Page 50 of Was I Ever Real
His eyes narrow as he stares the cat down before dragging his gaze back to mine.
“I don’t trust it.”
“I’m sure the feeling’s mutual,” I say in jest, scratching my cat behind the ears.
He pulls out a black Amex and holds it between two fingers, handing it to me. I roll my eyes at the gesture. “Is that supposed to impress me?”
“I just need you to buy a gown, Lenix. It’s not that deep,” he says, his tone dripping with boredom.
I hold in the urge to karate chop him in the vocal cords and snatch the card from his hand instead. “Fine. But I won’t stop at just the dress.”
He gives me a lazy shrug, turning his back to me and starts to make his way out of the kitchen. But before turning the corner and disappearing from sight, he gets the last word in from over his shoulder. “Spend my money all you want, darling. It turns me on.”
I’m aimless again. It’s my lunch break and I’ve managed to wander back down to the pier. I can’t get the image of the bloody knife out of my head. And the strange impending guilt I felt towards Connor in the aftermath. I must be projecting… shifting emotions that should be aimed towards my father to him instead.
Doesn’t explain the bloody knife. And the bizarre fear attached to it, as if I shouldn’t be trusted with a knife around Connor.
Yep. Definitely losing it.
Looking up, I focus my bleary gaze on my surroundings and realize I’m standing in front of the palm reader’s tent.
Maybe not so aimless after all.
I don’t bother questioning it. Pushing the flap open, I walk inside. I’m struck by the same smell of incense as the first time and it pulls at my memories of Connor and I, three weeks ago. The interior is quiet, a soft hum of instrumental music playing from somewhere in the back. While I wait for the psychic to appear from wherever she’s hiding, I realize with sudden clarity that my weird hallucinations—if you can call them that—started after that day.
I let loose some of the anger I’ve been collecting and cross my arms, now ready to confront the palm reader about it. Finally, she appears, smiling like she was expecting me which only makes the tension inside of me flare.
“Come. Sit,” she says softly.
Annoyed, I still heed her gentle order and settle into the chair very slowly while I shoot her a suspicious stare. This time, instead of taking my hand, she pulls a deck of tarot cards from a red velvet pouch and starts to shuffle, the same peaceful smile on her face.
“You did something to me,” I finally state.
“Oh?” she simply says, still shuffling. The hushed whispering sound of the cards sliding against each other feels almost threatening to my ear. “And what do you think I did?”
She pulls a card out of the deck and places it to face me, tapping it gently before resuming her shuffling.
The Hanged Man, it reads.
I know nothing about tarot, and she doesn’t supply an explanation, so I roll my eyes and answer her instead. “I’ve been seeing things—troubling things. And it all started after you told Connor that we were connected. That somehow mylife line,” I air quote the words as insolently as possible, “is written in his palm—or whatever. This can’t be a coincidence.”
She hums, looking almost pleased with what I just told her as she pulls another card out of the deck, The Moon this time, placing it right next to the first card.
“A coincidence? Or synchronicity?”
I blink. “Isn’t that the same thing?”
Her eyes twinkle when her gaze flits from the cards to me. “One holds the magic of the universe at the very center of it—the other one does not.”
“Okay…” I drag out the word while trying to make sense of all the thoughts clambering in my head. “So, why is the universe making me think I’m about to stab Connor to death?” I blurt out, annoyed with this cryptic back and forth.
She pulls a final card from the deck as the last word spills out of my lips. My heart squeezes when I see the image depicted on it. A person who appears to be bleeding to death, lying face down, ten swords jutting out of their back.
Great. This bodes well.
“This isn't a forewarning, my dear,” she says, waving her hand over the cards as evidence of what she just said. “This has already come to pass… but you are onlynowmaking amends for it.”
Sudden and intense fear overtakes me with such shocking speed, that I’m left trying to choke in air and failing. Still, I attempt to keep my outward demeanor blank. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I hiss, getting more annoyed by the second. “A forewarning? It’s already come to pass? None of this shit makes any sense.”