She rolled over in bed; her hand reaching groggily out from beneath the duvet making a grab for the phone she kept on the bedside cabinet.

Lifting the receiver to her ear, she said, “Hello?”

Beside her, John stirred and said, “I didn’t hear it ring, babe.”

Katie listened to the dialling tone for a moment and then she lifted the phone away from her ear. She opened her eyes slowly, almost painfully through the glue of sleep. She adjusted to the dark, saw the outline of the receiver in her hand.

“I could have sworn it did,” she said.

“You were dreaming, honey,” John said. “Just dreaming.”

Katie held the receiver a little longer. She was sweating. A black fist was punching its way out of her chest. She’d been dreaming, but not about the phone. There was something darker at work; a great pain drifting through the night from somewhere close by.

She put the receiver back in its cradle. “Sorry if I woke you, honey,” she said.

The telephone started to scream.

***

Detective Bowman stood beside the crime scene tape, waiting for her.

She parked her car across the street and sat there for a moment, gathering herself. This place was where the pain emanated. It was dissipated now; less intense than it had been. In a few hours, the echoes would be whispers, catching the unwary off guard like a half-heard murmur in the dark.

She took deep breaths and let a few prayers run through her mind. She absent-mindedly fiddled with the worry beads round her neck. Finally she opened the door and walked across the street.

“Shitty night,” said Bowman, not bothering to greet her.

“Yeah,” said Katie, looking to the heavens. The rain was sheer, cutting down through the air like a thousand sharp knives. She looked around. Blue and red lights swathing through the darkness. People moving quickly and yet respectfully, mindful of something they were aware of only on a subliminal level.

“It was violent,” said Katie, knowing that much already. “I could feel it in my sleep.” Three blocks down this time. Jesus, what a tragedy!

“Dreams?” said Bowman.

Katie nodded.

“Lucid? Like maybe you saw something kinda concrete?”

She shook her head. The actual memory of the dream had faded upon her awakening.

Bowman sighed. “Too much to hope for, I guess.”

“Why’d you call me?”

“I don’t know,” said Bowman. He gave her a half-smile; the most he ever gave anyone. “Guess it was a hunch. I been hanging around you too long, kiddo.”

Katie stepped through the crime scene tape. They’d sealed off the building, but nothing had happened out here on the street. It had all been inside. She could feel something pulling her inside. It was a strange pull, mixed with equal amounts of fascination and fear, like a psychic rubbernecking.

She walked with Bowman to the door. Someone came from inside and stood in their way, his large frame blocking their path.

“Next thing you know this asshole’s gonna be consulting the tarot,” said Detective Scarboro. He was a heavy set man, even more cynical than Bowman; a feat worthy of admiration. Even without that extra sense pricking inside her, Katie knew he didn’t like her and even more importantly he didn’t trust her. At least, she supposed, he was open with his feelings unlike certain others in the department who only talked about how wacky Bowman must be bringing her in as a consultant when the man himself wasn’t in earshot.

“Tarot’s bullshit,” said Bowman. “You got your way of working and I got mine.”

“Your boyfriend know about this little affair?” said Scarboro to Katie. He raised a wickedly thick eyebrow. “Or maybe he gets in on the action. Little three way, the two of you and the detective.”

“Fuck off, Scarboro,” said Bowman. “Or see how it feels with my boot up your ass!”

Scarboro shrugged. He stepped aside. “The forensics team are cleaning up anyway. My bet is the killer’s far away by now. It’s a B&E with opportunistic murder. Pardon me, rape and murder.” He looked at Katie. “Hope it doesn’t upset you, darling.”

Katie ignored him. She felt the need to get inside the building quickly. She reached up and pushed against Scarboro’s chest. “Get the fuck out of my way,” she said, keeping her voice measured.

Scarboro looked like he was about to say something but then he looked at her and their eyes locked. He broke away after a moment and bowed his head. He moved past them, quickly. “It’s a waste of time,” he said. “Your psychic powers are horseshit. You can only be lucky so many times, you goddamn quack bitch!”

***

Inside, they climbed the stairs to a third floor apartment. As they climbed, they passed uniforms interviewing neighbours, canvassing for witnesses. She sensed reluctance on the part of everyone to talk about the night. She didn’t feel that they knew the killer, but they were all hiding something. This was New York, of course, and everyone had something to hide. Bowman said to her, once, “In New York, if you ain’t breaking the law then you’re sure as hell thinking about breaking it.” He’d only been half joking with her.

The apartment door was already open. She saw that the locks were undamaged and looked to Bowman who said, “Killed came in through the window. Off the fire escape. Went out the door, though, we know that much.”

