This is it, the "Grand Opening" of To Bring Words to Life, and it's a long one. It also happens to be my Halloween story for this year and the first story of my Futuresight series, of which there will be more stories in the future. I'm sorry for the delay, but the timing had to be just right!
The second part is now up!
Without further ado, enjoy!
The second part is now up!
Without further ado, enjoy!
In the spring of 2004, I graduated from high school at the top of my class. I didn't test as well as I would have liked, but thanks to everything my parents had convinced me to do so that I looked better to colleges, I easily got into Cornell, or at least as easily as anyone got into an Ivy League school.
During my first year and a half of college, I did as well as ever. My parents had recommended I drop the extracurricular activities I had been doing for years, so I did. I focused on my studies instead. By the end of my first year, I had decided on a double major of a science that could take me to medical school, if I so desired, and a social studies that could take me to law, again, as they had advised.
My second year started out normally enough. After a summer of working as a counselor at a camp, I was more than happy to return to school. Then, one night as I sat studying, looking over my notes one last time before a test the next day, I blacked out.
***
3:41 AM, JANUARY 29, 2006 – SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
Wilma Jackson lies sleeping peacefully on a large bed in the middle of the small room. She’s a thin old woman with short grey hair. Suddenly a spasm of pain consumes her, jolting her into awareness. She gasps in pain and clutches her aching chest. Just as she begins to take in a steadying breath of air, she arches her back as another wave overcomes her, then another. She writhes in pain. Her whole body tenses in preparation for another spasm, when she suddenly relaxes and moves no more.
The world fades to black.
***
I found myself sitting at my desk, collapsed over a textbook and several pages of notes. I detached my face from the paper and took a few deep, relaxing breaths, before coming to the conclusion that I had merely dozed off. It had been a dream, if a morbid one. I glanced at the clock. It was a quarter to two in the morning, time for me to be getting to sleep. The next morning the ring of my phone startled me awake. It was my mother calling to say that grandma Wilma – whom I hadn’t seen in years – had died in the night of a heart attack.
It didn't happen again for about a month, give or take. Then, one day in class, I blacked out again. A gruesome murder played out before my very eyes. When I returned to myself, all I could do was scream. After that, I saw one murder after another, sometimes two days in a row, sometimes weeks, or even a month, apart.
Terrible nightmares followed, night after night, featuring scenes from the “flashes,” as I began to call them. I became jumpy, unfocused, on edge, not to mention the sleep deprivation. My grades plummeted.
Finally, someone noticed. After a particularly gruesome flash, I broke down in the middle of class. The professor recommended me to the school psychiatrist, who referred me to a psychiatrist near home – the school year was already as good as over, anyways. I spent the summer recovering, and returned to school almost as good as before.
Two years, and a semester's worth of summer school later, I graduated from college and entered Georgetown University Law School. I thought the flashes had stopped, but as the first semester of my third year came to a close, they came back. I blacked out again and saw a brutal stabbing play out as I was helpless but to watch. For the following week, I didn't get a wink of sleep. My boyfriend at the time discovered me collapsed on my apartment floor.
He drove me to the hospital on campus and I awoke there. I stayed for as long as they insisted, and not a second longer. When they gave me the okay, I returned to my apartment and packed up all of my belongings. I couldn't stand it anymore! I needed to get out of there!
I dropped out of school and moved into a hotel. As soon my parents found out, they threatened to stop sending money unless I went back to school, but I didn't need them! With that I settled into a comfortless, meaningless existence, spending what money I had much more freely than I ought to. My funds quickly dwindled. I soon came to the conclusion that I needed a complete change in lifestyle, or I'd go completely broke. I needed a job and a place to live.
That very day, I was aimlessly wandering the streets of DC, deep in thought, when I heard a distant voice calling my name. After a moment, I spun around to see a familiar figure barreling down the sidewalk, directly at me.
“Layla!” I exclaimed, “What are you doing here?”
She ran into me, knocking the air from my lungs. Somehow, I managed to remain on my feet. She was an old friend of mine, from high school. We hadn't been too close at the time, but I was relieved to see a familiar face.
“It's been so long!” she exclaimed, “How was Cornell?”
“Great.” I grinned. It wasn't entirely true, but it wasn’t really a lie. Anyway, the entire story was much more complicated than was worth repeating.
She laughed, “Where'd you go from there, law or medicine?”
“Law.” I replied, “What about you? Last I knew, you were bent on starting a llama farm in Canada, how'd that go?”
She shrugged, “I got into prison reform instead.”
“That's cool! Want to join me for lunch? I was about to get something.”
“Sounds great! Ever been to the Criterion?”
I shook my head.
“It's this great bar, it has the best fries!” she said.
I couldn't help but laugh at the old inside joke, “That brings me back!”
“I know, right, it's been forever!” she exclaimed as we set off though the city, “So, Alex, what're you doing off campus?”
I sighed, “It's a long story.”
“I have time.”
Part of me didn't want to share such a personal story, but I needed to tell someone. So I took in a deep breath, and told her everything. I left out the flashes, only mentioning the nightmares that followed; I didn't want the first friend I had seen in ages thinking I had gone mad.
