The small dining room, separated from the main room by massive double doors, was decked out in ornate furniture. Paintings, no doubt originals, lined the walls. Scott felt out of place here, like a homeless guy in a fancy castle.
Most of the investors were much older than Scott and they all reeked confidence. Several smoked Cuban cigars, but Scott couldn’t tell if they were for show, or if the executives in this room simply liked cigars. He sensed the former.
Scott and Grace seldom invested in the stock market. The Market was for people richer and smarter than he.
Since the reading in which the doctor violently killed him, he had been very guarded about where they met, watching the doctor warily at all times. He would agree to the coffee shop and to the doctor’s office and to other public places. Everything else was out of bounds. Except this restaurant on this evening.
Less than fifteen people gathered at this exclusive event to meet with Gary Ross, CFO of Grabel Communication Technologies, a leader in the cellular phone industry. Grabel’s stock had recently taken a hit in the market and Ross had forecast in the last quarterly call that the stock might suffer even lower returns.
Scott took one of Dr. Blackwell’s pills, which the doctor kept in a prescription bottle in his jacket pocket, moments after they took their seats. Mr. Ross, a short, squat man wearing thick glasses and possibly the ugliest tie Scott had ever seen, entered the room and greeted each of the investors, one at a time. Scott made a special effort to shake hands with the executive.
During dinner Scott gave some thought to reading Dr. Blackwell again, but decided against it. It was best to stick to the plan, at least for the moment. A representative of the sponsoring investment group introduced Ross who spent a half-hour talking about the telecommunications industry, past advances, potential opportunities and a few juicy humorous stories about his experiences. He opened the floor to questions at the end of the talk, but vehemently declined to talk about specific expectations concerning the stock. The only thing he offered was, “I believe in our company. If I had a few bucks to spare,” he said chuckling, “I’d put it in Grabel.”
“Can you elaborate?” Dr. Blackwell asked.
“Well, now, I wouldn’t want to violate any SEC legislation,” Ross answered. “In fact, I wouldn’t tell you we have some pending contracts in China and Brazil, nor that our competitors are struggling through serious manufacturing problems. I would never say that.”
Murmurs rumbled around the table.
After the meeting was over, Dr. Blackwell led Scott out of the room with the rest of the investors. They moved down the street to a local bar where they found a table and sat down to debrief. Dr. Blackwell ordered a beer but encouraged Scott to avoid alcohol while on Alprazolam, so Scott drank a Pepsi.
Scott leaned back in his chair and forced himself to relax. Within a few moments, he said, “Okay. I’m ready.”
“Tell me about Gary Ross,” Dr. Blackwell said, almost giddy with excitement.
“He’s been busy. There are lots of episodes to choose from. I hear music, Christmas music. There’s a Christmas tree and presents. He’s opening one and it’s an electronics kit. No surprise there.” He opened his eyes to see Dr. Blackwell rapidly typing on his Samsung phone.
Scott continued. “I hear a single voice. It’s a man. He’s speaking very steadily, like he’s trying to make his voice neutral. He’s saying Ross is a part of a reduction in force and describes the separation package. Looking around the room, there are Microsoft logos everywhere.”
“Very good. Microsoft laid Ross off several years ago. Some sources said he never got over it and always resented Microsoft. Anything else?”
“Here’s something. I hear excited voices. There’s a clink of glasses and a fizzing sound. A man is pouring champagne. Someone in a three-piece suit says he’s glad he had placed his stock order a couple of weeks earlier. Ross agrees and says he knew their stock would explode. He announces the name of someone in the room who won the office pool to come closest to the stock price at the closing bell. Everyone congratulates that man.” Scott paused for a moment, enjoying the anticipation that came with making Blackwell wait. “After the employees left the office, he checks his portfolio on his phone. Apparently, Grabel stock had risen to over sixty a share.”
“Very good. Tell me more.”
“Ross is estimating he profited over eighteen million dollars in the stock purchase. He’s laughing.”
