by S. Swan
Jimmy said he loved me! My stomach churned in excitement. “How do you know I’m going to stay with him? You can’t predict your own life. You told me that. So how do you know we aren’t meant to be?”
“I can’t predict my own life, that’s true, but I can see yours clearly and I’m not the man for you.”
“Okay, so how long am I supposed to wait, six months? A year? Ten Years?” I asked.
“I don’t know when you’ll meet him,” Jimmy said.
“That’s ridiculous!” I cried. “I could be alone for the next ten years, waiting.”
“Cassie, I don’t think it’ll be that long.”
“But it could be.”
“Cassie...”
“Answer me!” I smacked the table. “Could it be years before I meet this man?”
“Yes,” he whispered. I understood his reasoning, but it was ridiculous to be alone and miserable instead of happy together.
Jimmy taught me that no one’s fate was set in stone. “Why can’t we be together?” I asked. “How many people have changed their destiny based on your predictions?”
Jimmy paced my kitchen. “Cassie, this is different.”
I drummed my fingers on the table in frustration. “How?”
“I can’t keep you from being happy…truly happy…because of my own selfish needs?” He sighed. “As you’ve pointed out, I can’t see my own destiny. What if I find my soul mate and break your heart?”
“What if you’re wrong, what if this mystery man is nothing more than a fling in the distant future? What then?” Jimmy’s ability wasn’t an exact science and sometimes he interpreted the images wrong.
“I’m not wrong, Cassie, I feel it,” He said.
“Just like you weren’t wrong about the Kittheridge boy?” Low blow! Jimmy winced.
Sometimes, Jimmy helped in police investigations under the pseudonym, Davy Tang. A year ago, the police asked Jimmy to help on a case. A little boy by the name of Carson Kittheridge disappeared from the north side Mega-mart. Jimmy insisted that the boy was alive and inside the store. Store employees, police, and family members searched the store, but never found Carson.
A week later, a utility worker found Carson, inside a small outbuilding behind the Mega-mart. The boy wandered into the little shed when someone left the door open. The door shut behind Carson and locked him in. Electrocuted buy a high voltage utility box, the boy died inside the shed. According to the medical examiner, Carson had been in the building several days prior to being electrocuted. It haunted Jimmy that they could have saved the boy, but he gave bad information. Jimmy misinterpreted the images and caused the search party to look inside instead of outside. Jimmy blamed himself for the boy’s death.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly.
“Forget it,” he whispered. The hurt in his voice stung. This is not what I wanted. I’m an ass!
Jimmy plopped on my couch wounded. He started channel surfing. I busied myself with the dinner mess, and then joined Jimmy. He turned on a Bruce Willis movie, but not the new release. Jimmy played Sixth Sense, the movie where Bruce Willis played a child psychologist and counseled a little boy who saw spirits. Really?
I saw it in the theaters, before I could see dead people. I found it odd that Jimmy picked the movie, given my circumstances. I guess he thought I could relate. The movie had the opposite effect. It horrified me. When I watched the movie the first time, it seemed farfetched. No one could talk to the dead, I thought. Now, that I entertained my dead mother on a regular basis, the movie became surreal.
At the part where the little boy met a mangled ghost, I jumped and nearly fell off the couch. “Are you alright?” Jimmy asked.
“Yeah,” I reply, but I wasn’t all right. What if I start seeing ghosts like this? I envisioned how Mom would look in the condition she died. Her neck bent in an unnatural position with her head hanging awkwardly to the side. I shivered at the thought. “I’m going to make some popcorn. Do you want anything?” My stomach still bulged with noodles, but I didn’t want to watch the movie.
“Can I have a beer?” Jimmy asked.
I went to the kitchen. Movie screams came from the living room. I threw a bag of popcorn in the microwave and set it for five minutes. My old microwave didn’t heat up like a new one. Five minutes burnt the popcorn, but four minutes didn’t cook it long enough. I had to listen for the popping to stop.
I retrieved a glass bowl for the popcorn and set it on the counter. I went to the fridge and grabbed a beer. “Do you want a glass?” I called into the living room.
