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Edition 1st Emily Bestler Books/Atria Books hardcover ed. Extramarc University of Michigan. Identifier lonewolfnovel00pico. Identifier-ark. Editorial Reviews. From Booklist. Estranged from his family while living in Thailand for the past Kindle edition by Jodi Picoult. Download it once and read it on your Kindle device, PC, phones or tablets. Kindle Store · Kindle eBooks · Literature & Fiction . $ Read with Our Free App; Audiobook. $ Free with. Read "Lone Wolf A Novel" by Jodi Picoult available from Rakuten Kobo. Sign up today and get $5 off your first purchase. A life hanging in the balance a family.

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Jodi Picoult is the author of twenty-two novels, including the #1 New York Times bestsellers The Storyteller, Lone Wolf, Between the Lines, Sing You Home. Jodi Picoult - Where There's Smoke (ebook) - Free download as PDF File .pdf), Also by Jodi Picoult The Storyteller Lone Wolf Sing You Home House Rules. Thus begins Picoult's enthralling and ultimately astonishing story of love, fate and a crime of passion. SECOND That is, until her world is turned upside down with a single act of violence. Suddenly . Lone Wolf. On an icy.

Includes the names: J Picoult , J. Jodi Picoult has 77 past events. Sign up to get a pre-publication copy in exchange for a review. Jodi Picoult is currently considered a "single author.

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Main page Picture gallery 5 Rating statistics If you like My Sister's Keeper 17, copies, reviews Nineteen Minutes 8, copies, reviews The Pact 7, copies, reviews Plain Truth 5, copies, reviews The Tenth Circle 5, copies, reviews Vanishing Acts 4, copies, reviews Change of Heart 4, copies, reviews Keeping Faith 3, copies, 74 reviews House Rules 3, copies, reviews Handle with Care 3, copies, reviews Salem Falls 3, copies, 69 reviews Perfect Match 2, copies, 66 reviews Second Glance 2, copies, 65 reviews Mercy 2, copies, 57 reviews Sing You Home 2, copies, reviews Picture Perfect 2, copies, 40 reviews Harvesting the Heart 2, copies, 51 reviews The Storyteller 2, copies, reviews Songs of the Humpback Whale 1, copies, 34 reviews Small Great Things 1, copies, reviews Lone Wolf 1, copies, 81 reviews Between the Lines 1, copies, 78 reviews Leaving Time 1, copies, reviews Leaving Time with bonus novella Larger Than Life: A Novel copies, 36 reviews A Spark of Light: Short Pieces 82 copies, 4 reviews Shine short story 47 copies, 5 reviews.

The Outsiders Introduction, some editions 14, copies, reviews Stories: Add to favorites. Related tags. Events on LibraryThing Local. Small Great Things by Jodi Picoult lusetta. Leaving Time by Jodi Picoult Leaving Time is a love story — love between mother and child, love between soulmates, and love between elephants.

The story is told from a variety of narrators, all of whom are broken and lost. Jenna is searching for answers to the disappearance of her mother, and seeks the help of a retired police detective and a psychic. The book is an ode to motherhood in all its forms—the good, bad and the ugly. DoctorFate … more. Anderson's Bookshop - Naperville , Thursday, May 21, at 7pm.

This celebrated writing team presents something new: Off the Page. La Grange Theatre Additional: La Grange, Province: Illinois Postal Code: United States added from IndieBound … more. Wentz Concert Hall , Tuesday, October 28, at 7pm.

She lives in New Hampshire with her husband and three children. Leaving time Bestselling author Picoult speaks about her highly anticipated new novel.

Chicago, Province: Illinois Country: Skirball Cultural Center , Sunday, October 26, at 3pm. AllAdultChildren Sort: Its good TV. Thats what Im still thinking when I keep Betseys shoulder in a death grip and deliver the message I have for her before the cameras stop rolling.

Friendly re, I say. Your husband wants you to know he was killed by his own captain. Marcy is nowhere to be found the producer has gone to talk to Cliffs family, or give him a huge bonus, or a trip to Disney World or something to keep him from suing us. My bodyguard, Felix, drives me home and walks me into my house.

Can I get you anything, Miz S? Youve had a pretty tough day. All I want right now is a big old glass of Caber- net Sauvignon and to put the last twenty- four hours behind me. He disappears into the woodwork, like my housekeeper and my landscapers they are so good at it, in fact, that Ive sometimes won- dered if Ive mistakenly hired ghosts instead of humans. If I hadnt seen Felix once atten a crazy- ass stalker who thought she was my long- lost sister and was willing to jump me to tell me so, I would still have my doubts.

