A Raging Dawn by C. J. Lyons Read Free Book Online Page A

something like this before.
    Last month, when Leo Kingston was close to death, I’d entered his mind via the bizarre symptom-gift-curse of my fatal insomnia. Despite what Louise said, there was no way in hell—and I mean that literally—I could ever create any delusion or hallucination as warped as what Leo had done to the women he’d tortured and killed.
    The memory overwhelmed what little control I had left. My body went slack, sending the swing spinning, only my arms wrapped around the chains preventing me from falling.
    A dissonant chorus of women screaming filled my entire body, every cell shrinking from the noise; blood painting my vision.
    One of my fugues.
    As blood raged around me, my body frozen, I was unable to halt the awful visions that played out in exquisite, horrifying detail. Not delusions or hallucinations. Memories . Not mine. Leo Kingston’s.
    My eyes stared, unblinking, at the snow, and drool slid from my mouth as my fugue forced me to relive Leo’s memories. I tried to fight them, shove them behind a locked door in my brain, better yet, bury them sixty feet deep, but they were too overwhelming. And vivid, so very vivid.
    Not the victims’ pain. I think I could have handled that, or at least comprehended it. But these were Leo’s memories, so what I felt wasn’t pain but… glee was the best word to describe it. The glee of a child pulling wings off a butterfly coupled with an insatiable thirst for more, more, more…
    I fought to banish Leo and his horrors. Desperate to escape, I turned to my own life, to the people and times when I’d felt comfort: my dad launching me into the air before catching me in his arms; practicing my fiddle with him, my fingers so small they fumbled across the strings; playing in the band with Jacob, the music filling me with confidence; being in Ryder’s arms, so warm, so strong…
    All of it ammunition against a madman’s memories.
    Finally, I was able to break free of the fugue, my body slowly returning to my control. I wiped my mouth, tasting bile and wishing I could vomit, simply to purge myself of what I’d just lived through.
    Because that was the thing. When I touch the mind of someone not-quite-dead, I don’t simply visit and have a chat like in real life. Rather, I experience what they experience. Everything. A lifetime’s worth of memories, dumped into my mind.
    Every time I’ve done it, the person died soon after. They were all dying anyway, but I couldn’t help but wonder if my touching their minds hastened their deaths.
    Not to mention the healthy dose of fear for my own sanity. How many memories could I hold in my own brain without losing myself?
    I wrapped my arms around the swing’s chains, embracing the bite of the cold metal. Shoving my emotions behind sealed mental doors, I focused on the sunbeams glinting across the snow, the bruised shadows stretching out from the buildings surrounding me. I’d failed Tymara. I couldn’t change that. But could I still see Eugene Littleton brought to justice?
    “Hear you’ve had a rough morning,” a friendly voice called from the sidewalk. Ryder. My knight in tarnished armor. As usual, his timing was impeccable.
    He was tall enough that he could have easily stepped over the snow bank. Instead, he tramped down a path anyone could follow, ignoring the snow gathering in his pant cuffs. He joined me on the swings. I’d chosen to sit with my back to St. Tim’s, facing the Tower. Ryder sat so he faced the church.
    Of course he did. He still believed, had faith. Not me. I’d left the church and the capricious God who ruled it after my father died. Turned my back on it, just as I had so many things during that time. As painful as it was to have my family treat me as a scapegoat for their grief—after all, they couldn’t blame God, right?—I’d accepted the role with the sullen fury of a twelve-year-old.
    “I’m sorry about Tymara,” Ryder said, his voice so gentle it made me blink. Thankfully, it was