

### A Dream Come True

Copyright 2018 Chariss K. Walker

Published by Chariss K. Walker at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Every great dream begins with a dreamer. Always remember, you have within you the strength, the patience, and the passion to reach for the stars to change the world. – Harriet Tubman

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Excerpt: Kaleidoscope

About the Author

Other Books by Chariss K. Walker

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Chapter 1

I'm Michael James Lewis and I see the future. I view these images through a kaleidoscope, but it's not pretty colored-glass that I see; nope, it's disturbing images of a disaster.

Sounds a little kinky, right? But that knack is not all it's cracked up to be. It nearly cost me my life. It darn well ran me out of New York City, my home. This psychic ability has certainly changed the course of my future.

You see, some bad guys were after me. They wanted to capture me, to study my paranormal ability. I stood and fought as long as I could, but then, I had no other choice but to run.

Presently, I'm hiding in a Mexican border town with a new name, a new identity, and enough money to be comfortable. At the moment, I don't know if any of this is either good or bad.

It is what it is.

The advice I was given from my good friend Joe, who happens to work for the FBI, was to 'start over.' He'd said, "Make a new life for yourself, Mike. Find a woman to love, settle down and have a family. Find it and hold onto it."

Joe knew that was exactly what I'd always wanted – a wife, a couple of kids, and a normal life like my parents had. Well-meaning words for sure, but what did it mean? Was it even possible?

We all want to be loved and to love. It's the central theme and desire in all of our human lives whether spiritual or material. Take any angry, disgruntled man who blows away everyone in his workplace – or any other villain – bottom line, he wanted love and never found it.

Love is the main purpose in every life. Love is what we all crave whether man, woman, or child. And, it was that desire to love and be loved that forced me to evade those who would capture me. My hunger for love was the catapult that encouraged me to learn how to protect myself. It was the propulsion that caused me to put aside my pride and ask Joe for help.

Technically, I'm dead and this is my resurrection.

The Michael James Lewis that I was, that I knew, is dead and buried. Of course, that was really my cousin, Magin, who was killed by a hit and run. It was actually his body that took the place of mine in the morgue. Thanks to Magin and Joe, I have assumed my cousin's identity. I'm now Magin James Lewis.

The name feels tricky on my tongue and I don't like it. I could go by James, I determined. "James Lewis, James Lewis," I tested the name aloud.

Since Magin was my only living kin, I inherited my own estate plus everything Magin had owned. He'd told me that his father left him a 'shitload' of money. I'm not sure how much that is by Magin's standards, but it's now included in everything I left him too.

I can't return to the States, Joe says that would blow our plan and we'd all end up in prison, but I can travel the world. I can cross the border into the U.S. even if I can't take up residence. Because of his warnings, I'd decided to settle in Juarez. Within only a few days of my arrival, I've already bought a truck and a home.

Everything is brand new to me. I'm brand new now too. It's as if I've been born again, literally.

I don't feel brand new.

I can no longer work in the geology field, but then again, I have Magin's degree in engineering and I can work somewhere, or not. I suppose that I could officially retire and travel the world with the woman of my dreams, providing I can find her. There are a lot more pros than cons on my list for the future – it feels good and a little scary.

Find it and hold onto it, Joe's words ricochet.

A wife and family, huh?

With that in mind, I stared into the distance and then forced my eyes out of focus to envision what I truly wanted now. As if on cue, I saw the distinct and clear image of an American woman. She was in a café here in Juarez.

I watched this vision through a spyglass with a wide-angle lens. The sharply focused images allowed me to see many details. It wasn't anything like looking through the kaleidoscope. These clear images allowed me to absorb so much more. I took in every detail, but it was difficult to take my eyes off her.

She walked into the interior of the café where I ate lunch and stood directly in front of me. She was tall and slender, with long brunette hair that hung to the middle of her back. Her body was fit and lean, athletic.

When she spotted the regular cashier, she pleasantly asked, "Angelica, is my order ready?"

"Oh, Danielle, it's so good to see you again, and yes, it's ready. I'll be back in a moment." Angelica hurriedly wiped down the table she was clearing and then went through the double swinging doors that isolated the kitchen from the dining area.

"Her name is Danielle," I silently noted. "Why is that so familiar? Why does that name, coupled with her presence, bring the taste of honey to my tongue?"

Angelica returned with what appeared to be three lunches packed in a bag tied at the top. She walked with Danielle to the alcove where she checked-out customers. I lost sight of them shortly and got up to follow.

Once I was directly behind her, I took a deep breath. Angelica faced me with Danielle between us. The cashier noticed my extremely keen interest and motioned for Danielle to turn around. Dazzling green eyes sparked with curiosity as she turned to look at me.

"I know you!" I heard my own mind scream. "I've always known you and I've been waiting to find you. Oh, Danny, my one true love. We finally meet again."

Confused beyond imagination, I hastily retreated from the vision. I needed to know what it meant, but I was too addled at the moment to figure it out.
Chapter 2

As I attempted to understand the way I felt, I tried to rationalize, but I couldn't. The feelings were simply too powerful. Why was I certain that I knew her?

The instant the images of the café and the woman were gone, I felt a tremendous ache in my heart. It was far more controlling than I ever imagined. Still, I knew without a doubt that I'd previously felt this deep bereavement on many occasions. I'd known her for thousands of years only to have her suddenly ripped from my life. Why did it feel this way?

What kind of soul connection was this?

As I considered that aspect, I also realized that it was the very reason I'd never had any luck in love. My heart and soul belonged to Danny. They always had and always would.

I thought about the kaleidoscope images and how they'd changed during the past few weeks. The visions were no longer broken and fragmented... I no longer saw them each time I closed my eyes... I was now shown personal images rather than horrifying future events.

As I wondered about those changes, I suddenly revisited the past... eighteen years ago I was about to embark on a lifelong career. After receiving my doctorate from Columbia, and before beginning work at GMS, I'd taken a short weeklong break to spend with my parents at their brownstone. Rather than 'knowing' what was next, I witnessed my entire future flash before my eyes.

In only a matter of moments, I saw everything that was in store for my future... the death of my parents... the heartbreaking betrayals... and running for my life. I saw the break-ups, the loneliness, and all the rest. For a twenty-six-year-old man, it was too much; it had shaken me to the very core.

The images I saw that day were clear visions, a true psychic ability. It was too much information and I thought my head would explode. It was utterly painful and devastating. It hurt so badly that I wanted it to stop. I had to make it stop.

And, that's what I had done that day.

I'd made it stop. By the sheer force of will and intention, I invoked it to stop right then. Sitting on the deck at the brownstone, I blocked the ability so completely that I didn't even remember it existed. My memory of it and everything it had ever touched in my life was completely gone. That was the first time I'd become a clean slate and I hadn't even remembered it until now.

I forgot every bad thing I'd been shown.

I also failed to recall the good.

After that forceful act, my life was routine and normal, almost dull, boring, and predictable. I'd successfully walled off the ability, and it remained that way for a very long time. When it was reactivated years later, it had returned as a twisted, broken version of the previously smooth sixth sense. It was the very reason I'd begun to see visions of disturbing future events through a kaleidoscope – I'd broken my gift.

After working with Dr. Nelson Fitch, an old friend from Columbia, the damaged and sealed pathways I'd blocked began to mend and reopen. Now, the images were sharp and clear. By focused intention and meditation, the visions are enhanced.

I no longer fight or resist them.

They're also improved by my personal maturity and age. At this stage of life, I feel certain that I can manage anything shown regardless of how devastating the visions might be.

Now, that I have a handle on things, I'm anxious to see Danny again. I intended it. I shifted my focus to allow my periphery vision to blur slightly. The spyglass didn't disappoint me. A clear photographic image appeared... lovely dark hair hanging down her back in curls to a slender waist... an athletic and ageless form that made it impossible to guess her age. I saw and understood even more, but the things I saw astounded me.

I saw myself with Danny in a past life.
Chapter 3

In that life, I heard my harshly whispered warning. "Run! Run, Danielle, run!"

"How did he find us?" She kept her voice as low as possible.

"He always finds us. Don't you remember?"

"No, I just know that he terrifies me. Please, Michael, help me. I can't see anything and I'm freezing."

I led her to the steep path that traveled away from the gardens and encouraged her to climb. When she was headed in the right direction, I encouraged, "Just find a safe place to hide, Danny, I'll find you."

Danielle turned to flee as I'd directed while I crouched low to look over the rocky ledge. The Captain of the Guard was still there with his men, meticulously searching the gardens for any signs of where we'd gone. His eyes turned towards the cliffs as he considered the direction his quarry might've flown. He knew it was possible but dangerous. Still, he wondered if the young lovers would risk such a hazardous path in order to escape Earl Duggen.

"I want them found and dealt with immediately!" A punitive order came from the shadows, but when the man behind the voice stepped into the moonlight, I could see it was Earl of Duggen, Danny's betrothed.

When I gazed upon the man's harsh features, I had a moment of clarity – it didn't matter where I was with Danny, the same bastard always appeared. We were forever on his radar and he constantly found us. It seemed it was the man's continuous mission to prevent us from being together. Even though the Earl had taken many different forms, names, and roles throughout the ages, his primary goal was to keep me and Danny apart.

Danny and I had secretly met in the gardens only a short while earlier. As we'd discussed our best options to flee to Italy, I'd thought we were safe. In only moments I'd heard the foot patrol come in search of us.

Earl Duggen! I mentally cursed. He'd ordered her followed.

It was a set-up.

Now, I realized how foolish I'd been. I should've known that as long as we were together, neither of us was safe. Why did I continually hope for a life with her when it seemed such a life was impossible?

I was certain that I loved Danielle. I felt sure that she loved me too. We met as often as we could, but it wasn't enough. I wanted more. I'd always wanted more. It was my greatest desire to be with her all the time. I wondered now if my desire was too much. Was it the reason we were in this predicament now? Should I learn to be satisfied with less? Was that the lesson in all of this?

I wished to marry Danny and have a family with her. I was pretty sure she wanted the same things. That was our plan anyway.

That's why we'd risked so much to meet in the dark of night away from prying eyes. We'd hoped to set a plan in motion where we could escape to my home. There, life was much simpler. Where I came from, although marriages were still arranged for titles and property, many people married for love.

Danny and I would marry for love.

Those strong desires and emotions seemed to trigger our eternal 'hunter' into action. Although he was new to us each time, we intrinsically knew him once the quest began. There was no other way to see that. It was as if our love and joy sent out a beacon advertising where to find us. I needed to give the idea more consideration, but for now, we were in imminent danger.

I had to keep Danny safe.

Meanwhile, as Michael turned away from his vantage point which overlooked the gardens, the Captain of the Guard motioned for a party to search the cliffs. At their reluctance to explore such dangerous terrain, he bellowed, "Here, follow me. I'll lead the way. Come if you wish, Earl Duggen, but I can promise you that's the direction they went."

"Why would they go that way?" Earl Duggen asked with distaste as he considered the effort it would take to climb into the rocky cliffs.

The guard's casual gaze flitted over the Earl and, although he remained respectful, he thought, "Because they believed your decrepit, fat arse won't be able to make that climb." Outwardly, he advised, "Because it's what I would do, Sir."

Chapter 4

The dream or vision continued... In my quest to find Danielle, I combed the huge boulders where we'd taken refuge. It had seemed safe enough from the vantage point of the gardens, but now in the midst of it, I realized what a treacherous path I'd chosen. It wasn't lost on me that our desire to live a happy life was also precarious regardless of the love we shared.

The mist was so thick I could barely see anything. Moss grew on the rocks and, in my hurry, my foot slipped several times. In such a perilous situation, I berated myself for not being more careful. I had to watch my footing. If I fell to my death, the bastard would get Danny. I shuddered at the thought of what the man would do to her this time. Torture? Rape? Murder? I simply couldn't let her fall into that devil's hands again. I couldn't let him win.

"Who are you kidding?" I muttered. "He always wins. It seems as if the game is fixed in his favor."

During each time and each life, I had learned a little more about the hound that chased us through eternity, but Danny rarely remembered that a psychopath was after us. It was as if each time we met, she started at the beginning. She was unaware of our pursuer and the dangers we faced whenever we were together.

If this was a game, was there a reset button?

I didn't stop to consider that notion as I carefully searched for Danielle. I didn't wonder from where such terminology had come even though it was a foreign concept during that era. Like a madman consumed with urgency, I simply scoured the area for the woman I loved.

I finally found the deep crevice where Danny hid, shivering from both fear and cold. I pulled her close to share my warmth with her. "No wonder you're freezing cold," I'd cautioned. "You're only wearing a thin nightgown and robe."

"It was warm in my bed," she explained, but as the dream world and that life incongruously merged, the sentence didn't make any sense to her. She had dressed properly to meet him, hadn't she? She would never go out in her nightclothes. Suddenly, her voice broke as she continued, "I just don't understand. I come here to be with you, but each time that man, that monster, keeps us apart," she sobbed against his chest.

"So you do remember," I had commented.

"I only remember it after it happens," she tried to explain. "It's fleeting and surreal. Even though it feels real and as if we've shared a lifetime together, it also seems as if it's but a dream. I love you and I want to be with you. We share a few blissful moments and then it ends with us running for our lives or worse. Why? Is it only a dream? If it is, can't we reshape it to our liking?"

"We've shared more than a few blissful moments, Danny," I said as my lips found hers in the darkness. I pulled her even closer knowing that we could be captured at any moment, knowing that if that was the case I had to feel her love coursing through my veins and soul one more time before I went to my death.

When wrapped securely in his arms, Danny sighed with pleasure. This was why she risked everything to be with him. This was why she loved him and couldn't stay away in spite of the dangers. The connection she felt to him was impossible to describe, but it was so real, so dynamically impossible but true, that she couldn't resist being with him. She wondered if it was possible for this dream to come true like so many others. It was her greatest desire and also her worst fear.

No sooner than she'd given over to that fright, bright torchlight filled the fissure where they hid. The blinding light limited her ability to see but she heard the hateful voice she feared command, "Take the girl to the dungeon and string him up. I want him to swing before dawn."

"Without a trial?" the Captain asked.

"Without scandal, Captain, without scandal. By the time he's missed, his body will be long gone," Earl Duggen declared. "You'll weight him down and set him loose in the river. You have your orders. Now, get on with it!"

Danielle's blood-curdling scream filled the air. It was the high-pitched keening of a woman ready to die to save the one she loved. She desperately struggled to hold onto me, but her efforts were feeble compared to the strength of the large men who roughly dragged her away from her one true love.

I had cursed and fought with all my might also but the many guards and their weapons had whipped me to the ground. Beaten and bloody, the soldiers dragged me away in chains.

"This is only a dream," Danny cried out. "Michael wake up, please wake up."

However, no matter how hard we tried, neither of us could awaken. Once our age long adversary had captured us, the dream didn't end until he was done and the game had completed.

Chapter 5

I scrambled away from the images I'd been shown. What mystery was this? I was stunned; I didn't know what to make of it, any of it. What the hell had happened?

Had my visions shown my past rather than my future? How was that even possible? It frightened me. I was terrified deep in my soul. It was as if I'd looked behind the curtain... what was my punishment for such a deed? Was my soul now in mortal danger?

Still, even with that warning hanging over my head, I couldn't leave it alone. I had to know more. I had to know the outcome of the past life I'd just witnessed.

The last glimpse had caused my head to throb as if suffering from a massive hangover or concussion. I ignored the warning. I forced my gaze to shift once again. Oh, what torture! My skull felt ripped apart as I fell back into the abyss, but I had to know what had happened after our capture.

Then, I saw Danny again.

She was curled in fetal position on the frigid stone floor of a prison chamber in the bowels of Earl Duggen's castle. She had given over to her worst nightmares and fears. She felt hopeless and abandoned.

My heart bled for the torment she suffered; I had to share her pain or take it from her. As I touched Danny, I was somehow there with her. I observed her conscious mind as she lay on the cold dungeon floor. That was when she took me back to her first remembered dream – the first dream that had come true – but that dream wasn't about me.

She remembered that she was Danielle Marie Burgess and that she was born on March 30, 1979 in Las Cruces, New Mexico. Was that true? She wondered how it could be real when she also remembered that she was Danielle Dupree born in Camden in 1820. Her French ancestors had arrived in London as early as 1647. How strange the names and dates felt on her tongue, my tongue.

Danny also knew that, born under the Aries astrological sign, she was independent and a uniquely creative soul; she was an artist by nature. She recalled her small studio in New Mexico as well as the dayroom her father had converted in their townhome in London. She remembered that she also had a special ability that she hadn't known existed until she was seven years old. It was then that she dreamed her first dream of import.

I shared the memories as if they were my own.

On that momentous day in 1986, Danny had awakened crying because she'd dreamed of her mother's death. We could see her mother's face now – it was a lovely, kind face. Marianna had long dark hair and startling green eyes like her daughter's. The grief, the sadness and loss were great. Gasping for air, Danny had sat up in bed as her heart raced and thumped loudly in her small chest. Careful not to alarm the household, she'd sobbed soundlessly.

The contrast between the warm bed in a cozy room with painted walls and the cold slab floor of the dungeon startled her even more. How could her memory conjure such images? Even the walls in her small bedroom were decorated with her artwork. That assured her this was her home, wasn't it? She wondered which place was real. Were they both mere dreams?

