I get another call early the next morning, this time around six am, when the first rays of dawn are cascading in through the windows. I blindly reach for my phone, groggily muttering a hello.

"Vi? It's Joel."

Immediately, my eyes snap open and I sit up in bed. "How did you get my number?"

"Chief Conrad," he replies, his voice picking up at the end as he poses a question. "Is everything okay?"

I rub my face with the heel of my hand. "Yeah, yeah. Why are you calling me?"

He pauses for a second, presumably to take a sip of coffee. "I think we've got a lead on the case. The victim's family came in and we're going to ask her mother some questions. Walsh said he didn't want to do it so he requested for you to come instead."

Stan is one of the most understanding men I've ever met in my life. I know for a fact that he would be excellent at talking to a family that has just been ripped to shreds by a murder like this. It's really odd that he would choose not to. I make a mental note to ask him about it later.

"Do I have to?" I ask. "I don't feel too well."

"There's nothing caffeine won't fix," he says. "Look, I get that you're avoiding me for whatever reason, but I really think it would help to have a woman present. Maybe you'll relate to Valerie's mother better. Her name's Karen, she was really close to Valerie, and I think it might help her if you were there."

The difference between Joel and most other detectives is he uses the victim's first name like she's more than just one in a million dead people we investigate on behalf of. He talks about her like she's a person.

"Okay," I agree reluctantly. "Can you come to pick me up? I live on Graham Avenue in Brooklyn. It's the apartment building near the pizza place."

"I'll be there. I'm making another coffee run. Want anything?" he offers.

"Just a regular cup," I tell him. "Make it black."

With that, he hangs up. I crawl out of bed and start getting dressed, yawning as I pull a sweater over my head. It's gonna be a cold day and I'm going to need as many layers as possible.

Unsurprisingly, Betsy is still asleep on the couch, half a can of beer beside her. She stayed up later than me to binge-watch a new reality show. Thank goodness she's a heavy sleeper, or else I'd be worried about waking her up.

I creep around into the kitchen and throw a granola bar in my bag, just for the sake of having something to eat. The thing is, I already know that I won't be hungry. My stomach contorts inside me as my appetite already begins to fade.

It's just a case, I think to myself. It's not like he'll be able to really talk to me anyway. I won't let my guard down. I can't let my guard down.

He texts me when he arrives. The second my phone vibrates, I all but jump out of my skin in nervousness.

Pulling my leather jacket over my shoulders, I lock my apartment and step out into the drafty hall, shuddering from the breeze. My sense of urgency that usually sends me quickly down the stairs is gone. I take my time, my blood cold in my veins.

It's sort of funny how the beating of your heart and breathing are both automatic muscle functions, but I still have to remind myself to inhale, in and out, like I haven't done it a million times in my life.

Joel smiles cheerfully at me and opens my car door. "Morning."

"Hi," I say as I climb in, my voice robotic.

He slides into his seat with ease, turning his key in the ignition. I know he wants to say something, just by the way he sets his jaw. Eventually, he does. "Vi, can you please tell me why you're walking on eggshells around me?"

"I'm just tired," I mutter. "Didn't sleep well."

Joel is already catching on. "You and I both know that's not it."

"I've just been off lately," I say, talking down to my lap instead of him.

"With everyone, or just me?"

"I thought this was about the case."

"It is," he assures me. "But it's also about why you work so hard to keep from even looking at me. You've been weird ever since you passed out at the crime scene the night we met."

"I told you—" I start, prepared to offer an excuse.

"Doesn't matter." He dismisses me with a wave of his hand. "Fine, Vi. We'll focus on the case until you can give me a better answer than whatever bullshit you're trying to feed me now."

"Joel—"

"Just don't," he says, changing the subject. "Valerie's mom is a wreck, but she pulled through enough to offer us a chance to speak with her."

He switches, just like that, from personal interest to the task at hand like clockwork. Simple. It's no wonder he's so good at a job like this; he can just ignore however he feels in the name of what he needs to do.

I want to tell him why I'm so hostile. The words are on the tip of my tongue just waiting to burst through, but I bite the inside of my cheek and slump back instead. Watching people pass us on the sidewalk is easier than trying to explain that my eerie premonition is the only thing keeping me from being a nice person.

We get to the suburban parts of the city that never sleeps, where all is much quieter. The house that belongs to Karen is picturesque. Her lawn is well manicured and her tulips are freshly planted. This is the kind of house with a perfect family: the kind of people this sort of thing doesn't happen to.

"Ready?" Joel asks me.

It's more of a courtesy than a legitimate question, but I respond anyway. "Let's do this."

