Fan Fiction ❯ JJ prophecy ❯ its all too true ( Chapter 2 )

JJ's Prophecy

Chapter 2

Its all too true

 

 

I didn't go to school yesterday. Midori's wake is tomorrow, so I don't think I will go to school then either. Even with all that had occurred, my mother felt it was time to tell me about certain occurrences from when I was younger. So, yesterday she brought out her scrapbook of sorts, a newspaper & magazine article filled photo album from her bed room closet. New and old, these periodicals were hanging out in a myriad of directions pasted and attached with tape to the thin stiff pages usually reserved for pictures. I knew of it, but she wouldn't talk about why she kept it or why she hid it from others, me, or anyone for that matter. Its age wasn't as apparent as how many times she had looked through it, the binding was loose and the material that held it together was thinned and wrinkled. It was made of a fabric that still held its color, a light colored fabric with small intricate red and off red blooms uniformly covering its surface. Some of the fabric had become loose unfastening itself from the edges, and those falling parts were tucked into the folds of its cover.

 

I have overhead neighbors gossiping about the morbid collection of deadly occurrences she kept hidden away, but they, like many others, never understood what we go through. This book, as I watched her bring it to me, had as ominous an aura as when Midori didn't show up for school, but regardless of my first impressions, I was curious. Its contents were overwhelmingly numerous, and strange at first being filled to the point where it wouldn't close completely, but it slowly became familiar the more I sat with her while she told me what these were. The very first page dated back from when I was about 2, and she explained to me that one day while I was napping I awoke with quite a scream. It startled her of course, and she rushed to my aid. She first started thinking I had a bad dream, and treated it thusly, holding me and rocking me back to sleep.

 

Unfortunately, when I fell back asleep it would happen again. Whatever `it' was, it would shock me back to attention while I was still in her arms, convulsing to consciousness with a look of utter terror on my young face. Sometimes I would stare at nothing and cry, and in other instances I would scream and scream, not recognizing my mother fearful of her embrace trying to push her away as she held me closer. She, well as she confessed it, my father, thought that these nightmares, coupled with bad sight, might be causing my affliction. Many appointments and several doctors later would show that to be false, but it didn't take long for her to figure out what I had eventually discovered. She felt she would have a very hard time convincing anyone, especially my father. However, like most things, she kept it very much to herself.

 

What I was crying about, as my mother deduced, was her aunt who had been trapped in a car after a near fatal accident. Her car drifted off the road and fell into a ravine and was stranded there for 3 days before someone discovered it. Winter, plus snow and ice, makes for a hazardous situation that she had fallen victim to. Near fatal. But unfortunately she was impaled by a tree limb and bled slowly the entire time fading in and out of consciousness. When help arrived she was rushed to the hospital where they did what they could, but had died several hours later.

 

My mother didn't take me to the hospital while they visited, and she didn't take me to the funeral. Instead, she thought it best that other family members watched me while they tended to her final rights, closure, and the funeral. The decision wasn't the result of a spout of clairvoyance, but for reasons more mundane. It's just not good for a small child to be subjected to the conditions and sights inside the trauma center of an E.R, or the emotional pit surrounding funerals. Clairvoyance came after she moved her aunt's picture to the top of the mantle in the living room. I screamed in bloody terror when I happened upon it. As I looked at it, she said, I had that same terrified frozen stance as when it first happened just a few days prior. She promptly removed the picture and, several others from the house as time went on.

 

Growing up, I do remember pictures of certain people being moved in and out of view. We have had 3 tragic deaths in our family, all I eventually learned of through general family discussion. The other two were my fathers' brothers and I learned of one of them through a phone call from a relative. The second was about a year after his death and my father was talking of him one day at dinner. Their obituaries were in the album too, as were many other people who have no better title than stranger, each positioned in chronological order. This collection was from whenever I had a nightmare, waking nightmare, or episode, and she would find the obituary or the article that matched the description from our discussions after each one, and keep them for reasons that seemed oddly morbid to others.

