"Cassie?"

She caught her breath, her eyes closing as sensations and images stepped out of hiding in her mind. "Oh, God. I remember," she whispered.

"Tell us." Ben's voice was quiet.

It took a moment for Cassie to get her voice under control, and when she finally began speaking, she reported her experience without emotion. It wasn't until she reached the end of the story that her voice broke slightly.

"They were corning toward me and… and I couldn't run away. I couldn't even scream. I just kept getting colder and more terrified the closer they got. Then… just before they reached me… everything went black. I don't remember anything else."

She didn't have to look at Matt to know that he was torn between bafflement and disbelief. She sneaked a glance at Ben and found him still watching her, his expression no less grim than it had been, his eyes unreadable. She had no idea what he was thinking or feeling.

Matt said, "So these people were ghosts?"

"I guess."

"Yougwess?"

Cassie turned her gaze to the sheriff, finding it easier to meet his incredulous eyes than Ben's unfathomable ones. "Yes, I guess. I don't know for sure, because this has never happened to me before." She drew a breath. "Look, my abilities have never allowed me to – to cross beyond death. I'm not a medium. I pick up thoughts from living beings, images from events that are happening or have recently happened. I don't know anything about ghosts."

"What about what you saw at Ivy's house? You said it was possible you could have been seeing what her – what her spirit saw moments after her death."

She hesitated. "I said it was possible, but I didn't believe it. Even though it felt so strange, I was sure what I saw that day came from the memories of a living person who stood there and looked at the murder scene. But…"

"But?"

"But… some of the things I felt today were similar to what I felt that day, and I don't think they were memories." She shook her head. "I just don't know."

"If what you saw were ghosts," Ben said, "who were they?"

"I didn't recognize any of them. But they'd all been murdered, I think."

Matt swore under his breath. "I thought you said this killer of ours was new at the job. If he's killed a dozen people – "

Cassie hesitated again, then shook her head. "I don't think they were his victims. I mean… when I stood in Mrs. Jameson's kitchen, it was as if I tapped into somebody studying the scene. Almost as if I saw it the way he had, from his perspective. The dripping blood so vividly scarlet, the body with its eyes turned toward me in reproach. It was very dramatic, those images, almost as if the whole thing had been… staged to elicit a strong emotional response.

"I had that same feeling today, or almost. As if I were seeing something conjured out of some black hell of fantasy. Not the ghosts of victims past, but more like… a cast of characters he was imagining."

"The ghosts of victims future?" Ben said.

"Maybe." She didn't look at him. "But it was more like some adolescent psychopath's… wet dream." Even as the words left her lips, Cassie felt a flash of pained humor. Virginal she might be, but innocent she definitely was not. A line from an old movie sprang into her head, something about being an unholy mess of a girl.

That was her.

The silence dragged on for just a moment too long, and it was Cassie who broke it by saying calmly, "Now that I think about it, their coming toward me like that, bleeding and carrying parts of themselves, reminds me of a horror movie I saw years ago, about the dead being reanimated. Our killer might well enjoy dreams like that."

"So now you're in his dreams?" Matt demanded.

"Could be. I was up early, maybe he slept late. And dreamed."

"And you tapped in." Ben's voice was still quiet.

Matt made a little sound that was a combination of amusement and despair. "Cassie, you're making it real hard for me to believe any of this."

"I know. I'm sorry." She turned her head and smiled faintly at him. "Nothing's ever as simple as you want it to be."

"Ain't it the truth. Look – we came out here because I was going to ask you to try to tap into this guy again, but obviously – "

"I can try."

Ben said, "You're still shivering."

Cassie didn't look at him. "I'm fine. A little cold, but not even tired."

Matt glanced from her face to Ben's and hesitated. "We can wait and do it tomorrow. Lying out there in the snow didn't do you any good at all, no matter what caused it."

"I'd rather try now." Cassie kept her voice level. "Ineed to be in control of this, or at least as much as I can be. I need to be the one instigating the contact."

Matt waited a moment, but when Ben said nothing, agreed with a nod. "I have one of the coins with me. But…"

"But?"

"Well, Ben said he thought that eventually you'd be able to tap into this guy at will without touching something he touched. I'm just wondering if you can do that now."

Cassie glanced at Ben, then handed the mug to him, again taking care not to touch him. "Let's try."

"Have you ever done it before?" Ben asked, sounding a bit rough around the edges.

"No. Never tried to before. But since his unconscious mind seems to be reaching me all too easily, I'm curious to find out if I can."

Matt finally left the fireplace, hitching a wing chair closer to the sofa, where he'd have a clear view of Cassie. He pulled out his notebook and a pen with a muttered "Just in case," and then waited expectantly.

Ben set the mug on the coffee table but didn't move from his place beside her on the couch.

Cassie put her hands back under the blanket and closed her eyes, trying to relax, to concentrate. It was difficult with Ben so close. He virtually trapped her on the sofa, but years of practice enabled her to push away even that distracting realization.

Imagery had always helped Cassie to focus on what she was trying to do, though holding some object had tended to speed the process so that her images were swiftly replaced by those seen through the eyes of killers.

This time she conjured the image of a path through a peaceful forest and began following it. Nothing yanked at her. No dark voice whispered to her. As she walked, she looked around, interested but at ease. Whenever she came to a path leading in a different direction, she allowed her instincts to decide whether she should take it, sometimes doing so and other times walking past. The cheerful bird sounds began to fade, and the woods grew darker.

"Cassie?" Ben's voice, curiously distant and hollow in the forest.

"I'm not there yet," she told him, vaguely aware that he was coming with her on the journey.

"Where are you?"

"Following the path." She felt herself frown. "It's an odd path."

"In what way?"

"Dunno, exactly. Just feels strange."

"Tell me."

She sighed a bit impatiently. "The ground is all spongy. And it smells odd, like… like inside a musty closet. And the light seems to be coming from two different directions. I'm casting two shadows. Isn't that strange?"

"Do you hear anything?"

"I did hear the birds. But now there's just the music."

"What music?"

"I think it's from a music box. I can't remember the tune though. I should, but I can't."

"All right. If you remember, tell me."

"I will." She walked on, noting without any sense of uneasiness the way the trees around her began to assume twisted shapes like nothing in nature. "Hmm."

"Cassie?"

"What?"

"Where are you?"

She was about to report that she was still in the forest, but before she could she came to a distinct fork in the path. Her instincts had nothing to say about the matter, so Cassie flipped a mental coin and picked the right-hand path.

"Cassie, talk to me."

"The path forked. Two roads diverged in a wood… I went right. It was the less-traveled path."