“This? Before we even left the bar. I’m telling you, these visions are scaring me. I’m taking every chance I get to pocket some cash.”

I nodded. I had a new respect for Clara’s stealing. It seemed like another form of magic, another power she had. “Where’d you get that knife?”

“Pawnshop.” She held the blade to the light. There was still blood on it, blood that looked black in the dark.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” I felt sobered up, by everything, by our run through the stairs, the night air, the adrenaline.“Or you can drive us if you want.”

“I can’t drive.” Another bitter little laugh. “Never learned. Des doesn’t have a car.”

“Well, then let me take you. It’s way too late for you to wait for the bus.” I had thought she would demur, slip away like she always did, slide out from under my attention.

“Sure, why not. After all, I did stab a man for you. A ride is the least you could do.” We smiled at one another, tentative smiles, a little shy.

“Okay, I’m not too far. That’s my truck over there.”

“I pictured you as more of a sedan girl.”

“It was my dad’s.” Already, again, a lump in my throat.

She sighed. “You must miss him a lot.”

“Every day,” I said, my voice weak, light. “He used to work here.”

“What happened?”

“You didn’t see that part?” I asked, surprised. “Your visions?”

“It doesn’t work like that. I don’t get to choose. Sometimes if a memory or image is really strong, still really present, it just sort of intrudes upon me. Yours did.” We got in the truck, and I started the engine.

“What was it? What did you see?”

She took a deep breath. I drove to the exit ramp of the lot, stopped, and pressed my employee badge to the window before the booth attendant waved me on. “A woman. Your mother, I’d guess. Sitting on the edge of a bed. A hospital.”

“Just sitting?”

“No. Sitting and—and screaming. Sort of, clawing at herself. A man’s hand on a white sheet.”

Without thinking, I hit the brakes. If there had been room for doubt, her words undid it. That memory played itself in a loop on my worst days. How it had taken me a few minutes to reach for my mother, how we struggled against each other for a moment when I held down her hands.

“I’m sorry.”