Danny tried to sort out the current situation. The gardens where we'd met were in London. The year was 1836. She was betrothed to an Earl that she didn't love and loathed to marry.

Her heart belonged to me.

The memories rewound, revealing her memories of how we had met. I saw the meeting and my image through her eyes. We'd met while Danny having tea with a consort of Duchess Drake, sister of Earl of Duggen. The Duchess was either fortuitous or crafty enough to marry above her station.

I was there on business representing my father's vineyard. Danny thought I was well-mannered and kind – so different from the pompous asses that filled the British courts. That's what had first made her want to know more about me.

We'd been drawn to each other the moment our eyes had met. Within only a few weeks, we knew we could only love each other. We'd talked of leaving London and making a life together in Italy, my homeland.

Even then, Danielle had wondered what her father would think when she eloped with another to avoid an arranged marriage. Would he be left in ruins? Would the Earl take out his wrath on her feeble, but loving, Papa?

She'd speculated whether Earl Duggen would let her go... how could she break his grasp? Was it possible to escape? Would Earl Duggen send his personal troops after them? Would he murder her lover and have her whipped or killed? Was it worth the risk?

Danielle knew that it was. She knew that in spite of the dangers or the disgrace that such a decision might bring to her family, a life with me was the only life worth living. The chance of a life with me was worth the gamble. How could she ever marry the Earl? How could she go on living without me?

I'd felt the same.

Lying there now in pain, the cold she'd suffered earlier while hiding in the cliffs was nothing compared to the subzero stone flooring. The icy depth of the place seeped into her soul and into mine. As a prisoner, Danielle was offered no furs or blankets to keep her warm, no food for the hunger that grew in her belly and no prospect of rescue for herself or the one she loved.

Although Danielle was confused and miserable, her real concern was for me. She worried about what they had done to me. She wondered if I would die a horrible death. Would she?

Chapter 6

Still attached to Danny's subconscious, she searched for me and, in an instant, she dragged me to witness my own dire situation. It wasn't pretty and, although it was merely a memory, I relived it as if it happened right now.

I stood on the gallows with my arms bound behind me and a rough gag stuffed in my mouth. Once I'd viewed that image, I simultaneously recalled my own current life. I hoped it would shed some light on the constant battle with our antagonist. It was how I spent the few precious moments left before the noose was placed around my neck.

Without a doubt, even as that man, that persona of me, stood ready to face his death, I knew that I was born in New York City as Michael James Lewis on August 12, 1968. I also knew I was born under the Leo astrological sign which made me extremely loyal to family and those I loved or considered friends. It also made me exceptionally fierce with those I believed to be enemies.

What I couldn't fathom was how this game, this dream seemed to end in my demise each time. Had I ever won? Had I ever defeated my opponent? Was there a single time when I'd saved Danny from the one person who was determined to harm her?

As I looked at my own current life, I recognized that I had a very special gift. Like Danny's ability to dream about actual realities that come true, my visions were a prize for which others would kill if it was discovered. Did my ability have anything to do with the events happening right now?

I recalled that my parents, Dawn and Patrick Lewis, worried constantly about my extraordinary ability. I wondered why they were so concerned. Was it because, as educators in the New York public school system, they feared my remarkable gift would bring unwanted attention to me? Did they silently pray that their worst fears would never be realized?

Or was it even more?

Was it feasible that they knew my gift could, with amazing clarity, transport me throughout the cosmos to discover the many lives I'd previously lived? Had they had an inkling that such a thing was not only possible, but likely?

Apprehended now and facing certain death, I felt my heart race wildly. My fear of capture was realized. Throughout each life, regardless of my situation or social status, it seemed to be a focal point in each incarnation. In the life I currently remembered, I recalled that when I was only a small boy, for no apparent reason, three older students had shoved me into the musty broom closet under the school stairway. Locked in that dark, dank place for hours, I'd been terrified and the terror had stayed with me throughout that life.

Did such harrowing childhood experiences become so ingrained in a person's psyche that they played importance in each ensuing life? Was the experience on a loop? Would the game's instructions repeat for a particular number of times until the objective had been achieved? If so, what was the objective, the purpose of this round?

It was mind-boggling.

Presently, in Danny's subconscious mind, I stood toe-to-toe with the Earl of Duggen. He was a large ugly specimen with a bulbous nose and thinning gray hair. The Earl's face was splotched with horrid red pockmarks as if the veins had clustered in maddening hollows to protest something awful. The perfumed robes couldn't hide the disgusting stench of his unwashed body.

His appearance was appalling and I couldn't imagine Danny locked in marital embrace with the dreadful man. I knew it was only by wealth and promises that the Earl had been able to secure the alliance with Dannielle's family. Although of a good name, the Dupree's had lacked fortune and title to go with it.

At the moment, Earl Duggen held my life in his hands but he couldn't be satisfied with that alone. He felt the need to torment and bully me as I stood ready to face my death. Through his own numerous shortcomings, he needed to berate and belittle me. He needed to torture me for winning Danielle's love.

"You thought you could steal Dannielle away from me? Me?" he yelled, and like a mad dog that foamed at the mouth, each exaggerated word spewed spittle onto his prisoner's face. "Who the hell do you think you are, boy? You're nothing more than some lowly vintner's son. You thought you could provide for her in the manner she deserves? You thought love was enough? You thought you could outwit an old fox like me?"

He waited impatiently for me to respond, but even if I'd had a reply, the gag prevented me from speaking. Earl Duggen balled up his fist and slammed it into my gut knocking out what little breath I had left. Then, he snarled out his next words and they sent shivers of terror through me.

"You've spoiled my prize, you bastard! Don't think for an instant that I didn't know about your sneaking around with my betrothed. You turned my virgin bride into a whore! Now, you will both pay the price. You will die and I'll wed her immediately to keep up appearances. But, I won't bed her. Not after the likes of you! I'll feed my lovely, cheating whore-bride to the guards. Then she'll die a slow chilling death in the dungeons without food, water, or warmth. Are you happy now?" The Earl screeched the last question with such emphasis that the pockmarks were ready to ooze blood and pus down his sagging jowls.

Chapter 7

I tried to escape the visions, the horror of the predicament, but like a tick buried in a dog's flesh, I was in too deep. Celestial powers refused to let go of me. It was almost as if otherworldly voices admonished, "You wanted to see? Then, see!"

The more I struggled to free myself the more entangled I became, the deeper I went into the reality and understanding of the providence I'd shared with Danny.

Our destinies had always been fated. Our past lives had been intertwined in a myriad of ways – often as lovers, sometimes as partners, occasionally as star-crossed lovers, and from time to time as family. However, it didn't matter how many lives we'd lived or how many times we'd been born and died, we'd eventually found each other every time.

As drops from the same bottle of fate, we were destined to seek each other out, to love, and to lose that connection only to find it once again in the next lifetime.

I heard whispers as the celestial beings agreed, "These two souls have shared more lifetimes together than any other souls in the universe."

Like the waves of the ocean, our entangled purpose pounded against the shore helpless to stop our forward motion, helpless to break the loop or lunar cycle.

But, in this particular dream, Danny shivered from the dampness of the dark dungeon. Its stone walls and slab floors seeped more than wetness to chill her to the bone; it oozed despair.

She listened as footsteps retreated. She heard several iron doors clang out their resounding thuds until even those grew faint. She strained to hear anything that meant she wasn't completely alone and deserted. But she was alone. She was without help from anyone in that pitiful place. She understood that no one could hear her even if she'd had the strength to cry out.

Although she was trapped in this nightmare, she correspondingly remembered her life in Las Cruces. During the current incarnation of 1995, it was through sadness, loneliness, and sorrow that she first found me, that we found each other. Through our teen and young adult angst, it was also a cosmic calling – kismet if you will – and one the universe did not take lightly.

She remembered that she'd found me for the first time in her dreams when she was only sixteen years old. She was still in high school. I had been twenty-six, just finishing my last courses at Columbia. Now, Danny dragged me into the memory with her.

At that time, neither of us had understood exactly how we'd found each other. We had no concept of how our dream worlds had collided that night.

We were blissfully naïve and ignorant.

Having passed through the veil of forgetfulness at birth where our past lives were wiped clean for our new mortal beginnings, as far as we could remember, such a thing had never before happened to either of us. And, although our first meeting was initially awkward, in hindsight, it was magical.

Chapter 8

Now, I witnessed Danny's remembrances as if they were my own memories and together we relived it. I felt and saw the meeting the same way she did. She'd sat alone on a park bench, feeling miserable as she dried tear-stained eyes. However, suddenly, she was no longer alone. Although slightly startled when I first appeared, somehow she could tell I was feeling emotional too.

When I first noticed her, I'd simply asked in a curious manner, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm feeling very unhappy at the moment, but thank you for asking," Danny had replied and, feeling a bit put off by his directness, she merely looked at him out of the corner of her eye. She knew the warning 'don't talk to strangers' wasn't only an admonition for young children and she wondered if she should've answered me at all. I sensed her reluctance.

"I'm Mike and I'm feeling pretty unhappy too. Want to tell me who hurt you or would you rather I start?" My smile was amusing and sardonic as I turned to face her.

Danny was surprised at my appearance. She felt that I was handsome and she felt somewhat insecure as she gazed into my hazel, cat-like eyes which seemed to change color with each passing second. First, they were gray, then green with golden swirls, and then gray-green.

I heard her thoughts about my appearance. She thought my features were even and pleasant. My hair was dark brown and cut short, but certainly not military style like the soldiers that guarded the border near her hometown. Mine was simply professional and stylish. She decided to take a chance and introduce herself to me – after all, this was a dream and, having had many dreams before without serious consequences, she felt that she was reasonably safe.

"I'm Danny."

"So tell me why you are here, Danny," I'd replied while I silently mused. What is a pretty girl like this doing out by herself at this time of night?

"Well, I don't exactly know why I'm here and I'm not sure where I am... I mean, I know I'm in a lovely park sitting on a bench and minding my own business I might add, but I'm not sure how I found it." Danny realized that she sounded snippy like her sister and immediately changed her tune. Her voice softened a bit as she continued, "Do you know this place?"

"This is Central Park and it's where my dreams take me when I'm sad or lonely or confused."

"Central Park in New York City!" Danny exclaimed in surprise.

"Well yes," I'd lightly chuckled. "Central Park is located in Manhattan, between the Upper West Side and the Upper East Side. Haven't you ever been here?"

"I've never even been away from home," she'd softly admitted, feeling somewhat embarrassed. "I've dreamed of it and I've seen pictures of it...," her voice had trailed off as she realized how foolish and immature she sounded.

"Then, welcome to the Big Apple. Where do you live?"

"I live in New Mexico," Danny quietly replied. "Where do you live?"

"I'm a New York City boy. I've lived here all my life. Tell me, Danny, what has you so unhappy on this beautiful night."

"You go first," Danny shyly said as she glanced at me again.

"All right. I guess I'm here because I'm a little sad and I'm a lot lonely. What about you... are you lucky in love?"

"Not really," Danny admitted.

"What? A girl like you can't find romance? I find that hard to believe."

"Believe it," she'd ruefully replied.

"You're young still. I know it's not polite to ask a lady her age, but from where I'm sitting, you appear to still be in high school. You have plenty of time."

"Don't patronize me!" Danny heatedly retorted as she defiantly crossed her arms across her chest. Her father always said something similar to that and, right now, the repetition irked her. "How old are you anyway to give such advice? Forty?"

Holy cow! I had silently exclaimed, but I knew I deserved that response. I'd taken a deep breath before I said anything further. When I felt collected again I'd said, "Look, I guess we got off on the wrong foot. I didn't mean that the way it sounded and you're right, I did sound like all the adults we normally scorn for making pat responses to our concerns and feelings. I'm sorry."

Danny only nodded, but she didn't say anything.

"I'm twenty-six years old. I'm finishing my doctorate at Columbia in only a few months. I have everything I ever wanted as far as my career goes, but I guess I'm still unhappy because I don't have anyone with whom to share those successes. Can you understand that?"

"Yes," Danny said as she glanced at me again. "I'm sorry too. The reason I'm so miserable at the moment is that I'm sixteen. I was finally asked to prom and then I just got stood-up. I found out yesterday that he has to move away before our date. In fact, I guess he's already gone."

"Ouch. I'm sorry that happened to you. I really am."

"It hurts a lot," Danny admitted.

Chapter 9

Danny's words had immediately transported me to another time, another place, and another life. The year was 1922; the weather was mild and pleasant. I could smell the dogwood trees along the lane.

I walked with Danny up the wide steps to an auditorium to celebrate the dedication of the Lincoln Memorial. Danny wore a lovely pink dress that fell to her ankles and a matching shawl-style jacket. Just before I opened the door for her, I'd pulled her close for a quick kiss.

Suddenly, Todd Embry, our close friend, came out of the shadows with a gun. He shot me first and then he turned the gun on Danny.

As the searing pain tore through my chest, I heard Todd cry out, "If I can't have you, no one will have you, Danny."

Until that moment, neither of us had known that Todd was our longtime enemy from the past – we'd had no recall that our lives were constantly interrupted by an ageless opponent. However, once we'd taken our spirit forms in death, we were stunned that the game was over once again with our defeat.

As soon as that life ended with our deaths, another memory of a past life began – scattered across timelines without measures in days or hours or years. Our entire lives were held in bubbles or capsules, but I could see the gist of each one.

Danny rolled under the tent flap while we were encamped in a hot, arid desert. She giggled as she reached for me. We were blissfully happy, but it couldn't last. Discovered, I was beheaded and she was beaten to death by her owner.

I was a Cherokee brave in the Blue Ridge Mountain range, Danny was my woman. I saw our dwelling, the furs we slept on, the cook fires, her warm, loving body pressed against mine. Our village was wiped out by British soldiers whose redcoats overran the area like a plague.

As a slave, I toiled under the bright sun on a Caribbean sugarcane plantation... Danny brought me water until our owner discovered it. She became a caged songbird, raped by pirates, starved to death, while I was chained to a nearby tree to helplessly watch.

I lived in the unspoiled Highlands of Scotland. My home sat high on a craggy hill. I was mother and Danny was my son, Daniel. Never had a mother been more proud of her son. Daniel and his wife were murdered by an English Lord while my heart was broken.

I was a servant on the island of Philae. Danny served the goddess Isis. We met and instantly loved each other. It was forbidden, but we risked our lives to be together. We made love on the stone altar behind the throne room, and when caught, we were dragged away to face painful, humiliating deaths.

We were childhood friends and later sweethearts, but Danny's father bargained her away to form an alliance with a neighboring ruler. Unable to quench the fire that burned between us, I followed her to her new homeland. We were secretly able to be together, but her older, jealous sister turned us out. I was put to death and Danny was savagely beaten. She remained captive in the palace even though she was the queen until death finally claimed her.

We were warriors; brothers riding side-by-side on mighty steeds. We fought together, slept by the same fire, kissed the same maidens, and pillaged the same villages. We once burned an entire village because the innkeeper burnt our roasted chicken dinners. Captured by the highborn of the land, we were crucified at the city gates as a warning to others who would live such lawless lives.

We were young boys, scarcely in our teens and chattels to a grotesque wealthy Arabian merchant who traveled the Sahara desert. He'd trained us to pleasure him and other men of high rank, but our dread of him bound us together in ways that he could've never imagined. We fell in love and took comfort in each other's arms. Our owner discovered us, and in a jealous rage, we were given a sand-necktie – he buried each of us up to their necks in the hot desert sands and left us there to die.

I was chief of an ancient tribe; Danny was the tribal princess. Loving my daughter and wanting the best life for her, I'd arranged her marriage with someone she could love and respect. At the marriage ceremony, a rival tribe attacked and, while I and the groom lay mortally wounded on the ground, Danny was carried off into the night. I felt my power seep away and I died hopeless and helpless to rescue her.

On and on and on, the bubbles told the stories of the numerous lives we'd shared. There was no order to the viewing. There were only many random heartbreaks and agonies endured – all because one soul was determined to bring about our untimely deaths and defeats. That soul could take the form of anyone at any age – teacher, family, and friend, authority, male or female – and so could we.

I shook my head to clear it of the images and, for the moment, the heavenly powers that held me in their grip only allowed me to return my attention to Danny and the remembrances she shared with me.

Chapter 10

Once again, I experienced the shared dream with Danny. I was back in Central Park during our first meeting, "I'll gladly listen," I softly offered, realizing that we were so young and innocent, so new at the game of love, "and I promise that I'll try my best not to be an ass as I was earlier."

"Well, I guess this will sound foolish to you," Danny acknowledged, "but I had my very first date with Harry last week and...,"

"Wait," I interrupted. "That was your first date ever?"

"It was," Danny admitted with true mortification. "Now, do you want to hear my story or not?"

"My bad again. It's just that you're drop-dead gorgeous! How can it be that it was your first date? I would think the boys would be lining up at your locker to ask you out."

"So, your high school days were perfect?" she retorted, calling me on the foolishness of my assumptions. "I suppose that high school was your glory days, that you dated a lot; that you never felt shy or confused. You never felt like an outcast? Everything was hunky-dory for you, am I right?"

I stopped to think about that for a few moments. My high school days were horrific, but I'd thought it was a singular occurrence until I'd gone off to college. Now, I suddenly remembered that all of my friends at Columbia had felt the same. Even Tasha, the cutest girl I'd ever met at that point, had hated the way she'd been treated in high school.

