I want to. I really do. But I’m frozen, the way I always am when a premonition sets in. Like my body, caught betweenhereandthere,is incapable of movement in either place. Maybe it’s like what happens to people during REM sleep, so they can’t act out their dreams. Who knows? I’ve never met anyone else like me. I never knew my biological family. In this, as with so much else in my life, I am alone.
Donovan huffs. “Oh,nowyou don’t want to talk?”
Asshole,I think. But I can’t speak.
He runs a hand through his hair. “That came out wrong. What I mean is, maybe we should start over. But we can’t if you ignore me.”
I try to answer him. To tell him I’m not doing this on purpose. But I can’t resist the compulsion to step through the door and into that red-tinged light.
I just hope I can endure whatever’s on the other side.
Chapter
Six
The door doesn’t shutbehind me. It never does. That’s one of my greatest fears: getting trapped in the world of my visions, unable to find my way back. As long as the door stays open, even if I can’t exit of my own accord, at least I’m not marooned. It’s a small comfort, but better than nothing.
Though his voice comes from far away, echoing as if down a long tunnel, I can hear Donovan talking to me, asking if I’m all right. But I can’t answer him. Until the premonition releases me from its grasp, I’m at its mercy. I wait for it to come, there in the red-tinged light on the wrong side of a door to nowhere.
I don’t have to wait long. A wave of crimson washes over me, obscuring everything. Then it recedes, leaving only the vision behind.
I am Donovan, my hands gripping the leather steering wheel, peering through the rain that lashes the windshield. I see through his wide blue eyes as a red Camaro crosses the double yellow line and swerves toward him, feel his heart pound with terror. He turns, and now I see my own face, wild-haired and wild-eyed and white with panic. A strange brew of emotions swirls through him at the sight: protectiveness, exasperation,disbelief, and a more complicated feeling I don’t have time to name. Tires shriek, and he jerks his head back around. Something is burning, the stench of it filling his lungs, stinging his eyes. The Camaro is getting closer and the squeal of tires is getting louder and although Donovan mashes the brake pedal as hard as he can, there’s no way he’s going to be able to stop in time?—
I brace for impact. But it doesn’t come. As if a giant hand has grabbed hold of me, I’m snatched out of the premonition, sucked through the door, and dumped back into reality: wet clothes, pouring rain, obnoxious companion. I rest my face against the passenger-side window, relishing the sensation of the cool glass against my skin as the world settles. My head swims with dizziness, and my whole body trembles from the massive adrenaline dump.
My premonitions take a lot out of me, and I never even had breakfast this morning. Dear God, I could use something with a bunch of sugar in it right now. I doubt that Mr. Uptight has anything like that in his car, though. Knowing him, there’s probably a box of high-fiber bars stashed in his glovebox, which?—
Why am I thinking about Donovan’s fiber consumption? We’re going to wreck!
I jerk upright, my surroundings blurry, my eyes focused somewhere between the world in my premonition and this one. Donovan is still talking, but his voice is barely audible, like a radio that’s turned down too low. I concentrate and tune him in, then wish I hadn’t. “What’s the matter with you?” he’s saying. From the irritation in his voice, he’s been saying it for some time. Talk about a shitty bedside manner.
I need to pull myself together. This is bad. So very, very bad. But instead, I mutter, sounding as annoyed as I feel, “The Ice Man Cometh.”
“What? Do you need to go to the hospital? Should I call 911?”
I can’t tell if he’s actually concerned or if he’s just pissed off. “Not yet.” My vision has finally cleared, and I scan the road in front of us for any evidence of the oncoming red Camaro. Two premonitions in one day is draining, all right. But they are never, ever wrong.
Rain slicks the pavement. Donovan’s windshield wipers squeak. I crack the window and crane my head outside, boosting myself up to see as much as possible. No Camaro, but the car fills with the doughy, sugary scent of fresh beignets from Charlotte’s sister’s bakery, just around the corner. My mouth waters, and my stomach growls.
“What are youdoing?” Donovan demands. “Sit down. That’s not safe. And you’re getting soaked.”
At this, I start laughing and can’t stop. He sounds like a scolding mother hen. “I’m already soaked. And you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Sit down,” he says again, cranking up the heat and taking his eyes off the road to glare at me. It’s a good, solid glare, with the full force of his unpleasant personality behind it, and I oblige. In fact, I lean back against the seat and close my eyes, rehashing the vision in all of its complexity. Somewhere in it is a detail that could save us. Or at least allow me to hurl myself out of the car prior to impact.
But that would only mean saving myself. And as much as I can’t stand Donovan, I couldn’t live with myself if I did that to him.
Not to mention, we were both in the vision. I know from experience that if I try to subvert it somehow by taking myself out of the equation, something will go wrong: my seatbelt will jam, the car door won’t unlock. No, for better or worse, we’re in this together.
“Are you sleeping? Meditating? What?” Donovan demands.
I concentrate, seeing the rain-streaked street from my vision. The traffic lights buffeted by the wind. The limbs of the live oaks bending low, just like they do in the stretch of Orchard Street before it exits Sapphire Springs’ quaint downtown and becomes a commercial thoroughfare?—
My eyes snap open. “Pull over!” I scream.
He shoots me a startled look. “What?”
At this, I finally lose my temper. “Why do you keep saying ‘what’? Are you a parrot? Is your vocabulary as limited as your social skills? Pull the car over!”
