Clearly, she wasn’t faking her psychic credentials, because as soon as she got within a few feet of the spot, she stopped dead, hands going to her mouth as if to prevent herself from letting out a cry of dismay. In the weird, bleached illumination from the lights of the parking lot, it looked as though she’d gone dead white.
“Oh, God,” she said at last, the words almost a moan. “He took her…he came here and took her and they drove away.”
“He who?” Michael demanded.
“He wore the face of a dead man, but he’s not dead. Not really. He’s…other.”
Cold worked its way down Michael’s spine, but he made himself ask calmly, “Who did you see, Rosemary?”
She shifted her position, taking a step with her hands outstretched before she stopped again. “A man, tall, with black hair and eyes, heavy brows
