I've Died Here Before novel · Chapter 7 of 24

Chapter 7: The Voice Has Rules

Hattie woke up on Sunday morning with a cast to her elbow and a plan.

"Ask her," she said.

"Ask who?"

"Your inner banshee. Ask her what she knows."

I sat on the edge of her hospital bed with a cup of terrible coffee.

"She can hear you," I said.

"Hi, banshee."

"I am not a banshee," the voice said, and I repeated it, and Hattie grinned.

"Okay. Rules. What can you do?"

"I only know what happened to you on Thursday," the voice said. "Seven in the morning until 8:44 at night, eight times."

I repeated it.

"So you know the day," Hattie said. "And nothing after."

"Nothing after. And it's getting worse. On Thursday I knew every word the doorman would say.

"On Friday I didn't. This life isn't running on my map anymore."

"So you're a flashlight with dying batteries."

"I'm a furious road map with a missing corner, thank you."

Hattie laughed so hard she had to hold her cast.

Then she stopped and looked at me.

"Why did he do it?" she said. "Holden. The hand-holding. The harpist."

"He says he held her hand so she'd keep looking at him and not at me."

"That's not a thing a man says if he's lying."

"It's also not a thing a man says if he's sane."

"Addie," the voice said suddenly. "Tell her where we're going next."

"Where are we going?"

"His desk. The left drawer. He keeps a notebook in there. He always has. You've teased him about it for years."

I repeated that, too.

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