An amateur medium races against the brink of her own sanity to track down a serial killer who is already in possession of his next victim.
And she only has 23 days to solve the case or else.
***
Devyn Brooks has only ever had one fear: don't becom...
"¡Dios mío! Cómo me duele," Rosario sighs with sadness from behind.
I shift in my seat with discomfort. This slide is gut wrenching. Rosario's reaction mirrors my own inward horror. There must be a hundred staggered photos up there. To know they're all still missing creates a dark hole at the bottom of my stomach.
"Every day, about 2,000 children go missing," Professor Abdullah continues, clicking to another slide with a bunch of statistics. Peers around me snap out of their daze and begin typing notes. This prompts me as well. "That roughly adds up to over 500,000 kids per year just in the U.S. alone."
I reach for the iPad in my bag and set it up, trying not to freak out that Abdullah is already clicking to the next slide.
"Of that, nearly 160,000 are children of color."
Teegan leans over. "Has anyone ever told you that you type really slow, Devyn?"
I huff. Actually, yes. Peewee.
The memory jolts me out of focus and I'm reminded of a time when an ashen faced dead girl leaned over during my Nutrition class and said that I typed slower than a senior citizen.
Even though that particular day led to one of our worst arguments, my soul aches with longing for her company.
"You should consider getting a keyboard for that thingy," Mark comments from the wall. "I never understood them without one."
Rosario's ghostly fingers tap my shoulder. "Don't listen to them, mija. You type fine. Just as I did."
A shiver flushes down my arm. Spirits are otherworldly, which means they're cold. Anytime one touches the living, goosebumps and a chill as cold as the Arctic are sure to follow.
"No offense, Nana Rosario, but that's exactly the problem," Teegan replies.
The old woman gives the teenager a tight-lipped expression. Teegan shrinks under her gaze.
I scratch my braids, trying to catch up with everything I just missed given my ghostly distractions. Squinting at the slide, I type:
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My fingertips pound against my iPad like rain. Professor Abdullah explains a few more stats.
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