Then I light a magnolia- scented candle, pour my- self some wine, kick off my heels, and put my feet up on the kitchen table a handmade piece from Tuscany carved of olive wood.

Well, I say out loud to Desmond and Lucinda. You two are being awfully quiet. You made that reading about you, not about her, Desmond answers. I scoff. I was doing my job. You were trying to get ratings, he replies. I didnt set that damn re, I point out.

Lucinda, who is always the peacemaker, steps forward. I think Desmond is just reminding you to ask yourself why youve been given a Gift. Ive had just about enough of them for the night.

Why dont you two get lost? I snap. Just like that, theyre gone. I can feel it in my chest a lightness, as if Ive just hung up a Gone Fishing sign and Im no longer respon- sible for anyone elses problems.

I take a long drink of my wine and try to taste the avors that Wine Spectator raved about and that made it score so high and cost so damn much. Oak and chocolate and li- gree is that even a avor? I think I can taste the chocolate in the wine, and I denitely smell the woodsmoke. But thats because the bottom of my kitchen table is on re.

I jump up so fast that my glass of wine shatters on the oor. The commotion brings Felix running into the kitchen, his gun drawn. When he sees the ames licking their way down the legs of the table, he grabs a re extinguisher from a spot near the oven and hoses down the entire piece of furniture. I check myself over, but I already know Im ne. Just a little shaken, Felix, I tell him. Must have been the candle. He nods and picks up the entire table as if it is a stick of kindling.

Ill just put this out in the yard sos it dont stink up the house. Thank you, I tell him. I consider cleaning up the broken glass but decide to leave it for the housekeeper in the morning. Instead, I walk to the master suite, strip off my clothes, and run the shower as hot as I can. Its a cavern- ous shower, tiled with pearly marble. I stick a plastic cap over my hair and step inside. The hot water loosens the knots in my shoulders, and gradually I start to let the days stress sluice down the drain.

I close my eyes, re- playing what happened in the studio today, wondering if we will be on the E! News broadcast tonight. As if Im back in the moment, I can feel the heat from the ames that burst from the broken studio light.

But then I realize that the wall of re is right here with me, in the shower. The two Turkish towels, hung within reach, are blazing. Instinctively, I yank them off their hooks into the spray of the water. They fall on the oor, ames extinguished, smoking under my feet. A realization comes to me, quicker than a bee- stung mare. There are certain earthbound spirits that have no way to expend their energy or anger.

They are often associated with teenage girls, who are formed of pure drama, or with those whove died in vain. They have been known to manipulate the elements of the earth water, re, wind, dust to make their presence known. Just my goddamn luck: Lieutenant Jason Rycroft is a poltergeist. They all show the debacle in the studio yesterday. The headlines accuse me of being antiwar, anti- American, a traitor.

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I smile feebly at my producer. All press is good press, right? She crosses her arms. Its not funny, Serenity. Cliffs out on dis- ability and Im buttering his family up one side and down the other, because Warner Brothers has strongly informed me they dont want their lawyers to have to get involved. And if that isnt enough, I got a call from the freaking head of the House Judiciary Committee. The what? House as in the House of Representatives, Marcy continues.

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They used to be called the House Committee on Un- American Activities and they investigated citizens who seemed to be doing subversive things. They wanted to know why you burned a bra your junior year in college. It wasnt because I was protesting a war, I say. There wasnt even one to protest! I whip off my sunglasses and wince at the light. Marcy, I support our troops! Well, thats not the way it looked yesterday.

The governments invading a country and you go spouting off about friendly re And today everyone and his brother is talking about the Serenity! Remind me why this is a bad thing? I look down at the pink slips in my hand. Betsey Rycroft is calling.

Well, for Gods sake, dont call her back. The last thing we need is for her to go on Entertainment Tonight saying youre going to help her unveil some military scandal. Marcy is pacing. Today her beauti- ful braids are piled high on her head; shes the one who takes me to get my hair done at the same place shes gone to for years.

Im the sole white girl in the salon when I go, and I love it. Odalie, my stylist, custom- blends my signature shade of pink. What you need to do is a show that glories an American hero, Marcy murmurs.

Something that will take the heat off this episode. No pun intended, I say. But she isnt listening. Over my head, shes staring at the televi- sion in my dressing room, which is tuned to Good Morning America. I look at the senator a golden boy whose names been swirling around as a Democratic Party presidential candidate. He has good hair, straight teeth, a pretty wife, and a cute kid everything you need to get elected in this country. But all that and a trust fund couldnt get him his baby back.

