Mitchell stops at Matty’s Subs on the way to the morgue for two reasons: I need to refuel before this vision, and I might not be able to eat for a week after what I’m about to do.
I finish my turkey and American cheese on rye bread just as we pull up to the back entrance of the hospital where the morgue is located. I crumble the paper the sandwich was wrapped in and open the door.
Mitchell meets me on my side of the car. “Hey.” His tone is soft, and his hand rests lightly on my left forearm. “Is there anything I can do to make this a little easier on you?”
I consider it for a moment. “Yeah. Whatever you do, don’t let them put me in a room and hook me up to an IV. Just get me home.” I can’t afford to be stuck in a hospital under observation for fake symptoms brought on by a horrific vision.
He nods. “You got it.” His hand raises and squeezes the side of my arm.
“Don’t pity me, Mitchell.”
“I’m not. I’m in awe of your bravery at the moment.”
“Is that a rare Mitchell Brennan compliment?” I cock my head at him.
He blinks several times and shakes his head like he’s trying to rid himself of a thought. “Sorry. Don’t know what came over me. I won’t let it happen again.”
“Good.” I walk past him and open the door to the morgue.
Mitchell flashes his badge at the woman we nearly run into. “Detective Mitchell Brennan. My partner and I got a call to come ID a body.”
“They’re with me,” Dad calls from behind the woman.
She turns and nods to Dad before walking outside. She must be on her break, which bodes well for me. I don’t need any witnesses.
Dad walks over and hugs me. As much as I try to shield myself from it, I can feel the fear pouring off him. His embrace is meant to comfort me, yet it’s doing anything but. It’s times like this that I see my abilities as a curse. To not be able to hug your own father without cringing isn’t fair. He releases me, and I breathe deeply to rid myself of his emotions.
Mitchell is studying me, and somehow I know he’s picked up on what just happened. I give him a small smile to let him know I’m okay.
“Where’s the body?” I ask, wanting to get this over with.
Dad motions to a door leading to another room. “In there. I have to warn you it isn’t pretty. There are no recognizable features. I’m hoping you can get a quick vision to tell us who she is and how this happened. Then get out.”
Mitchell eyes me. “Can you do that? Willingly leave a vision?”
“It’s not easy, but I can.” As long as I’m not overwhelmed by the death. “I might need a little help, though.”
Mitchell rests his hand on the small of my back. “The second I see you’re in pain, I’ll sever your connection to the body.”
Dad’s gaze volleys between us. I know what he’s thinking. I have to stop pushing Mitchell away. He understands me, or he’s at least trying to. And maybe I do need another friend besides Marcia.
“Don’t do it too soon. I need to see as much as I can because I’m not going to be able to bring myself to do this more than once.”
They both stare at me, waiting for me to say I’m ready and not wanting to rush me. The problem is I’ll never be ready to experience someone dying. It never gets easier. I inhale a few deep breaths and give a slight nod before starting for the room with the body.
The smell of charred flesh hits me as soon as I open the door. Dad holds out two masks and already has one on his face. Mitchell puts his on, but I decline mine. I need to tune into all my senses, no matter how horrifying that may be. The form on the table is indescribable. I can barely stomach the sight and smell of it, and yet I have to somehow bring myself to touch it.
Mitchell matches my every step, and I can feel his gaze on me. I do my best to tune him out while also allowing myself the comfort of knowing he’s here to bring me out of the vision when it gets to be too much. As unpleasant as it is to breathe deeply in the presence of the body, I have to clear my mind and I don’t know any other way to do it. I take a few calming breaths and close my eyes. Then I raise my right hand and place it on top of the arm closest to me.
A boat cabin comes into view. The rocking sensation of the waves causes the boat to bob up and down. The woman is sitting on a small bed, brushing her long red hair. The door to the cabin opens, and a tall man with dark hair and dark eyes walks in.
“I thought you were making us breakfast,” he says, anger in his tone.
“I will once I finish getting ready.”
“If I wanted such insolence, I would have asked my wife to come with me on this trip.”
The woman stands up, tossing her brush on the bed behind her. “You throw her in my face every chance you get.”
“At least she can cook. You’re only good for one thing, Greta.”
