Souls have complexions too: what will suit one will not suit another.
― George Eliot
Cici settled into the plane’s seat, comforted to know Sterling was nearby. For some reason, Mrs. Sanchez’s comment about her uncle was swirling through her head. If her uncle was gay, had he come out to her grandparents? Would they have accepted him? And, if all the teenagers had known of Peter’s sexuality, how had Lydia planned to sell her fake relationship with him?
“I can’t believe you picked last month to go on, Aci. I sure could use your insights now.”
The guy on her other side, next to the aisle, cast Cici a sidelong glance, clearly thinking she was talking to herself, which was probably true.
But instead of Aci’s gentle pressure, she felt a much more domineering presence—one that had settled around her the moment she’d knelt on the bank of the acequia. That presence had increased, becoming stronger, with the visit to Roland Palmero’s, poking at her consciousness, trying to shove its way inside her mind.
Cici gritted her teeth, desperate to fight off the invasion.
“Please,” she murmured. “You’re hurting me.”
The pressure lessened, and Cici’s grip on the armrests eased a little. What had the Navajo elder said? Don’t anger the spirit.
“I want to help you,” Cici said. Her speech felt slurred, like she hadn’t slept well for weeks on end. The guy next to her leaned farther away. “I do. I’m guessing that’s why you chose me—because you know I want to. But what you’re doing to my mind…” She swallowed. “It’s breaking it. So, please. Gently.”
The guy got up, heading down the aisle to no doubt request a different seat.
She waited, breath baited, as the ghost nudged her consciousness. Cici sighed out the remnants of her fear as she slid into this new vision, which felt much more like settling into a warm bath.
“Thank you,” Cici said. Then, she tumbled into the past.
The girl in the yellow raincoat stood frozen just inside the front door. Water dripped from her plastic sleeves, a constant pling, pling, pling as water formed a growing puddle on the Saltillo tile.
“What did you do?” Lydia asked, her teeth chattering as she shivered.
The scene shifted, and another young woman came into view. Water dripped down her thin cheeks and over her upturned nose. Her hair lay plastered to her head, but her eyes burned, twin amber gems filled with fiery purpose.
“What needed to be done,” KaraLynn said.
She was young, her face unlined, but unmistakably KaraLynn.
Cici managed to push up from her seat, her arms shaking. She sucked in much-needed air, gasping as if her lungs had been empty far too long.
“Cici, what is it?” Sterling asked.
He sat in the window seat next to her, gaze alert as he studied her.
“A…a…vision.” Cici raised her gaze to his. She licked her lips. “I think KaraLynn killed my uncle.”
Sterling’s eyes narrowed. “Well, damn. I didn’t see that coming.” He sighed. “All right. Tell me. Everything in order. Take your time.”
Cici recounted the story. “She said she did what needed to be done,” she repeated afterward.
“I heard that the first time. And, yes, that doesn’t sound good.”
The captain came over the speaker, reminding passengers to stay in their seats until the seat belt light was turned off.
“I was out that long?” Cici asked.
“This was different than your dreams in Chaco.” Passengers around them rose and shuffled out into the aisle. Sterling gazed about. “I have to deal with something, but Sam already has KaraLynn in for questioning. I’ll make sure he can hold her longer.” He pulled out his phone and glanced down at the screen. “He’s waiting for you at the gate.”
Cici guessed law enforcement had more leeway with security rules, and she was thankful Sam would be there waiting for her.
She waited for most of the people to clear out before she disembarked. At the gate, Sam strode forward, wrapping her in a hug.
“Are you okay, Cee?” he whispered in her ear.
She clutched him tighter even as his voice settled something, almost as if it banished the other consciousness hovering too near her own. Cici scrubbed her free hand over her face, cataloging her body, which was filled with aches, and her mind, which raged and milled about on itself.
“Not really. The visions make me sick. It’s an invasion, Sam.”
“Worse than your sister?”
“So much.”
He grunted. “Any idea who it is?”
“It has to be Lydia Walker. She was the only one in both. But that doesn’t make sense. I don’t have a relationship with her, a connection. I mean, seeing things from Peter’s standpoint makes more sense.”
“Much as it pains me to say this, Cee, nothing about your visions follows logic. I think this is a whole different realm.”
“Well, I wish they’d stop.”
“Do you?”
Her spine snapped straight, and she stepped away from him. “What’s that supposed to mean? Yes, I do. These are like a beating, Sam. Directly to my mind.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “Sorry. I’m not picking a fight. It’s just…I know that you liked the connection to your sister, even if it was ephemeral.”
“I’d prefer to connect with my sister on this plane, as in with her alive, but we don’t always get what we want.”
Sam lifted his eyebrows at Cici’s petulant tone, but she scowled, unrepentant about her unusual surliness. Her head hurt, her stomach heaved with nausea, and Lydia Walker was attempting to take over her mind. Plus, she’d had to flee Santa Fe after her church had been attacked, and Sam was still investigating her father.
Cici had survived multiple murder attempts, and now all she wanted was her husband to hold her and chase away the demons.
Well, that and peace. Quiet would be a bonus.
“What else can you tell me about this most recent set of visions?” Sam asked as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She saw his head dip in a tiny acknowledgment of Sterling before he led Cici toward the exit.
She started with her trip to the acequia with Devon and then her talk with Roland Palmero before ending with the most recent vision on the plane.
“It’s almost as if Lydia’s soul attached itself to me earlier, and now she’s working her memories into my mind.”
Cici shivered, a violent rejection of her words.
“I hope you’re wrong,” Sam said.
“You and me both.”
“About the connection, sure, but also about KaraLynn Walker. If you’re not, well, then, it’s much harder to use her as a state’s witness when she’s committed felonies.”
Cici compressed her lips. That’s what Sam worried over?
“What about my dead uncle? KaraLynn killed him.”
Sam’s fingers tightened a little as if he knew she wouldn’t like his next words. “Well, right now, no jury or judge would convict her based on your testimony.”
“Because I sound loony,” Cici muttered.
“I believe you.”
“Thanks.” The understanding that few others would believe her sat like bad chicharrónes in her belly, a weight of greasy fat hardening slowly instead of dissolving.