Dr. Blackwell touched Scott’s hand, bringing him out of the vision state. The two men locked eyes and Dr. Blackwell mouthed the words, “Wait a moment.”
A man wearing a handsome suit walked by within earshot of their table, sipping a drink with an umbrella in it. A few moments later, he walked to a table occupied by some ladies and began to talk with them.
“Go ahead,” Dr. Blackwell said.
“That’s about it.”
“Can you tell the date?” Blackwell asked. Impatience lifted his voice. “After all, it may not be this quarter.”
“Just a moment. There’s a calendar on the Samsung screen. It says…three weeks from now.”
“That’s wonderful,” Dr. Blackwell said. “Well done.”
“There are other images,” Scott offered. “One’s a childhood memory. Another shows a wedding.”
“No, I think we’ve seen enough for tonight. You need to go home and get some rest.”
“Okay, Doc. Anything you say.”
They drove home excited, talking about the visions and the special technique Scott was developing. Scott shared the enthusiasm, but with a measure of caution.
The house lights were off, so Scott entered his home quietly, as quietly as he could with a rambunctious boxer in the house. Gumby barked in a threatening tone until he saw Scott walk through the door. Then he resumed his wriggle position, bowing in the middle and dancing sideways as boxers are known to do. Scott spent a moment petting the enthusiastic dog and then turned to the second bedroom which he used as a home office. He switched on his laptop and checked the stock prices. Grabel was down to a five year low of thirty-nine dollars a share.
He switched off the computer and went to bed.
***
Upon entering the office, Elizabeth handed him a pill on a little tray and a note instructing him to read the Mayor.
“Scott,” said Dr. Blackwell. “I’d like to introduce you to our mayor, Don Hill.”
He had just walked into the doctor’s office, as he did most mornings. Mayor Hill sat in Scott’s usual chair.
“Hello, Mayor,” Scott said, offering his hand.
The mayor half stood, reached out and shook Scott’s hand and then sat back down, barely acknowledging his presence. His handshake was cold, clammy, and weak.
“Can we continue our conversation in private?” Mayor Hill asked.
“I apologize for interrupting,” Scott said and quietly backed out the door.
After he closed the office door behind him, he settled into the couch in the outer office. The clicking sound of Elizabeth’s computer keyboard had a lulling affect. He allowed himself to relax and then searched for the mayor’s visions. The first shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did.
Mayor Hill stood before an audience of high school students. An announcer introduced him as the president of the senior class. In another vision the mayor held the keys to a new Chevrolet Camaro. Continuing the search, he passed a college graduation ceremony, the opening of a new ice factory, and the birth of a child.
Then he found what he was looking for.
The mayor stood in a clearing in the woods before a naked, shivering boy, barely ten years old, and shouted, “Bobby Jacobs, you will do whatever I tell you to do and you won’t tell anyone about this or I’ll fire your daddy. Do you hear me?”
Scott quickly backed out of the lewd scene, feeling revulsion at the frightened look on the little boy’s face. The reality, the harshness of the vision struck him like a freight train slamming into a school bus. He didn’
t have to see anymore. He knew what else happened in that wooded area.
The door to Dr. Blackwell’s office opened and the doctor escorted the mayor to the front door.
“Think carefully about my offer,” Mayor Hill said. “Your support is critical.”
“I will be in touch with you,” Dr. Blackwell said.
Scott followed the doctor back into his office.
“Did you read him? Did you find anything?”
“Yes, I did,” Scott said. “I think I found what you’re looking for.”
Both sat down. “Tell me.” He leaned forward, arms resting on his knees, which bounced enthusiastically.
“Mayor Hill used to own an ice factory, didn’t he?”
“That’s how he made his riches. He sold ice throughout the county and in surrounding counties.”
“Find a man who works for him or used to work for him whose last name is Jacobs. He had a son named, Bobby.” Scott paused a moment. “Hill molested Bobby.”
