The Pseudo-Chronicles of Mark Huntley

Such Great Heights I - 10/18/04

Monday, October 18, 2004

Clearly, I was wrong. About everything. 

Here I am again, writing less than twenty-four hours later, and so much has changed. I guess the big moments in our squalid little lives are like that: big happens in a moment. The kiss that binds you to another person. The baby popping out at last. The sudden flatline on the monitor. Or just the act of getting out of bed in the middle of the night.

I woke up from the dream at around half past two in the morning. Not screaming, not sweating, because it hadn't been frightening.... just ominous. And familiar.

It was a kind of flashback to the memory of having a false memory: the girl twisting around in the air at an awkward angle. Except this time I got to see more of the footage, so to speak, and she fell down, and then the camera in my head zoomed out and I saw the dark outline of a man standing over her, strong wind making his coat flap behind him. He didn't glow purple. Or silver, for that matter. Still, I knew he was bad news, mainly because, yeah, that looked like a gun in his hand. 

It wasn't until I'd actually woken up that I realized the girl was Naomi Darren, the bridesmaid. 

You can't really blame my dreaming mind for not recognizing her. After all, she wasn't in a peach dress this time. She was wearing a leather jacket and jeans, the same outfit that she'd had on in the image that had blipped in my mind at Carrie's wedding reception. As I watched Naomi dance. Now I'd dreamed that blip into something a little longer.

At the reception, I had assumed I was just going out of my head. Now, this time, I couldn't pretend that was the case. I’d left the insanity plea far, far behind. Was the scene something that had already happened? Or something that was going to happen?

I thought, the latter. There could still be time.

I rolled out of bed. Rence was still asleep. I got up and began to pace around the limited floor space. It seemed ridiculous to debate a dream with myself. But.... if for whatever reason, in addition to the Amazing Aura Peeping I’d also picked up a bit of Amazing Future Peeking, and there was a chance that this girl that I barely knew was in danger for real— I couldn't not do something. At least a phone call. 

It was so late. I cringed at the thought of dialing anyone. But I forced myself to go over to my desk to find my cell phone. I didn't know Naomi’s number, of course, but I did have Carrie's around someplace. She and Thom would have come back from their honeymoon at least a few days ago. I switched on the lamp and piffled around the desk until I found the right scrap of paper. 

I hesitated before pushing the buttons. What was I going to say? Carrie didn't know anything about the whole saga of the auras, and this didn't seem like the ideal time to open up that conversation. (Though for all I knew, Naomi was being threatened for some completely unrelated reason. No aura on the man, after all...)

How about Hey, I'm feeling some very bad chi about your friend the hot bridesmaid. Why don't you give me her number so I can bring over some 3 a.m. sugar? That'll pike her right up. 

If there was indeed danger ahead for Naomi, I couldn't waste any more time dicking around. My brain or heart or whatever fed words to my tongue would have to work on the fly. 

"Ummff... hello?" a very sleepy Carrie said on the other line. I was lucky to have her home number, not her cell, since most people turn off their cells before they go to bed.

"Hey, it's Mark," I said quickly. "From work. I'm so, so sorry for calling this late. But I thought it was important." 

"Is everything all right?" Carrie mumbled, her voice rising a little. "What happened?"