When I finished, she nodded thoughtfully and mulled it over in her head, before finally speaking, “I can't help you with your job search, but I know someone who's renting a room, cheap. It's not the best neighborhood, but he's cool.”
“Awesome!” I grinned, “When can I see it?”
“I can call him, if you want.”
“Sounds great!”
Layla pulled out her phone and waited as it rang. I half listened as she talked. Finally, she hung up with a smile, “We can go after lunch!”
“Thank you so much!” I replied, and the conversation drifted to other channels.
Lunch soon came to an end. Layla insisted on paying – though it wasn't like I was too strongly opposed to the notion – and we made our way outside, into the chilly afternoon. A short metro ride, followed by an even shorter bus ride, later and we were as good as there. I didn't really like the look of the neighborhood. It was nice enough, but there was something about the small houses and the occasional stranger that put me on edge. Still, I needed somewhere to live and this seemed like the best bet. My parents wouldn't have let me live in a neighborhood like this, that was certain, but that merely strengthened my resolve, encouraging me to soldier on into the unfamiliar environment.
We soon turned on to 34th, where it intersected with Baker Street, and stopped in front of number 221, located right at the corner.
“This is it!” Layla announced.
We walked through the gate and up to the door. She rang the bell and we waited. A few minutes passed before a young man appeared in the doorway. He was a large man with an easy smile. Short brown hair framed his round, almost boyish face. His eyes were a light, chocolate brown.
“Layla, nice to see you!” he exclaimed, “And who's this?” he held out a giant hand to me.
“Alexis-” I replied awkwardly, “Alexis Wang, I'm an old school friend of Layla-”
He cut me off, “You're here for the apartment?” he asked with a wide grin, “It's not much, but if you need a place to live...”
“Yeah, how'd you guess?”
He chuckled, “Wha'd you think of the neighborhood?”
I hesitated, “It's... um... nice... I guess, I mean I'm kinda short on money, so anywhere would be great, and Layla said the rent was cheap, not to say--”
He thankfully cut me off, “I hear ya. I suppose this place would take some getting used to, particularly after Georgetown U, eh?”
“What?” I turned to Layla, surprised, “You told him about me?”
She laughed, holding her hands up mock defensively, “Me, nah. He just knows stuff.”
“It’s obvious enough, if you know what to look for.” his booming, deep voice drew her attention back to him.
I raised an eyebrow at him and he continued, his voice picking up a certain intensity as he spoke, “Your bag is well worn, still has a few papers in it; that says student. The bags around your eyes say lots of late nights and you don’t seem like the type who’d be partying, so studying it is. It’s the middle of the semester and you’re coming to me for a place to live, you obviously seem fairly uncomfortable with the neighborhood, so there’s a reason you’re looking for somewhere cheap. Parents with high expectations, then, who have recently withdrawn support, drop out, probably from Georgetown. I’d say law, not medicine, but that’s just a guess.”
All I could do was stare, as I tried to process everything he had said.
“Well, that, and your sweatshirt kind of gave it away.” he laughed.
I couldn't help but laugh too.
“So, would you like to see the apartment?” he asked after the laughter had died out, but before it had time to get awkward.
I nodded and he led Layla and I inside, closing the door behind us.
“The name's Shane Holst, by the way.” he said as we walked through the full yet tidy living room and into the small kitchen.
Walking down a short flight of stairs, we found ourselves in a small basement apartment. There was a table off to one side. Next to it was a small fridge, on top of which sat a single burner for limited cooking. There was a fold out couch against one wall, next to a simple wooden dresser - from IKEA, no doubt - with a television across from it. There were two doors in the far corner, opposite the couch, one of which led outside.
“I've got cable and internet.” he remarked as I examined the room, “The bathroom is over there.” he gestured towards the other door.
I nodded, it seemed nice enough, and I did need a place to stay...
“What's the price?” I asked hesitantly.
Layla helped me negotiate until we had settled on something very reasonable. He knew I didn't have much money, but said it would be fine if I waited to pay him until I actually had a job. I brought over the belongings I had left, and moved in that very night. The next day, was spent unpacking. I was in the middle of doing so when I blacked out.
***
11:36 PM, FEBRUARY 27, 2011 – WASHINGTON DC
It is dark outside. Inside the home of Jonathan Youth, a dim light fills the messy living room. The aforementioned young man sits on the floor amidst scattered sheets of paper. In his hands is a guitar, its case lying open behind him. He strums absentmindedly on the guitar as his thoughts wander.
Suddenly the door bell rings out, cutting through the relative silence that had filled the room.
A moment passes before he puts the guitar aside. He stands laboriously and makes his way to the door, grumbling all the way. He swings the door open, but before he can make a sound, a loud bang reverberates through the small house. He falls to the ground a bullet through his head.
The world fades to black.
***
I drew in a sharp breath as my consciousness came crashing back. For a moment I sat on the ground where I had collapsed, frozen in fear. And then I burst into tears; my solid frame shook with wracking sobs. It wasn't over, it would never be over. I had thought – had hoped – that leaving school would free me from the flashes, but it hadn't. A wave of hopelessness washed over me and my sobs gained a hint of bitterness.
