Slipping the Past (5 page)

Nate’s finger moved across the pad and tapped, bringing up another dead end. She sighed and twisted her hair into a ponytail and knotted it at the back of her neck. The screen disappeared and she stared at herself through Nate’s eyes.

“Nate, you have to look at it. I can’t see.”

“I need a break.”

“He gave me a week.”

“We’ve been running from them for a long time. One big, bad reaper isn’t going to find us if we don’t want to be found. We can stay ahead of him.” Nate snapped the holo shut. “You need to eat and rest. You’re wearing yourself down.”

“I’m fine. I told you. He gave me energy.”

“You might be able to go and go, but I’m starving.” Nate rose from the table and reached for her. “Come on.”

She turned and put her back to him. “Where’d you get the mobile?”

“I jacked it out of a transporter.”

“You can’t do that. One of these times you’re going to get caught. We could’ve gone online at a stratus-net café or something.”

“Yeah, a blind girl sitting in front of a holo-processor looks real natural.”

“You know I don’t need to be in front of it. I can borrow your eyes.”

“Which I’m really getting sick of. Do you know how creepy it feels to have someone crawling around in your brain? I can’t get the clerk out of my head. I’ve never seen you possess someone, Joce. Hitchhike, yes. Possess, no. Maybe you are cursed. Possession is evil.”

“You let me ride for the research just now.” Could he be right? Was she evil? Inside, Jocelyn cried. Her own brother questioned her innocence.

“That wasn’t possession,” he said. “I was in control. Besides, you seemed to know what you were looking for, so I let you. The clerk was different. You took over, manipulated him.”

“I had to. You would have gotten yourself killed.”

“Nobody has the right to mess with free will. That’s bad news.” Nate touched her shoulder. “Come on, we’ll grab a bite at a café and I’ll let you drive.”

“I don’t know if I want to. I didn’t realize I creeped you out.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it.”

“But you did. You must be thinking it. What if I really am evil?” Jocelyn turned to face him. “What if the reaper is right? I’ll kill again. I could get you killed.”

“It’s not in your nature. You’re not a killer.”

“I am according to my warrant.”

“Past lives. You don’t know the motivation for the actions. Besides, that’s Psycho Reaper’s opinion. Consider the source.”

Yeah, the source. There was no way anyone would believe her over Enforcer Saefa. He was the best of the best, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t crazy or wrong.

From her mother, she’d heard stories of the reading of her warrant and of Ian’s visit to the hospital nursery. Saefa had been fourteen at the time and was considered a prodigy. They claimed he was one-hundred-percent accurate when reading and not once had he been proven wrong.

He’d walked from hovering isolette to isolette, studying each child, listening as they cried. A man had followed him, recording everything he’d said. He’d stop every now and then to nod at a baby. Thief, rapist, drug addict; he’d listed crime after crime in a cold tone, unconcerned those he accused were but hours old and helpless to defend themselves.

Most he passed without mention, but when he’d reached her, he’d stopped, stood in place, and stared down at her for more than twenty minutes. When he began to speak, he’d looked directly at her mother and smiled. “Murderess.”

Her mother swore he’d looked happy, as though he’d opened a new gift. She’d told Jocelyn that when she’d stared into his eyes, she could see the truth. He’d lied.

Could it be true, or was it just the story of a deranged woman, desperate to save her daughter’s life?

Jocelyn bit her lip. Perhaps Nate was right. Instead of looking for the crimes she committed, she should be looking for something that would have triggered the crimes. Gabriel mentioned a rape. She could’ve been defending herself, or someone else, as she had been in the one case. “I think you might be onto something. What if my crimes were committed in self-defense and I’m looking in the wrong place?” If only she could slip the past on command. The moment she’d touched Gabriel, she’d seen and felt more than she had in the previous twenty-six years. Perhaps finding him again would trigger the visions?

“Then that’s where we’ll start. We’ll hit the library and research our genealogy. If we can track location to date, we might be able to find the crimes linked to your actions,” Nate said.

