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July 2004 Atlanta Juanita tossed and turned, the frames of her memory whirling her back. I heard the crash, the splintering glass, and I spun with my Glock. What the hell was that? I moved closer to take a peek. Edmond had thrown a rock and shattered Pepper’s window, a ploy to gain attention. Without a second’s hesitation, I hefted my boot and smashed through the window. My blood swooshed, my adrenalin at its peak, sharpening my survival instincts, preparing my mind for murder. “Show your face, now, motherfucker! Where are you?” I turned in the inky darkness, scanning now and crouching low. Ensconced in my black leather pantsuit, I was determined to stop the madness. I had never been so enraged. Edmond had tormented us for months, mutilated Pepper, and murdered at will, his parents included. The verdict had been delivered—Edmond W. Windbrook III would die tonight by my own inexperienced hands. I glimpsed him in my peripheral vision, closing the gap between us. The glint of his thin filleting knife flashed in the darkness, and his twisted face bore his madness. Then suddenly, I was imbued with sight, could see everything so clearly. Not only aware of his swift advance, I detected the blackness of his soul. I fired once. His head jerked back and splattered around him. The impact lifted him from the ground and threw him against the gnarled old oak. His face, now a scarlet hole, gaped at me as if from a horror movie. Eerily, his spirit rose, forsaking his lifeless body, another soul to keep. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I could see. I could mentally discern. I felt a glow, a warm surge of light. At last, the gift. I was being endowed with my natural birthright—my God-given powers, my long-forgotten strength. I was being bequeathed spiritual sight. Juanita’s eyes popped open, and she sprang upright, her breathing jagged. Fear stole through her veins, and perspiration drenched her nightgown. “Jesus, a nightmare,” she said. Her heart thundered, and she threw the sweat-soaked pillow to the floor. “What is it?” Johnny asked, now wide awake and alarmed by her outburst. He peered at her in the darkness and drew her into his arms. “It’s okay. I’m here, and you’re safe. Shhh.” He rocked her back and forth as though settling a baby. “It was so real, so frightening, Johnny. I killed him. Blew Edmond’s head off and was given this incredible power.” She began to sob, salty tears offered up as penance as she clung to him in fear. “It’s all right, baby. It was a dream. Let’s get you out of this gown. You’re soaked.” He turned to remove it, but she stopped him. “No, no, just hold me.” Juanita Sanchez had dreamed often of that night, seven months ago, when Edmond Windbrook had run amok. He’d stalked and killed, but tonight was the first time her subconscious had turned the truth. She’d not killed him, but deep down, she wished she had. She’d wanted to obliterate him from the planet. She thought she’d escaped the torture in which her two friends were still imprisoned, but the dream had proved her wrong. They were all mired in the events that occurred that night, unable to move beyond them. After all this time, the desolation had finally surfaced as her mind crested to a devastating and satisfying finale. The dream had been distorted, but she was now forced to explore her deepest yearning—her desire to have destroyed Edmond for he’d been a preying monster, one who had used his money to shield him from all repercussion. The spiritual element of the dream now stood at the forefront of her memory, ravaging her mind. She’d felt so at peace when she’d been given her spiritual sight. It had felt so right, so familiar, and she now hungered for further knowledge, but she was afraid to seek because of her childhood visions. Her discerning abilities had been often too startlingly accurate. Juanita had met Micah and Pepper in high school, and after all these years, they’d made their one wish come true. They’d become rich, famous, and wildly popular. They were now the internationally acclaimed Atlanta design team, MJP. As she thought of the nightmare, her heart wrenched for Micah. She was still devastated over accidentally killing the love of her life, her fiancé Mick, and probably always would be. But who wouldn’t be under the circumstances? Again, the memories rolled, and she could no longer control the images. Her mental film clicked away and picked up speed, a movie in the making. Micah aimed her arrow at Edmond, but instead of plowing through his brain, it whammed into Mick’s breastbone, the sound crunching in their ears. Juanita shook her head, but her mind kept whipping her back. Everything congealed, then burst forth vividly in her mind. She could see Edmond. She pierced into his fiendish eyes as he ascended the basement steps, his gun in perpetual motion. “In the kitchen,” he said. “Pepper, over here by me.” “What did you do to Momma?” Pepper cried, terror in her eyes. He scoffed, then turned away. “Forget that. She’s history.” He reached for his backpack, and Pepper saw her chance to act. She grabbed a knife from the kitchen counter, plunged it deeply into his back, and kept on hurling until he fell. Then, from out of nowhere, Johnny appeared, and his bullet drilled into Edmond’s skull. No, no, I will not think of this now. She needed the comfort of Johnny’s arms and the warmth of his six-foot-five-inch body, and she rolled over and hugged him. She’d relived that night in detail, and she wanted to rip out the film, but the best she could do was shelve it. Something was terribly wrong, and she felt a flicker of fear. She could no longer deny her fate. Her spiritual quest lay before her, and her destiny was drawing near. 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