Free Dead Push (Kiera Hudson Series Two#7) by Tim O'Rourke

never seen in the evil bastard’s eyes before.
    “What do you mean?” I asked him.
    “That picture the photographer left for Kiera or you to find in her apartment wasn’t of her father, it was of me looking like her father,” Jack tried to explain. “I took on Frank Hudson’s form to bait Kiera into the house so I could take her hostage and tell her that she was my sister. She was so pleased to see me – or who she believed to be her father – that she threw her arms about me. It was then the photographer appeared in the front doorway and took the photo of us together.”
    “W eren’t you just a teeny-weeny bit suspicious?” I sneered, unable to let go of those feelings of mistrust I had for Jack deep inside of me.
    “No, not really,” Jack said, his eyes still dull-looking. “I’d heard Luke mention the photographer before and I thought it was all just part of the trap we were setting for Kiera at that time.”
    “So whoever this photographer is, he’s working for Luke and the Elders?” I said.
    “Not necessarily so,” Lilly said. “Noah thought the same at first and so did I, but now we’re not so sure.”
    “He must be,” I insisted. “Whoever it is, he or she is going around sending letters and taking pictures to remind us of our past lives. It was one of those photographs that led Isidor to his death. This photographer left a picture of Isidor and the girl he loved in a grate leading down into The Hollows. So don’t sit there and try and tell me that this photographer is nothing more than a piece of scum.”
    “Perhaps Isidor’s death was an accident,” Lilly said.
    “Look, lady, I’m not known for my sense of humour, so stop trying to be funny,” I growled at her. “That picture led to Isidor dying, and that’s another thing I have to feel guilty about.”
    “More pain,” Lilly said thoughtfully. “Guilt isn’t an easy thing to live with.”
    “Stop the psychotherapy session, I’m not in the fucking mood,” I said. “I made my peace with Isidor before he died. So don’t sit there in judgment – you’re not so freaking perfect yourself.”
    “So why has the guy in the ticket booth had a change of heart about the photographer?” Jack suddenly said, as if it was now his turn to diffuse the growing tension, not between us, but between Lilly and me.
    Lilly looked at him and said, “At first it was believed that the photographer – whoever it is – was assisting the Elders by provoking old memories in you all, so you sought out your past lives and relived the pain there.”
    “Whoever it is has done a great job,” I said, unable to hide my bitterness.
    “But Noah noticed that perhaps delivering the letters and taking photographs has had a positive effect on this world,” Lilly said.
    “Watching my friend Isidor have his head ripped off by a bunch of filthy wolves isn’t what I would call positive,” I said.
    “No, but the holes – the cracks – that the letters and pictures made are a good thing,” Lilly said.
    Both Jack and I looked back at her blankly.
    “Those letters made a hole or a crack in this world, in which the old world could shine through,” Lilly said. “So in a way, Murphy was right. He saw it too, and like Noah and me, at first he thought those holes being made in the tracing paper were a bad thing, but they’re not – they’re very, very good.”
    “Why?” Jack asked, leaning forward on the bench and staring at her.
    “Because those holes and cracks are weakening this world that the Elders pushed you into,” she said, dropping her voice to a whisper again. “The more of us who remember our past lives, the more holes appear in the tracing paper. What if there were eventually so many holes that more and more of us could see through to what the world used to be and should be like? What if the humans started to remember? Do you think they would sit back and let their children be taken to those schools for matching? Do you think Luke and the