She knew very well that she shouldn't have been thinking about him at all. It was tempting fate. Focusing her thoughts on him could very well be an act on her part that could open the psychic channel that they had between them all over again. But it was gnawing at her. She had to know if he was still killing. She had to know what he was doing. And most especially, she had to know where he was. At first nothing happened. So she refocused and said, "Where are you? Where... are... you?" And she kept focusing on that question and saying the words over and over, but not out loud. Just under her breath. After more than an hour nothing was coming back to her about him. She hadn't even gotten a glimpse. Finally she gave up. As she got ready for bed she thought that it was just as well that she hadn't broken through. Had she, she thought to herself, she might have brought a world of hell back into her life. But then, much later on, in the middle of the night, when she had been asleep for hours, her mind started traveling. She was traveling on a highway. An Interstate Highway. Her mind traversed the distances at tremendous speed. It blazed past the other cars and trucks on the roadway. She saw numerous truck stops and small towns while on the journey. Then, from a long distance away, a tiny sign was visible. Within seconds she was upon it. It read: Atlanta. Suddenly, she was there. It was if she was driving a car and looking through the windshield. The car turned a corner. Slowly, it drove down the street. It was a modern suburb: a town home development of nicely appointed, colonial town houses. Driving even slower yet, she pulled up in front of one of them. Then was transported inside. She was standing in the vestibule. The house was dark. She looked around. No one was visible. But there was sound: the sound of wind. It pervaded everything: even though all appeared to be completely still within the house. She passed a dining room off the hall and peeked in. Everything was in its place. But still... the wind could be heard. A staircase was in front of her. Her mind slowly traversed the stairs: gliding up to the second floor landing. She stopped and surveyed the hallway. Nothing... not a thing... was astir. Then, her mind slowly proceeded down the hall, chancing looks into each of the rooms as it came upon them. Each was untouched. The last room in the hall lay directly before her. She moved to it and stopped. She was hesitant. She didn't want to go any further. But her mind did anyway. As if spirit... it bled through the door and recomposed itself on the other side. What she saw before her was ghastly. Then... her mind continued to move forward slowly, ever so slowly, towards the woman who lay in the bed. She had been tied tightly to the four colonial bedposts. She had been brutally sodomized. She was of course, also, decapitated. The sight was horrific. As her mind looked at the grotesque scene, Frannie was overcome by a strange feeling. A feeling that she'd never had before. A threatening feeling that something unknown could be very close to her... So close that it was almost touching her. Slowly her mind widened its field of vision. And there he was! Standing just to her left! Staring straight at her! Holding the head of his victim. She couldn't breathe! She couldn't breathe at all! She panicked! Then... all of a sudden: she was rocketed back to reality, where she found herself still in her bed, but hyperventilating and soaked with perspiration. She was shaking uncontrollably and she instantly realized that she had made a catastrophic mistake by focusing on this killer again. She had gotten the answer to one question though... he was still killing. This was an excerpt from the book.