CHAPTER FOUR

In light of the broadcast that had run on Martine’s computer screen, the details that she was reading about the suicide now were confounding. The article said that Mr. Kingston killed himself on the evening of July Fourth, during the fireworks, no doubt, to conceal the sound of his gun.

His body was found late that night by his nephew, Brady Kingston, who lived with him. The police and news authorities were alerted, and the story was just coming out on the morning of July fifth. How, then, had Martine seen a broadcast of the story two days earlier?

Was it possible that Mr. Kingston did kill himself on July second, and his body was only discovered on the night of the Fourth? That didn’t make any sense. The police have very good ways of pinpointing the time of death, and two days makes a huge difference. Besides which, the nephew who lived with them would surely have known about the death on the same night that it occurred, which should be the night of the second.

As implausible as that scenario was, the possibility that she had seen a broadcast of Theodore Kingston’s suicide two days before it actually occurred fell into the realm of impossibility. But she hadn’t imagined it. She had seen it. And if she’d seen it, it meant that the death had occurred and had been reported to the police and to the news authorities in order for that broadcast to happen. Which would all have taken place between the second and the third. Why, then, were they saying that he killed himself on July fourth?

A quick stop at Jeremy Todd’s office was unsuccessful—he was out. And no doubt, he was as puzzled by this mind-bending turn of events as she herself was. Hadn’t he spoken to Theodore Kingston on the phone himself on July third? Of course—no reason that he would have fabricated that. And then the following day, that same client had killed himself. So far, so good. Except for that crazy broadcast.

Martine decided to cut her morning walk short and return home. Perhaps the peace and solitude would provide some clarity. But there was anything but solitude waiting for her. Instead, she found a small group gathered at her entrance consisting of Jeremy, Dr. Svenson, Ruby, and an older woman she didn’t know.

Jeremy was the first to approach her. “Martine, I hope you don’t mind, but there’s an important discussion that we need to have with you.”

“I can’t imagine what on earth that would be,” Martine responded.

How solemn they all looked.

“Martine, please allow me to introduce Ms. Delphine Sykes,” Dr. Svenson said. “She has become a very helpful . . . consultant with all of my recent transplant patients.”

“Very pleased to meet you, my dear.” Delphine smiled encouragingly. “It will be my pleasure to assist you in any way that I can.”

“Assist me? What kind of assistance? I mean, the operation went so well. I’m doing great. I don’t really need any kind of assistance.”

“What if we go inside, and we can have a nice little chat?” the doctor said.

Apprehensively, Martine let them all into her first-floor apartment. For the first time, she felt rather awkward to have her bed in the middle of the living room. She hadn’t yet had an opportunity to have it moved into the bedroom. And of course, there were only two spare chairs since the wheelchair was all she had personally needed, and there were never more than two clients in her house at the same time.

“Sorry there aren’t chairs for everyone. I really do have to get a few of those now. Although I’m not really expecting to ever have a lot of guests. Life is full of surprises, isn’t it? So, who’s going to explain to what I owe this particular surprise?”

The four people in the room looked at her with such solemn intensity. It had the feel of a serious intervention. What could she have possibly done wrong?

“Your bone marrow donor was a witch,” Dr. Svenson began. “I’m thinking that you probably do not know a whole lot about witches.”

“I haven’t heard about witches since I left Haiti. My uncle believed in them. In fact, he blamed his illness on the neighbor who he thought was a witch. It is absolutely ridiculous. Dr. Svenson, you’re not telling me that you believe in witches.”

“I’m a man of science. I believe what I see.”

“What have you seen?” Martine challenged.

Make yourself useful, Delphine. Give her a demonstration, Lilith instructed. There is no quicker way to get to the point.

I suppose you’re right. A lifetime of disbelief can be erased in a single moment.

Delphine touched the silver hood of Martine’s closed laptop. It was transformed into a neon green. Martine’s mouth dropped open.

“How . . . how did you do that trick?”

“Trick? Do not be impressed. It is the lowest of abilities. Now this . . .”

The computer floated into the air several inches above the desk it had been on. Martine’s breathing stopped entirely, and the computer floated gently into her hands.

“Uh . . . how?”

With a wave of the hand, the very substantial, very real computer that Martine was clutching simply disappeared, and she found herself holding air.

She is right. These are parlor tricks. Show her what it truly means to be a witch. Show her the vastness of what we are.

You are always in such a rush, Lilith. You never spent enough time around commoners to fully understand them. They are fragile. The development of the powers passed on to them cannot be hurried. It requires acceptance, not just ability.

I wish would get rid of all of these people and explain to this girl who Lilith Hazelwood was. How I was murdered. And how she owes me her legs, her health, and her future.

In good time, Lilith. In good time.

