The Seer Renee

by C. R. Daems

  "If I saw you in an accident tomorrow driving to work, and I could convince you to stay home tomorrow, you wouldn't have the accident."

  "Well, convince the lab rat to avoid the test," Jim said. "I assume it involves us."

  "Yes. That is the beauty of the test. If I influence the test then they have the proof."

  "Well, don't influence it," Ron said.

  "Then I'd be a worse monster than they are." I finished my wine and filled the glass again.

  * * *

  Jim and Ron spent the next hour discussing the problem academically. Grace sat quietly watching me. Finally, Grace spoke.

  "So what is the test?"

  "No. Right now, I doubt any of you really believes I can tell the future with any clarity or that I can influence it. Jim believes I'm suffering from a kind of Post Traumatic Shock Syndrome from my previous kidnapping. Ron is wrapped up in the problem academically as an interesting argument on whether the future can be changed or not. You are the only one wrestling with whether I might be able to glimpse snapshots into the future like a psychic but only because of my involvement in the firebombing. I don't blame you. But I need to prove that I can; otherwise, you aren't going to take any of this seriously."

  "How are you going to prove it?" Grace asked.

  "Jim, get me some paper, envelope, and pencil. Grace, put your hands on the table palms down," I said moving my chair so I could place my hands over hers. She smiled.

  "This won't work unless something significant—"

  "Quiet, please." As I closed my eyes, the future began with such clarity it surprised me. I watched as the rest of the evening unfolded, her return with Ron to their apartment, and work the next day. I stopped as they returned to Jim's unit tomorrow night. I grabbed the paper Jim was holding and began writing. When I thought I had enough details, I folded the paper and placed it in one of the envelopes, sealed it, and wrote Grace on it. "Will you trust Jim to hold it until tomorrow?"

  "Yes," Grace said. "You're right. Jim is concerned about you and will want this test to be tightly controlled." She took the envelope, turned it over and signed her name across the flap. "Extra insurance."

  "Ron," I said, pointing to Grace's chair. He smiled and sat when Grace moved. I placed my hands over his and watched as his day unfolded. I couldn't help smiling as I wrote down the main things I had witnessed. After the envelope was sealed and Ron had signed it, Grace looked to Jim.

  "What about Jim?"

  "That's what caused part of the problem last night. When I went to see his future, I couldn't and panicked. That reinforced his diagnostic that I was in shock. I've come to the realization that the gift was supposed to be used to help others. It was not meant for one's own benefit. Granny couldn't see her future or mine; otherwise, she might have acted differently. I can't see my future nor Jim's because he wormed his way into my heart." I smiled at him. "I'm in love with him, so in a sense it’s as though we were married."

  "I can't wait for tomorrow evening. Here tomorrow after work?" Ron asked.

  "What about we meet for dinner? Say seven o'clock? I'll make reservations at the Three Sisters. The patio is fairly quiet and the tables are well spaced apart," Jim said. We agreed and Ron and Grace left, as it was already well past midnight and everyone had work in the morning. I decided to stay the night, much to Jim's relief.

  "Yes, I'm worried about you," Jim said after Ron and Grace left. "I don't think you're crazy, but I know what you went through was easily equivalent to battlefield trauma. Do I believe you can see the future? I don't know. I'm not even sure if I’d be happier if you could or if you couldn't. I know you believe you can, and you wouldn't lie. I'm scared."

  "Me too," I grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the bedroom. "Let see if we can't do something to distract ourselves."

  Jim's face lit with the first real smile in the past two days.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Now What?

  Jim dropped me at my shop on his way to the hospital. I debated on whether to open the shop, which was normally closed on Mondays. I wasn't in the mood for customers, but on the other hand, the thought of sitting around brooding about tonight wasn't appealing. I wasn't sure what would be happening over the next couple of days so I decided I needed something to keep me busy and opened at my normal time.

