by T. Jones
It was easy to feel that way, when you didn't have to worry about the rent or where your next meal might be coming from, and she knew she was privileged. The Sisters had given her an outlet to share her fortunes more directly. She knew the large checks she sent out to charitable organizations helped people, but knowing, with an absolute certainty, that because you were involved, someone's life had been improved, even saved, that was incredibly satisfying. Still, every opportunity had its limits, and that was the topic of conversation. She looked over at Danielle.
"I like the idea, really, of expanding our scope of activity. Helping people is what we're supposed to be doing, doesn't matter if it's here or Jamaica. But the trust is finite. We're not talking about helping a few people here, we're talking about thousands, maybe tens of thousands. Of course, I'll make a personal donation to the relief effort, but the main thrust of the Sisters is being able to use what we know in advance of a calamity. We surely can't stop an earthquake."
"There's going to be so much, catastrophe." Danielle sighed. "Most people that go to Jamaica sit on the beach, stay at the fancy hotels, but that's not where the worst of it will hit. If we're right, the big hotels will survive, most of them are new structures, built to survive earthquakes and hurricanes. Most of the destruction Callie has seen, and the Sisters concur, happens away in the older parts of the city, and up toward the Blue mountains. But they agree, there will be some buildings, large buildings collapsing, gas mains ruptured, fires."
"If the main services survive, that will help, right? Fire and rescue, the police, the hospitals?" Deeann asked.
"Some of old Kingston is ghetto, I know, I grew up there. Those people are angry with their government anyway. If things get out of hand, if they don't have food, water, there will be riots. That could wind up getting more people killed than the earthquake."
"So, in my mind, the question is what can we do to prevent that, since we can't stop the quake. We have the advantage of knowing for certain it's coming. But we can't just call somebody, no one will believe us. What I'm saying, as the financial director of the Sisters, is that our resources should be used to warn people and make sure they're prepared. I'm not sure how to accomplish that." Callie jumped in.
"There's a research group, connected to the University of Miami, in the Caymans. They've agreed to send an earthquake expert. They're not convinced, but they did say there has been a lot more seismic activity there lately, and that the area is probably due for a major adjustment. That's their term for all hell breaks loose, I guess. Of course, travel and expenses are on us."
"That's not a problem, it might get the local government's attention. Danielle, you understand my position, we can't throw unlimited resources at this, the Sisters trust is meant to last forever, if that's possible."
"It's fine Dee, and you're right, this is just one disaster of many that we'll probably be involved in sooner or later. Everybody in the States thinks Jamaica is just this tropical paradise, and all the people do is sit on the beach, listen to Marley and smoke Gonja. I wish it were that simple. Best I can do is try to convince the local ministries that it's coming, maybe get the people I know out of danger." Deeann reached out to cover her hand.
"Probably the best we can do, try to warn people, maybe get them out of the worst of it." She looked over at Callie. "How long do you think?"
"It's going to be close to their Festival Day, it's like the Fourth of July for us, August sixth, right Danielle?"
"Yeah, and it couldn't happen at a worse time. I wish we knew exactly, but I'm going down early, probably the last week of July, start trying to convince people it's coming."
"Maybe someday, if we find more people like us, build a network, things like this won't kill so many people." Deeann mused. Danielle laughed.
"Jesus Dee, don't give Callie any more ideas!"
Deeann walked to her car, wondering if maybe a trip to the club was in order. She needed a drink. She got in her Mercedes and leaned back. Since her husband had died, it was hard for her to keep busy enough, busy enough to keep the loneliness away. She thought for a time that she and Danielle might make a go of it. There had been a couple of pleasurable nights. But Deeann soon realized that Danielle was destined for someone else, that much, her gift had shown her, and she was careful to keep it casual. It had been mutual, they had simply stopped. The June sun was warm, hot almost, and she leaned back, closing her eyes.
