My head felt like it was about to explode. I lifted it, blinking blearily in a ray of morning light that fell across my face. My neck twinged painfully and nausea shivered through me. My stomach clenched, my throat seized. I rolled to my side, ready to expel whatever was making me so ill... But nothing came except for a weak, gagging cough.

It took great effort to pulled myself up to my elbows. I found myself tangled in a blanket and when I looked around, I realized I was laying on a mound of towels in the corner of the bathroom, close to the toilet.

The toilet... The smell hit me and I fought another dry heave, scrambling away from the scene of the crime. Now I knew why my stomach felt so empty.

I tried to stand but suddenly everything got blurry and my legs felt like lead. I tripped over them, falling face-first into the hall. I didn't bother trying to get up. I knew I would only fall again.

I dragged myself another few feet before my arms gave out too. Defeated, I rolled over onto my back. The ceiling was spinning above me. I didn't want to look at it—watching the lines of golden writing sway made my stomach tighten up again—but my eyes wouldn't close. Lying here on the hardwood floor... Something about this felt familiar. Recent, even...

"Rachel..."

I looked around the apartment, expecting to find someone lurking in some corner. But the room was empty. Just like me.

Whatever, I thought as my eyes fluttered closed. The room didn't stop spinning.

"Rachel..."

I struggled to open my eyes. Someone was here now, standing over me. Her face was hidden behind a flaming halo of red hair...

Polly!

"Rachel," she said. She sounded exasperated. "What did you do now?"

"Stand," I mumbled back. My voice was just a rattle. "Or at least, I tried to."

Polly sighed. She bent down and put something next to my head. A glass of water. Cold water... Condensation was forming on the side. I smacked my lips. My mouth felt like I had been chewing on sand.

"Drink," she ordered. "And take these." She opened her hand and held out two red pills.

I pulled myself up again, resting on my arms, and did as I was told. The water tasted like heaven. I chugged the whole glass back. The water felt strange in my empty stomach, but I wanted more.

"Feel better?"

I licked my dry lips. "Yeah. A little."

Polly took the empty glass and refilled it in the kitchen sink, then brought it back to me. This time it wasn't as cold but I chugged it back anyway.

"Easy, or it will come up again," she said, watching me. She took the glass and filled it again, this time leaving it on the counter.

I laid back on the floor, the water sloshing inside of me. At least the room had stopped spinning, and my head no longer felt like it was going to split open. I felt somewhat human again, even if just a little.

Something soft landed on my face. "Argh!" I sat up, pulling it off and holding it up. It was an old pink sweatshirt, something I hadn't worn in a while. Why...?

"You're gonna want to change," Polly said, answering the question before I asked. She gingerly stepped over me and disappeared into the bedroom.

I looked down and saw my t-shirt was splattered with... My stomach tightened and I ripped off the shirt as quickly as I could. It was little improvement; somehow the tank top underneath was stained too. "Ugh."

Polly emerged from the bedroom. "Ugh is right," she said. She tossed more clothes at me: a pair of loose shorts and clean underwear. "Now, can you manage cleaning yourself up, or do I have to help you again?"

I snorted, but it came out weak and pathetic. "I think I can manage—wait. Again?"

"Let's just say this isn't the first shirt you ruined last night." Polly raised her eyebrow, her gaze flicking to the disaster in the bathroom.

I buried my face in the pink shirt as my cheeks glowed to match. "Oh god. I'm so, so sorry."

"Yeah, yeah," Polly said with a dismissive wave. "It's no biggie. You're not the first person I've taken care of... Anyway, I'll leave you to it. Just holler when you're done and I'll collect your laundry." She strode away, towards the apartment door.

Something occurred to me then. "Wait!"

Polly stopped in the door and turned back, a single eyebrow raised.

"Why... Why are you here?"

"Luc called me," she said simply.

Luc. Another sickening wave washed over me, but this had nothing to do with my hangover. In the fog of my hangover, I had briefly forgotten, but now it was coming back in bits and pieces. Jagged pieces that cut deep...

"You talked to him?" I asked, pulling myself to my feet. I managed to remain upright this time. "What did he say?"

Polly eyed me, her one brow arching higher. "He left a message, saying I should check on you."

"How nice of him," I grumbled under my breath, scowling at the floor.