"Ahh, once again you're right. High school sucks for just about everyone even the popular kids, even the jocks, even the pretty girls. I'm really sorry; that was me being an ass again."

"So much for promises," Danny softly laughed before she added, "We have quite the age gap – not quite a generation, but close. Our friendship will demand that we remember that when sharing our stories."

"Duly noted. Beautiful and wise. I like that."

"Hold on a minute, you've mentioned a few times now that I'm pretty. Tell me how I look to you... and I'm not fishing for compliments. I have a theory."

As Danny gazed at me she wondered if anyone could actually be as handsome in real life. To her, I seemed absolutely perfect from the top of my head to my rather large feet. She admitted that this was a dream after all and wondered if it was possible that neither of us had taken our true form. She wondered if we were glamorized in some way.

"You have thick, long brown hair and emerald green eyes. Your skin is velvety and smooth. You have a natural glow... your quite stunning, Danny. I'm not sure what you want to know. I think you're beautiful. What is your theory anyway?"

"This is a dream so I wondered if we had taken our true physical forms or somehow look different to each other. Can you describe yourself to me?"

"I'm six foot three; I'm thinner than I'd like to be with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. I guess I look all right. I don't think I'm either ugly or handsome. Wait, I get it. You think that maybe we have assumed the forms of our avatars."

"Our what?" Danny asked, baffled by my choice of words.

"Avatars," I repeated. "An avatar is a character representation or persona of a person. Sometimes it's what the person might wish they looked like and sometimes it's the role they wish to play such as a warrior or princess. It can even be an animal."

"Oh, well you said that I glow too so maybe I have taken on a different form in my dream."

"I also said you still look as if you're in high school. I think if you were in avatar form, you most likely wouldn't pick one that is still a teenager. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, I can see that. If I wanted to choose a persona, it would probably be something very different than my real self. So, I guess we aren't changed in this dream."

"Probably not. Now, please tell me about your first date."

"It was everything I'd hoped it would be. He was a gentleman and courteous. At the end of the date, we kissed and it was my first real kiss." She glanced at me and added, "You know, real kiss... not just playing around at parties."

"Go on, please."

"Well, after such a perfect date, he invited me to prom. I was ecstatic. My sister and I shopped for the best dress my dad could afford, and then, today Harry told me that he and his family have to move away. It was rather sudden. I wondered if I had done something wrong or if he'd found someone else that he'd rather take to prom. I just feel miserable about it. My pretty pink dress is hanging on the back of my closet door and now I'll never get to wear it or go to a prom." She continued to tell me the smaller details of her disappointment and I listened attentively as she talked.

When she'd finished her story, I asked, "Why not dress up and go to prom with some friends. Surely there are others who don't have a date for such a big occasion. At least, that's the way I remember high school. Lots of people went to those events in groups."

Danny ignored my suggestion for the time being as she silently considered it. But, she pondered other things too. How had two people like the two of them been drawn to the exact same dream spot? What could it possibly mean? Why did she feel so close to him... as if she'd known him for a very long time? Did he really exist, living in New York as she did living in New Mexico? How was any of this possible?

When she spoke again, it was a question, "How do you think we found each other here? I mean, this is your favorite place to visit in your dreams... but I've never been here before. So, how did we get here at the exact same moment? How is it possible to share this?"

"I'm not sure. Still, I feel very close to you and although I don't want you to be sad, if it was your sadness that brought you here, I hope we meet again. Conceivably, with the intention of meeting once more, we could. Maybe that is possible."

They smiled at each other and the connection grew deeper when suddenly the harsh screech of an alarm clock washed his image away like a puff of smoke that was blown away by the wind. Danny's heart ached with longing and a sudden emptiness when she realized he was gone.

Unaware of how her meetings with me usually ended, Danny wished the dream and our link could go on forever. There was something there, something mystical and magical between us that she couldn't quite explain. It had to be some kind of deeper connection. She knew I'd felt it too.

Chapter 11

Even though the dream connection had been lost, I was still transfixed by Danny's memories. I still shared them as if they were my own. In her current life as a teenager living in Las Cruces, New Mexico, she'd taken my advice to go to the prom with friends.

Now, that she was home from the big night, she lay down on her bed, fully dressed. She hoped that she'd dream of me again. It was almost one o'clock in the morning before she joined me on the same park bench. In the fantastical dream world she wore the same pink dress that she'd worn to prom. I stood up when she approached.

"You look even more beautiful than I remember. Did you have a good time at the dance?"

"I did. Thanks for the suggestion. It was better than I ever imagined. It was wonderful."

"Did you get to dance with any handsome boys?" I asked, knowing that she surely had.

"No," Danny softly admitted. "We danced with each other and ignored the couples who were there on dates. But it was still fun and I'm glad I went."

"May I have this dance?" I held out my hand for hers and slightly bowed.

Danny smiled and I took her in my arms. We hummed the tune, True Colors, a very popular song sung by Cyndi Lauper at that time while dancing cheek-to-cheek under the park lamps and the full night sky. We felt that the song perfectly described our insecurities. We did feel discouraged, sad, and lonely. It was as if the world made us crazy, but together, we felt hopeful. We felt as if we knew each other for who we really were.

When the song was over, we giggled like young children. It was first prom dance for both of us.

Later, as we sat on the bench together, I told Danny of the hurts and pains I'd suffered during my dating experiences at Columbia. After the tale was finished, Danny softly acknowledged, "You must've liked her a lot, I mean, especially if you wanted her to meet your parents. That must've been serious, like maybe you planned to marry her."

Another memory swept me away.

I couldn't imagine how it happened, but perhaps it was the thought of marrying someone whom I'd discovered was unsuitable to my true desires of family and love. Suddenly, I was in a Virginian settlement in the early 1700s.

I was a prosperous farmer. Danny's father owned the dry goods store. I had been in the merchandise store many times to get supplies and place orders for farming necessities. Danny had helped me with my selections when her father was busy and we'd quickly fallen in love. We wanted to marry, but Father Knowles was determined to keep us apart. The priest, who had his fingers in many coffers and held a stronghold over the community, insisted that I wed a widow whose land adjoined my own.

I hadn't fled the tyranny of England to become enslaved once again by outdated principles. It was a new world and its residents should be entitled to new liberties. I'd decided that Danny and I would flee south to a less morally rigid and strict area. After all, I had enough money to buy new land and make a new start for our future.

Our plans were in motion when we were caught. Danny was killed by a stray bullet from an over-zealous tracker sent by Father Knowles. The priest was determined to bring us back into the fold. It was tragic. I blamed myself and never recovered from Danny's death.

Having little sanity left after the debacle, I was coerced to marry the widow anyway. It felt as if I'd spent an unendingly long life with a woman I didn't love. Without the comfort of affection or warmth in my home, I often drank so much ale that I slept at the tavern, sprawled across a table. One night, however, as I made my way home fully inebriated, the priest, my adversary, lay in wait for me. In the dark, moonless night, Father Knowles knocked me off my horse whereby I broke my neck and died.

It was another sad ending to a life spent without Danny and under the power of our adversary, this time a simple priest.

Chapter 12

Meanwhile, as we sat together in Central Park, the more I talked the closer Danny felt to me, the more important I became to her, and the more she wanted to know me. It was as if in this dream world, our words and confessions bound us together in some mystical way.

"It's funny, but all of that made me realize that I wanted the same kind of love my parents had... and I wouldn't be satisfied with anything less."

"Do you think that is possible?" Danny asked.

"I hope so. My folks would really like you. Shame you'll never get to meet them or them you."

"Oh?" she asked even though what he'd said made her nervous and self-conscious. "Why would you say that?"

"Well, this is some kind of illusion. I don't even know if you are real."

The thought of meeting his parents was a little disconcerting. It embarrassed Danny. She didn't know what to say so she changed the subject.

"Did you see it coming? I mean with your ability and all, did you know that your relationship with the girl you told me about would end in disappointment that way?"

"How on earth do you know about that?" I was shocked. I'd been very careful to hide my secret and now a stranger knew about it.

"I don't know, please don't be mad. It's just that I can sense things here. Like you just said, this is some kind of dream world, right? How are we to know what's real and what isn't?"

I was quiet and thoughtful for a few moments as I considered Danny's keen insight. She was awfully young to be so mature and perceptive. She was also very beautiful. I decided to answer as truthfully as possible.

"I suppose that I didn't want to see that. Sometimes, I don't see my personal issues, only those of the people I care about such as my friends and family."

"Why do you hide your ability?" she suddenly asked as she gazed into my hazel eyes. She needed to know. Having a gift of her own, although admittedly small compared to his, she couldn't help wondering about that.

"I don't like to feel like a freak," I replied with a lopsided grin even though it was an honest answer. She could easily understand that reason. For the most part, she had kept her dreams to herself also. People simply didn't understand such things and it scared them. "There aren't many people who can do what I do, if any. I feel like a mutant or aberration of nature."

"You're not," she smiled. "I think it's amazing,"

"You do?" he asked with a smile tugging at the corner of his full, beautiful lips.

Lips that should be kissed often, Danny thought feeling slightly ashamed of herself for the idea. She could tell they were now friends. And, friends didn't kiss each other.

"I really do. You think I'm just being polite, but I really do think your ability is amazing and unique. As well as astonishing. Remarkable. Marvelous. Miraculous. Mind-blowing."

He laughed in response. It was genuine; the kind of amusement that reached his eyes, causing them to twinkle.

"I like your vocabulary. My ability is all that and more, but what do you think would happen to me if anyone else knew my secret?"

Chapter 13

"I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"Think about it. It's safe for you to know. Here, we are in some magical place, some dream-like reality where we're free to share our deepest secrets, concerns, and worries. In this one meeting, we've already shared a lot and that has helped me to feel better about my life, about my future, and about myself."

"It feels as if we've known each other for an entire lifetime." Danny admitted.

"Don't get me wrong, I agree with you. It does feel like a lifetime... as if this meeting spans many long years. I love it. I love knowing you. It's great to be able to be myself and share all my secrets with you, God knows we both needed someone to talk to, but my fears should also be your fears."

"What do you mean by that?" Danny asked.

"You have a special ability too. Like you, I can sense it here in this magical place. Go on, admit it."

"I dream actual dreams that come true," Danny acknowledged as softly as she could.

"Your secret is safe with me, but I'm sure I'm not the first to warn you about your gift."

"My mother had the ability also and she cautioned me," Danny admitted.

"She knew it was dangerous for others to know."

"Why?" Danny asked.

"Because if one of the infamous research or government facilities found out about our abilities they would want to know more. In my case, I think my life would be over."

"Oh my goodness!" Danny exclaimed in alarm. "Are you saying that you think they would kill you?"

The thought of his death sent her into near spasms. It was unconscionable. Even though they had only recently met, the connection was instant and intense. She knew she couldn't bear it if anything were to happen to him. Her heart skipped a beat as she considered the loss.

"Not kill me in the literal sense of the term, but I'd die all the same. I think they would lock me away in an institution or lab somewhere to study my ability," I said and, as I continued to explain, Danny's heart calmed a bit at the clarification.

"Not that what you've said isn't scary enough, but at least you'd be alive," she gushed.

"Not a life worth living. I think they would want to know how I do it, how I see the future in the way that I do. I think my life – the freedoms I enjoy – would be over. I wouldn't be able to tolerate what they would do to me. I can imagine that there would be constant monitoring, bloodwork, pokes and prods, invasion of my entire being with all manner of tests. For someone like me, someone who truly values their freedom, being imprisoned like that would be certain and sure death. Can you understand why I worry over that?"

"Yes," Danny whispered. She felt the weight of my concerns in her own being as if it was her own anxiety. And, it was. She cared deeply. If anything happened to him... Danny couldn't continue the thought. It was simply too painful and she marveled about the reason she felt that way.

I felt her concerns and reached out to lightly touch her arm sending an electrical charge through both of us. It was delicious and neither of us wanted it to stop. Danny clasped my hand in hers to keep the connection strong. I used my other hand to cup the side of her face; my thumb lightly stroked her jawline. Wanting me to experience all that she felt, her free hand moved to my face as well. We gazed lovingly into each other's eyes. Danny had never felt so safe and secure, so loved in spite of the dangers we'd just discussed.

"We are awesome together. I feel it the same as you do. Don't worry; our dream connection will remain the same even if someone does nab me. They might imprison me, but they can't destroy my mind or stop my dreams. I can still escape to meet you here."

My words encouraged her to some extent, but the thought of my imprisonment or death was heartbreaking and familiar in some peculiar way. Although she didn't show any outward signs of distress, in her bed at home, Danny sobbed into her pillow.

We continued to talk into the night. It seemed there wasn't anything we couldn't share. And, as we revealed more and more of our deepest thoughts and feelings, the strength of our bond grew more powerful.

We hoped it would go on forever, but it couldn't. The very vibrations of our bond sent waves into the universe where it called forth an ancient antagonist that would never allow either of us to find peace or comfort in each other's love.

Like pieces on a chessboard, the game was set to begin... again.

Chapter 14

Although we continued to meet in our nightly dreams for many months, we'd still never met in person. Neither of us knew for sure if the other even existed.

For Danny, dream-Mike was enough. She didn't even care if she found anyone else to love in the real world: She was content to meet me in the fantasy world we'd created in Central Park.

I'd decided that when Danny was of age or at least twenty-one-years-old, I'd take a trip to Las Cruces to find her. In the meantime, I seldom dated anyone else and never more than once or twice.

After my graduation, I'd spent some time at my parents' home before leaving for my first job – the ideal job I'd secured even before receiving my doctorate. As I contemplated my life, my psychic ability took over. My future spilled out before me like a motion picture. Everything from that moment until my death was telescopically displayed for me to witness.

Now, I recalled that this was the moment I'd blocked my ability. This was the instant I'd thought that stopping it would make my life better.

From then on, my life had changed, but in hindsight, it certainly hadn't improved. I'd looked a gift horse in the mouth and paid dearly for it.

I'd forgotten the bad things I was shown, but I'd also forgotten the good. I forgot about Danny. I lost the memory of our dream world, and therefore, I never returned to our meeting place in Central Park. Danny was left to wonder what had happened to me.

I was unable to remember that I loved her and wanted to find her. I forgot that she meant the world to me and that we'd planned to spend our lives together. The memory of my special ability to see the future was erased along with the woman of my dreams, Danny.

I spent several carefree years traveling the world as a degreed geophysicist with my employer, Geomatics (GMS), while Danny went through her own metamorphosis. She'd completed college and after her father, Tom Burgess died, she and her sister, Patty, inherited his moving and storage business. Things were going all right for Danny in the real world, but her life wasn't easy by any means. She struggled with the daily demands of making a living.

As the connection to her held strong, I witnessed how utterly and completely my selfishness had caused her such heartache and pain. Although she was truly heartbroken, she tried to hide it from everyone. It simply wouldn't do to admit that the man of her nightly dreams had disappeared without a trace. Danny couldn't find me in her dreams no matter how hard she tried. She'd attempted the find the thread of the last dream she'd shared with me, but it was lost to her.

She feared the worst... I had warned her that if anyone found out about my ability, my life would be over. I'd told her that covert agencies tried to recruit people like me in order to study their abilities. If their enlistment attempts failed, then capture was their next ploy. Her heart was crushed from the dread and worry.

Then, and every day for a very long time, she wondered if those who wanted to analyze my gift had found me. She wondered if I was locked away in a secret lab right then. I'd assured her I would still be able to meet her in our dream world, but I hadn't.

Danny could only wonder if I was dead.

Her worries became so painful that she did the only thing that she could do to survive without me – Danny carefully placed those memories in a small box and stored it on the top shelf of her mental closet. Mercifully, time took its toll and soon, the locked away memories began to fade. They weren't gone; they simply went to the backburner of her mind, making her life without me easier to bear.

Chapter 15

During Danny's teen years, her father, Tom Burgess, had moved families all across New Mexico and Texas. When those folks were in transition, he'd used his large warehouse to store their items for a modest monthly fee. Eventually, some of them stopped paying their rental fees and the property became unclaimed.

Tom taught Danny the laws about unclaimed property and encouraged her to get into business for herself. After his death, she and Patty moved into the loft above Tom's warehouse to save money and she followed his advice. She sold most of the unclaimed property as she struggled to make a living. Once the inventory was depleted, she and Patty drove across the border to Juarez, Mexico each month to buy new merchandise to sell. They renamed their store, Burgess Imports. Danny sold items that could be carried out and Patty sold smaller items that could be shipped.

Unfortunately, that was how Danny met Nate Potter. Years after his property had been sold for nonpayment of his storage fees; Nate came into the shop that had previously been Burgess Moving and Storage demanding to reclaim his property.

In an attempt to explain the process to Nate, Danny had found the original invoices and sales receipts, but he wasn't having it.

"I can't believe you sold my stuff!" he'd yelled.

"I can pay you the amount I collected from the buyers of your property, Mr. Potter, but that's the best I can do. These items were sold several years ago and there isn't any way to recover them," Danny had tried to explain.

"I don't want any damn money! I want my stuff, dammit!" He'd yelled as he stomped around the store in a rage. His temper tantrum reminded Danny of a toddler who couldn't get his way and was looking for something to destroy. He frightened her.

Danny had held her breath, wondering if she should call 9-1-1, but after a few minutes, Nate calmed down. He'd looked at Danny sideways causing a chill to shiver down her spine before he said, "I'll call it even if you'll go out to dinner with me." It had felt more like a threat than an invitation.

