2nd Sight: Capturing Insight

by Ben A. Sharpton

  “You can’t understand,” Scott explained. “After all, we had you neutered.”

  The two resumed their march through the neighborhood. Gumby tugged persistently on his leash.

  “We also know, at least we’re pretty sure, that he came to our country illegally. His birth certificate or documentation or whatever paperwork he used to get his job at Solterra must be forged. He’s lied to his employer, to Jeff and to me.”

  They turned the corner and all but ran into a man walking a bulldog. Both dogs bared fangs and barked fiercely. Scott jerked back on the leash and physically dragged his dog into the street to avoid the squat, bow-legged beast. “Sorry!” he yelled back as they continued to walk through the neighborhood. The old man snorted. So did his dog.

  “We also know that he may try to bed both Grace and Amy. Sometimes the visions don’t come true, that’s right. But the images imply that it could happen. Oh, hell. For that matter, anyone might try to go to bed with Grace. But the visions just make it that more plausible.”

  Gumby looked back at his master as if to say, “Make up your mind.”

  “So, what should I do?” Scott said aloud. “If I turn him in as an illegal alien, all my problems are solved. He never hits on Grace. I never have to kick his ass.” Then he mumbled, “As if I could.”

  A cold breeze swept around a stand of pine trees and made him wrap his parka around himself tighter.

  “But, then Solterra may fail to have its breakthrough technology and the world may struggle along without the new technology. Sure, somebody would probably eventually develop the same thing, but that could be five, ten, twenty years down the road. From that perspective, it’s a no-brainer. Keep quiet about his citizenship and keep him away from Grace.”

  Seduced by a scent, Gumby pulled Scott across the road toward a side-street. “I could tell Grace about the vision. I probably should, but she might think I’m just being insecure. And, I might plant ideas in her head. What am I saying? She would never allow herself to go to bed with that young, Hispanic stud.”

  “Gumby, it’s time to go home.”

  ***

  The clouds opened up like a massive door to a sanctuary and a light drizzle soaked Scott and his boxer as they made their way back to the house. Gumby didn’t hesitate to display his intense dislike for the cold rain by laying his ears flat against his head and shaking off the wetness every ten steps or so.

  Scott pushed the pair into a jog two blocks from home, but came to a dead stop in front of the house. Chris’ Ford truck was parked in his driveway.

  Scott stared into the kitchen window to see Grace and Chris laughing. She patted his shoulder as she giggled. They were both standing just inches apart, much too close for Scott.

  He had seen enough. He deliberately barged through the back door into the kitchen.

  Grace and Chris jumped apart as if shocked by a bolt of electricity.

  “Hi, honey,” Grace managed.

  “Mr. Moore,” Chris said. “I left my jacket.” He could not have sounded more defensive if he had tried.

  “Yes,” Grace added. “He came back for his jacket.”

  Scott looked toward the closet where he had hung Chris’ jacket several hours before. It was still hanging on the coat hanger.

  Gumby shook again, spraying rain droplets over everyone in the kitchen.

  “Scott. Why did you bring the dog in the house when he’s so wet?” Grace pulled a dish towel from a drawer and tossed it to Scott and then grabbed one for Chris, who had been christened by Gumby. Scott dragged Gumby to the porch, then marched to the closet and pulled Chris’ jacket from the hanger. “Here’s your jacket,” he said. “Don’t want you to forget it again.”

  Chris took the jacket from Scott and handed the towel back to Grace. “Uhm, thank you.”

  The two men squared off for a moment as if they might fight. Then Chris averted his gaze and shrugged the jacket on. “Thanks again for a wonderful dinner,” he said and walked out of the house.

  Grace stood stock still. “What are you doing?” she shouted.

  “What am I doing?”

  “Yes.”

  “The question is, what are you doing?”

  “We were just talking,” Grace said. “That is all.”

  “It looked pretty cozy from the street.”

  “Nothing happened,” Grace said, emphatically. “Do you think I would be so stupid as to have a silly fling while you were out walking the dog? If I wanted to bone Chris, I could have done it anytime you were at Blackwell’s office. After all, you’ve spent a lot of time there over the last few weeks.”