The FBI had taken the case over from the local cops, and seven days had gone by with not a trace of the boy or a single ransom note. Someone who didnt know how to read people as carefully as I do might not notice how brittle Ginny McCoys features had become; how the senator had to process Joan Lundens questions for an extra beat, as if he were a foreigner who did not speak this lan- guage.

Now that, I muse, is a tragedy. What happened yesterday, by comparison, is just a little speed bump. I dont often trouble Marcy with my personal life, but I lean forward. Youre not going to believe what happened to my kitchen table last Thats it, Marcy says, snapping her ngers.

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Youre going to nd the senators son. And then youll be Americas favorite psychic again. I dont like forensic work, even though Ive done it before. I used to put on the booties and walk into a blood- spattered room and open myself up to get an action that might have gone on in there, a move- ment or sight or sound or smell or impression, or even which way a perp entered the room.

But now, even if I get an impression about a missing kid, I dont call investigators to tell them so. A lot of pseudo- psychics do that, but its not about the kid. Its about the psychic get- ting fame.

I just dont have a dog in that ght. I hear a snort, and I know immediately it is Desmond. I am sick of his attitude, and I want to show him whos boss. So I turn to Marcy. Justine Fawker, I say.

You remember her, dont you? Marcys eyes light up. The only time we beat Cleo in the rat- ings. When Cleo was photographed in US Weekly reading a book, it sold out in bookstores. When Cleo invited an unknown singer on her talk show, her single ew up the Billboard charts. Id been invited to do a reading for her, and the episode won her an Emmy. In return, she gave me a spin- off. Justine Fawker had been a cold case a little girl whod been ab- ducted when she was eleven, and whod long been presumed dead.

After having her mother on my show, and getting a very rm response from the spirit world that Justine was not among them, we scheduled a live episode where, with Desmonds and Lucindas help, I led the police to the home of a postal worker who had a secret soundproof cell in his basement and had kept Justine caged in it for eight years.

You swore to me youd never go live again, Marcy says. You said it gave you hives in unmentionable places.

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This is true, I tell her. But Id do anything to help the McCoys nd their boy. I do want to help that poor family, truly I do. However, its also occurred to me that this might potentially land me my own Emmy.

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Marcy taps her pen against her teeth. Hes not going to want to come on a show like ours, she muses. Hes more of a Larry King Live kind of guy. I hadnt considered this. Asking a dignied politician to come on a daytime talk show about ghosts is hopeless. But then I remember that the woman whod introduced me to Cleo in the rst place was a politicians wife Id met in Maine. Id diagnosed her daughters cancer before doctors could, and she was forever grateful. I still get Christ- mas cards from her and the governor, and she still writes on them, If theres ever anything I can do for you.

I tell Marcy my plan. If this woman makes a call to Ginny McCoy, maybe she can convince her husband to come on my show. Marcy, I can tell, is impressed by the way my brain works. Its a small world, she says. By the time Marcy leaves my dressing room, I know shes not even thinking of Jason Rycroft anymore. But I am, because just as she closes the door behind herself, my curling iron shorts out with a shower of sparks.

How many times do you walk into a room and just know theres tension in there? How many times have you thought about an old friend, and then she calls? Or had a dream about your grandma and you wake up and nd the lost earring you inherited from her? Its like making a psychic telephone call: I get asked all the time what its like in the next world. Well, its the same, and its not the same. For one thing, its less dense.

You might nd yourself still living in your apartment with the same creaky door and dripping faucet, for example we tend to settle in the reality we know. But once youre a spirit, theres no physical resistance. You wont be able to turn off the leaky faucet; you can swim through the creaky door without making a sound.

There is no three- dimensional plane; there is no sense of time. You want to be somewhere? Bam, youre there. You need to do something next Tuesday? Bam, its Tues- day. Yes, spirits have sex, and no, Im not telling you how.

But even in the spirit world there are emotions and free will. The same things that trip you up as a human will tie you in knots as a spirit, if you dont let go and let God. Speaking of God, Hes real and Hes there, too.

And dont ask what He looks like because you wouldnt understand even if I told you. Theres just some things none of us are supposed to know, until its our time. If you can hear me, I say out loud to the poltergeist that has literally consumed my life for the past two days, it would be lovely if you could take a break for a while.