"I'm sorry, I can't do that," Danny had refused. Everything in her being warned that he was dangerous and she couldn't wait for him to be out the door.

Nate returned to the shop several times over the next few months, always with the same proposition, but each time, Danny had refused him. In the meantime, he'd learned everything he could about Tom Burgess's daughter and her sister, Patty. The next time she refused him, he'd puffed up his chest like a bandy rooster.

"Let me tell you something, Miss Danielle Marie Burgess," Nate had said in the coldest of voices. "If I can't have you, no one will. You're my destiny and fate can't be denied."

Danny had shivered at the menace and venom in Nate's voice, but for a moment, the words he said rang true. For a fleeting instant it felt all too familiar. It felt as if she'd experienced this very thing many times over. She sensed that there was more to this meeting than she could've ever imagined... and she was petrified.

"You won't get away from me this time. I'll win you over. I'll have you as my wife and anyone who gets in the way, including your sister, will end up dead."

Except for me, the pieces were now in play, the game had begun once again and my fateful call to action had also begun.

Two days later, I woke up sprawled on my living room floor with a splitting headache. The mind connection to Danny and traversing past shared lives with her had occurred simultaneously and in only a matter of moments, but it had taken a huge toll on my psyche.

I had no memory of what had happened or the many bubbles of time I'd seen. To retain those memories simply wasn't allowed. In fact, it was forbidden.

The veil of forgetfulness was for newborns, but there were methods that higher evolved beings could use to wipe a life's memories. However, some particular entity must've smiled on me. I was allowed to remember that I'd dreamed of Danny. I recalled that we had the deepest connection imaginable and that I knew her intimately. I knew we were supposed to be together.

It might seem reckless to the casual observer, but I was now anxious and determined to move forward and to find the woman of my dreams.

Chapter 16

The next day, I was having lunch at Barrigas Café when she walked inside the dining area of the restaurant to find a cashier. With my mouth agape, all I could do was stare at her. I hadn't expected the meeting to happen so soon. Now, my heart skipped a beat and I was glued to the chair. The scene unfolded just as the previous vision had shown it.

"Angelica is my order ready?" she called out in a pleasant voice when she spotted the regular cashier.

"Oh, Danielle, it's so good to see you again, and yes, it's ready. I'll be back in a moment," Angelica responded as she left the table she was clearing and went through the double swinging doors that isolated the kitchen.

Her name is Danielle.

"How's the trip this weekend?" Angelica called over her shoulder.

"It's pleasant; the same as usual," Danielle replied and then laughed a little as she hurried on to explain, "You know my sister; she's always in a hurry. We have to get here in a hurry, shop, shop, shop, and then hurry home. This is the only break she takes from her business in Las Cruces and it's never a real break; it's all work."

"Well, she'll slow down long enough to eat lunch," Angelica teased as she returned with what appeared to be three lunches packed in a bag tied at the top. She walked with Danielle to the alcove where she checked-out customers. I lost sight of them and got up to follow.

Once I was directly behind her, I studied the dark wavy hair and lean figure I'd seen in the spyglass images. Her hair was shorter, but it was definitely the same woman. The moment had finally arrived. I took a deep breath. Angelica faced me with Danielle between us. She noticed my intense interest and motioned for Danielle to turn around. The same dazzling green eyes sparked interest as she turned to look at me.

This is it.

"Hola," she said and then shyly smiled before briefly looking at her hands. She blushed and the soft color floated up her cheeks. It was becoming against her fair complexion.

"Hola, Señorita Danielle; my name is James Lewis," I replied and held out a hand in greeting. She took it in hers and an electrical current passed between us. At that instant, another vision of the future we would share filled my mind. Danielle was holding a pink bundle in her arms; my arm was around her waist and her head leaned softly against my shoulder. I held a blue bundle cradled in my free arm. We smiled at each other now and in the vision.

Twins! We're having twins!

Danielle disengaged her hand, thanked Angelica, and quickly left the café. I threw a wad of bills on the counter and hurried after her. She was standing on the sidewalk outside Barrigas Café and seemed lost for a few moments. Then, she moved toward a moving van at the curb. Two women, both with blonde hair, waited inside the van. The van's lettering advertised 'Burgess Movers and Storage Las Cruces, NM.'

Did they rent the van or are they Burgess? I wondered. She's getting away!

Danielle had purchased three lunches, but I didn't want her out of my sight. I reached out to touch her arm, to get her attention. She looked at me expectantly.

"I must go Señor Lewis; my sister and her friend are waiting," she said, indicating the van.

"Please, don't go," I urged, and please call me James. Where will the three of you eat?"

"We have a shady place near a park where we usually eat. There's a park bench and it's safe."

"Wouldn't you rather eat at a comfortable table? Come with me," I pressured. "I live right there," I said, pointing to the yellow stucco home across the street, "and the three of you can eat lunch on the deck. It's very nice and shaded." Danielle studied my face curiously for a few moments.

"That home was for sale last month. Did you recently purchase it?" she asked as she looked up and shaded her eyes against the sun.

"Yes, I moved in a few days ago. "Please," I continued, "have lunch on my shaded deck."

Overcome by déjà vu, Danielle didn't want to leave either. She felt safe for the first time in a long time. The blush returned to her cheeks. She knew him as the one who had appeared in her dreams many years ago and now he was standing right in front of her. He was the one she wanted. Without hesitation, she nodded at her sister who'd rolled down the window to listen to the conversation. The van moved across the street to park near the curb.

We walked slowly behind it as I carried the lunches with my hand placed gently at her back.

"I dreamt of you," she said simply.

"And, I've dreamt of you," I replied. "In fact, I've been waiting for you."

###
Excerpt: Kaleidoscope

Chapter 1

On the flight from Terni, Italy, I once again noticed two men paying close attention to my every move. They were the same men I'd seen outside La Citta Vecchia where I had an amazing dinner on Friday evening, my last night in Terni. They'd also been outside the rental office when I returned the rental car. Due to my long legs, I had an aisle seat on the right side in the business class section of the commercial airliner. Now, the same pair sat one row back on the left. I found it odd that their course would follow my own path and destination so closely, but I brushed the paranoia aside like an irritating gnat.

The taxi I'd snagged from JFK pulled up to the curb outside the brownstone where I live. I got out with a single carryon. As I leaned in to pay the driver, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. Instantly alert, I noticed a large SUV parked across the street. When I spotted the idling vehicle with two men in the front seat, the driver drove away.

What the hell is going on? I wondered. Am I being followed? Who would care that much about my whereabouts? Does someone know my secret?

I'm Michael James Lewis and this is my secret—a secret I've kept for fifteen years. Back then, I was the youngest degreed geophysicist leading a team outside Cairo. The specialty geological survey crew did more than mere surveying. On this particular job, we were camped around a peculiar anomaly in the desert. The project was hush-hush. It was blistering hot during the day, but the evenings cooled off enough that the crew needed a campfire unless inside their tents.

On that night so long ago, I was unaware that my life was about to change forever. I had no idea that this dangerous secret would be so difficult to bear or cost so much. I was blindsided.

I went to the campfire to have a late-night coffee and smoke. Adom, a twenty-seven-year-old Egyptian worker, moved his stool over to sit beside me. He was slender and had intelligent, dark-brown eyes and a very bright smile against tan complexion.

"Dr. Mike," Adom greeted with white teeth flashing into a cheerful grin.

"Hello, Adom. How are you this evening?" I cordially replied.

We were near the same age. That alone was enough to give us a commonality, a bond of sorts. Our previous conversations had always been casual and we began to talk informally, as we'd done before. After a few moments, Adom stopped talking and stared at me intently. The silence was as concentrated as his gaze was.

"You have a gift, Dr. Mike," Adom finally stated in a calm tone.

"Have you been hitting the juice?" I jokingly asked.

"No, Dr. Mike, I have a gift too. I can see when others have an ability. There is no need to deny it. I clearly see it," Adom replied as he pronounced each English word distinctly, rarely using contractions.

"Adom, I don't have a clue as to what you could mean," I sternly responded. I was bewildered by the observation and irritated as well. Gift of what? Adom could've been referring to anything, but my strong denial didn't disturb or dissuade the young Egyptian. Something about what he'd said rang true, making me uncomfortable, but I was unable and unwilling to accept or delve into it.

"I have often wondered how you could attain such a high position while still so young, Dr. Mike. It's unheard of in our country. Only those with years of experience are promoted to high levels of authority, and yet, here you are. I suspect now, after having observed you for several weeks, that you 'see' things before they happen. I suspect that you have used this ability to some degree your entire life. Did you use it to select the college you would attend? This job?" Adom asked. I ignored him and was about to leave when he continued. "Do you use it to help others, perhaps friends? I suspect that you have used it for many purposes that enabled you to excel and pass by others who would contend for the same opportunity or position. You can see there is no reason to deny it any longer. It is my gift to see such an ability in others."

Without another word, Adom reached out and quickly tapped me on the forehead, just a slight poke to the middle of the brow. Although the tap was not forceful, I nearly fell off the low stool as an electrical current passed between the two of us. It was nothing if not electrifying, shocking and perplexing... and it hurt.

"What the hell, Adom!" I yelled, jumping to my feet. My natural instinct was to punch him, but somehow I managed to control the automatic reflex.

"Well, you will allow the gift to work now, Dr. Mike. You certainly have it now," Adom replied as his grin widened again. I turned and angrily stomped away from the campsite, returning to my tent. What Adom had done surprised the hell out of me. I wanted to get away from him and the strange conversation. I needed to be alone; my head was spinning and my stomach reeled and lurched.

That was the beginning...

On that night, and for several nights afterwards, the ability began to work. My head hurt like a son-of-a-bitch and I could still feel Adom's tap right between my eyes. It felt tingly, as if a mild wattage of electricity was still zapping me. There was a dull, agonizing ache behind my eyes. A week later, the kaleidoscopic images erupted with vengeance. The visions tormented me day and night whenever I closed my eyes.

I avoided Adom after that evening, but when I did happen to see him around the jobsite, he grinned and nodded. The gesture conceded that he knew the 'gift' was now activated and working. At first, the images were blurry and unclear. I wasn't sure what I was seeing. I wasn't awakened by nightmares or bad dreams. The images kept me from falling asleep. I tossed and turned trying to bury my head in the pillow, but it didn't help. Nothing stopped the onslaught. Once asleep, I rested well—the real problem was getting past the visions.

I asked the medic who traveled with the team for sleeping pills. It worked for a while, and when it didn't, I added a couple of stiff shots of bourbon to speed up the effects of the pills. Although it was abusive to my body, I took that course during the first year. That, along with denial. There was no way in hell I'd admit to anyone that I saw images through a kaleidoscope. Still, I lived in fear that someone would find out.

Our specialized jobs require precision and clear heads. What I was experiencing didn't fit into those parameters. Admitting that I suffered from this phenomenon would've been grounds for dismissal. I certainly didn't want that to happen. I like the job, the generous pay, and world travel. In reality, I also like that it limits my options to commit in a relationship.

Or, do I?

I suppose it'd be more truthful to admit that as long as the ability is in my life, there isn't a foreseeable long-term relationship in my future. Such a connection requires complete honesty. The ability is a secret I have to keep. It's impossible to tell anyone about it. Knowing would put them in harm's way. Admitting that I have this paranormal and unusual gift would certainly put me in danger from those who study such phenomena. The safest explanation for the maintained bachelor status is easier and more convenient to blame it on the job.

During the first twelve months, I probably saw six different images, but they were fragmented like all images in a kaleidoscope. They were also blurry like an old black-and-white television on the fritz. After a while, the focus became more distinct even though it remained as broken, irregular pieces. In spite of this, I could make out enough to understand that the visions were of a future event.

It was often months later that I learned the outcome. Being in the desert, in a third-world country, or near the top of Mt. Everest for several weeks or months, didn't lend itself to staying on top of current events. I didn't know if I'd seen the images before or after the incident occurred. Most of the visions were not major news; they were often broadcast for only a few days. In spite of these obstacles, I finally realized that the kaleidoscope showed true and real visions of the future.

That was scary as hell. It was not welcoming news—in fact, I felt both guarded and panicked from the understanding. I didn't want the damn gift, but apparently, I was stuck with it. It alarmed me and I found myself silently cursing Adom for the tap that opened this doorway to the future.

Now, fifteen years later, I'm still as confused as I was then. In all honesty, I know I've never tried to understand the ability—I've merely resisted and avoided it. I've stuck my head in the sand, hoping it would go away. I've tried to hide it and hide from it. I'm a fool and a coward for taking that stance, but I don't know what to do about it. As a result, my life has been on hold since that fateful evening in the desert. At one time, I wanted to find love and have a family like the one my parents had. Now, I simply suppress the dreams I once held dear.

I'm forty-four-years old. I've finally reached a tipping point, a precipice where I can continue to keep any aspirations secret or find assistance. I've chosen to seek help by calling on an old college friend, Dr. Nelson Fitch. Monday will signal the beginning of something new. I don't know what will happen next, and for me, that's the scariest part of all.

Chapter 2

Sunday afternoon, I took a pack of cigarettes from the fridge and thoughtfully tapped it several times against my palm. I counted out ten cigarettes and then reached for one of the icy cold beers.

I'm a smoker, if you consider less than half-a-pack a day smoking. The company doctor who performs my annual physicals doesn't consider me a smoker. I guess I'm unusual; I smoke on occasion because I like it, not because I have to smoke. I can go days without lighting up.

I stepped out onto the covered deck into the warm, fresh air. It smelled of the gardenia bushes that flanked the back steps of a miniature backyard. It felt as if spring had arrived even though it was still too early for that season. I deeply inhaled the aromatic sweet scent and sat in one of the Adirondack chairs situated around the railing's edge.

I'd gotten home in the early hours of the morning from the most recent job assignment in Terni, Italy. In spite of the paranoia that had followed me home, I slept until noon. It was good to be home, but now that I'm fully awake, I feel more than a little anxious about the appointment with Nelson tomorrow.

I can trust Nelson; it isn't that. It's the fact that I've never told anyone about the kaleidoscope visions. If I tell Nelson, then the secret is out. Nearly fifteen years of silence and I'm willing to let someone else know. It didn't sound like me. Acknowledging that felt foreign and outlandish. I'd guarded the secret well and at great cost. No one knew. Well, in all honesty, no one knew except Adom, the Egyptian worker from all those years ago.

Did Adom tell anyone?

My financial situation is secure and I work when I find a job or location that interests me. My living expenses are moderate, almost modest. I live in my childhood home; it was paid for before my parents died. My employer, Geomatics, or GMS, provides round-trip transportation to the jobsites and living quarters once I arrive. Furnished uniforms of freshly starched khaki pants and white shirts are always waiting at each location. Other than cab fare, dining out, and a penchant for great coffee, I spend very little in any given month. I'm fortunate to save or invest the rest. I could retire even now, but I enjoy consulting for the various firms.

I first went to work for GMS in 1992 after completing a doctorate at Columbia. GMS takes on geodetic and geomatic jobs all over the world. My work involves a lot of geology and physics in order to evaluate the earth's crust and gravitational fields. It also includes observation and documentation of any anomalies, such as tides, crustal and polar motions, that could affect earthquake faults and other natural shifts. These anomalies can eventually lead to a natural disaster.

In many cases, my crew sets up remote surveying and sensing devices to monitor these irregularities and other geographic information. After the equipment establishes a baseline and makes a hands-on initial assessment, GMS monitors the locations remotely. Such was the case in November 2012 when the crew set up equipment near Bogotá, Columbia. We were there to monitor any crustal motion near the equator that might occur during December that same year—a time of uncertainty. Many feared a Mayan Apocalypse and were nervous.

The recordings taken by our crew clearly proved a geomagnetic polarity where the earth's magnetic field shifted slightly. Even though it was too minor to be felt by human standards, the sensitive equipment recorded it. It was an uncommon event thought to take thousands, if not millions, of years to occur. Nevertheless, a shift, not a reversal, was recorded.

Key scientists pored over the documentation to determine the possible long-term effects of a geomagnetic polarity shift that size. So far, most agree that it could affect the normal weather patterns around the world. It's possible that there could be a climate shift in a southern direction. The results would mean a longer and colder period for southern states and countries while the northern hemisphere could experience a more severe frigid weather shift.

Through GMS, I took between six and eight consulting jobs a year. Most assignments lasted for a few weeks. It was rare that a job continued more than a couple of months. I was only home in New York for twelve to fourteen weeks of the year, but I could live with the routine. Other than the images seen through the kaleidoscope, my life was stable and safe. It was almost too predictable and routine.

This 'sameness' had recently produced an inexplicable hunger. Something inside me urged consideration that there had to be more to life than what I'd experienced. I was missing something instrumental—happiness. I began to ache for whatever it was as if there really was a biological clock ticking inside me.

What am I supposed to do about it?

I'd never be content seeing visions of the future, but at least I'd finally reached a modicum of balance. Did that balance lull me to sleep? Was I the frog in a pot of water who never noticed the temperature rising? Random thoughts such as these, and a five-week lag before my next job, prompted a call to Nelson.

I don't know what I expect to accomplish seeing a psychiatrist. It's a first for me. I've entertained the hope that perhaps meeting with Nelson is a start in the right direction. After all, he's a therapist. Isn't therapy supposed to help someone like me? Now, doubts plague me and I'm not so sure.