“And no one saw him?”

“That’s what they’re all saying,” said Bowman. “This is New York. Everyone’s blind.”

It was a far cry from the deep and close community she’d spent her life believing existed here. New York had been like a distant dream to her; the promised land. And some of it – those affluent areas where people lived in houses with security and didn’t worry about where next pay cheque came from – really was like she’d believed. But there was this other aspect to the city, this dark aspect that the community spirit wanted to ignore. When someone died or someone broke the law, the New Yorker code ceased to exist. People went dumb and blind. And when that happened, Katie felt sick to her stomach.

Bowman gently led her into the apartment, holding her elbow as though to steady her. Inside, Crime Scene Officers moved swiftly, taking photos and swabbing furniture. Katie looked around. She saw the kitchen, saw a shape hidden behind worktops. She took an involuntary gasp of air. Bowman grabbed her elbow even tighter.

“Are you okay?”

“Sure,” said Katie.

“Do you need to see her?”

She turned her head away from the shape, not wanting to see any details. She’d only done this a few times, using her talents this way, and she still could not comprehend the blithe manner in which cops could examine a body. How they could keep their emotions all balled up inside was behaviour Katie found to be utterly alien, perhaps totally inhuman. She supposed they had to sacrifice their humanity to some degree; it was the only way they could enter the criminal mind and put an end to the real darkness of the world.

“I just need something… something that belonged to her… an article of clothing, maybe, some jewellery?”

Bowman nodded. He started to walk away. Then he turned back. “Something she had tonight?”

“Yeah,” said Katie quietly. That dark fist was welling up inside her chest once more. It was not sadness so much as anger. That was what had exploded out across the city during that violet moment when this poor woman’s life had ended. Not sadness, regret, but anger, pure and undiluted.

Bowman bent down behind the work surface and picked something up. He came back over holding a brass bangle. “She was wearing this on her right wrist.”

The brass was dulled, stained with something dark. Katie tried not to think about it.

“Do you need to sit down maybe? I’ve seen what this can do to…”

Katie held up her hand, silencing Bowman. She knew what she had to do. She also knew that she could walk out at any time. Of all the people here, Bowman was the only one who believed in her. Three times now, he’d called her out to assist in his investigations. The first time had been desperation; a need for any kind of help. The second time had been curiosity, almost as if he wondered whether her initial success had been little more than fluke. This time, the third time, she sensed that he almost believed as strongly as she did in the powers of her mind. He’d seen beyond his preconceptions of mediums sitting in print dresses in darkened rooms, claiming to contact dead relatives just to put people’s troubled minds at ease.

Katie took the brass bangle from Bowman. She held it in her right hand.

She felt warm.

She was safe. She was utterly safe. This bangle, this jewellery, it was safety in this woman’s life. A man’s voice, deep and comforting said, “This belonged to your mother, Megan. I know she’s gone now, but she would have wanted you to have it.” And she believed the voice. “As long as you have this, ain’t no one gonna hurt you, darling.” Oh, how she believed the voice.

Bowman said, “Do you feel anything.”

Katie distanced herself from the feelings the bangle gave her. She shook her head. “Not about tonight. The things associated with this are… they’re paternal, I suppose. Safety, security, reassurance.”

She turned the bangle over in her hands. Her fingers brushed the dulled, stained surface.

Something flashed in her head. Lightning arced through her brain. She let out an involuntary cry. Her legs weakened.

The bangle was on her wrist, cold against her skin. She was afraid and she reached down to touch the metal, like it was a ward of some kind, a protection against the dark shadow that had entered her home, uninvited. Glass was on the floor and the shape was crunching across it, looming closer and closer. And the shape was angry, filled with a rage that could have sunk a continent. It was the rage of ages, an ancient and primal anger. It was an anger that everyone believed to have dulled with time; an anger that shouldn’t belong to a civilised world and yet it existed in the shape that crunch-crunched across the glass towards her.

Katie dropped the bangle.

It fell to the floor.

Katie stumbled and her legs gave way completely.

Bowman caught her.

“I saw him,” she said.

“Can you tell me?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I was so afraid and everything was so blurred, like I could see properly. I couldn’t see his face. He was a shape and nothing more. But he was angry. My God, the anger inside him!”

Bowman led her to the couch and sat her down. He sat beside her. His ragged features creased even more with concern. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have… I don’t know why…”

She looked at him and raised her hand, cupping it against his face. The way he looked, she thought of her father; that same crumpled concern, the world-weary slump of his shoulders.