A light wrap on the car window woke her suddenly. She looked up, shaking her head, and realized she was covered with sweat. She started the Mercedes and turned the AC on, then cracked her window slightly. The perpetrator of the soft knock stood waiting, hands buried in his pockets. He was a slight man, five eight or nine, with graying hair and an unintentional looking beard that needed trimming badly. He had on a baggy golf shirt, shorts, and a baseball cap that indicated he worked for a cleaning service. He didn't appear threatening.
"Can I help you?" She asked cautiously.
"No, not really. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I was just down here a little ways, business stuff, and I noticed that you hadn't moved in a while. Just wanted to be sure you hadn't croaked or something." Deeann bit back a smile.
"Still breathing, thank you though. I fell asleep, and it really got hot in here."
"Yeah, person can roast to death, you hear about that all the time. People leave their dogs or babies in hot cars, and they burn up."
"Well, I'm not a canine, and it's been many, many, years since anyone called me Baby." The gray-haired man laughed at that. Deeann lowered her window. "Are you doing some cleaning in the area?"
"Cleaning?" He pulled his hat off and looked at it. "Oh yeah, I forgot I had this on. Nope, just a free hat. I wouldn't want to work that hard every day. Tried it recently, and it's too physical, I'm really not built for that kind of work." He slid his fingers through his hair, then pulled the cap on backwards. Like he was a kid, Deeann thought. The car had cooled down and she felt better.
"Well thank you for rescuing me. I really better be on my way. You have a nice day."
"Pleasure ma'am." He reached up, apparently to tip his hat, but grabbed at empty air. He pulled the hat off and laughed as she drove away. Deeann drove the hundred yards to the first stop sign, looked both ways, then made a big sweeping u turn with the Mercedes. She drove back to where the man stood watching her, his cleaning hat still hanging from one hand. She rolled down her window.
"So, what's your name? You saved me from getting cooked, and I never asked." The man grinned broadly at her, stretching out a hand.
"Most people call me Fatty, ma'am." She bit her lip again, thinking. Oh, what the hell?
"Mine's Deeann, Mr. Fatty. It's a very hot day, how would you like to have a cold beer?"
***
"Really Dad, you really have a great legal mind. I'm very impressed." Jonathan Marsh looked at his son cautiously.
"Sarcasm, I take it?"
"Not at all. Tell the court that Madeline Rice is out to get you, and that she's a member of a secret society of psychic women. You convinced me! You've lost your mind. If Mom and I both think so, it shouldn't be too hard to convince the court psychiatrist." Despite himself Jonathan smiled. At least the kid was talking to him again. He hadn't gotten much more than a few grunts out of him for the last week, ever since the black-haired ninja had dumped Ozzy. He'd called her that, probably why they weren't speaking.
"I know it sounds crazy. Maybe her and that Blackburn kid both are hypnotists or something. He showed me a little the other day, it felt like he was putting me under somehow. And I know that bitch hypnotized me the night she got the tape. To this day, I can't remember that at all."
"Blackburn kid? Who's this now?"
"Just another nut job with an axe to grind." The elder Marsh knew he had put his foot in his mouth. "Teresa's son. He's in charge of the estate, and the firm is trying to get their money back. I put Jeffries on it, I want you to spend your time trying to get me off, or a deal at least."
"There's more to this story, right?"
"Yeah, well he claims the Rice woman killed his Mom, doesn't really know why. But he wants to get even with her. Not kill her!" He stopped Ozzy, who had stood up. "He wants to make her look like a nut job, maybe get her fired, generally make her life miserable. If he were to do that, her testimony wouldn't be worth much, which would help my case. Danielle is one of them, Oz. Whatever they can do, she did it to me."
"She and I might have had a chance Dad. Now that's gone."
"Too much happened Oz, you said that yourself. She'd never have trusted you completely. I have to stick by you, we have to stick together, we're blood."
"Sorry to say it Dad, but I think she's better off without you and me in her life." Oz said sadly as he got up and walked out of the office.
