Dark Before Dawn

by Stacy Juba

  Serina’s brow puckered. "You’ll hear absurd rumors about me, Dawn. That I put curses on people. That I worship Satan. Yet I have a steady clientele. Some of my customers don’t care what people think, but others do phone consultations as they don’t want to be seen here. It makes no sense to me why people interested in the sixth sense are scorned or feared. Why would you ignore a flashlight and stumble around in the dark? But unfortunately, the majority of the world is not open-minded."

  Candace rolled over on the floor to face Dawn. "I thought my parents would be proud of my abilities. They always knew I could sense things, but a few years ago, I started reading about it, and gave them a scientific explanation. We all have five physical senses and four psychic ones: hearing, visual, feeling and intuitive. I get a lot of visions and intuitions."

  Dawn tingled all over with nervous excitement. She’d found people who understood, and even valued, what was happening to her. As strange as this house made her feel, in some weird way it was like coming home. "How did your parents react?"

  "My mother told me to stop talking weird, and walked out of the room. It wasn't something she could brag about to her country club friends, so she didn't want to hear it. I didn't expect much from her, but my dad's a doctor. I figured he'd have me tested, but he said he doesn't believe in the paranormal, that it was all coincidence."

  "Do your parents know you come here?"

  A spasm of irritation flitted across Candace’s face. "They don’t ask where I go. They’re too obsessed with my older sister. She can do no wrong."

  Serina smiled. "Your sister doesn't have what you do. Your gift will bring you such rewards, and has a value that your sister can't comprehend." She regarded Dawn. "When Candace first came to me, she felt much as you do, that something was wrong. But it's quite the opposite. You're meant to use this talent, and with the proper training, you'll feel much more confident."

  "What kind of training?" Dawn asked.

  "Getting centered, so you control when these feelings come over you," Serina said. "We play games to build our abilities. I often equate it to music. Everyone can strike keys on the piano, and with lessons, they’ll learn to play a tune. Of course, only a small portion will have the talent to become concert pianists. It’s the same with psychic abilities. You will progress, and in time we’ll find out how much."

  "It's like practicing for a sport," Candace said.

  Serina nodded agreement. "Exactly. I've asked Candace and Jamie to bring in something personal tomorrow. It can be a ring, a photograph, anything. They were instructed to bring it concealed in a bag and to give it to me privately. I'll hide the objects in a box, then they'll guess what each other’s items are. You're welcome to join us."

  "I don’t think…" Dawn faltered for an excuse. It wouldn’t hurt to come back and get a better idea of what the group did. But maybe she didn’t belong, even here. "I am curious. But I’m afraid you’re all a lot better at this than me. I must be doing it wrong. I mean, a lot of times when I have a feeling, I can’t do anything about it."

  "Give me an example," Serina said.

  "I knew that boy at school, Scott, was going to get run over. And there was also Mrs. Frazier, this nice lady who lived in my apartment building." Dawn flinched as the image of cracked horn-rimmed glasses and a lifeless body flashed into her mind. "With Mrs. Frazier, I had this strong urge to call 911. I dragged my mother next door. We had a key and found Mrs. Frazier unconscious. She’d had a heart attack."

  "Oh, my gosh," Jamie breathed. "Did she die?"

  "She died a couple nights later. She was so kind to me, like a grandmother. I never knew my grandparents." Well, except for her maternal grandmother, but Dawn had only seen her once. Her mother and grandmother fought all night, and the next day, Grandma was gone.

  Mrs. Frazier used to bake breads and play Scrabble with Dawn. She swallowed the lump that had settled in her throat.

  "Your job is not to save people," Serina said. "Just because you have a vision doesn’t mean you have the power or responsibility to intervene. Beginners often pick up negative images because they’re the loudest and most emotionally charged. But you’re so talented that I sense there’s more going on here than you realize. Did Mrs. Frazier have relatives who were able to stay with her at the hospital?"

  "Well, yeah. My mother called them right away and her kids rushed down to the hospital."

  "Don’t you see, there was a purpose to your vision," Serina said. "If the paramedics hadn’t arrived when they did, Mrs. Frazier would have died right there. Instead, you gave her family the gift of saying goodbye. Maybe she even died with one of her children at her side."

