by Amber Morgan
"They never caught him," Dylan said, standing to pace the room. "I remember it all just trailing off, the news reports, the manhunt...It just faded away, didn't it?"
Keira nodded. "They collared a couple of suspects, but the forensic evidence wasn't strong enough. Dom told me when a serial killer stops like that, it's sometimes because he's been caught for something else, like drug possession or something minor. The OBEs stopped, I moved down here, and that's it."
"So this Detective Abbott, he's the old friend who called?" Dylan stopped, kneeling in front of her to take her hands. "Why?"
She couldn't meet his eyes. The compassion there, the concern, might undo her. "A girl died last night. Murdered. I saw it."
"You had an out-of-body experience," he said. "So why does that mean you have to go to London? Can't you just talk to Abbott over the phone about it?"
She could, but then she wouldn't get to see Dom. Guilt spiked through her, cutting through the churning sickness in her stomach. "The police want to question me again." She lied, hating how easily the lie came. "Like I said, I'm the only survivor – if this is the Shoreditch Slasher again, anything I can tell them could help catch him."
Frustration marred Dylan's face. "I can come with you if you like. For support. I can afford to miss a few days of work."
"No," she said. "Really, it's fine. I'll be back in a couple of days, and you've got tons of stuff to get through, deadlines to meet. You've got Greg to think about. It's fine, Dylan."
He rocked back, frowning. "You'll call me when you get there, yeah? And when you're on your way back."
"Of course." She leaned down to kiss his cheek. "I promise."
****
Dom was waiting for her at King's Cross Station. Her heart leapt at the sight of him, looking just the same as he always had in his battered old trench coat, dark hair falling into dark eyes, a five o'clock shadow on his jaw. She smiled as he hurried to meet her, a little of the tension she'd been carrying since her nightmare – her OBE – melting away.
"Keira, it's good to see you." He took her suitcase from her with one hand, clasping her hand with the other. His grip was rough but warm, sending hot little sparks through her. "Wish it was under better circumstances."
"Me too." She let her hand fall from his reluctantly. "Where to?"
"Don't know about you, but I could do with a drink." Dom led her out of the station, free hand pressed to the small of her back to guide her through the crowd. "It's been a bloody long day."
Dusk was falling over London, the streets were packed, and Keira felt a weird mix of homesickness and nostalgia. She didn't miss London, not really. Her life in her quiet corner of the countryside was peaceful, happy. Apart from the issues with her job, anyway, but nothing was perfect, was it? And there were too many bad memories associated with London.
But with Dom at her side, broad and grim-faced, she felt safe and her sense of safety triggered an unexpected fondness for the city. She'd had good times here once, as a student and trainee teacher. She’d had lots of friends, a hectic social life. The bright lights and heady sounds of the city didn't seem as ominous as she remembered, not with Dom's protective hand on her back.
He took her to a quiet pub a street away from the station, bought her a white wine and a spicy chicken burger. She had to grin. "You remember."
"Never forgot." He returned her grin. "I used to look forward to our pub dates, despite everything."
Her mood darkened a little. They'd met so many times to discuss her OBEs, what she saw, what it meant, if anything. He couldn't tell her much about the case at the time, but that hadn't mattered to Keira. Safety, that was what mattered. Dom made her feel like she wasn't alone, wasn't so vulnerable. Wasn't crazy.
"So how are things?" he asked, sipping his beer. "How have you been?"
She shrugged. "Good, mostly. I'm teaching. Not really enjoying it anymore, but I don't know what else to do. You?"
"Working hard." He rubbed his nose, an old, familiar habit. It had been broken a couple of times, giving him the look of a boxer. She'd always found that so appealing. It gave him a little edge of danger. "Not much else to do, really. Angie left me...God, must be four years ago now."
A flicker of surprised excitement ran through her, quickly followed by guilt. She covered his hand with hers, squeezing. "Dom, I'm so sorry."
