Page 30 of Kill Me Again: Psychics

The call grounded me strangely. It reminded me that these memories were in the past, at a time when Calisto had still been a child. I slid my phone back into my pocket, squared my shoulders, and kept walking.

“I parked here,” I said, staring at the space. The floor was only half full, and no one had chosen that spot.

“What car did you have?”

I knew what Lake was doing. Mundane questions. Anchors. “A yellow Toyota.”

“Ha! That’s funny.”

“Is it?”

“Glenn’s got a yellow car. A Porsche.”

“It definitely wasn’t a Porsche. And it had seen better days.” I frowned. “I wonder what happened to it?” It didn’t matter. I focused on the space, picturing the car there. My nightmare never started this early. It always dropped me straight into the stabbing. As a result, everything before that was a great deal more fuzzy. “I put my coffee on the roof while I was locking the door.”

“Was there anyone else here?”

“A car was leaving just as I drove up. Two more followed me in.” I turned slowly. “There could have been someone hiding. There’re plenty of places.”

“That works if it was random,” Lake said. “But not if it was premeditated. They couldn’t have known which floor you’d park on.”

“True.”

“Tell me about the cars that followed you? Color? Type? Where did they park?”

“I don’t know.” Frustration bled into my words. Sick of saying I knew nothing, I closed my eyes and thought hard. “One was silver, I think. A hatchback. The other was… dark. Smaller. Maybe a Renault Clio or a Volkswagen Polo.”

“Dark as in black?’

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Where did they park?”

“You think one of them was the killer?’

“If they followed you, it would make sense.”

“Why would anyone want to kill me?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. We can’t rule anything out.”

I pointed down the row. “The silver car parked over there.”

“Did anyone get out?”

“I think so, but I can’t remember who.”

“And the smaller car?”

“I don’t know.”

Lake stepped into my line of sight. “Okay. You’re doing really well, Baxter.”

I attempted a laugh. It sounded dry and brittle. “I’m not, but thank you for trying to make me feel better.”

“You’re here, aren’t you? You haven’t run away screaming.”

“Not yet. But let’s not tempt fate.”