Bethany comes in to give me my ve- minute warning as I am wondering if my St. John jacket is ammable. You might want to have a re hose on standby, I tell her. Oh, buildings and grounds checked all the wiring, she assures me. We are a hundred percent safe. Sure, I think. As long as you dont gure in a spirit with a chip on his shoulder. This show we are doing without a studio audience, a request from the McCoy camp out of deference to their status and their suffering.

But really, it doesnt matter. Its a tiny snippet that will be played be- fore we go live wherever the spirits tell me Henry McCoy can be found. I notice absently that my new couch is purple; the white one must have been stained by the re extinguisher.

I also notice that the McCoys are already sitting when I come onstage. But even before I get close enough to see their faces, I know something isnt right. The link between the spirit world and our world is made of collu- sions of energy. If you do a reading at an event and the energy is all discombobulated, it can affect the connection, so to speak. Its why we screen our studio audience as if theyre applying for government jobs, and its why theres never any alcohol on the set.

But right now, there is, and its swimming through the blood- stream of Senator John McCoy. And not to be outdone, his wife seems so doped up on antianxiety meds she probably couldnt nd her face with her own two hands. Lets do this, I say to Desmond and Lucinda, and all I hear in my head is the chirp of crickets. His grip is rm and solid; his blond hair with just a hint of silver threaded through is smooth; his smile does not reach his eyes. His wifes handshake, however, is not a shake but rather a limp press, as if she has already made the colossal effort to get out of bed and this is truly the best she can do.

Im so sorry for your suffering, I say, and I mean it. No one should ever have to go through what they have. Are you ready to get started? Wait, Ginny McCoy says. Were not on camera yet, are we? I shake my head. My parents lived by themselves until they died in their nineties. Every night at ten P. After my dad passed, I went to stay with my mom for a few weeks, to help her adjust.

A few days after the fu- neral, we were sitting and watching TV when suddenly it shut off, at ten P. I tried fussing with the remote and with the buttons on the TV itself, but I couldnt get that thing to turn back on no matter what. The next morning, it was working just like nor- mal again. Senator McCoy sighs, and she cuts him a look that could slice a diamond. I tell you this, she says ercely, because I want you to know that I believe in what you do. I believe its possible.

In case that makes a difference, I thought you should know. I look her in the eye, and nod. Desmond, I think. Dont let me hang this poor couple out to dry. The Psy- Chicks sing the theme song, and then a little clip rolls that I pretaped, explaining the disappearance of Henry McCoy.

The camera closes in on me. Were here today with Senator McCoy and his wife, Ginny. They both murmur something appropriate. Its been a week since your son disappeared, I say. Yet there havent been any leads? If there were, McCoy says, would I be here?

Ginny grabs his hand and squeezes it, a warning. Were grateful to anyone and anything that can bring Henry home, she corrects.

I open my heart and my head to the universe, and wait for a sign. I am listening with every ber of my being for Desmonds and Lu- cindas voices. I see Marcy waiting in the wings, holding her breath in anticipation of whatever Im about to say. When nothing comes at rst, she makes eye contact with me and signals with her hand: Hurry, already. People who dont have the Gift dont realize you cant turn it on and off like a tap. Its hard, all the time, even when we make it look easy. But getting agitated isnt going to help me clear the space I need to get a feeling from the other side.

I know that what the McCoys want to hear is that their son is alive, although after the Justine Fawker case I would be the rst to tell you there are monsters in this world who make that option less than optimal. If Henry McCoy is alive, God only knows what hes suffered. But if I cannot give them that peace of mind, I hope to at least let them talk to their little boy, if hes crossed over.

To let them know he wasnt alone when he went. Its true that when its time to go, someone will be waiting for you. It might be a relative or a loved one, but not always. It could be a dog, hanging out with a tennis ball and ready to play again. Some- times, when children die, they dont know any of their relatives who are on the other side, so theyll have an angel or even maybe a car- toon character or Santa Claus waiting to pull them across that bridge.

Its just a manifestation of energy saying, Come on, baby, its okay. I try to determine if Henry might have transitioned that way.

Then I ask, silently, for Henry to come talk to his mother.

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Usually, I dont have to try too hard to connect with child spirits theyve been looking all over the place for their parents and are thrilled to step up to the metaphorical microphone.

They are desperate to say, I chose you to be my mom, and I couldnt have made a better decision. Or Im sorry I had to leave the way I did. Or I died, and you didnt, so you have to go on living. Ill tell you, those kinds of readings are the ones that break my heart. I have prided myself all my life on not being a swamp witch the kind of faux psychic who does cold readings not through any paranor- mal connection but by reading the expressions and body language of her client.