 

Her presence helped ease the shock after they would happen, and our neighbors through pure observational happenstance started to see me and my mother's habits as we tried to endure these occurrences. Sometimes they would try to come over and help her divorce my father, thinking there was some undisclosed abuse. However, an episode in front of them made it to uncomfortable for visitors to deal with it and they eventually stopped coming over all together.

 

There were times where I would have a different episode each day and even several in a day, other moments were calm and comforting. When “death was on vacation” we were allowed a moment's peace in small portions of my life where I could have a reflective moment of normality. The psychologists and family counselors were plentiful and always made me address it as a figment of my imagination. How sickening that thought made me, and now it was clear why. As I got older I slowly become more accustomed to the pictures as they pulled me in playing in front of me in their usual demanding fashion.

 

I looked at the clipping of my aunt and the memory, complete with emotions, came back to me. I picked it up and held the article in my hand as the feelings washed over me. I don't want to go through it now but it did make me feel ill. I examined the contents and saw many instances were the articles had descriptions that I remember specifically, except in full vivid color. The emotions and memories would come back to me as if I lived those moments. In a way I guess I did. That realization dawned on me at that moment, and as if an old window pain was shattered and I could see past its dirty surfaces into the world of epiphany, the truth was all in front of me. It was a feeling that made me dizzy, and I vomited.

 

I thought to myself all day yesterday, when am I going to wake up, this is nothing but a dream. Denial. It hits me over and over again, those feelings and the realization, it is all true, it all happened, those people really did suffer, and it was all very real. This isn't some conjured existence that would allow itself to be forgotten. Instead it has to be real, very real, and very personal. I have been heaving most of today, every time I have this realization. Over and over again. It has been uncontrollable and uncomfortable and I have vomited blood several times. It won't be forgotten nor will it allow itself to be. Midori's memory is still with me, and every time I close my eyes I can see her agony in death. Others creep into my vision and occupy my mind by possessing the shadows startling me every time it becomes quiet. But this is all me, there are no real spirits here, only the ones I am inventing.

 

When my father got home, mother told him the story that she told me. He didn't want to believe it at all, “That's not true”, “It's impossible”, “he is a normal goddamn boy”, “You can't fill his head with that romantic nonsense”, “don't you remember what those Psychiatrists all said!” Yeah, he took it well. Still, he stormed about the house, huffed and yelled. I don't know. In this entire family he seems to be the most normal person amongst us. But still, I think his angry denial would be better placed away from here. I honestly don't know what to think or do about it, so all I usually do is nothing.

 

The sun set hours ago, my throat is swollen. The acidic copper taste carries in the back of my mouth and won't go away, but it doesn't matter. He can choose not to understand or believe. It's in my head after all. Now I am beginning to wonder what everyone else thinks of me, not just my father. It's a strange unnerving irony to suddenly fear how others view you. The paranoid fear of gazing eyes makes me uneasy, even right now while I am alone in my room.

 

I couldn't sleep last night and tonight my bed still beckons. It's always comfortable no matter how messy I make it. The table beside it proudly displays my mothers' many cups of tea that she had delivered throughout the day, all empty except for the last. The ginger root floats slightly, the cup had cooled off hours ago, and the tender care it was made with has long since worn off. It serves as a memory of her care rather than a comforting ail set to consume. I am still in my bed as I have been all day, staring at the ceiling, eyes unmoving in the dark room. I roll over and embrace the lone pillow on my bed with my face. I don't think I shall sleep tonight either.

 

 

 

In the night things pass slowly, and things have slowed down in my head as well. Life continues outside and the rustling of leaves as the wind blows is my only comfort, strange as that sounds. Every gust feels like an anchor holding me to the fact that this is all real refocusing my attention to the world rather than allowing me to draw further within my mind. With its subtle noise, I am drawn to it imagining every particle moving in the winds wake, seeing the leaves majestically dance around throwing themselves into each other. The life of the night is a harmonious one, I hadn't focused on its passing before, its peace and serenity is very soothing, and for this moment, I am sanctified.