“No,” Jimmy called back. I grabbed the beer and strolled to the living room. Luckily, the movie played at a non-ghost part.
When I set the beer on the side table, Jimmy grabbed my wrist. He pulled me into his lap. “Jimmy!”
He ran a finger along my face. “You’re right.”
“Right about what?”
“We should be together.” My heart flip-flopped.
Jimmy brought my face close to his. For a second he looked conflicted. “What the hell,” Jimmy said, and kissed me. I sung in my head. After four years of waiting, I’m kissing Jimmy Kim!
Jimmy’s lips touched me lightly, at first, but then became passionate. I tingled from my lips to my toes. Jimmy pushed me down across the couch; his lips never broke from mine. Yes! Yes! Yes! He positioned on top of me. My passion swelled. Oh Yeah! He tilted his head and froze. “What?” I asked.
“The popcorn,” he replied. The microwave still ran, but the popcorn stopped popping.
“Leave it,” I begged.
“It’ll burn.” Jimmy said between short smooches, “I hate (kiss) the smell (kiss) of burnt (kiss) popcorn.”
I pouted. “Fine.”
“I’ll be right back.” Jimmy stood.
I heard the usual sounds: the microwave opened, popcorn poured in the bowl, and then silence. Jimmy remained in the kitchen. I waited for approximately two minutes and heard nothing. “Jimmy?” I called. Nothing, then the sound of breaking glass. My stomach dropped.
“Jimmy!” I leaped off the couch and flew to the kitchen. Popcorn and glass crunched under my feet. I found Jimmy sitting on the floor, knees bent, and rocking. “Jimmy!” I shouted. He didn’t answer. Jimmy stared at something I couldn’t see. I saw Jimmy go into a trance before, but it scared me. Pale faced and vacant, he continued rocking.
Mom materialized behind me. “What’s the matter with him?” She asked.
“He’s having a vision.” I wrapped my arms around his waist. I attempted to lift Jimmy to his feet, but couldn’t budge him.
“Are you sure he’s not having a seizure?”
I pushed up frustrated. “I don’t know Mom!” Do I look like a doctor?
I reached for the phone, about to call 9-1-1, when Jimmy came around. He didn’t say a word. He staggered to a kitchen chair. Mom and I sat across from him. “Jimmy, dear, are you all right?” Mom asked. He didn’t answer. Jimmy breathed ragged. He inhaled and exhaled in long breaths. He called rhythmic breathing. Jimmy did it during readings and after trances.
Jimmy croaked a single word, “Water.” I grabbed a glass, filled it with cold water, and handed it to him. He guzzled the water down without stopping to breathe. He clinked the glass on the table. “That was a bad one.”
“What did you see?” Mom asked.
Jimmy reached across the table and seized my hand. Oh God is this about me. He gripped my hand tight and peered at me. “I saw a woman being pelted with huge stones. It was some medieval punishment, only...” Jimmy closed his eyes, trying to remember. “Only it was modern day. Her mouth was bound with duct tape so she couldn’t scream. I watch...I actually watched this woman be stoned to death.” Tears brimmed in Jimmy’s eyes.
“Who is she? Where is she? Who is doing this to her?” The questions flowed from me. It had something to do with me. I knew it and Jimmy knew it too.
“I saw it through his eyes. I know it was a man because I heard him saying something. I think
a bible verse. He who is free of sin...or something like that.” Raised in Korean traditions, Jimmy didn’t know the bible.
“He who is free of sin cast the first stone.” Mom finished.
“That’s it,” Jimmy said. “He who is free of sin cast the first stone,” he repeated to himself. “I saw what he saw. They were in a warehouse or industrial building of some kind. The woman, girl really, was tied between two pillars. I don’t know who she is. She had long red hair. She looked young, in her early twenties, maybe not even that old.”
“That’s terrible,” I said, relieved it wasn’t me. Being stoned to death seemed horrifying.
“Sk- Sk- Skip?” Jimmy mumbled to himself. “No, that’s not it.”
I pulled closer to hear. “What?”
“I’m getting a name something with a S.K. sound, but it’s not Skip.”
“Scott?” I asked
“No”
“Skeet?”
“No”
“Skylar?” Mom asked.
