One Crossroads Later

Chapter Thirteen

A face he'd looked at in the mirror countless times walked from a computer desk set up in the living room and wandered closer to the entry. Flynn focused, seeing himself drift toward to a vintage stereo he'd set up near the door, with the coveted collection of albums Monica had mentioned on a bookshelf beside it. Sounds from the kitchen filled in the background, quickly drowned out by music once Peter'd settled on a record to play.

"You and those albums," a female voice said from the kitchen. Flynn frowned, not remembering her voice, until she walked out from the kitchen and met Peter in the entryway. Taller than Monica, she still shared some similar features, and as Flynn noted them, he realized who he saw.

"Lydia," he whispered under his breath, yet again unnoticed by the couple he observed. Peter showed her the album cover, talking about The Clash and reflecting on this only being a sample of his father's collection. "You're an old soul," she said, bumping hips with him as he laughed.

"Isn't that code for emotionally damaged?" Peter asked, chuckling. As happened each time he had these memories, Flynn heard a different person speaking, with a different attitude than he had. They shared a quick kiss after Lydia gasped and, though she gave into the brief union of their lips, she reached around to smack him on the ass.

"I meant that as a compliment, you know," she said. "Jerk."

"Did you just say Lydia?"

Flynn blinked away from the thought, his eyes focusing on Monica as she emerged from the bedroom. She looked confused, and he frowned, not sure how to share his feelings and working on an explanation that left them out.

"I saw something," he said, walking to a bar counter installed at the edge of the kitchen. He lifted himself onto it, sitting as much as it would let him, and folded his hands on his lap. "Nothing consequential. Lydia and I having a minor exchange."

"That's good though, right?"

He made a face at her. "Another vision of myself outside my body. It would've been better had it at least given me something from my perspective, finally."

Monica nodded. She walked closer to the counter and rested an elbow on it. As they observed a pensive silence together, Flynn remembered what she'd said outside and let his thoughts settle on it. "Both she and another sorcerer died on the same night?" he asked.

"Yeah," Monica said, looking down at the floor. "Whatever explains that, it happened two miles apart, so nobody could call it anything other than a coincidence. The Powers-That-Be didn't give us anything else to go on."

"How did the sorcerer die?"

"Broke his neck somehow. They found him on the ground in an alleyway. The police said he jumped from the roof of a nearby building, but nobody bought that. Just couldn't prove anything else had happened."

"It doesn't seem like fate trades in coincidence. I don't blame you for being skeptical." He thought of Lydia, trying to touch his heart somehow; looking for that playful joy he'd seen in the memory. The stony silence that responded only made him feel worse. "And a car hit Lydia," he said. "Do you suspect that's bullshit, as well?"

"Yes, and no. A car hit my sister. Plenty of people saw it happen," Monica said. "I fought my parents on it, though, when one report said they'd seen another person standing close to where she'd been. Our dad got upset when I wouldn't drop it."

Flynn watched her struggle with something in silence and kept his focus on her. Monica fought with herself, but looked up at him with tears straining in her eyes. "He wanted to bury her, you know," she continued. "And nobody could blame him. He'd remarried after Lydia's mother died and that had been what bumped him into the Order. Some vampire had gotten ahold of them, and Lydia's mom paid the price for it. So, I was the bad guy for beating a dead horse."