 

I would prefer to stay in this moment forever, the night holds me to the now like my mothers embrace when I was a child. But my mind won't let go of the things around me and draws me to the crickets chirping outside, probably in the neighbor's yard. Out of my opened window the clouds move slowly hiding the stars as they pass by. It's slow movement, but it is still progresses. You can't make the clouds move faster, you have to wait for them. It's a lesson in patience I guess, but if you want to look at the stars you have to hope the clouds permit you the view.

 

So as I see it there is no control over these things, they just are. Trees grow, wind blows, and the order of things take their turn. Each action is a cause of the one before it, a leaf presses up against the window screen with the gust of the wind, an action that wouldn't have happened without tree or wind. Life, its part chance and part circumstance, neither of which you have complete control over.

 

 

 

The rising sun seems to scare away the tranquility of the night, like a warden who steals away the comfort of ones dreams. It rises and washes away the calm cool of the night, forcing all out of their slumber and into function. “Awaken!” it calls as the peace of mind gives way to the harsh discomfort that is the world and therefore life. It's time to live again.

 

I am still awake, and I still haven't moved. I don't feel as overwhelmed today, still depressed but I feel like I can go on. I don't know why Midori had to go through such a thing. I wish she hadn't and I am sorry for her mother. I can't do anything about it, it's done and I hope that while this goes on everything will take its turn and life will be as it once was, somewhat normal.

 

“Jay, are you awake?” My mother asks in a way that wouldn't be obtrusive. I know she doesn't want to disturb me, but I haven't slept at all.

 

“Yeah,” I halfheartedly reply, but still more than what I could muster yesterday.

 

“If you're hungry, breakfast is ready.” She states, and I can hear my father in the dining room fidgeting with the newspaper, his fork clattering on the plate as he eats a bite between sentences.

 

“Ok.” I say. I have no real interest in being social or eating right now. My stomach voices its discontent at the thought of food with a grinding sound and a sudden tightening that causes a sharp pain in my lower stomach. I hear her walk away and into the kitchen, I know she is waiting for me hoping that I will come out but I don't want to be around anyone right now. So I do nothing. I must look terrible, but still I manage to function.

 

I hear footsteps through the grass as someone walks in the front lawn approaching my window, crushing the leaves I heard through the night. A hand reaches up and taps on the window screen with only its index finger, beckoning my audience. Crawling over my bed in response, I look over the windowsill to see who it is and notice Pip watching my houses front door, his shoulder pointing towards me as I look at him.

 

“Hay,” I simply say.

 

He turns his head to face me, “Hay, there's no school today; they let out for Midori's funeral. Your mom told me over the phone that you were sick.”

 

“Pretty much,” I felt a little weak at that moment and sat upright on my bed. It put a little distance between us so Pip came closer placing his arms on the windowsill examining the current state of discord surrounding me and my room.

 

“My moms making me go. She said it would be proper. What about you, are you going?”

 

I looked up at him and he was staring straight into my face, he is worried. “I don't know, it depends.” I respond looking down at the gathered chaos of my bed sheets.

 

“Oh, well then I hope you do go. I don't want to have to be there with just my parents.”

 

“I might go back to school tomorrow.”

 

“That's cool, maybe we can meet up later?”

 

“Sure.” We wave at each other as a car drives by. He looks over his shoulder insuring he wasn't noticed and then backs off the windowsill placing his hands in his pockets. He leaves and looks back as he walks away and gives me a nod. I guess things are beginning to go on. I feel pretty tired from just that conversation and decide to lie back down.

 

Not to much time passes and my father says his goodbye to mother and proceeds to the door. I hear his movement through the house, and his words echo in my head, “I will try to come home early.” He steps out of the house as a car pulls into the driveway. I don't think anything of it but my window is open and can hear its occurrence very clearly.

 

The driver stops and quickly steps out and to ask, “Mr. Madison?”

 

“Yes Sir, can I help you?”

 

“My name is Detective Rohrer, and I was wondering if you and your son would come with us to the precinct.”

