Chapter Two
When the premonition hit her, it was just past midnight, and Adelaide Lane was three feet underwater and on her way back up to the surface to begin her late night laps. As usual, the flash of light and the buzz-explosion sensation the vision set off inside her head forced her to inhale sharply. She knew she was inhaling water. But the knowledge was distant, as was the sudden wrongness of her lungs filling with water.
Like always, the premonition had her firmly in its grasp. There was nothing she could do to save herself. Instead, she watched her surroundings change. The pool water became a hallway. It was crowded with people. They were blurry at first, but as they came into focus, she determined they were teens, and the hall was full because it was a passing period. It was that brief five minutes or so between classes when kids were expected to catch up with friends, go to the bathroom, walk to their lockers, unlock them, switch out their old books for their new ones, and wind up firmly in their seats in their next classrooms before the bell rang.
It was impossible, of course. But she had a theory that those in charge were well aware of this. Passing periods were their way of controlling the students, like sleep deprivation or brain washing.
This hallway was actually over-crowded. Something about it felt familiar to Addie. Backpacks bumped into shoulders, and students’ faces were stony, their heads pointed straight forward. It was as if they wore blinders; their eyes attempted not to make contact with anyone else’s. Addie had seen it before. The sidewalks of New York were like this. People did it in stressful, packed circumstances. They avoided one another. It was survival instinct.
She stood in the midst of this orderly chaos, this packed vein of constant tension and looked around, wondering what the hell her vision was trying to show her. She remembered high school all too well. She didn’t need her psychic side to remind her of the stress. From the looks of it, other than clothing and electronics, nothing had changed.
But then there was a ripple through the river of students. It started in the distance and moved through the crowd like a wave, a general movement away from something – or someone. The boy nearest to her fell backward, moving through her; she wasn’t there, after all. Screams erupted, echoed and eerie. Sound was always distorted in her visions. The screams were followed closely by the unmistakable cacophony of gunshots. Even with an echo, she would recognize that sound.
One. Two. Slow, methodical, purposeful and terrible, the bullets were released. Addie stayed where she was, frozen in the terror of what she was witnessing, as student after student was targeted and shot.
Books and papers scattered, people fell over one another in their desperate attempts to get away, and someone was crying. But Adelaide could do nothing. Please, she thought. Show me the shooter.
She could only remain immobile in the hall, staring in horror until enough students had fallen or fled before her that she had a clear view of the shooter.
Adelaide focused. This was essential.
The shooter was female. That was rare. She was also beautiful, with an athletic build and full, light brown hair that fell in waves around her face. Her clothing was well cared for, she wore simple but expensive earrings that hinted they were heirlooms, and her shoes were relatively un-scuffed. There was almost nothing outwardly obvious about why she would be doing what she was doing.
Almost.
Her clothes might have been well maintained, but they were baggy on her slim frame. They were oversized, and though they failed to hide her true figure, it was clear she had been attempting to do so. They were the clothes of someone who wanted to cover up, to hide from the world.
And that was it. There was nothing else. Nothing but the gun in her eerily steady hand, the deadness that had come over her gaze, and the cold, calculated aim and pull of the trigger.
Think, Addie! The vision wouldn’t last much longer. Already, she could sense the re-blurring of figures on its outer edges. She was fading, being pulled out. Hell, she might be dying, seeing as how she’d been in the pool when the premonition struck.
Think! Notice something important!
She looked down at the ground, at the students who’d been shot. If she couldn’t glean anymore from the shooter, maybe she could from her victims. Addie tried to register as much as possible as quickly as possible.
The victims were mostly girls. No, not mostly, she corrected herself. They were all girls.
They’re people who have probably hurt her, she thought. This is vengeance. Girls were cruel to one another. So very, very cruel. It was a learned trait, studies showed, one gained through social interaction. The silent treatment. Sudden outbursts. Backstabbing. Name calling. Underhanded complements. Neglect. Rumors… ugly, ugly rumors. All learned and spread, and there was no better place to do it than high school.
Addie looked back up at the shooter, and something flashed through her vision, like lightning through a building fog. It was something familiar again, something personal. It tasted like acid on her tongue and was confusing as hell.
But it was gone as soon as it had come. And the gun continued to go off.
Every round struck its target. None of the bullets were wasted. The shooter knew how to use the weapon and had a steady hand. The cold determination of one aware that their time is up, of one who has been pushed to the point of no return, was all that kept the shooter going.
Addie spun, looking at the walls for some indication of what school this might be. To her right was a painted mural. She saw a sea animal, blurring words, mountains in the distance.
She slowly turned back to the shooter, not because she chose to move slowly, but because the vision was ending, and time was fighting against her now. The bullets were fewer and farther between, and the echoing reverberation was more distant. But at last, she managed to fully turn back around, and for a split second – the shooter’s gaze met hers.
Eye to eye.
A stunned sensation went through Adelaide, coiling cold and hard in her core.
And then the stunned sensation deepened, coalesced, and grew more dense, until it was painful. That pain grew and spread as the vision completely faded away. The fog was all around her now, and it was horrible. She couldn’t breathe through it. It was too thick. She inhaled hard, desperate, and felt a burning in her throat. There was pain in her chest and in her throat, her nose was stinging, and she was coughing violently. Light engulfed her, blotting out the nightmare of her premonition like a welcome white-wash.
With each cough, reality peeked through the veil around her. Addie continued to hack, unable to control herself. Her side and right arm brushed against the ground. She heard a voice. “That’s it. You got it now. Just cough it up and come on back. Thatta girl.”
It was a familiar and welcome voice, one she’d come to implicitly trust over the last ten years. It belonged to Rodney Stokes, her butler. Though in reality, he tended to fill the duties of bodyguard, trainer, and personal assistant.
Adelaide squeezed her eyes shut as the last of the white light faded, and the inside of her eyelids came back in to view. When she opened them, she was not at all surprised by what she saw. She was laying on the ground beside her Olympic-sized swimming pool. Rodney was beside her, his massive black body kneeling protectively over her, his hand at her back, forcing her to lay on her side.
She coughed a few more times and then moaned. “I did it again, didn’t I?” she croaked. Her voice was scratchy, and her throat hurt.
“Sure did. I’m considering having this thing filled in the next time you’re out. Turn it into a giant sandbox,” Rodney said.
Addie closed her eyes again and gave herself a moment to process things. Then she said, “We’d have to pooper-scoop the crap of every stray cat in the neighborhood.”
Rodney laughed, a deep beautiful sound that helped Addie remember she was alive – and it was because of her butler. Then she remembered who she was and why she was laying on the ground beside her pool. She’d had a premonition.
But this time… she had no idea who it was about or when it was going to happen.
Rodney helped her sit up. “How much time do we have this time?” he asked.
Addie blinked. She touched her forehead. “I don’t know.”
That was a first. She’d had hundreds of premonitions about people in dangerous situations, and as she’d come out of each one, she’d always known exactly who was in danger and exactly when the situation would go down. It was what she did. That was what she was about.
But this time was different. She knew what was going to happen. She simply had no idea who the shooter was, where the shooter was, or when the shooting was going to happen.
Rodney’s brow furrowed. He sat back a little and gave her a perplexed look. “You don’t know?”
“I don’t know,” she repeated. She was trembling, and it wasn’t just her near death causing it. She hated being out of control, and this vision put her right smack into that position. “And the thing is,” she admitted shakily, “this one is really bad.”