Slowly, gradually, my crying subsided. My breathing slowed, and my heart rate stabilized. I stood on shaky legs, and wiped my nose with the back of a clammy hand. My eyes were red and puffy. I walked into the bathroom, washed my hands and face until they were red with the heat, and I felt almost human again.
My hands were much more stable by the time I turned off the water, and I steadily returned to my work. I focused on that, pointedly ignored everything else. I even pulled out my old mp3 player and listened to that. Time faded by and I was soon three quarters of the way done.
“Alexis!” Shane's voice awoke me from my stupor.
I pulled out an earbud and turned to face him, sure I looked even more like a teenager than I ever had when I was one. “What?” I asked, a bit louder than necessary.
His usual smile broadened, “I thought you might be hungry.” he explained, with a slight gesture at his hands. It was then that I noticed he was holding a plate with a sandwich on it and a cup of what looked like soda.
“Oh. Thanks.” I replied as he put them on the table.
“No problem. I'll be out this evening. Feel free to take anything from the fridge upstairs. Don't feel obligated if you don't want to eat here, though,” he said with a laugh, “There are a few markets around and a couple of restaurants on the other side of Anacostia Freeway. If there's an emergency, my number's on the fridge.”
I thanked him again, and he returned upstairs.
***
That evening I was reluctant to go to sleep. If the flashes were bad, but the nightmares that followed made them much worse. But I was tired, and I wouldn't let just another flash ruin my chance at a new life. A voice in the back of my mind lamented how sad it was that I could say being forced to watch someone die was “just another” anything, but, to preserve what little sanity I had left, I refused to listen.
Eventually I drifted off, and soon found myself tossed into a seemingly endless wave of nightmares, as the flash played over and over and over and over and over and over and over, until I found myself unceremoniously shoved back into awareness. My body was shivering, covered in a cold sweat. I felt more tired than I had been when I went to sleep. A glance at the clock told me it was only a little past midnight, I had gotten a little over an hour of sleep.
But I wasn't about to go back to sleep. I was tired, but I knew that only nightmares awaited me. So, I stood and shoved myself out of bed and to my feet. I took a quick shower and started getting ready as if for the day, though it was still pitch black outside. It was a strange feeling, getting dressed in the middle of the night, but it was better than having nightmares.
I had just finished getting dressed, and was considering what to do next, forcing my thoughts as far away from my nightmare as possible, when I heard the door swing open upstairs. For a moment I struggled internally over whether to investigate. Finally, aided by a wave of recklessness brought on by god knew what, curiosity won out. With that I snuck upstairs and stole into the living room. There, I found Shane arguing with a severe-looking older woman.
“Alexis!” Shane was the first to notice me, “Perfect timing!” he grinned mischievously, “This is Detective Bales. Detective, this is my new tenant, Alexis.”
I raised an eyebrow at him, but otherwise held my peace.
“Nice to meet you.” Detective Bales replied stiffly, grudgingly extending a hand for me to shake.
“Nice to meet you too...” I replied, “I'll be going now...” I motioned behind me and turned to leave the awkward gathering.
“I'll follow in a second, might I have a word with my tenant about the rent?” Shane asked quickly.
“Okay...” was the detective's hesitant reply, “But make it quick.” she warned as she walked out the door, leaving us alone.
I slowly turned back towards Shane and gave him a questioning glance.
“Would you be interested in becoming my assistant?”
“Um... What do you do, exactly?”
“Of course – sorry. I'm a consulting detective, I help out the police, and anyone else, when they're out of clues. You could say I'm a specialist.” he explained with a grin, “I happen to need an assistant. Are you up for it? You can come just this once and decide from there.”
I nodded hesitantly, “Sure...”
“Come on.” he waved me over and handed me my jacket, and leading me out the door into the cold dark night.
Detective Bales raised an eyebrow in surprise when she saw me approach, but she didn't say a word.
“I–” I began, ready to excuse myself if my presence was deemed unwanted.
Shane cut me off, “Come on.” he said, “Wouldn't want my assistant left behind.”
His smile was infectious. I was sure I was grinning like a madman as I slid into the car. Curiosity nettled me as we sped off, but it was quickly hushed. I had been reckless enough for one evening. I would see where this took me, but that was it for now. In the back of my mind, I could hear my parents scolding me, but I was out of their reach. They couldn't stop me, not any more. I pushed their collective voice out of my mind and focused my thoughts on what lay ahead of me.
Soon enough, we rolled to a stop in front of a small, well-kept house. Bright yellow police tape surrounded a yard, which was filled with police officers, scurrying to and fro. Some were in uniform, others in plain clothes. Suddenly, for just an instant, I had a clear view of the door. A feeling of deja vu washed over me. For an instant I saw the flash replaying in front of me, for what felt like the millionth time.
Instantly my mind rebelled. No! It couldn't be! The flashes couldn't be real! It didn't make any sense! But they were, and that instant I knew it.
“Alexis, are you okay?” Shane's concerned voice shoved me out from my thoughts.
“I- I'm... I'm fine.” I replied shakily.
He moved so I was facing him, “You don't have to come in if you don't want to. I should know better by now, than to assume that people want to see a crime scene.” he punctuated the sentence with a slight smile.
