She pulled more cards, explaining what each meant.
“Are you stalling?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re going into a lot of detail on all the cards.”
She raised her chin, trying to deny his accusation, but the truth was Jake had read her mind. Even without touching her. “Okay, I’m stalling because I’m afraid I’m not going to like what I find out.”
“You have to do it anyway,” he said, punching out the words.
“I know.”
She picked up the cards she’d laid out, sifting them through her hands, trying to get more than she had at the initial reading, but nothing came to her.
“So much for your premonition.”
Feeling defeated, she put the cards down and looked up at Jake. “I thought . . .” She trailed off in frustration.
“Don’t beat yourself up.”
“I risked us getting arrested by going back to get this particular deck. The one she’d touched.”
“Maybe you need a little power assist.”Jake walked in back of her and laid his hands on her shoulders.
Like the first time they’d touched, she felt a jolt similar to an electric current going through her, only this time it was familiar, not alarming.
When she sighed, Jake pressed harder, and she caught her breath as she was suddenly assaulted by vivid pictures. Scenes from years ago.
She had expected to get some insight into Evelyn Morgan’s life, but this wasn’t from the woman who had come to her for a reading. This was something from her own past.
The scene was in a doctor’s waiting room.
Not just a doctor’s office. A clinic,she answered Jake’s mental question, because the word leaped into her mind.And all at once she knew more.
The photograph! It’s the place from the photograph.
You recognize it?
No, I just know,she answered, feeling a thrill of excitement at the revelation. She’d had no clue where the picture was taken. Now she was seeing it before her.
Where is it? Jake asked.
I know it was a clinic. I still don’t know where it was.
Was Evelyn Morgan there?
I don’t know,Rachel answered.But I was.She saw herself--and other children--playing with an assortment of toys. There was a school bus with wooden figures that fit into holes in the interior. A garage with toy cars. A farm.
Men and women, undoubtedly the parents, sat on chairs and couches around the room. Some were writing on clipboards–probably filling out forms or questionnaires. Others watched their children. There wasn’t much conversation among the parents.
“What kind of clinic is it?” Jake probed.
“I don’t know. But I went there for tests. The children don’t look like they were sick, do they?”
“No.”
The strangled sound of his voice jolted her.
