by Iris Kincaid
While Martine really wanted to school Dr. York on securing the privacy of patient records better, that would involve giving up a little too much detail about the recent complications of her life and her own hacker expertise.
But for other reasons, she actually didn’t mind having another session scheduled with Dr. York. She was being pulled in a lot of directions, not only by the slimy Mr. Milner, but by all of her visions of the future. Was it her duty to prevent all bad things from happening to anyone? Or since bad things are a part of life, was she simply supposed to step aside and leave human action and fate to themselves?
“I know that you don’t believe that I can see the future. If anyone had said to me that they could see the future just a month ago, I, too, would have thought they were crazy.”
“I don’t think that you’re crazy. That’s a phrase that we generally frown upon.”
“You think that I’m . . . disturbed. Or confused. Or delusional. Fine. Whatever you want to call it. You don’t think that I can actually see the future. But if you could just indulge me for one moment. What if I could? What if you could? What if you could see that something really bad was going to happen to someone? Is it always the right thing to try to step in and prevent it?”
“Something bad such as . . . what?”
“Such as someone being threatened with a gun. Or someone attempting to strangle me. Although that’s not really an actual question. I’ve already figured out that I’m going to do everything in my power to prevent that from happening. But what? Aside from hiding in my room forever? Should I be telling people whom they can trust? Although, I’ve already done that one too. And I earned a really unpleasant enemy.”
“Okay, I want to go over all of these visions of yours, one by one, but what I want you to keep in mind is that each one of them represents an anxiety in your life. They are like dreams, which are manifestations of the subconscious. Except yours are happening while you are awake. Now, this vision of guns and being strangled. Sometimes, they can stem from childhood memories. Sometimes even from games the children play with toy guns and pretending to hurt one another, except when you are a child, you take the threat very, very seriously. And you can carry that anxiety inside you for an entire lifetime.”
Oh, brother. The psychobabble was torturous. And yet, how could you blame Dr. Emily York for having a typical, and under most circumstances, commendable grasp on reality? How else could these premonitions possibly be interpreted by a sane doctor?
They walked out of the building together, which was perhaps a lapse of protocol on Dr. York’s part. It was a possible compromise to her patients’ privacy if they should be seen speaking to a psychiatrist. Which is precisely what happened.
Morgan was quite familiar with Dr. York. After his uncle had died, his family had been so traumatized that all had been recommended for grief counseling. It had been over ten years ago, but he still recognized Dr. York, who had held therapy sessions with Morgan’s mother for nearly a year after her brother had died.
But what was Martine doing with her? Martine was in therapy? But she seemed so healthy, so grounded, so utterly cool. But she had certainly gone through some seriously rough things in life—losing family, battling illness, and being confined to a wheelchair. It just didn’t seem as if she was carrying the trauma of those earlier events with her. But maybe he was just oblivious or insensitive. Maybe she had some problems. Maybe big problems.
This was more than a little worrisome. After all, this was the woman he intended to marry.
*****
Every Thursday night during the summer, there were major live dance events in the town center called Smooth Nights. And since the Beaumont family had discovered how deficient Martine’s dancing background was, they were all insistent that Morgan take her to as many of these dance evenings as possible.
It was a popular event held in a huge outdoor plaza. It felt as if half the town where there. Martine and Morgan noted with pleasure that the season was going to wrap up in a few weeks with a Motown evening. They certainly weren’t going to miss that.
Tonight’s theme was one especially designed to bring out the couples, old-school love classics. Corny, sappy songs that were right up Grandma Clara’s alley. The kind of songs that used to make Morgan’s eyes roll if he ever stopped to listen to the lyrics.
Tonight, as he held Martine cheek to cheek, he was thunderstruck with the wisdom of these songs. That’s exactly what love felt like! It all made him completely forget about his questions and reservations about seeing her with the psychiatrist. Martine was healthy and perfect and beautiful and one of a kind. And just like the song said, he only had eyes for her.
Martine saw that this was just the first of many, many dances together, one of which would be on a moonlit beach as they sang to one another. To think that two months earlier, she had still been in a wheelchair!
*****
After the dancing, they headed straight over to Morgan’s parents’ house. They had promised to stop by for dessert at the end of the evening.
“I can’t even have you to myself for one single evening,” Morgan groused. “We’re just lucky that they didn’t insist on coming to the dance with us.”
“I don’t know why they like me so much. No, I’m not just fishing for compliments. I seriously have never been a people person. And for the last two years, I’ve practically been a hermit.”
“And now, Grandma wants to stuff you with food. Mom wants to . . . okay, go over wedding venues with you. I told her we haven’t gotten that far. But my family is insane, and you should be forewarned. My little brother tells me about some ancient Middle Eastern tribe where if one brother dies, the other brother is obligated to marry his widow. He considers that news you can use. He’s got a bit of a crush on you, in case you hadn’t noticed.