  Business was brisk, and I wondered if it was because many of the other businesses closed on Mondays or just happenstance. Not being hungry, I stayed open through lunch, nibbling on some dried apple slices. I closed late due to several customers who were interested in my packaged herbal remedies. It had been a good day—I had kept busy and made a nice profit. I had a quick wash and stood debating what to wear. I discarded anything black as depressing although that was the way I was feeling. I finally chose a mid-length, crinkle-textured skirt with a vibrant Aztec design, a white three-quarter-sleeve tunic with a rounded neckline, and white wedge sandals. I added a string of turquoise nuggets around my neck which showed nicely inside the rounded neckline of the blouse. I was dressed for a party but felt like I was going to a wake.

  * * *

  Jim appeared just as I had finished dressing. He too was dressed for a party in light grey slacks, a bright-blue with white stripes Polo sports shirt, and white-grey boat shoes.

  "You look gorgeous," we both said simultaneously and laughed.

  "I love you," he said, giving me a kiss. "I'm looking forward to tonight and learning more about the woman I'm going to marry."

  "You are incorrigible. That brings a Chinese proverb to mind," I said.

  "Patience is a virtue?"

  "No. Careful what you wish for. You may get it."

  "Better a diamond with a flaw, than a pebble without one." He took my head in his hand and kissed my eyes, nose, and lips.

  "Do you have the envelopes?" I asked.

  "In the car," he said dragging me out and into his car. It was a short drive to the restaurant. When we arrived Ron and Grace were already seated.

  "This is lovely, Jim. You were right; it is private for a restaurant." Ron said. "And romantic." He squeezed Grace's hand.

  "I suggest we eat first and then discuss what's in the envelopes over coffee and dessert...or a couple of Black Russians," Grace said with a wry smile. Everyone seemed reluctant to open the envelopes, and we had a leisurely dinner. When the waitress returned there was silence.

  "Are you ready for coffee and dessert? We have some amazing selections," she said, looking at Grace and me.

  Grace looked to me. "Well, Mambo Renee, which should it be?"

  "Let's start with coffee. Then we'll see if you prefer desserts or Black Russians."

  "Coffee," everyone said as the waitress looked at each person. Jim produced the envelopes and laid them on the table.

  "Who's first?" Jim asked. Ron and Grace stared at the envelopes for a long time. Eventually, Ron reached over and picked up the one with his name on it, turned it over and showed everyone his signature, and handed it back to Jim.

  "Jim, why don't you read it to us? I'll comment when appropriate."

  Jim tore open the envelope, scanned the list, and turned to give me a strange look. Then he began. "You had a bowl of cereal, Frosted Cheerios, while you studied some papers that looked like work. Grace left a good hour before you. On the way to work, you were checking your iPhone when you noticed the light at Canal and Basin turn red. You slammed on your brakes and a silver Lexus rear-ended you—"

  "Oh, my God," Grace said staring at Ron, who had his mouth open, staring at me. "Did that happen, Ron?"

  "Exactly like she said." Ron nodded. "Read on, Jim, just in case Renee paid someone in a silver Lexus to rear-end me." He laughed.

  "The damage was minor, a broken left-rear light. In court, you were defending an elderly man with silver-grey hair, shorter than you, who needed a cane. Afterward, you went to lunch with a very attractive red-head—"

  "That's my insurance agent. Tell her, Renee," Ron said rather loudly.

  "J
im, open mine. And I think it may be Black Russian time," Grace said, looking at Ron who had taken my list from Jim and was reading it. When Jim showed Grace both sides of her envelope, she nodded. He opened it and began to read.

  "Grace, you got out of bed and had a shower before Ron rose. You had two slices of toast with strawberry jam and coffee. You left while Ron was getting his cereal. When you arrived at the office three men and one woman were already there. You met with the two men, one named Mike, in a conference room. You three were there all morning going over files. An older man joined you just before lunch..." Jim stopped and handed Grace my list when she put out her hand. She sat reading it and nodding. Finally she folded it and put in back into the envelope.

