Swear words cascaded through my mind and by consequence through Lacey’s. Panic eroded the walls of my mind in slipshod fashion, like rain in a fierce wind sheeting this way and that. Lacey’s pain stung the back of my head. A Korean woman a block away shared with me her disappointment in her son’s choice of girlfriend. Images of the attack crept in, though I shoved them back out.

Retreating into rote memory, I started first aid—pressure here, makeshift bandage there, a quick check of the airway. Lacey grasped for me feebly with her off hand and her mind. I pushed both away.

Listen. Watch, came her distinctive thought voice, insistent and a little maternal.

Nope, nope, no, nope. I’d wanted to make a more cogent argument, but that’s all I could think in the midst of pushing everything back out of my mind and focusing on the blood, dear god so much blood.

The attack… she persisted.

Nope, nope… My walls were almost back to their usual rigor.

No. You have to see this. It was…him.