Chapter 2 #2
That’s the funny thing about my job. It’s not so much about the fortune-telling aspect, which is good, because I’m about as psychic as a rock. It’s about relating to people. Making them feel heard. And that’s the part I like.
But this guy? His voice could be one of many. There’s no special inflection to it, no distinctive accent, nothing to tell me who he is.
But somehow, I don’t get the feeling he’d be happy if I told him that. So instead, I cautiously say, “I’m really scared right now. So it’s hard for me to remember. Could you…”
He scowls. Red rises in his cheeks. But he takes a steadying breath and replies, “I suppose that makes sense. It’s unfortunate I had to do it this way, but I couldn’t think of a better option.
” He stops. Then he extends his free hand towards me.
“I’m Derrick. We talked a few times. About my job.
And the girl I was going to ask out from work. ”
As I stare at his hand, because I can’t very well shake it, he slowly lowers it.
“So,” he hurries to add. “My life went all to shit. And you never gave me any warning. Which is pretty terrible, considering you’re supposed to be a damn psychic.”
Before I respond, I cast about for anything I can remember about him. Anything that might help me get out of this mess.
His name is Derrick, obviously. I vaguely remember a few brief conversations, maybe three of them over the last several months. He wanted a promotion, so I suggested going to his boss to ask about taking on more responsibility. Staying a little later to show his dedication to the job.
He told me about a woman from work that he’d had a crush on for years.
He wanted to know if she’d ever see him as more than a coworker.
Rather than give him a definitive answer, I said it might help to ask her to join him for coffee or lunch.
Start slowly and let their relationship build from there.
Predictions of the future? No. But I thought it was pretty good advice.
Derrick is still staring at me, waiting for an answer. His foot starts tapping impatiently. His lips thin.
“I—” My dumb voice cracks again. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I can’t see everything. But… maybe I can help. I want to. If you could untie—”
“No!” he barks, and his face infuses with anger. “I’m not letting you go. Not until you fix things!” He stops. “And if you can’t…” He glances at the gun still held in his hand. “I guess there’s no use for you at all.”
My heart stops.
I always thought that was just a saying. Like, how could your heart actually stop from fear? But now I know it’s possible.
My breath comes in shallow, uneven bursts. A band wraps around my chest and wrenches tight. It’s a struggle to get enough air to speak.
“Okay,” I say. “Okay. Maybe… you could tell me what’s wrong?”
“Don’t you know?” he retorts. “Since you’re supposed to be a psychic and all.”
“It doesn’t work like that. I can’t… I need time. I can’t be…” What? Terrified out of my mind? On the verge of a panic attack?
“I’m scared,” I finally decide on. “It’s hard to read anything when I’m scared like this.”
Derrick huffs. “Fine. I’ll tell you.” He starts pacing again.
“First, I did what you said at work. I started calling other people’s clients and offering to take them on myself.
I told them I’d be a much better salesperson than their current one.
But my boss didn’t like that. He reprimanded me.
And a month later, I got laid off. He said it was budgetary, but I know the truth. He just wanted to get rid of me.”
That’s most definitely not what I told him to do.
“I’m sorry,” I start.
“And,” he continues, “I asked out Emilia. My coworker—no, ex-coworker, now. I sent four dozen roses to her cubicle. I bought her an expensive necklace. And I asked her out right in the middle of the office, so she’d know how much I wanted to go out with her.”
My stomach sinks.
“She turned me down!” he whines. “And when I asked her out the next day, she reported me to HR. Can you believe that?”
I shake my head.
“So I lost my job and the girl. And you know what else?”
“No,” I whisper.
“Since I don’t have a job, I don’t get a paycheck, either.
The guy I’m renting my house from is going to kick me out unless I come up with two months’ missed rent.
So I’m going to be out a job, a house, and the girl.
That is—” Derrick stops in front of me again.
He pins me with his gaze. “Unless you look into the future and tell me how to make everything better again.”
What?
Is this for real?
Will I wake up to discover this is just a bad dream?
“Well?” Derrick’s voice dips dangerously. “Do your job. Tell me what to do.”
It’s hard to focus on anything other than the terror raging through me.
It’s hard to focus on anything other than the gun he’s holding.
But if I want any chance of getting out of here, I need to.
What would Cillian do? He wouldn’t panic. He’d be logical about it.
A flurry of ideas spin through my mind. Lie to Derrick. Promise him something, anything, if he’ll just let me go. Convince him to give me some time alone to concentrate on his future, giving me time to find a way to break through my rope bindings.
But instead, my brain stalls on something else. “How did you find me?” I blurt.
He’s not supposed to know where I live, after all. I use a special number the company gives me, so it isn’t tied to my identity at all. None of my callers should be able to find my full name, my real phone number, or my address.
Well, Cillian knows my number. But that’s because I gave it to him.
Derrick’s eyes narrow at me again. My heart thuds hard. Is he angry I asked?
But a beat later, he smiles. “Actually, it’s a funny story. You mentioned you walk dogs for a day job, and last month, I saw this woman walking four dogs through my neighborhood. She was wearing this bright pink shirt that said Prancing Pups, and I thought… Hmm. I wonder if that could be Paige.”
Ice seeps through my veins.
“I couldn’t have known for sure just by seeing you,” Derrick continues, “but I was out in my yard, and when I waved, you said hi to me. Your voice… it’s so distinctive.”
I’m trying to picture him standing in a yard as I pass by, but I can’t. I probably wave to a dozen people or more every day, but I’m always paying more attention to the dogs. The people are just momentary blips—quickly forgotten.
“But,” I croak, “how could you know just from me saying hi?”
“I didn’t know the first time. But then I saw you again. And you told me to have a nice day. I was almost positive, then. So I called the hotline that night. I recorded your voice so I could listen to it over and over.”
I stare at him in horror. “Did you follow me home?”
He shrugs. “How else could I find out where you lived?”
“But… why didn’t you just call to ask for help? Why did you—”
“Because the phone isn’t good enough!” His features twist with anger. “My life is fucked. Some thirty-minute Tarot card reading isn’t going to fix it. Everything I’ve read about psychics says they’re much more effective in person. So here I am. Ready for you to fix things.”
Crap. Crap. Crap.
What-ifs spin in my head.
What if I’d picked a fake name to answer my calls instead of using my real one?
What if I’d installed security cameras here? Motion sensors?
What if I’d never taken this phone psychic job to begin with and just waited tables like normal people do?
But then I wouldn’t have met Cillian.
And more than ever, I want to meet him for real.
I just have to get out of here, first.
Somehow.
“Okay,” I say somewhat desperately, “Okay. Let me think. I need some quiet—”
A loud thud upstairs cuts me off.
Then another.
And another.
Hope floods through me so quickly I’m dizzy with it.
Could it be someone here to help?
Could it be—
No. It’s not possible.
But…
Call for help, the logical part of my brain instructs. Quick.
Just as I’m opening my mouth to shout, Derrick’s hand clamps over it. His fingers dig into my cheeks.
His breath is hot on my face as he hisses, “Don’t even think about making a sound, Paige.”
My heart thunders so loudly it’s hard to hear anything else.
But faintly, from upstairs, I hear a voice call, “Fredericksburg PD. We’re responding to a welfare check. If anyone’s home, can you open the door, please?”
Hope wars with impotent frustration. So close. Help is so close.
The hand over my mouth grips even harder. Something cool and hard presses against my chest. “Don’t try anything,” Derrick orders. It’s low. Menacing. “Or I promise, Paige, I will kill you.”