Hearing him say my name sends shivers down my spine. How does he know it?

“Sorry about killing your boyfriend,” he says with a grin. The ashy glow of his cigarette illuminates his eyes like a demon as he sucks in the poisonous air. “He should’ve kept his mouth shut.”

“You didn’t have to kill him,” I say, feeling for the chain and diamond ring under my shirt. “All we wanted was to pass through.”

“Wrong place, wrong time,” he says. “We wouldn’t be in this situation right now if we hadn’t met that day. Personally, I’d rather not have to chase you all over the country just for a dinky little thing.”

“How do you know my name?” I ask.

“Heh. I was wondering when you were going to ask. I got a call from my good friend Mr. Paxton. Told me you were on the way. He also told me something very interesting about you.” He sucks in more smoke and blows it toward me. “He told me that you can see the future. Just by a simple touch.”

My insides turn to ice and I look away, cursing Gilbert in my mind.

He laughs a greedy, sinful laugh that gives me cold chills. “So, it’s true then. You can see the future. I’ve heard of things like this. My boss…Paxton’s boss…told us to keep a watch out for people like you. Calls you the Starborn or some craziness like that.”

My face contorts into a confused stare, but I don’t look up at him. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction that I acknowledge him any longer.

“I’ll figure out a way to get that cylinder from your friends soon enough,” he says. “Right now, I want to test something out with you.” He opens the door and shouts. “Joe, get in here!” He lets it close as he walks closer to me, laughing. He sucks on the cigarette one last time before tossing it to the floor. In a second, Joe opens the door.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Get on your knees, and give your hand to Waverly here,” he says. “I’m trying to test something out.”

I think I’m getting sick. I don’t need the ability of foresight to know what Scarecrow is about to do. Joe looks at him with a confused look, but does as he says. He reaches his hand out to me but I keep my hands to myself, looking up at Scarecrow.

“Touch his hand,” Scarecrow says.

“No.”

He takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes. “Touch his hand, or I’ll make you.” He slowly reaches behind his belt and pulls out a handgun. “I don’t have to threaten your life to make you. A kneecap. A shoulder. It doesn’t matter. Touch his hand.”