 

“Is something wrong?”

 

“No sir, we have some questions that we would like to ask your son concerning Midori's death.”

 

Yep life goes on, I think to myself. I know I don't want to do anything, but again I don't know anything even with what I learned. This is perplexing, I feel in no way able to argue about anything to anyone.

 

 

 

We arrive at the precinct in my father's car, this time sitting alone with him in the front passenger seat. He parks the car and looks over at me, “Son, I know these past few days have been hard, but we have to do what we have to do. I'm sorry this has happened to you.” He looks over at me and smiles placing his hand uncomfortably on my shoulder, “We will make it through this.”

 

What kind of response do you give? “Yessir” I reciprocate. I continue to stare at my lap as I have done this entire trip, my hands placed firmly there with the fingers intertwined. I need to trim my fingernails.

 

He gets out as I unbuckle myself and follow him through the densely packed parking lot. We proceed towards the building and the detective meets us at the front door and greets us expectedly. A police station is a busy place and I don't think I would enjoy being here for long. I watch my feet as I ascend the steps in tow with my father, as I have been doing this entire time, as he talks with the detective and tries to probe him for some answers.

 

The detective is very aloof, being open-ended and as non-specific as he can be. I think he will continue to do this until I am alone, as his questions are of course for me. I look about and watch a few officers come in and out of the front door as well as some plain clothed personnel. We enter the building and are escorted through its corridors, and into the heart of the precinct. Through it I notice that there are a lot of people here who look as excited as I am to be here. I couldn't help myself as I looked at one man sitting solemnly on a bench. His eyes puffed and drooped from distress and pain. Our eyes connect as he seems to know my pain and I feel his loss. You just know when someone has gone through some sort of suffering especially when you have too. It hurts to think that others go through things like this but I can't do a thing about it. Either way, he gives me a look with a sense of familiarity and connection, but I try to avoid eye contact with him as much as I can and turn away when he gives me a reluctant nod and we continue on our way.

 

While watching the floor tile get pushed by with our diligently maneuvering feet, I look up to find myself escorted into a long hall sparsely occupied with people sitting in benches conveniently placed along one side of the hall. The entire length is covered with wooden paneling and stone partitions that seems to hide the true chaotic nature of this area with the organic structures. Opposite this architectural manifest is a wall of smoothed stone bricks broken by displaced windowless doors. This side holds a deeper ridged uniform logistic one can associate with the solid foundation and absolute behavior of the legal process. This side makes me feel rather uncomfortable.

 

Looking past our escorting detective, I notice Midori's mother sobbing in a chair further down the hall with who I think is Midori's older brother. They are situated at the far end of this hall that ends at a heavy metal door with a slender window showing its well lit interior. They sit there next to the door, together, talking to a woman who kneels in front of them. They are all dressed in black and the woman kneeling in front of them tries to console Midori's emotional mother. Midori's mother doesn't notice either of us as we are stopped and shown into one of the empty rooms before we are near enough to be of any interest to her.

 

I enter with my father and notice it continues the constant design of the wall from outside. Instead of the dual nature of the bright hallway, it's dimly lit and the air is dry and cold and I can feel it in my nose as I breathe in making it burn as I do. In here I notice a single long table and an assortment of mismatched chairs scattered along the wall and at the ends of the table. Several solely functional pieces of furniture rest on one side of the room, and on the other side a huge one way mirror mounted in the wall like a window that allows us to view the adjacent room. I look into the mirror into the other room and observe its emptiness and similarity to this one. If it weren't for me fidgeting around in this room, I couldn't discern one from the other at all.

 

As I breathe the dry air, a smell in the room reminds me of the principal's office, stiff and stagnant, the smell of nervousness. I tap on the one-way mirror and note how thick it is. It's odd to think why we are in such a fortified area other than there are those that these walls would be more comforting to. My father stands just a few feet from the door as I tour the room, he doesn't move standing there reminding me of a century ensuring that he, not I, will encounter anything that happens into the room. Don't misunderstand my frustrations with him, he has always acted rather than spoken when it came to our relationship. The room seems unimportant to him as he waits like a father should while I explore the environment.