Maybe the vanishing computer didn’t impress Lilith, but it was enough to take the wind out of Martine’s sails. Jeremy gently led her to one of the room’s only chairs.

“As I was saying, your bone marrow donor was a very powerful witch, and I have transplanted several of her organs at this point. And the recipients are not only cured of their illnesses, but they also have some of the witch’s powers transferred to them,” the doctor said.

“It’s totally cool, if you ask me,” Ruby gushed. “All of the Lilith Hazelwood transplant patients are able to do seriously wild stuff. And Mr. Todd here tells us that . . . Wow. You really may have inherited something special.”

“Martine. You knew about Theodore Kingston’s suicide two days before it happened. You saw the future. You saw something that had not happened yet. And then it happened,” Jeremy said.

“It was a premonition. It is the gift of foresight. I do not have it myself, nor am I entirely sure that I would want it. It can be a very useful thing, but it can be a burdensome thing. It can also be a bit confusing and difficult to interpret. And that is where I am happy to offer any guidance I can,” Delphine explained.

Martine looked frantically about her, from one face to another. “Am I being punked?” she asked in confusion.

“You have another explanation, perhaps, for how quickly you healed? No chemo. No rehab. Just coincidentally, a perfect biological match with a ninety-year-old dead woman of unknown ethnic origin.” Dr. Svenson asked.

“Or how you knew about a suicide before it actually occurred?” added Jeremy.

“Do you have any idea where your computer is? Or perhaps you require further demonstration?” Delphine asked.

Further demonstration was the last thing that Martine wanted. She was already feeling way too queasy.

Ruby could see that Martine had seen about all she could handle. “It’s a lot to take in. We should give her some time alone to think about things. Then, when she has questions, and she’ll definitely have questions, she can talk to the doctor or Delphine.” She smiled reassuringly at Martine. “Everything will be fine. Better than fine. You’ll see.”

The doctor nodded. “You’re right. She does need to be alone. It is time for us to be on our way.”

On that matter, there was full consensus, and Martine soon found herself alone in the apartment, wishing with all her might that she was about to wake up from a freakishly vivid dream.

“Don’t look so gloomy, girl. You have just been given the world,” Lilith scolded.

Martine started to look about her in a panic. “Where is my computer?” she wailed out loud.

Delphine was gone but still within reach. The computer appeared on the desk before her, still lime green, and then, of its own accord, the lid slowly moved into an upright position, as if greeting her hello.

Delphine, then, was undeniably a witch, although a lot more pleasant and ordinary looking than the witches her Uncle Pierre had warned her about. And as for everything else they had been telling her . . . as much as she wanted to resist the information, deep down, she knew it was true. She had known about a suicide on July third that had not occurred until the evening of the following day.

This was the computer where the vision of the future had occurred. Hesitantly, she turned it on. Her desktop was still there. Her browser. Her email. All the client files. She breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing she wanted was a heads-up on the suicides the world. Or any other bad news. She was perfectly content to find out in real time along with the rest of the world.

But no such luck. The phantom broadcast soon reappeared. It showed two extremely damaged cars that had collided with one another at the residential corner of Nineteenth and Pine. The drivers and passengers were shaken up and hurt. In fact, the only casualty was an unfortunate street cat, who got in the way of the careening out of control vehicles and who had no collar or other sign of identification.

“That’s a shame. But there was no human loss of life, fortunately.”

“And a lot of work for their mechanics to handle. Look at those cars! But, all in all, things could have been so much worse,” the second broadcaster added.

“Not for the cat,” Martine grumbled.

“That’s it for your Thursday evening. Thanks for joining us, and see you tomorrow,” the first broadcaster cheerily said.

But it wasn’t Thursday. It was Wednesday, and this was another foreshadowing. What had Delphine called it? A premonition? A forecast?

Why was she being shown these things when they didn’t have anything to do with her? There was nothing she could do about them. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. If someone had simply scared that cat away from this street, it wouldn’t have been hit by these cars. But none of this had happened yet. Perhaps it didn’t have to.

Feeling a bit foolish and apprehensive, Martine hurried out of the house and made her way to Nineteenth and Pine. There was nothing happening there, of course. What was she thinking? Of course, the broadcast of the suicide had come two days early. How long was she going to have to wait for this vision to play out? She should have brought snacks.

She settled down on the street curb and watched the traffic and pedestrians keenly. Talk about an accident waiting to happen. This one was waiting to be witnessed. Unfortunately, when it did happen, she knew it would take place very quickly, and she should keep her distance. There had not been any reports of injuries or fatalities, but then again, she was changing history, wasn’t she? And she did not want the new alternative future to include her own demise.