“If I stayed in the same family.” Jocelyn sighed. “We can’t be certain I didn’t jump bloodlines. What about asking Gabriel?”

Nate snorted. “Now I know you got brain damage from kissing that reaper.”

Jocelyn gave him a push on the shoulder. “Seriously. He might be able to help.”

“Don’t go there, Joce. We don’t need his help. We can do this on our own. The stratus net has a huge database on family history. We should be able to track back to the Dark Ages.”

“Then what? How do I prove my innocence for crimes that aren’t documented, or if I jumped bloodlines?”

Nate shrugged. Even he didn’t seem to have a clue how she’d survive those problems. She bit her lip. How could she possibly find all the evidence? “Maybe this is hopeless.”

Nate grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. “We’ll figure it out. We’ve got enough credit from the robbery to last the week. If we have to run, we’ll run.”

Perhaps she should run and leave him behind? Everything she did seemed to drag Nate deeper. Jocelyn raised her cuff to her mouth and began to chew. Did she have the strength to do it? Could she?

Nate sighed. “Don’t even think about it. You’re stuck with me.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?”

He plucked at her sleeve. “Remember who you’re talking to. I don’t have to be a reader when it’s all over your face—or in your actions.”

Yeah, she had tells, and Nate knew them better than anyone. The best thing would be to get away from him, lose him before he became a casualty of her past-life crimes. But how would she do that when he read her every intention before she had a chance to put her plan into action?

***

A lot of things carried residual energies, especially objects of war or murder. Energy reached out with skeletal fingers as she’d walked by the building on her way to the library with Nate.

Jocelyn pretended she felt nothing, even though every nerve in her body screamed in pain. They’d passed the museum and continued to their planned destination, the city archives. Once Nate’s nose was on a holo-processor and his brain dead to everything around him, she ditched him and backtracked to the museum.

For this exact reason, she rarely used her own vision. The world under the streetlamps was a neon spectrum, almost blinding in intensity. She made her way around the brilliant shapes in orange, red, yellow, lime green, fuchsia, and every other hue in existence. Her crayon-box view had already started a raging headache, and the closer to the building she drew, the more intense it became.

The wind whipped around her body, driving the ice and snow through her clothing. She started up the stairs, feeling her way along the rail. Energy bit into her brain, hot flashes of pain and fear. The voices from the past grew louder, a jumbled blur of static and whispers. She knew better than to follow them but had no choice. Desperation made the choice for her.

Jocelyn slipped her glasses on and pulled her cane from her pocket, a cane she’d never needed but always carried. When alone, she used it to give the appearance of total blindness. With a press of her thumb, she activated the sonar that bounced back into the device and guided her around obstacles. People had a way of freaking out if they knew she used their eyes to navigate the world. Better they assume she needed the device.

The streetlights proved a discomfort as she navigated to the entrance, but the interior lights of the building would be unbearable, and eyes would be on her. She touched the double doors and harnessed her courage. They creaked, crying an ominous warning and sending shivers skittering up her spine.

It was too late to turn back. The energy locked on and compelled her forward.

In the past, a close encounter with a nasty relic had caused a seizure. The object had tried to possess her and Jocelyn swore it carried a life of its own. A trip to the hospital, followed by three weeks in bed, should have cured her of the desire to handle another, or even approach something of that nature. She needed to touch most artifacts for them to affect her, but some could reach her from a distance, as the object in the museum did now. The more history something had, the better chance residual energies clung to it, and the more space she usually gave it.

The doors clanged shut behind her, echoing across the lobby. A clerk called over to her, “You need to pay the entrance fee over here.”

She turned and borrowed the woman’s eyes for a nanosecond to navigate toward the counter. The woman watched her, one feeling predominating all others.
Pity. Pity the poor blind girl
.