Piper’s in heaven, ’cause she thinks she has a new sister. Sailor and Bay are ecstatic to have a new aunt. And Crew is certain that he’s your favorite. I probably didn’t do a good job of adequately warning you about my family. They are single-minded, and they are relentless. They want more family, more family, and still more family. They want me to be fruitful and multiply. And those expectations used to really get on my nerves. But now, as premature and heavy-handed as they are . . . well, I’m not really bothered by it. How about you?”
“I feel like I just stepped into the 1880s and went on a hayride with a young man and returned home to find a preacher in the living room, ready to perform the ceremony. This is all moving at super top speed for me, but . . . no, I guess I’m not bothered by it either.”
Morgan wrapped his arms around her, and they rested together, their foreheads touching, the enormity of their future now a shared vision.
*****
It was a loud, raucous evening over at the Beaumonts’. They always liked to have a big get-together a couple of days before Remy and Anchor went out on one of their major five-day, big crew trips. They insisted that Martine and Morgan demonstrate their dance moves of the evening. Morgan’s father presented Martine with a CD of Latin music that he thought would be extremely useful in developing her salsa moves.
“Show her the blueprints,” Grandma Clara insisted.
“No blueprints. No blueprints,” Morgan protested.
“What blueprints?” Martine inquired.
“Well, the plan has always been to build a house for Morgan and his family at the edge of our property. And those things take time—building permits, laying the foundation, not to mention getting the right plan together. So, even if he doesn’t need the house right now, there’s no harm in getting started. So, we’ve put together a few alternate floorplans and were hoping to solicit your opinion about them. I mean, we’re getting everyone’s opinion, so why not yours?”
“Especially hers. It only makes sense for a young woman to make decisions about her own—”
“Grandma! Don’t think I won’t wrestle you to the ground, because I will,” Morgan threatened.
“
And just exactly what makes you all so sure that I need to be consulted about these blueprints?” Martine challenged them.
This was greeted with collective smiles, sly grins, and even a few tears.
“Because of the way that he talks about you. There’s no doubt in his mind. And so, there’s no doubt in ours either,” his mother said earnestly, blinking back the tears.
This was a pretty momentous occasion, one that would have sent Martine running for the hills if she hadn’t seen so many blissful and appealing premonitions of her destiny with Morgan. Why fight it?
This effusion of sentiment led to a big round of hugs, everyone wanting to welcome Martine into the family. What a far cry from her years of being shut inside her lonely apartment. She had sometimes likened her condition to a prisoner condemned to solitary confinement. But it was a punishment that she had inflicted on herself, a lonely isolation of her own making. And she was done with it. She was really kind of digging the idea of being part of a family.
But the moment soured very quickly. Her embraces with Meryl and Remy Beaumont revealed the heart-shattering images of two parents standing over graves at the cemetery, clinging to one another and sobbing uncontrollably. Her hug with eighteen-year-old Anchor showed a terrified young man trapped in a torrential storm at sea, the awareness dawning on him that he was about to face his own death. And Martine’s hug with Piper revealed a young Coast Guard rookie who had broken all safety procedures to take a boat out to find her brother and had gotten caught up in a storm that defied all human control.
The Beaumonts chalked Martine’s quiet, changed mood up to being overwhelmed by warm emotions. How could they even guess that their family was about to be shattered beyond all recognition? Their youngest two children were about to die.
CHAPTER NINE
Cassandra Syndrome—a classical myth and dilemma of epic proportion. In Greek mythology, Cassandra was the unheeded prophetess who predicted the fall of Troy, but was, well…unheeded.
Since that time, it has evolved into a shorthand for the predicament of someone who can foretell the future and wants to warn others of the dangers to come. But because no one at any time in human history has believed in this possibility, anyone who claims to be able to see the future will be deemed crazy by all of society.
Martine didn’t need to be told that her visions of doom couldn’t be shared with anyone, not even Morgan. Especially not Morgan. No one would believe her, and everyone would question her sanity. So, if she were to go to the Beaumonts and tell them that Anchor should not go out fishing on this big major trip, it wouldn’t stop him from going. It would, in fact, only make the Beaumonts question whether this nutcase really ought to be welcomed into their family.
And while the Beaumonts were her primary interest, this was going to be a devastation for dozens of families, if not hundreds. The storm was to take people unaware and cause widespread, heartbreaking loss of life. But no one was going to listen to her. Because if she told anyone, that would just make her Crazy Cassandra.
Again, Martine turned in desperation to one of the few people who knew that she wasn’t crazy—Delphine. Delphine’s lovely jewelry boutique was empty of customers on this particular occasion, and they were able to speak freely.
“I can’t let this happen. It would devastate Morgan. It would devastate me. I like them all so much, and this will absolutely destroy their parents. It’s Anchor! And Piper! They’re such good people. Please tell me what to do. I have no idea what to do.”
“Oh, my dear. You face a dilemma that I have never been confronted with. Foresight has never been one of my talents, and I have always been glad of it. I do not want to see what is ahead. I like to be surprised by the nice things, and I don’t want to be consumed with worry over the bad things. But I do have the understanding that bad things will happen. I’m simply content to wait until they present themselves.”
