Read The Third Eye for Free Online Page B

hang from the ceiling.”
    “That sounds great,” Karen told her. “I’d love to help.”
    That evening, when she shared the news with her mother, Mrs. Connors was ecstatic.
    “The prom committee!” she exclaimed. “That’s marvelous! I worked on the prom when I was in high school, and it was wonderful.” She paused, and then, lowering her voice, asked, “Did you tell Tim what I suggested you tell him?”
    “I didn’t have to,” Karen said. “He didn’t ask me about it. He wants to forget the whole thing just like I do.”
    “I hope it’s that easy,” Mrs. Connors said doubtfully.
    “It will be,” Karen assured her.
    Despite the certainty she put into her voice, she thought back upon their disturbing late-night conversation with discomfort. At the time she had wondered if her mom might, for some reason known only to herself, have been inventing the story ofMickey Duggin. The name was not familiar, and Karen had no recollection of the incident her mother had recounted.
    That night, however, she had dreamed about a blond boy of preschool age who was dressed in shorts and a red-and-white T-shirt. He was playing in a sandbox in a fenced yard, and while the boy was not familiar to her, the house behind him triggered something. Somehow, she knew that she herself had once lived in one section of it.
    Karen played no active part in the dream, and the child did not seem aware of her presence. For some time he contented himself with running a toy dump truck back and forth through the sand. After a while he appeared to tire of that activity and climbed out of the box and went over to the gate. It was wooden, with the sort of latch that pops open if you give it a shake. Obviously familiar with the procedure, the boy set out to shake it loose. Then he gave the gate a forceful shove. When it swung open, he walked out of the yard.
    She had dreamed this first on the night her mother had told her about Mickey. Then, the following night, she had dreamed it again. It was as though her mind were nagging at her,
Don’t you remember?
    “No, I don’t,” Karen answered firmly. “I don’t remember a thing.”
    On Monday night, she fell asleep with her thoughts determinedly focused on paper flowers and gardens, and, if she had dreams, she did not recall them in the morning. By Tuesday,the dragging weariness had totally lifted and she was feeling like her old self.
    The remainder of the week passed quickly. With only six weeks left before school let out for the summer, teachers were moving into the homestretch with their class assignments.
    Term papers were being scheduled and final projects outlined. The prom committee held a meeting at Lisa’s house on Wednesday, and Karen was placed in charge of decorating the stage. Then, on Thursday, the school paper announced nominations for Senior Notables. While she was not at all surprised to find that Tim had been nominated for Best Looking, she was stunned to discover that the two of them were on the ballot for Cutest Couple.
    “Why not?” Tim asked, amused at her amazement. “We’re a team, aren’t we?”
    “Yes,” Karen conceded, “but still…”
    Tim took such recognition for granted, but to her this was as much of a miracle as having been chosen for the prom committee. She was no longer “that quiet, blond girl—Karen Something-or-Other”; she was one half of an acknowledged “cute couple.” For the rest of that day, she floated in a state of euphoria.
    On Friday evening, she and Tim went out with Lisa and her boyfriend, Gary. By the time Karen fell asleep that night, with the remembered pressure of Tim’s good-night kiss still warm upon her lips, the trauma of the previous weekend had been shoved to the back of her mind. Because of this, it wasespecially startling on Saturday morning to be awakened by her mother’s urgent voice announcing, “Karen, there’s a police officer here to see you.”
    “A police officer?” Karen repeated sleepily. “A police