Theres the Barnum effect where you say something that would apply to everyone on the planet: You suffered a great loss as a child. Or Youre conicted about an important decision in your life. Most of the time, the client will hurry to explain what youve said.

Give them the rope, and let them hang themselves. Theres shotgunning, where you just spit out a stream of things and see what resonates with the client: Im getting a B, maybe an H, I think its a man, someone in your family who died of cancer? Again, people who come to psychics are des- perate. Theyll hang meaning on a statement if you give them the ti- niest hook on which to do it.

Theres what I call the imam, where you make a statement with the opposite included: Youre usually a very condent person, but something has you rattled. Either way, then, youre right. I take a deep breath and look at Ginny McCoy. You and your son were especially close. She nods, teary, and immediately I feel like a charlatan. I mean, what mother of a missing child would admit to anything less?

Im getting a C, or an S its the name of someone close to Henry. A playmate, maybe, or a teacher? Could it be a G? His teacher is Mrs. And the poor woman is probably now under investigation by the FBI, thanks to me. I shift in my seat. Then suddenly I hear Lucinda whisper, Ocala. Bus Shut up, Desmond reprimands her.

She told us to get lost. But you cant unring a bell. I turn to the McCoys with a dazzling smile. Senator McCoy, I say, I have had a vision. The Psy- Chicks sing the word with a hundred extra syllables, a gospel hallelujah.

Ginnys face has gone white as paper. Hes in Ocala. She collapses into her husbands arms and starts to cry so hard she cannot catch her breath. Senator McCoy looks absolutely stunned.

What what happens now? We go to Florida, I say. Thats a wrap, my director says, and I stand up. Marcy comes over, clapping, drawing me away from the McCoys. This is going to be incredible. I hesitate, wondering if I should tell her that things were not cali- brated the way they usually are when I have a paranormal experience. The energy was off, because of the substances the McCoys were tak- ing.

Hells bells, the energy was off because my spirit guides were madder than a wet cat. At the very least, I should let her know that calling my vision a vision is a stretch of the word. But Marcy is a model of efciency, barking orders and directives.

She has already ar- ranged for a skeleton crew to follow us, reality- TV style, to Florida. McCoy has called over his chief of staff and is telling him to get the private jet ready. Of course he has a private jet. But then, maybe after this airs, Ill have one, too. When do we leave? I ask Marcy. Now, she says. Go get what you need. All I need is Desmond and Lucinda, but if they dont want to join me on this journey, theres nothing I can do to make them.

I can only hope thats not the case. So I walk down the hall to pick up my purse and my coat, Felix stalking me like a shadow, and when Im in the dressing room wiping the stage makeup off my face, I say, Im sorry, all right?

I didnt mean it. I need you two. Before they can answer, however, my cell phone rings with a call from a blocked number. This is Serenity, I say. I know.

Theres a beat of silence. Why didnt you take my calls? I guess correctly. Where did you get this number? What you said the other day, about Jason and how he died Look, Im sorry, I interrupt. But I gave you the message. Thats my job. Im not supposed to go burn a ag in front of the White House or force the military to look into what happened Thats just it, Betsey says.

The army, they keep calling me. They want to sit down and just have a little chat. Well, that seems to be what Jason wanted. What about what I want? I came to you because I needed to know that he loved me.

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That he was with me the day I gave birth to JJ. That he died thinking of my face. That he died a hero, not because of some accident.

She spits out that last word like it is poison. I lost my husband. I should get to hold on to my memories of him, dont you think? I am taken aback. I dont know what you want me to say. Id just told her what her husband wanted her to know. How about that youre sorry, Betsey says. For ruining my life. I hang up the phone, my hand shaking. I dont have to turn around to know that behind me, the wastebasket full of tissues Id used when I was taking off my makeup has caught on re.

I take a vase full of lilies, yank out the owers, and pour the water into the trash receptacle just as Felix knocks. I open the door to nd him snifng at the smoke and hand him my cell phone. Get me a new unlisted number, I say, and I walk down the hallway to the limo that will take me to Senator McCoys plane.

Well, I hate to pee in your Cheerios, but it doesnt work that way. The afterlife is all about overlapping planes. We all live in the same physical space, but on different metaphysical levels, and someone whos passed before you might have reached a consciousness you havent yet.

Take Romeo and Juliet, for example. Romeo dies because of someone elses initial mistake Friar Lawrence relying on the Verona postal service, when we all know theyre freaking government em- ployees and deliverys not guaranteed. Juliet, though, stabs herself, in the hope that she can be with Romeo again. Clearly, she messed up in this life.

