Chapters (46)
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- Acknowledgements
- one
- two
- three
- four
- five
- six
- seven
- eight
- nine
- ten
- eleven
- twelve
- thirteen
- fourteen
- fifteen
- sixteen
- seventeen
- eighteen
- nineteen
- twenty
- twenty-one
- twenty-two
- twenty-three
- twenty-four
- twenty-five
- twenty-six
- twenty-seven
- twenty-eight
- twenty-nine
- thirty
- thirty-one
- thirty-two
- thirty-three
- thirty-four
- thirty-five
- thirty-six
- thirty-seven
- thirty-eight
- thirty-nine
- forty
- forty-one
- forty-two
Carol nodded emphatically. “That’s exactly what Pastor Williams said. When we dream, things aren’t always as they seem. Kayla was Brandi. Brandi and Ginny represented evil in the world. They conspired to kill my little girl and I didn’t do anything to stop them. I wanted to, but I was too drunk, too ...” She searched for aword. “Ineffectual. That’s what the pastor says. It proves that I felt guilty.”
“Okay ...” I said.
“I even dreamed they were going to kill her in the same place where they died,” Carol leaned forward. “They were going to drug her and take her there and make it look like a pervert did it. And that’s exactly what happened to my baby, isn’t it?”
“Except for the pervert part,” I said. “There was no sign of—”
Adam nudged me to shut up, then said to Carol, “Your pastor is right. It’s your subconscious speaking. You feel guilty, but you’ve used it to turn your life around, and that’s the important thing.”
She nodded, satisfied.
I wasn’t.
Maybe that was the humane thing to do—give the old woman some peace. But I couldn’t cut her any slack. If she’d cared, she should have done something before her daughter died. If she felt guilty now, she should be out volunteering at a day care or soup kitchen, not sitting around listening to gospel music and moaning about how guilty she felt.
thirty-two
thirty-two
After we left, I said, “Were you serious about that dream crap?”
Adam shrugged. “It makes sense. Her psyche can’t deal with the guilt, so it displaces it with a dream about the death of someone else’s daughter.”
“It’s not just her psyche that can’t deal. Carol Degas is a human ostrich. And that dream? I think it’s bullshit.”
“Well, one thing I’m ninety-nine percent sure on is that Brandi wasn’t a witch. Nor did Carol somehow find out that Tiffany Radu was one and kill her, thinking she was following a Christian precept. Seeing all the religious stuff in her house made me think we might be onto something, but there’s no witch-hunter—” He stopped, frowning.
“What?” I said.
“Nothing. Just ...” He shook his head. “Nothing. Anyway, back to the dream, I’m wondering if it’s more than a garden-variety guilty conscience. ”
“You think she had something to do with her daughter’s death?”
“Not overtly, but maybe there’s something she’s not telling us. Or something she isn’t really aware of herself.”
“If she does remember something, we’d better hope it comes in another dream, because short of hypnosis, that woman isn’t going to ...”
When I trailed off, it was his turn to look over and say, “What?”
“I need to trace a call,” I said.