He shrugged it off. "Hazard of the job, sweetheart. Feels a long time ago now. We're still friendly. Well, amicable, anyway. How about you? Settled down?"
She shook her head. "There's never been anyone else..." She bit her lip. She hadn't meant to say that, to add that else. When she glanced up at him to see if he'd caught her slip, she found him staring at her with undisguised heat. It shocked and thrilled her, and then it confused and scared her. Nothing had ever happened between her and Dom, they'd never crossed that line. But the line had been there. They'd both known it.
****
Keira knew her feelings for Detective Abbott didn't make sense. He'd been the first person to interview her after her attack. She'd woken up in hospital to find him looming over her, and for a split-second she'd been panic-stricken, seeing her masked attacker instead. But he'd spoken calmly, softly, reassuring her that she was alive, safe. And then he'd grilled her about the attack until she felt dizzy and exhausted.
The thought of him, the sight of him, ought to bring the awful memories of that night rushing back to the forefront of her mind, but he’d been so patient and kind, despite his intensity, that she couldn't help but feel safer when she was with him. And she was with him a lot.
“White wine and a spicy chicken burger?” Dom asked her as she joined him. They were meeting in a pub just around the corner from her flat. She didn't feel comfortable going much farther.
She smiled. “I'm predictable, aren't I?”
He raised his hand as if he'd stroke her hair, then let it fall. The light overhead glowed on his wedding ring. “Not the word I'd use, no.”
She shifted closer to him, then away again. It was hard – he was a lodestone and she was so desperate to touch him, all the time. Just little touches would do. A brush of fingers as they passed each other in the police station. The quick squeeze he would give her shoulder when they parted. They were all brief, all electric.
“What words would you use?” she asked him, keeping her eyes on the table. She heard his breath hitch and risked a quick glance at him out of the corner of her eyes.
He was staring at her. His dark eyes burned, and she could almost see the words he wanted to say there. Words he'd never say, she knew that. She was being unfair, trying to flirt like this.
“Sorry,” she said. “Um, you wanted to meet about the case, I suppose?”
“Don't be sorry,” he said, voice gruff. He moved his hand and there it was. That brush of skin on skin, his fingers over hers, quick and hot. Keira bit her lip, freezing. It was a game. Which one of them would break the contact first? She held his gaze, wondered if he saw the words behind her eyes too.
“I wanted...” He cleared his throat and lifted his hand from hers to grab his drink. “I wanted to talk about the OBEs again. Do you mind?”
Keira folded her hands in her lap. “No, not if it'll help.”
“I don't know what will help anymore,” he said, betraying his frustration. He rubbed his jaw, scowling. “The guy's good and we're running out of ideas, to be frank.”
Keira's stomach turned. “How can there be nothing? No DNA, no clues...”
“DNA is only useful if the guy's already in the system. As for clues...the closest we have is your account. That's why I keep coming back to you.”
She pretended that didn't hurt, that he came back to her because he wanted to, but she guessed she didn't quite mask her reaction to his words. Dom sighed, rubbing his eyes now. She realized suddenly how tired he looked.
“Keira—”
“No, it's fine,” she said, knotting her fingers together under the table. “I don't have any right to be like this. I
don't want to be that person.”
She jumped when he reached under the table and took her hand. He leaned in until he was close enough to whisper, “The problem is, I want you to be that person.”
She could have kissed him then. She felt it sizzling between them, the promise of one, single, forbidden kiss. His fingers squeezed hers. His breath was warm on her skin and she could smell him, musk and cologne and man. She licked her lips. He groaned softly.
“Don't,” he said, voice low. “Don't do things like that, Keira.”
“Then don't say things like that, Dom.”
He released her and sat back in his seat, reaching blindly for his drink. Keira watched him drain the pint glass, feeling she'd lost something she couldn't quite name. Heart sinking, she grabbed her own drink and told herself it was for the best.
****
Keira took a big gulp of her wine and changed the subject. "So I guess you can't tell me anything about this morning. The girl."
