Chapter FifteenAmie is lying face up on the bed. She looks exactly like she did in my dream—which clearly wasn’t just a dream.
Beatrice isn’t here.
Am I too late?
The hospital equipment has been tampered with and doesn’t help with proof of life.
I approach the bed and check Amie’s pulse on her wrist.
It’s gone.
As a mentalist, I know some methods to create an illusion of one’s heart stopping. For instance, a ball under the armpit can make the pulse seem to slow and then stop. So I check Amie’s neck.
No pulse here either.
I put my dead phone’s screen under her mouth to see if she fogs up the glass with her breathing.
The screen remains clear.
My heart sinks.
I failed.
She’s dead.
I consider running to the nursing station, so they can try to resuscitate her, but then I notice st