“I can’t wait. Then it will be too late. It will be the worst thing, I think the worst thing that ever happened to me. Even worse than a wheelchair. Even worse than losing my parents, because I was too young to feel it. If Anchor and Piper die, I just won’t be able to bear it. And neither will Morgan. He will never have another happy day again in his entire life. Even if we do . . . even if we do marry, there will be such a cloud of sadness over our lives. I have to stop it. Tell me how.”
“What you should be telling her is that she expends far too much energy on the drama of commoners she is barely acquainted with. People die. And unfortunately, so do witches. Death by natural disaster is nothing to get worked up about. It is simply to be accepted. But natural death, through malice and the dark arts—that is worth turning her attention to.
“The demise of this family could very well be a blessing in disguise. They would have consumed her attention and her loyalties, which runs counter to my agenda. I know that her foresight has great potential to uncover the identity of my killer. Do your best to pull her away from these emotional diversions.”
“Lilith. I thought that you were selfish in life. But compared to your afterlife, you were Mother Theresa. While I believe you’re entitled to justice, the needs of the living take precedence over the needs of the dead.
“Perhaps it is too late for you to develop any compassion, but you can be sure of one thing. If Martine loses her friends—this family—she will never be whole again. She will care about nothing. And that includes you and your agenda.”
“Hmmph. Then make her whole. Make her fit to be of use.”
“Perhaps I could disable their boats,” Martine rambled on. “I could sabotage them. Except I know so little about boats. And even if I could break their boats, it doesn’t stop the problem of so many other families going out into the storm. So many other families.”
“Have you spoken to your young man? I know it is a difficult thing for the commoner mind to wrap around, but if he is to be a partner in life, then he must eventually know about this part of you. The other transplant patients—yes, there have been quite a few others—eventually, they were able to share their special abilities with that one person in their life. Perhaps you’ll be able to do the same with your Morgan.”
“How did they go about revealing such a crazy, unbelievable thing?”
“I believe that they simply demonstrated their new abilities. Seeing is believing. Even if what one is seeing was previously considered impossible.”
“But to demonstrate that I’m right about this means I have to tell him what is going to happen, and then he’ll believe me after it has happened.”
“I see your point.”
“But I do need to talk to him. I need to give him some rational, real-life explanation for something that I shouldn’t have any way of knowing about. That’s all. I can do that. I play fast and loose with the truth all the time. After all, I am a hacker.”
And with that, Martine ran out the door.
*****
Morgan waited nervously for Martine on the pier. She had sounded so urgent, so desperate, so tense. Perhaps she was having second thoughts about joining the Beaumont clan. Maybe showing her those house blueprints was a little too much. As he saw her approach, his questions continued. She looked so grim and serious.
“This big fishing trip that your father and your brother are going to go on? I need you to talk them out of it. I need you to tell them that it is going to be too dangerous. Because if they go, they are going to run into the worst storm of their lives. It’s actually a combination of three different storm fronts, all crossing paths—this ugly perfect storm scenario. And they won’t survive it. No one will survive it.”
Actually, Remy would survive it. His boat would be so loaded down with fish that he was going to come in early and miss the storm. And Anchor’s boat was going to stay out two more days and continue fishing. Remy would be saved, by luck and chance. But his son would not. And his daughter would go after Anchor in a fatal rescue attempt. All of this was way too much detail, very specific Crazy Cassandra detail. Bes
t to stick to the broad strokes and to the plausible explanation that she had come up with to explain her prediction.
“So, I’ve been glued to my computer for the past two years, and I learned a ton about meteorology. I’ve gotten very good at forecasting the weather. Precipitation, tornadoes, hurricanes. In fact, storms are my specialty. And I understand that this is something that other broadcasters might have missed. I’m asking you to believe me, and I’m asking you to trust me, just for the sake of your family. Don’t let them go on this trip.”
Of all the things that Morgan had expected to come out of Martine’s mouth, this would have been last on the list. Meteorology! Who studies meteorology? It couldn’t be nearly as lucrative as hacking. And even if Martine had gotten some kind of online degree, that still didn’t make her a professional. How could she possibly know better than those who had done this for a living for years?
Another disturbing possibility presented itself. Ever since he had seen Martine talking to psychiatrist Dr. Emily York, it had been nagging at the back of his mind whether his dearly beloved was suffering from any mental issues. And now, he had to wonder if he was finally being provided with some incontrovertible proof.
“You know, there’s this weather broadcast that all of the fishing boats use. And even the Coast Guard uses it. It’s state-of-the-art, rock solid, as good as it gets forecasts about how the weather is going to be right off the coast. And it’s the best. I mean, it’s okay. I check it myself all the time. Any time that I know my family is going out, I check it. I know they do as well, but it makes me feel better to see that things are clear. And believe me, for this trip, I checked.
