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Gabriel opened his mouth to respond and then realized the preposterousness of speaking to an external representation of his subconscious.
"Oh, go ahead," the boy said. "In this neighborhood, people talk to themselves all the time."
Gabriel took out his phone.
"Checking messages?" the boy said. "How about accepting the one we're trying to transmit. You're being followed."
Gabriel flipped through screens.
"Not even going to look around, are you? You already know you're being followed."
Obviously, he did, at some level, or this externalized manifestation wouldn't be telling him that. But that's what he would expect around here. A scavenger prowling until he decided Gabriel didn't look like easy prey.
"Are you sure that's it?"
Gabriel kept flipping through screens on his cell phone.
"Oh, I get it," the boy said. "You aren't ignoring me. You're giving yourself an excuse for stopping and listening. All right. I'll shut up."
Thank you.
The boy vanished, and Gabriel was left in that alley, pretending to search for something on his phone while calling on his powers of deep perception, the ones that had nothing to do with any preternatural ability and everything to do with years spent in neighborhoods just like this, his senses attuned to every sound that could signal trouble.
He half-turned, as if questioning his route. As soon as he did, he sensed someone stepping into the alley. He lifted his phone and switched to the camera. It took him a moment to find the button to reverse the direction of the lens. He remembered Olivia teasing him about that, saying, "What? You don't take selfies and post them to Instagram?"
"I only know what Instagram is because it was pertinent to a weapons offense I defended. The victim made the mistake of posting photos of my client's parrot to his account, which led--It's a long story. Quite dull, actually."
"Oh no, don't pull that crap, Gabriel. Tell me the story. Now."
Gabriel shook off the memory. It took effort. He kept seeing her expression, green eyes glittering, eager to hear whatever madness he was about to impart. There was nothing momentous in the story or the memory, just one of dozens, those easy moments of conversation, relaxed and content and, yes, happy. Pleased with himself and happy. Such a small thing, and yet not small at all.
Focus.
He shook it off harder and lifted the camera. And there, behind him, was a woman, one who looked exactly like Christina Moore.
Exactly? No, he misspoke. The alley had not suddenly grown brighter. Yet he could see her better than he'd seen the figure of the man, and there was little doubt that she appeared to be the woman from the photo, right down to her white sundress. As for whether it was Christina, that was another matter entirely .
When he took a step her way, she fled down the alley. Gabriel broke into a jog. He reached the alley end and looked around to see an empty street. No sign of--
A flash of white between two buildings. He jogged over to see a narrow road. A homeless man sat on the curb. Gabriel strode over and wordlessly held out a twenty. The man pointed down the road and gestured left.
Gabriel set out and made a left just in time to see Christina dart down yet another alley.
She's leading you.
Yes, he realized that.
She's trying to get you lost.
Yes, he realized that, too.
You should call Olivia. For backup.
He didn't need backup.
It makes a good excuse.
He ignored the voice and continued until he reached the alley. A door stood half open partway down, and he shook his head. She might as well have posted a Welcome sign.
