I did my best to avoid Dean for the rest of the day. I wanted to stay out of Rachel's way. I watched from across the room as she spent time fussing over him. A group of doctors showed up, clipboards in hand, and stood around Dean, staring down at him.

Eventually, after much handwaving and group discussion, a nurse whisked him off. Rachel and the doctors followed closely behind. I wondered if Dean would be able to keep up the charade. How long could he convince them that he needed to stay?

I spent my time playing a few games of checkers with Andrew. Today he was even more tightly strung than usual. He shuffled two black checker pieces back and forth across the table, stopping every few moments to look around him, his eyes wide with fear, as if he expected someone to pop out and attack.

"Are you alright?" I finally asked.

He looked over his shoulder for the third or fourth time since he'd sat down. "Yes, yes, I'm fine. It's just..."

I sat there, waiting for him to continue. The silence stretched on, and he started nervously tapping his foot against the floor.

He finally leaned in and whispered, "It's just that I've been having...well...visions."

"Don't you usually have visions?" He was, after all, a reader. I imagined visions were part of his repertoire.

He touched the pouch hanging around his neck. "Not often, not often at all. This pouch helps keep out a lot of random thoughts that float by. It mutes my powers considerably. It takes extremely strong emotions to break through the barrier." His whole body went still for a moment. "These visions have been unusually disturbing."

"What have you seen?"

"A ceremony and strange symbols painted with blood on the floors and walls."

He had my full attention. He described the dream I'd had while I'd been confined to the straitjacket. "Did you see anyone in the vision?"

"That's the part I find so..." He paused and cleared his throat. "There was a boy being hurt." He stared off into the distance before continuing. "I could hear the sound of hearts beating, and terrible, horrific screams filled the air."

"Who was hurting the boy? Did you see them?"

"A strange figure in a white cloak. It was a man. He spoke words I didn't understand and held up a skull with feathers at the top."

The skull with feathers. The same one I had seen in my dream. Or was it a vision? Either way, I'd witnessed a murder from the victim's perspective, though it felt like the scene happened to me. Parts of the vision made no sense. I'd seen the killer with a heart in his hands. Was it the victim's heart—my heart—in his hands?

I knew the victim had been alive, whoever she was. Had some magic been performed on her? The fact that thoughts had still been running through her head even while her heart lay beating in the killer's hands... The whole thing made no sense.

And now Andrew said he saw a boy being hurt.

Andrew picked up the checker pieces and tossed them onto the board. "I've had many visions before, when I was first learning my powers and then when I came into them fully. I can sometimes see things that have happened in the past, or things that are going to happen in the future. Things from the past have a certain feel to them. It's like an echo that you're hearing. I don't know. It's hard to explain. I just got the impression that what I was seeing was something that happened a long time ago."

"Something that maybe happened a few months ago. Did you recognize the boy as someone you knew from in here?" I couldn't keep the excitement out of my voice. Maybe we could finally unmask the maniac! As long as we remained here, Luke and I were still potential targets.

Andrew violently shook his head. "No. No, I'd never seen the boy before. And I had the impression that it was years, a lot of years ago, that this happened."

From all that Mildred and I had uncovered about the killings in this place, they'd started up about a year ago. Was it possible that whoever was behind this had killed before? I'd seen stories about serial killers who killed for a short time then suddenly stopped, only to start back up again later. Were the killings some kind of pattern repeating itself?

"You saw his full face? You had a proper look at it?"

Andrew nodded. "I did. He was a man in his thirties. Dark hair, brown eyes." He traced a finger across his chin. "He had a long scar across his chin. And a tattoo." This time his finger slid down to his neck. "It was of a dragon eating its own tail, and it came down around his neck, like a necklace. I think it was some sort of ancient religious symbol."

It would be easy to spot the killer with a tattoo like that. Unless he went around dressed in turtlenecks. "You didn't recognize the man? Maybe he's a healer, a nurse, or an orderly."

"No. It's not someone from here. I'm sure it's not a face I've seen before."

We had a lead, but it didn't seem to get us any closer to finding the killer. "Have you ever thought about taking off the pouch and trying to use your abilities again?"

