“Stay long enough in war, you grow antennae for history, and the invisible.”

“Is that what this is? Centuries worth of antennae?”

“If you believe you and the imam share a past, use your antennae to find out what that is.”

“You can’t tell me?”

“No.”

“I thought that’s what you do.”

“It’s not. If there’s a past with the imam, you need to go deep inside yourself to find it.”

Dominique looked around the room. There was a scent permeating the space. A scent with which she was familiar.

“Where’s that smell coming from?” she asked.

“What smell?”

“Blood. It’s blood.”

“Can you taste it?”

She ran her tongue over the inside of her mouth. The taste of bitter iron traveled up the back of her throat.

“What’s happening?”

“It’s another door opening.”

“How many doors are there?”

“As many as needed.”

“I guess your ominous take was closer than mine.”

He guided her to the chair.

She sat.

“Close your eyes. Whatever happens, you’re safe. I’m here.”

The taste of blood was stronger in her mouth.

The dark behind her lids exposed a place.

Her left hand reached out as if feeling for something. She had a quick intake of breath.

“What’s happening?”

“There’s blood on the walls.”

“Where are you?”

“A hospital, I think.”

“What can you see?”

“There’s scattered medical supplies, syringes, bloodied bandages on the floor. The floor and walls are ravaged by bullets.”

“Is anyone there?”

“I don’t see anyone. It’s quiet.”

“Is there a window you can look out? A door you can walk through?”

“There’s a window.”

“Walk to it, tell me what you see.”

Kurt watched as Dominique’s feet pulsed into the rug on the floor of his office, like a cat pawing a carpet. It was as if she were moving, gripping the ground, but she remained seated.

“Are you at the window?”

“Yes.”

“What’s out there?”

She had another quick intake of breath.

“There’s an old man. And a young boy with him. They’re watching me. They’re in a park.”

“What do you mean a park?”

“It’s a park, a playground.”

“Playground?”

“Swings. Sand pit.” Her voice was sharp and dire.

A third intake of breath.

“What now?”

“There are dead bodies everywhere. The playground is a graveyard. The old man is walking toward me. He’s bringing the boy.”

She stood as if welcoming these two strangers. Her eyes opened, but she was looking into another time and place.

“‘Take him,’ the old man says to me. ‘Take him with you. Please take him before they kill us all.’”

She had a fourth intake of breath. Deeper, sharper than the others. A gasp that held the realization of her connection to the imam.

“His eyes. The boy’s eyes.”

“What about his eyes?”

“They’re ice-blue.”

Kurt slapped his hands.