Randy Singer - By reason of insanity

Before she wrote her editorial, Cat needed to clear her head. She threw on a pair of workout shorts and a running bra. She grabbed her Rollerblades and took them out to the front steps of her duplex so she could lace them up in the warm sunlight that she no longer took for granted. She knew she would be seriously out of shape from months of wasting away in the city jail, but she would hit the workout hard. It would be great to smell the salt water in the air and feel the muscles burn.

The vision hit her as she sat on the steps, tying a double knot in her left Rollerblade. It began with a familiar pressure building in her head like a migraine, a tropical storm sucking her conscious thoughts into a vortex of otherworldly images. Ghostlike and hazy, the figures seemed to materialize from the scalding concrete of the sidewalk as if the heat waves had taken on human flesh and now stood before Cat, unaware of her existence. There was an argument… shouting… a fight. Cat watched the entire event unfold, almost as if she could reach out and touch the apparitions before her. She sat there in fascinated horror, unable to turn away.

Unlike her previous visions, this time she saw the detailed outlines of the faces-every wrinkle of the man's leathery skin and angry scowl, the determined look on his wife's familiar face. The other visions seemed like they had taken place in a dark tunnel, with nebulous figures and shrouded identities. But this one unfolded in the light of day. This time, Cat could name names.

The gunshot startled Cat and exploded the vision, leaving her shaken and confused. She didn't want this power, this awful knowledge of facts concealed from others, knowledge too dreadful for one person to bear.

She dialed Rosemarie Mancini immediately. "We've got to talk," Cat said. "I've had another vision."

"I'm at a conference in Colonial Williamsburg," Mancini said. "Can we talk by phone?"

Colonial Williamsburg was less than a two-hour drive. Cat could use the time to collect her thoughts and get hold of herself.

"I'll come to you," Cat said. She knew her voice sounded frantic, but she didn't care. "We need to talk in person."

They met at the Barnes amp; Noble bookstore located on the edge of Colonial Williamsburg, across the street from the College of William and Mary. Rosemarie suggested they go for a walk-a quiet stroll down the tree-lined Duke of Gloucester Street, a cobblestone road that took visitors back more than two hundred years. For Cat, it also had the effect of taking her back just eight years, to her senior year in college, adding another layer of stress to an already confusing day. If the quaint colonial setting was supposed to be relieving Cat's anxiety, it was not working.

After walking a few minutes and telling Rosemarie how great it felt to be out of jail, Cat got down to the point of her visit. "I saw the murder of Richard Hofstetter Jr.," Cat said. "It felt like I was sitting right in the Hofstetters' living room." She was still wound tight as she remembered the ghostly figures, images burned into her mind. "I saw Hofstetter and Annie argue."

Cat looked off into the distance. The trees cast shadows across the street while late-summer tourists traveled in small packs, their noses glued to their guidebooks, figuring out what attraction to see next. Cat couldn't even remember when life had seemed so simple.

"Annie pulled out a gun and started threatening Hofstetter with it," Cat continued. "She backed him down, made him kneel and beg. He was on his knees when she pulled the trigger. That's when the vision faded-exploded, really. The last thing I saw was Annie dropping the gun, putting her hands over her mouth, and screaming."

Cat paused. Just recounting the vision had drained her energy and constricted her chest. She glanced at Rosemarie as they walked and couldn't quite read the psychiatrist's expression. "Quinn wasn't even in the room," Cat said. "He didn't shoot his brother-in-law."

She had been wrestling with the implications the entire drive to Williamsburg. Quinn was innocent! How could she keep that information to herself? She had to do something.

But if freeing Quinn meant that Annie went to jail, how could Cat possibly tell anyone other than Rosemarie? Quinn would hate her for exposing his sister to serious jail time, for separating his niece from her mother. Cat needed Rosemarie Mancini's advice, and as usual, the psychiatrist was one step ahead.

"I know all that," Rosemarie said. "But this was undoubtedly part of Quinn's plan all along. I don't think he ever intended to let his sister stay in jail. He wanted to give the second jury a chance to do the right thing at trial, but if they didn't, he was ready to take the blame. When it became obvious that putting his confession on the table would also help him nail Marc Boland, he played his ace early."

Cat was stunned that Rosemarie seemed to take this all in stride. "He told you this?" Cat asked.

"He didn't have to. I was Annie's psychiatrist, remember?" Rosemarie looked up at Cat as they walked. "You, I could never completely figure out. But Annie was an open book. She killed her husband, Catherine. It happened exactly the way Annie described it in court.

"But Quinn always covers his bets. I knew he had something radical planned. I saw it in his eyes when I talked to him about Sierra, about the need to break the chains of abuse that get passed from one generation to the next. I knew he had a plan he wasn't telling me about, an ace in the hole.

"Did you notice how carefully he crafted his own confession?" Rosemarie continued. "If he had made it appear too much like self-defense or defense of others, Carla Duncan would have been suspicious. She would have seen it as a contrived attempt to make sure nobody went to jail for the murder. But by saying he shot Hofstetter after the man dropped his knife, Quinn guaranteed he would end up taking Annie's place in jail."

Rosemarie motioned toward an ancient brick building on their left, rimmed by a graveyard on the side and back. "St. Bruton's Parish," Rosemarie said. "It was on the tour I took yesterday. Want to peek inside?"

Cat shrugged. Not really. She had seen the church a few times during her college years. But Rosemarie had already veered off to see if it was open. Finding it locked, she banged loudly on the thick wooden door.

"A shame," she said. "It's really peaceful in there."

"So you're thinking I shouldn't say anything?" Cat asked, trying to get the conversation back on topic.

"Have a seat," Rosemarie said, plopping down on the front steps of the church. She dusted off a place next to her, and Cat reluctantly sat down. Filled with tension, Cat wanted to keep moving. Besides, she needed answers, not a counseling session.

"The answer to your question requires you to understand the purpose of these visions-does it not?" Rosemarie paused, but only for a moment, not really expecting Cat to answer. "I don't think we'll ever know for sure why God chose you as His messenger, but He did. I know the visions sometimes felt like a curse, but look at the results: they exposed a serial killer, restored the Carver family, helped recover the Milburn baby, and saved Quinn Newberg's life. That's hardly a curse."

Cat had been thinking some of these same thoughts recently. Somehow, the visions that had landed her in jail had also helped bring two killers to justice. The visions were still a mystery, unlike anything Cat had ever experienced, but the timing of the visions and the uncanny results were strangely comforting. And the visions seemed purposeful to Cat, not like the random paranormal activity or the "scientific" telepathy theories she had studied. Cat's visions were something different. Something good.

"You've read the book of Daniel," Rosemarie continued. "Did you notice that Nebuchadnezzar called God the 'revealer of mysteries'? God hasn't changed." Rosemarie turned and looked at Catherine. "We can't always understand God's reasons or methods, but we can learn to trust what He reveals to us. Your first three visions were to help others. This last vision, Catherine, might be God's gift only to you. Maybe you're not supposed to use it to set Quinn free. Maybe God is just showing you something about Quinn's character, telling you it's okay to follow your heart.