As soon as she’s out of sight, I dump my chili in the garbage and hurry to my room. I turn on my heating pad and wrap my feet in it before pulling the knife out from under my hoodie.

“Nobody’s dead yet,” I whisper, staring at the sharp, shiny blade. But as an Oracle, it’s hard to even consider that the future I just saw won’t come true. I mean, it’s not for sure, but that’s where the future is headed. I’m already on the path to murder.

So which side of me is stronger? The Oracle, or the human? And how long until I find out?

Somehow, someone is taking control of my abilities and until I figure out who, and how, I can’t use them.

What else am I supposed to do? There was no indication in my vision of when I’m supposed to kill Charisse. But she talked about being cooped up, which means that the killer is still at large.

Maybe that’s my answer. If I can find the killer before Charisse’s destined death, I can derail fate and stop everything. Change everything.

Completely freaked out, I stash the knife under my bed. It occurs to me that if I was able to sneak into our house so easily—in the middle of the day, no less—how hard would it be for a killer to slip in?

Or for Sierra to slip out in the middle of the night. Last night.

But they said the killer was a man.

Everything in my life has turned inside out.

I pull out my laptop and check out the stories on the newest murder. A knife, just like Sierra said. And they’ve released his name: Nathan Hawkins.

My heart sinks. I know him too. We were both in an experimental advanced track in eighth grade. There are about seven hundred kids in our school; after four murders and four additional potential victims in my visions, you’d think at least one of them would be a stranger to me.

But the most disturbing part is the FBI officer’s statement a few paragraphs down:

There’s something different about this killing. The killer seems to have hesitated; there are a number of shallow, nonfatal cuts as though he had not quite made up his mind to take this young boy’s life.

And the worst part—the part that chills me right to my bones:

There’s a chance we may be looking at a copycat killer.

I shudder, the spasm wracking my entire body as I close my laptop, unable to read another word. Is it possible I killed this guy? Is that why I don’t remember last night? Why I woke with visions of blood all over me? And why was I outside after the vision with Charisse? Doing things I can’t remember is terrifying considering the current circumstances. Could another Oracle make me murder someone? Without me even realizing it?

The tiniest spark of hope lights in my mind. If an Oracle could do that to me, maybe I could do it to the killer. Make him turn himself in.

Unless I’m the killer. The only killer.

No. Even if I’m involved, it can’t just be me. I was with Linden when Eddie Franklin was killed.

Probably. Science has been known to be wrong.

“Charlotte?”

I almost shriek at the sudden sound of my mom knocking at my door.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure,” I say, willing my heart rate to slow. It’s just my mom. I look up and a wordless scream gets stuck in my throat. Her head is sitting nearly on her shoulders, her eyes unseeing, blood from her severed neck pouring down her chest, dripping off her chair.

“Charlotte, are you okay?”

I blink. The blood is gone. She’s back to normal—whole and healthy—her eyes focused worriedly on me.

“You startled me, that’s all,” I say, but I can’t hide the shakiness of my voice. I wonder if she can see that my entire body is trembling.

Her hand is resting on my doorknob as she studies me. “Charlotte, do we need to go out of town? Maybe we should go see your cousin Jennifer until school starts back up. This whole thing is really starting to affect you—not that I blame you,” she adds with her hands palm out toward me, as though placating a young child. “It’s having an effect on me too.”

I contemplate this silently. If I leave, I can’t help catch the killer. But if I stay, I might be the killer. Am I trying to run from my fate? To change things that can’t be changed? For all I know, we’ll leave tomorrow, get as far as Henderson Park, the car will break down, and that’s how I run into Charisse.

Sierra once told me that the future is like a stubborn, old man—he’ll get what he wants even if he has to go to hell and back to make it happen. Look at the murders. Yes, we saved Jesse and Nicole—and you could argue that we saved Clara too—but Eddie and Nathan? I didn’t even get visions of them. Would they still be dead if I had let the killer get Jesse and Nicole? Am I simply swapping one person’s death for another?

For the first time, I realize I might not be changing anything. Not really. I’ve been operating on the idea that the future is fluid, but maybe some things are set in stone. Maybe if I’m supposed to pull that blade across Charisse’s throat, one way or another, I have to. No matter how impossible it seems.

“I don’t know,” I finally say, unable to make a decision.

Mom purses her lips for a few seconds then nods. “I’ll call Will and Saundra and see what their plans are this next week and we’ll go from there.”

I nod weakly, feeling like a complete wimp for giving up. As I close the door behind her, I’ve almost convinced myself that I’m doing the right thing when the familiar tingling starts in my temples and another vision overtakes me.