Valerie's mother, Karen, opens the door before Joel even raises his fist to knock. She's probably been jumpy all morning in anticipation of us getting here. The poor woman probably hasn't been able to settle down for days now.

"Hi," she says softly, her voice hoarse like she spent the night and much of the day crying. "Come on in."

The door creaks a little bit on its hinges as she closes it, resting her hand against it gently. The house smells like candles and breakfast. It's the way most people would describe home. They've got pictures on the walls, all happy faces and toothy smiles. The frames are all straight and delicately hung in a way that reminds me of my own mother.

Under our feet, the soft, clean carpet leads us into the dining room. Karen takes us there, probably wanting the cops at a distance from the rest of her house.

We sit down at her kitchen table, Joel takes a cup of coffee in a pink mug. I know that he just chugged his latte in the car and doesn't intend to drink it, but it's more a matter of being polite than anything else.

Meanwhile, I'm still nursing mine. It's a nice brew, and probably cost five bucks, but it's a good dark roast. It's plain, as I requested. I can't help but notice he grabbed sugar packets for me anyway.

Karen tries to appear as if she's not fighting the urge to sob, forcing a cheerful expression. "I don't suppose you've gotten any details on the killer yet?"

"No, ma'am," Joel says. "But I can assure you the best team of detectives the NYPD has is working the case. My name is Detective Reed, but you can call me Joel."

"I'm Violet," I add timidly. I don't know what to say, or how to fit into the discussion. I'm completely out of my element.

"She's a little nervous," Joel explains on my behalf. "It's her first job in the field as an intern."

I'm trying my best here, and I'm glad he's taking the lead. Even though I've been a bit callous, he's treating me with the same respect he'd give a colleague.

"We all get the jitters," Karen assures me. "So, Joel, what is it that you guys want to know about Val?"

"What was she like in the days leading up to her passing?" Joel questions, trying to be gentle in the way he goes about it. "Did she seem on edge? Anxious?"

Karen stops for a moment, thinking it over. "Not at all. Val was beyond happy. She was getting a masters. She just got picked for this internship at the college and was going to apply to be an instructor's assistant after she graduated."

She pauses, clearly pained. Joel sympathetically reaches over and rests his hand on her arm.

"I understand this must be difficult for you," he tells her. "We're trying as hard as we can to make this better for everyone involved."

"I'm sure, detective," Karen says. "I know that."

"Can you tell me if Valerie had anyone who seemed like they wanted to hurt her? Maybe they were jealous of some of her opportunities?" he asks.

"That's just it. Val never got on anyone's bad side. She was always so kind and understanding. It doesn't make any why anyone would do something like this to my baby girl."

She starts weeping, wiping her eyes on her sweater. I offer her one of my tissues from inside my jacket pocket. I normally keep them around for allergies, but this is just as valid a reason to have them. It's the best I can do to help.

Our hands brush when I give the tissue to her, and a simple act of kindness is dampened by something I can't control. I try to fight it off because the timing is so inappropriate, but it doesn't work. I'm shoved out of my own head and into someone else's dark future.

I see a man, angry, standing above her with a broken champagne bottle in his hands. His eyes are fierce and angry, and he's yelling at the top of his lungs as he brings the bottle down and hits her with it, stabs her with it, and uses broken shards to shut her up.

She bleeds out. Her throat is cut open by broken glass as he brings it forward again and again and again. It's a horrible way to go, a haunting one at that.

How could anyone do something like that?

The vision knocks me clear out of my chair. I come back to myself on the linoleum tile, dizzy and disoriented. Karen is alive now, and it's hard to picture her the way she is in the present after knowing what lies ahead. Both she and Joel are concerned, wondering what happened to me in the moments after I gave her a Kleenex.

"Vi?" Joel says as he helps me to my feet. "You're so prone to falling over. You may wanna get that checked out."

I doubt a doctor would be able to cure whatever is up with me. "I'm sorry, I just got dizzy for a second there."

Now that I've seen how Karen goes, I need to know something for sure. I'm curious who the man I saw is. There's a violent person in her life, and I can't help but wonder just how close he is to her.

"Does anyone else live here?" I inquire.

The question seems random, but all I can see in my head is that man with amber eyes and a clean-shaven face murdering her with no other thought. He was clearly drunk in the vision, disheveled. He had a wedding ring on. I saw it when I caught sight of his fingers wrapped around the neck of the champagne bottle, the smell of it all over him as he brought it down to carve into her.