Jimmy looked at her. “Not exactly, but close.”
“Oh my God! Skye!” I cried. Skye was her street name; her real name was Sarah Blackburn.
“Yes. Who is she?” Jimmy asked
“She’s one of the women at Mary House.” I felt sick. “She disappeared Friday. She slipped out during classes.” I hyperventilated. “No one saw her leave. Oh God!” I jumped to my feet.
“This hasn’t happened yet.” Jimmy stood. “I hope she’s found before…”
“Jimmy, I have to find her and warn her.” I sprinted to my room. I disrobed and threw on some jeans and a University of Indianapolis sweat shirt. I gathered my purse and keys from the kitchen counter. “I’m sorry, but I have to leave.”
Mom stepped in front of me. “Oh, no you don’t!” I walked through her fog, not acknowledging her. I shivered. Mom hated when I did that. “Jimmy, tell her! It’s too dangerous.”
“You’re absolutely right, Carmen. She can’t run around the inner city by herself. It’s too late at night. Cassie…”
“I have to!” I insisted. I clutched the door knob.
“Then I’m going with you,” Jimmy said. “I’ll drive.”
“Wait!” Mom called, but I slammed the door on her.
Prostitution was an enhanceable crime, which meant that after three arrests as a misdemeanor the arrest would be charged as a felony. Skye came to Mary House on her third and final chance to clean up. If arrested again, she would be sentenced to three hundred, sixty-five days in the Department of Corrections. Skye knew it was only a matter of time before she went to jail. For me to convince Skye to surrender would be difficult. I planned to offer her a deal. If she went back to Mary House tonight, I wouldn’t report that she left. I prayed it would work.
We drove in Jimmy’s black BMW. We cruised Washington Street east to Sherman Drive, Sherman Drive north to 10 Street, then west on 10 Street to Pine Street, and south on Pine Street, searching for Skye. The big square took twenty minutes to drive all the way around. We repeated the route for an hour, but no Skye. As we passed Farmer Joe’s Chicken ‘n’ Ribs for the third time, a squad car appeared behind us.
“Oh Shit,” Jimmy said, as red and blue lights flashed behind the car. Jimmy maneuvered to the shoulder. “Don’t say anything,” He said, rolling to a stop.
The officer ambled up to Jimmy’s window. “Evening,” The officer said. He was an older man with grey hair and a mustache. “Are you folks lost?” I read the name Ernie Hanover engraved on a brass name tag.
Jimmy kept his eyes forward, hands on the wheel, and said, “No sir.”
“We don’t see cars like this around here,” Officer Hanover said. “I notice nice cars in a neighborhood like this. I’ve noticed this car three times now.” The fully uniformed officer leaned into the window and peered at me. “Ma’am, are you lost?”
My heart quickened. The officer thought I was a prostitute. “No, we’re looking for a prostitute,” I said. Open mouth, insert foot.
Jimmy’s head snapped in my direction. Wide eyed, he mouthed, shut up, but it was too late.
The officer tilted his head. “Oh really?”
“Oh no! Not like that,” I said. “I work at Mary House. We’re looking for a specific prostitute. Skye? Have you seen her? She’s a red head.” Jimmy sat silently with his head in his hands. “I have to find her. She may be in danger.” I fumbled through my purse looking for my employee identification and driver’s license. When I pulled out my wallet, something else came out, a sterile syringe. My heart stopped as I watched it flip out of my purse in slow motion, and land flat in Jimmy’s lap. Oh hell!
Mary House had one outreach program that wasn’t entirely legal. It was called the Clean Needle Program. We passed out packaged syringes to intravenous drug users. Some, including law makers, felt it encouraged addicts to use. The police considered our sterile needles as drug paraphernalia. If caught, we could be charged with a class A misdemeanor.
Mary Lazarus, the founder of Mary House started the program after her daughter Wendy, a heroine addict, died of AIDS. She contracted the virus from sharing needles with other addicts. Wendy lost her life to addiction, but Mary hoped to save others by limiting the risk of contracting and spreading the HIV and AIDS virus. Once a month, I accompanied Mary Lazarus to hand out packaged needles. We hid them in our purses for discretion. It was how the needle ended up in my purse.