  "Her daughter was with her, holding her hand. I never thought of my premonition as a good thing before. I blamed myself for not having it days earlier, when I could have pushed Mrs. Frazier to see a doctor."

  "Have you ever heard of synchronicity, Dawn? That means there are no coincidences. You couldn’t save Mrs. Frazier as it was her time to depart this life, but she lived long enough to give her family closure. You couldn’t save Scott because the universe said this was his time, but Candace heard about your premonition and invited you here. Synchronicities are not random. You’ve been on the right path all along. You just need guidance to answer your questions and take your skills to a higher level."

  Serina stood, majestic in her grace. "I’ll leave you to think about that. We’d be happy to have you tomorrow. If you'll excuse me, I need to find a book that Candace wants to read."

  Candace pushed herself to her feet. "I’ll help you look."

  They left the room, their footsteps treading upstairs. Dawn and Jamie shot uneasy glances at each other. Dawn wanted to ask a million questions, but Jamie spoke first.

  "Does that happen to you a lot? Knowing about things like plane crashes and heart attacks?"

  "Usually it's not that big a deal," Dawn said. "Other times, I keep waiting for something big to happen, but nothing ever does."

  "Like what?"

  Uh oh. Maybe Jamie’s predictions had 100 percent accuracy. But it was too late to back off now.

  "Once, a couple years ago, I felt my mother shouldn’t walk to work," Dawn began. "It was just a vague feeling. We lived in the city and I was convinced she would get hit by a car or something. She didn’t listen and wound up slipping on the ice and dropping her purse. Her ankle was sore, but it was nothing like the scary stuff I was imagining. How about you? You didn’t talk much about your abilities."

  A faint tracing of red outlined Jamie’s cheeks as she answered, "I don’t have any psychic abilities. Yet. I'm not like you or Candace, but Serina says I’ll get better with practice. I think I will, too. I don’t give up easily."

  "How did you get involved with Serina?"

  "I used to walk past her house, but didn’t have the guts to knock. I knew she was a fortuneteller and wanted to find out my future."

  "You finally knocked on the door?" Dawn asked.

  "Nope, I kept chickening out. Then, about six weeks ago, Candace came after me. I couldn't believe it when she invited me to meet Serina. I was nervous, but I finally went in. Serina read my palm for free, and I thought I'd faint."

  "What did she say?"

  "That I'd marry a wonderful guy in my twenties and have two girls," Jamie said with a grin. "Serina told me that I'd live in a huge house in the mountains. I hope she’s right. I’m pretty sure she is. She’s been right about everything else."

  Dawn found herself hoping along with her. "It sounds like Serina knows a lot. Maybe she can teach me to control my abilities."

  "She's done a lot for me. She told me that I was good at reading moods, which I guess is true, but I never thought of it as a psychic thing before. That’s the feeling sense Candace was talking about. Serina says you can do a lot with that sense once you know what you’re doing."

  "Do you think I should come tomorrow?" NO. The word echoed in Dawn’s mind, like someone calling down Jamie’s mountain.

  Dawn pi
nched her lower lip with her finger. Candace wanted her to come. Serina wanted her to come. Part of Dawn wanted to come, too. If she took precautions, she could keep the training a secret from her mother. So why was she uneasy?

  "I hope you do," Jamie said. "It’d be fun getting to know you better. I mean, I'm sure you won’t want to be seen with me at school."

  "Don't be silly. Besides, I'm the one everyone's calling a witch."

  "That's nothing. They call me Pan Fry." After a few seconds, Jamie giggled.

  Dawn giggled, too, casting her worries aside. She didn’t have to decide anything right this minute. She could sleep on it. "Pan Fry? What does that mean?"

  "Beats me. I still haven't figured it out."

  "Those kids are so stupid. I promise that I'll never be ashamed to be seen with you if you won't be embarrassed to be seen with me."

  Jamie beamed. "That's a deal."

  Dawn smiled, but her thoughts were racing. Serina sounded as if she spent a lot of time with Candace and Jamie. Palm readers couldn't make much of a living.

