Sinister

"Her neck was slit."

"It might not be him."

"Oh, of course it's him."

"Charlotte, you don't know that. There could be another killer."

I blinked at the papers in front of me. I was sitting Indian style on the bed in yet another hotel room. Rubbing my forehead, I sighed, frustrated. "We aren't getting anywhere with this new victim. All we know about her is that she had been a waitress at the local diner."

"We're here because you felt a pull or whatever," Scott said, setting a cup of coffee on the desk. "Do you even think you could be connected to more than one person John Hayes isn't the only killer in the world."

"I can't explain the connections I get with killers, not anymore than you can explain why you get them with regular people. But, if this isn't him, I still want to find this guy."

Scott nodded, defeated, and sat beside me. He didn't understand this psychic stuff, which I was grateful for. That meant no tough questions that I couldn't answer. For the most part, he'd been open to the idea of paranormal elements, and he thought what I could do was helpful.

That made one of us.

When he plucked the file from my hands, I glanced at him.

"You're tired," he offered. "I'll look at it, see if we missed anything. Get some rest, okay? You get drained after these visions. Yes, I've paid attention. I see what they do to you."

Grumbling, I crawled under the covers, resting my head against Scott's chest. He kept the papers at a level that I could see them, because he knew with this case going on that I'd never sleep. My brain was tired, but my eyes were sharp, taking in the words.

Name: Jenna Castor

Cause of Death: Deep slit to the neck, cut jugular

Then it listed her siblings (2 brothers), her cell and home phone, and where she worked (Bay diner). Hardly anything useful.

"Have you called her family?" I asked.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," Scott answered. "I talked to her one brother, Ash. He was devastated, obviously. He said he hadn't heard from Jenna in a few months. Her other brother, Logan, hasn't called back. Does that seem odd to you?"

I lifted my head. "He's probably too distraught. It's understandable."

"If I were her family, I'd want to know."

"What about her parents?"

"Dead."

"Shit," I breathed. "Hey, Scott?" My eyes fell onto part of the form that I hadn't really looked at before. I pointed. "Isn't that—"

"I'll be damned. That's definitely the same guy. How the hell did we miss that?"

Under Jenna's contact information:

Jenna saw a therapist for depression and suicidal thoughts.

A therapist by the name of Dr. Devon Russell.