  "I'd suggest we order dessert and have our waitress put them in doggy bags so we can take them home. I think this is going to be a long night, and this is no place to discuss the issue," Grace said, looking at each of us. There was little conversation as we ordered and waited for our desserts to be boxed. Jim took my hand in his.

  "I'm sorry I doubted you, my love," he said, looking on the verge of tears.

  "I was hardly coherent, and I'm not your average date." I choked out a short laugh. "Voodoo, fortunetelling, suicide, kidnapping, firebombing... I must look like the world’s number one screwball."

  "No. I saw the real you, and that is why I should have believed you." He pulled me to him.

  "He's a keeper, Renee," Grace said as we rose to leave. "I've got an extra set of handcuffs if you need them." A smile appeared, the first one since they opened the envelopes. We went back to Ron and Grace's condo, where she prepared coffee and set the table for our dessert.

  "So you knew Mambo Monique was going to be fire-bombed because you saw her future," Grace said as we sat. "You need contact, correct?"

  "Yes."

  "But how did you know those people had changed the target from Monique to you, when you can't see your future?"

  "I have to interpret it from what is happening. I saw Mambo Monique standing in front of my burnt-out shop, crying."

  "Wasn't that enough proof for whomever is testing you?"

  "No. They have lots of circumstantial evidence, but they don't have proof enough to make a move against me. All of their evidence could be explained by a talented fake and happenstance. When my shop got firebombed, I could have been taking inventory as I said, and if I had involved the police there would have been more than just you, Grace, as there would have been when I warned you about Mambo Monique. And I could have known that through rumor or a leak as the Sheriff thought. They are walking on a knife's edge. Kidnapping me before they are certain has risks without rewards, and they would never know if I were lying. And they have to be careful I don't choose Granny's solution."

  "You wouldn't, would you?" Jim whispered barely loud enough to be heard.

  "Yes, I would before I'd help them if what they want is so bad that it drove my granny to kill herself. Granny thought the sacrifice worth it, although she had much to live for and would have helped many in her lifetime. And it wouldn't be one event. No. I'd be caged and at their will."

  "What's this test you believe they have devised using us? Maybe we can continue to keep the results ambiguous," Grace said as she sat down next to me on the couch and took my hand. Jim had my other hand clutched in a death grip.

  "That would certainly be ideal," I said, closing my eyes. "This young woman who is being paid to have her fortune told every week will be instructed to stand outside your condo entrance Wednesday morning within an hour of Jim leaving for his shift at the hospital. When she can see him, someone will shoot him twice." Tears ran down my cheeks as the scene repeated itself behind my closed eyes.

  "Damn. Bastards," Ron half shouted.

  "I won't show. I'll sleep over at your place," Jim said. "They won't be able to prove you didn't see me being shot."

  "Yes. That is the beauty of their test. Angela will come for a fortunetelling session the next night, and I will see her witnessing Ron being shot as he leaves the building."

  "But how do you know that?" Grace asked.

  "I know because I can influence the future I see by persuading the person to do something different. I asked Angela to see me on Wednesday night. When she agreed, I saw the future where Ron was murdered."

  "And me?"

  "That's a supposition based on the fact Angela is living in this building—"

  "Here?" Ron shouted.

  "At 1201 Canal?" Jim's voice rose hysterically. "We could have her arrested. That would end it."

  "On what charges?" Ron asked, shaking his head. "It sounds as though she’s done nothing wrong, and no one has been hurt."

  "And who is going to believe Renee can see the future. I doubt you could have her arrested even after the murder. She'd be a witness, not an accomplice, even if they believed Renee," Grace said. "Whoever they are, they’re clever."

  Silence descended on the room. Yes, they were clever and their test perfect. Once could have nothing to do with my ability to see the future, twice a coincidence, but not three times.

  "You aren't thinking of committing suicide, are you?" Jim asked. His eyes were teary and his voice shaky.

  "No, otherwise I never would have told y’all what I have. That is also the cleverness of their test. They have to be committed to doing the murders; otherwise, I couldn't see it as a potential future. Therefore, me committing suicide wouldn't keep you from being murdered. They intend to kill you whether I’m alive or not."

