Deja Who (Insighter #1)(63)

“So you’re a professional bum. Bum as in goof-off, not a politically incorrect term for the home-impaired.”

“Pretty much. Good thing Leah can’t see all the jobs from my past lives, since I’ve had a million just in this life. Her brain would implode.”

Cat was giving him the oddest look, which was unsettling to say the least. (Okay, technically saying nothing was saying the least, but he was a slave to cliché.) “Have you thought maybe you’re not life-blind at all?”

“Huh?” He nearly tripped over a parking meter, and a bike messenger nearly clipped him, and they resumed walking. “Where’d that come from?”

“Something Leah said a few months ago. A theory about the life-blind. I thought she was bullshitting out of boredom, but now I wonder.”

“It’s a myth, Cat. It’s the fairy tale nobody actually buys. Believe me, I used to play that card when people were feeding me overdoses of patented ‘you poor blind idiot, you’ll never get it’ crap. It’s like the things orphans tell themselves: my real parents are rich but I was stolen from them. I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Whereas the tabula rasa have never been here at all.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I’m not that. I was disabused of it pretty early on. And for the zillionth time, being life-blind is no handicap.”

“Can we even say ‘handicap’ these days?” Cat fretted. “I’m a little behind on my PC jargon.”

“Focus! Listen, I like not having the weight of a dozen lives smashing me down with everything I do. Most people don’t get that. And besides, Leah’s my proof.”

“Proof of what?”

“That I’m not a true rasa. If she doesn’t know, then I’m not.”

Cat laughed. “Your faith in her is adorable. And not misplaced,” she added as Archer frowned. “She’s among the best in the world at what she does, no question. But you’re acting like Insighters are infallible, and you gotta know they aren’t. Just because Insighters all over the world want to refer patients to her doesn’t mean she doesn’t ever get it wrong. Besides, what’s it all for?”

“What?”

“This. Us. Life.” Cat gestured vaguely at the air, the people around them, the traffic. “Everything we go through, all our past mistakes. Our attempts to fix things in this life . . . what’s it all for, if there’s never a chance to be born with a clean slate? Well, a clean slate until you fuck something up severely. Then it’s back to the end of the line, pal.”

“Kid stuff,” he replied, feeling uncomfortable. He didn’t like thinking about this, and not just because their focus should be on Leah. It brought back painful memories. Because there had been a time he thought he was different because he was a clean slate. Not a cripple, not someone so stupid in all their lives they could never see them. “Like I said. Fairy tales for grown-ups.”

“I don’t think so,” was Cat’s only response, and to his relief she appeared to get back on track when she added, “And I don’t think you’re a bum. And d’you know how often Leah takes to a guy under the best of circumstances?”

“I have no—”

“Years. Okay? As in, she never takes to a guy right away. Never mind one working for her mom. Never mind one who’s been stalking her while he works for her mom. But she didn’t chuck you out the back door, which I think is interesting. Just stabbed you.”

“‘Just,’ huh?”

“And then forgave you. My point, get it?”

“Yeah, she took to me right away but chucked me out the back door in under a month, so it’s not interesting. And speaking of her mom, getting back to what I said earlier, why’d the killer decide to kill her mom first? He would have known he was killing the wrong woman, right? All he or she did was bring attention to himself or herself. The cops know something’s up, Leah knows he’s close now. Pretty dumb. Pretty obvious and dumb.” It was strange to be discussing such things while walking down a beautiful street in sunny Chicago, where almost everyone was smiling and enjoying the day.

Sad and scary how much bad shit went on when everything else looked great.

“What happened? What’d Ms. Nazir do to make him lose his shit and kill her? Not just kill her. He didn’t shoot her, didn’t stab her, choke her . . . he or she picked up Leah’s Emmy and whack-whack-whack.”

“I get it, I get it, stop drawing that mental picture.” Cat paused and swallowed. “If you knew that, you’d probably know who did it. And maybe it wasn’t anything. Because, you know. Psycho killer. That’s for the cops to figure out. They’re checking alibis, all that behind-the-scenes stuff, right? Canvassing the neighborhood, and even B-list celeb deaths make the news, so people are talking about it, thinking about it . . . Again, he’s exposed. He’s gotta kill Leah quick and get out.”

“Yeah. Not that there are many alibis to check. Leah and I are each other’s alibis, so I’m not sure how that works. And Leah’s old agent, what’s-his-face. You should have seen this guy, Cat. He looks like he’s always on the verge of hay fever, or sobbing uncontrollably. Big watery eyes, runny nose.”

“Yeah? Why’s he even a suspect?”