  “Well, you don’t have that option anymore, do you?”

  “I guess I’ll have to be more creative.”

  “Look, Grace. I read him. I saw Chris having an affair with Amy.” He didn’t mention the incident he’d read between Chris and Grace. “If he’s willing to cheat on his boss’ wife, he wouldn’t hesitate to cheat with my wife, too.”

  “Scott, it takes two to cheat. Do you think that lowly of me?” The glare in her eyes portrayed betrayal, not guilt.

  Scott’s cheeks burned. He dropped his head. “I’m sorry, Grace. I…I don’t know what to say.”

  Grace stared at him, wrinkles crowding her forehead. “When you figure it out, let me know.” She stormed out of the kitchen.

  “I just don’t trust that kid,” Scott shouted after her. But he couldn’t say why.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Scott slept on the sofa again that night. When he woke up, Grace had already left for the airport. She and several other nurses from the hospital travelled together to a convention in Orlando. A note beside the sofa said,

  I do love you, Scott. I’ll be back in three days.

  He shaved and showered and deliberated on his next steps. Through the night he had wrestled with his lumpy sofa almost as much as he did with his anger and his guilt over their fight. And in the middle of it all was the incredible potential that Chris Azorin just might have working for Solterra. He was one of the only people alive who just might make a real impact on the world.

  In the morning solitude Scott resolved to give the kid, the philandering, adulterous kid, a shot and then get the hell out. He and Grace would move far away. She could find a job in another hospital in another city and he could hunt for a new HR position with another company.

  But still he wondered. He had to know if Chris could really pull it off.

  Maybe Jeff held the key.

  He arrived at the Solterra office at about 8:30 A.M., asked the security guard to call Jeff Gray’s office, and took a seat in the expansive lobby. Photographs of various green energy projects ordained the walls. A brass tag on each piece of furniture indicated it had been constructed using the finest in recycled technology. A rather large plate on the wall proclaimed the carpet in the building was also made of recycled fibers. Another tag proclaimed the light bulbs in the lobby were from reclaimed materials. Solterra was definitely green.

  Within a few minutes, the guard called Scott over, gave him a visitor’s badge, and instructed him to take the elevator to the eighteenth floor. He stopped at a water fountain beside the elevator and washed down one of the Alprazolam tablets and punched the up button. The elevator looked out of place in its normalcy. No recycled tags or green energy project announcement. Just a row of buttons, a floor LED display, and the ubiquitous elevator inspection notice.

  Jeff met Scott when the elevator doors opened with an enthusiastic handshake and a slap on the back. He escorted Scott down a hall lined with more photographs of Solterra projects, to his corner office.

  Scott knew Jeff’s office would be nicer than any he’d ever had. Engineers always had nicer digs than HR. Everyone always had nicer digs than HR. Jeff’s was a corner office. Large full-length glass windows lined two walls. A flat screen monitor occupied most of the third. Jeff even had a small sofa and a couple of chairs beneath the monitor. Behind his desk, various awards and trophies acknowledged the accompli
shments of the office’s occupant.

  “Cappuccino? Latte?” Jeff asked as he pulled Scott into the office and motioned for him to sit on the sofa.

  Scott shook his head, although he would have liked a coffee. He just didn’t want to stay there long enough for the coffee to arrive. Jeff was a self-centered bore. Just get in, make the connection, get the vision, and get out.

  “I like your office,” Scott said politely.

  “Ah, it’s okay. I’d really rather be up on the C-level but the building’s only got so many spaces. Maybe next year. These yahoos just don’t know how to treat talent, you know?”

  Scott nodded, but he really didn’t know. As one of those talent-treating yahoos in other companies, he thought they’d treated their talent quite well, and from the look of Jeff’s office, he didn’t seem to be in the slightest mistreated.

  “So did you get to talk to our boy?”

  “Yeah. Grace and I had him over for dinner last night. Had a great time.”

