Sin. Sharron Burnett

cast her gaze to the door. The two psychiatric technicians stood there. Her eyes skipped past the female, zeroing in on the tall Mexican beside her.

      “Hey,” he said in greeting. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes were red rimmed and clouded.

      “You going to be good?”

      “Good?” she said. Her eyes lowered to the wide expanse of his chest. He wore a bandage on his throat; it made her mouth water to look at it.

      “How do you mean?” she asked in a low sultry voice.

      He said nothing, although his mouth twisted in a pained frown.

      Maggie turned her head to the left, as though listening. Her eyes were closed; her mouth soft and relaxed.

      “Maggie?”

      She turned to Daniel. He looked slightly amused. “I’m sorry,” she said, glancing up at him through brilliant green orbs. I love this song.”

      “What song is that?”

      “I’m not sure. I think it’s new.”

      “You are hearing music?”

      “Yes.”

      “Curious,” he said with a slight frown.

      “Why is that?” she asked, perplexed. “Can’t you?”

      “Can’t say that I do.”

      “I see,” she said absently.

      “What is it you see?” He returned.

      “He must be an angel, I suppose,” she said quietly.

      “Who?”

      “The one who sings for me.”

      “Can you see him?”

      “No.” Her eyes closed, a smile caressing her lips as his music filtered down through whatever radio wave directly into her head.

      “He only appears when the sun goes down,” she whispered.

      “Sounds more like a vampire.”

      “Vampire. Angel. Same thing,” she said decidedly.

      “And you can hear him right now?”

      “No,” she said.

      “He’s gone now.” She turned her head, testing her strength. She pulled her arms free of the restraints, sitting up in one fluid moment.

      “Hey!” Daniel laughed; his expression incredulous. “How’d you do that?”

      *****

      “She seems to be experiencing two separate and completely different personalities. She is hallucinating, possibly even shares these hallucinations which is—” he shook his head, a mystified smile playing around the corners of his mouth—“impossible.” He groaned; his humor focused inward.

      “She also seems have acquired the ability to use post hypnotic suggestion to control the staff in residence. She has displayed a disquieting talent for prophecy or clairvoyance.” A sharp rap on the door drew his attention. He clicked off the recorder.

      “Enter.” He called out vigorously.

      “You busy?” Jewell asked from the door.

      “No, no. Come on in,” he said, dropping the tape on his desk.

      “How is she?” he questioned softly.

      “The same.” She looked dubious. “You know, possessed.”

      “She’s not possessed,” he said grimly, wondering who he was trying to convince.

      “Do you think she did it?”

      He pressed his lips together tightly, taking in a deep breath.

      “No, but she may know who did.” He opened the desk drawer, rifling around in there a moment before pulling out a business card. He read the name on the business card.

      Detective Brandon Hrapski.

      “May as well get this over with,” he said, dispassionately, picking up the phone to his left.