“I'm coming.” I attempted a smile, though I was sure it looked more like a grimace.
He held the car door open for me and helped me to my feet. Then we made our way toward the all too familiar house. I forced myself forward, as if in a daze, while Shane talked with each officer we passed. Finally, I stood in front of the door, where the murderer had stood not much more than an hour before. A shiver ran down my spine.
Against my will, my eyes met those of the dead man. There was no doubt that he was the musician I had seen die– killed– murdered, not a day before, though it felt like his face had haunted me infinitely longer. As much as I wished I could look away from his lifeless form, I could not. My eyes drifted of their own accord, examining the round bullet hole in his forehead.
I exhaled sharply as my muscles contracted in fear. It hit me with astounding force: I had, somehow, had a premonition of this man's death. It didn't make any sense, but I had somehow seen it happen. Was I going insane? But if I was insane, how could it be real?
Then, it hit me. This wasn't the only one. All the other flashes I had seen- experienced raced across my memory. There had been the first one, that “nightmare” all those years ago, when I watched my grandmother have her heart attack. As much as I would have liked to forget it, I still remembered the scene, and how my mother had called the next morning, saying grandma Wilma had died in the night from a heart attack.
And there had been others, those news articles I had tried so hard to forget about that serial killer, who happened to be a student at Cornell, and that stabbing I had heard of in DC. I had seen all of them in advance, and done nothing to stop them. There was nothing I could have done, some part of me argued; I hadn't known they were real. But I should have! I should have known! I did know, I just couldn't believe it! But that wouldn't happen again! I may have let the other one get away, but this one would be stopped, and I had just the means.
I would have to thank Layla for introducing me to a consulting detective.
Now, who was he and why did he have to die? I forced myself to look at him, really look at him.
“Jonathan Youth,” that was his name...
“What?” Shane questioned from behind me.
I spun around, taken entirely by surprise. Did I just say that out loud? Had he been standing there the entire time? I sure hoped I hadn't said the rest aloud. It didn't seem like I had said anything beyond the man's name – or if I had, he hadn't heard it – thank goodness, that had been a close one...
“You said something?” he continued when I didn't reply.
“Yeah...” I explained hesitantly, “Jonathan Youth. That's his name,” when Shane raised an eyebrow skeptically I realized just how suspicious it must seem, me knowing his name, and I had a feeling they wouldn't believe me if I said I had had a premonition of it... “He's a musician...” I attempted to cover it up.
Shane thought for a moment, staring off into space, before turning his attention back to the corpse. I watched from where I stood, as he danced around the body, examining details I didn't pretend to notice. He disappeared inside and soon returned.
“So?” Detective Bales demanded, “Did you see anything?”
I jumped at the sound of her voice. Why did everyone have to sneak up behind me? I wasn’t that unobservant… Then again, it had happened all the time at school, too.
Shane shook his head, stood up straight and turned away from the body. “It's our guy, but there's not much new I can get from him. Did you find the coin?”
She nodded and pulled out a small plastic baggy, containing a single penny. Without a word, she handed it to Shane. For several minutes he examined every facet of it, mumbling below his breath, before suddenly handing it back to her. “It's an Indian Head Penny,” he explained, “From the Philadelphia mint, made in 1877. It's very rare, just like the others. If you could trace recent sales, that could give us something, but our criminal might have had it for quite some time.”
“My officers are already checking.” she replied, thoroughly unamused.
“Good.” he turned towards me, “What do you think?”
“Me?” I asked, I had just been watching and listening as they talked. I had been fairly proud of myself for what I did understand without any background knowledge, but I hadn't thought I'd be expected to say anything about it.
“Is this really necessary?” Detective Bales said, exasperated.
“Yes.” Shane replied, and turned to me expectantly.
“Well...” I thought for a moment, I could feel the blood rising to my cheeks with the awkwardness of the moment, “The door’s open, and it was such short range, I would say it might be someone who knew him, but if it's a serial killer,” I involuntarily swallowed, “That doesn't make much sense...”
“Good.”
“You said he always leaves a penny?” I asked.
Shane nodded.
“Maybe he’s some sort of coin collector; a disgruntled coin collector. Who – who were his other victims?”
“All minor 'celebrities' like Mr. Youth, here; a painter, an aspiring actor, all fairly well known in their own spheres.”
“Maybe he has a grudge against the arts.” I joked awkwardly.
Shane laughed, “I never thought about that.”
I couldn’t help but smile back at him, though a glance at the dead man on the ground in front of us quickly sobered me up.
“Go on.” Shane gestured toward me with an easy grin.
“Er…” I got down into a crouch and examined the grisly scene – and it was grisly, even though there wasn’t much in the way of blood – but every clue it may have held utterly escaped me. Finally I stood once more and admitted defeat.
“Good job, especially for a first try.” Shane said, before turning back to Detective Bales, “I think we’re done here, for the time being. Get back to me with the results from forensics.”
She sighed, but replied in the affirmative all the same.
“Great!” he rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. I saw a strange, eager expression flit across his face, but by the time he had turned back to me, he was his usual cheerful self, “Shall we?” he motioned toward the car.