  “And…?”

  “I think you’ve got yourself a superstar there, Jeff-o. I’m not an expert on solar energy, but Chris seems to have his shit very well put together. He’s a keeper,” Scott lied, not wanting to stir Jeff’s lack of trust.

  “Did you get a sense for his background? Did he say if he was legal?”

  “He says he was born in El Paso,” Scott said. “I have no reason to doubt his word,” he lied. He felt his palms begin to sweat. “I have no reason to believe he didn’t grow up in San Antonio.”

  “You think he’s a legitimate citizen?”

  “I haven’t seen his birth certificate, but I’d figure he’s as legitimate as any of us.” Scott paused for a moment to see if Jeff was buying it and then continued the sales job. “If he’s an undocumented worker, tell him to bring back fifty more of his friends. We need illegals just like him.”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t trust him.”

  “Hell, Jeff. You don’t trust anybody.”

  Jeff stared at Scott for a long moment and Scott thought he might have said the wrong thing. Then Jeff burst out laughing. “I guess you’re right. And that’s how I got where I am today.”

  “Let me tell you,” Scott continued. “This kid loves it here at Solterra. He says you guys are about to turn the industry on its ear.”

  “He didn’t divulge any secrets, did he?”

  Scott knew more about Chris than Chris knew about himself, but he wasn’t about to let Jeff know that. “Like I would understand what he said if he did?”

  “Yeah, right,” Jeff said not realizing how condescending he was.

  “When you guys go public, let me know,” Scott said. “I wanna get in on that IPO.”

  “Yeah, you and everyone else.”

  “If I were you, I’d take this new kid you’ve got and give him free rein—ride him for all he’s worth. He’ll pay you back many times over.” Scott didn’t say anything about how tight Jeff needed to hold the reins on his wife.

  Jeff stood and Scott followed. “I’ll walk down to the ‘levitator with you,” he said and Scott knew that was his best over-used line.

  When the doors opened, Jeff said, “Well, I thank you for your valued opinion. If I can ever repay the favor, let me know.”

  “Well, I’m glad you asked. If you know of any companies like Solterra, you know, maybe in another city, that might be searching for an HR guy…”

  Jeff chuckled. “You never give up, do you?” He extended his hand.

  The elevator stopped on the sixth floor and Chris Azorin stepped through the doors. A scent of sautéed onions and peppers, clouded with heavy cologne, lingered. Instantly the atmosphere became charged and chilled. It took every ounce of Scott’s will to keep him from decking the kid right there and demanding he stay away from Grace. “Hi, Chris,” he said in as pleasant a voice as he could. Scott felt like he could cut the icy atmosphere with a chain saw. He made a conscious effort to avoid touching Chris, since he didn’t want his visions to mix with those from Jeff.

  “Mr. Moore,” Chris said. “What brings you to Solterra?”

  “I just wanted to talk with my old friend, Jeff Gray,” Scott said.

  “Oh, what about?”

  “This and that.”

  He knew Chris would worry about his conversation with Jeff and Scott was happy to let him sweat it out. “Take care,” he called when the elevator arrived in the lobby. Scott handed the guard his visitor’s pass and signed out.

  He was sweating like a convict on death row.

  ***

  His hands were shaking when he climbed in his Prius in the parking lot of Solterra. He had not planned on bumping into Chris Azorin and the encounter unnerved him.

  Leaning back in his seat, he forced himself to relax. He allowed the pill he had taken earlier to take effect and opened himself to the visions of Jeff he saw. He honed in on Jeff Gray’s stories like a searchlight. He had to see what might transpire between Jeff and Chris, especially since Chris had the potential to be a real worldwide game changer.

  He saw image after image of relatively mundane events, science fairs, merit badge awards, weddings, and promotions. Jeff had a lot of them. Then, he stumbled upon one that was unmistakably relevant.

  Jeff drove by his white two-story house at the end of the cul-de-sac in a neighborhood of glamorous homes owned by wealthy people. He turned around and headed away from the house.