 

The door does eventually open, and the same woman that was talking to Midori's mother peeks in and asks for father to approach. I don't see her, but I can hear her speak to him in indiscernible whispers, and without taking cues from my recent discoveries I think its best only to say I assume it's her. So, he leaves with her and I am left in here alone. I continue to explore the room and look up to notice an un-uniform solitary window with wire protecting its frail nature from whoever might disturb it, high up on the wall touching the ceiling littered with dust saturated spider webs. It lets in light from the sun at a sharp angle, for it is still morning. It has a warm feeling of hope when I look at it and begin to focus upon it. The window, even though it is isolated high upon the wall, still has meaning to it. Here I am trapped in a room, alone, and there it is, forgotten.

 

This is the closest to jail I have ever been, but the window holds with it a symbol that I am familiar with. “Through the impassible, freedom.” Movement breaks my attention from the window as I see my father sitting in a chair at the table with that woman through the one-way mirror. She puts a folder on the table and opens it spreading its contents across the table. They start to talk but I can't hear them or see them communicate. She sits in the chair near him going over these pictures as he examines them with her. He stares at each one as she pulls it out pointing at the details in each one.

 

While watching them through the mirror I approach it and stand at the corner near the entrance patiently waiting when my door opens, and a gentleman wearing a very dark suite walks through quickly closing it behind him. I look over at him as he proceeds across the room, but he doesn't say anything as he simply goes to sit in the far chair facing the door. With a simple motion he places his briefcase flat on the table and opens it releasing the latches which pop. I start to become nervous and I stare at my father, alone like me but sturdy sitting there calm and unmoving like a mountain. I think if I imitate him I could get through this with out to much trauma.

 

“What are you looking at Jay?” The man asks fidgeting inside his briefcase.

 

I look over at him a little perturbed at the question. It's as plain as the nose on my face so I lower my brow in a sturdy not-pleased-with-you manner, like my father, and turn my head slowly back at the window. Our eyes made contact, but I don't have a renowned level of confidence at my stern action as I can't discern his response through his squared dark sunglasses.

 

When I look back to draw more confidence from my father, I am startled at what I see and my body responds with a jerking motion pulling me away from the window. A face, eyebrows lowered and steely in their glare, looking back at me was what found me when I looked back. As I step back I see the figure clearly move as I do. I try to look past in search of my father, only to see an empty seat where he should be, and instead find the man in the suit standing at the far end of the table with his briefcase open, staring into it. I look back at the figure in front of me and raise my hand to touch it. It's me, no doubt, as its finger touches the same spot on the mirror.

 

“Go ahead and have a seat,” he says still unmoved still looking in his brief case. I look about and notice that it certainly is a one-way mirror, just not my way. It makes me a bit dizzy and I walk over to the chair across from him and sit down keeping a good bit of distance between us. I have the door to my back but the window is still in front of me shining its light across his back and onto the floor.

 

“Are you feeling well?” he stops to ask.

 

I look at him, no I am not feeling well and it's probably obvious, but those glasses on his face seem to be too tented to allow him the ability to see properly. “Yeah, I'm fine.”

 

“You're a brave young man.” He says in an almost rehearsed manner. “My name is Mr. Hammond.”

 

I look up at him. His glasses are just over the top of his briefcase looking across the table at me waiting for my responce. This is great, another freakin' psychologist. Now how this isn't amusing. How many people do you know that introduce themselves by complimenting you? This is so obnoxious. All I can think of is all the other people who talked to me exactly like this, and they all would tell me how wrong I am for having my pictures and how I should be, they were always wrong in telling me that it's all in my head. A swell of anger comes over me and oh how it must have looked on my face. Now all I could do is sit there glaring across the table at him waiting for his next move. I cross my arms and cock my head glaring at him, and his dark-red colored briefcase shining against the dull light in the room. His body peaks over it as if protecting him from me.