The officer shined his MAG light on the clear packaged needle. “What do we have here?” he asked, picking up the object to examine it. Lie, Cassie, lie, I told myself.
“That’s why we’re looking for Skye,” I said, not convincing. “She absconded from Mary House and I’m concerned. She’s diabetic and she left without any of her insulin. I’m bringing it to her.” I pushed my identification at him. He looked suspiciously at the I.D. and syringe. Please don’t ask to see the vial of insulin. Sweat trickled down my back.
“Wait here,” he said. He loped to the squad car.
Jimmy white knuckled the steering wheel and stared forward. Sure of impending incarceration, my heartbeat thundered in my ears. I wondered who I would call to bail me out. Mary Lazarus would, but she was out of town. Would Jimmy have to call his parents? His mom already hated me. I imagined the things Park Min Kim would say.
After what seemed like a millennium, the officer exited his car. What would it be like in the city lock-up? “Okay, you’re free to go,” he said, handing back my I.D. and contraband. “I called Mary House and a woman, by the name of Nessie, confirmed your story.”
Thank God for Nessie! Nessie was the resident guardian at Mary House. She lived at the facility, and available when needed. I had to thank Nessie, first thing Monday. Maybe even kiss her! “Thank You, Officer Hanover.” I flashed an innocent smile. He nodded and left. We waited silently until the squad car passed by.
Jimmy let out a long breath. “Listen, Cassie, one more time around. If we don’t find her, we’re going home.”
“Okay,” I said. I didn’t argue. After almost being arrested, I wanted to get the hell home.
“He didn’t buy your story, by the way, so you better be careful,” Jimmy said. “He thinks your using and we’re out here buying.”
“How do you know that?”
Jimmy pointed to his head. “I felt it.”
“He thought that?”
“Not exactly, but I get vibes, you know?”
“How does it work?” I asked.
“It’s like flipping through channels. I’m constantly flipping channels. I pick up bits of information. If something catches my attention, I stop on that channel,” he said. “Sometimes the channel gets stuck, like tonight, and I don’t have any control over what I see.”
“Wow, how do you concentrate?”
“It’s not always easy, but I’ve learned to control it. Usually, I can turn it off, or at least turn it down. I can also pick the channel I want instead of surfing around until I find it.” Jimmy turned right onto Washington Street.
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“Do you ever pick my channel?” I asked.
“I avoid reading my friends, but some things come through too clear to ignore, like your soul mate or how you feel about me.”
I saw Skye at the intersection ahead. I pointed. “There she is!” Skye leaned against the street lamp on the east corner. Jimmy turned on the side street alongside Skye.
Skye wore a denim mini skirt and a green, low cut, tank top. Skye shivered in the chilly September air. Her nipples protruded from the thin cotton tank. She bounced up to the passenger window. I rolled down the window as she said, “hey, honey,” in her girlish voice. Skye recognized me. “Miss. Cassie, are you making street calls now?” She said, and laughed, “or is there something else, I can do for you?” She wagged her tongue at me.
“I’m looking for you,” I said.
“I ain’t going back.” In her mid-twenties, Skye looked older. She was still attractive, but the streets and the drugs took a toll on her.
“I have a deal for you,” I said.
Skye folded her arms. “What kind of deal?”
“I won’t report you to the court, if you go back to Mary House tonight.”
“Why would you do that?” she asked. I smelled the alcohol on her, but she didn’t appear to be using. I could tell the difference between drunk and high.
“Because I care,” I said, “and I have reason to believe you may be in danger.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “I’m always in danger when I’m out here.”
“Hey.” Skye waved to Jimmy though my window. “Is that your man?” she asked.
“He’s my friend,” I said, not knowing how else to reply.
“Baby, you want to party?”
“No, thank you,” Jimmy said, flashing a nervous smile. He pretended to watch a brown van as it passed.
“Too bad,” Skye said. “Girl, he’s cute. You better grab hold of him before someone else does.” The brown van passed again, slower the second time. “Look you’re running off my customers.”
“Skye, there’s some real bad people out here. You could end up dead. Is that what you want?”
