Page 144 of The Bone Code

Hearing a scream, I looked up. A seabird glided on the wind overhead. I tracked its flight. Noticed a figure high up on the cliffside. Dressed like a monk in a long, hooded cape, the figure was painting graffiti. Its incomplete message stretched across three rocks. I read it.

Four letters.CRIS—

The monk’s head swiveled my way, the floppy hood concealing all but his eyes. His gaze raked me like a Death Star laser. The sand around my boots began to dissolve. I sank to my knees. My waist. My chest.

I stood beside a morgue cooler. The room was cold, and I was shivering. I opened a compartment. Lena Chalmers was on the gurney, her body naked and fully fleshed.

I heard a meow. Turned. Saw no cat

A corpse lay on an autopsy table behind me. Though frightened, I felt compelled to approach. Took a step.

The corpse sat up. Melanie Chalmers Her nose was gone, her body covered with festering lesions.

I took another step.

Melanie’s hand rose. Her fingers were blackened stumps. One pointed at me.

The finger, elongated and spiderlike, snagged my hair and pulled. I screamed and tried to bat it away.

A silhouette stood flanked by two intensely brilliant beams of light. Behind the silhouette, a wall. As I watched, the beams drew together and brightened even more, revealing the silhouette’s face.

Ryan!

The beams congealed into one impossibly white-hot oval on Ryan’s chest. He staggered back and was pinned to the wall. His face constricted in agony, and his hands clawed the air.

God. Oh, God, no!

I tried to run to Ryan. Was again fixed in place. I looked down. Water gurgled and eddied around my feet.

I called out.

A figure materialized beside Ryan, features oddly clear in the blinding glare.

Arlo Murray.

No! Goddammit, no!

I awoke to find Ryan restraining me with a palm to each shoulder, his features taut with concern.

“Wake up, cupcake.”

“Don’t call me that.” Mind still struggling to reconnect with the topside world.

“Feisty out the door.” Ryan’s face relaxed. “A good sign.”

“I must have been dreaming.”

“Ya think?” Ryan’s hair was wet, and he wore only a towel. “Nightmare on Elm Street?”

“It wasn’t Peter Cottontail’s tea party.”

“Don’t you mean the Mad Hatter?”

“They share the same guest list.” Though going for breezy, I still felt shaky.

Perching on the bed, Ryan took both my hands in his and kissed me lightly on the lips. “It wasn’t real.”

“I know. I think I was aware of that even as I was dreaming. It was just so vivid.”