Free Tapestry of the Past by Alvania Scarborough Page B

combining the cocoa, sugar and milk. As she set the pan on the burner, she let the familiar routine soothe her. Somehow, it never failed to comfort her. Tonight she desperately needed that comfort.
    A cup of cocoa in her hand, Kalesia turned from the counter and nearly dropped the mug of steaming liquid. Gabriel stood in the darkened doorway, his shirt half-buttoned, one shoulder propped on the doorjamb.
    “Couldn’t sleep?”
    His voice was low and raspy. Kalesia wished he wouldn’t sound so concerned. She wished even more that she didn’t remember the hot and intense taste of him earlier.
    She cleared her throat and tried for a nonchalant tone. “Just restless. I thought something hot might cal—relax me.” She groaned inwardly. So much for sounding casual, the tremor in her voice revealed just how tightly her emotions were wound. More than anything, she wanted to walk into Gabriel’s arms and have them close about her. She wanted to forget what she had seen.
    His eyes went to her hands. Kalesia became aware she was holding the mug as if it were a lifeline. She forced her fingers to relax. He straightened away from the doorway.
    “Got enough of that cocoa for two?” He went to the cupboard and took down a cup without waiting for her answer. He poured the last of the hot drink and set the pan in the sink after filling it with water. “Since we’re both awake, we might as well keep each other company,” he said, snapping off the light and leading the way into the living room.
    He didn’t bother turning the light on and Kalesia was thankful. Gabriel was too observant and she felt too fragile to keep up the pretense that there was nothing was wrong. Curled up on the sofa, she’d just taken a fortifying sip when he spoke.
    “Why do you need to calm down?”
    Kalesia choked on the mouthful of hot chocolate. “W-what?” she sputtered.
    “I asked why you needed to calm down.” He sat there in the shadows, staring at her over the rim of the cup, with the infinite patience of a hunter.
    Kalesia thought about lying and then decided he would see through the attempt. “I had another vision,” she stated baldly.
    “About your murder?” he asked in a noncommittal tone.
    “No.” Her teeth chattered against the side of the mug as she took another sip. Kalesia hastily lowered it. “No,” she repeated, “it wasn’t my death I saw.”
    “Tell me,” he ordered.
    Kalesia shot a glance in his direction, straining to make out his features. “Why?”
    “I need to know.”
    “Why?” she asked again, unable to banish the hurt and wariness caused by the memory of Gabriel calling her a flake that first night.
    “Because to help you, I have to understand what it is you see.”
    “You believe me, then? When I say I have visions of other people’s murders? You made your opinion of visions and of me, clear.”
    “I don’t disbelieve you,” Gabriel qualified.
    Her mouth twisted. Well, at least he wasn’t calling her a flake again. Kalesia set aside the cooling liquid.
    “This time was so strange,” she began slowly. “It started out smudged, more emotion than detail. Yet there was something about it that, I don’t know, felt familiar. Then it changed.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Well, at first I had the impression of a man and a table and blood. Lots of blood. On the man, on the table, on the floor. I could make out a knife.” She frowned. “At least I think it was a knife. Oh, I’m not sure what it was. It’s so hard to explain. The images were like a grainy tintype which has sat neglected in a closet for years.”
    Gabriel set the mug down on the small table beside his chair with great care. “That’s different from what you normally see?”
    “Oh, yes. While what I see often makes little sense, the images are crystal clear. It’s like looking at photographs taken out of time. Sometimes they’re in motion, sometimes they’re stills. But they are always very crisp.” Far too clear for