Gracie Lund had watched the same death for six nights, and she still could not save the person in it. The vision came each time she closed her eyes. Black water rising. A hand slipping under. A face she never saw clearly. She knew someone in her town would drown soon. She did not know who. Until she learned the face, she could warn no one. She stood barefoot in her muddy nightgown and told the empty air about it. The dead often answered her. Tonight they only listened. "Show me the face," she whispered. "Please." No one showed her anything. But the vision always gave her one clear thing. A doll. It floated near the drowning hand, its painted eyes wide, cracks running down its cheeks. She had seen its striped shirt and torn shorts every night. If she could not see the face, she could still find the doll. Gracie needed a place to look harder. Her visions came sharpest in quiet, holy rooms. She walked to the old parish hall by the water, where the stone sagged and moss climbed the cracked steps. Inside, damp air pressed on her. She knelt on the wet floor and shut her eyes. The water rose again. This time she reached toward the doll instead of the face. She grabbed its painted arm. She held on. When she opened her eyes, she was still kneeling, but she remembered new things. A red flower behind the drowning hand. Long, spidery petals. A poison lily. It grew in only one place she knew. Gracie ran. She followed the memory to a low, wet ditch behind the last houses. The lily stood there, red and sharp against the mud. And in the reeds below it lay the doll. The real one. Cracked face, striped shirt, torn shorts. It belonged to a child. She knew which child. A small girl two doors from her own, who carried this doll everywhere. Gracie's chest went tight. The face in the vision had been small because the person was small. Not a grown neighbor. A little girl. That was why the water swallowed her so fast. That was why the hand slipped under so easily. She had her answer. She knew the person she must warn. But the doll lay here in the ditch, abandoned in the mud, soaked through. The child never left it behind. Not once. Gracie stared at the wet doll and understood the new problem. The girl had already gone toward the water. The vision was not a warning for later. It was happening now.