“Are you sure? This isn’t the sort of thing you’d accuse someone of if you did not know for certain.”
“I really don’t want to see it again, but I can repeat the search,” Scott said. “It happened once in a clearing in a wooded area. I don’t know if there were other episodes. He threatened to fire Mr. Jacobs if Bobby told on him.”
Dr. Blackwell jotted notes on a yellow pad of paper.
The rest of the day consisted of a basic recheck. The doctor drew Scott’s blood for analysis. He administered several personality and psychological surveys. He interviewed Scott about his experience, his visions, and his behavior outside the office. All the time, Dr. Blackwell seemed antsy. He kept looking at the pad of yellow paper, as if he’d rather be dealing with something there than administering these tests.
Blackwell appeared pleased with Scott’s progress and test results. Scott returned home with mixed feelings. On the one hand, he was pleased with his progress. Before meeting the doctor he had no idea of the potential he held. On the other, he feared he was destined to hurt and manipulate others.
The latter feeling far outweighed the former.
CHAPTER NINE
The next morning Scott warily returned to work at Dr. Blackwell’s office. The doctor said he had a light schedule, so they thought they would do some road work, which was his way of saying they were going out for coffee.
Dr. Blackwell drove Scott to a little diner by the interstate highway. He said, “Scott, I want to go inside the restaurant, enjoy a cup of coffee or dessert, and then return to the office. From there, I would like you to read a person you saw in the diner.”
“Sounds good,” Scott replied. As long as they were in public, Scott felt safe.
The waitress greeted them at the table and presented each with laminated menus. She looked to be a woman who worked hard, keeping her frame thin because of her intense schedule and job. Scott imagined she had looked quite pretty a few years back. Now, traces of beauty lingered here and there, especially when she smiled.
Both men ordered coffee. Scott popped one of the doctor’s tablets with a gulp of water. The diner displayed a delectable golden brown apple pie in a glass box and neither could resist. Scott made a point to touch her hand lightly when she handed him his plate. He concentrated on the waitress—she had called herself Sherry. He also paid close attention to Dr. Blackwell. They finished the pie and coffee and Blackwell left a seventy-five cent tip. Scott tossed a couple of extra dollars on the table while Blackwell paid the bill.
Back at the office, Scott sat back in the armchair and began to relax. He skipped the images of Blackwell. He didn’t care to see them, at least not now. Instead, he focused on Sherry.
“Okay. You know the drill. Tell me about the episodes,” Dr. Blackwell said.
“That’s odd,” Scott said. “I usually see several stories to choose from. But this time, there is only one.”
“Okay. Tell me about that one.”
Scott moved forward into that image. “I hear music. Loud music. Not rock and roll. At least not real rock and roll. It’s high school band music. They’re playing Chicago’s “Twenty-five or Six to Four.” Not bad, but not great.”
He heard Dr. Blackwell chuckle.
“She’s playing a trumpet, in an auditorium, no, a band shell. The director is conducting very intensely. He seems determined to get the best out of the band.”
Everyone stopped playing. They began packing up their instruments.
“The concert, performance or whatever it was is over. Sherry moves to the back of the audience and sits on a folding chair watching other bands.”
Scott looked about the audience into a sea of young teenage faces.
“The announcer is recognizing different groups. I guess it’s a competition. Yes, he says it’s the Mississippi State Band Competition. He’s announcing the number one band for the year…the year 1976. Apparently the winner is Sherry’s high school. All of the students around her are screaming. Wait. The director just pointed at her. I think Sherry was the captain or president or something because she is now running down the aisle and up to the stage. She’s presented with a large trophy. Everyone is cheering.”
“Okay,” Blackwell said. “Back out of that episode. “Are there still no other episodes?”
“Nope. That’s the only one.” Scott opened his eyes.
“Strange.” It’s a shame we didn’t hire her so we could ask further questions. He made a note in his pad. “It’s odd that she did not have more episodes.”