The detective raised an eyebrow at him.
Shane noticed and responded disappointedly, “A cab it is.”
“Come on.” She led us to the car we had come in.
We all piled in, and returned home as the sun came creeping over the horizon. As soon as we returned home, I headed downstairs and collapsed on the bed in my clothes and all.
During my first year and a half of college, I did as well as ever. My parents had recommended I drop the extracurricular activities I had been doing for years, so I did. I focused on my studies instead. By the end of my first year, I had decided on a double major of a science that could take me to medical school, if I so desired, and a social studies that could take me to law, again, as they had advised.
My second year started out normally enough. After a summer of working as a counselor at a camp, I was more than happy to return to school. Then, one night as I sat studying, looking over my notes one last time before a test the next day, I blacked out.
***
3:41 AM, JANUARY 29, 2006 – SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
Wilma Jackson lies sleeping peacefully on a large bed in the middle of the small room. She’s a thin old woman with short grey hair. Suddenly a spasm of pain consumes her, jolting her into awareness. She gasps in pain and clutches her aching chest. Just as she begins to take in a steadying breath of air, she arches her back as another wave overcomes her, then another. She writhes in pain. Her whole body tenses in preparation for another spasm, when she suddenly relaxes and moves no more.
The world fades to black.
***
I found myself sitting at my desk, collapsed over a textbook and several pages of notes. I detached my face from the paper and took a few deep, relaxing breaths, before coming to the conclusion that I had merely dozed off. It had been a dream, if a morbid one. I glanced at the clock. It was a quarter to two in the morning, time for me to be getting to sleep. The next morning the ring of my phone startled me awake. It was my mother calling to say that grandma Wilma – whom I hadn’t seen in years – had died in the night of a heart attack.
It didn't happen again for about a month, give or take. Then, one day in class, I blacked out again. A gruesome murder played out before my very eyes. When I returned to myself, all I could do was scream. After that, I saw one murder after another, sometimes two days in a row, sometimes weeks, or even a month, apart.
Terrible nightmares followed, night after night, featuring scenes from the “flashes,” as I began to call them. I became jumpy, unfocused, on edge, not to mention the sleep deprivation. My grades plummeted.
Finally, someone noticed. After a particularly gruesome flash, I broke down in the middle of class. The professor recommended me to the school psychiatrist, who referred me to a psychiatrist near home – the school year was already as good as over, anyways. I spent the summer recovering, and returned to school almost as good as before.
Two years, and a semester's worth of summer school later, I graduated from college and entered Georgetown University Law School. I thought the flashes had stopped, but as the first semester of my third year came to a close, they came back. I blacked out again and saw a brutal stabbing play out as I was helpless but to watch. For the following week, I didn't get a wink of sleep. My boyfriend at the time discovered me collapsed on my apartment floor.
He drove me to the hospital on campus and I awoke there. I stayed for as long as they insisted, and not a second longer. When they gave me the okay, I returned to my apartment and packed up all of my belongings. I couldn't stand it anymore! I needed to get out of there!
I dropped out of school and moved into a hotel. As soon my parents found out, they threatened to stop sending money unless I went back to school, but I didn't need them! With that I settled into a comfortless, meaningless existence, spending what money I had much more freely than I ought to. My funds quickly dwindled. I soon came to the conclusion that I needed a complete change in lifestyle, or I'd go completely broke. I needed a job and a place to live.
That very day, I was aimlessly wandering the streets of DC, deep in thought, when I heard a distant voice calling my name. After a moment, I spun around to see a familiar figure barreling down the sidewalk, directly at me.
“Layla!” I exclaimed, “What are you doing here?”
She ran into me, knocking the air from my lungs. Somehow, I managed to remain on my feet. She was an old friend of mine, from high school. We hadn't been too close at the time, but I was relieved to see a familiar face.
“It's been so long!” she exclaimed, “How was Cornell?”
“Great.” I grinned. It wasn't entirely true, but it wasn’t really a lie. Anyway, the entire story was much more complicated than was worth repeating.
She laughed, “Where'd you go from there, law or medicine?”
“Law.” I replied, “What about you? Last I knew, you were bent on starting a llama farm in Canada, how'd that go?”
She shrugged, “I got into prison reform instead.”
“That's cool! Want to join me for lunch? I was about to get something.”
“Sounds great! Ever been to the Criterion?”
I shook my head.
“It's this great bar, it has the best fries!” she said.
I couldn't help but laugh at the old inside joke, “That brings me back!”
“I know, right, it's been forever!” she exclaimed as we set off though the city, “So, Alex, what're you doing off campus?”
I sighed, “It's a long story.”
“I have time.”
Part of me didn't want to share such a personal story, but I needed to tell someone. So I took in a deep breath, and told her everything. I left out the flashes, only mentioning the nightmares that followed; I didn't want the first friend I had seen in ages thinking I had gone mad.
When I finished, she nodded thoughtfully and mulled it over in her head, before finally speaking, “I can't help you with your job search, but I know someone who's renting a room, cheap. It's not the best neighborhood, but he's cool.”
“Awesome!” I grinned, “When can I see it?”
“I can call him, if you want.”
“Sounds great!”