Chapter 3

Part of my predictable routine is going to the gym every available night. Although I was never a jock in high school or college, I'd found that exhaustive workouts helped me fall asleep at night. With that benefit, strenuous exercise quickly replaced the sleeping pills.

I'd always been lean and tall, rather gangly from ages thirteen to twenty. I'd grown six inches during the summer between middle school and high school. Any weight gain couldn't keep up with that huge growth spurt. The only physical sports I'd ever participated in were the mandatory, one-semester phys. ed. classes: a little volleyball, baseball, or basketball, and a lot of running and pushups.

The locker room was my worst nightmare. I suspect it was the same for most young men. In the gym, I was nicknamed 'horse' and ridiculed for being well-endowed. In hindsight, that was better than tagged with 'skeet' or 'snake'—still those days were traumatic as classmates continually ribbed each other and me. Although circumcised as a newborn, nothing was sacred there. Everyone scrutinized each other in the worst possible light: raw nakedness. The mockery was torturous. Rumors spread around the school following me everywhere I went. Girls giggled, teachers cocked their heads sideways, and football players woof-woofed, when I passed by. I can still hear the taunting voices echoing against the tiled shower stalls.

"Hey Mike; you ought to get circumcised and let the doctor cut off three or four more inches because that thing is huge! Hey guys, look! Jesus! He's like a fucking horse! What girl is ever gonna take that?"

My body didn't begin to fill-out until I went to college, and even then, I was still slender. Girls never looked at me other than as a study partner or tutor. It was the end of my freshman year before my first kiss. I still vividly remember it today.

Her name was Helen, and we were study partners. She was trying to cram for a big final, but I was there because she was there. Girls in general fascinated me, but Helen had me spellbound. We were in the main campus library when she asked for help to find a book. I obliged and followed her between the long rows of bookcases. She turned abruptly causing me to bump into her when I rounded the corner. It was instantaneous, but it seemed to happen in slow motion as every detail imprinted itself on my mind.

Warm, slender arms around my neck, body pressed tightly against mine, and her lips slightly parted were deliciously sweet and passionate. For a first kiss, it was scrupulously long, soft, and wet. When we pulled apart, a slight trickle of moisture held suspended between our lips, like a spider web, as if prolonging the kiss. Helen stared at me in shock. Her eyes were wide with amazement and her mouth formed a perfect oval before finding the words to apologize for being so forward. I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. That was the wrong thing to do because she avoided me for the rest of the term. Still, the experience was just about as perfect as I'd imagined it would be.

Except when with a group of friends, I was brainy and quiet, standing apart from the crowd. During the second semester of my sophomore year, suddenly everything changed. I began to fill out and so did my dating opportunities.

It was usually the older girls, seniors and grad-students, who sought my company. These girls had more experience and weren't shy and virginal. I learned a lot from the older girls. It took a while to figure out that I was no longer that gangly, pimply teenager or embarrassed kid from the locker room; I was a man. By age thirty, and after discovering the benefits of exercise, I was six feet three inches and weighed 200 pounds.

Now, sitting in the warm sun that penetrated the deck, my eyelids closed for a second, and the kaleidoscope images repeated their prophecy. Like Jack's beanstalk, the plants grew quickly and effectively blotted out all life to the earth's surface below. I startled upright, sloshing the now warm bottle of beer onto my pants leg; the cigarette had extinguished itself in the ashtray.

I grabbed a gym bag and walked to a favored diner three blocks away. When in town, I ate there at least four times a week. The food was always good and spicy while the atmosphere was quaint. The meals, served in courses, allowed time to savor each dish. Although the owners were Indian, the menu offered many cuisines from around the world, and the variety was another reason I frequented the place.

After a light dinner, I went to the gym for a grueling workout. It was something I did nearly every night of the week. When on a jobsite, I bought a temporary pass to the nearest gym. My body was lean and hard from the punishment I gave it, but that's what I needed to find restful sleep.

Over the years, I discovered I had a small talent for boxing. I'd started working out in the ring because I needed something new to find the level of exhaustion required. One of the regulars at the gym suggested I try boxing. I don't know why, but I like it. I try not to over think it. I have no illusions about becoming a fighter and I never think about boxing after I leave the ring. I'd never been in a fight other than the occasional shoving that took place in high school. Still, I liked the idea of having a few protective moves and found it rewarding to give as good as I got in the ring.

After working out on all the equipment, I wandered over to the boxing ring and suited up. I nodded a greeting to Troy, a favorite partner, ready to fight. I didn't know much about Troy other than as a sparring partner. It was rumored that he wanted to go pro and was working up to competition, but he never mentioned it.

Troy, in his late twenties, had blonde hair, blue eyes, and freckles over the bridge of his nose. He was Greek-god handsome and women flocked to him. In fact, there was always a line waiting outside the gym when he exited the building. Troy was shorter and younger, but outweighed me by at least twenty pounds. He was what critics call buff. I was on the lean and hard-as-nails side. Overall, we were a good match in the ring, but it wasn't always that way. In the beginning, I ended up on the rails, slaughtered by Troy's hard, fast punches. Still, what we did in the ring was merely exercise. It certainly wasn't strategy or defensive and offensive tactics. Under the circumstances, I didn't know how long Troy would last with a real pro.

Chapter 4

Monday morning, I drank a fresh coffee on the deck and thought about my life, wondering where-the-hell it went wrong. There was tightness in the pit of my stomach as I thought about the appointment with Nelson. Although I can't discount that unsettling feeling, I know I need change. I stubbornly cling to the notion that Nelson will either assist me or point me in the right direction. I finished the coffee and went inside to get ready. Maria would arrive shortly, and I wanted to stay out of her way.

Maria has been the housekeeper since I returned to live in my parents' home. She cleans every Monday morning from eight to eleven whether I'm in town or not. She tidies up the place, picks up and drops off laundry, and makes sure the home doesn't smell musty while I'm away for extended periods—not that there's any real dirt to clean. As a dedicated bachelor, I'm tidy. I subscribe to the rules left over from childhood. If you open it, close it. If you break it, fix it. If you get it out, put it back, and so forth. Nevertheless, dust accumulates and any home takes on a stale odor when windows and doors remain closed for long intervals.

Maria has the energy of a bumblebee, buzzing busily around to set things right. Trustworthy, she's been a godsend who supports my traveling lifestyle. From the first month of employment, I've paid her exactly what she wanted and increased her wages ten percent each year. She's worth every penny.

Once Maria began the cleaning routine, I went upstairs to the study and closed the door. She dusts and vacuums that particular room while I'm away, never when I'm home. For lunch, I returned to the Indian diner for a spicy meal before heading to the appointment with Nelson.

As I sat in Dr. Nelson Fitch's plush office, I could tell my good friend had done well over the years. The waiting area, lavishly furnished with Italian leather, said it all. The front office was staffed by a receptionist and file clerk who each had finely grained mahogany desks. I arrived a few minutes early and had yet to see Nelson's private office, but the receptionist, a petite brunette in her mid-fifties, had buzzed to let him know I'd arrived. A few minutes before two, the door to the inner office opened and Nelson walked out with a patient. The young man, probably in his early thirties, kept his head close to Nelson's and listened intently, "I'll see you next week, Josh."

"Shalom, my good friend, it's great to see you," Nelson greeted loudly with a warm smile after Josh was gone. "Sarah and I've been meaning to invite you to dinner, but time slips away doesn't it?"

I nodded and stood up to shake Nelson's hand. He gestured for me to follow him inside. The mention of Sarah brought back memories of the sassy and confident girl from college who'd been part of my closest friends. The group was nicknamed 'the college-five' by my parents, Dawn and Patrick Lewis. Sarah and Nelson affectionately called it 'our mishpocha' or family. I'd seen Sarah less than a year ago, and she hadn't aged a day other than laugh lines at the corners of her bright green eyes.

"Please take a seat anywhere you like," Nelson said, indicating one of four tufted armchairs or a sofa. He closed the door and I sat in one of the chairs facing his large ornate desk. The room was spacious and held all the furniture and accents pieces without feeling crowded.

I recalled Nelson as he'd been when we first met at Columbia University. Then, he had a mop of curly brown hair with very little beard and a slender build for his five feet nine inch frame. The years had added a few pounds, mostly around his midsection, but this enhanced the overall persona often associated with college professors and therapists. His hair was still curly brown with smatterings of gray throughout. There was a shiny spot on top of his head that resembled a small satin kippah or the platter-shaped hat worn by Orthodox Jews. The wire-rimmed spectacles, perched on the bridge of his nose, completed the scholarly look.

We'd been close friends for twenty-five years and it was because of this enduring relationship that I'm sitting in his polished office about to spill my guts. I'm about to share something dangerous and implausible; but, on the other hand, if anyone would believe me, Nelson would. After all, he's a psychiatrist and deals with psychological issues and abnormal brain patterns all the time. Although he might not have any experience dealing with the paranormal, I'm here because I need his help.

"Why'd you want to see me today? What can I help you with, Mike? Is this an official visit or time to schmooze, just two old friends catching up?" Nelson, curiosity getting the better of him, started the conversation.

"Shalom, my friend. It's official. I called asking for an appointment, and I appreciate that you've made time to see me while I'm between assignments. I have an issue, a problem, I need to discuss with a professional and a friend—that's you. I hope you can help me," I replied.

"Of course, Mike. I'll be glad to see what I can do. Tell me why you've sought my professional opinion," Nelson smiled encouragingly.

"What I'm going to share with you is a confession of sorts... I've never told another living soul about this, not even my parents. There's a phenomenon in my life that I need to understand." I paused briefly and took a deep breath. At that moment, the hair on the back of my neck rose and I wanted to run. I considered leaving without saying another word, but something had to change. I was miserable and the desire for something different kept me seated and suppressed my instincts.

"Mike, whatever it is I'm sure we can find some answers," Nelson softly interjected.

"Ok, here it is in a nutshell," I rushed to explain. "Every time I close my eyes I see a vision of some future event in a kaleidoscope. It's not the kaleidoscope of childhood filled with pretty-colored glass. It crackles and sparkles like the one I had as a kid, but this one shows broken images of terrifying future events. The visions torment me. They're reflections and fragmented, not clear pictures. It uses the same principle as all kaleidoscopes where reflective surfaces are placed at an angle to one another."

I briefly paused again unsure how to give the best description. Nelson remained eerily silent, his lips pressed tightly together, as he considered what he'd heard. I didn't know how to take his silence, so I rushed on, "I can't shut it off without opening my eyes; it just happens even when I blink the images are there, distracting and penetrating. I've learned to compartmentalize what I see with whatever I'm doing, but it's taken years to learn the skills required to live with this ability."

Nelson still didn't say anything. He appeared to be either stunned or eager; I couldn't quite determine the look. I continued my attempt to explain, "In the beginning, it almost drove me to the edge of madness. In the beginning, well, let's just say that I have a better handle on it now. The images are horrifying events and I can't do anything to prevent them from happening. What I see through the kaleidoscope doesn't affect me personally. None of the visions I've seen are of people or places I know."

Nelson's expression had changed from stunned to disbelief. His eyes widened in response and he rubbed his chin in perplexity. It pissed me off immediately and my reaction was heated, "Don't think I don't know how crazy this revelation sounds! I know you think no one can see the future. I'll give you a taste, a sample, of what I see through the kaleidoscope. Take a few notes so that when it unfolds you'll have written proof of what I'm telling you."

"Ok, Mike. Give me an example of what you see through the kaleidoscope," Nelson said with a sigh of frustration, but his right hand thrummed the desktop near the phone.

It seemed obvious that he wrestled with a strong impulse to pick up the phone and call for help, perhaps a mandatory psychiatric evaluation. That was a normal response for a doctor who'd heard such a shocking and unbelievable confession. Nelson wasn't used to hearing such rubbish from friends, especially one he'd trusted in the past. It was natural to want an impartial colleague to observe me. Nelson couldn't be objective or maintain any real neutrality, but he hesitated. It was an imperceptible pause where he struggled to give me the benefit of doubt. He'd never known me to lie. Accepting that, he reached for a pen instead of the phone.

"Go on, Mike," he encouraged.

"The most recent images are of overgrown fields and crops completely ravaged and attacked by a plant or weed. It's difficult to be precise because the clips I see are fast, similar to black-and-white time-lapse photography." I paused again as I struggled with the words to adequately describe the vision. Nelson, showing some degree of excitement, gestured for me to continue. "The new plant is so heavy and fast growing that it covers the fields like kudzu. Everything underneath is choked out and deprived of sun and rain. I can't tell you how, when, or where it'll happen, but it will happen. One morning you'll hear something on the news about this very scenario," I finished rather lamely.

"Tsuris!" Nelson exploded. I cocked my head sideways because my Yiddish was a little rusty, but he began again more calmly. "We've known each other for a long time and what you've described goes against all that I know about you personally. You've always had a sixth sense, Mike. You've always been able to see things that the rest of us couldn't. In college, you saw clearly the things that were ahead, and you handled it with your own personal touch. You helped the rest of us when we had difficulties. What you're describing now doesn't make any sense to me. And why the hell did this begin fifteen years ago when I've known you for over twenty-five years, and... well, hellfire Mike, you've always had this ability."

"Nelson, I don't have any recall of the things you're saying," I objected while shaking my head in confusion. I was shocked even though it wasn't the first time I'd heard this. Adom had suggested this very thing. Was he right when he'd insisted that I'd used the gift my entire life? Were both men right about my ability? How did they know more about it than I did?

Why can't I recall it?

"Listen, Mike, you're telling me that what you see isn't clear and that it comes through a kaleidoscope... You have me in a quandary here. You've always seen things... when did you start to see them in a kaleidoscope? What in the world happened to you?" Nelson asked.

What the hell happened to me? Why can't I recall it?

I didn't know how to respond to Nelson's line of questioning. I sat speechless in the tufted chair and wondered if I could trust him after all. In the meantime, Nelson studied me in silence, obviously trying to meld the two images of me—college and now. He took a deep breath and the questions took a new direction. He was trying to work things out, figure things out, and reconcile what he remembered with what he'd just heard.

"Are these dreams? Are you sure you see these images while you're still awake?" he finally asked.

"I see the images when I close my eyes, Nelson, not while I'm asleep. Sleep is my only escape from them. I could close my eyes right now and see the images. Am I asleep?"

"Help me to help you, Mike. That's why you're here, isn't it?" Nelson asked with a puzzled look on his face.

"I can't give you another set of images, Nelson. That's not how it works. I see the same vision until it happens and then a new one begins. I can tell you things that I've seen in the past, but keep in mind that it's a miniscule fraction of natural disasters and catastrophes. In the beginning, I saw about six images each year. Now, I see eight to ten visions a year. I don't know why I see the ones I do. I don't know why I don't see others. I saw the meteor hit Russia. I watched that terrifying scene every night for over a month knowing there was nothing I could do, no one I could tell. I didn't see the earthquake in China this year, or the one in Chile during 2010. I've watched tsunamis, earthquakes, and hurricanes. I've watched obscure, bizarre events from around the world. I watch the event over and again until it finally happens, but I didn't see hurricanes Sandy or Katrina because I'd have recognized the locations."

Nelson sat very still. He was apparently stunned. His jaw dropped as he prepared to speak, but found no words that could reconcile what I'd said with the things he knew about me. He shook his head a few times as if to dispel the uncertainty. Finally, he closed his mouth, crossed his arms across his chest, and nodded for me to continue again.

"For example, when I saw the meteor hit Russia, I didn't know it was Russia. I saw the meteor streaking through the sky and colliding with buildings, but from the vantage point of the vision there was nothing in the image that allowed me to know where it hit." Nelson looked like he was holding as steady as anyone would under the circumstances, so I went on. "As to when an event will happen, I've only recently tried to categorize the kaleidoscope images into some kind of pattern... to understand the timeframe, but I can't find a pattern. It can be as little as a few days or up to a few months. The only thing I know for sure is that the images I see don't change until the event happens."

"Mike, have you considered contacting a research facility that specializes in paranormal phenomena? An agency like that could make sense of more than just the timeframe. Perhaps experts would have more success in pinpointing dates and times. Research...," However, I cut him off in midsentence.

"Hell no!" I nearly shouted, reacting quickly to the suggestion. Then I lowered my voice, "Nelson, I can't take the chance that others will find out about this—my life could change forever. People with paranormal abilities are often locked-away and studied; you know that. Someone would eventually want to find out why I'm different or why I see these events. No, Nelson, I'd never consider that option. That's why I've been so careful to never reveal this secret—I don't want the government or some secret society on my ass!"

"I think that's a little paranoid, Mike," Nelson finally said with a deep sigh. "I wish you'd give me more to go on. As your friend, I have to admit this admission is mind boggling, and I'm more than a little worried for you. As a doctor, I'm intrigued. It's amazing. You don't appear to be under duress or exhibiting any signs of grandiose behavior or psychosis. Other than the story you've told me, you seem fine. I have to wonder what happened to cause this, because it's just not the Mike I've known for many years."

The definition of psychotic break came rushing back to me as if I'd taken Psych 101 the previous day. Textbook descriptions of paranoid patients repeating, 'I see things' or 'I hear things' or 'someone is watching me' poured into my mind.

Nelson must think I'm psychotic.

