It had been less than a year ago when Jack McCoy's life had been irrevocably changed. He'd been in a motorcycle accident, clinically dead for around five minutes. When he'd been brought back, he came back with…
A gift…a curse…
McCoy wasn't sure which. But he'd used it to bring justice for a girl who'd been murdered back in Nineteen Eighty-three.
Now, she was at peace, and her killer, Dr. Liam Kennedy, was dead, shot while fleeing the police.
Of course, Jack McCoy had almost died too.
Probably not best to dwell upon that too deeply…
Now, simply attending to his duties as Adam Schiff's Executive Assistant DA, Jack McCoy saw lots of people every day.
What Adam Schiff, and all his associates, didn't know-what they must never know-was that those people Jack McCoy saw weren't always alive.
Some were dead, and only visible to McCoy.
He had made his peace with that. The Dead were as entitled to Justice as the Living…
His new-found ability to see the shades of the departed wasn't the only strange thing going on in McCoy's life.
Just this morning, at a small bistro for coffee and breakfast…
"Mike!" a hand clapping on his shoulder as a complete stranger plops into the seat at the counter right next to him, continues speaking. "Didn't know you were here! You're looking good!"
McCoy just sat there, stunned, as the man spoke on.
"Didn't expect to see you here in the Big Apple, though. Thought you were still teaching at Groton. Still with Vicky?"
McCoy didn't know the man, didn't have any idea what he was talking about, and he certainly didn't know…Vicky…
All he could do was try to ease himself out of this, somehow…alarming…situation, utter empty replies and, make as quick an exit as he could.
Later, at night, he had the nightmare…
She's in the bathroom, paralyzed by utter terror, her heart palpitating.
A dead man is slowly rising out of the full tub, water streaming from hair and clothes, his eyes a sheer terror to behold.
Her heart spasms, and she reaches for her pills, the bottle open, the pills falling to the floor as the bottle empties, and darkness claims her…
Jack McCoy jolted awake, sitting bolt upright in bed, heart racing.
"Shit…"
He got out of bed, walked into the bathroom.
No tub there, at least. McCoy preferred showers, so he'd been glad to see this bathroom came equipped with a shower-stall.
Sighing, McCoy rinsed his face in the bathroom sink. The man he'd seen rising from the tub had looked like him.
A lot like him. Younger, though…
Like early-to-mid thirties.
But Jack McCoy could not recall ever having done such a thing in his life…
Then, through the bathroom mirror, he saw…her.
The woman in the dream, glaring daggers at him.
If looks could kill…