Fallen (7 page)

I blinked, stunned. “How did you know where I was going?”

“We know what you do for a living. We saw you on the psychic circuit, remember?” He winked at me.

“Oh…” Noticing Ezra was no longer in the kitchen, I added, “Will Ezra be there?”

Felix rolled his eyes, threw the dish towel he’d been using over his shoulder, and leaned down to me, whispering, “
She won’t. And you’ll learn pretty quickly that she’s not here to imprison you. She’s here to protect you.”

“
Hmmm. Sounds like a fine line to me
…
,
”
I mumbled.

Felix found that humorous and
squealed
as he
playfully
snapped his dish towel at me. “Get going! And save us a spot!”

I
quickly ducked out the door before the towel could reach me and went to unlock the shed.
As I
pulled
out
my bike,
I was
amazed at how the morning had turned out so different than expected. New roommates. New school. My mind drifted to the night before. New handsome stranger…

I dwelled
on the memory of the stranger’s bottomless, sultry, blue-green eyes,
as I rode to work.
I
was in such deep thought that I
didn’t recognize right away
that
I
was
stopped at
the same intersection
where
I’d seen the blue F
o
rd Mustang the evening before. Then I recalled
how the guy in the
driver’s seat had stared at me. I
shudder
ed
slightly
. In fury, was the only way I could describe it. I’d have bet that it took everything in him not to step on the gas pedal and plow me down right there. My mind was so saturated with the image of that irate stare, the person behind me honked loud and long before I kicked my bike
into
first gear and moved on.

I reached The Square without any sight of the blue Ford Mustang or any sign of the guy who’d been driving it. Maybe it was a fluke and the guy was just a cra
zy tourist now on his way home.
I c
onsidered this
,
but something inside told me
that wasn’t the case
. I
then shove
d
the thought aside and
hurried to set up
.

I parked my bike against the fence
and
set up two chairs bought at the local drugstore
. Then
,
I
hung up
the
sign I carried in my backpack advertising
:
“Send a Messa
ge to Departed Loved Ones
,
” and in smaller letters below
,
“Proof will be provided or free of charge.”
I had just paid the guards their money when Felix and Rufus arrived.

Felix drove a lime green Camero with a pink
,
furry steering wheel and giant dice hanging from the rear view mirror. When it stopped,
it made a loud bang which drew the attention of the security guards
.
I walked over
to the car
and
quietly suggested to Rufus that he
slip the guards
each
a twenty dollar bill
to avoid any trouble
. Felix and Rufus then
set up their tables and chairs a few spots from mine
,
and I handed
over
another hundred to secure each of their spots.
I could have suggested to either Rufus or Felix that they make the payoff to the guard
s
but their bickering drew enough attention that I thought any interaction with a guard was
a
potential for disaster.

Throughout the day, passerby’s and the other mystics and peddlers chuckled at my service as they walked by or muttered, “That’s a new one.” But then I secured a customer
,
followed by
another and another.
By
late morning
,
I
had
encountered a surprisingly steady flow of
business
– more than in any other city I’d worked. There were
a
few slow times when I simply picked up a book I’d bought
on
the
city’s history
,
and conversely
,
during rushes I focused on efficiency in my “order-taking”.

Everything seemed to be going fine until about midday
; that was when
the strange feeling returned
.

A
petite, giggling college student
had just
sat down
when
I sense
d
it. The hairs on the back of my neck sprang to life, pulling and twisting in an erratic pattern.

“Hi,” said the girl in a squeaky voice. She tossed her blonde hair back over her shoulder and gave me a toothy smile.

“Hi,” I replied absentmindedly
,
focused on my neck.

“So, can you really deliver messages to
the dead
?” asked the girl
,
skeptically.

“Yes, yes I can,” I said, drawing up a hand and rubbing at the skin
below my hairline
. It helped calm
the reaction I was having
but I still felt the goose bumps below my
fingertips.

I
saw her friends roll their eyes and sneer at me
as they stood a few feet away, watching.

Just as I was turning my attention back to their friend in my customer’s chair,
I caught sight of him.

A motorcycle had stopped and the driver had twisted his head over his shoulder, staring back in my direction. But this time it wasn’t the creepy guy who had watched me from the shadows
yesterday
and
assumedly
attempted to run me over. This one looked like someone out of a spy movie. He was hunched over a sport bike, dressed in all black leather with yellow stripes, a shiny black and yellow matching helmet, and a necklace dangling from around his neck. It was gold and a name had been soldered into the end but he was too far away
for me
to read it.

Through the clear visor
I could
easily
see his face and it had the same intense, heated expression as the creepy guy from the day before.

My hands clasped in my lap began to sweat and I could feel my heart beginning to beat quicker.

“Excuse me…Excuse me!” The college girl leaned
into
my view. “Are you going to take my money or what?”

I paused to catch my breath, which seemed to have left me, before answering. “No…no. I don’t take the money until you receive proof
that
your message
has been
delivered.”

She blinked uncertainly at me and then leaned back to shove her money back in her pocket, clearing my view. “Why not?”

He was still there. Still staring.

“Um…because others in my line of work have given us a bad reputation. So I don’t ask for payment until
I provide
proof the job is done.”

She paused for a moment. “Oh.”

I could sense she was getting irritated by my lack of attention to her. Realizing I was being rude and only slightly caring, I decided that I couldn’t stop him from staring, so I would just let him.

“So, what would you like to say and to whom would you like to send it?” I asked, making my mind up to ignore
him
.
This was especially challenging considering he made me feel panicked in the same way I had with the guy from yesterday.

The girl
beamed
at me
and then wiggled in her seat as if she were getting herself ready for a big surprise. “I want to send a message to my grandmother. I’d like to say that I miss her and that we’re all doing well down here on earth and that I
crave
her sticky rolls.”

“Okay.” Easy enough.

Her face twisted in confusion. “Aren’t you going to write it down?” she asked, annoyed. Then she glanced over her shoulder to see what I was still focusing on instead of her.

“No, I can’t take the pad with me so it isn’t much good
,
b
ut I’ve done this long enough that I have a very good memory. Don’t worry. Your message will be delivered verbatim.”

She didn’t believe me and made me recite the message back.

“That’s fine,” she assessed. “So…what now?”

“Give me her name, when and where she passed, and I’ll deliver the message tonight. If you come back tomorrow
,
or any other day thereafter
,
I’ll have her response for you.”

The girl’s mouth fell open. “Really? I mean you’ll really be able to tell me what she says?”

“If she has anything to say, I’ll tell you.” I shrugged, familiar with the shocked response.

The girl’s face lit up with a smile. “My friends told me not to waste my beer money
,
but I am SO glad I did!”

“Thanks…” I replied, hesitantly. I didn’t think she intended to be offensive.

“Now…” She reached forward and patted my hands that were folded in my lap. “You go over to that boyfriend of yours and make up. He looks pretty upset with you!”

“What boyfriend?” I asked
,
bewildered. I didn’t have a boyfriend. I didn’t even have a single friend in the city.

“That one
on the bike
,” she said, surprised, pivoting in her seat to find him.

We both looked
toward
his direction at the same time, realizing that he was no longer there.

“Oh, well…when he comes back…” she said with a smile and one final pat on my hands.

I was so focused on
searching for him in the crowd
that I didn’t even notice she had stood up and joined her friends.