Layla pulled out her phone and waited as it rang. I half listened as she talked. Finally, she hung up with a smile, “We can go after lunch!”
“Thank you so much!” I replied, and the conversation drifted to other channels.
Lunch soon came to an end. Layla insisted on paying – though it wasn't like I was too strongly opposed to the notion – and we made our way outside, into the chilly afternoon. A short metro ride, followed by an even shorter bus ride, later and we were as good as there. I didn't really like the look of the neighborhood. It was nice enough, but there was something about the small houses and the occasional stranger that put me on edge. Still, I needed somewhere to live and this seemed like the best bet. My parents wouldn't have let me live in a neighborhood like this, that was certain, but that merely strengthened my resolve, encouraging me to soldier on into the unfamiliar environment.
We soon turned on to 34th, where it intersected with Baker Street, and stopped in front of number 221, located right at the corner.
“This is it!” Layla announced.
We walked through the gate and up to the door. She rang the bell and we waited. A few minutes passed before a young man appeared in the doorway. He was a large man with an easy smile. Short brown hair framed his round, almost boyish face. His eyes were a light, chocolate brown.
“Layla, nice to see you!” he exclaimed, “And who's this?” he held out a giant hand to me.
“Alexis-” I replied awkwardly, “Alexis Wang, I'm an old school friend of Layla-”
He cut me off, “You're here for the apartment?” he asked with a wide grin, “It's not much, but if you need a place to live...”
“Yeah, how'd you guess?”
He chuckled, “Wha'd you think of the neighborhood?”
I hesitated, “It's... um... nice... I guess, I mean I'm kinda short on money, so anywhere would be great, and Layla said the rent was cheap, not to say--”
He thankfully cut me off, “I hear ya. I suppose this place would take some getting used to, particularly after Georgetown U, eh?”
“What?” I turned to Layla, surprised, “You told him about me?”
She laughed, holding her hands up mock defensively, “Me, nah. He just knows stuff.”
“It’s obvious enough, if you know what to look for.” his booming, deep voice drew her attention back to him.
I raised an eyebrow at him and he continued, his voice picking up a certain intensity as he spoke, “Your bag is well worn, still has a few papers in it; that says student. The bags around your eyes say lots of late nights and you don’t seem like the type who’d be partying, so studying it is. It’s the middle of the semester and you’re coming to me for a place to live, you obviously seem fairly uncomfortable with the neighborhood, so there’s a reason you’re looking for somewhere cheap. Parents with high expectations, then, who have recently withdrawn support, drop out, probably from Georgetown. I’d say law, not medicine, but that’s just a guess.”
All I could do was stare, as I tried to process everything he had said.
“Well, that, and your sweatshirt kind of gave it away.” he laughed.
I couldn't help but laugh too.
“So, would you like to see the apartment?” he asked after the laughter had died out, but before it had time to get awkward.
I nodded and he led Layla and I inside, closing the door behind us.
“The name's Shane Holst, by the way.” he said as we walked through the full yet tidy living room and into the small kitchen.
Walking down a short flight of stairs, we found ourselves in a small basement apartment. There was a table off to one side. Next to it was a small fridge, on top of which sat a single burner for limited cooking. There was a fold out couch against one wall, next to a simple wooden dresser - from IKEA, no doubt - with a television across from it. There were two doors in the far corner, opposite the couch, one of which led outside.
“I've got cable and internet.” he remarked as I examined the room, “The bathroom is over there.” he gestured towards the other door.
I nodded, it seemed nice enough, and I did need a place to stay...
“What's the price?” I asked hesitantly.
Layla helped me negotiate until we had settled on something very reasonable. He knew I didn't have much money, but said it would be fine if I waited to pay him until I actually had a job. I brought over the belongings I had left, and moved in that very night. The next day, was spent unpacking. I was in the middle of doing so when I blacked out.
***
11:36 PM, FEBRUARY 27, 2011 – WASHINGTON DC
It is dark outside. Inside the home of Jonathan Youth, a dim light fills the messy living room. The aforementioned young man sits on the floor amidst scattered sheets of paper. In his hands is a guitar, its case lying open behind him. He strums absentmindedly on the guitar as his thoughts wander.
Suddenly the door bell rings out, cutting through the relative silence that had filled the room.
A moment passes before he puts the guitar aside. He stands laboriously and makes his way to the door, grumbling all the way. He swings the door open, but before he can make a sound, a loud bang reverberates through the small house. He falls to the ground a bullet through his head.
The world fades to black.
***
I drew in a sharp breath as my consciousness came crashing back. For a moment I sat on the ground where I had collapsed, frozen in fear. And then I burst into tears; my solid frame shook with wracking sobs. It wasn't over, it would never be over. I had thought – had hoped – that leaving school would free me from the flashes, but it hadn't. A wave of hopelessness washed over me and my sobs gained a hint of bitterness.
Slowly, gradually, my crying subsided. My breathing slowed, and my heart rate stabilized. I stood on shaky legs, and wiped my nose with the back of a clammy hand. My eyes were red and puffy. I walked into the bathroom, washed my hands and face until they were red with the heat, and I felt almost human again.
