“Rocket,” I said, my voice muffled. “I can’t breathe.”

And just like every other time he’d picked me up for one of his bear hugs, he let go. I crashed to the ground, the chair cracking and tipping awkwardly back, hovering on the brink of oblivion, until the weight of my head won and I fell to the floor. For the second time in as many days, my big head bounced off the cement when it hit, and pain shot down my spine.

I squeezed my eyes shut to block out the sudden burst of discomfort. And there I sat, molded to the chair with duct tape, my feet in the air and my head lying in some kind of grayish remains.

This wasn’t uncomfortable at all.

The sound of motorcycles roaring to life flooded the room. After a few minutes, the rumbling faded as the Bandits—literally—drove off into the sunset. So to speak. At first I wondered how much time I should give them before I managed to escape and call the police; then I wondered if I could escape. What if I couldn’t? Would he really call them after a couple of hours? Would I die down here of hypothermia and dehydration?

I looked so unhealthy when dehydrated.

That was not the way to go in my book. Better to die with plenty of fluids in my body. Like at a waterpark. Or during a wet T-shirt contest.

“You look funny,” Rocket said, and I figured we could catch up while I lay there stewing in worry.

“Oh, yeah?” I volleyed. “Well, you look fantastic. Have you been working out?”

A huge boyish smile broke across his face. “You always say that. I have new names for you.”

“Okay.” I looked around to admire his artwork and frowned. As far as I knew, every room in this asylum had been covered over and over again with the names of the departed Rocket scratched into its plaster walls, but the walls in this room, in this huge, cavernous vastness, were completely untouched. I craned my neck to see what I could, taking in the blank canvases around me.

Rocket started for the next room before he realized I wasn’t following him. “Miss Charlotte, come on.”

“I can’t right now, hon.” My absent response didn’t deter him.

“But I have to show you. Something’s going on.” He took my arm and pulled me toward the door, grinding my hair in the oily contents even more. The chair scraped along the cement, but the closer we got to the door, the more worried I became. There was no way I was fitting through that door at this angle. Unless I lost my head altogether, which judging by Rocket’s strength, was a strong possibility.

“Rocket, wait,” I said, but he kept pulling and I kept sliding.

I struggled in the chair, fought against the restraints as the doorframe drew closer and closer.

“Rocket, I’m not kidding.”

He stopped suddenly and looked back at me. “Do you think rain is scary?”

“Um—”

But he was gone. He’d already snapped back to attention and refocused on the task at hand. Damn my hesitation.

“Rocket!” I yelled, trying to break his concentration. “I have a question for you.” He paused, so I hurried and asked, “Why are there no names in this room? These walls are completely empty.”

He cast me a withering look. “I can’t touch these. I’m saving them.”

“Really?” I asked, fighting duct tape tooth and nail. “For what? The apocalypse?”

“No, silly. For the end of the world.”

I stopped. “Wait, what? Rocket, what are you talking about?” Everyone had been hinting at some kind of supernatural war, but nobody had mentioned the end of the world. I was only teasing when I’d said that to Reyes.

“You know, when lots and lots of people die because of the decision of a few men. Or even just one.”

“One. You mean a dictator like Hitler? There’ll be another Holocaust?”

“Not Hitler. A man pretending to be human.”

Hadn’t the sisters said something along those lines? A man pretending to be a human. Okay, well that left out half the population, since it was not a woman. “But who? When?” I’d always dreamed of going back in time and killing Hitler pre-crazy time. Any one of a million people would have done the same if only we had a crystal ball. I may not have had a crystal ball, but I had Rocket. And his head was ball-like. And shiny. And I could see through it. He’d work. “Rocket, what man? What will he do?”

“I don’t know yet. He may or may not do it. It’s all still floating.”

I shifted for a better position, grunting a little in the process. “Floating?”

“Yes, like when people make decisions and maybe the person who was not going to die yet does, or the person who was supposed to die doesn’t. They are floating.”

“So, these decisions aren’t carved in stone?”

“No, they’re carved in my walls.”

“But who, Rocket? Who’s supposed to do all of this?” I swore, if he said Reyes, I was going to scream.

He wagged a finger at me. “Uh-uh-uh. No peeking, Miss Charlotte.”

This was more information from Rocket than I’d had in a while. He knew things that were going to happen. That was clairvoyance if I’d ever heard it.

I thought of my dad. Wondered how much time he had. “Can I give you a name?”

“But I have something to show you.”

“I’m kind of tied up right now. Leland Gene Davidson.”

His lashes did that fluttering thing they did when he was shuffling through millions of names. “Three are dead. Two are still alive.”