"I tried calling him back, but he didn't answer," Polly continued. "And then I tried calling you back, and you didn't answer so I figured I'd do as he said and check-in. And lucky that I did—when I finally got here, you were passed out on the stairs, lying in a puddle of vomit..."

I rubbed my aching head. My forehead was tender like a bruise was forming. Was that from the stairs?

"...and I'm sure you have a story for why, but I'll wait until you're feeling stronger," Polly continued. "Where is Luc anyway?"

"He left."

"Ok, when will he be back?"

A lump rolled up my throat, but I wasn't sure if it was a sob or more puke. "He won't," I choked out.

"What?"

"He won't be back," I said again.

Polly stared at me for a moment like she suddenly understood everything. Her voice was softer when she spoke again. "Did you have a fight?"

"No. Yes. It was more than that. He... He left me. He left me here." No, that wasn't quite right. The memories of last night started to resurface. "He trapped me here."

"Trapped... you?" Polly echoed. "Are you still drunk?"

"No. No. You're not listening. He... He trapped me here!"

Polly just stared at me. "Why would he do that?"

"He..." My head began to ache again. What had he said again? His exact words were lost in the haze. "He thinks... something is... after me. Again."

"Well..." She sounded like she was at a loss. Or like she didn't understand. Or believe. "We'll look into it. First, clothes and liquids."

I wanted to object but it was too late. She had disappeared through the door. It didn't matter—I'd make her understand. As soon as I was feeling stronger.

Doing as she said, I pulled the rest of my stained clothes off and changed into the clean ones. I tossed the dirty ones into the bathroom and left them there. I'd deal with that mess later... I had a bigger mess to take care of right now.

I headed for the counter where the fresh glass of water waited. I took slow steps, making sure to hold onto nearby furniture as I went. As I reached the counter, I dropped myself into one of the stools.

Sitting on the countertop, next to the glass, was the key. My hand went to my neck, though obviously, it wasn't there anymore. Had I taken it off last night? Or had Polly pulled it off to prevent it from getting caked in puke?

Whatever the reason, I quickly grabbed it and slid it over my head again. Something told me that it was better to have it with me.

Toying with the key in my left hand, I picked up the glass and drank deeply. Just as before, the cold water felt good. It soothed my raw throat, but my stomach felt sore, probably from all the puking. I ran my hand over it. It felt strange... Tender. I hadn't paid much attention to my body when I had changed, but now I lifted my shirt to inspect it.

Two long bruises striped my torso, crisscrossing just beneath my ribs. What the... Was this also from landing on the stairs? But then a memory came back... Or something that felt like a memory, though it was distant, weak, uncertain. A memory of someone holding me tight. But that was all. The rest was lost to the blur of booze.

I rubbed at my face. I was never drinking again.

I set my empty glass down and glanced at the door, knowing I'd have to make my way through it eventually, though in my state that seemed like a monumental task. Then something caught my eye—a crack in the drywall, spidering up from the door frame to the ceiling, right through Luc's golden script. Something about it bothered me.

"Rachel?"

The door opened and there was Polly again. Seeing her gave me a surge of relief. For some reason, I kept expecting her to disappear, like Luc had.

Her eyes did a quick once-over of me. "You're starting to look human again," she said with a smile. "Why don't you come downstairs? I have someone I'd like you to meet."

I cocked an eyebrow. Meeting someone in this state wasn't exactly the kind of the first impression I liked to make.

Polly shook her head. "Don't worry what you look like. She's blind." She made her way to my side and offered me her arm.

Knowing I'd need it, I took it.

Polly led me from the room, closing the apartment door behind me. A broom and a mop were balanced on the wall at the bottom, but a pungent, unmentionable smell still hung in the air. It made my stomach clench up and I had to hold my breath as we made our way down.

"So, who do you want me to meet?" I asked.

"You know the old lady I was working with? Matilda, Lillian's old mentor?" she said. "She insisted on coming with me."

Suddenly my legs seized, the knees locking. I couldn't move forward like I had turned to ice.

With my arm in hers, Polly quickly noticed I had stopped following. She looked at me, her one eyebrow arching into her red hair. "What's the matter?"

"My legs are all..." I wobbled, trying to get them to move. "All stiff."

"You're dehydrated," Polly said. She gave a hard tug on my arm, pulling me out of place and dragged me along with her down the rest of the stairs.