 

He pulls out an envelope and places it on the table and promptly closes his briefcase. It snaps in conclusion and he leans over placing it on the floor beside him. He then slides the envelope over as far as he can reach, bending over reaching to the center of the table. “I would like it if you would look at those pictures and tell me what you see.” He says and sits down in the chair behind him.

 

Psychological tests, I bet. I look over at the mirror and see him from his profile, tall man, expensive suite, and an expensive briefcase. I wonder, who is he working for?

 

“Don't think badly of me Jay, there is no reason to scorn me. I just have some questions that I need answered.”

 

Yeah, what drugs to put me on?

 

“Your friend's death must have come as a surprise to you.”

 

He fucking doesn't even know her name.

 

“Perhaps if we work together we can find who had done this to her.”

 

Yeah right, it's all back to me huh? “I don't know who did it.” Venom dripped from that statement spawned from my hatred of this situation, I felt it after I said it and he must have heard it too. After I said it he sat back in the chair and it creaked under his weight in responce. Silence followed for a short amount of time until he leaned forward and quickly stood up, the chair fell over from the force of his aggression, bouncing on the hard floor making an echoing ruckus. There was something that wasn't quite right about him, as his form didn't fit his stance. I suddenly second guessed him being a psychologist, psychiatrist, counselor, or mediator.

 

Interrogator.

 

The thought hit me in the back of my head sending a chill down my spine that made my hands shake. The sudden nervousness it caused changed my tight posture and loosened my folded hands making them more relaxed. My angst gave way to fear and he approached me from the side of the table where the mirror was, but when I looked at his reflection I didn't see the Mr. Hammond as he had introduced himself. What was there in his reflection was something I didn't expect to see. There was a taller more pronounced man without any hair on his head. The glasses and suit were unmistakable as I saw them on the unfamiliar form in the reflection. He wasn't Marudan at all, He was human! Mind you humans aren't very alien. More so, he is trying to hide who he is from me rather than be open and somewhat forthcoming.

 

“Who are you?” I ask and look directly at him and his appearance remains what it was when he first entered the room.

 

In response, he reaches onto the table and places his hand on the folder using his fingertips to press down gaining a stout grip on the envelope. With his hand firmly placed on it, he pushes it sliding it aggressively towards me, stopping right in front of me. I looked down at it and put my hands in my lap. They had become cold and I could feel the coldness of the room rush over my arms, and I could sense my fear and nervousness as they began to take over.

 

He stepped behind me where I couldn't see, and he circled around my chair, “Please Jay, its not much I ask of you. There is someone out there killing people, and your friend is just another innocent victim and we need help finding who had done it.” From behind he reached over my shoulder and opened the envelope removing the pictures by picking it up and allowing its contents to fall onto the table. It was pictures of different people all solemnly lying on a morgue table with autopsy stitches on their chest, it made me nauseous.

 

He spreads the pictures out and leaned closer to me. “Pick them up, look at them and tell me what pictures come to you.” That voice in my ear irritated and made me twitch as it was disturbingly close forcing another chill down my spine. He then proceeded to walk full circle back to his chair and picked it up placing it in its proper position. I didn't understand what he meant by pictures, only my mother used that word. He stood behind the chair staring at me, waiting for me to perform. I half expected him to pick the chair up and use a whip like a circus lion tamer, until I did what he asked.

 

I picked the first one up and focused on it for a moment. As I expected feelings came about me and I began to generate impressions about it. In a somewhat forced manner I responded, “She is in her late 20's and died in her car.” Tears began to run down my face as I only performed as he wished. I hate doing this and never purchased a year book at school because of the things I would sometimes see. Then the next one, “Its Midori.” My voice wavered and trembled as I realized I lost my strength. “This is a cop, he died shooting at something.” I picked the next one up, “This one is a mountain climber that found something important.” I rummaged through them without saying anything about them.

 

“AND!” He impatiently cries.

 

I finished the pile, “They were all killed by the same dark entity.” My vision wavered and for a moment everything went black. I couldn't focus on anything as I felt my body let go from weakness.