“I know why,” she said. “Curiosity. About me. About what I can do. You don’t want to believe and that’s natural. Yet there’s a part of you realises what I can do and what I’m capable of. I wish I didn’t have to do this, but I know I must. Maybe there isn’t a God, and maybe he didn’t give me this gift but I’d be foolish if I didn’t use it to help people.”

“In this way?” said Bowman. “It’ll kill you. I know its killing me, day by day.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But how many people does it keep alive?”

She felt light-headed and rolled back her head, closing her eyes. She felt Bowman take her hand in his and squeeze gently.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get anything more,” she said. “It was all so blurred and I couldn’t…”

“She wore glasses,” said Bowman. “Prescription tells us she’s pretty much blind as a bat without them. We found them on the floor. Someone had stepped on them, maybe even her.”

“What was her name?”

“Allyson Wickman,” said Bowman. “A computer analyst for some corporate firm, I think.”

“Her father gave her the bracelet. That was what I felt the first time I touched it. Some part of her – her eternal child – still believed that bracelet could ward off evil. Even as he approached her, and even as she knew there was no chance for her, she kept rubbing that bracelet like it could do something, like it could help her somehow.”

The fist reared in her chest again.

She opened her eyes.

Someone was standing in the doorway, talking to the cops in hushed tones.

“Who’s that?” she asked Bowman.

“Landlord,” he said. “Probably wandering who the hell’s gonna pay his rent.”

He was a short man with big shoulders. His hair was curly, but he was going bald on top. He was dressed in jeans and a woollen sweatshirt that seemed to hang loose even on his large frame. He talked with his head bowed forward and his hands upraised.

“You should go home,” said Bowman. “Get some rest. I’ll drive you.”

“I brought my own car,” she said.

“You shouldn’t be driving.” He looked up as someone shouted his name from over at the kitchen. “Aw, hell,” he said. “Just give me a moment, okay.”

Katie nodded. She was tired, anyway, and just wanted to sit here a while.

The landlord stopped talking to the police and came into the apartment. He came and stood a few metres away from Katie. He didn’t acknowledge her at first, but soon her was looking at her with suspicion.

“Who the hell are you?” he finally asked her.

“A consultant.”

“What kind of consultant?”

She thought about telling him the truth, but decided against it. “A specialist.”

“Well, whoop-de-fucking-do,” said the landlord. He looked at the kitchen. “I ask ya,” he said. “Who the hell’s gonna pay the rent on this place now? It better not be coming outta my pocket.”

She looked up at him. He did not look at her, instead looking over at the kitchen.

“You were attracted to her,” she said, not even realising what she was thinking until she said it.

“What?” He looked at her and then he smiled. “She was an attractive woman, sure, and oh my God, this is a terrible shame. I just gotta be concerned about number one, you know? Life goes on and all that baloney.”

“But she rejected you,” said Katie.

“This is some way to talk about the deceased,” said the landlord. “Show a little fucking respect, please.”

Katie was quiet again. The feelings were strong, but that’s all they really were. She felt sorry for the landlord, really. He was a lonely man, she supposed, and his anger was his way of dealing with the death of his tenant; the tenant whom he had lusted after in vain.

Bowman came back over. The landlord said, “Hey, detective, how long are you going to be?”

“How long’s a piece of string?” said Bowman. He turned to Katie. “Ready to go?”

Katie stood up. Bowman led her past the landlord.

She was still unsteady on her feet. She slipped and brushed against the woollen sleeve of the landlord’s sweater.

Crunch-crunch!

The anger exploded inside her, the fist opening up and pouring that black hate into her veins. She cried out and stumbled back and away from the landlord.

The landlord was startled. “What the fuck is wrong with her?”

Over and over again, Katie saw the shape crunch-crunch over the glass towards her. Breaking in through the window but he could easily have come through the door. His frame short but squat and powerful, his arms so strong, his fist connecting with her jaw, knocking her to the ground. But she bumps off the edge of the worktop and then its all blackness but the pain, all over her body, so excruciating and then somehow a dull sensation only, like she’d been pumped full of anaesthetic.

And her eyes open at the last, focussing with perfect clarity.

The landlord watched her with wide-eyed fear. She could feel his anger. It welled up inside him like it had done earlier, something he could not control, and something he was afraid to begin to explain.

Bowman sensed something. He gripped Katie’s elbow tightly.

Katie shook him away. She walked back to the landlord, and looked at him, her eyes boring into his. She saw in his eyes something dark and hidden, something he thought no one else could see.

Katie saw it. It repulsed her.

“You couldn’t have her,” she said, her voice low, a harsh whisper. “So you took her.”