He walked down the steps and into his own office, grabbed a file and sat down at his desk. He wanted a drink, but he knew if he started he wouldn't stop with just alcohol. He missed Danielle, and Billy Ricks. He didn't have many friends, any actually. At least Billy had been someone to hang around with, in between the assortment of women he had gotten so good at bringing home from the bar. Billy's death was his fault. Memories of Natalie poured through his mind suddenly, and he put his head down, shaking with grief. Would it ever stop haunting him?
Chapter Eight
Callie Fisher glanced at her phone. It was early, another few hours before Jenny Mconvil finished her last shift at Walmart. Then she would have to pack, spend a little time with her mother, and drive the three hours back to Minneapolis. It marked a small milestone, they would be living together fulltime. Hopefully that would work out. The doubt never quite went away for Callie. There were still secrets untold. The note she had left for Davis Cooper. That was a tidbit Callie hadn't shared. Would that ruin things eventually, if it came to light? Why, no matter what Jenny said, was she always afraid of losing her? It wasn't about Greg, and all the painful memories, not totally. It wasn't really about Jenny, Callie knew, it was about her. She laughed about Jenny being too good for her, but deep down, she feared it was true. It wasn't about being gay, or the fact that she was psychic. Both those things had been difficult growing up, but she was past that. Something still seemed off, incomplete.
The loft was quiet and empty. Danielle, as always, was at the gym. Callie turned on the six o'clock news. Anna Hendricks, the girl Danielle had told Callie about, made a brief appearance, talking about another record day for the stock market. She looked tired, remarkably beautiful, but tired. It occurred to Callie that she was tired as well, and she closed her eyes.
When she woke, fifteen minutes later, she went to the refrigerator, opened a beer, and walked upstairs to the spare room where she did her painting. She sat down at the easel, fighting the impulse, then opened her paints. She was still there at eleven when Jennifer got home. The redhead called for her as she started up the stairs to their bedroom. "In here, Jen, painting."
"Good news Callie. My Mom likes the idea of getting rid of the house. Oh my God! Is that what I think it is?" She looked at Callie, horrified.
The painting was rough, a broken landscape of a shattered building, bricks lying in piles, with a tin shanty to the side. In the background, fire was consuming what was left of a wooden structure, and a pair of men lay on the ground. In the center of the picture, a woman was lying on her back with her shirt soaked with blood, dead or unconsciousness. It looked like Danielle.
"I fell asleep earlier, and it came to me. I don't know what to do. Should we tell her?"
"Well, yeah. She can't go to Jamaica if that's waiting for her!" Jenny exclaimed.
"This is Danielle, she'll go no matter what."
"Maybe, but Callie, she has to see this. Maybe she can still go, and change it somehow. You have to tell her at least."
"Yeah, the dream wasn't clear, I can't say for sure she's dead, but it doesn't look good. I'm just afraid it might be worse for her, having seen it."
"She has to see it Callie. That's the point of seeing the future, to try to save lives. We have to talk her out of going."
"Like I said, she'll go, there are too many people she cares about down there."
"Well, I'm going to start praying she doesn't."
***
'Good job Fatty, you idiot.' Fatty Carson lay on his back looking at the ceiling. The bedroom he found himself in was half again the size of his whole two-bedroom apartment. He'd managed to land himself in the middle of things, again. That's what had cost him his marriage in the first place. Maybe it was just his timing, but every time luck knocked on his door, he wasn't home; he was always down the street, finding another way to flirt with incarceration.
He peeked to his left, at the pretty graying woman snuggled against his scrawny shoulder. This seemed like more than just a little luck, it felt like kismet. It had been an incredible week, filled with laughter, dancing, and love making. He was smitten, and he had thought he was entirely too old to succumb to that emotion, much less something deeper. But, as was always the true, things were complicated. There was the case.
He hadn't responded to any of Derrick Blackburn's text messages for days, and his client was sounding more and more aggravated by the lack of updates. But then, Fatty had been busy. He was aware that Deeann Long played a roll in whatever it was that was going on, but he'd made no attempt to get any information from her. And there had been no time for surveillance. When they weren't partying at Deeann's club, drinking and dancing, they were at her mansion, screwing. She claimed she had a lot of lost time to make up for, and that was fine with Fatty.