Just then, strolling along without a care in the world, came the ill-fated cat. He was gray with thin black stripes and very thick, bushy hair. The kind that gets all over the furniture. The sight of Martine caused him to stop right where he was, in the middle of the street, as he tried to assess whether she was friend or foe.

“You dumb cat. Make it easy for them, why don’t you? Get out of the road. Shoo. Shoo.”

Apparently, there is a multitude of ways to interpret “shoo.” To some ears, it means come over here, have a little cuddle with me, and maybe we’ll head over to my place and grab a can of tuna on the way. That was this cat’s interpretation. He bounded eagerly into Martine’s lap, like a long-lost friend, which, if nothing else, gave her the opportunity to carry him far, far away from his pitiable fate.

Martine was halfway between Seventeenth and Eighteenth streets when she heard the crash. She flinched. Too bad it couldn’t have been prevented. But all the people were going to be okay, and this lucky cat was down to eight lives—assuming he hadn’t already burned through a few of them earlier.

“Lucky. That’s what you are,” Martine told him. “Lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky.”

The cat purred happily. He’d had entirely enough of being alone. Being held close by a warm lady and scolded as if he mattered all added up to a good day, as far as he was concerned.

Of course, Martine had not really had time to think the situation through clearly. This cat was a stray. There was no home to return him to, and the shelter was obviously bad news. What was the point of saving his life if he was just going to be put down in a shelter after being caged for a few weeks? What had she gotten herself into?

*****

Among other things, she’d just received incontrovertible proof that she could, indeed, see the future. Everything they had told her was true. In a daze, she made her way to the local hospital where she knew she could find Dr. Svenson.

“And who is your little friend here? I don’t know if you can bring a kitty in here, though. Some people may have allergies,” the doctor said.

“I saved his life. I saved his life because he was about to be killed by a car crash. I knew that. I saw that. I saw the future. I can see the future. I can tell what’s going to happen before it happens. I know who’s going to be in an accident and who wants to put a bullet through his head, and you know what? I’d really rather not! I don’t want to know the future. Especially since I only get to see the bad future. Is there something I can do to make it stop?”

Another doctor had stopped in the hallway behind Martine and was listening to her rant, perturbed. She gestured to Dr. Svenson that she needed a word with him. He excused himself from Martine and said he would return right away.

“Is she your patient, Dr. Svenson?”

“Yes, she is one of my transplant patients. Received new bone marrow very recently. It went extremely well.”

“Perhaps from a physical standpoint. Obviously, she needs a psychiatric evaluation. Those are very extreme delusions that she is having. I hope you are planning on making a referral.”

Of course, one is obligated to make those kinds of referrals if one’s patient is actually having psychological problems. It would be a dereliction of his responsibility for the patient’s well-being to do otherwise. And now that this other doctor was aware of Martine’s claims of future foreknowledge, it placed them all in a bind.

“I recommend Dr. York. She’s had a lot of experience with that kind of patient. But you really need to schedule a meeting right away. A patient like that could do a lot of harm to herself if those delusions are allowed to continue.”

“Right away. Of course. I’ll take care of that right now,” Dr. Svenson assured her.

He returned to Martine, very apologetic. “She heard you talking about being able to see the future. So, here is what’s going to happen. You’re going to accept some psychiatric therapy. Of course, I know you’re not crazy. But now we have to go through the motions. Talk to the psychiatrist. They’re going to want to know about your past, about your childhood, about your anxieties.

“But you know what? Even if you aren’t crazy, which you are not, those are healthy things to talk about for everyone, I think. But you must attend the sessions or that doctor is going to get me in a whole lot of trouble. Will you do it?”

“Geez! This week is just getting worse and worse.”

“I wouldn’t say that. You’re in excellent health. You have a new friend here. And he will not be the only one, I think. I see a very bright future for you. You see, I can predict the future a little bit too.”

Great. Martine had gone from being the most private and solitary of individuals to one who was going to be forced to bare her soul to an insufferable head shrink. Just great.

*****

A quick stop at the pet supply store for several cans of gourmet feline sustenance, and Martine was on her way back home via a shortcut through the park. The cat could not have been happier. He was particularly fascinated by the squirrel population, and inevitably, he decided to follow one up one of the tallest trees in the park.

He was no match for the squirrel, who got up about six or seven stories high and had no worries about being perched at the very top of the tree. The cat found three stories to be plenty high. In fact, maybe a little too high. He looked down anxiously at Martine and started meowing loudly.

“What on earth do you expect me to do? You’ve already been rescued one time today. I don’t believe that you’re trying to tell me that you don’t know how to get down. Cats are supposed to know these things.”

Just more insistent meowing. Martine sighed. What was wrong with him? The tree had pretty deep grooves in the trunk. It looked ideal for climbing. In fact, it looked like a very good alternative for the wall climbing class that she had signed up for. She was ever looking for a challenge to put her newly-revived legs to the test. Why not?

