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Hallucinations are firing neurons—I know this, too. But is it all just a misfiring network in the brain? Or is there some higher level of consciousness that our minds are able to tap into?
There is no answer; only the question.
I saw myself die. It’s an uncommon phenomenon to witness oneself die without waking up before that moment of demise. I have no real memory of my death, and yet I witnessed my life end in the dream.
It’s a bone-hollowing loneliness, the cold void of fading away.
If a girl dies in a lake and no one is around to see, is she truly dead?
22
Prime Suspect
Lakin: Now
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
I stare through the sedan’s windshield at the packed parking lot. We’re parked at the emergency wing of the hospital where Cam’s baby was admitted.
Rhys’s hands are gripped to the wheel, the engine idling, as if he’s waiting for me to change my mind.
“I need to do this.” I clasp the door handle.
“I’ll go with you.” Rhys finally shuts the car off and opens his door.
“Wait,” I say, but I’m not sure what comes next.
Technically, we should be at the West Melbourne precinct. To feel them out, Rhys placed a call and spoke with Detective Right, inquiring about the cold case. As I suspected, the locals want to question me in relation to Cam, not the cold case. By coming here, one could claim we’re evading the police. Well, I’m evading.
I was the one who went to see Cam yesterday. I’m the one who has been requested to make a statement to the case detective.
And logically, I won’t be permitted access to Cam’s baby, anyway. It was born eight weeks premature—a C-section performed on a dead mother. It’s like a gruesome headline ripped from the tabloids.
But I owe it to Cam to check on her baby, to make sure she or he is healthy. I never even asked her about the sex. Honestly, it’s more peace of mind for myself; a selfish need to know that my visit with Cam, at least, didn’t take the life of an unborn child.
I need to see with my own eyes that it’s alive.
I need to know if it’s a girl or a boy—I need to know the name.
Most days, I like to pretend I’m a vigilante writer hunting killers to avenge the dead, but inherently, I’m a selfish person. Solving cold cases brings a measure of sanity to my otherwise disturbed and unruly world. It gives me a sense of control.
I’m in control of nothing.
“Okay. I’m ready.” I open the car door and step into the blistering heat. It takes my breath away.
I drop my shades over my eyes and hike my bag onto my shoulder. Rhys trails behind as I walk through the double-doors of the ER. The whoosh of cool air blasts my face, and I shiver.
That’s another thing about Florida. Residents keep the A/C at an equally opposite degree to the temperature outside. It’s always freezing inside any indoor establishment.
As we approach reception, I push my shades up and note two uniforms positioned at the ER wing entrance.
Rhys steps in front of me before I reach the desk. “This is a bad idea, Hale.” He nods to the uniforms. “You’re not going to get any information on Cam’s baby. The only thing you’re going to do is make the detectives more curious about you.”
“I know but—” I stop short, his concerned expression shutting me down. There’s a note of apprehension in his voice. “You’re worried.”
“I am.”
But it’s more. Rhys has always been direct. He doesn’t try to placate me. So his avoidance to be candid in this moment is distressing.
