Crazy in Chicago by Norah-Jean Perkin Page B

hand, then closed her fist around it. After a moment she placed it on the table beside the watch.
    She studied Cody again. “You look . . . tired. Is there some reason for this?”
    â€œHe hasn’t slept for more than two or three hours a night for the last two weeks,” Roberta piped up. She looked at Cody. “And there have been other things, right?”
    He nodded, glad they’d agreed beforehand on what to tell the psychic. He’d read that some so-called psychics used clues they garnered from their clients’ own words to guess at their pasts and futures. “I’ve also suffered attacks of nausea, anywhere from once to several times a day. They come on quickly, for no reason I can discern, and pass within a minute.”
    â€œHmm.” Madame Carabini’s eyes narrowed. “Have you been to see your doctor since all this started?”
    â€œNo.”
    She pursed her lips but made no comment. “Give me your hands.”
    Cody obeyed. Her cool, light touch surrounded him, like a morning mist in the valley. His eyes widened.
    She smiled at him, her clear eyes serene. “I’ll be shutting my eyes now, and holding your hands for several minutes. Just relax.”
    Cody nodded. He glanced at Roberta and winked, then returned his attention to Madame Carabini. The woman had shut her eyes.
    Cody took a deep breath and concentrated on relaxing. The hands holding his grew warm, hot, then burning.
    Suddenly Madame Carabini’s eyes flickered open. “You have lived a frantic life, Mr. Walker. Speeding, running, racing through your days. You like excitement, adventure. Rock climbing. Driving your car. Skiing. Speed boats. At least until lately. Is that not right?”
    Cody nodded, unimpressed. Anyone who’d read about him would know that.
    Madame Carabine regarded him steadily. “So frantic, indeed, that one would think you’ve been running from something. Perhaps running from facing something, some thought or emotion, deep within you.”
    Cody scowled but the psychic’s gaze didn’t falter. She shut her eyes again. “Now, Mr. Walker, please concentrate on your disappearance. Relax and concentrate.”
    Cody obeyed. He, too, shut his eyes. Time passed slowly. The psychic’s hands, which had cooled when she had opened her eyes, heated up again.
    Suddenly she jerked. Through their linked hands, he felt the deep shudder race through her. Cody opened his eyes at the same moment Madame Carabini’s eyes fluttered open. In seconds her gaze focused and strengthened. She seemed to be looking into and beyond him at the same time.
    â€œI see you . . . I see you.You appear to be asleep. You’re wearing ordinary clothes, a short-sleeved white shirt and dress pants. You’re still wearing your shoes. You’re lying on your back, on . . . it looks like some kind of metal bed attached to the wall. No sheets or pillows.”
    She frowned. “I . . . you’re in a small room. It’s windowless, cold. The walls are gray. So are the ceiling and floor. They look cold and hard, as if they’re made out of stainless steel. I don’t see a door of any kind. Or anyone.”
    Her frown deepened. “You’re not moving. I can’t tell if you’re breathing or not. Everything is very still.
    â€œOh, wait!” Madame Carabini strained forward, as if to see or hear better. “I think I can hear something. It’s a noise, perhaps a voice.”
    Unmoving, she listened. Tense and caught up in the picture the psychic painted, Cody didn’t move. Neither did Roberta.
    â€œI can’t make out the words—if it is words I’m hearing. It’s almost like a drone, a rhythmic drone. If it’s a language, I don’t recognize anything about it.”
    The psychic’s grip on Cody tightened to the point of pain. Cody grimaced but didn’t remove his hands.
    â€œMaybe . . . whatever it is, it seems