  "Certainly, they would call it off?" Jim said, and then shook his head violently. "I don't mean—"

  "Of course, you don't," I said quickly. "But you don't know the arrangements with the killer. They don't know how my gift works and would have to assume the arrangement to murder you had to be irrevocable."

  "Renee's right. We are dealing with a very well-funded and Machiavellian group. Not only Ken and Sheila, but they knew about the Sheriff, his group, and the kidnapping. It makes me wonder what they wanted from your granny and from you," Grace said frowning.

  "I have no idea. Granny only said what they wanted was evil." I could think of many evil things but doubted I was in the same league as them.

  "I'm torn in so many ways. I'm dying to get the FBI involved. This group has got to be planning something that the Bureau would be interested in, but I can't without subjecting Renee to the government...and imprisonment."

  "She's done nothing wrong," Jim said.

  "You don't think the government wouldn't want to know the future? They slap her in witness protection. Except it wouldn't be witness protection. It would be government security. Besides her life being in constant danger, she would be subjected to the demands of government in control. That could be as bad as any other group."

  "The courts..."

  Ron’s face was grim. "She’d never see a court or lawyer, Jim. Since 9/11 and the Patriot Act, the government has unprecedented legal powers and a hundred ways to justify their illegal ones. Grace is right. I wouldn't trust those in power to be any less evil. We have hundreds of examples over the years. Imagine if they could influence the future. Scares the shit out of me. I'd rather Renee let all three of us die." He took a deep breath. "Sorry."

  "That's not necessary," I said, freeing my hands and cutting a slice of my almond cake with lemon cream. "I didn't expect a solution, but you needed to know the danger you’re in and help me avoid it—for your sakes. I'm not going to help them, but they are obviously going to use you as leverage against me."

  "I think we can stop that," Ron said. "If we document what we know and keep it where it will be sent to the FBI in the event of our death..."

  "Might work. What about the immediate problem...their test?"

  "That's easy to avoid. Their objective is to prove I have the ability and not to kill any of you."

  "If you were as evil as them, you could let them kill the three of us, and they would let you alone," Ron said.

  "If she were that evil, the test wouldn't
be necessary." Jim kissed my cheek.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The Wait.

  All we could do was wait. I had at least three weeks before anything would happen. That was how long it would take for the test to be concluded with no deaths—murders. Wednesday was a fairly normal business day with alternating periods of busy and slow. I had stopped thinking of the test; they had won—whoever they were. What I had to decide was what I was going to do after the test. First, I would refuse to have any more fortunetelling sessions with Angela. That would stop further indirect contact with them. They would have to contact me directly, or more likely, kidnap me. My options then would be to disappear or commit suicide. Two really bad alternatives. In a sense disappearing was close to committing suicide since it would mean giving up Jim, and my life as a mambo. I couldn't bring him along, even if he were willing. He would be too easy to trace as a registered doctor, and I couldn't ask him to give up his calling. I'd have to talk to Grace. I'd imagine disappearing wasn't as easy as it sounded, unless the government was involved or I became homeless. People had to have a previous life when applying for anything. And there was the money issue. I couldn't sell the shop without alerting them, and if I put it in a realtor's hands, how would they get me the money?

  I closed the shop on time and began preparing dinner for Jim and me. He had offered to take me to dinner, but I had refused. In the back of my mind, I knew I was going to lose him and wanted to spend as much quality time with him until then. Besides, it occupied my mind to be doing something. I had decided Country Chicken Jambalaya and bought a whole chicken so I could use the gizzard, heart, and liver along with the sausage, and I bought a medium-priced Merlot the clerk suggested, which he said was medium-bodied and had a juicy fruit flavor. I took his word on it since I seldom drank wine and usually took the waiter or waitress's suggestion. Jim arrived around six-thirty, which was good timing as the dinner still needed to cook, and we could relax with a glass of wine.

  "How are you holding up?" Jim said as he came through the door. He looked tired.