Detective Rhodes asked, “Why do you think the scratches the dog made healed so quickly?”
Suddenly, in her mind’s eye, she saw the scratches on her side the night they were put there. She had been bleeding, but they weren’t serious, so she didn’t worry about them. When the paramedics inspected her and found them to be scabs, they naturally assumed they were old. She was too numb from the events of that night to contradict them.
She snapped her head up at him sharply. “What are you talking about?”
“When Eddie scratched you. You were healed before the police arrived. Why do you think that is?”
“How did you know?”
Detective Rhodes rolled his sleeve up. Along his left forearm was a series of long scratches. “Because the same thing happened to me…and to Eddie as well.”
“I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.” Angelina’s heart rate jumped up, and the world around him disappeared, leaving her staring at him through a tunnel.
“Angelina, what do you think scratched you that night?”
“It was a dog,” she recounted, trancelike.
“No, it wasn’t,” he objected, shaking his head. “You know what it was.”
The tunnel vision turned into a kaleidoscope. There were two, then four, then eight versions of Detective Rhodes spinning around in it.