone except themselves.”

“Maybe you can predict what will happen to me.”

“Not while your fate is directly tied to mine in this situation. I doubt it.”

“Great,” Joshua said.

“I’m not the psychic hotline, baby,” she said. “It doesn’t work like that. I’m sorry.”

“What else do you know?”

“After what we’ve found out about poor Eddie, I unfortunately know something that I don’t need to be psychic to predict.”

“Dexter is on his way here,” Joshua said.

She stared out the window behind Joshua. “There’s something . . . really weird about him, too. I’ve tried to probe at him telepathically, and I can’t get through. It’s like trying to tune in to a fuzzy radio signal. I get nothing but static.”

“I think it’s because he’s picked up a few talents of his own,” Joshua said.

“What do you mean?”

He told her about Dexter’s apparent ability to walk the earth invisible, and how he’d gotten up and left the house after sustaining three point-blank gunshots. He told her what Dexter had said: You can’t protect her from me. No one can. Not after what they’ve given me . . . the power I have . . . Comments that had seemed like the ravings of a lunatic but might actually have some validity.

As Joshua recounted his theories, screws of fear tightened her face. She picked up her gun and placed it nearer to her.

“We’re in worse trouble than I thought,” she said. “The normal Dexter is a dangerous man. The Dexter you’re describing is like some superhuman stalker in a horror movie.”

“He’s not unstoppable,” Joshua said, though he had no proof one way or the other. He had to believe Dexter could be stopped. If he believed Dexter was invincible, there would be no point of resisting him, no purpose in fighting back.

“Who gave him this power he spoke of?” Rachel asked.

“I don’t know. He could’ve only been babbling.”

“I don’t think so.” She shook her head adamantly. “I think we don’t know what we’re dealing with any more. I think we should leave.”

She started to get to her feet.Joshua remained sitting.

“Hold up, Rachel. Aren’t you tired of running? You ran from me, and you’ve been running from Dexter for years. Don’t you think it’s time to make a stand?”

Rachel chewed her lip, considering.

“He’ll find us anywhere we go,” Joshua said. “You know it’s true. We could flee to the ends of the earth, and this bastard would somehow manage to track us down.”

“But—“ Rachel started.

“But nothing. Listen to me: we’re not going to spend the rest of our lives running away from this man. He’s going to get here soon, and we’re going to deal with him. Together.”

He took her hand. Finally, she acquiesced, and sat again. But she attached the revolver to her hip.

“I hope you brought the gun I gave you,” she said. “We’re going to need all the firepower we can get.”

“The cops confiscated your gun since I couldn’t show them a permit for it. But don’t worry. I brought another one with me.”

“You did?”

He relished the amazement that sparkled in her eyes. He had learned much about her; now, she was learning new things about him, too.

“Of course I did. Did you think I would come here to protect my wife and child without bringing a weapon?”

“Well . . .” she said, and laughed. “I guess I was wrong.”

“Damn right you were wrong. I’ve got some other preparations in mind, too.”

“You do?” More gratifying surprise on her face.

“Yep.” He read his watch. It was a quarter past two in the afternoon. The next ferry, he recalled, would depart the mainland at four-thirty, and reach the island around five. That gave them about three hours until Dexter’s probable arrival.

“We don’t have much time,” he said. “Let’s get started.”