The dream was different from the ones before. It was more vivid, saturated with color.
She was in front of a closed door. Number 45, it said in elegant copper numbers. She tried the door. It swung open. The apartment was big, with hardwood floors, deep red walls, high, white ceilings, and beautiful original, colorful art against the walls. The art was from all over the world. West Africa, Australia, South America.
She gave one hesitant step into the airy space. Another.
Something was wrong. Something was…
The metallic smell was familiar. It was blood. Fresh blood. She wanted to turn around and run away, but her feet refused to obey. She kept going, down the hall and into the living room.
The body was on the floor, lying in a steadily growing pool of blood. It was clear the woman had tried to run to the window—probably to the fire escape—but died before she could reach it.
Isabelle didn’t know the woman, but she sat next to her and held her hand as the day faded, murmuring assurances and saying a prayer for a life lost.
* * *
The rage was blinding. It boiled inside her like lava. Andy smashed her fist into the mirror with little success. She picked up one of the chairs and threw it at the glass where it simply bounced off the surface.
“What did you put in the soup?” she yelled.
Silence.
“Cowards,” she shouted.
The intercom finally sprang to life. “You know what you have to do. You are the only one she has now.”
“Has? She doesn’t have me. You don’t have me.”
“There are some things you cannot walk away from. Some things you were born to do. To be. It’s no use trying to be someone else.”
Her mother’s voice was soft and soothing as if Andy was six years old.
“I cannot do this again,” Andy said. “You know that. You know that.”
“We’ve all lost people we’ve loved.”
“You’ve never loved anyone in your life.”
“Andy. That’s not true. I lo—”
“Don’t. No one believes you.”
“Then do it for Isabelle. She has no idea what’s happening to her. Help her find her purpose.”
“Purpose?” Andy scoffed. “That’s such an overused word. And why? So you can ruin her life too?”
“No. So that she can save someone else’s life. If she knew the truth, Isabelle Templeton would tell you that your little equation on this, us—me—is all wrong, I can promise you that.”