Page 187 of Sinister

With my phone, I quickly snap a picture and upload it online. I wait a couple of seconds for the search to be performed, all the while holding my breath anxiously.

No results found.

I blink. Damn it!

Not one to give up, I try another way. I write up a quick description of the symbol, including the circumstances of its appearance as I remember them from my dream, and I hit search.

There are a few hits from Reddit and other forums, so I start perusing each one of them.

They don’t answer any of my questions, though. They’re all from tattoo communities. But the symbol on my flesh was not tattooed, it just . . . appeared.

“Ugh!” I let out a frustrated sigh and throw the paper aside.

“Petra?” Sin’s voice echoes behind me. “What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?”

I turn, and there he is, leaning against the door frame. As I blink, the image shifts, and instead of seeing him in his present state—dark sweatpants and a shirt—I see him dressed in Victorian garb, with a pair of black trousers, white shirt under a dark vest, and a silk bow tie at his neck.

I rub my eyes.

“Petra?” he calls out again and comes toward me.

Once more, I see him as before instead of now, and it only freaks me out more as I scurry away from him.

“What’s wrong, sweet girl?” He takes in my wild eyes and disheveled appearance before his eyes move to the side, to where my drawing is. He narrows his eyes and picks up the piece of paper. “What is this?” he asks in a low, dark voice that sends shivers down my spine.

I bite my lip, not knowing how to explain it. He might think I’m crazy. I think I’m crazy!

“Petra, what is this?” His voice is a stark contrast to the dulcet tones he’s used on me in the past; it’s commanding, domineering . . . “Where did you find it?”

“I . . . I drew it,” I whisper.

“You drew it? Why? How?”

He’s still staring at the drawing, a myriad of emotions crossing over his face before he schools them in a bored indifference.

“Do you know it?” I whisper.

His lips tremble as he shakes his head. “It’s very pretty, though.”

I study his face, a little taken aback by his reaction. “I dreamed about it,” I blurt out.

“You what?” He blinks in surprise.

I nod. “I’ve been having these odd dreams for a while.”

Since getting pregnant, more specifically, though I don’t mention that. I’m already too scared to entertain the thought that my unborn baby might end up being that psychotic Arnoult guy.

Sin takes a seat next to me, taking my hand in his and lightly massaging it. “And what did you dream?” he asks.

“I’m still not entirely sure. Sometimes the dreams are very clear, sometimes not as much. But it’s . . .” I gulp down. “It’s almost as if seeing a version of me from the past.”

“From the past?” he echoes. He looks at me intently, waiting for me to continue.

“It’s silly, right? It’s probably nothing.”

“It’s not silly, Petra. Tell me more. What did you dream about?”

“I can’t remember very well,” I lie. “Just bits and pieces, sensations mostly.”