Dom looked away from her, toyed with a beer mat. His long, strong fingers fascinated her. "I'm guessing you know as much as I do anyway." He shot her a hard look now, all business. "Want to talk about it?"
Did she? Not really, the thought made her feel sick. But she had to. Dom always believed her before; it was one of the things that drew her to him. And who knew, this time it might help. This time she might have seen something useful.
"It was just like before. I'm hovering over the place – an alley, lots of graffiti. Kind of smelt like curries, I think. I'm watching it. Them. He's big, he's wearing gloves and a balaclava. She fights. He holds her by the throat." Unconsciously, her hands rose to her own throat. "He stabs her over and over. She dies."
There. That wasn't so hard, was it? Tears pricked at her eyes as the memories came back, flashing in full color. The blood, the dark bruises blooming on the girl's neck, the flash of the blade... She downed the rest of her wine in one go.
Dom took her hand, his grip solid and comforting, but still sending flashes of electricity through her. "And then?"
"Then it's the same as every other time, Dom. I see white light and I'm back in my body, scared as hell."
"See, this white light, that's what gets me." He leaned in, picking at the chips on her plate. "What happens to pull you back to your body?"
She shrugged. "Shock? Fear? Who knows? What happens to pull me to the scene in the first place?"
"I did a lot of research on OBEs." He smiled with grim humor. "I think that's what drove Angie away in the end, actually. She said I was obsessed. You know scientists have been able to re-create them in labs? They stimulate part of the brain, get particular brainwave frequencies going, and apparently it causes OBEs. They call it mechanical induction."
A creeping sense of unease filled Keira. "Yeah? And this really works?"
He nodded. "I've been speaking to a doctor at University College London. Met him on a case last year. It's kind of a pet project of his." He stared down into his pint, obviously hesitant to say whatever he was about say. "I'd like you to try it, Keira."
"I don't know," she said. "It sounds dangerous, Dom. I mean, how do they do it? Drugs? Machines? I don't know."
"It's perfectly safe," he assured her. "I've watched them do it. They use a sensory deprivation tank. No drugs, no chemicals, nothing."
She shifted in her seat, playing nervously with her earrings. "And what's the point?"
"I'm wondering how solid your connection to the Slasher is. I'm wondering if the shock of seeing the murder is what throws you back into your body, and if we set up an OBE under controlled circumstances, if you could learn to keep it going, to follow the killer."
"Dom." She didn't want to refuse him, but it just sounded too out there. "I don't think I want to make this a bigger part of my life than it already is."
"I get that, Keira, I do. But I'd like you to at least sleep on it. Either this is the Shoreditch Slasher or a copycat, and either way we're going to have more dead girls on our hands soon. Killers like this don't stop. They just escalate." He ran his hands through his hair, suddenly looking exhausted and frustrated. "We got no breaks last time. I don't want history to repeat itself this time. I want to nail this bastard, and I think you can help."
His sincerity, his determination tugged at her. She remembered all too well the panic and fear that choked London during the Slasher's last reign, both before and after her own attack. The idea of that happening again, of more women dying so violently and senselessly, was just horrible. She rested her head in her hands, fighting a headache. He was right; he was always bloody right.
"Okay," she said finally, raising her head to meet his hopeful gaze. "I'll do it. But I think you're overestimating me."
He smiled. "Never."
Chapter Three
The next morning, Dom took her to meet Doctor Rudolf. His lab was based in the Computer Science Department of University College London, and the clean, professional look of the place set Keira a little more at ease than she had been.
Simon Rudolf was a squat man with an infectious smile. He grasped Keira's hand in both of his, pumping enthusiastically. "Detective Abbott's told me so much about you," he said. "It's a pleasure. You're in good hands with me, I assure you."
Keira stole a glance at Dom, who flushed and made a show of studying his watch. She bit back a smile. Knowing that Dom talked about her – even if it was just in a dry, academic sense to this man – made her feel warm and...desirable.