Andrew violently shook his head and scooted his chair back from the table. "I couldn't do that. You don't understand how bad it is. How the voices come from all directions, flinging themselves at me like arrows. The pain is horrible."

"You can't keep them out? You can't put up some kind of mental wall to keep them at bay?" Using his power without the pouch would be ideal. Maybe then it would take only one try for Andrew to conjure up the killer's name.

"I've tried so many times. They're too loud. There are too many!" He stood and waved his hands wildly in the air. "No matter how strong a barrier I put up, they find a way to bring it crashing down."

"I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't." He forced himself to calm down. "It's the vision. It's the second time I've had it. I find the whole thing very unsettling."

"I can imagine," I said in a soothing voice. I gestured toward the board. "Do you want to play another game?"

He frowned. "I think I'll go back to my room and lie down until lunch. It was nice seeing you. I enjoy our games."

I gave him a smile. "So do I." And the strange thing was, I wasn't lying. There weren't a lot of activities or distractions to help pass the time in here, so I actually looked forward to playing checkers every afternoon with Andrew.

I watched him walk away. He was having visions of murders that happened in the past. I was having dreams about weird things. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that his visions and my dreams were all tied together somehow. The ritual, the room with blood, the beating hearts, the screams...

It all had to be connected. I just had to figure out how.

* * *

I was standing in line in the cafeteria, tray in hand, when Dean joined me.

It looked like macaroni and cheese again for lunch. The ladies lifted plates with small bricks of the cheese-and-noodle concoction onto passing trays.

He looked over at the women dishing out the food. "Does it taste as bad as it looks?"

I couldn't help but laugh. "Most of the time."

He grimaced. "Terrific."

"How did the doctor visit go?" I asked as we shuffled along in line.

"They asked me a ton of questions and poked at me for a while."

"And their final verdict?"

"I'm alive and kicking. They say it's a miracle I came out of the mental zombie state I was in. They're hoping for a full recovery. My mom is over the moon."

It was finally our turn for food. I dutifully raised my tray, and a woman with a hairnet put a plate on it piled high with macaroni and cheese. "It must be good to see your mom again."

Dean followed suit and raised his tray. "It is."

We continued down the food train, loading our trays with the unsightly and questionable food. I motioned to the nearest table, and we both moved toward it. "The rest of your family—will they be coming to see you?"

Dean shook his head. "Not for a while. My father is traveling out of the country on business. My brother is away at college. My home is a few hours from here. It's surprising my mom came up to see me as much as she did."

"She must really care about you." I sat down at the table.

Dean sat next to me. "She does. She's happy to have me back. I'm happy to be back." He lifted a piece of slightly wilted lettuce from the salad. "Though I'm not so happy about eating this food."

"Dinner's usually not nearly this bad."

"Somehow that's not so encouraging," he said, looking down at the food on his plate. When he looked back at me, he asked, "How did you spend your afternoon?"

"Playing checkers with Andrew, a reader I met a few days ago." I looked around the room to make sure no one was close before adding, "Andrew told me he's been having visions."

"By the look on your face, that's a bad thing."

I didn't realize I was so transparent. "It's just that Andrew had a vision that was very much like a dream I had the other night." The images of that dream flashed before my eyes, and I quickly lost my appetite.

"A dream or a vision?" Dean asked, watching me as I pushed my food around my plate.

"I thought it was a dream, but now I'm not so sure."

He raised an eyebrow and took a bite of food.

A chill ran down my back and a breeze glided across my arm. I waited for a voice to speak out. Nothing. No pleas, no images, just the sounds of the living people around me eating their lunch and talking.

I looked at Dean. "You've been through the first ritual, so you must feel the spirits in this place."

He seemed uncomfortable. "The vibe in here isn't exactly relaxed."

"The spirits are full of unrest. They're pleading for help."

"They've come to you?"

The breeze returned—this time across my cheek. "They have," I admitted, waiting for another form of contact. But none came. I pointed to the salt package. "Make sure to take that with you."

"Why?"

"You have to sprinkle the salt across your doorway and your windowsill."

He looked amused. "You're kidding."

"I wish I was. Choking ghosts will come into your room at night. I crossed one over, but I know there's more than one in here."

"This place just gets better and better." He took another bite of food and swallowed. "Edible, but just barely."