My hands were much more stable by the time I turned off the water, and I steadily returned to my work. I focused on that, pointedly ignored everything else. I even pulled out my old mp3 player and listened to that. Time faded by and I was soon three quarters of the way done.
“Alexis!” Shane's voice awoke me from my stupor.
I pulled out an earbud and turned to face him, sure I looked even more like a teenager than I ever had when I was one. “What?” I asked, a bit louder than necessary.
His usual smile broadened, “I thought you might be hungry.” he explained, with a slight gesture at his hands. It was then that I noticed he was holding a plate with a sandwich on it and a cup of what looked like soda.
“Oh. Thanks.” I replied as he put them on the table.
“No problem. I'll be out this evening. Feel free to take anything from the fridge upstairs. Don't feel obligated if you don't want to eat here, though,” he said with a laugh, “There are a few markets around and a couple of restaurants on the other side of Anacostia Freeway. If there's an emergency, my number's on the fridge.”
I thanked him again, and he returned upstairs.
***
That evening I was reluctant to go to sleep. If the flashes were bad, but the nightmares that followed made them much worse. But I was tired, and I wouldn't let just another flash ruin my chance at a new life. A voice in the back of my mind lamented how sad it was that I could say being forced to watch someone die was “just another” anything, but, to preserve what little sanity I had left, I refused to listen.
Eventually I drifted off, and soon found myself tossed into a seemingly endless wave of nightmares, as the flash played over and over and over and over and over and over and over, until I found myself unceremoniously shoved back into awareness. My body was shivering, covered in a cold sweat. I felt more tired than I had been when I went to sleep. A glance at the clock told me it was only a little past midnight, I had gotten a little over an hour of sleep.
But I wasn't about to go back to sleep. I was tired, but I knew that only nightmares awaited me. So, I stood and shoved myself out of bed and to my feet. I took a quick shower and started getting ready as if for the day, though it was still pitch black outside. It was a strange feeling, getting dressed in the middle of the night, but it was better than having nightmares.
I had just finished getting dressed, and was considering what to do next, forcing my thoughts as far away from my nightmare as possible, when I heard the door swing open upstairs. For a moment I struggled internally over whether to investigate. Finally, aided by a wave of recklessness brought on by god knew what, curiosity won out. With that I snuck upstairs and stole into the living room. There, I found Shane arguing with a severe-looking older woman.
“Alexis!” Shane was the first to notice me, “Perfect timing!” he grinned mischievously, “This is Detective Bales. Detective, this is my new tenant, Alexis.”
I raised an eyebrow at him, but otherwise held my peace.
“Nice to meet you.” Detective Bales replied stiffly, grudgingly extending a hand for me to shake.
“Nice to meet you too...” I replied, “I'll be going now...” I motioned behind me and turned to leave the awkward gathering.
“I'll follow in a second, might I have a word with my tenant about the rent?” Shane asked quickly.
“Okay...” was the detective's hesitant reply, “But make it quick.” she warned as she walked out the door, leaving us alone.
I slowly turned back towards Shane and gave him a questioning glance.
“Would you be interested in becoming my assistant?”
“Um... What do you do, exactly?”
“Of course – sorry. I'm a consulting detective, I help out the police, and anyone else, when they're out of clues. You could say I'm a specialist.” he explained with a grin, “I happen to need an assistant. Are you up for it? You can come just this once and decide from there.”
I nodded hesitantly, “Sure...”
“Come on.” he waved me over and handed me my jacket, and leading me out the door into the cold dark night.
Detective Bales raised an eyebrow in surprise when she saw me approach, but she didn't say a word.
“I–” I began, ready to excuse myself if my presence was deemed unwanted.
Shane cut me off, “Come on.” he said, “Wouldn't want my assistant left behind.”
His smile was infectious. I was sure I was grinning like a madman as I slid into the car. Curiosity nettled me as we sped off, but it was quickly hushed. I had been reckless enough for one evening. I would see where this took me, but that was it for now. In the back of my mind, I could hear my parents scolding me, but I was out of their reach. They couldn't stop me, not any more. I pushed their collective voice out of my mind and focused my thoughts on what lay ahead of me.
Soon enough, we rolled to a stop in front of a small, well-kept house. Bright yellow police tape surrounded a yard, which was filled with police officers, scurrying to and fro. Some were in uniform, others in plain clothes. Suddenly, for just an instant, I had a clear view of the door. A feeling of deja vu washed over me. For an instant I saw the flash replaying in front of me, for what felt like the millionth time.
Instantly my mind rebelled. No! It couldn't be! The flashes couldn't be real! It didn't make any sense! But they were, and that instant I knew it.
“Alexis, are you okay?” Shane's concerned voice shoved me out from my thoughts.
“I- I'm... I'm fine.” I replied shakily.
He moved so I was facing him, “You don't have to come in if you don't want to. I should know better by now, than to assume that people want to see a crime scene.” he punctuated the sentence with a slight smile.
“I'm coming.” I attempted a smile, though I was sure it looked more like a grimace.
He held the car door open for me and helped me to my feet. Then we made our way toward the all too familiar house. I forced myself forward, as if in a daze, while Shane talked with each officer we passed. Finally, I stood in front of the door, where the murderer had stood not much more than an hour before. A shiver ran down my spine.
