Part 3 (1/2)

Even softer, Agatha.

Aggie sucked in her breath, hearing her name reverberate across the future probabilities of the child in the picture. Her name, spoken not by the girl, but by the presence, the faceless shadow-man.

Future set, future promised. Aggie had no idea what it all meant, but it made her nervous. She rubbed her arms and gazed around her bedroom. Nothing bounced back at her as out of the ordinary. She looked at the computer screen and touched the little girl's face.

I'll find you. You're alive and I'll find you .

One child out of so many that needed to be saved. But Aggie, looking at Emma's picture, thought she could live with that. Slow but steady. One was not such a lonely number. One was everything when it came to saving lives. Roland was right. Despite the odds, that was nothing to get depressed about.

Aggie printed out Emma's picture. She laid it down on her desk, tasting the future. There was a ninety percent chance the girl would not be physically abused tonight, and there was no danger at all of her dying. Which did not ease the pressure, but it did mean Aggie could rest for an hour or two before continuing her research.

She stripped off her clothes and slipped into bed. Shut her eyes.

Sleep did not come easy, and when it did, a deeper darkness mirrored her thoughts and dreams, a bas.e.m.e.nt, a cave, a place of damp wet things and fear, so much fear.

Until, again, that warmth, that sunlight in shadow that reached down into her bones and blood, right through her heart into her soul-and with it a comfort that stripped away fear, the horror of loneliness. A presence that was solid in that most profound sense that had nothing to do with physicality, but home-heart home, soul home, all those homes that were not walls, but thoughts, feelings, pa.s.sion.

I am home , Aggie thought, curled up within that darkness. Wherever I am, I am home.

Warmth. She became aware of it slowly. Like a charm in her head, seeping through her body as a slow-moving river; sunlight, blinding. It was delicious.

But not right. Part of her, even unconscious, knew that. Recognized the heat.

Aggie opened her eyes.

Her bedroom was dark; through the window blinds, the streetlight outside cast a serrated glow on her ceiling. Nothing moved. She was alone.

”No,” said a strange voice. ”You're not.”

A gasp escaped her-almost a scream-but Aggie clamped her mouth shut and reached for the gun on her nightstand. No one stopped her, but that was no consolation. Nor did she feel better with a weapon in her hand.

She recognized that strong low voice. Remembered it from the future. The heat lingered, oozing through her, and that, too, was familiar: a ghost from her afternoon, standing on that street with Quinn.

”I know you,” she said, searching the shadows of her bedroom, trying to keep her voice steady as she found only walls and furniture and piles of laundry on the floor. ”I know you.”

”No.” One word, so close she could almost feel the air tremble in front of her face. Aggie leaned backward, sweeping her hand through the spot. Heat collided with her skin.

”No, my a.s.s,” Aggie said, trying not to shake. ”You have something to do with a little girl I'm investigating. I heard you inside my head. I saw you with her.” Never mind revealing her gift. This was already weird. The thing inside her room could not possibly be shocked by anything she could do.

”You might be surprised,” he said, and then, quieter, ”I need your help. I need you to help her.”

”And I need you to show yourself. Right now.”

For a moment she thought he would not do it-had to wonder, even, if the very male presence in her room was even capable of it-but just as she began to give it up as a lost cause, a shadow materialized; a figure darker than the air around her, gathering together to form the shape of a large man. He looked solid enough, but Aggie did not take that for granted. He did not have a face.

She tried to see his future, but her gift stalled. He said, ”I don't think I have a future.”

Aggie gritted her teeth. ”You're a mind reader.”

”Sometimes.”

”Sometimes,” she repeated. ”My theory on mind readers is that you are or you aren't. It's like being pregnant.”

”Then at the moment, I guess you could say I'm having triplets.”

”Funny,” she muttered, and really it was, though she was d.a.m.ned if she was going to crack a smile and encourage the source of that fine heady sound of irritation and sarcasm floating through her room.

You're forgetting that thing is a mind reader. Pretense is a waste of time .

The shadow grunted. ”You can call me Charlie, Agatha. And yes, that really is my name, and no, I'm not a thing, which you should be ashamed of thinking.”

”Anything else?” she asked, unnerved.

”Just that you're right. It is a waste of time to pretend with me. I do, however, completely understand your desire to try. Really.”

”Gee, that's nice,” Aggie said. ”You're freaking the h.e.l.l out of me, but still, I appreciate the honesty. Maybe you can answer another question.”

”I did not manipulate you,” Charlie said, with a speed that Aggie found truly annoying. ”Sorry. But that was what you were going to ask. I did not put that... that initial vision of Emma in your head. I've never seen that photograph.”

”But you've been with her.”

”I was called to her. She was afraid. Desperately afraid. I would have rescued her myself, but...” He held up his shadowy hands. ”I'm not good with the physical at the moment.”

”You're physical enough,” she thought, recalling the heat, the warmth spreading through her body. ”Maybe a little too touchy-feely.”

Body language was all she had to read Charlie. It could have been difficult, but he made it easy. His shoulders slumped, straightened, twitched-an odd little dance of discomfort. This time Aggie did smile, though she doubted it was a particularly pleasant expression.

”It's not,” he affirmed.

”Cry me a river,” she said, but her annoyance began to fade. It was strange, having a conversation that required no artifice or b.u.mbling, but it was-if she could admit it-almost as fun as it was unnerving. She had a thought; Charlie answered. It was very efficient. She liked that. Except for the strong possibility he could hear and see all her most personal secrets. Yikes.

Don't think about that. Focus. Focus on the why and how. And remember Emma .

Remember Emma. Yes. She could do that with absolutely no effort at all. The girl was part of her now-lodged like a knife in her brain.

”So you need my help,” Aggie said, ”You, who are so obviously gifted in your own remarkable way. Forgive me if I call you a big fat stinkin' liar.”

Charlie made a sound of disgust. ”What you can do and what I can do are two very different things. But does it even matter? You know the girl is in trouble.”

No denying that, but Aggie was not satisfied with easy answers-or attempts to deflect her from the truth. ”Why me?” she asked, still trying to wrap her head around the situation, to decide whether or not this was some dangerous elaborate hallucinogenic hoax. ”Of all the people in the world, why the h.e.l.l show up in my bedroom?”

”Because you're perfect,” he said. ”In your mind, your heart. I was there today when you went after that child molester. You were unstoppable, willing to do anything. Emma needs that.”

Aggie remembered heat on her neck, heat spiraling into her body. ”Emma needs the police, Charlie. Emma needs more than me.”

”If the police were enough, I wouldn't be here. And if you... if you weren't enough, I wouldn't be here, either.”

”Picky, aren't you?”

Aggie saw no eyes, but he tilted his head, and she had the distinct impression that he was giving her a Look.