Chapter Sixty-One
I focus on Headspace and reach it instantly.
The shapes surrounding me confirm my suspicion. The music emanating from them would be at home at a funeral—not-so-subtly hinting that they’ll show me something heinously bad.
My first impulse is to grab a shape at random, but given what I saw in my father’s memories the other day, I let my intuition lead me to one that I think will be extra useful—even if I don’t actually know what useful means in this case.
My ethereal wisp trembles metaphysically as I touch my chosen shape, and fall into the rabbit hole of the vision.
A man wearing a killer clown mask rushes into the corridor in front of us, followed by a couple more.
They’re all wearing those masks, and all but the first guy are basketball-player-turned-bodybuilder-bi