It took a full five minutes for Martine to reach the cat, who seemed greatly relieved by her presence. But Martine quickly developed empathy for his dilemma. The trip up had seemed relatively straightforward. The trip down . . . she was not so anxious to attempt.

While she was eyeing the distance between herself and the ground, who should appear at the bottom of the tree but her new friend, Morgan.

“I thought that was you. Although I asked myself, what would Martine be doing climbing up that tree. Oh, and now I see that you have a buddy up there.”

“It’s all his fault. He couldn’t get back down. What kind of cat can’t get back down? So, I had to come up here to help, and now, I sort of see what the problem is. Look at the mess you’ve gotten me into, Mr. Lucky.”

“Mr. Lucky, eh? With a name like that, I’m guessing that he’s going be getting down sooner rather than later. You, I’m not so sure about.”

“Well, I got up here, didn’t I? I just have to put my feet in the same places to get back down.”

“And Mr. Lucky?”

“He’ll see me doing it and realize how easy it is. I’m sure he’ll follow right after.”

“I think maybe I should call the fire department.”

“They don’t actually get cats out of trees, do they?”

“I have no idea. I was going to tell them that you needed to be rescued from the tree.”

That was such a mortifying thought that it prodded Martine into action. She draped the leery cat over her shoulder and began the excruciatingly slow descent.

“I’ll be right down here to break your fall,” Morgan yelled up.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to take him up on his offer. In about as much time as it had taken to get up, Martine and company were able to safely reach the ground.

“Very impressive,” Morgan said. Just like everything else about you.

“I happen to have very good balance.”

“And no fear of heights. Unlike Mr. Lucky here.”

Mr. Lucky had found both a name and a protector. He clung tightly to Martine, doing his best to ingratiate himself into an invite home. A few light drops of rain made them all look upward.

“I guess I should get him inside.”

“Yeah, which way are you headed? What a coincidence. I was headed in that direction myself.”

It was so obvious that he would have said the same thing no matter what direction she was walking in. But it was handy to have him carry the pet store bags. And having an admirer was something she could get used to.

*****

“Oh, so you have a studio.”

“No, it’s a one-bedroom.”

Morgan looked at the large queen-size bed in the middle of the living room. “Of course. Bed in the living room. Thinking outside the box. I may have to think about getting a bed for my TV office. We can work some pretty strange hours. Have you ever seen a real TV station?”

“No.”

“Well, after you see where I work, you still won’t have seen a real station. It may, in fact, be the smallest, least impressive station you will ever lay eyes on. But we get the news out. Even if it’s completely wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our weather guy—zero percent chance of rain today. I guess that’s code for bring your umbrella.”

Having spent so much time indoors recently, Martine had long ago stopped caring about the weather conditions.

“Hey, whose wheelchair is that? Did you break your leg or something?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Martine didn’t want to talk about her hermit life of the past few years or her sickly childhood.

“Say, I have something wild and crazy to suggest. No, not an orgy. Even though there’s a bed in the middle of your living room. No, not a porn shoot. Even though there’s a bed in the middle of your living room. No, my family has been clamoring to meet you, and they want you to come over for dinner. Yeah, I know it’s too soon, especially to meet a family as frighteningly pushy as mine is. Crew was particularly insistent. He thinks that you’re sweet on him. Is he wrong?”

“Your family! Mother, father, sister, everybody?”

“I knew you’d be thrilled. I also know that I spend way too much of my day thinking about you. Which might turn out to be a complete waste of time if you are utterly repulsed by my family. Best to just get it out of the way, don’t you think?”

“How much time do you spend thinking about me?”

Morgan stood in front of her, and gently holding her by the arms, he went for another double-cheek kiss, ending with a soft kiss on her lips. Followed by a rather encouraging smile on her part. Followed by a much longer, much more intense kiss.

It was a kiss with a great resemblance to the one that she’d fantasized about earlier. But even that vivid fantasy paled in comparison to what was flashing before her eyes right now. Morgan was naked! And what a fine backside he had. He turned around, and . . . oh, still naked. He was also carrying a small tray of food in her direction—tiny little turkey burgers, sweet potato fries, and strawberry tarts. She became vaguely aware of a slight rocking sensation beneath her. They were on a boat. His boat. And in the aftermath of what was probably a very enjoyable lovemaking session, apparently, they both got extremely hungry.

The first fantasy scene of the kiss had only been interpreted as her overheated imagination. But now, the shocking realization was dawning on Martine that this was not fantasy. It was foresight. It was going to happen.

“So, what do you think? Saturday night at the Beaumonts’? I’ll tell them to be on their best behavior.”

Knowing what she now did about the future direction of their relationship, it seemed pretty rude not to be willing to meet his family.