Chapter 1
Officer Rhoades couldn't have been much older than me, too young to be standing on my doorstep. His young face had that fresh out of the academy look. The kind of look where everything was still separated into good and evil with no grey areas in between. His baby blue eyes had too much pain in them giving away that it was his first time delivering bad news.
He really was too young.
I suppose I could have put him out of his misery and tell him ‘It’s alright. I already know’, but that would have changed his sympathetic heart into a suspicious one. How do you tell someone you already know your mother was dead?
Even as he told me how sorry he was for my loss, the squealing of tires and the crunch of metal could still be heard in the recesses of my mind. I’d known for a while this day would come. But then again,I’ve known a lot of things I shouldn’t.
A gift. That’s what my mother had always called it. To be able to witness it all before it ever happened. Maybe if it had told me the lottery pick for that week or helped me pass a chemistry test, then maybe just maybe I wouldn’t have minded. But knowing the six-year-old boy you babysat every other Thursday would grow up only to die from drug overdose was not what I would call a gift. I wonder if God did returns.
Officer Rhoades was staring at me again. Why was he looking at me like that? Oh. He asked me a question. What did he say?
“Miss Richmond, are you alright?”
I cleared my throat and hoped I looked like the distraught daughter he expected. “Uh, what? Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little bit in shock.”
Officer Rhoades quirked an eyebrow at me. I don’t think he believed me. “Are you sure? You don’t want me to call someone for you?”
“No. I’m fine.” Maybe if I said it enough it would have been true.
I tried not to move back when he held his hand out to me. I looked down at it and my stomach clenched. Touching was a bad idea.
Most of my visions were random occurrences. Sometimes they were triggered by a word or a phrase. Sometimes something as small as a flower on the ground. But every time I touched someone new, whether I wanted to or not, I would see it.
Death.
More often than not my visions are always about death. Theirs or someone they love, and never just as simple as when, but how. If they are going to dying drowning, that’s where I’d find myself. Submerged, lungs burning as I struggle to find the surface. And the fear. The gut clenching, throat closing fear that always washed over me.
I wasn’t brave. I didn’t pretend to be. Was everyone afraid to die? I didn’t know. But never have I had a vision where someone was dying with a smile on their face and joy in their heart. Yes, I knew fear very well and the hand stretched out to me encompassed the very definition of my fear.
I ignored the hand in front of me and looked up, a small smile forcing its way onto my face. “Thank you, Officer Rhoades. I'll be okay. I have people to call.”
He hesitated for a moment but then with great reluctance withdrew his hand. The clenching in my stomach relaxed a bit. He cleared his throat and glanced back at his squad car where his partner sat waiting before he surveyed me with a relieved sort of look that he quickly forced into a concerned expression.
“Well, if you’re sure, but you really should call someone. You shouldn’t be alone now.”
“I know. I will. Thank you.” I backed up and closed the door before he could say anything more.
I leaned against the door and held my breath as I listen to the sound of Officer Rhoades’s footsteps on the porch. They pause for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if he should leave yet. Eventually, his boots pound against the three front steps that lead up to our house and I let out the breath I’d been holding.
Staying there against the door for a moment, I wasn’t quite sure what I was supposed to do next. I had years to become accustomed to the idea that my mom would die today, but the pain was still there. The throbbing in my heart still ached as much as if I had just found out.
I didn’t know when exactly it would happen. My visions didn’t work like that. But I could speculate based on what I saw, the weather, the clothing she wore. Usually, I push my visions to a special place in the back of my mind that I like to keep locked tight, but not hers. Hers, I had gone over a thousand times. Was there anything I could do to stop it? No. Could I have told her not to go out that day? Yes, I could have, and she would give me one of those looks. The kind she always gave me when I tried to change the future.
“You can’t save everyone Elle, somethings are just meant to be,” she’d say.
Then I would have crossed my arms and scowled at her. “What is the point of having visions if I can’t do anything about it?”
She’d give me this little smile, like I was silly for asking, then say, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Laughing as if it was some kind of private joke and go back to whatever it was she was doing, leaving my question unanswered.
Now, I would never know.
I took a deep breath in, then let it out in one rush. Pulling myself up off the wall, I lifted my head, and straightened my back. Enough self-pity, there were things to do.
I walked to the desk in our small living room and tried not to look at the walls. The floral print always made me a little nauseous. I pulled open the dark wood drawer and I searched for the folder that mom always kept in case something like this happened.
Grabbing the folder marked ‘In Case of Emergency’ and I flipped the vanilla cover open. I scanned over the first few pages, ticking them off as I go. Will. Funeral Home. Logins. There. Call List. Looking over the list of friends and relatives that needed to be notified I stopped when I saw the name at the bottom of the list. The one name I wasn’t sure what to do with.
Bart Richmond. Dad.
I sat heavily into the chair near the desk and stared down at his name. Should I call him? Would he even answer? He wasn’t the most reliable man in the world. I hadn't seen him since my thirteenth birthday and that was five years ago. It wasn’t unusual for him to be gone. But when he did happen to turn up, he was usually distant, only ever saying a few words to me before he has ‘a work emergency.’
Mom told me he was a big shot adviser for a multi-million dollar corporate head. If she was here, she’d say he loves us and would be here if he could. I don’t buy it. What important advice could he give that would cause him to only visit every few years? No, if he wanted to be here, he would. Tucking the loose strands of blonde hair behind my ear, I grabbed the cordless phone from the top of the desk. Let someone else call him.
I glanced back at the top of the list. Aunt Sue. Mom’s, too intuitive for her own good, younger sister. She would know what to do next, but she would also be able to tell if I didn’t sound surprised. Upset. None of us ever told her about my gift, but somehow, I think she had always suspected.
“Your eyes are so old.” She’d say with a bewildered look in her eyes.
If she had to see death and carnage all the time, she'd come out scarred too. I closed my eyes for a moment, taking a shaky breath. If she found out I knew she’ll want to know why I didn’t stop it from happening. She wouldn’t understand.
I need to sound devastated. I looked down at my hands and watched the tremors that start to envelope them. I really didn’t want to do this.