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“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“She’s not there.”
“You’re sure?” I peer over her shoulder at an unmade bed. “Get behind me.”
I creep inside, with my senses alert. When I place a hand on the mattress, the sheet is cold. “Looks like she hasn’t yet come home. Does she have a boyfriend?”
“No,” Amethyst says, sounding scandalized. “She’s married to my dad.”
I whirl around, my brow rising. “Have you remembered anything?”
She steps back and frowns. “No?”
“You said he lives here. Show me evidence he still exists.”
She rubs the back of her neck, looking sheepish. “Last time I checked, his clothes weren’t in the closet, but there are photo albums.”
“Where?”
She walks around the four-poster bed to a bookshelf set within an alcove and pulls out a leather-bound tome. “This is the one,” she says, her voice breathy with nerves. “The last time I looked, I found photos of my dad.”
Joining her at the shelf, I take the album along with two similar-looking items. After checking the bookshelves for hidden compartments, I ask, “Is there anything else we need to bring back with us?”
She glances around. “My dad’s things are in the spare room.”
“Show me.”
I follow her out into the hallway to a door at the far end of the house. Inside is a simple room with a twin-sized bed, a wooden desk, and an armchair in the corner. She opens a wardrobe that’s empty, save for a single outfit hung on wire hangers.
Her shoulders sag. “Oh.”
“What do you see?”
“I think this belongs to my Uncle Clive.”
“What did you see the last time?” I ask, keeping my voice soft.
“A closet full of tailor-made clothes. Lots of shoes. Shirts, still in their packaging.” Her voice catches. “Did I hallucinate them, too?”
“Come here,” I say with a sigh.
She walks toward me with her head bowed, and I pull her into a hug.
“You were under a lot of stress when you came here. I acknowledge my part in that.”
Pulling back, she stares up at me through glistening eyes. “I still can’t tell what’s real.”
My heart sinks at the distress she must be feeling, realizing the parent she thought she knew was just an illusion. A loss like that must leave the same gaping hole as a bereavement. Losing faith in her senses has to be equally as disorientating.
“I’m real. If you see anything that doesn’t look right, point it out to me and I’ll help you understand it.”
“Okay,” she replies with a gentle nod.
“Is there anything else you’d like to take from this house?”
She shakes her head, loosening a tear that trickles down her cheek. I brush it away with the pad of my thumb, my insides twisting.
Did I have to be such a heartless bastard? If I had taken just Amethyst’s address instead of staying behind to coax that assistant into the death she had coming, I would have arrived at Parisii Drive before the first man even attacked.