 

“Stay strong JJ.” The same powerful voice that jolted me out of my episodes at school called to me again. My vision came back and I looked up at the window high against the wall and noticed that there wasn't any light coming in from it. I could feel a pair of eyes looking in at me from outside that very window, and then looked at my interrogator.

 

I blinked regaining myself and my strength, “You didn't answer me. I think I have done enough for an answer to my question.” My tears had stopped. I glanced back up at the window and watched the sunlight coming back in.

 

“I already told you, I am Mr. Hammond.”

 

“Who do you work for?”

 

“I don't work for anyone; I work in YOUR best interest.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“It means you have asked enough questions and still need to answer mine. Quid Pro Quoe?”

 

I don't like you. I look back at the sunlight watching dust particles float through its rays as it shines on the floor.

 

“I want to know the commonality between these deaths.” He states sharply.

 

“Convenience, they were just there.” I say as my anger comes back from the fear that extinguished it earlier.

 

“So you don't think it has a pattern or reason behind their deaths? We are not dealing with a serial killer?” he asks in rapid succession not allowing me to answer any of them, “Who do you see?”

 

FUCK YOU! I say to myself and the expression should have been equal, he won't give up. I gave him all the answers I had.

 

“Damnit Jay! I need you to tell me!” He spouts still in an impatient manner.

 

I don't know what set this guy off but he sure as hell isn't going to be able to get anything else from me. I raise my right hand slowly balling my fist in a loose manner. And with one single flicking motion I tighten my arm and fist extending my middle finger hanging it between his eyes and mine. I still feel week and another dizzy spell comes over me ruining my moment of resilience.

 

I place my hands on the table to keep myself from falling over and when I feel steady I could feel the pictures sticking to the palms of my hands. I open my eyes and see the dead staring back at me, the morgue pictures always are done with closed eyes, and now they look back at me. Their suffering is evident, and each one looks at me with saddened eyes lost in their moment. I can still feel the same black entity that had overwhelmed them in the same way it had hovered over Midori death. I gather the pictures removing them from the palms of my hands and place them back in the envelope. I slide it back to him as he looks emotionlessly back at me.

 

He picks up his briefcase and places the envelope back inside packing up. He then grabs the handle removing it from the table and stands with a stiffness you joke about when seeing corporate stooges & yes-men. He takes a small step away from the table while still emotionlessly glaring at me. “My card,” he says with a tone suddenly changed from his aggression of before. “Call me if you find yourself in the need of any help, or perhaps you discover anything at all.” He reaches in his breast pocket and holds out a business card for me to see. He then leans forward placing it on the table with a non aggressive stance and steps backwards towards the wall keeping himself comfortably distant from me.

 

I look away at the floor and cross my arms again. I don't know who he is with but he has several things about him that I will not tolerate, impatience being the first. But who is he? Not just his name but what is it all about especially since he didn't look Marudan in the mirror. Was that just an illusion or did I just imagine that? Its not that I question my new found ability but I haven't had an encounter like this before and have never questioned it like this before. It has always surrounded the dead rather than the actions of the living. Until I figure out some truth I am not going to entertain him with conversation again, that I promise myself.

 

There was a sudden knock at the door as a woman opened it and called out to me, “JJ?”

 

I turn around to see who it is seeing the same lady who asked my father to step out. She opens the door and stands in the doorway, “Your father and I spoke and we decided that it would be best to meet with a specialist, she will be in tonight after the funeral. I hope you don't mind coming back.”

 

I look back at the gentleman in the suite and notice that he wasn't where I saw him last. I quickly look about the room and can't find any trace of his presence. The light still comes in through the window, but now shines on the table where he left the card. It sits there framed by the light. “Yeah, that's fine,” I mindlessly answer and stand up walking over to the card and look at it. Its real, so I grab the card and put it in my pocket.

 

“That's good. Your father is in the hall speaking with Midori's mother, you may join him now.”

 

The card is still in my pocket.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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