I glanced up to make sure Laserdream wasn’t watching. I was close enough for my fingertips to brush the car’s paint as I swept my arm to one side, the holes and dents in the car twisting or opening wider as the phantom grip adjusted. The—the other Victoria, the phantom Victoria that had never left the hospital, the wretch, threw the car.

I canceled my power momentarily, to force it to release its hold, so it wouldn’t fling the car into the people I was trying to stop. I let it reactivate a half-second later, flying forward in the car’s direction. My defenses were up and sufficient to let me adjust the car’s trajectory with a sharp kick to the side. Just to be safe.

It crashed into a parked car, upside down, its roof and windows shearing into the top of the other. A loud impact, metal scraping metal, a dozen windows on the two vehicles breaking. It was raucous, chaotic, sudden and surprising, in a stark contrast to the massive, enduring weight that seemed to settle in me.

Harder than flying. I could tell myself I was helping people, keeping them clear of danger, and it helped much as it had with the flying, but it was still hard.

The fact that a car had flown into another car twenty feet in front of them was enough to stop them in their tracks. I had their full attention now.

“Get away! It’s dangerous!”

Some backed away, then ran. Two backed off but didn’t run. The last of them was a man about my age, who stepped closer to the cars, intent on climbing over them.

“Get away!”

I was prepared to grab him as he climbed onto the underside of the car I’d thrown. He continued to ignore me, finding his balance, stepping forward—

The fragment of a trigger vision hit me. The latest wave.

I saw only a flash of faces, and in seeing those faces, I saw the phantom self that clung to me. The impression lingered for only a moment before I realized the faces didn’t resemble mine.

The man had been springing forward from the car to the ground when the event had hit. I saw his legs swing forward, while his head remained in place. He dangled, suspended in the air.

I picked myself up off the ground, flying to him.

Gone already. No pulse, no light behind the eyes. He made a faint gurgling sound, but it was some biological process or symptom of what had happened, not a sign of life. He was pissing himself and shitting himself in death.

He dropped out of the air, and I caught him. It hardly mattered, he was gone, but it didn’t feel right to just let him fall. I eased him to the ground.

“Please help!” I heard a guy shout, amid renewed and nearby whimpers and sobs.