Prologue:
The night seemed colder somehow, though if one thought about
it; standing in a cemetery smack in the middle of December wearing little more
than a raincoat to cover you might indeed make a night feel colder than it
should be but I think it was more than that. In fact, I – knew – it was more
than that. A shiver ran down my spine, a shiver only made worse as I glanced
down at my bare wrist.
Inwardly, I cursed myself for never buying a watch; of
course it was a strange time to think about something like that but then again
I wasn't really known for being normal. You see I’m psychic, okay no not
psychic in the strictest sense of the word it's more like a knowing. Some
might call it clairvoyant or perhaps intuition while others may simply refer to
it as déjà vu but everyone is psychic in their own way, some of us just more
than others.
I don’t see pictures of anything, I can’t wave my fingers
over a cup filled with tea leaves and tell you your future I just kind of –
know – things before they happen and as I glance up into the night sky trying
to decide whether the moon is at 1 o’clock or 2 o’clock I know that without my
help there’s a girl out there, somewhere, lost in the seedy under belly that’s
known as down town Brooklyn whose going to die if I don’t find her.
Now, what does that have to do with being stuck outside in
the cold with little more to my name than a thin layer of polyester, well I’m
about to tell you. My name is Eva Wainwright and for lack of a better way to
describe it I am a psychic and this is my story.
Chapter One: TODAY
The alarm went off on my side table; as it did every morning
about this time and I tapped it to turn off the incessant pinging that would
inevitably continue in my mind for the next few minutes until I finally sat up
and pulled myself from the warmth and comfort of my bed. Albeit a bed that
could possible double as a slab of word to side a house but it was warm never
the less. Usually, and don’t get me wrong I enjoy my sleep as much as the next
20 something woman, but I often like this part of my day.
When everything is shiny and new, bright and open to
interpretation; this was the one part of my day when the possibilities were
endless. Today could be the day I won the lottery, or maybe I’d buy a dog, or
and if I’m really lucky, maybe I’d meet a guy. Someone tall and
handsome…someone smart but not arrogant about it and someone who could sing.. I
always wanted a guy who could hum a few bars on a good journey song… Hey, so I
have a very particular idea of the man I want, sue me.
My point being the morning is a time to look forward to what
might happen, but not – this – morning. No – this – morning I woke with a
feeling of both dread and the overwhelming urge to hide under my covers until
it was over but alas I couldn't. Of course to an outside looker you’d say,
‘Eva, get your act together, for today is the first day of the rest of your
life because today you’re finally a writer.’ And I’d smile indulgently and say
‘you’re right, this is what I've been working for all my life, today I will
get my first real story and I might win a Pulitzer or something.’
Then reality would set in and I’d be right back to this doom
and gloom mentality that something just wasn't right and instead of today being
the day that all these great things happen, today was the day I should simply
stay in bed.
With a sigh I did eventually slide out of bed, my feet
instinctively seeking out the white bunny slippers that say next to my bed, in
the same spot every morning and with my eyes still half closed I located my
bathroom. Which really was just a corner of my loft that I hung a curtain
around; starving artist and all that, plus this was the only place close to the
Manhattan daily news that didn’t have bars on the windows. Something told me
that if there were already bars positioned across your windows that it was more
like not having a way out rather than the bad guys not being able to get in;
if you know what I mean.
Perhaps, I was just thinking negative but that was the life
I lead I supposed, always thinking about every single thing that could go
wrong, merely as a way to avoid it which in all actuality made it somewhat
difficult to live normally but who was I kidding, I wasn't normal but who – was
– normal these days? Normal is relative, I mean to me, this is who I was so to
be honest everyone – else – could be weird and I could be the curve you should
grade by.
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