Black Eye: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective #2 (Watty Winner)

Chapter 66

The sight of Amanda's face brings Zandra back down to Earth, although she can't help but wonder if David had something to do with the perfect timing. Zandra tells clients not to discount coincidence, to watch for it, but she never believed it meant anything until now. The astronomical odds for everything to come together, from the beginning of time up to this very moment, are so against her being alive and breathing in the first place that any coincidence beyond the mundane feels downright supernatural.

"Sorry about the blood. It's hard to clean out of cars," Zandra says, breaking her silence after slipping the lawnmower knife up her sleeve. It takes a couple tries with all of the hot biology glued to the blade.

Amanda keeps her eyes on the road, and Zandra wonders whether the police are far behind.

"I know," Amanda says, her voice flat and robotic.

You know?

"Is there someone in the trunk I should know about?" Zandra says.

Amanda glances in the rear view mirror at flashing lights turning a corner behind her. "Hang on."

The force of the car accelerating pushes Zandra back into her seat. "Where are we going?" she says.

"Where do you think?" Amanda says.

Dvorak's house.

"So you're curious about what's happening in that basement, too," Zandra says.

"Not curious at all, Zandra. That's why I waited outside the auditorium in the car. Figured an event like that could only go to shit," Amanda says.

"Maybe you've got a little psychic in you, too," Zandra says, watching the lights get closer in the mirror.

Amanda speeds up, driving on the shoulder to pass slower cars. With most of the police presence at the auditorium, it's not likely she'll be stopped by a squad car coming from downtown Stevens Point. It's clear sailing so long as she can keep it between the ditches.

"I didn't hear what you said during that debate or whatever it was, but I hope you told people how terrible a person William is. You did, didn't you? You know about the things he's done, right? You're supposed to be the psychic," Amanda says.

Maybe I should've kept him alive long enough to face the music.

"I did more than that, child. I killed him," Zandra says. It feels strange to say out loud, this new and inseparable part of her identity. It's how first-time parents or newlyweds must feel. A part of you from only a moment ago is gone, replaced by this intimidating frontier of the unknown.

Oh, David, what's to become of me after this? Did I take it too far? This is your fault, you know. The way you opened that door and made sure no one saw me in the hallway and put that knife there, you made it too easy to fuck up. Maybe I take back wanting to hear from you. Maybe there's a good reason people can't contact the dead. God help them for what they'd do next.

No, no, David, I didn't mean it that way. I don't hate you, but I want to so badly. I need to. I'm not the guilty one here, am I? Surely it wasn't my hand that drove that knife into Dvorak's chest, or was it? The coincidences were more than just that, weren't they? This can't all be in my head. But then what would I tell the police? Do I tell them the spirit of my dead husband temporarily possessed me?

Good lord, listen to me right now. I sound like one of my clients at Sneak Peek.

"You killed him?" Amanda says with wide eyes.