"Well, maybe if I'd come to you sooner you'd have a little more faith in what I'm telling you, Nelson. But, the truth is that I haven't told anyone about this and didn't think I ever would. Watch the news. After you hear about the 'attack of giant plants' we'll have more to discuss." I chuckled softly at my own reference—it sounded SCI-FI. Hell, everything I'd told Nelson today sounded SCI-FI, but it didn't change the fact that it was true. I stood up to leave.

"Mike, I have one more point to make... It seems the sixth sense you had in college has evolved into the dramatic version described today. I'd like to focus on how that happened at our next meeting. I have you scheduled for next Wednesday at two o'clock. Does that work for you?" Nelson asked.

"Yeah, I'll see you next week. Give Sarah my love and pat the kids on the head for me," I replied with relief, glad to conclude the meeting.

"Ok, Mike, ok," Nelson, lost in thought, said again. He looked heavenward, rubbing the bottom of his chin with his index finger and thumb. Then, he stood and came around from behind the desk. "Oh, and Mike, start a journal. Write down everything that happens, even the minor stuff, and journal your thoughts as well. Don't leave anything out or monitor it. I want your honest, free flowing assessment of everything that you think or dream between now and next week. Bring it to the next appointment," Nelson said as he walked me to the door. All the while, his hand was on my back, patting softly as if I was an errant child that he attempted to comfort in some way. This gesture was amusing, but I understood how difficult it was for him to hear the things I'd shared. I left Nelson's office and walked briskly down the crowded street to Cavenders coffeehouse. A shot of espresso sounded appealing.

Cavenders is a chain internet café and serves every roasted coffee a person can imagine. A latte breve with an extra shot has always been my ticket to happiness. After the stressful meeting with Nelson, I wanted a coffee and a cigarette.

As hard as it was to tell him, it had also provided a sense of freedom not easily explained. I took the hot cup of Java to an outside table and fished the electronic cigarette out of my shirt pocket. I drank the coffee and puffed on the e-cig in silence before walking home.

As for Nelson's suggestion to journal, I began right away. Just the act of recording my thoughts seemed to help, and once I began to write, I couldn't seem to stop—it was cathartic and purifying. It allowed me to see things I'd previously ignored and refused to question.

Is it necessary to look at a thing in order to see it?

I started writing in the first volume of a set of three journals that my mother bought when I went to work at GMS, my first and only employer. GMS had promised travel and adventure. Dawn had suggested that, while I traveled the world, the journals would be an appropriate place to record meaningful events and places visited.

The journals, nine by seven inches each, were bound is a rich Moroccan leather and hand tooled. Roman numerals I, II, and III were embossed on the individual covers. The inside flaps were lined with goatskin and the edges were laced with a goatskin thong. The plain paper pages, approximately one hundred per book, were unlined and handmade, bound in sheaves rather than glued.

Like the visions, the journals were a very costly gift that I'd never appreciated. I'd kept them in a bedside table all these years, taking them out on occasion to dust and oil the leather, but they'd only been a keepsake, something to remind me of Dawn's love.

Chapter 5

The next morning, I sat on the deck with a morning coffee. I went over the previous conversation with Nelson again in my mind, thinking and rethinking it. I worried over it. Even though we'd been friends since Columbia, did I really know him?

My parents dubbed us the 'college-five' because we gravitated to each other like magnets... me, Tasha, Sarah, Nelson and Joe. I'd met each through one of the core classes all freshmen take. Our connections were immediate and difficult to describe. My mother said we were 'kindred-spirits' or 'like-minded.' We'd stayed friends throughout our entire educational endeavors and remained friends now. I'd limited visits with my closest friends in recent years—all in an attempt to hide my secret. I'd convinced myself that I was protecting them.

I'm a New York City boy, educated in the public school system, from the Upper East Side of Manhattan. It sounds glitzy, but it isn't. We lived in the middle section off 61st Street. A few blocks in any direction could put you in an entirely different situation, even in harm's way.

I'd felt lost in junior high and high school, but from the first day at Columbia, it was a completely different experience. I found my element. I discovered the ingredient that had been missing in life so far—close friends. I discovered that you don't need a lot of friends; you only need a few friends with a lot of common interests. My parents had suggested I live on campus even though we didn't live that far away. They wanted me to have a full college experience, complete with living on my own. I'm grateful for their foresight because it was paramount in my personal development.

I met Tasha Jones the first week in Chemistry 101 lab. She was slender, cute, and blonde. Our first lab assignment was to synthesize aspirin. We were advanced students, but due to budget cuts, we'd never had a proper chemistry lab. Our experiences were purely theoretical. The class was paired into two-member teams to perform the hands-on experiment. My partner, eager to finally have chemistry tools at his disposal, hogged the entire assignment. Tasha's partner left her to do the work alone while she flirted with one of the male students. With our stations beside each other, Tasha was overwhelmed and close to tears. I moved over to offer assistance.

Making aspirin required exact measurements, precise calculations, and a calm, cool head. I talked Tasha through the steps as if I'd done it a thousand times before. In the end, we were the only team with time to perform a recrystallization to purify the product. Tasha was ecstatic and called me her 'tall, dark, and handsome knight' from that day on. She confided that she was from a small town near Albuquerque, called Rio Rancho, and couldn't wait to leave the dry, dusty place behind her. She never looked back and vowed she never would.

I met Sarah Rubenstein about three weeks later in a Philosophy study group. She was from Indianapolis, educated at an all-girls school, and the eldest daughter of Jewish parents. Her father was a successful Ophthalmologist, and her mother an avid supporter and chairperson for The Juvenile Diabetes Foundation. Sarah's younger brother was diabetic. The family structure and her brother's struggle with his illness had made her a very outspoken young woman. There were many heated discussions between her and Professor Studebaker. We became fast friends, and soon, Sarah joined Tasha and me in our unofficial group at lunch and between classes.

Nelson Fitch was from Boston, educated at preparatory schools and the middle child of Jewish parents. His family was established diamond dealers. Nelson had two older and two younger sisters and felt like the odd man out at home. We were in the same Psychology class but we hadn't met. When Nelson noticed Sarah and Tasha sitting with me at lunch, he wasn't shy about joining in. He demanded to know why I had two beautiful girlfriends when he didn't have any. I laughed and then introduced him to Sarah first and later Tasha as dear, sweet friends.

Joseph Talbot was the final member of the group. He was short for most freshmen, and although he grew to six feet during the time spent at Columbia, he was bullied because of his dialect and height. Joe was from Vicksburg, Mississippi, educated in the public school system and the only son in a family with three daughters. His parents struggled with expenses on a daily basis, but Joe had earned an academic scholarship to Columbia, and his family held fundraisers to pay for his initial trip to New York and one month's living expenses. He worked part-time jobs throughout college just to eat.

Joe was in my Political Science class and we knew each other by sight only. One day after class, two guys held Joe cornered against a wall when I walked by. I'd never liked bullies and my height alone was enough to intimidate most. I leaned over to talk to Joe about the assignment and the two bullies skulked away. Joe joined the group that day, and it felt complete. The college-five was official.

We were all on scholarships despite our family's ability or inability to pay for an education, and all of us were shy and insecure, at least in the beginning. The days at Columbia taught us much about life and our true natures—not the pigeonholed insecurities and reputations we'd acquired in high school. The friendships gave us confidence in who we were and the direction our lives would take. We spent many hours together sharing our beliefs and philosophies about life in general and what we wanted from it.

Today, Tasha lives in London as a top-notch, award-winning photographer. Sarah is a freelance journalist working from home, which also allows her to be a devoted mother. She's successful in her own right on both fronts. Nelson teaches Psychology at Columbia and has a small, but successful, clinical practice on the side. Joe works for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, recruited straight from Columbia. He's risen to a position of authority as one of the youngest agency directors. I've chased the geology train around the world and back.

In general, all of us are doing what we love most. Tasha is highly acclaimed in Europe for her amazing photo shoots and she's in a committed, long-term relationship. Sarah and Nelson have been married for nineteen years and have two wonderful children. Joe is divorced, but highly involved in his career leaving little time for a social life. I'm satisfied with my job along with the freedom and travel it offers, but I've had six relationships since college. None of them included marriage or children. I'm unattached and a dedicated bachelor by all accounts. If truly honest, I'm also a bit lonely.

Is that loneliness driving my desire for change?

I can't share the secret with a partner and this 'holding-back' is something a woman can't abide. I've come to understand that when a woman thinks a man is hiding something—she assumes it has to be another woman. Even if I'd wanted to explain, I can't. Who would understand that I see visions of the future through a kaleidoscope? It's a preposterous notion and the mere mention might cause dissection in some lab.

After the recent discussion with Nelson, I wondered if what he'd said was true. Did I have the gift when at Columbia? Adom seemed to believe that. If so, why couldn't I recall it? Why did talking about it make me feel out of sorts and a little crazy? Still, I wondered why I'd told Nelson. The logical reason that came quickly and with conviction—I needed to tell someone. I'd needed to talk about it for a long time. I had to break the pattern and routine of secrecy that stifled me if I wanted change. The silence was choking the life out of me.

Chapter 6

The next day, I walked to Cavenders for a coffee and breakfast croissant. I intended to spend a couple of hours on one of their computers to research new pesticides or herbicides. I wanted to understand more about the plant images from the vision. After fighting and denying the ability for many years, I'd finally begun to research the images as they occurred. In the current vision, some type of herbicide, used to kill weeds, had the opposite effect. The weeds had become prolific and gigantic, almost hybrid.

I was a creature of habit—Cavenders was another place I frequented when in town. It was a good spot to settle in for a few hours. Although the coffeehouse was often crowded, most of the customers were only stopping by on their way to work and would soon clear out for a brief time before the lunch crowd began.

I ordered a sandwich and a latte breve with an extra shot from Tony. Tony ran the place, and although Cavenders was like a revolving door for the regular employees, Tony had been there as long as I could remember. I took the coffee and sat at one of the tables in the back near a window to wait for the sandwich. I was seated a few minutes when a stunning brunette approached my table with coffee in hand. I whistled soundlessly. She was a real looker, and she held my gaze for several minutes before she asked to join me.

When the coffeehouse is crowded, it's not uncommon to share a table with strangers. I didn't think anything unusual about the request. I gestured at the empty seat and nodded. I'd never considered myself handsome, so I didn't take the request as a come-on.

I have thick dark-brown hair and eyes colored like a cat's, a strange grey mixed with a little green. My complexion is good, and although it's originally fair, I have a healthy tan from working outside. My physical condition is strong with hard abs and glutes. My legs are like tree trunks. Over the years, I'd found that women found me attractive, but were often shy, especially in the beginning. Later, they confided that I seemed aloof and mysterious, almost unapproachable. That reaction forced me to be more out-going than I'm normally inclined to be. Now, the brunette's approach was refreshing; she didn't find me unfriendly.

Her name was Casey—Cassandra Beatrice D'Angelo to be exact—and she was truly a gorgeous woman. She was in her mid-thirties, about five feet nine inches tall and slender with an athletic tautness to her body. Her complexion was a creamy-soft olive, characteristic of Italian descent. Dark, smooth hair hung down her back and emphasized blue eyes that sparkled like the Mediterranean Sea. I smiled a boyish, lop-sided grin. The breakfast sandwich arrived.

"Would you like a sandwich or something to go with the coffee?" I asked.

"No, just the coffee, darling," Casey declined the offer as she flashed a perfectly white smile through full, exotic lips. I wondered what it'd be like to kiss those lovely, inviting lips.

Casey was anything but shy. She immediately launched into a series of stories about herself and at intervals asked appropriate questions about me. Her enunciation and verbiage were unusual. I tried to place it, but the best description was the 1940s movie era. She reminded me of characters played by Katherine Hepburn, Rita Hayworth, or Vivien Leigh; but I couldn't decide which one. Probably, all of them.

Each sentence was punctuated by 'darling' or 'dear' and further flourished with comments such as 'I do declare' or 'how insufferable.' In spite of this eccentricity, the conversation was easy and relaxed. While drinking coffees over the next several hours, I began to find both Casey and this peculiarity enchanting.

She was one of 'the D'Angelos' of Manhattan and had recently returned from Rome. We laughed at the coincidence that I'd also been in Rome during my assignment to Terni, Italy. Apparently, the world was smaller than imagined. The D'Angelos' are old New York money and, as it is with most wealthy families, they had their fingers in many pies. Casey confided that she'd traveled to the 'old country' on family business for her father who was turning over more and more responsibility to her since her childless marriage of eight years had recently ended in divorce.

"I do declare! I only came in to get a coffee, but I was so attracted to you, darling, I decided to stay rather than take it to go," Casey said easily while again flashing a brilliant smile. I admired that the admission was forthright and, not easily flattered, I smiled in return.

Pleased with the turn of events for the previously planned morning, the time flew by as we sat in Cavenders chatting and drinking more coffee. We talked about our travels, interests, and obsessions. Before I knew it, the hour grew late and the research was forgotten. As if on cue, Casey seemed to know I had something else planned, and we stood up at the same time.

"You know, darling," Casey said, "I find you quite unassuming for such a ruggedly handsome man. Although I doubt you know it, you're rather sexy with an animalistic quality, like a lion or tiger. It's a tangible sensuality. I do declare, it makes me want to reach out and stroke your fur," she purred as a slender hand stroked the inside of my forearm. "I find those qualities irresistible in a man. It's something that's severely lacking in the eligible bachelors my father tends to introduce," she paused to giggle. "He can be insufferable at times, though I love him dearly," she hesitated briefly, "at any rate, I'd love to meet you for a late lunch tomorrow or perhaps dinner tonight." It was a statement, but perfectly arched brows lifted in a quizzical pose to accentuate the unasked question.

Again, struck by the unusual verbiage she employed; I suppressed a smile. It's rare in today's society of slurred speech and slang to use such precise English even if it was from a different era. Casey produced her card, and in response, I scribbled my numbers on the back of the coffee receipt. We laughed and then I walked her out onto the sidewalk. A car pulled up; Casey got in, waved goodbye, and then the car pulled away.

Somehow, Cavenders wasn't all that inviting after she left, so I went back home to do the planned research there. On the walk, I smiled for the entire ten blocks as I thought about the chance meeting with such a delightful and remarkable woman. Later that afternoon, Casey called and I agreed to meet her for dinner that night.

Casey arrived at Fleur-de-lis by limousine while I took a checkered cab. She wore designer clothing while I wore jeans, a turtleneck, and leather sports coat I'd bought in Italy five years earlier. We're as different as night and day, salt and pepper. Casey was delectably beautiful and polished while she'd described me as ruggedly handsome and sexy.

One thing we had in common was a love for the spicy, exotic cuisines of the world. We'd both traveled abroad more than the average person had. Casey's overseas trips were mostly for pleasure while mine were nearly always for business, although when on assignment, I managed to see the nearby attractions, cities, and towns. Our tastes had matured from the many different food choices available in other countries. If nothing else, discussing favorite restaurants around the world put us a step ahead of most couples having their first casual date. If that's what this was.

The dinner was light and relaxed. We flirted and drank a nice burgundy wine from southern France with the main course of boeuf bourguignon, a savory wine-based beef stew. We had a dark chocolate silk pie for dessert and rich black coffee that I took with frothed cream. Casey eyed me seductively as she licked the last bit of silk pie from the spoon. I grinned. Then, it was a whirlwind in the cab back to my humble abode as we kissed passionately in the backseat.

I was right when I'd fantasized about her in the coffeehouse; she had the body of a goddess underneath the polished clothing. Sleek and smooth in all the best places, firm and lean in form. Making love to Casey was about as good as it gets. She was the first lover I'd had who could keep up in stamina and appetite. Moreover, with Casey, I didn't have to be overly cautious. She had no inhibitions; she held nothing back when it came to intimate pursuits. She wanted all of me, and that's what she got. She was proud to have multiple orgasms, whereas this had frightened most other women. It was something else to remember about Casey that was refreshing. An exhausted sleep, gave me very little time to see the images.

Chapter 7

The next morning, Casey had showered and was wearing one of my lightly starched white shirts and nothing else. Her hair, previously coiffed and smoothed, was now soft and wavy from the shower. It was very becoming, and I found her more beautiful than before. She smiled and then set a steaming cup of coffee on the nightstand before leaning over for a morning kiss.

"Let's take our coffee on the deck, love," she purred. "It's quite nice and private out there." Casey lightly teased after I raised a questioning brow. "Yes, I've been investigating your home while you slept. Come on, up and at 'em."

Once more, I hid a smile at her peculiar verbiage, but took her command seriously and rolled to my feet. After a quick shower and a fresh pair of boxers and tee shirt, I joined her on the deck. A longing washed over me—it'd be nice to have someone to wake up with in the mornings. My parents had a relaxing, honest relationship, and it was what I craved. They'd had an easiness with each other that was felt by others. I'd always wanted that, but never found it.

I recalled coming home one Friday night during junior year at Columbia to tell my parents I was in love. I'd been dating Janelle, a grad-student, for almost six months. It was my first real relationship, my first trip down lover's lane. I'd wanted to ask permission to bring Janelle over for the family's traditional Sunday dinner. I'd wanted my parents to meet her. As I pushed open their bedroom door, I found them asleep in the middle of their king-size bed. The bedside lamp was still on, but my father had nodded off with mother curled against his side, her head on his shoulder, and her hand placed over his heart. The image of them in this casual and loving pose stayed with me, and it reflected badly on the relationship with Janelle.