  Chris’ truck was parked a block up the street. He passed it, and headed down the road a ways.

  Parking in front of Taylor’s Gun Shop on Main Street, he stepped down from his Suburban. A look at his watch confirmed that it was past ten o’clock, so the store should be open. Handguns, rifles, and ammunition lined the walls all around the shop. He approached the glass case on the right and worked his way left until he found a simple, straightforward pistol. He asked the store salesman if he could see the gun and held the revolver with a rubber grip in his hand, feeling its weight. Scott heard him say, “I’ll take this one and some shells.”

  Scott worked frantically to see the image of the credit card receipt that Jeff signed. He couldn’t make out the date. He cursed under his breath when he saw Jeff hand it over to the salesman. He still could not see the date.

  The scene changed. Jeff was stopped down the street from his house.

  Jeff pushed six rounds into the gun. He opened the car door and marched straight down the middle of the street toward his house. Looking down, he saw the gun in his right hand, pointed toward the road.

  He extracted the house keys from his pocket and unlocked the front door. Quietly, he closed the door behind him and walked back toward the master bedroom. Noises of passion echoed from behind the bedroom door. He saw Jeff’s hand reach for the door knob.

  He shoved the door open. Amy was on her back, legs drawn up high. Chris was on top between her legs. Jeff raised the gun and pulled the trigger once. Blood splattered out of Chris’ naked back. He fired again. Chris’ head shot forward and bone mass, brain, and hair splattered over the headboard. He fired a third time and Amy jolted in bed. Her breast splattered into a fleshy pulp. Jeff fired a fourth time and Amy’s face was blown away.

  Scott was shouting, uncontrollably, “Oh, my God! Don’t do it. No!”

  He watched as Jeff pulled the gun up to the side of his head and pulled the trigger.

  Scott bolted out of his car, shouting, “No. Jeff, don’t do it.” His vision had not returned fully and he ran full force into the side of a panel van. He bounced off the van and staggered toward the entrance to Solterra. Employees ran toward Scott to offer their help.

  “I’ve gotta stop Jeff Gray,” Scott yelled. “He’s got a gun. He’s gonna kill them.”

  Someone screamed. Security guards appeared from around the corner and raced toward him. Someone else yelled something about a gun. A security guard yelled at him to stop.

  “We’ve got to stop Jeff,” he said to the guard. “He will kill them.”

  The guard pulled
a Taser and moments later Scott felt as if someone had plugged him into a bolt of lightning. Every muscle in his body seemed to tighten up at once. He could feel the electricity pulsing through him from the tiny harpoons stuck in his stomach. He fell to the smooth granite floor, banging his head hard.

  Finally, he blacked out.

  ***

  He felt like he’d been punched in the gut with a hammer. The two puncture wounds in his stomach made by the Taser were oozing some rank moisture and they itched like hell. His head ached and he had a lump the size of a walnut on the back of his skull. All of this was complicated by an overwhelming smell of urine somewhere nearby.

  With difficulty he raised his head and looked around. He was in jail. No one else occupied this particular cell, although he could hear voices echoing from nearby cells. The Solterra security guards had called the police who placed Scott in the backseat of a patrol car and escorted him to the local police station. He had tried to call Grace from the station, but her cell phone was off or out of cell tower range or on vibrate or stuffed in the bottom of her purse. “Grace,” Scott almost shouted when her voicemail message came on. “I need help. I had another vision—panicked in the parking lot of Solterra while trying to warn Jeff. I’m so sorry. We’ll talk later. But the security guards tased me and the police have arrested me. I need you to bail me out of jail. I’m sorry.”

  He tried to pull himself up into a sitting position, but his stomach was too sore. He rolled to his side until his hips were almost off the little bed on which he lay. From there he pushed his body up with his right hand and swung his legs down to reach a sitting position. He leaned forward and supported his aching head in his hands with arms propped on his knees. He felt he was going to vomit. Forcing himself to breathe in deeply, he instinctively sensed his brain needed blood to counteract the dizzy feeling. Within a few moments, he was feeling a bit more stable.