A rush of fetid air swirled around Addison, clogging her lungs, making it almost impossible to breathe. Something felt off. Cold. Expired. Clutching the kitchen counter’s edge, she steadied herself and hung on, desperate for the moment to pass. It didn’t. Time ticked by, each second making her feel more and more weighted down.
The front door opened and closed.
Addison attempted to circle around, but couldn’t. She was stuck. Paralyzed. Unable to move. She opened her mouth, trying to form a single word: help.
Then two words: help me.
Had anyone heard her? Was anyone listening?
Luke stepped in front of her. “Addison, what’s wrong? Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“I … can’t …”
He wound his fingers around her arms and pulled, forcing her to release her grip on the counter. She fell forward, collapsing into him.
Luke wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. “Talk to me. What’s happening?”
“It’s Helen.”
“Helen Bouvier?” Luke asked. “Our neighbor?”
Addison nodded.
“Something’s wrong, Luke. She’s not all right. I can feel it.”
“Did you have a vision?”
“I … not today. When I went to her house to ask about Cliff Clark, I touched her cane, and I blacked out for a minute. I had flashes of a vision, something that hadn’t happened yet, something still to come. I didn’t know …”
“Didn’t know what?”
“I had no way of knowing it would happen this soon or I would have done something to help her.”
“Addison, what did you see?”
“Helen on her bed in her room. Her eyes were closed. Milton was standing over her. He was crying. She was dead.”