Against my will, my eyes met those of the dead man. There was no doubt that he was the musician I had seen die– killed– murdered, not a day before, though it felt like his face had haunted me infinitely longer. As much as I wished I could look away from his lifeless form, I could not. My eyes drifted of their own accord, examining the round bullet hole in his forehead.
I exhaled sharply as my muscles contracted in fear. It hit me with astounding force: I had, somehow, had a premonition of this man's death. It didn't make any sense, but I had somehow seen it happen. Was I going insane? But if I was insane, how could it be real?
Then, it hit me. This wasn't the only one. All the other flashes I had seen- experienced raced across my memory. There had been the first one, that “nightmare” all those years ago, when I watched my grandmother have her heart attack. As much as I would have liked to forget it, I still remembered the scene, and how my mother had called the next morning, saying grandma Wilma had died in the night from a heart attack.
And there had been others, those news articles I had tried so hard to forget about that serial killer, who happened to be a student at Cornell, and that stabbing I had heard of in DC. I had seen all of them in advance, and done nothing to stop them. There was nothing I could have done, some part of me argued; I hadn't known they were real. But I should have! I should have known! I did know, I just couldn't believe it! But that wouldn't happen again! I may have let the other one get away, but this one would be stopped, and I had just the means.
I would have to thank Layla for introducing me to a consulting detective.
Now, who was he and why did he have to die? I forced myself to look at him, really look at him.
“Jonathan Youth,” that was his name...
“What?” Shane questioned from behind me.
I spun around, taken entirely by surprise. Did I just say that out loud? Had he been standing there the entire time? I sure hoped I hadn't said the rest aloud. It didn't seem like I had said anything beyond the man's name – or if I had, he hadn't heard it – thank goodness, that had been a close one...
“You said something?” he continued when I didn't reply.
“Yeah...” I explained hesitantly, “Jonathan Youth. That's his name,” when Shane raised an eyebrow skeptically I realized just how suspicious it must seem, me knowing his name, and I had a feeling they wouldn't believe me if I said I had had a premonition of it... “He's a musician...” I attempted to cover it up.
Shane thought for a moment, staring off into space, before turning his attention back to the corpse. I watched from where I stood, as he danced around the body, examining details I didn't pretend to notice. He disappeared inside and soon returned.
“So?” Detective Bales demanded, “Did you see anything?”
I jumped at the sound of her voice. Why did everyone have to sneak up behind me? I wasn’t that unobservant… Then again, it had happened all the time at school, too.
Shane shook his head, stood up straight and turned away from the body. “It's our guy, but there's not much new I can get from him. Did you find the coin?”
She nodded and pulled out a small plastic baggy, containing a single penny. Without a word, she handed it to Shane. For several minutes he examined every facet of it, mumbling below his breath, before suddenly handing it back to her. “It's an Indian Head Penny,” he explained, “From the Philadelphia mint, made in 1877. It's very rare, just like the others. If you could trace recent sales, that could give us something, but our criminal might have had it for quite some time.”
“My officers are already checking.” she replied, thoroughly unamused.
“Good.” he turned towards me, “What do you think?”
“Me?” I asked, I had just been watching and listening as they talked. I had been fairly proud of myself for what I did understand without any background knowledge, but I hadn't thought I'd be expected to say anything about it.
“Is this really necessary?” Detective Bales said, exasperated.
“Yes.” Shane replied, and turned to me expectantly.
“Well...” I thought for a moment, I could feel the blood rising to my cheeks with the awkwardness of the moment, “The door’s open, and it was such short range, I would say it might be someone who knew him, but if it's a serial killer,” I involuntarily swallowed, “That doesn't make much sense...”
“Good.”
“You said he always leaves a penny?” I asked.
Shane nodded.
“Maybe he’s some sort of coin collector; a disgruntled coin collector. Who – who were his other victims?”
“All minor 'celebrities' like Mr. Youth, here; a painter, an aspiring actor, all fairly well known in their own spheres.”
“Maybe he has a grudge against the arts.” I joked awkwardly.
Shane laughed, “I never thought about that.”
I couldn’t help but smile back at him, though a glance at the dead man on the ground in front of us quickly sobered me up.
“Go on.” Shane gestured toward me with an easy grin.
“Er…” I got down into a crouch and examined the grisly scene – and it was grisly, even though there wasn’t much in the way of blood – but every clue it may have held utterly escaped me. Finally I stood once more and admitted defeat.
“Good job, especially for a first try.” Shane said, before turning back to Detective Bales, “I think we’re done here, for the time being. Get back to me with the results from forensics.”
She sighed, but replied in the affirmative all the same.
“Great!” he rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. I saw a strange, eager expression flit across his face, but by the time he had turned back to me, he was his usual cheerful self, “Shall we?” he motioned toward the car.
The detective raised an eyebrow at him.
Shane noticed and responded disappointedly, “A cab it is.”
“Come on.” She led us to the car we had come in.
We all piled in, and returned home as the sun came creeping over the horizon. As soon as we returned home, I headed downstairs and collapsed on the bed in my clothes and all.
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