"I'm married." She fingers the diamond on her left hand. "His name's Kevin. Unlike Val's biological father, he was always around in her life. He and Val had gone out for dinner to celebrate that evening, actually. He caught a cab without her because she wanted to walk home to enjoy the fresh air. He blames himself. That night, he caught a plane to Texas for his business trip and had no idea anything went wrong until after he landed."

"I'm so sorry for your loss," I say. "Out of curiosity, when will he be back?"

"He's at work right now actually. He just got back last night. We went down to the station and gave our DNA for the investigation this morning. This weekend, we're gonna go to a company party together."

"It's good to have something to take your mind off things," Joel chimes in. "You deserve some time off."

"They've always got great champagne," she says, like an afterthought. "Offers a nice distraction."

"I wouldn't let him drink anything," I say suddenly. Joel elbows me hard in the side, trying to shut me up. It probably sounds awful, but I blurted it out. "I mean, sometimes people get too drunk when they're grieving and make bad decisions and I just don't want—"

Karen holds up a finger, silencing my babbling. "It's alright, dear. Kevin can handle himself. He always has. In fact, he keeps this house and our family in order. Never a thing out of place. I don't know where I'd be without him."

You and Valerie would live longer without him.

"Do you think he'd ever want to..." I trail off, unsure if I should continue.

It's clear she catches on immediately, even though I don't finish.

"You think he'd kill Valerie?" she sputters. "God, no, he would never do that! Kevin and Valerie were close as could be."

"I'm sorry," I apologize. "Forgive me for asking such horrible a question."

Noticing her discomfort, Joel clears his throat. "Well, we'd better be on our way. I'll call you if there's anything else we need to know. Nice meeting you."

I'm grateful to be going before I make anything worse. I don't know if my powers helped me any here. Maybe we were better off without the glimpse into Kevin Grant's personal life, or maybe I stumbled upon something valuable. I'm conflicted and feeling like I'm definitely in hot water.

Karen sure as hell seems done talking. I outright insulted her husband, and I have a feeling that put an end to any information that could've been gathered.

"It was nice meeting both of you," Karen says, her composure barely regained. "Have a good rest of your morning."

She shows us out, clearly in a rush for us to be gone.

When we're out of earshot, Joel turns on me. "What was that, Vi?" he demands.

"What?" I say, knowing full well what he's referring to.

"The whole 'don't let him drink' thing and falling out of your chair," he clarifies. "What was that?"

"I guess I just got dehydrated and I know that drinking is bad for people—"

"Cut the crap," he snaps. "Seriously, you owe me more than lies on every front."

"Fine." I cross my arms. "I know it's a long shot and that he has an alibi, but I think Kevin Grant is responsible."

"What makes you say that?" Joel cocks his head. "It seems like more than a long shot. The poor woman just lost her daughter and you're accusing a man she trusts with her life of being the one responsible? You heard her. They were a tight-knit family."

"The cops say she probably was acquainted with her killer. There wasn't a thing out of place at the scene. It's the same thing Karen said about how he keeps the house. And I saw him—" I stop myself mid-sentence, praying he doesn't ask what I mean. I was so caught up in what I was saying that I didn't realize that I slipped up.

"What do you mean 'saw him'?" he asks.

"Nevermind," I say. "Ask the medical examiner for a time of death and then get the information for his flight. Maybe the times don't add up as well as we thought. I know that I haven't given you much to go off, and you have no reason to trust me, but, Joel, please try to see this the way I do. I think he's hiding something."

If I could be completely candid, I might add, he is hiding something. Anyone who can kill his wife brutally has to be keeping secrets. He's seriously unhinged.

"If you feel so strongly, I can take it up with Stan," he says, but he doesn't seem too keen on my plan. I don't know if he's buying it, but he hasn't seen what I have.

"With the way the alley was staged and the fact that it seems like she knew the man who did this, we have to at least try to check him out," I continue. "Valerie deserves for us to look at every possible suspect. I need you to trust me. Surely you see that things don't add up here?"

Joel mulls it over before saying, "Sure thing, Vi. We can check it out. I say we head back to the station and get Stan and the chief in on this, too. I'm counting on you to be right because it's all we have."

I'm so relieved he agreed. It's probably visible. "I know. Thank you."

"No problem." He gives me a cheeky grin. "How could I say no after you just spoke the most words you've ever said to me in one breath?"

I laugh nervously. He's not wrong. I've barely said anything directly to him before now. Maybe it's a sign of progress. If we're talking about professional matters, he's still at a distance. That's all I can ask for.

I hope to God I'm right, and I hope to God they catch him before he kills Karen too. If she lives, there might be hope for Joel Reed too.