Dark Visions

2: An Eerie Bout of Sorrow

The shop door swung open as the man pushed his way inside. "You can help, can't you?" He lunged toward me in an attempt to grab my arm, but I quickly backed away.

"I'm sorry." I continued back-stepping, keeping my eyes fixed on his haunting gaze. "I don't think I can help you." 

His demeanor softened at my words and his thick, bushy eyebrows raised. "You must." He crept forward, showing signs of caution and urgency. "I don't belong here."

My eyes darted to Cecil, who held up her cell phone. "Sir, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave or I will call the police."

"Please," he begged, pinching and pulling his ear lobe. "Listen. Please listen."

I nodded, more to keep him calm and at bay than amused. I couldn't help but wonder, were my visions solely warning me of such a man? And if so, why? Would he bring danger to me and Cecil? Was this why the Justice card kept coming into my life?

"My wife—" he started, voice cracking again as the words escaped his lips. "She wasn't happy. So sorry, she wasn't happy. I never knew. No, I couldn't have known."

Cecil gripped her phone tighter. "Did you harm your wife?"

"No, no. Never." His dark, wiry hair remained stiff even as he shook his head. "She'd done it to herself. I swear. She made dinner and then gone to settled into a warm bath. Hours later, I didn't know she'd done it. I didn't know she was gone."

I brought my hand to my lips to keep from gasping, fully aware of what he was alluding to.

However, a look of confusion flashed on Cecil's face. "She was gone? Gone where?"

"Dead." The man turned to Cecil and the sorrow in his eyes immediately placed guilt in my heart. "There was red. Red everywhere. She was dead, but she isn't." The nervousness he must've felt was visible through his shuddering. He raised both hands, displaying his fingers as he went on, "Twenty-four hours ... Twenty-four long, long hours of police in and out of the house, and questions, pictures, and bright lights, the coroner, her precious, cold body, and the interrogations. So many talks. The whole day."

I watched as he swayed back and forth, staring at nothing in particular as he recounted discovering his wife's self-inflicted death.

"I slept," he continued, allowing tears to well up near the edge of his eyelids. "Not long, but I finally slept. I wake up. The blueberry blue sheets she loved are yellow. Now they're yellow!"

I narrowed my eyes, not completely understanding. "They're yellow?" Was he going through some sort of mental breakdown? Could that also explain his disjointed speaking? 

"No, no." His lips trembled as he tried desperately to develop the words and get them out quickly. "The sheets she bought. Two-thousand thread count. They were blue like ripe blueberries, but these are yellow."

"So, you woke up to yellow sheets when they should've been blue?" Cecil looked back and forth between me and him, still with her phone in hand and ready to speed dial the police if need be.

He nodded excitedly, pointing a slender finger to Cecil. "True. So true. But not only the sheets, but the bacon. Frying bacon woke me. And, and ... in the kitchen. When I went, she was ... she is there."

"Your wife was cooking breakfast the next day?" Cecil's face twisted in a look of puzzlement and unease at his bizarre story. "The day after her death?"

"True. Yes, true." His brief, fragmented statements seemed to come more from an odd inability to communicate using proper sentences, other than a foreign accent or stuttering fear.

The look of worry and fright on his face sunk into my heart. This man was clearly in some sort of turmoil and needed assistance that I had no skills in giving. "Do you have a doctor you see for this?"

Disappointment flashed in his eyes as well as his demeanor as his shoulders slumped upon hearing my question. "No one listens. No one believes. But you ..." He took a step closer. "You can help. I know, I've seen."

"I'm sorry—"

"Listen, listen." He placed his trembling forefinger to his lips to silence me. "I remember the blue place. Yes? Not here, but on the other side. The blue, the cold ... I remember. True..."

As I fixated on his gaze, his heavy voice was slowly drowned out by the hollow sound of silence.

Peering up at a towering stone building, well manufactured but with unfamiliar architect and writings. A stone walkway below, a decorated archway above. Large swaying trees with rustling leaves encloses the massive structure. A staircase to the right, a feral howling in a distance. Everything illuminated in the blue shadow of twilight. A cold breeze shakes me to my core.

"... and the wolves. No sun only—"

"—twilight," I finished.

His eyes widened. "True! Yes, true. And you. You were there. Take me back. Please, I need to go back. That woman cooking bacon? I don't know her. She's not my wife. That place with yellow sheets? It's not my home. I see it. I remember."

"I don't know how to help you." And I didn't. I was simply at a loss for thought. "You have to admit, this is really hard to believe."

"You must. Oh, you must. You see it too. You saw the blue place. The twilight."

"I saw what you saw." I sighed, feeling crushed. "That's all."

"No, there's more." He quickly grabbed my wrist, and an eerie chill crept over me at the touch of his rough, cold hand. "I see the past. You see the future."

Before I could prepare an answer, Cecil's voice was sharp, and her demeanor was fierce. "I may be petite, mister, but I will kick your ass." She put the phone to her ear as she made her way around the counter.

"It's alright. It's alright." I attempted to calm them both and remain composed. Cecil paused, chest heaving as she was prepared to fight. With all the adrenaline coursing through her veins from fear and anger, I had no doubt she would have kicked his ass. I set my attention to the man and gently placed my palm on the back of his. "How do you think I can help you, sir?"

"Blamore." He nodded, a sense of relief settled over him. "My name's Blamore. My true name."

"What can I do to help?" I looked into his dark-colored eyes, giving him all my attention. "I'm confused and I don't know what to do."

A path of tears suddenly streaked down his cheeks, carving a clear trail through the dirt and grime on his skin. "Please," he sobbed, lips and shoulders quivering. "Take me home."