But she had said she had meetings today. It would give him time to meet with Derrick Blackburn, end their professional relationship. So far, all his sleuthing hadn't uncovered much.
Madeline Rice was a workaholic lawyer that everyone liked and respected. It appeared she had given up her daughter for adoption, not to strangers, but to her best friend from high school. Odd arrangement perhaps, but it didn't make her a bad person, and she cared enough to keep tabs on the girl. That showed character. As far as he could find out, Madeline Rice was a spinster of sorts, obsessed with work. Or was it the child's father? The old Polaroids he'd seen showed plenty of wear, as if they made frequent trips in and out of that desk drawer. And the edges were dogeared, like they had been held often. He could imagine her toying with the corners of the prints as she remembered the father of her child.
And the child, the stunning Callie Fisher, what about her? Fatty was pretty sure that she swung from the other side of the plate, not that he judged that sort of thing. But three attractive young women living together stimulated his imagination. The redhead was her girlfriend, he knew that from a few, casual inquires around her home town. The tall, dark skinned woman had been dating the Marsh kid, the one running for the state senate. There was more to that story, obviously.
Fatty knew about Jonathan Marsh, and his temper. He'd heard stories of how the man hospitalized some drunk he caught looking at his wife, back in the day. And other stories of him hurting people for less than that. Fatty planned to steer clear of him, he wasn't built for that kind of work. But he knew Marsh and his client were connected somehow, more than just the money. He always made it a point to check out the people he was working for, off the clock of course, and he knew his client had met with Marsh a couple of times.
Even if he were totally objective, which was difficult given that fact that he was naked with one of the subjects of his investigation, Fatty didn't like the looks of things. Madeline Rice and all the women around her, didn't seem like the nefarious ones. If anyone was doing, or going to do something illegal, Derrick Blackburn, not Madeline Rice, seemed like the likely person. Besides, it seemed really hard to believe, that anyone Deeann Long called a friend could be a bad person. That was it. He would tell the kid that he was done. He glanced down at the woman again, found her starring back at him, a small smile on her face.
"You know, my meeting isn't until eleven, that's three hour
s from now." Fatty smiled back at her. Fuck the Blackburn kid.
***
"Madeline! Thanks for showing up. I have a couple ideas I wanted to bounce off everybody, and the whole Jamaica thing is getting complicated. I had Jenny come, hope that's alright."
"Sure, not like we have any secrets from her. Where's Deeann? Doesn't she kind of chair things?"
"She'll be here, she called." Danielle and Teri sat talking to Mary-Rose on the other side of the table. Jenny sat between Callie and Madeline, explaining her latest culinary creation. Deeann came in, flushed and smiling, throwing her bag down beside her chair. Jenny looked at her and poked Callie, grinning broadly. Deeann caught it, and laughed at her.
"Yes Jenny, the rumor is true, I am seeing someone. A cute little man I will introduce you all to at some point. But let's talk about the Sisters' business for now, that's why we're here." Everyone stopped and looked at her. "Is everyone on board with the idea of Daniele going to Jamaica? Obviously, it's up to her, but we'll be sponsoring the trip, so if there are objections we should know about them."
"I object!" Jenny said loudly. "I say she shouldn't go."
"Sorry Jen, but I have to." Danielle laughed. "Besides, you aren't one of the Elders, you don't get a vote. I promise you, I will be as careful as I can. The people in the Trench practically raised me because my Mom wasn't around much. I have to try to warn as many of them as I can find."
"So," Deeann smiled at Jenny. "Despite your objections, Danielle will have the funds she needs from the trust, just be careful, okay? Callie, you wanted to talk about something, right?"
"Yeah. The Jamaica thing kind of brings up a good point. I probably dreamt about it because of my connection to Dani. But there are huge natural catastrophes like this that are always happening somewhere. It's great to help people locally as much as we can, but what about other places? At least for me, I have to have some sort of connection with an event to see it, or have a connection with someone involved. What if California was going to fall in the drink? I don't know anyone from there, would any of us know it was going to happen?"