Chapter 9 #3
She looked me up and down as if she disapproved of my outfit, and I don’t know why I felt the need to explain anything to her, but I did.
“I’m the woman with amnesia from the hospital. Your church was so kind to donate a few clothes to me, and I wanted to see if I could pick up a few extra things now that I have a place to stay.”
She took all that in and simply nodded before turning back to the doorway to enter.
I followed. We came into a large, open area, with an assortment of clothing, bearing all manner of shirts, pants, dresses, hoodies, et cetera. “Paydirt,” I whispered.
There was a section for men’s, women’s, and children’s clothing, and then a section for various household items that lined long, white folding tables all along the perimeter.
It was only me and the lady in the purple parka in the shop from what I could tell, and I wondered who minded the place when I realized she’d shed her coat and had squeezed her way behind one of the card tables to a chair that sat next to the money tray.
I didn’t have time to chitchat, so I got right to work, picking through the clothes and finding a dark blue, faded but otherwise perfectly good long winter coat in my size, some socks, a second pair of jeans and sweatpants, and two more hoodie sweatshirts in black and yellow.
Each item was between $1 and $5, and I’d given myself a budget of $25, as I’d made close to $23 in tips at breakfast to add to my $28 from the day before.
Digging into the goodies from the thrift shop a little more, I found a thick blanket and extra pillow and carted all of that up to the register.
Putting the blanket and pillow to the side, I asked, “Can I put this on hold until after lunch?”
The blanket was $7 and the pillow was $3, which was outside the budget that I had for the morning.
The woman raised a judgy eyebrow and said, “No. We’re not a department store. Put it back, and take your chances that it’ll still be here when you get back.”
I felt my dander rise but reminded myself that literally every item of clothing I was currently wearing had been donated to me, and there was perhaps only so much charity this church would allow a total stranger,
so I did as I was told and put the blanket and pillow back—but I tucked each under another item to give me the best odds at still finding them available after lunch.
I then hurried back to the counter, where the church lady had rung up my items. The bill came to $24.
I helped her load all the stuff into big plastic bags, then lugged it all outside again and hurried around the block to the back of the diner, rushing up the stairs and depositing it all on the sofa before dashing back down to the street again.
I didn’t know how much time had already passed, but I figured I’d used up at least fifteen to twenty minutes, so I jogged down to the grocery store at the end of the street.
Once there, I got a basket and found myself a hairbrush for $3, some hair ties for $0.99, a couple of travel-size deodorant sticks for $1.50 each, a two-pack of toothbrushes for $2.75 and some toothpaste for $3.99, and shampoo and conditioner for $4.49 apiece.
I then lugged everything to the counter after tabulating the total in my head.
With tax, it came to $24.07, leaving me with less than three dollars to spare, which, I gotta admit, was a little disheartening.
I hadn’t even been able to get Levi his razor and shaving cream.
Still, I couldn’t dwell on it because I had to get back to the diner so that I could start making more money to get the blanket, pillow, and a few other things I had my eye on at the church store.
After asking the clerk for the time, I learned I had twenty minutes before I was due back for my second shift, so I relaxed and abandoned the urge to rush, rush, rush.
Instead of going directly back to the diner, I meandered down the street a little, taking in the small shops that lined the road. Most were devoted to hunting or fishing, but a few had some interesting displays, and maybe someday I’d treat myself to something from inside one of the gift shops.
When I reached the end of the row, I turned right, making my way down the sidewalk, when the weirdest thing happened: My attention was pulled over to the curb two feet to my left.
I had the most jarring sensation, which caused me to stop in my tracks.
I stared at the curb, swearing it was literally giving off a kind of malevolent energy.
A series of images flashed through my mind’s eye—a gun, a grave with a headstone, and a bronze sheriff’s star. I stood frozen, mentally gaping at the rapid fire and intensity of the images.
“Maddy?”
I jumped at the sound of a voice just behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Cash standing on the sidewalk, staring at me with a worried expression. “You okay?”
I swallowed hard, realizing I was trembling and wondering if I could trust him enough to ask the thing I really wanted to ask him.
“Hon?” he said, stepping closer. “What is it? Do you remember something?”
When he stopped in front of me, I blurted out, “Who was shot here?” For emphasis, I pointed to the curb. “Who was murdered on this spot, Cash?”
He stared at me for a long time, his gaze pivoting back and forth between me and the curb where I was pointing. At last, he said, “My dad, Maddy. My dad was shot right here where you’re pointing to. But how could you know that?”
I turned my full attention back to the curb. I could feel the violence that’d stamped its imprint onto the pavement, like a dark stain that’d never been fully washed away by the rain or bleached away by the sun. It lingered without the degradation of time.
In my mind’s eye, I saw a hand holding up three fingers. “Three,” I muttered.
“What’s that?”
I almost didn’t want to repeat myself. What was going on inside my brain? Clearing my throat, I spoke louder: “Three. I keep seeing a reference to the number three.”
Cash nodded slowly, his eyes like saucers while he stared at me. “He was shot three times.”
“Ah,” I said. “That explains it.”
Did it, though? How did I know that? Where were these thoughts coming from?
And just as I was asking myself that, my mind formed the image of a dusty, cardboard banker’s box, sitting on a shelf. Scrawled across the box in red ink was the word unsolved.
My gaze lifted to Cash, and I asked, “Was the case never solved?”
He shook his head slowly, and there was a hint of pain behind his eyes. “No. No it wasn’t. But not for lack of trying.”
The flash of that bronze star floated across my inner eye again. “Your dad was also a cop?”
“Sheriff,” he said, staring at me critically. “How do you know about him, Maddy? Did someone tell you about my dad’s murder? Or did you read about it somewhere?”
I squinted at him. Where would I have read about a twenty-five-year-old unsolved murder in a small town?
Wait…how did I know that the murder took place twenty-five years ago?
“No,” I said simply. “I just…I just know.”
Cash stared at me, his mouth hanging open slightly.
I allowed him his reaction. I had no way of proving to him that I simply knew without being told or having read that there’d been a murder here decades ago, and I didn’t know how I knew it, but knew it I did.
Almost like it’d been part of my own history.
To change the subject, I pointed toward the diner, cognizant of the passage of time. “I should get back for my shift.”
Cash ignored the hint. “Is this like that night you warned my deputy not to chase after the pickup?” he asked. “Another vision you’re having?”
I considered his question for a moment, trying to find the words to explain the difference between now and my vision of that night. “In a way. This time it doesn’t have the same sense of urgency, but it’s similar.”
Cash took off his Stetson and twirled it between his fingers.
I could tell he was trying to figure out how to explain the unexplainable to himself, and I was doing the exact same thing, but the oddest sense of it all was that, whatever this…
ability? Gift? Intuitive stuff was…it felt natural.
No, not just natural…familiar, like I’d done this kind of stuff before and I’d done it often.
And that I’d been good at it. Being good at it felt like a certainty too.
Had I been famous for this power? Was I well known?
If so, why hadn’t anyone reported me missing?
Almost as a way to test out the theory that I’d been good at this kind of thing in some previous life, I actively assessed the sheriff critically while simply letting go of the control over my thoughts, and goddamn if a whole new set of images didn’t begin to play across my mind’s eye.
A series of visions, crystal clear and well defined, trotted out across my mind’s eye, starting with a big black plaque and a bronze bell above that plaque.