Joe had tried to warn me. He'd said Janelle was bad news, but I didn't want to hear it or see the signs of impending disaster. Janelle never allowed me to hold her after making love, and she called making love 'having sex' or 'fucking.' We didn't have dates; we only got together at her apartment whenever she called, which was usually after she'd been out with friends. She constantly criticized the way I dressed and complained that I was too smart and too thin.

In all the years I'd observed my parents, I'd never heard either one criticize the other. I'd never seen a lack of acceptance for any behavior in each other or me. In essence, Janelle's small, caustic barbs were words of rejection. Her criticisms were attempts to make me into someone else. She wanted a jock available to scratch her itch, but free from attachments. After that private moment in my parents' bedroom, the reality of the relationship with her became obvious. It wasn't only the image of my parents so comfortable and at ease together in their king-size bed; it was the many years of watching them. They'd taught me the true definition of love by example. I'd only needed a reminder.

I left their bedroom that night without disturbing them, quietly closing the door. I finally understood that Janelle didn't love me, and in all honesty, I didn't love her, not like that. It was at that moment that I knew with certainty I wanted the same love my parents had and wouldn't be satisfied with anything less. I knew I'd never have that with Janelle.

The realization caused our relationship to fizzle and diminish. Soon, I stopped going to her apartment. Shortly after that, I quit returning her calls entirely. It was done. I was grateful to Joe for not saying, 'I told you so.' Now, I pushed the memory away and took a cigarette out of the metal tin. Casey looked up and smiled.

"Hmm," she said, "tobacco. I love the smell of good tobacco."

I grinned at her. She was full of surprises. Today, I didn't have any complaints. The coffee was good, and the company was great. What more could a guy want?

There were bagels in the fridge and, after a light toasting and a spread of cream cheese with lemon marmalade, we ate them with more fresh coffee. Then, we returned to the bedroom, locked in each other's secret spell, where we spent the rest of the afternoon. We made love, and we fucked, and although most people don't know the difference, it was restorative to be with a woman who did.

It was almost dark when Casey went back to the shower to 'freshen-up' as she called it. I shaved and then watched her shower as she generously scrubbed her body with a washcloth and soap. There wasn't an inch she didn't wash from the tip of her head to the soles of her feet. I was intrigued. Most people jumped in and out of the shower in only a few minutes, but apparently, bathing was a ritual for Casey. We laughed about the elaborate care she took.

"Oh, darling, if you only knew what it takes to keep this body in its polished condition. I'm a very high-maintenance woman. Once a week, I'm professionally waxed, salt-scrubbed, and buffed. It's like detailing a car. You can run it through a carwash or you can give it the extra time and attention by removing all signs of wear and tear! I prefer the latter," she explained with a wicked grin and wink.

After dressing, we walked the few blocks to my favorite Indian diner and had a bite to eat. Casey showed appropriate appreciation for the restaurant as we ate with our fingers, sitting around a low table in a curtained-off booth. First, there was chokha, a delicious roasted vegetable dish, and biryani, savory mutton slices that we rolled up in chapattis and dipped in a fine curry sauce. Later, we had laddu, a tasty round cookie rolled in sweet syrup, and coffee for dessert. The meal was memorable and eating with our fingers an aphrodisiac, not that either of us needed one. I didn't need the gym that night because the evening was once again filled with tantalizing and tantric sex.

Friday we repeated the events of the previous day: bagels and coffee on the deck, Casey's long, ritualistic shower, and Indian food eaten with our fingers. Our senses were heightened and impassioned. We returned to the brownstone and I carried Casey up the flight of stairs to the master bedroom. In a rush, she tore at my clothes in lusty excitement. We made love again and then again.

Afterwards, we lay in a tangled heap with legs intertwined while Casey divulged what she liked most about our lovemaking sessions. She was open about sex in general and described our positions in detail while grinning at my surprise. I wasn't accustomed to such explicit pillow talk. The conversation lasted a long while, and it felt right to be here with her.

Later in the evening, Casey called for a car. Not long afterwards, a driver arrived and handed her fresh clothing. She dressed in the living room and laughed uproariously at my surprised expression. The car took us to El Gatos Bistro where Casey ordered Salmone Gerusalemme, a tasty dish of fresh wild salmon baked with artichoke hearts and served with couscous. I had the Saltinbocca, a dish of tiny veal medallions served over garlic-mashed potatoes. We sampled each other's meal and savored the dishes. For dessert, there was Crème Brule and rich dark coffee with frothed cream. The driver took us back to the brownstone after we'd dined. It had been a wild three days.

Chapter 8

The next morning, Casey was gone. My stomach lurched slightly and my heart seemed to stutter in my throat. Images of our lovemaking invaded my mind. God, but she was incredible, tantalizing, and alluring.

Will I see her again?

A note lay on the bedside table. It read, "Darling, I enjoyed you immensely. I'll see you later today." A smiley face was her signature. It was juvenile, but I laughed out loud with relief. I felt fortunate and hopeful that this chance meeting with Casey was serendipity.

Is this what I've been waiting for all my life?

Anxious to do some research, I spent most of the morning in the study enmeshed in agricultural research and development of third-world countries. It was enlightening, but I couldn't pinpoint anything that would help with the most recent visions. Casey didn't call. Cramped and tense after spending most of the day at my desk, I packed a gym bag and headed over for a workout. Afterwards, I hit the showers, dressed, and went home.

When I opened the door, a delicious aroma greeted me. Casey was in the kitchen; the table was set and Chinese take-out was on the counter in serving bowls and warmers. There was Ginjo sake, open, but not yet poured. I didn't own any, but somehow sake cups mysteriously materialized.

Casey wore faded jeans and a sky-blue, over-sized crocheted sweater. It flowed around her slender body as she waltzed around the kitchen preparing plates of food. She looked so lovely that the question of how she was inside my home fled. Watching her in this domestic dance was refreshing, and I briefly wondered why everything associated with Casey seemed to require that one word: refreshing. After one kiss, I forgot the concern about her entry—it could wait for a later time. Dinner waited too. Completely famished, but completely satisfied, it was after midnight before we returned to dine on the meal Casey had procured.

She was gone again the next morning. A quick image of our tangled, glistening bodies spread easily across my mind. I didn't want to jinx it so I tried not to entertain thoughts of why or how or when I'd see her again. I was glad for the relationship with Casey, if that's what it was. I enjoyed being with her whenever she appeared. So far, what we shared was as easy and natural as breathing.

At least it is to me.

I researched the new kaleidoscope images in earnest all afternoon, but wasn't any closer to understanding where or when the event would occur. I suspected that the images were of some agriculturally-deprived nation where the residents were eager to try anything to grow a crop or enhance a farming community, but I couldn't find any results that pinpointed an exact area. Frustrated with the pointless research, I headed to the gym to go more than a few rounds with Troy that evening. We each worked off some hidden or nagging frustrations. Something felt off, but I couldn't figure it out. I hit the showers exhausted, and then headed home.

Am I lying to myself?

I turned on the flat screen to watch the news just in time to catch the short segment that announced the fulfillment of the latest vision. Cambodian farmers were utilizing a new, experimental herbicide. The results were disastrous when the weeds, sprayed with the herbicide, grew at an astronomical rate. They completely choked out entire fields of viable crops. The farmers lost everything, but the concern now was whether or not the chemical, which was strictly in the experimental stages, had spread by wind or runoff to other neighboring areas that might suffer a similar fate.

In the video footage thick, heavy weeds completely blanketed acre after acre of now useless crops. I turned off the television and headed to bed. Tonight I'd see a new vision through the kaleidoscope. I took an extra dose of salt, a natural hypnotic, and lay down on the bed waiting for it to melt on my tongue. As I closed my eyes, the new kaleidoscope images began.

Darkness fell over a city as street by street the lights went out. I searched frantically for some landmark, some identifying sign or symbol that would name the location, but nothing stood out. Just a city. Just a cry of panic as the residents realized they were experiencing a total blackout. Even the night sky grew black as dark clouds covered the stars and moon. There was mayhem and panic as the residents ran blindly in terror. They tried to escape whatever it was.

Strange, that the darkness in the city brought out the darkness in humankind as well.

The scenes were horrifying; I witnessed a woman trampled to death. Not a single person stopped to help her or pull her out of harm's way. The images were cold and distant; I didn't recognize a single person's face or anything about the location.

I finally found restful sleep after midnight only to awaken to the soft firmness of Casey's insistence as she tugged at my boxers. Her warm breath caressed my cheek and she giggled softly with huskiness in her voice. Miracles are rare and should be cherished. I cherished this one until the morning sun slashed through the wood blinds of the bedroom window.

The next morning, I dozed while Casey showered. Before I knew it, she was handing over a cup of hot black coffee topped with perfectly frothed cream. After a light kiss on the cheek, she waved and disappeared from view. I didn't know where Casey went when she left. I had no illusions that she could put her responsibilities and duties on hold while I was home between jobs. I also realized that she volunteered very little about her career. If she said anything at all, it was only to mention that it was 'family business.' I took the coffee to the deck and drank it there before hitting the shower.

Maria arrived on time. "Buenos días, Señor Mike," she called out, her normal merry greeting.

"Buenos días, Maria. Yo voy a tener mi café en la terraza," I replied and nodded toward the deck. Later, I retired upstairs and left Maria to do her magic. I'd only been in the study a short while when she knocked at the door.

"Señor, this was attached to the tag of your pillow and I've never before seen it. What do you want me to do with it?" she asked. She was holding up a white square tab with a metal circle in the center. It couldn't have been more than an inch in diameter. The odd thing was that it looked similar to the electrodes placed around the scalp and body during an EKG. There was even a sticky adhesive on the back where it was secured to the pillow tag.

"Where in the hell did that come from?" I wondered aloud.

"No sé la respuesta," Maria replied as she shook her head in response. "I have never seen it before in all the time I clean for you, fue en tu almohada. Me aturdo. How you say..."

"I know," I replied, "Yo también estoy confundido. I can't understand why it was on my pillow, either." I took the tab from Maria and examined it more closely.

"Gracias, Maria. If you find anything else like this or anything out of place, you'll let me know?"

"Si, Señor," Maria replied.

I wondered if this tiny square of paper was a listening device—a bug. If it was, how the hell did it get on my pillow? And, more importantly, who put it there? The more I studied it, the more peculiar it seemed.

No one has been in my bedroom except Casey.

I pushed the thought away. It has to be someone else. I closed the study door and placed a call to Joseph Talbot, one of the college-five. Joe worked for the FBI—he'd know what to do.

Joe was what some called a 'good old boy' from Vicksburg, Mississippi. We were both on scholarship and new to the big life of being away from home and parental guidance in general. That was only part of the reason we'd struck up an immediate friendship as freshmen at Columbia. Since it was too expensive and too far for Joe to travel home for holidays and long weekends, he'd become a regular at our family dining table during that time. Today, Joe was head of the resident agency in Brooklyn-Queens. I gave my name to the receptionist and she put me through to him right away.

"Hello, Mike," Joe said jovially. "What's up?"

"I'm holding some weird listening device that Maria found on my pillow this morning. Could you take a look at it and tell me what the hell is going on?" I responded.

"Hell, Mike," he chuckled, "I don't have x-ray vision and I'm not psychic. I'd have to see it up close to identify it correctly." After a brief pause and muted conversation with others, Joe reassured, "I can meet you around noon."

"Cavenders?" I asked.

"Sure, sure," Joe replied. "The one on Park Avenue?" We agreed, and Joe hung up. I searched through online photos of electronic listening devices, bugs, trying to find something similar to the one I held in my hand. I suddenly realized with some trepidation that someone was spying on me. How is that possible? And, even more disturbing, how long has this been going on? I left the study and further questioned Maria.

"Oh, Señor Mike, I change the linens on your bed every Monday whether you are here or not," Maria replied.

"Have you ever seen anything like this before?"

"No, Señor, never," Maria adamantly replied.

"And you'd have noticed it if it had been there last Monday?" I asked the question a different way.

"Si, Señor. When I change the linens I remove the pillows from their cases and then must push them back inside the clean case. I would've seen this had it been there last Monday when I cleaned for you," Maria replied again with conviction.

This is new. This is something that wasn't here last week. It happened after I told Nelson and after I met Casey, too.

Maria continued her routine, and I continued to brood about the device I held in my hand. My stomach lurched. I didn't want to believe that the device involved either of them. I wasn't aware how deeply I stuck my head in the sand.

At the coffeehouse on Park Avenue, I'd already gotten coffee when Joe arrived. He didn't order anything and came straight to the back table where I sat. Joe, always strictly business, didn't bother to sit down either. He leaned his hip against the table and faced me with arms crossed.

"Well, let's see it!" he demanded.

Joe had thrown himself into his work ever since his marriage went south, literally. He'd married Savannah Fields, his high school sweetheart, after the first FBI promotion. Savannah left all that was familiar in Vicksburg, Mississippi, specifically a more gentle way of life, to move to New York with her new husband. She'd once confided that every corner of New York was as different as visiting a new country. To be honest, Vicksburg had only two cultures, white and black, and even though the south had experienced its racial battles during the 1960s, it'd come to an amicable peace over the last fifty or sixty years.

Vicksburg life was as slow and relaxed as the southern drawl spoken there. Here, the city was represented by every race and religion, every culture known to man, and was a true melting-pot of every nationality. Savannah had given it five years, but she could never find a balance in the quick-talking, fast-paced, and over-crowded city. She kept a far-off, longing in her eyes as if she'd lost something of great value.

One day, without any warning, she packed a suitcase, got on the bus, and left only a note for Joe. It simply read, "I've gone home."

Joe tried the singles scene for a while then threw himself into work, making promotion after promotion as he tried to forget that he'd failed with Savannah. The last he heard, she'd returned to Vicksburg, married a dentist, and now had two children. Joe made the trip home every five years or so, and although he deliberately avoided seeing Savannah, his sisters kept him well-informed about every detail of small-town gossip.

Now, I looked up at Joe and shrugged helplessly before taking the white square of hard paper out of my shirt pocket. I handed it to him. It was his area of expertise and I trusted him.

"Oh, this is good; this is very good," Joe finally mumbled.

"Do you think it's still active right now?"

"Yes," he thoughtfully replied and slid the device into a plastic evidence bag. "But, they're done listening for today." He smiled as he put the bag in a metal container. "It's a wireless bug, Mike—of that much I'm sure. If someone put this in your home, they were nearby listening. They were close enough to watch as well as listen. But why the hell did they put it on your pillow, Mike? What kind of pillow-talk are you having these days?" Joe had a quizzical smile and humor in his eyes.

We'd never been a group to kiss and tell, even in the good old college days. I didn't think now was the time for that to change, so I didn't mention that I'd met Casey or even that I was seeing anyone. Besides, it was too soon to tell if the attraction we felt was anything more than a chance meeting by two coffee buffs.

"Honestly, Joe, I haven't a clue why anyone would want to listen to me in the bedroom or anywhere else. Other than work, my life is dull and boring, just like yours," I said giving Joe a weak grin to humor him. Joe noticed it was more of a grimace, but he let it slide.

"Well, by now they know you've discovered this and they know you're meeting with me. They've heard everything that transpired since Maria handed you the device and until I put it in a metal box. I bet you had it in your hand when you called me, right?" Joe asked and then chuckled softly.

"Yes, I was looking at it when I made the call, so I guess they heard me agree to meet you here," I admitted sheepishly.

"Then, chances are good that you were followed," Joe stated the obvious. "Listen, old friend, I don't think you're in any immediate danger. If you were, they'd have grabbed you before our meeting. For now, I have to get back to the office. We're working a big case, but I'll get the lab to check this out and then give you a call as soon as we know more. Be careful, Mike. That is high-tech stuff and for whatever reason someone is very interested in you." He turned to go, but abruptly turned back. "Oh, and you might want to get a professional security system installed with cameras and the whole bit. We'll probably want to sweep your entire home. I'll let you know as soon as I can, but it's been a busy month at the bureau. Don't get your panties in a wad if it takes me a couple of days." Joe said with a curt nod.

After he left, I sat there for a while trying to absorb what was said... Although I hadn't mentioned it to Joe, it wasn't a fluke or coincidence that the same two men were in Terni with me and then followed me home. Someone is interested in me... Someone is watching and listening. This particular device targeted my bedroom.

Is this about the kaleidoscope images or Casey? Does she have a jealous lover watching her every move? Is she being stalked or am I? Why is my initial instinct to suspect Nelson first? Casey's the only one who's been in the bedroom.

I pushed the thoughts aside. I didn't want to believe that either Nelson or Casey was involved, but I couldn't discount either of them. Casey didn't know the secret I'd shared with Nelson, but she'd been in and out of my home like a ghost the last few days I rationalized. I didn't give her a key and I'd put off asking her about it.

Am I so enamored that I'm ignoring something right under my nose? I've been alone too long and I want her in my life. Am I overwhelmed by the mutual attraction? Am I avoiding the truth? Is Casey somehow involved in this?

I walked out of the coffeehouse and carefully looked up and down the street. Have I seen that car or van before? Did someone follow me to Cavenders? Are they watching me now?

I sound like a fucking paranoid idiot!