She mumbled something to Simon – she had no idea what – and stared around the lab. Bright monitors and medical equipment were everywhere, for measuring brainwaves, heart rates, whatever. The sensory deprivation tank sat against the far wall, a simple white unit that reminded her of a tanning booth, except once you were inside you'd be completely enclosed, completely cut off, in the dark, alone... She shivered, feeling claustrophobic already.
Dom rested his hand on her shoulder, supportive and comforting. "You okay?"
She nodded, chewing her lip. "Let's just get started." If she waited too long, she'd change her mind.
Dom had advised her she'd need a swimming costume to wear in the tank, so they'd stopped to pick one up on the way. She had it on under her clothes now, and both men politely turned away while she stripped. She hugged herself, shivering in the simple black costume, while she waited for Rudolf to ready the tank.
"It's lightless and soundproof," he explained, opening the tank. "That's saltwater inside, body temperature. Now, I want you to feel completely safe in there, Keira. Detective Abbott and I will be here at all times, monitoring your vitals. Nothing bad can happen to you. Nothing dangerous. It's important to remember that if you do have an OBE. Wherever you go during the OBE, you are not physically there. Nothing can touch you. Understand?"
She nodded, a little calmed by his no-nonsense approach. She glanced at Dom over her shoulder. He smiled, then kissed her cheek quickly.
"You'll be fine."
Warmed by his kiss, she stepped into the tank, sloshing water up her legs. Rudolf gave her one last smile before closing the lid on her.
The darkness was absolute, but not as frightening as she'd expected. The gentle lap of water over her limbs was soothing, the slight tang of salt reminding her of childhood holidays down in Devon. She closed her eyes, feeling weightless and oddly liberated. Her mind drifted as she bobbed up and down in the water to Dylan, waiting at home for her to call, to Dom, standing just outside the tank. She stripped Dylan away, leaving just Dom with his strong, gentle hands and that inviting brush of stubble on his jaw.
She imagined herself touching him, kissing him – nothing chaste or friendly, but a real cross-the-line kiss. They were both single now. It could happen. Should it happen?
She wasn't sure, so she shoved the idea aside, wondering if there was something she should be doing to try to bring on the OBE. When it happened in her dreams, there was no control, no sense of a beginning. She'd read a little on OBEs back when they first started, read the advice
on inducing them by meditation and visualization. She hadn't tried any of the techniques – she hadn't wanted to have OBEs, she'd wanted to prevent them.
But now she figured, why not? She wanted to help Dom if she could, despite the fear still worming in her heart. So she visualized a rope winding around her body, pulled taut and upwards, something she could climb up, out of her body. She imagined herself climbing the rope, replayed it over and over and over until gradually she felt a tugging sensation, something pulling at her... Not at her physical self, she was sure of that, but pulling at her, her essence, her...spirit?
She resisted the pull instinctively at first, then forced herself to relax and let herself be lifted. For a second there was a curious sense of wrongness as she glanced back and saw herself floating in the tank. A thin, glowing white rope coiled around her ankle, anchoring her to her physical body. For a second she panicked and wanted to dart back into herself, but she remembered Dom's belief in her and his fierce determination to catch the Slasher, so she let go of the panic.
She floated up, out of the tank, seeing Dom and Simon watching the monitors. Out of the room, up into the air. Anxious, she checked and found the rope still wrapped around her ankle.
Satisfied she could get back if she needed to, she let the pull carry her, lead her wherever it would. Simon's words, that she was safe, that nothing could touch her, buoyed her, made her bold. As long as she could get back to her body, she didn't need to fear anything that happened.
She was pulled through London's busy streets, marveling at the bustle going on all around her. Nobody glanced at her, nobody so much as twitched as she drifted by. There was a heady sense of power to it, and Keira grew more and more confident with every passing second.
When she floated through the walls of a house in Shoreditch, it took her a few seconds to realize she'd come to a halt. She looked around, puzzled. This was a normal house, a little untidy – plates unwashed in the sink, dust on the picture frames – but normal. Unremarkable. She couldn't imagine why she'd come here.