As we turned to head into the main room, where I noticed the golden mirror was balanced in the shadow under the stairs. It was now just a frame, its face entirely clear of glass, just an empty black surface. The shards of mirror had been swept into a tidy pile at its foot. For some reason, looking at it made me shiver...

Polly yanked me ahead again, pulling my attention away.

"Matilda," she announced as we entered the room. "I'd like you to meet Rachel."

There was an old, hunched woman standing at the far wall, facing away from us. Her long white hair spilled in a cascade down her back. She didn't turn around; instead, she raised her wrinkled fingers to brush over the golden stripes that kept me trapped.

"Matilda?" Polly said again, louder this time.

"Yes, dear?" the old woman replied, finally. She still didn't turn.

"Rachel's here. You said you wanted to meet her."

"Mm, alright," Matilda replied. "Just give me a moment, dear." She continued stroking the wall.

Polly gave me an exasperated look and then led me to one of the velvet chairs and lowered me down into it. "Sorry," she whispered. "She's a bit batty. Give me a second."

I nodded and rested my head against the back. Though it hadn't been much, the walk down the stairs had taken a lot out of me. I felt a little nauseous again. It felt different though... Like butterflies. Anxious butterflies.

"Uh, Matilda," Polly began, going to stand next to the wizened woman. "Why are you staring at the wall?"

"I'm studying the writing," the woman replied, her voice soft and crackly. "This must've been an awful lot of work..."

I scowled at the golden writing around us.

Polly glanced at the wall, then turned back to her. "What writing?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

I stared at the back of Polly's head. Did she not see it? It was everywhere!

Matilda clucked her tongue. "So blind, so blind. How you could be a sibling to someone as talented as Lillian is beyond me..."

Polly just rolled her eyes. "Yeah, so sorry for not getting tangled up in dark magic like she did. Anyway, Rachel's feeling better, so we're going to head out..."

"You're not going anywhere," Matilda replied matter-of-factly. "Or at least she isn't. Not without a fight."

The old woman turned then. She gave a brief glance to Polly before her eyes snapped to mine. Her eyes were milky white, glazed over with cataracts and half hidden in the soft wrinkled folds of her face. But despite the emptiness of her eyes, her gaze was like a force. I could actually feel it as it moved over my face and body, studying me. I guessed that this is how she made up for her lack of vision.

As her eyes held me they narrowed slightly. She raised her gnarled hand, her fingers curled and knotted with age, and beckoned to me. "Come here, dear, let me get a proper look at you."

I went to heave myself up but once again my whole body went stiff, frozen, unable to move.

Polly gave me a curious look. "Do you need some help?"

"Y-Yeah," I said shakily.

She came to my side and pulled me out of the chair. She held tight to me as she led me over to Matilda.

The old woman was even smaller up close. Her head barely cleared my chest. She said nothing, just looked up at me with those wide, moon-like eyes. Her gaze travelled over me again and I felt the same strange pressure on my skin as her eyes moved. They stopped over my chest, on the key that hung around my neck.

Without saying a word, she reached out and picked it up. She held the key for a moment, inspecting it, then dropped it. Her gaze moved on, trailing down to my arm. Her gaze deepened there—I could actually feel it boring into me. Then suddenly it intensified like someone had jabbed at me with a hundred sharp needles.

"Ow!" I snapped, pulling my arm away.

Matilda just clucked her tongue, like she hadn't even noticed my outburst. "Why bother locking the door when there's a hole in the wall?"

"What?" I said, glaring at her.

Her eyes met mine again, almost disinterested. Then they seemed to catch something... They widened, pushing her papery eyelids as far as they would go until her eyes were like two full moons.

"Who are you?" the old woman demanded. Her white-clouded eyes seemed to shimmer as they looked through me. My whole body prickled.

"Matilda," Polly said, her voice slow and even like she did when she trying hard not to sound snarky. "I told you, this is Rachel—"

"No, it's not. Not entirely," Matilda replied, breathless. "She's not alone in there. But don't worry. I can fix that."

With a quick wave of her gnarled hand, the floor underneath me gave way. With a short scream, I dropped down, through the floor, and plunged into darkness.

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That's it for THE PSYCHIC WITHIN! Yes, this book ends on a cliffhanger! 

The story will be continued in the next book, THE PSYCHIC LEGACY!
It's already complete and ready to read on my profile: YvetteRussell

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What do you think Matilda meant by "not alone in there"?
And what's going to happen to Rachel?