Page 17 of Stronger Than Blood
I looked at him, confused. He was young and good-looking and seemed to have a good head on his shoulders, not like someone who’d bed himself down in a small town and never leave. “Well,” I said, ignoring the thought of the small-town backward man he had basically just told me he was, “Madam Bellamy is one of the most talented psychics around, and after Hurricane Katrina struck New Orleans, she set up shop there. Maybe you could stop in to meet her someday.”
He smiled. “Maybe, but with work and my grandma…” He paused, and I could see a moment of panic cross his face.
“You okay?” I asked.
He sighed. “Yeah, sorry, I just lost my job and hadn’t really thought of that today. I was supposed to file for unemployment, but—”
“It’s still early,” I said, trying to take the concerned look off his face. “Besides, don’t you do that online?”
“Yes, but my phone is too old to connect to their system. I know… It sucks. I’ll have to go over there, but I’d rather finishout the day here, and I’ll worry about all that tomorrow. Anyway, you were saying you’re training to be a psychic.”
I laughed. “Trying and failing, but that’s neither here nor there. My skills are best utilized as hard labor. Shall we get back to it?” I asked, not wanting to dive any deeper into that subject. It sucked that I hadn’t achieved my goal, and now that I saw he, too, was struggling in the work field, I figured changing the subject was best for both of us.
I followed him to the back room and stopped short, stunned to see the mound of trash still in the room. “Wow, this is a lot!” I said.
We worked for four more hours, taking breaks for one of us to grab a cold drink from the store or to stop and rest, but as the massive pile of trash in the back room dwindled and the one in the front room grew, we didn’t find anything redeemable. It was clear that the guy had a huge problem throwing stuff away.How strange.
By the time dinner rolled around, we were exhausted. “I don’t think we can do much more until the empty dumpster comes.”
He smiled and nodded in agreement. “I should probably get a shower and go check on my great-grandmother anyway.”
“Oh, wait, I was supposed to tell you Mrs. Kennedy said to bring you by the café for dinner.”
He looked down at his clothes and shook his head. “No, I’m not fit to be in a place where they serve food. I need a shower and maybe a little bleach to clean the day off.”
I chuckled. “Well, I’m sure she’s not gonna be happy you aren’t coming. She seems pretty smitten with you.”
That caused him to laugh. “Well, she’s a cousin. Big surprise in a small town like this, huh? I’m not sure how, but I think she’s somehow related to my grandpa or maybe great-grandpa.”
“So, what time tomorrow?” I asked, causing him to stop short.
“You’re gonna come back?” he asked.
“Well, yeah, it’s far from done, and I did say I’d help.”
“Oh, I’ll probably get here early. I haven’t had much sleep the past few days, and I usually work nights, so I wake up at the crack of dawn. Whenever you get up, come on over. We have the best donuts around, just down the street from here. I’ll treat you if you’re interested.”
“Perfect, I’ll bring us coffee. Is the service station’s decent?” I asked.
“Yeah, and it sounds like a plan,” he said, and I winked at him. He reached out and offered his hand, and I took it in mine.
It was as if the light blinked out around me. Then I felt like someone had hit me in the stomach. The first emotion to hit me was terror. Gunshots, followed by visions of blood, filled my senses.
My throat clenched and I felt like I might faint. For some reason, I looked up and when I did, I was staring into the face of a kid, maybe five or six. I recognized him. It was Mick as a little boy.
Compassion instantly swamped me, so instead of freaking out like I wanted to, I concentrated on him. I noticed blood splattered all over his face and body. Again nausea turned my stomach; then it all stopped.
Mick had pulled his hand out of mine, then collapsed on the ground, before he scooted up against the wall. “What… what happened?” I asked. He shook his head, tears flowing now. “Mick, um… are you okay?” I knelt and reached out to touch him. “No!” he yelled and he quickly closed deeper into himself.
“No, don’t. I can’t, no… I can’t do that again, not again!”
“Mick, shhh,” I said softly. “Can you tell me what I just saw?”
For several moments Mick shook his head, tears flowing. Finally, when my own anxiety was about to cause my head to explode, Mick looked at me, eyes red-rimmed and said, “That’s the day the nightmares started.”
Even after letting go of his hand, I could tell Mick’s memories continued to flow.
It took time, but Mick was eventually able to make eye contact with me again, then he began answering my questions.