"You get used to it." Despite my lost appetite, I forced myself to eat. It was a long time until dinner, and I didn't have anything to trade for some contraband snacks.

He poked at the stale roll. "Hopefully, I won't be here long enough to get used to it. Tell me more about these visions and spirits."

I described in detail the dream I'd had and what Andrew had seen.

"Do you think this madman is killing to power a spell?" he asked when I finished.

"There's no dagger and no Latin. Whoever he is, he's not one of us."

Dean looked thoughtful. "A mage with a different kind of magic. We have no idea why he's killing people, but from what you said he's definitely using the victim's blood to create those symbols for some kind of ceremony."

I dropped my fork at the mention of the blood. "I think he is. It's the only thing that makes sense."

"And the beating hearts? How do they fit in?"

"I'm not sure. In my dream, I was inside of someone, seeing things that happened through her eyes, feeling what she felt. I was a girl the killer abducted. And then he did a spell and there was so much pain." I squeezed my eyes shut at the memory of that crushing weight on my chest. "At some point, I saw the killer holding a heart in his hand. My heart." I swallowed hard, trying to clear my thoughts. "No, not my heart, really. It was the victim's heart. Yes, I'm sure it was her heart, but I saw no knife, felt no thrust of a blade. But I could still see through her eyes even though the killer held her heart."

It had to be magic. The blood from the heart had been running down the killer's hands and wrists, but there had also been smears of blood on his forehead and cheeks. My mind clicked something into place, and I suddenly knew where I had seen an image like that before.

I'd watched a documentary once about hunting. It had talked about the "blooding" rite—when hunters would smear the blood of the animals they killed onto their faces in some kind of tribute. Did this maniac think of himself as a hunter?

There was another detail to consider, too. The psycho wasn't just using the blood to smear on himself. He was also using it to create symbols. Both Andrew and I had seen a room covered in symbols. Signs painted in blood that I assumed were part of some magic ritual.

I thought back to what I knew about the patients who had died. There had been no talk of their hearts being removed. Each death had looked like an accident or a suicide. If someone had removed their still-beating hearts, surely that would be a clear sign of murder.

"It has to be some kind of spell he's doing," I blurted. "A spell that takes the heart from the chest without cutting into it. Is that even possible?" I put my hand over my heart. "There was pain. Overwhelming pain." It felt weird sitting here, talking to him. Looking into those eyes that were now blue.

The face was so familiar, yet the expression it wore was different than I was used to. If Luke had been sitting close to me like this, staring into my eyes, he would have reached over and brushed his hand through my hair.

Luke. I kept expecting Luke to pop up and chime in at any minute. I looked out the window. The sun was still shining. It was only one o'clock, which meant another eleven hours before Luke and I could be together again. Or maybe even less. Luke had said he'd been waking up before the witching hour.

Dean pushed his tray away. He'd only eaten half his food. "The ones that have died so far—they each died a different way?"

"One was an overdose, though I have no idea how the girl got so many pills. And then there was the boy who had an epileptic seizure, but his family swore he'd never had one before." I took a sip of milk and tried to remember everything I'd heard from the staff and patients about each death. "One died of heart failure. There was a woman who slit her wrists. And last month, Sabrina, a teenage girl just down the hall from me, hanged herself. Those are just the ones I've been able to get details on. There have been more."

A dark expression crossed his face. "You're convinced they were all murdered?"

I shrugged. "I don't have proof, but it seems strange that every month there's a death. What are the odds? I knew Sabrina, and there's no way she would have hanged herself. She was a devout Catholic. She was also extremely slight and weak. I can't imagine she'd have the strength to hoist her bed up against the wall. And where did she get the rope? It's not like there's rope just lying about in the hallway or supply cupboards."

Dean drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "From what I can see, they don't let visitors out of the common areas, which means the lunatic killing patients must also be in here."

I looked around. "He has to be a patient or one of the staff. But Andrew swears he's never seen the man in his vision before."

"You don't have any suspects on your list?"

"I don't. Mildred's convinced it's one of the orderlies."

He took a slow look around the room. His eyes came to rest on a big man wearing a white uniform standing by the door. "The orderlies are some truly mean and twisted individuals. Payback and nightly torture seem to be the norm around here."