Shes going to have to deal with that in the soul world, and because of this, she is far more likely to bump into Friar Lawrence whos got his own mess to atone for than into Romeo. Trust me. Before that big sweeping romantic reunion, Juliet has to gure out what she did wrong. You may get bit in the ass by an alligator. But youre going to go in there like youre a crocodile hunter and do it anyway. Thats what Im thinking as I sweat through my pantsuit in the bus terminal in Ocala, Florida, hoping that Desmond or Lucinda will offer me a morsel of direction.

I begin to make bargains. If you let me nd Henry, I will never think of anyone but my clients again. If you let me nd Henry, I will never disrespect you.

If you let me nd Henry, I will let any spirit who has a message speak through me without setting any parameters. Any time of day or night. All this time Id bitched and moaned about setting limits so that the paranormal chatter didnt overtake my life, and it turns out that the only thing more terrifying than endless cacophony is absolute and utter silence from the other side.

The cameras are rolling.

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Later, we would nd out that wed had over a 7. Also, because this is an open police case, we are accompanied by some of Ocalas nest and a police dog. Hes here, I say, when we reach the bus station. I can feel it. With the McCoys in tow, I start walking, my hand held out before me like a divining rod.

But really, Im just doing that so that the police dog sniffs at my ngers, and maybe tracks a scent I can then follow. I turn a corner, and then another and another, until we are standing right back where we started. Please, I beg silently. Let me nd the boy. I start out again tentatively, turning down a hallway I havent yet treaded. The cameras, and the McCoys, follow.

At the end of the hallway is the mens room. Beside me, the dog pulls on its leash. This way, I cry. I cannot believe Im doing cold readings on a dog. The bathroom? Ginny cries. Is he in there? She starts to run, but before she can, the dog breaks free on its leash.

It runs to the entrance of the bathroom and feints to the left, snifng at a bank of lockers. The rst one the dog touched was number I point to it and turn to a cop. Break the lock, I say, and as soon as they do we all fall back from the stink of decaying esh. My eld of vision narrows, and stars burst at the edges. Every- thing is going black as I lean down, brace my hands on my knees, and vomit. What happens next explodes like reworks before my eyes: The locker door opens.

The stained suitcase is revealed, still seeping blood. The police dogs tail is wagging madly. The way Ginny slumps to the ground and no one notices; the cameraman stumbling forward; the senator screaming in slow motion for him to turn the fucking camera off and the brawl that ensues.

I walk away from the fray, from the body of that poor boy and his grieving parents. People grab at my sleeve as I go, and I hear Felix call out my name, but I move blindly through the crowd searching for air.

I nd it by ducking into a stairwell and running up to the roof of the building, where I stand under the splintered sun and sob. I am crying so hard I almost dont hear it. Desmonds voice, a whisper. Be careful what you wish for.

Senator McCoy gets pulled over for drunk driving and assaults a cop. Ginny is found unconscious in the bathtub, and although ev- erything is hush- hush, Page Six reports a whopping combo of seda- tives and alcohol in her system.

I am a punch line on Lettermans top ten list, when, just a year ago, I told him he needed to beef up his security and a week later two men were arrested trying to break into his house. I ask Felix to drive me in to the studio to get something in my dressing room, but in reality, I am going to clear it out. I dont have to talk to Marcy to know that my show and my career is over. I take a box, and I am in the process of stufng all my personal items into it when Bethany comes in.

Im not here, I tell her. You never saw me. She is beaming. I just had to tell you. Last week? It was, like, the worst day of my life.

I had to take the bus home. And I was trying to keep all my stuff from rolling down the aisle and I was really pissed off at that lady, who didnt even say Im sorry, when this guy started gathering my pens and my sunglasses and everything. I was mortied. She hesitates. His name is Charles. He wasnt from Fin- land or Norway. But he was eating a cheese Danish, and we talked the whole way home.

I force a smile. Im happy for you. I pick up the box and walk around her. I just wanted you to know that, Bethany says, to my back.

I wanted you to know I totally believe in you. I dont turn around. That means a lot to me, I murmur, and I wonder how long it will be before the world is divided into those who remember when I had a Gift, and those who know categorically that I dont.

Felix shakes his head. Miz S, he says. The Big Guy up there needs to cut you a break. At this point, Im practically expecting things to burst into ame around me. Dont think I havent noticed the irony, either, of a psy- chic whos lost her mojo yet is haunted by a poltergeist.