  How could she afford to help these girls for free?

  Chapter Six

  When Dawn got home, she found Ken sitting on the cement steps that led to their weather-beaten cape. Dawn froze with her hand on the railing. He was waiting for her. She knew it. "What’s wrong?"

  "It’s all over school," Ken said. "Renee’s telling everyone you predicted Scott’s death. She’s calling you a witch. Do you have any idea how many times I defended you?"

  "Thanks, but Renee’s being stupid." Dawn squatted beside Ken, her heart skidding into panic mode. All day, she’d had a feeling she should discuss the school rumors with her stepbrother, but she’d gotten caught up with Candace and pushed it to the bottom of her priority list. Big mistake.

  "Is she? Why didn’t you tell me you warned Scott before his accident?" Ken locked his penetrating gaze on her. He had pulled himself together from that morning, his bloodshot eyes the only sign of his grief.

  Dawn detected an undercurrent of fear rippling through his words. She pressed the bridge of her nose where tension had gathered in a knot. "I got a bad feeling about Scott and blurted it out to him. I humiliated myself and wanted you to think Renee was making up stuff. I couldn’t believe my premonition, or whatever it was, came true. That’s never happened to me before."

  "I’m not so sure about that. I was there, remember? I could have sworn you jumped out of the car, yelling, before Scott started across the street. That means you had another premonition. You did, didn't you?"

  "I ... I don’t know what you mean," Dawn stammered.

  "There have been other things, too. Like when you said that Gram and Gramps would be calling and a few seconds later, they did. Dad asked your mom about it. She looked nervous and said they always call around that time."

  Tell him the truth, the voice in her mind said. He will be on your side.

  I can’t. He’ll think I’m a freak and Mom will be upset if I tell him.

  Dawn stood and replied, "They do always call around dinner time."

  "If you’re not into psychic stuff, why did you visit a fortuneteller today?" Ken asked, his face deadpan. "I saw you going into that cottage with Candace and Jamie on my way home from school. That place is bad news."

  Dawn rested a hand on her chest to calm her growing anxiety. "We thought it would be fun to get our palms read. You didn’t tell my mom, did you? She’d think it was a waste of money."

  "No, but she knows about the witch rumor. Dad heard about it and called home to see how you were doing. Your mom talked to him on the phone and she didn’t sound happy."

  "Great," Dawn muttered. "Don’t mention the fortuneteller, okay? She’ll blow it out of proportion. It was no big deal, really."

  Ken sighed. "I won’t say anything, but you shouldn’t go back there. I wouldn’t hang around with those girls, either. You think your reputation’s in trouble now, wait till people find out you’re hanging out with Pan Fry and the Bride of Frankenstein."

  "Thanks for the advice." Dawn escaped into the house. Computer keys clicked in the office, her mother working on a project. Dawn inched toward the stairs, but before she could flee, her mother strode down the hall.

  "Can we talk?" her mom asked.

  Shoulders caving, Dawn hung her backpack around the banister and joined her mother in the office. A three-column brochure layout glowed from the computer monitor on the mahogany desk. Models of clipper ships and schooners with dusty white cloth sails were docked on a dark wood bookcase. Dawn sank onto the sofa.

  Her mother loomed over her, the frightened LOOK etched on her face. "I’m sorry about Scott. It makes me sick to think about what happened to him. But Dawn, are the rumors true? Did you really tell Scott about a premonition? Is that why you had a difficult first day?"

  "Mom, I had to warn him. What if I’d been able to save him? I’d never forgive myself."

  "Honey, you have to stop interfering with fate. It’s not natural. If God had wanted you to help Scott, don’t you think he’d be alive? Why can’t you let yourself be happy?" Her mother started pacing in the sneakers she used to walk the beach with Jeff. Dawn wondered how many calories her mother had burned over the years from pacing after a psychic incident.

  Dawn’s throat swelled. It was bad enough feeling like a freak in front of her classmates. Now she’d disappointed her mother. Again. "You don’t understand. If you knew someone was in danger, wouldn’t you feel obligated to help?"

