The sort of stuff the usual everyday sense of hearing could glean automatically without any added concentration or focus.īut nothing else. A gull screaming as it flew past the house. The muffled rumble and crash of the surf out on the beach. Riley concentrated on listening, her unease growing when she realized that she could hear only on the “normal” level. Plus, while either a headache or the smell of blood was not uncommon in her life, the two together were setting off alarm bells in her mind. She never slept late, and she never took naps. The red numbers announced that it was 2:00 P.M. The nightstand, holding the usual nightstand accessories of lamp, an untidy stack of books, and an alarm clock. Her rumpled covers and pillows, she decided. She opened her eyes a slit, just enough to see. On top of the covers, or at least not covered up. She was on her stomach and probably on a bed, she thought. Instinct and training made her lie perfectly still, eyes closed, until she was reasonably sure she was fully awake. Her pounding head, and the smell of blood. Even before she opened her eyes, Riley Crane was aware of two things.
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