Later that Thursday night, I sat at my table with a friendly glass of clear liquid and the notepad in front of me.
My fat ginger cat, Hamster, came prancing up to me and tried to jump on my lap, but I pushed him away.
I don't even know why I bought the thing.
I didn't like it and it didn't like me, and yet still I fed him every morning and night, and let it live in my home. I guess maybe I thought it would keep me company, but mostly it did its own thing.
The notepad in front of me bore nothing more than pages of useless scribble. The girls hadn't given me that much information.
Some may have been useful; however, I failed to recognize what. I had a couple of theories, but they were weak, formless what-ifs hardly deserving the suspicion.
Tyler Farley? Jealous rage?
Mallory and Hetti? Jealous prank?
Camden and his cousin? Trying to get some, Kaylah refuses, they take it anyway and take her too.
It could be any of those things or none of them, and not for the first time I found myself cursing this condition of mine.
If it wasn't for my cursed gift, I wouldn't be in this predicament in the first place. Desperately trying to figure out what had happened to this girl I had nothing to do with.
Yet I do have it and I can't change that.
I just wished I could control it. Channel it.
The investigative journalist thing could only get me so far. I needed something to come through, to point me in the right direction.
I didn't know what to do next.
The only thing I could think to do was speak with Tyler and Kaylah's parents, but questioning adults would be riskier than talking to a bunch of clueless kids.
The adults would be less likely to believe my story and more likely to tell me to rack off.
What choice did I have though?
What else could I do?
I was pouring my sixth or seventh – or maybe tenth – drink for the night when a thought occurred to me.
What if I could control my gift?
What if I could channel it?
It's not like I'd ever tried. I'd never actually wanted it to happen before because I'd only ever wished it would just go away.
Surely it must be possible to tap into it. After all, some mediums and psychics did it all the time. Sure, some of them were crack-pots or con artistes, but I was my own proof that at least some of them must be legit.
I didn't know where to start or what to do, so I just did the first thing that came to mind.
On television shows and movies, the psychic often touched something to help induce a vision.
So that's what I did.
All I had was the notepad and the picture of Kaylah, so that would have to do.
Placing one hand on the pad and the other on the picture, I closed my eyes and tried to clear my mind. Although, trying to make your mind blank is hard. As far as I'm concerned, it's impossible.
I'm not sure exactly what people mean when they say to 'clear your mind,' but I just couldn't do it. So, instead, I started to think over and over, Show me Kaylah. Where is Kaylah? Show me Kaylah. Where is Kaylah?
Nothing.
I'm not a patient person. Nor persistent. I gave up after about ten minutes – more than likely it was probably closer to five.
I just couldn't sit there doing that. I felt like a fool – and I felt like another drink.
Therefore, I tossed down the remaining dregs in my cup, refilled my glass, and drank myself stupid until I passed out at the table.
I guess that was all I had to do in the first place because that was when I dreamt and I saw.
The mildew laden air of the darkness was encasing me again and I could hear breathing.
No sobbing this time.
No thoughts or pleading for succour.
Just monotonous, perfunctory breathing.
Suddenly a light sliced through the darkness as a door began to open. Although, the darkness engulfed me once more as I was taken away from the third-person view. I was Kaylah now and my face was still wrapped in bandages.
I felt a hand reach out and pull the bandage down from my mouth as a spoon with warm spaghetti touched my lips.
I – Kaylah – turned away.
"Please let me go," I said in Kaylah's voice. "Please just let me go and I promise I won't say anything to anyone. I couldn't tell anyone anything even if I wanted to. I haven't seen your face or heard your voice. I've got no clue where I am. Please, just...Please?"
No reply. Just the spoon touching my lips again.
"I won't eat it. I don't want it," I cried out. "I want to go home."
I tried to struggle away, but my hands and feet were tied and I couldn't see a thing.
The spoon to the lips again, smearing food across my cheek as I turned away.
"Just get the fuck away from me," Kaylah's voice cried through my lips. "Just please let me go or kill me already. What the hell do you want with me?"
No reply. No sound. No movement.
Nothing.
Then a hand came up and slapped me – Kaylah – across the face, before replacing the bandage over her mouth.
There was the sound of creaky hinges as the door swung shut, thudding closed, and the click of a lock.
Kaylah and I were alone again in the silent, musty darkness.
I woke up screaming in frustration.
Frustration that was Kaylah's and some of it mine, because I seemed to be banging my head against a wall. Nothing was piecing together to form a bigger picture.
Nothing had any meaning. No relevance.
No clues that I could see and if they were there, they were hiding well, tucked away cleverly out of sight, peeking out at me from the safety of their latent sanctuary.
Laughing at me.
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Another short chapter. Hope you like it and if you do please vote. Ta-ta for now but not for long.
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Prescient
Fantasy||2021 WATTYS SHORTLIST|| Loner, outcast, alcoholic. Starla is cursed with foresight of future horrors. Living with this ability since she was a child has been tough and has shaped her into the recluse she is today. But when her visions change and...
