Chapter 10
[Claire's POV]
Marcus stared at me for a long moment after I finished recounting Jade's final hours. The silence stretched between us, broken only by the sound of crime scene tape fluttering in the wind and the distant murmur of officers still working the scene. I could see the wheels turning in his mind, processing everything I'd just told him.
"You said the entire night," he finally said, his brow furrowed in concentration. "These details you've described—how exactly did you see them? Were you dreaming about this all night?"
I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling a slight tremor run through my body. The morning air was crisp against my skin, but the chill I felt came from somewhere deeper. "Starting around dawn, I had the same dream multiple times. Each time it became clearer, more detailed." My voice carried the exhaustion I'd been fighting all morning. "I know how it sounds—completely insane—but the realness of it... it was like I was actually there."
I noticed the doubt flickering across his face and felt compelled to explain further. "Look, I get it. If I were in your position, I wouldn't believe it either." I shrugged helplessly. "But I can only tell you what I experienced in those dreams. I don't understand why it happened any more than you do."
He studied me for another moment before asking, "If I need to understand the specifics, can you tell me what perspective these dreams came from? How were you seeing these events?"
I closed my eyes, trying to organize the chaotic memories. "If I had to categorize them, there were two main viewpoints. One was like being a detached observer—like watching a movie unfold. The other was more... personal. Like I was experiencing everything firsthand."
"Personal how?"
"The experiential perspective had two distinct variations," I said, my voice growing more serious. "One was feeling everything from the victim's point of view—all of Jade's pain and terror. The other was..." I paused, feeling that familiar wave of revulsion. "The other was experiencing the killer's mindset."
Marcus's pen stopped moving. "What do you mean by that?"
I felt my stomach turn as I recalled those particular moments. "Things I've never experienced in real life, logically I shouldn't be able to feel. But somehow in the dream, I understood why the killer was getting satisfaction, even pleasure, from the violence." I shuddered. "That twisted sense of control and dominance—it made me sick, but I could feel it as clearly as if it were my own emotion."
I looked directly at Marcus, needing him to understand the gravity of what I was sharing. "I have an excellent memory, especially for traumatic imagery like this. These details are burned into my mind—I'll probably remember them for decades. Every moment was as clear as if I'd witnessed it with my own eyes."
Marcus was writing again, his expression more thoughtful now than skeptical. I took that as encouragement to continue.
"Dreams about crime scenes," I said with a bitter smile, "aren't exactly the kind of thing anyone would believe easily. I understand your skepticism—I really do."
Marcus was quiet for a long moment, clearly wrestling with some internal decision. Finally, he looked up from the report. "The details you've described about the sequence of events and that navy blue rain jacket—we'll verify everything against the physical evidence."
I thought back to the folded paper I'd given him earlier with the killer's clothing description. "The information I wrote on that note was just about the perpetrator's appearance. Now that I've told you everything I know about how the crime unfolded, that paper doesn't have much additional value."
Marcus looked puzzled. "Why are you willing to share all these details with me? What does this mean to you?"
For the first time since we'd started talking, I felt my composure slip slightly. The question touched something raw and honest inside me. "To be completely truthful, I couldn't find anyone to confide in—my friends wouldn't understand, and my family would worry about my mental health." I paused, surprised by my own admission. "You might be the first person I've actually trusted in a very long time."
The words surprised me as much as they seemed to surprise him. Trust wasn't something I gave easily—hell, it wasn't something I'd felt in years. My relationships were typically transactional: people wanted my money, my connections, or simply the thrill of being around someone who could afford to buy rounds for an entire bar. But sitting here with Marcus, sharing the most bizarre and frightening experience of my life, I realized I was placing genuine faith in another person.
Marcus's expression softened, and I saw something shift in his eyes—from professional suspicion to human understanding. "I appreciate your honesty, Claire. And I want you to know that I take what you've told me seriously."
"You do?" I couldn't hide the relief in my voice.
"Whether this is some kind of psychic ability, repressed memory, or something else entirely—you've provided information that could be crucial to this investigation." He folded the psychological assessment and handed it back to me. "I've been a long enough to know that answers don't always come through conventional channels."
I felt something I hadn't experienced in months—maybe years. It was a sense of purpose, of being needed for something that actually mattered. All those nights in clubs, all that money spent on temporary distractions, and here I was finding meaning in the most unexpected place.
"I promise you," Marcus said, his voice firm with conviction, "I will find whoever did this to Jade Thompson."
Looking at his determined expression, I believed him. More than that, I wanted to help him succeed. For the first time since I'd started college, since I'd begun my spiral into empty partying and meaningless encounters, I felt like I had a reason to be sober, alert, and engaged with the world around me.
"Thank you," I said simply. "For listening. For believing me."
Marcus nodded, tucking his notebook into his jacket pocket. "We'll need to stay in contact as the investigation progresses. There might be more questions, more details we need to clarify."
"Of course." I stood up, feeling steadier than I had in hours. "Marcus? If I have more dreams—about this case or... others—should I contact you directly?"
His pause was brief, but I caught it. "Yes. Call me immediately if you experience anything else like this."