  "Not when my premonitions don’t give me peace. I’m proud of you for being so caring, but it’s not healthy to place all this responsibility on yourself."

  Her mother stopped walking long enough to save her work on the computer. "I just want high school to be better for you than it was for me," she said, turning back to Dawn.

  Wonderful, a guilt trip. Dawn had heard this sob story a gazillion times, about how taking care of her younger half-brothers and growing up with an alcoholic mother had killed her mom’s social life. Not that she didn’t sympathize, but it wasn’t Dawn’s fault her mother had a lousy childhood.

  "I want you to be happy, Dawn. I’m not saying you have to be Miss Popularity. I know you’re introverted, and that’s fine, but everyone needs friends." Her mother shrugged. "Even if you had one close friend, I wouldn’t worry so much. How will you get to know anyone with those rumors flying around? You could be normal, but I’m afraid you’re choosing not to be."

  "I didn’t choose anything," Dawn snapped. "Besides, I made friends and they don’t care about the rumors. They like me for myself."

  "You made friends? Really?" Her mother’s mouth hung open in shock.

  "I’ll bet that’s hard for you to believe, that someone likes me for who I am." Dawn stalked to the door.

  "No, honey, that’s wonderful," her mother said. "I’d love to hear more about them."

  Yeah, right. No matter what her mother claimed, she wanted Dawn to have the right kind of friends. Somehow, Dawn doubted Jamie and Candace would live up to that hope.

  Dawn paused at the door and glared over her shoulder. "By the way, I acted on a premonition once and you’re lucky I did. Remember how you almost chickened out of your blind date with Jeff? You were all set to say you were sick until I talked you into going. I knew you’d fall in love with him, and that even though it would be tough on me, it was the right thing for you."

  "Come on, Dawn, I didn’t even know I loved Jeff till we’d been dating a month," her mother said shakily.

  "I had a vision of him proposing in an Italian restaurant as you were eating dessert. He pulled the ring out of a blue velvet box and you got teary-eyed. There was an older couple at the next table. They overheard and congratulated you."

  "I’m sure I told you all those details afterwards."

  "Will you stop kidding yourself and acting like my abilities don’t apply to you? If I hadn’t acted on my vision, neither one of us would be in this room right now." Dawn turned on her heel and slammed the door.<
br />
  That decided it. She was visiting Serina again. There, she’d be with people who appreciated her talents and didn’t view her as a time bomb that could throw their lives into rubble at any second.

  Dawn trudged upstairs and passed Ken’s open doorway. Ken was lying on his bed, listening to his iPod. Something drew her toward his room. She tapped lightly on the door. "Hey," she said.

  He nodded, as if giving permission to enter. Dawn had never been in Ken’s room before. She stayed near the door, afraid to intrude. A pile of rumpled laundry towered on his desk chair. Posters of athletes, music groups and actresses plastered the walls.

  "How’d it go with your mom?" Ken asked, turning off the music.

  Dawn shrugged. "Not too good. You know mothers. They can be a pain."

  He didn’t answer and Dawn wished she could snatch back her words. Of course he didn’t know. His mother had died when he was a child. She looked around for something, anything, to help her change the subject.

  "Those are nice paintings." Dawn gestured toward two canvases propped against the wall in the corner. One depicted a fire truck with a Dalmatian sticking his skinny head out the window, and the other a firehouse. Dawn stepped further into the room to see them better. Funny, these paintings seemed more fitting for a little boy.

  Then it clicked why Ken had held onto them, why he wanted them in sight. "Your mom painted those, didn’t she? I heard she was an artist."

  He raised his eyes toward the pictures. "Yeah. At our old house in Maryland, she had murals all over the place. Clouds on the ceiling, animals, a train, the fire station. Mom knew we’d move after she died and copied a couple of them for me."

  A photograph of a slim woman sat on his dresser. Blonde curls cascaded all the way down to her wraparound skirt. Oversized hoop earrings glinted in her ears and bangle bracelets shone on her wrist. Dawn thought of her own mother, who used her artistic skills on the computer rather than with paints. Jeff had married two artists, but Ken’s mom looked more free-spirited. She had a vibrancy that came through even in a picture.