“Then again, Doc. I never see every incident of a person’s life. I just see certain scenes.”
“Well, I think that’s enough for the day. I’ll see you again tomorrow morning.”
Scott excused himself and hurried home. When he burst in to the house, he surprised Gumby who was sleeping on the living room sofa, an area forbidden to him. The wily dog approached Scott as if he was apologetic and excited at the same time.
“Not now, Gumby,” Scott said and the dog slinked away into the back of the house.
He fetched a tape recorder, checked to see the tape and batteries were new and sat down in his easy chair. He turned the recorder on and allowed himself to relax. “Okay. I can see all of the images of people I’ve touched this morning. Sherry, the waitress is still there.”
The dog interrupted him by running into the room and pressing his nose against Scott’s shoe. Apparently, he heard Scott talking and assumed he was calling Gumby in for some back-scratching. Scott ignored the dog and he eventually went away.
“I see the images for Blackwell. I’m moving forward to them. I see the two images I read last week—the one of his doctoral graduation and the one where he killed…me.” He felt odd saying those words out loud. “There are other scenes. I’m moving to one, now. It seems like a formal meeting. Two or three people are in a business office, no, a law office. Oh, it’s the reading of a Will. Aaaah, apparently, Blackwell is the benefactor of a good deal of money, bequeathed to him from his father. Interesting.”
Scott didn’t feel there was anything of value there.
“I’m moving back out of that scene. Here’s another. Hmmmm. Apparently, Dr. Blackwell is being recognized for some research. They called it a, ‘Psychometric Viewing Study.’ From the way he’s moving, I sense that he is old, maybe in his seventies. The skin on his hand looks old. The bastard must have cashed in on his research with me.”
“Now I’m checking out another scene. I hear someone talking. He’s animated. Now I see him. It’s Mayor Hill. He’s threatening Dr. Blackwell, but the doctor is telling the mayor to sit down. Now he’s describing the incident about young Bobby Jacobs.”
Scott saw the mayor’s face turn ashen. He heard Dr. Blackwell tell the mayor that he had signed statements from Robert Jacobs and he was willing to release them to Bobby’s father and to the public.
“He’s blackmailing Mayor Hill for two hundred thousand dollars,” Scott said.
He backed out of that image and entered
the next one—the last one for Dr. Blackwell. “I hear outside noises. The doctor is sitting with me at the coffee shop down the road from his office. It looks to be late in the morning. The cars driving by are current models, so this must be around the present time. I’m looking for a date. Wait, the waitress just brought the doctor’s credit card receipt. I see him signing it. The date is October 15, five days from now. We’re walking away from the coffee shop. The doctor is in front of me.”
Scott heard tires squeal before he saw the Jeep turn the corner. The doctor was looking the other way, over his shoulder, away from traffic. Through the doctor’s eyes, he turned toward the sound just in time to see a beige Jeep collide with him and roll over his body. Scott felt nauseous. Pain rushed through him. “Dr. Blackwell has been hit. No, he’s been run over by a car. I see myself leaning over his body. He is badly injured.”
Scott felt like half of his face was on fire–as if it was scraped away.
“I hear the sounds of sirens. People are running from the diner and from the shops. A young man is throwing up by the lamppost. It looks like someone is getting out of the Jeep. It’s a woman. She’s talking on a cell phone. I think it was an accident.”
The images began to dissolve, like a sugar cube in water. The visual scene slowly faded into white emptiness. Voices and street noise could still be heard for a bit. Then, the noise faded as well.
Scott found himself outside the images, looking in. His hands were shaking. He forced himself to wake up.
“I just saw Dr. Blackwell’s death,” he said into the tape recorder. “I don’t understand how that can be since I also saw him receive a special award at a very old age.” He paused the tape to consider what he’d just said. His shirt was sticking to the sweat on his underarms. “It was very real, just like the other images. Something happened. Dr. Blackwell will be run over by a car in five days.”
2nd Sight: Capturing Insight Page 9