counter the sickening apprehension swirling in my stomach, my body rebelling

at what was to come. I balled up the material and held it chest high, needing the

focus of something she’d touched.

My nerves tightened and a mental voice questioned the sanity of going

through with this when it could end up a pointless endeavor. I told it to shut the

hell up, I wasn’t abandoning Kelsey. It would work, it always did.

And if it went wrong? That stupid voice pushed. What then?

I tightened my lips. So long as it helped me find Kelsey, I’d handle it, dammit.

Blowing out a breath, I dropped my cloth-covered hands to rest on my thighs

and closed my eyes. Dragging in a deep breath, my chest expanded. I held it and

then let it go. Kelsey’s scent colored my thoughts. My mind raced. Maintaining

the pattern of breath, I forced everything out of my head but an awareness of Kelsey.

Slow in. Hold. Push out.

Slow in. Hold. Push out.

The AC hit its prearranged goal and clicked off, the sudden blanket of

silence snapping my spine straight and interrupting my breathing. My eyes

flashed open, and I waited for my spiking pulse to level off before starting over.

The creepy silence curled around me, and pushing it away took longer than

anticipated. Eventually my thoughts cleared and with frustrating slowness the mental path to the secret spot in my mind took shape. The delay wasn’t

unexpected considering the lack of use and a whole shitload of denial piled on top of it.

Once uncovered, I followed it down beyond memories, both good and bad,

until I reached the end. On the never-ending horizon of my mind, a towering wall loomed. For a moment I stood and stared. Buried behind the formidable barrier of my subconscious pulsed a strange energy, the one thing in this world

guaranteed to turn me into a blathering idiot.

Bracing myself, I began tearing the wall down. Piece by piece, I demolished

the blocks until the entire subconscious structure shuddered and collapsed. I opened my eyes, careful to keep my focus on my lap and my sense of Kelsey foremost in my mind. I braced and looked up, only to flinch.

Yep, definitely missed a few things.

The past replayed like a crazy barrage of scattered, silent-film images,

layered in moments of time. The confusing whirlwind scouring gouges in my heart. This house held so many memories of those I loved and each one played

out in snatches of stolen time, one memory on top of another, creating a visual

pandemonium. Some were faint, while others shoved forward only to be pulled

back under, but each one was fragmented. This was what could drive me insane.

Almost had at one point.

I struggled to find my mental footing, not easily accomplished thanks to

rusty skills, but like riding a bike, I found my balance and zeroed in on what I

needed.

A pale and worried Kelsey strode through my bedroom door. Her image

wavered, threatening to fade. I narrowed my concentration, determined not to lose her. The visuals steadied, firmed. Her white-blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail at the base of her neck, her jaw was clenched as she dropped her

hobo purse onto the bed, and then dragged her suitcase onto the mattress.

Considering how clear the images were, her emotions had to have been off the charts. My strange ability tended to be a complete mystery, but generally when I played Peeping Tom with the past, it was choppy and hazy. Painful experience taught me the more emotionally connected I was to a person or event,

the clearer the picture.

I watched Kelsey unpack. Then the image began to fade as an older one tried

to take center stage. My fingers tightened on the shirt in my lap as I struggled to

bring Kelsey’s image back. It took a few nerve stretching moments, but she reappeared. This time she was getting ready to hang up her shirt, when her head

lifted like a hound coming on point and turned to the door.

Old frustrations and resentments tried to tumble forth, but I shoved them

back. Wishing for a reliable soundtrack to the images in front of me would get me nowhere. It was hard enough to keep my attention centered on the right memory. Most times I was lucky to get a comprehensive scene. I seemed to be

eternally relegated to a watcher position, and not once had I been able to hear anything. That quirk hammered home early on the old axiom of ‘you can’t

change the past’.

As my concentration wavered, the image in front of me broke up like clouds

after a storm. Mental focus pounded into me by the U.S. Marines snapped into