"Seem to be."

He had an odd look on his face.

"What?"

His expression was troubled. "I'm just surprised my mom would put me in a place like this. You'd think she would have spent more time checking it out."

I poked at my salad. The only edible things were the pieces of carrot and tomato. "They don't go around advertising how bizarre it is in here. And honestly, who'd believe all the things that go on? Especially since it's the unbalanced inmates complaining."

He looked at the group of people sitting at the next table. "The whole place has an eerie vibe to it."

"I've felt it, too. It's not just the staff. It's the place itself. It feels evil at times."

He gave me a wide grin. "Crappy food, sadistic staff, evil place... So glad I woke up."

I smiled. "Yeah, look at all the fun you were missing." An image flashed in my mind of those lips kissing me, of those hands running down my body. No, I told myself, Luke was in control when those things happened, not Dean. The whole situation we were in made me feel extremely awkward.

I looked away and cleared my throat. "We need to get out of this place as soon as we can. Especially now, since you seem to be on the killer's hit list."

"It won't be so easy for him if he tries it again. I'm no longer an easy victim. If he comes after me, I can stop him."

"A lot of the deaths have happened in the middle of the night. If someone had full access keys like Mildred, they'd have the run of the place."

"Not a comforting thought. Maybe I'll sleep with one eye open." He seemed to realize what he was saying. "I mean, Luke will have to sleep with one eye open. You normally go to Luke at night, to his room. I mean, my room. Right?"

I nodded. "Mildred and I go every night."

"Maybe Luke should start coming to your room. If Luke is aware at night, it might be best if he keeps watch over you."

Dean's eyes were full of worry... for me. I couldn't help but find it touching that he actually felt concerned with my well-being. Every time I turned around, he was offering to help me.

"Everyone in this place is a potential target. How many days left until another murder if the killer keeps on schedule?" Dean asked.

"Three days until the end of the month." I knew we had no choice but to try to get away, but I was worried about our chances. "Do you think you're strong enough to try and escape tomorrow night?"

He moved his legs from under the table and hit the right one with his fist. "I was in that wheelchair a long time. They gave me some physical therapy a couple times a week, which kept my muscles from atrophy, but I'm still weak. I can walk on my own, but I don't think I can run dead-out yet. And there's the fence."

I looked out the window into the yard. The frosted metal gleamed in the sunlight. "It's at least twenty feet high and charged full of electricity." I still hadn't worked out how to get the electricity in the fence down.

"If we try to leave before I'm ready, we could get caught. You know, you could escape out of here on your own tonight, and then I could join you later. My mom will get me out, and we can meet up on the outside."

I shook my head. "I'm not leaving here without Luke."

"So that stubborn expression now plastered on your face means end of discussion? There's no room for argument?"

I gave him a cold stare.

He didn't bother arguing with me but instead looked resigned. "We keep watch, try not to get killed, and then get out of here the first chance we get."

Dean picked up the packet of salt off his tray and slid it into his pocket. "And we must not forget to protect ourselves from the choking ghosts."

An unsettling thought crossed my mind. "When I finished the first trial, Luke said I was wide open. He said the ritual made it easy for a spirit to possess me."

He nodded. "It's happened to me twice now. First, during the second ritual and then with your boyfriend."

"But is it possible for a spirit that's strong enough..." I took a deep breath. "Do you think another spirit could try and possess you and force Luke out?"

"I don't know. I guess it's possible. I've never heard of such a thing happening." He put his hand on mine. "You said Luke is strong. I certainly haven't been able to shove him out yet." He smiled. "Not that I'm trying. I think Luke could hold his own if another ghost tried to move in."

I looked down at the hand covering mine. It felt warm and comforting, but it wasn't Luke's. At the moment it was Dean's. Feeling self-conscious, I gently pulled my hand away. I looked over at Andrew, who sat across the room. My eyes went to the pouch around his neck. "I wonder if we can get a protection pouch. Contraband is one of the daytime janitor's specialties. But I don't have anything to trade."

"What kind of things do they trade?"

"Any type of food. Deck of cards. Spells. You name it, they trade it."

"And money?" Dean asked.

I nodded. "Money is a great equalizer in here."

"Good." He gave me another smile. "I know where I can get some."

***