Free Vicarious by Paula Stokes

the periphery, like a pair of storm clouds interrupting an otherwise brilliant autumn day. I am bliss. I am flying. My whole body tingles. I am pure matter, splitting into individual atoms. I am atoms becoming protons and electrons. I am everywhere and nowhere.
    It takes a second to understand what happened. The recorder has transferred the headset to my sister and the drugs coursing through my veins are causing euphoria. I’m inside of Rose now.
    â€œ What’s happening?” I ask, my voice catching on the second word. I try to lift my head, my hands. I can’t move. And then I feel myself floating up and away from my body.
    Jesse rests a warm hand on my shoulder. I resist the urge to open my eyes, to cling to him. This isn’t real.
    But it feels real.
    My vision sharpens, but now I’m looking down on the scene. The storm clouds become people. One large, one smaller. Both wearing masks. The smaller one holds something sharp and shiny in his hand. He bends low. A rush of warmth pulses up my arm. The kaleidoscope blurs into a rainbow and the smell of something sweet tickles my nose. A clove cigarette.
    It could be part of the ViSE, or it could be … I open one eye. Yes, Gideon has slipped into the room. The end of his cigarette glows bright orange. He’s holding a glass of water in one hand. Frowning, I try to concentrate.
    The figure releases the tourniquet with a sharp snap and takes my hand. I can barely make out the cross-shaped scar carved into my palm. I try to speak but can’t. A soft sigh escapes my lips.
    â€œWhat do you want me to do with her?” the larger man asks.
    It’s definitely a man’s voice, but it’s low and stretched out. I don’t know if it’s how the guy sounds or if it’s the drugs coursing through Rose’s veins that are distorting things. My insides twist themselves into knots as I try to untangle what’s real from what only feels real.
    The smaller man doesn’t answer. He turns his head toward the back wall and his partner nods. “The river. Perfect. If anyone finds her body, they’ll just think she’s a junkie who fell in.”
    The smaller man leans over me. He reaches out and touches my face with one hand as he peers into my eyes. Colors fade to gray. Suddenly the room goes black and then light. Bright white. Rushing, electric white. I gasp as I feel the cells in my body begin to hum. I am becoming part of the whiteness. The end of the tunnel reaches out for me and I plunge into its dark and icy embrace.
    Jesse shakes me hard and I open my eyes, the outline of his broad shoulders slowly filtering into view. “Are you all right? You were thrashing around.”
    I don’t answer. I keep feeling that tunnel, the rush of light and then darkness.
    Panic crushes down on my chest. Rose can’t be dead—she can’t. I don’t even know who I would be without her. Half a person. Empty. I breathe in slowly through my nose like Dr. Abrams taught me to do when I get anxious. I count to four, hold my breath, exhale for four, repeat. Then I yank my cell phone out of my pocket and call my sister. It goes straight to voice mail, like her battery is dead.
    Or like her phone is at the bottom of the river.
    Jesse stands at my side, his hazel eyes glinting in the dim light. I can tell he wants to know what it is, what I saw, but he’s not going to ask me to describe my sister’s murder.
    â€œIt’s my fault,” I say finally. My voice splits apart on the last word. I rip the headset from my skull and fling it across the room. “Someone killed her, and it’s my fault.”
    â€œIt’s not your fault,” Gideon says.
    I rotate my body and drop my feet to the floor, but as I go to stand, my legs give out. I crumple, my knees hitting the soft, noise-dampening tiles of the ViSE room floor. I suck in a sharp breath, but nothing makes it to my lungs. There’s no air here. Or