“What the fuck are you talking about.” He looked past her to Bowman. “Bitch is crazy, man! Get her out of here.”

Bowman didn’t move, but watched with interest. Katie wanted to back down. Every fibre in her being screamed that the thing hiding within this man was dangerous. It was not evil in the purest sense. Katie wasn’t even sure that such a thing existed. But it was anger, pure and simple inside this man: misdirected, unreleased anger that demanded some form of outlet.

“You came in through the window,” said Katie. “Because that’s how they do it all the time, these rapists and muggers. You were wearing a mask but when you broke through the grass you cut yourself. The blood got in your eyes and you had to take of the mask.”

She saw it in her mind, running like a movie reel; scratchy and out of focus, but she saw it all. She felt it all; her fear and his anger, all running into one emotion.

“She didn’t see you, anyway, because she’d taken off her glasses. Her eyes were sore because these new prescriptions weren’t quite right. They gave her headaches. So when she turned around, she dropped them and she couldn’t see you properly. You were a shape to her, some dark and horrific shape. And I think that’s what you had become.”

He tried to move away from her. But she grabbed his arm.

Bowman stayed still. Others moved to intervene but he waved for them to stand down.

“How long?” asked Katie, looking at the man before her. “How long has it been there within you? This other self, this beast… I know you’re afraid of it.”

“Shut up,” growled the landlord.

Bowman stepped forward. “Katie, what do you think you’re…?”

“He killed her,” said Katie.

“That’s one hell of an accusation to…”

“She slipped first, cracking her head. And I don’t know if he meant to kill her. Maybe he only meant to hurt her, to humiliate her. Seeing her helpless only turned him on even more.”

The landlord was breathing heavily. His body was stooped, like an old man with a bad back. His skin was white. “Can she say this? Isn’t there some fucking law or something? Due process?”

Bowman turned Katie so she was facing him. He gripped her shoulders tightly and looked into her eyes. “You have to be sure,” he said. “You fucking have to be…”

She broke away from him and grabbed the landlord, holding his thick sweater between her fingers. He batted at her, trying to throw the crazy bitch away, but she held fast.

Finally she fell away and collapsed to her knees.

“He panicked,” she said. “The garbage chutes. He threw his clothes down. The mask, everything.”

The landlord didn’t say a word.

Bowman turned to one of the Crime Scene Officers. “Move your ass,” he said. “Check that fucking chute!”

On his way out, the Crime Scene Officer bumped into Scarboro, who was coming through the door. The big guy walked right up to Bowman and said. “Get her out of here! She’s a fucking nuisance. This isn’t a circus, it’s a crime scene.”

“Just wait a minute,” said Bowman. “If she’s right…”

“There’s no fucking way,” said Scarboro. “Just get her out of here right now, before I report your sorry ass to the captain!”

Bowman looked to Katie.

She shook her head. She had to leave this place. She didn’t care anymore. She’d done everything that she could.

***

John was sitting on the easy chair in the lounge, reading a paperback thriller. He looked up as she walked through the door.

“Hey,” she said. She felt insubstantial, somehow, like she wasn’t really there, as though even when he looked right at her he was looking through her.

“Hey,” he said. He put the book on the floor and stood up. He took a step towards her and stopped, sensing something was wrong. “It was bad, wasn’t it?”

“Uh-huh,” she said.

“You wanna talk about it?”

She shook her head. He moved forward and wrapped his arms around her. She pressed her body against him. Maybe it was an illusion, but the way he made her feel it was like all the junk she carried around in her head was washed away by his presence. He was some kind of filter, taking away all the negativity she encountered, putting it somewhere out of sight and out of her mind.

Her wrist went cold. She shivered and pulled away from him.

Holding up her wrist, she saw the skin had turned white, as though there were pressure there. It was not an illusion, because John saw it too, looking at her with a question in his eyes.

The phone rang, intruding on the moment. Her skin resumed its normal colour, the white slowly fading away as if it was only a momentary gesture, someone squeezing her wrist in greeting.

John took the call. He handed her the phone after a few moments.

“Its Bowman. They found the clothes. Bastard’s in custody now. We’re still waiting on the crime lab, but you should see this guy – a right piece of work.”

“I know,” she said. She’d felt it in him. To feel the anger inside him had been like a violation in her mind. She wondered if she could ever get used to such feelings, because she knew that if she kept doing favours for Bowman they would become as much a part of her life as they were of his.

“I’m sorry, Katie,” he said. “I shouldn’t have called you… I should have let the wheels of justice turn of their own… I won’t bother you again…”

“No,” she said. “You’ll call.” And then, without another word, she hung up on him.