The clerk handed her a ticket and brushed her hand. Jocelyn yanked back, too late. She’d slipped the future, getting a brief view of the woman’s life to come. Instead of pitying her, the woman should be concerned with her own life. She had a cheating husband who would abandon her for a whore. Her own pregnancy would complicate things enough that she’d be forced to give custody to the bastard husband and his whorish new wife. She didn’t generally get future readings, not unless something weighed heavily on the mind of the person she touched. And this woman had it in spades.

Jocelyn lifted her chin. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?” The woman collected the credit chip and docked it. There was a beep and she slid it back.

“Your future,” Jocelyn said. “I recommend you file for divorce and take him for everything before he does it to you.”

The woman snorted. “I’m happily married.” Perhaps she was. She’d married for love, but her husband—he’d married her for her uterus.

Jocelyn gave her a wry smile. “Not for long.”

The woman turned her back, pretending she hadn’t heard the last comment. But she had and Jocelyn could feel she contemplated what she’d been told. She knew something was off, and what the stranger had said had rattled her. Bursts of orange shattered around her. Conflict. The most disturbing color in the spectrum. Only those seriously troubled gave off such energy.

The genetically engineered child she carried would become an item of great contention. The woman had wanted a child and agreed to the genetic enhancements out of desperation. Giving that baby up was another matter. She didn’t plan to do that.

Her husband? Well, he wanted a fatter bank account. His intention was to sell his son to the highest bidder.
Greed
. The alien technology should’ve stayed off-world.

Success came at great cost. As many genetically enhanced children grew into adolescents, they couldn’t control the power and lost their minds. The clerk’s child would survive the madness, but could he control what he’d become?

“Don’t let him take your son. Get out now.” Jocelyn walked away without looking back. Maybe the clerk would listen. Maybe she wouldn’t. Free will could be a bitch sometimes.

She lifted her head and concentrated on the energy moving through the air. The barely tangible buzz it gave off pulled her across the empty building. She hopped into the night janitor and out, long enough to know she approached a Civil War exhibit and multiple relics of battles. Not a cozy place. She tightened her grip on her cane. Jocelyn stopped in front of a glass case, unable to see in, but she knew its contents without stealing sight. The objects held so much energy: pain, anger…a parasol, dress, and fan. Once worn and held by a Southern belle, the wife of a man who’d murdered without thought, the wife of a beast.

Josette
.

Jocelyn sank to her knees. Blood trickled from her nose and she dabbed it with the sleeve of her jacket. She pressed a trembling hand against the case. This was gonna hurt. White bolts of heat slammed into her.

“Josette!”

The scream came from down the hall. Drunk again. She dropped her embroidery and glanced at the open door. Fear crept along her neck. She had no choice. He would come and get her if she didn’t go.

“Josette. Get your worthless hide in here.”

She rose and took a step toward the door, then stopped. To go in there would mean to endure the horror of his company.

“Where is she, Josette?”

Madeline. Always Madeline. He’d beaten her and raped her. She’d submitted to every evil act imaginable. Now she carried his child and still couldn’t avoid his attention. Madeline rested where Josette told her, waiting for the labor that could come at any time and hiding from the beast who wanted nothing more than to torment her.

“Josette!”

She crept down the hall and peeked into the room. He sat slumped in his chair before the fire, one foot propped on a stool, the other on the floor. An empty bottle of rum lay in his lap. He rolled his eyes in her direction. Red, watery, angry. “Where’s my whore?”

“She’s resting, Angus.”

“Resting!” He sputtered and grabbed the empty bottle, tipping it to his lips. He snarled when he discovered it empty and flung it across the room into a wall, shattering glass everywhere. “I need to fuck.”

“You need to sleep.” Angus was ugly when sober. When drunk he was worse, much worse. A killer.

“Don’t tell me what I need. I need my whore.”

Josette walked over and dropped to her knees in front of him. If he touched Madeline in her condition, he could kill her and the baby.

He raised his boot and kicked her in the chest, sending her across the room and into the glass. “I don’t want you. You cry too much.”

As she fumbled to get to her feet and untangle her skirts, her palm came down on a shard of glass. She cried and gripped her hand while blood poured through her fingers.