Angelique:

We drove through the mid-evening gloom, daylight clinging possessively to the hem of darkness, sparks of light glimmering around us as the City That Care Forgot remembered it was time to get up and play. Silence hung in the car, heavier than the impending darkness. Tension peered in, my own reflection staring back from the window, watching the reflection of Chaz, watching the rocky brittle silence, a new barrier I couldn’t seem to cross.

Chaz was distracted about something. He’d been acting strange ever since we went to Fresh Start. Ever since he’d had an argument with his brother.

“I remembered something,” I said, hoping to break through the suffocating quiet. My insides felt like a taffy pull: sticky, sugar-sweet pastel-colored emotions that didn’t seem to connect, fears and hopes that stretched off into an invisible distance. “This morning I remembered my first life.”

“That’s good,” Chaz answered, his face turned away from me.

We were riding in one of the company cars, heading over to his niece’s birthday party. I wanted to go see a group of children—it was like being invited to the president’s house for dinner—but I didn’t want to see Chaz and his brother fight again.

“What’s that?” Chaz asked as he pointed to the back of my right hand. “Did you cut yourself?”

I instinctively wrapped my left hand around my right one. I remembered the blood on my sheets last night, the sting on my hand in the bar.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking at me now, his eyes dark, unreadable.

“I think I fell down in the City of the Dead. I must have cut my hand. I don’t know.”

“You don’t remember?”

I shook my head. It was an accident, it had to be, I didn’t mean to talk to that strange man in the bar, I didn’t mean to run away from Chaz in the cemetery, I didn’t mean to fall, I didn’t mean to hurt the dog—

I flashed on a black dog, lying lifeless on the ground. Dead. Then it got back up again. Alive. A series of images looped through my head. Over and over. The dog was on its side, then it was on its back, then it was on its stomach. But it didn’t matter how many times we killed it, the dog wouldn’t stay dead.

I tried to roll down the window, I wanted to escape, I wanted to run away from all of this—

Just then Chaz tossed something in my lap. A plastic bag with a small metal-and-plastic chip inside. “Here,” he said. “This is yours.”

I stared down at it, a numb feeling in my hands. “What is this?”

“A government marker. It was in your hand.”

Somehow I figured out how to make the window roll down, a button on the armrest, almost hidden in the dark. The glass slid down instantly and cool air rushed in. A row of brightly colored shotgun cottages flew past. In one fluid movement I grabbed the bag, smashed the contents against the door, then threw the bag out the window. Chaz didn’t have time to react, although I don’t know what he could have done anyway.

He stared at me, a slight frown on his face. I had surprised him.

“Why are they tracking you, Angelique?”

I shrugged and looked away from him, ready to jump out if I had to. Somehow I had an entire escape route planned out in a millisecond, where I would go, how I would get there, what I would do when I got there. I could see a map of nearby city streets in my head, a vein of routes that would lead me to safety. A new strength flowed through my muscles, an ability to do whatever I needed to in order to survive. “I don’t know,” I answered as the car began to slow down. We must have been close to our destination, Russell’s house.

I still didn’t know what was going on, or anything about my most recent life.

But I had figured out how and when I got the marker. That man in the bar.

He’d run his fingers down my arm.

Then my hand stung.

He’d put that marker in me. Whoever he was, he was looking for me.