Still, the hairs on the back of my neck rose, alerting me to the possibility that eyes were observing and waiting for a chance... a chance to what? I felt vulnerable and began to sweat. To be perfectly honest, I'd been in a stupor all my life, never questioning much of anything or truly seeing anything. I'd been living life the way an architect follows blueprints, by rote. This oblivion might cost me more that I'm willing to pay. Without a doubt, 'change' has forcefully erupted into my life. It's what I'd sought only a few days ago, and now, there was no going back from it.

I hailed a cab, and as I got into the backseat, I realized that either Nelson or Casey had some explaining to do. Consumed by these thought, the rest of the day blurred by. The workout was particularly grueling. I felt betrayed, and took it out on a punching bag, the ropes, and the bench presses. I was particularly aggressive in the ring with Troy, but I couldn't blurt out what had happened. I held it in and let my fists lash out instead.

Chapter 9

The next morning, Casey was gone. My stomach lurched slightly and my heart seemed to stutter in my throat. Images of our lovemaking invaded my mind. God, but she was incredible, tantalizing, and alluring.

Will I see her again?

A note lay on the bedside table. It read, "Darling, I enjoyed you immensely. I'll see you later today." A smiley face was her signature. It was juvenile, but I laughed out loud with relief. I felt fortunate and hopeful that this chance meeting with Casey was serendipity.

Is this what I've been waiting for all my life?

Anxious to do some research, I spent most of the morning in the study enmeshed in agricultural research and development of third-world countries. It was enlightening, but I couldn't pinpoint anything that would help with the most recent visions. Casey didn't call. Cramped and tense after spending most of the day at my desk, I packed a gym bag and headed over for a workout. Afterwards, I hit the showers, dressed, and went home.

When I opened the door, a delicious aroma greeted me. Casey was in the kitchen; the table was set and Chinese take-out was on the counter in serving bowls and warmers. There was Ginjo sake, open, but not yet poured. I didn't own any, but somehow sake cups mysteriously materialized.

Casey wore faded jeans and a sky-blue, over-sized crocheted sweater. It flowed around her slender body as she waltzed around the kitchen preparing plates of food. She looked so lovely that the question of how she was inside my home fled. Watching her in this domestic dance was refreshing, and I briefly wondered why everything associated with Casey seemed to require that one word: refreshing. After one kiss, I forgot the concern about her entry—it could wait for a later time. Dinner waited too. Completely famished, but completely satisfied, it was after midnight before we returned to dine on the meal Casey had procured.

She was gone again the next morning. A quick image of our tangled, glistening bodies spread easily across my mind. I didn't want to jinx it so I tried not to entertain thoughts of why or how or when I'd see her again. I was glad for the relationship with Casey, if that's what it was. I enjoyed being with her whenever she appeared. So far, what we shared was as easy and natural as breathing.

At least it is to me.

I researched the new kaleidoscope images in earnest all afternoon, but wasn't any closer to understanding where or when the event would occur. I suspected that the images were of some agriculturally-deprived nation where the residents were eager to try anything to grow a crop or enhance a farming community, but I couldn't find any results that pinpointed an exact area. Frustrated with the pointless research, I headed to the gym to go more than a few rounds with Troy that evening. We each worked off some hidden or nagging frustrations. Something felt off, but I couldn't figure it out. I hit the showers exhausted, and then headed home.

Am I lying to myself?

I turned on the flat screen to watch the news just in time to catch the short segment that announced the fulfillment of the latest vision. Cambodian farmers were utilizing a new, experimental herbicide. The results were disastrous when the weeds, sprayed with the herbicide, grew at an astronomical rate. They completely choked out entire fields of viable crops. The farmers lost everything, but the concern now was whether or not the chemical, which was strictly in the experimental stages, had spread by wind or runoff to other neighboring areas that might suffer a similar fate.

In the video footage thick, heavy weeds completely blanketed acre after acre of now useless crops. I turned off the television and headed to bed. Tonight I'd see a new vision through the kaleidoscope. I took an extra dose of salt, a natural hypnotic, and lay down on the bed waiting for it to melt on my tongue. As I closed my eyes, the new kaleidoscope images began.

Darkness fell over a city as street by street the lights went out. I searched frantically for some landmark, some identifying sign or symbol that would name the location, but nothing stood out. Just a city. Just a cry of panic as the residents realized they were experiencing a total blackout. Even the night sky grew black as dark clouds covered the stars and moon. There was mayhem and panic as the residents ran blindly in terror. They tried to escape whatever it was.

Strange, that the darkness in the city brought out the darkness in humankind as well.

The scenes were horrifying; I witnessed a woman trampled to death. Not a single person stopped to help her or pull her out of harm's way. The images were cold and distant; I didn't recognize a single person's face or anything about the location.

I finally found restful sleep after midnight only to awaken to the soft firmness of Casey's insistence as she tugged at my boxers. Her warm breath caressed my cheek and she giggled softly with huskiness in her voice. Miracles are rare and should be cherished. I cherished this one until the morning sun slashed through the wood blinds of the bedroom window.

The next morning, I dozed while Casey showered. Before I knew it, she was handing over a cup of hot black coffee topped with perfectly frothed cream. After a light kiss on the cheek, she waved and disappeared from view. I didn't know where Casey went when she left. I had no illusions that she could put her responsibilities and duties on hold while I was home between jobs. I also realized that she volunteered very little about her career. If she said anything at all, it was only to mention that it was 'family business.' I took the coffee to the deck and drank it there before hitting the shower.

Maria arrived on time. "Buenos días, Señor Mike," she called out, her normal merry greeting.

"Buenos días, Maria. Yo voy a tener mi café en la terraza," I replied and nodded toward the deck. Later, I retired upstairs and left Maria to do her magic. I'd only been in the study a short while when she knocked at the door.

"Señor, this was attached to the tag of your pillow and I've never before seen it. What do you want me to do with it?" she asked. She was holding up a white square tab with a metal circle in the center. It couldn't have been more than an inch in diameter. The odd thing was that it looked similar to the electrodes placed around the scalp and body during an EKG. There was even a sticky adhesive on the back where it was secured to the pillow tag.

"Where in the hell did that come from?" I wondered aloud.

"No sé la respuesta," Maria replied as she shook her head in response. "I have never seen it before in all the time I clean for you, fue en tu almohada. Me aturdo. How you say..."

"I know," I replied, "Yo también estoy confundido. I can't understand why it was on my pillow, either." I took the tab from Maria and examined it more closely.

"Gracias, Maria. If you find anything else like this or anything out of place, you'll let me know?"

"Si, Señor," Maria replied.

I wondered if this tiny square of paper was a listening device—a bug. If it was, how the hell did it get on my pillow? And, more importantly, who put it there? The more I studied it, the more peculiar it seemed.

No one has been in my bedroom except Casey.

I pushed the thought away. It has to be someone else. I closed the study door and placed a call to Joseph Talbot, one of the college-five. Joe worked for the FBI—he'd know what to do.

Joe was what some called a 'good old boy' from Vicksburg, Mississippi. We were both on scholarship and new to the big life of being away from home and parental guidance in general. That was only part of the reason we'd struck up an immediate friendship as freshmen at Columbia. Since it was too expensive and too far for Joe to travel home for holidays and long weekends, he'd become a regular at our family dining table during that time. Today, Joe was head of the resident agency in Brooklyn-Queens. I gave my name to the receptionist and she put me through to him right away.

"Hello, Mike," Joe said jovially. "What's up?"

"I'm holding some weird listening device that Maria found on my pillow this morning. Could you take a look at it and tell me what the hell is going on?" I responded.

"Hell, Mike," he chuckled, "I don't have x-ray vision and I'm not psychic. I'd have to see it up close to identify it correctly." After a brief pause and muted conversation with others, Joe reassured, "I can meet you around noon."

"Cavenders?" I asked.

"Sure, sure," Joe replied. "The one on Park Avenue?" We agreed, and Joe hung up. I searched through online photos of electronic listening devices, bugs, trying to find something similar to the one I held in my hand. I suddenly realized with some trepidation that someone was spying on me. How is that possible? And, even more disturbing, how long has this been going on? I left the study and further questioned Maria.

"Oh, Señor Mike, I change the linens on your bed every Monday whether you are here or not," Maria replied.

"Have you ever seen anything like this before?"

"No, Señor, never," Maria adamantly replied.

"And you'd have noticed it if it had been there last Monday?" I asked the question a different way.

"Si, Señor. When I change the linens I remove the pillows from their cases and then must push them back inside the clean case. I would've seen this had it been there last Monday when I cleaned for you," Maria replied again with conviction.

This is new. This is something that wasn't here last week. It happened after I told Nelson and after I met Casey, too.

Maria continued her routine, and I continued to brood about the device I held in my hand. My stomach lurched. I didn't want to believe that the device involved either of them. I wasn't aware how deeply I stuck my head in the sand.

At the coffeehouse on Park Avenue, I'd already gotten coffee when Joe arrived. He didn't order anything and came straight to the back table where I sat. Joe, always strictly business, didn't bother to sit down either. He leaned his hip against the table and faced me with arms crossed.

"Well, let's see it!" he demanded.

Joe had thrown himself into his work ever since his marriage went south, literally. He'd married Savannah Fields, his high school sweetheart, after the first FBI promotion. Savannah left all that was familiar in Vicksburg, Mississippi, specifically a more gentle way of life, to move to New York with her new husband. She'd once confided that every corner of New York was as different as visiting a new country. To be honest, Vicksburg had only two cultures, white and black, and even though the south had experienced its racial battles during the 1960s, it'd come to an amicable peace over the last fifty or sixty years.

Vicksburg life was as slow and relaxed as the southern drawl spoken there. Here, the city was represented by every race and religion, every culture known to man, and was a true melting-pot of every nationality. Savannah had given it five years, but she could never find a balance in the quick-talking, fast-paced, and over-crowded city. She kept a far-off, longing in her eyes as if she'd lost something of great value.

One day, without any warning, she packed a suitcase, got on the bus, and left only a note for Joe. It simply read, "I've gone home."

Joe tried the singles scene for a while then threw himself into work, making promotion after promotion as he tried to forget that he'd failed with Savannah. The last he heard, she'd returned to Vicksburg, married a dentist, and now had two children. Joe made the trip home every five years or so, and although he deliberately avoided seeing Savannah, his sisters kept him well-informed about every detail of small-town gossip.

Now, I looked up at Joe and shrugged helplessly before taking the white square of hard paper out of my shirt pocket. I handed it to him. It was his area of expertise and I trusted him.

"Oh, this is good; this is very good," Joe finally mumbled.

"Do you think it's still active right now?"

"Yes," he thoughtfully replied and slid the device into a plastic evidence bag. "But, they're done listening for today." He smiled as he put the bag in a metal container. "It's a wireless bug, Mike—of that much I'm sure. If someone put this in your home, they were nearby listening. They were close enough to watch as well as listen. But why the hell did they put it on your pillow, Mike? What kind of pillow-talk are you having these days?" Joe had a quizzical smile and humor in his eyes.

We'd never been a group to kiss and tell, even in the good old college days. I didn't think now was the time for that to change, so I didn't mention that I'd met Casey or even that I was seeing anyone. Besides, it was too soon to tell if the attraction we felt was anything more than a chance meeting by two coffee buffs.

"Honestly, Joe, I haven't a clue why anyone would want to listen to me in the bedroom or anywhere else. Other than work, my life is dull and boring, just like yours," I said giving Joe a weak grin to humor him. Joe noticed it was more of a grimace, but he let it slide.

"Well, by now they know you've discovered this and they know you're meeting with me. They've heard everything that transpired since Maria handed you the device and until I put it in a metal box. I bet you had it in your hand when you called me, right?" Joe asked and then chuckled softly.

"Yes, I was looking at it when I made the call, so I guess they heard me agree to meet you here," I admitted sheepishly.

"Then, chances are good that you were followed," Joe stated the obvious. "Listen, old friend, I don't think you're in any immediate danger. If you were, they'd have grabbed you before our meeting. For now, I have to get back to the office. We're working a big case, but I'll get the lab to check this out and then give you a call as soon as we know more. Be careful, Mike. That is high-tech stuff and for whatever reason someone is very interested in you." He turned to go, but abruptly turned back. "Oh, and you might want to get a professional security system installed with cameras and the whole bit. We'll probably want to sweep your entire home. I'll let you know as soon as I can, but it's been a busy month at the bureau. Don't get your panties in a wad if it takes me a couple of days." Joe said with a curt nod.

After he left, I sat there for a while trying to absorb what was said... Although I hadn't mentioned it to Joe, it wasn't a fluke or coincidence that the same two men were in Terni with me and then followed me home. Someone is interested in me... Someone is watching and listening. This particular device targeted my bedroom.

Is this about the kaleidoscope images or Casey? Does she have a jealous lover watching her every move? Is she being stalked or am I? Why is my initial instinct to suspect Nelson first? Casey's the only one who's been in the bedroom.

I pushed the thoughts aside. I didn't want to believe that either Nelson or Casey was involved, but I couldn't discount either of them. Casey didn't know the secret I'd shared with Nelson, but she'd been in and out of my home like a ghost the last few days I rationalized. I didn't give her a key and I'd put off asking her about it.

Am I so enamored that I'm ignoring something right under my nose? I've been alone too long and I want her in my life. Am I overwhelmed by the mutual attraction? Am I avoiding the truth? Is Casey somehow involved in this?

I walked out of the coffeehouse and carefully looked up and down the street. Have I seen that car or van before? Did someone follow me to Cavenders? Are they watching me now?

I sound like a fucking paranoid idiot!

Still, the hairs on the back of my neck rose, alerting me to the possibility that eyes were observing and waiting for a chance... a chance to what? I felt vulnerable and began to sweat. To be perfectly honest, I'd been in a stupor all my life, never questioning much of anything or truly seeing anything. I'd been living life the way an architect follows blueprints, by rote. This oblivion might cost me more that I'm willing to pay. Without a doubt, 'change' has forcefully erupted into my life. It's what I'd sought only a few days ago, and now, there was no going back from it.

I hailed a cab, and as I got into the backseat, I realized that either Nelson or Casey had some explaining to do. Consumed by these thought, the rest of the day blurred by. The workout was particularly grueling. I felt betrayed, and took it out on a punching bag, the ropes, and the bench presses. I was particularly aggressive in the ring with Troy, but I couldn't blurt out what had happened. I held it in and let my fists lash out instead.

###

About the Author

2018 Indie Bragg Medallion Honoree

Multi-award-winning author, Chariss K. Walker, M.Msc., Reiki Master/Teacher, writes both fiction and nonfiction books with a metaphysical and spiritual component. Those who search for meaning and the supernatural in themselves will enjoy her books whether readers of fiction or nonfiction.

Her fiction expresses a visionary/metaphysical message that illustrates growth in a character's consciousness while utilizing a paranormal aspect. Her nonfiction books share insight, hope, and inspiration.

Although Chariss writes some dark-fiction books about insanely dark topics that are not suitable for faint-hearted readers, there is always an essential question of the abstract nature that gives a reader increased awareness and perception. She also writes cozy mysteries and inspirational women's studies fiction. You can learn more about Chariss at her website - www.chariss.com.

Other books by Chariss K. Walker

Fiction Books:

The Vision Chronicles – Paranormal Suspense Thrillers:

Kaleidoscope, Book 1

Spyglass, Book 2

Window's Pane, Book 3

Windows All Around, Book 4

Open Spaces, Book 5

Stream of Light, Book 6

Lamp's Light, Book 7

Clear Glass, Book 8

A Dream Come True, Book 9

The Retreat

The Journey

Becky Tibbs: A North Carolina Medium's Mystery Series:

A Medium's Birthday Surprise, Book 1

A Medium's Thanksgiving Table, Book 2

A Medium's Christmas Gift, Book 3

A Medium's Valentine's Day Delight, Book 4

A Medium's Easter Epiphany, Book 5

Dark Fiction Books:

An Alec Winters Series – Dark Supernatural Suspense:

Prelude, Book 1

Crescent City, Book 2

Port City, Book 3

Harbor City, Book 4

Serena McKay Novels - Dystopian Crime Female P.I. Thrillers:

Purple Kitty, Book 1

Blue Cadillac, Book 2

Salazar (2121, Book 1) – Dystopian Fantasy Series

Sondra (2121, Book 2)

Dinah )2121, Book 3)

my name is tookie

Nonfiction Books:

A Beginner's Guide to Visualization

Chakra Basics

The Spiritual Gifts

Abundance

Many Paths to Healing

Keep the Faith

Going Deeper 6-Book Series:

A Beginner's Guide to Releasing Trapped Emotions, #1

Release Chakra Trapped Emotions, #2

Release Common Disease Trapped Emotions, #3

Release Hindrances to Success, #4

Release Body Systems Trapped Emotions, #5

Release Mental Blocks, #6

Letting go of Pain

Make a Joyful Noise

Make a Joyful Noise Study Guide

Finding Serenity 3-Book Boxed-Set

Connect with Chariss K. Walker

I really appreciate you reading my book! Here are my social media coordinates:

Friend me on Facebook: <https://www.facebook.com/CharissKWalkerAuthor>

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Subscribe to my newsletter to get more free books: https://mailchi.mp/a3b987af403c/zey4v4t45g

Connect on Goodreads: <https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1984212.Chariss_K_Walker>

You can find me on BookBub: <https://www.bookbub.com/authors/chariss-k-walker>

Visit my website: https://chariss.com

