His apartment was not much to look at. A couch, a TV, a bed, and about thirty boxes of various shapes and sizes acted as the rest of the furniture. He flopped on the couch and felt another spring groan in protest at the rough treatment.
The television had only one purpose, for the purge. He learned that early on about his gift. The human mind was not supposed to be able to see the future at all, but to keep future possibilities in his head for too long… the headaches were a minor inconvenience compared to overload. There would be too much clutter, too many images fighting inside his brain. He developed, with Seven’s help, a way to rid those extra moments from his mind. It allowed him to be a clean slate for the next day’s clients.
The TV’s job was to show static. The snow on the screen set the mood, the singular sound of nothingness. White noise relaxed his mind, so he could reach that place where those alien thoughts would melt away. Jason leaned back in his chair and focused his mind on the images he wanted to retain and the ones he needed gone. Tonight, he replayed all the failed attempts through his brain one at a time. He willed them to disappear, as if he was erasing his mind’s hard drive so that nothing remained. Each time he saw the highlights and then released them back to the universe.
It continued that way until he arrived at the final image. Just because Robert had broken their contact didn’t mean the vision was incomplete, only Jason’s ability to communicate it aloud in the moment. Those instants were still there inside his mind, more than enough for Jason to get another look at the box if he wanted to.
Curiosity always managed to get the better of him.
He zeroed in on those last moments before Robert broke the connection. Sure enough he saw it again, an ornate box pulled from the cubbyhole behind the workbench.
Robert wasted no time in opening it. Along the smaller side, he unlocked the latch and lifted it. Jumbled inside were photos and hand-written thank you letters clearly written by children. Ranging from anywhere between around five and age fifteen, they seemed to be from a wide spectrum of races and backgrounds. The only consistent item within each picture was a school. Underneath the pictures, He uncovered various official looking papers stuffed inside a manila folder. Robert’s hands shook as he opened it. This was going to be his golden ticket. He fanned through the paperwork until the will revealed itself. He scanned through the pages, slowly at first, increasing speed with each sighting of a singular name. Some pages ripped while he shuffled through them. Jason heard him cry out, a mixture of a laugh and the beginning of tears. Finally, Robert flipped back to the beginning and read aloud.
I hereby give, devise and bequeath to the Trustees of Jacobson’s Home for Underprivileged Children 1 million dollars, or 100% of my residuary estate, whichever is less, to be used for the benefit of Jacobson’s Home as the Trustees thereof may direct.
Robert sent the box and all the pictures flying across the room.
And much like a memory can change based on new information, so did his earlier visions. Even though he’d tried to excise them, they came back. Those little bits and pieces everywhere throughout the house made more sense now. He hadn’t been paying attention because they weren’t the important part of the reading. Hand drawn pictures covered the refrigerator. In the living room, beside the television, a pile of Legos sat in a bucket waiting for the next little kid to come and build. On the bookshelf were the various Harry Potter books, along with a handful of comics stacked there as well.
Jason held on to that, glad those moments weren’t gone. Even better was that the house, their house now, hadn’t been destroyed by an overeager son. There was a good chance somewhere Robert was living out this exact scenario, and Jason found he couldn’t stop the smile crossing his lips. His whole face became involved in the motion. He lifted himself up from the chair and moved over to the television to turn it off. His headache lessened but was still not entirely gone. Those images lingered on. Rather than rid himself of these, he was content to let them swim throughout his dreams for this one night.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This little story is just a taste of Jason Mill’s strange world. So if you enjoyed what you just read, check out my novel The Dark That Follows. A sample chapter is presented just after this note to tease and tantalize.
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PLEASE ENJOY THE FOLOWING PREVIEW CHAPTER OF
The Dark That Follows
A NOVEL BY
JOHN MCGUIRE
A disgraced cop with the ability to the see the future…
A college student whose life has become entangled in black magic…
A woman no longer sure of who to trust…
A vision of the future that portends the end of all things…