I forced my eyes open again, my vision swimming slightly. Jackaby had abandoned his efforts with the policeman, and looked as though the task of simply standing upright was commanding all of his willpower. There was no noise at all now, save the sorrowful voice of the banshee in my ears. As the song and scream entwined, the painful beauty of the melody came into focus.

On the crest of the building wave, a few last thoughts—tumbling wishes and regrets—breached the surface. I longed to see my parents one last time, and tell them that I loved them—that I was sorry. I imagined my mother, scooping me into a deep hug, as she had done when I was small. The image changed, and she became my father, and he held me still more tightly in his big broad arms. Again the vision gently shifted, and now he was the handsome Charlie Cane, and I could not be bothered to shy away from the thought of his embrace. Gradually my mind cleared until nothing but the mournful sound remained.

So, this is it, I thought. I am about to die. A strange peace washed over me. The harrowing song reached its peak and came toward a lilting end, the melody drawing at last to one elegant final note. I breathed in deeply and let my hands fall to my sides, opening my ears to the long, sustained finale. The tones of pain and fear subsided, and it was a sound of pure release and relief. As if on cue, a beam of sunlight cut past the last dwindling raindrops and through the little window. Then, just as the trembling note began to soften, the voice abruptly stopped.

It was a jarring shift, like falling out of bed in the middle of a dream. Mundane sounds returned suddenly, alien at first in their normalcy: the soft slosh of water in the gutters, the pitter-patter of droplets slipping from the wet branches, the heavy breathing and occasional sniffle of the man in the far cell. Wondering, briefly, if I was dead, I blinked and patted down my torso. Finding no gaping wounds, I looked dumbly to Jackaby.

He glanced about the station and then met my eyes. “Interesting,” he said.

“We’re alive,” I said.

“So it would seem.” He crossed to the window and looked outside. Everything had returned to normal, except for the oppressive quiet. The usual patter of footsteps and carts on the street had stopped, and the faintest of noises hung too clearly in the absence of other sounds.

“Do you think they caught him?”

Jackaby raised an eyebrow. “It’s possible. It would account for the rapid shift in our fates.”