She grabs the brush and throws it at his head, but he quickly ducks behind the door, slamming it shut. She breaks down and sobs on the bed for a moment. “I don’t know why I even bother with you.” She wipes her eyes and stands up before going to the hot plate on the small dresser. “You want breakfast? I’ll make you your damn breakfast.”
She turns on the small burner before picking up her brush. She resumes brushing her hair, counting the strokes and calming herself in the process. Once she’s finished, she hugs one of the pillows on the bed and closes her eyes.
She wakes up to the smell of smoke. Her eyes widen at the sight of the flames coming from the hot plate. The entire dresser is on fire, and it’s spreading quickly throughout the small cabin. She rushes to the door, but the flames block her path.
“Everett!” she screams. “Everett, help!” She chokes on the smoke. “Damn it, Everett! Help me!”
She falls to her knees, wheezing.
My hand is pulled from the body, and Mitchell is gripping my arms, holding me upright as I fight to get air in my lungs.
“Piper, look at me. Focus on me. It wasn’t real. You can fight this. We’re in the morgue. You’re safe.”
I peer into his green eyes, and my breathing calms. He doesn’t release me until I’m breathing normally again.
“Impressive,” Dad says. “I’ve never seen her recover so quickly.” He walks over to me and looks me up and down. “How do you feel?”
“Okay.” My voice is raspy, but I’m much better than I thought I’d be. “Mitchell stopped the vision before Greta burned to death.”
“Greta?” Dad asks.
“Yeah. She was on a boat with the man she was having an affair with. They argued about his wife being a better cook. Greta was going to try to prove him wrong, but she fell asleep with the hot plate on. Everything went up in flames, and she was trapped in the room. She called out to the man. Everett was his name. But he wasn’t there.”
Mitchell lowers his mask, whips out his phone, and turns away from us. “This is Brennan. Did anyone pick up a man named Everett? He was most likely sailing the Delaware on a small boat with a cabin. The woman with him died on the boat, burned to death.” He pauses. “Uh-huh. Yeah, call him back in. He didn’t cause the fire, but he knew the victim, though I’m sure he’ll try to deny it since he was having an affair with her.” Another pause. “How do you think I know?” His tone isn’t the least bit friendly, and it’s clear whoever he’s talking to at the station isn’t a fan of mine. “Just do it. We need him to ID the body in the morgue.” He hangs up and turns back to us. “Everett Gilbert was pulled out of the Delaware River yesterday afternoon. He’d been swimming and said he lost track of where he was and couldn’t find his way back to the boat.”
“Sounds suspicious,” Dad says.
“He claims he was pulled downstream by the current.”
“More like he was out swimming when the fire started, and when he saw his boat go up in flames, he swam as far away from it as he could because staying would mean implicating him for having an affair.”
Dad and Mitchell both stare at me.
“Fact,” I say, knowing they’re questioning how I came upon this information. “That’s what happened.”
“I’ll let Wallace know.” Mitchell gets on his phone again.
Officer Wallace is one of the few down at the Weltunkin PD who believes in what I can do. I wish Mitchell called him in the first place, but it is what it is.
“We need to get looking for Lester Chapman,” I say, leaving the room and heading for the parking lot. I take huge gulps of fresh air as Dad and I wait for Mitchell to finish his call.
“How bad was it?” Dad asks.
“Nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be—thanks to Mitchell.” It’s hard to admit how helpful Mitchell’s been to me. Even more so to say it out loud.
“I’m glad you two are getting along again. He’s trying really hard to be there for you, and I think he’s doing a damn good job of it.”
I lean against the passenger door. “I know. I’m trying too, Dad. I really am.”
“But it’s harder for you. I get that, pumpkin. I just don’t want to see you spend your life alone.”
“I have my work, and you and Mom, and Jez, and Marcia—”
“And Mitchell,” he adds before I can chance leaving him off the list.
“See. I’m not alone at all.”
The back door opens, and Mitchell walks out. “I’ve got news.”
I stand up straight. “About Everett or the case?”
“The case. I had Wallace run a name for me while we were on the phone.” He doesn’t need to tell me which name, but he does anyway. “There’s no Randall Williams listed in Weltunkin.”
“So it’s a fake name.”
“Looks like it.”
And it looks like we have a positive ID on the killer.