Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 138274 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138274 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
“You have… visions, don’t you.” When he didn’t respond, she risked a glance at the Brother—and couldn’t believe how direct she was being. “I’ve heard stories about them.”
Vishous tamped out his cigarette, pushing out of the way the butts of the others he’d smoked so he could find the smooth ceramic surface of the ashtray’s belly.
“What kind of stories,” he prompted as a new song started playing, the beat like that of an autoloader going off.
“They say you see only death, nothing else.”
“Who’s they.”
“People.” She cleared her throat. “So I just want to know…”
As she searched for the right words, he shrugged. “If I did see any visions—and I’m not saying I do—I wouldn’t tell them to anybody unless there was an outcome that I could positively affect. And if I didn’t happen to see anything about someone or, like, their parents, that is pertinent to health or longevity, I would tell them not to worry. So don’t worry, true?”
“Oh, that’s good. Thank you.”
“Not that I see things.”
“Of course.” She shifted in the hard seat—and wondered whether he’d deliberately chosen the chair because it was like sitting on cold cement. “That’s not why I came, though. I, ah, I want to know… what do you do if you don’t know why you were… shown something. Like, what if you were shown something that you knew was important, but you didn’t know the context. Or… something.”
There was a moment of silence. Then Vishous sat forward, his diamond eyes so intense that she felt as if she had a goose-necked interrogation lamp shining in her face. She even blinked like she was blinded.
“Bitty, do you see things?”
Flushing, she wished she hadn’t come. All of a sudden her private chaos was getting an airing, and boy, she wished she’d given more thought about who she’d picked to talk to. But like she could go to anyone else?
“It’s not visions exactly. Well, sometimes I see pictures in my head, but it’s more like reading a history book aloud.” She put her hand to her lips. “The words just come out of my mouth, but I try to keep what I’m shown to myself because I don’t want people to think I’m crazy. And I’m not, honest.”
Vishous reached over to a neat pile of hand-rolls, the little wrapped tubes of tobacco like cordwood stacked for a fire.
“How long’s this been going on?”
“Since… I was a young. I used to know when my birth father was going to beat my mahmen.” She pushed her sweaty palms up and down her thighs, the jeans catching and dragging. “I would see a snapshot, of the angle of her face, the arc of his palm. Sometimes, when there was… blood… I would see the droplets in midair. Frozen. And then the words would come out of my mouth. I would warn her, she would listen—but nothing ever changed.”
The Brother put a fresh cigarette between his front teeth and talked around it.
“Fucking hell, Bitty.” He flicked his thumb on the wheel of a red Bic and then talked through the exhale. “You shouldn’t have grown up like that.”
On a reflex, she stretched her arm out, feeling the old ache from where some of her many broken bones had reknit badly. “It was an early warning system. Or it was supposed to be, maybe. I could never save her, though.”
Uncle V’s upper lip twitched as if his fangs were descending and he was holding in a growl.
“It’s okay,” she told him.
And she would have reached out to—pat his arm? Or something? Except he was too intimidating when he was just being his sarcastic normal self. Like this? Nope. Hard nope.
He put the Bic down with exaggerated precision, making sure it stood up on its base. “Do you see yourself in the images?”
“No, never. Only others.”
He nodded. “That’s right. That’s the same for me.”
“So it is true. About you.”
“Yeah.” He pointed his cigarette at her. “This is not for public consumption, are we clear? This is between you and me.”
“Oh, of course.” She sat up a little straighter. “Yes.”
“I don’t need a bunch of people coming up and asking me questions they do not want the answers to.”
“I understand completely.” God knew she hated what she’d seen of her birth parents. “I won’t say a word.”
He smoked for a moment, and the scent calmed her, maybe because she could remember the times she had gotten to stay up during the day to watch her uncles V and Butch play billiards in that room full of green-felt-topped tables. It had been a very special treat, to get cozy in her PJs and curl up on the big couches with a blanket—and pretend, as her lids grew heavy, that she was just resting her eyes as she listened to the grown-ups talk and laugh.
“Bitty, I’m going to tell you a truth you’re not going to believe right now, but that over time, if you’re smart, you’ll come to know is fact.” He tapped his cigarette over the ashtray even though there were no ashes at the tip. “What you’re shown is not your fault. You can’t control the channel when it opens up or what it delivers, and there’s nothing you can do to stop destiny. You also can’t insert yourself too much. I’ve always sensed that if I get too far into it, the energy that is due to another is going to pull up in my own driveway. I give people hints and clues when there’s a possibility they might be able to help the outcome, but how they handle the situation as it arises is up to them.”