because you’ve got no imagination.” Danny squatted at the dead woman’s feet. “You know what it reminds me of? No, seriously. It looks like one of those inkblots that shrinks use to analyze their patients.”
Sean started to say something, but Sarah turned excitedly. “No, he’s right. That’s exactly what it looks like. A Rorschach inkblot.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means something different to everyone who looks at it. That’s the whole point. A patient’s spontaneous response is supposed to reveal deep secrets or significant information that can be used in a psychological evaluation.” Sarah turned back to the body. “There are only ten true Rorschach inkblots. Five black-and-white, two red-and-black and three multicoloreds. They’re kept secret to protect the integrity of the test. The inkblot cards you see on TV and in movies are most likely fakes.”
“What about this one?”
“I can’t say for sure. You’d need to show it to someone who’s an expert in Rorschach inkblot therapy, but that might be a difficult. The cards aren’t used much anymore.”
“How is it you know so much about these inkblots?” Sean’s voice was deliberately casual.
Sarah met his gaze. You already know the answer to that. Aloud she said, “I read a lot.”
“I still say it looks like two women with big breasts,” Danny said. “What deep, dark secret does that reveal about me?”
“That you’ve got a one-track mind,” Sean said. “But I didn’t need an inkblot to tell me that.”
Sarah’s interpretation was very different from Danny’s. Instead of two bodies, she saw faces—one light, the other dark.
Her gaze lifted to the mirror propped against the wall. She wanted to glance away, but she couldn’t. This was the view the killer would have had when he looked up from his work. His own reflected face with the disturbing missive scrawled on the wall behind him.
I am you.
“Say it is real,” Sean said. “If these inkblots are secret, the perp would need insider knowledge about them, right? Either as a patient or a doctor, and judging by his handiwork here, I’m pretty sure I know which one. But we can start by checking with some of the therapists in the city who still use these inkblots in their evaluations. Who knows? We might get lucky and find one who likes to talk.”
“Shit,” Danny said in disgust. “Do you have any idea how much I hate dealing with those condescending assholes? Never met one yet who didn’t give me the creeps.”
Their voices faded as Sarah continued to stare at the mirror. Suddenly she knew why the message had hit her so hard. It reminded her of something that had been said to her a long time ago.
We’re the same, Sarah. Not outwardly, of course. But inside, our souls are mirror images.
No, she thought. It can’t be him.
Her throat constricted and a film of sweat coated her skin. She told herself to relax, breathe deeply, but it was too late.
The darkness was coming for her.
A little while later, Sarah stood shivering on the front porch as two beefy men negotiated the slippery steps with the stretcher. She didn’t want to stare at the body bag, but she couldn’t seem to look away. The victim had been someone’s sister or daughter or mother, and now she was gone, murdered by a psycho with a very dark compulsion.
Leaning her head against a newel post, she closed her eyes. Sean had asked her to wait while he finished up, but she was desperate to get home. She’d been outside for too long, and her face and hands were numb from the cold. But the frigid air had done nothing to dispel the dread still hammering at her chest. She recognized it for what it was—a memory trying to force its way out.
A therapist had once told her that every subconscious contained a special place—a vault—where lost memories were stored. Usually, those memories stayed locked up tight, but every once in a while, a song, a face or a seemingly random event could crack open the safe and provide a tantalizing, sometimes terrifying glimpse into the past.
The room upstairs had done that for Sarah. But the tumblers hadn’t been turned by the puddles of blood on the floor or even the tattoos on the victim. The vault had been breached by the killer’s message. And by the sight of her own pale face staring back from the mirror.
The door opened and Sean stepped out on the porch.
He moved up beside her. “Are you okay? You had me worried when you ran out like that.”
“Yeah, I was kind of surprised by that, too,” Sarah said. “I thought I had a strong constitution. Never considered myself the squeamish type.”
“Sometimes it hits you all of a sudden. I’ve seen it happen to guys who’ve been on the force for years.” Sean hesitated. “But maybe in your case, there’s a little more going on than a weak stomach.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were thinking about Rachel, weren’t you? Damn it, I could kick myself for dragging you over here like this. I should have thought about how it would affect you.”
She shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s a very big deal. I saw your face when you ran out. It was like you’d seen a ghost. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Here?” She glanced around. The professionals and onlookers alike were starting to disperse, but Sarah still had no intention of getting into something so private. “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do with your time.”
“I can spare a few minutes. Besides…” Sean sighed. “It’s the same old story. Nobody saw or heard anything. Not a lot more we can do tonight except file the report and wait for the autopsy. And it might help if you told me what happened upstairs.”
He put his hand on the railing next to hers. Not quite touching. Just close enough for her to know it was there.
“I don’t think so, Sean.”
“Why not? You always refused to talk about Rachel because you didn’t want to drag your past into our relationship. At least that’s what you said. What’s stopping you now?”
“Why do you even care?”
“Sarah.”
The mild rebuke sent a shiver up her spine. She could feel his eyes on her in the dark and she wanted to move away, but not nearly as much as she wanted to stay.
She looked out over the darkened street where moonlight softly illuminated frozen treetops. The flashing police lights reflected off tiny icicles, turning them into sapphires and rubies and in the distance, the palest of amber. The glistening neighborhood looked clean and beautiful and deceptively peaceful in the dark.
Sean shifted restlessly, impatient as always to cut to the heart of the problem. “After you and I got together, I read every newspaper account of the murder I could get my hands on. I
