Visitations (18 page)

Norma scrunched her face and squinted her eyes. “Are you saying my mother was murdered?”

Kramer looked away, straining to hear more. “Your mother left your father. She had to. He was abusive. He was also caught in compromising situations, and your mother had had enough. Two days before she moved out, he sprang his illness on her in hopes that she would stay. But she saw through the hoax–”

“What hoax? What’re you saying?”

“Your father doesn’t have cancer. He never did. If you hurry, you can ask him yourself before he leaves.”

Norma turned around to look where she’d been sitting and saw her father sliding along the row of seats. When he got to the aisle, he turned and stared at her. Because Norma’s head wasn’t aimed at the microphone, the crowd had to strain to hear her ask her father if this was true. Everyone saw him lower his head. He turned away and walked out of the conference building without answering her.

Norma looked back at Kramer. “My mother tried to tell me,” she paused to pull out a Kleenex. “She called and called, but I avoided her. Dad said that the cancer was in remission, and how much he missed my mom. Oh, this is bad. I guess I shut her out so completely that I chose to forget that she was there. I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry. Can you tell my mom that…wait,” Norma looked directly at Kramer and asked, “You said something about murder.”

“Your mother is earthbound because she was murdered.” Kramer looked at the two cops again and motioned for them to step closer.

“How come this is the first I’ve heard of it? They ruled it a suicide.”

“That’s this man’s MO. He is methodical and he knows what the police will look for.”

“How would he know that?”

Kramer felt her stomach twist. How could she have the murderer arrested without too much trouble? She didn’t think it would be possible. By now, the man knew he was the one she was talking about. She had to watch closely; he might even pull his weapon out and shoot her. He was standing ten feet from her and his victims had grown to six entities now. They all glared at him with an intensity that grew by the minute. If she concentrated hard enough, she could see where each murder took place and how he did it. All
that
would be needed later, to aid in the investigation, but right now, she had to make sure the murderer didn’t leave the building.

“He’s a cop.”

There was a collective gasp across the stadium. A member of the psychic committee that had invited her, walked over and touched her arm. “Okay, I think that’s enough now.”

Kramer yanked her arm away. “Don’t bring me here, ask me to use my gift and then at the first mention of trouble, try to quell me.” She turned to the two police officers only six feet away and pointed at the one on the right. “Officer Hank Denton is a murderer and I can prove it. Arrest him.”

Hank turned and ran. As he did, he was already pulling his weapon out of its holster. His partner yelled after him, but it was too late. Hank hit the opening between the bleachers and disappeared from sight.

“You better be right about this,” the other cop said.

The sound of a gunshot resounded throughout the building. Instantly Kramer stepped back to the microphone.

“Everyone stay seated. Stay calm. Everything is all right now. If you’ve listened and trusted me this far, trust me now. We’re all going to be okay. Do not leave your seats. I repeat, do not leave your seats.”

At least thirty percent of the crowd had started to rise, but slowly, one after another, they began to take their seats again.

The officer who had warned Kramer had pulled out his weapon and was now moving toward the exit. Everyone’s attention remained focused on the man in uniform, walking toward the door where a gun had just been discharged.

The door cracked open before he got there. The cop stopped and got into a shooting stance, his gun raised at the person entering the complex.

Norma’s dad stepped in, a gun in his hand, aimed at the floor.

“Drop it!” the cop ordered.

Norma’s dad searched the audience for his daughter. “I’m sorry,” he shouted. “It’s all my fault that your mother was killed. If I had been a better husband—”

“Drop it. I won’t tell you again,” the cop said, his voice booming across the stadium.

“I was pretty sure it wasn’t a suicide. But I’m no cop. How could I ever find my wife’s killer. When I heard you,” he gestured with his free hand toward Kramer, “say it was that cop, I had to, I just had to.”

“Last chance to drop your weapon.”

An alarm sounded in the building somewhere.

Norma’s dad opened his right hand and let the gun fall to the floor. The cop stepped forward fast, spun him around, and ordered him to the ground. He had cuffs on him in seconds.

The audience clapped like the whole thing was a performance, set up for their entertainment.

Kramer looked at the six women. They were dispersing now, moving to different parts of the auditorium, their intensity diminished.

Spent, Kramer stepped away from the microphone and left the stage.

She heard a siren in the distance and decided to wait to give her statement. The sooner she did, the better for everyone.

She could explain what had
really
happened.

She felt terrible for having lied to Norma. Her mother
did
commit suicide. But, Kramer had been told that Norma’s father really did have pancreatic cancer, with only about six months to live. He also had a gun, because he’d been severely depressed over the loss of his wife, and had entertained the idea of killing himself to be with her. Norma’s family situation was the best fit for what Kramer had to do to out the cop, because he wouldn’t have stopped unless he’d been arrested or killed. As far as Kramer could tell, he’d murdered eight women and gotten away with it - all had been deemed suicides. The only way to grab him was to pretend that Norma’s mother was part of it. If she had chosen one of his real victims, the cop would’ve caught on right away.

Norma’s dad killing the cop… that was something Kramer hadn’t counted on, but it made no difference nonetheless, as horrible as she felt about it. The cost had been the price of a dying man’s last few months. What that cost bought was the life of all future victims.

She’d been offered a glimpse of his future, or rather, the lack thereof, and had made her choice. He would be dead soon and that fact had sealed her decision.

Whether it was a bullet from his own gun or the cancer.

She just had no idea how soon.

Déjà Vu

I’ve been on the highway, following them for over thirty minutes, and I’m starting to think they’re onto me. The driver is passing vehicles recklessly and he increases his speed as if he’s trying to lose me. But I can’t allow them to get away or people will die.

I first saw them at a truck stop, eating lunch. When I looked at them, I was hit with a strong sense of déjà vu. At least, that’s what I call it, because people sort of understand what that means. Mine are different. When I’m in the grip of
my
type of déjà vu, I feel it, see it, and know what’s about to happen at the second it does. The only difference is, everything I sense during my “déjà vu” always happen - one hour later, to the second.

This one happened at 12:10pm. That means that - at 1:10pm - I will go through the emotion of someone regaining their memory, an explosion will take place, and a life will be spared.

I don’t know whose life is in jeopardy, or what the
remembering thing
is all about, but I know it has everything to do with the people in the Nissan Pathfinder ahead of me.

My cell phone rings in my breast pocket, startling me. I yank it out, keeping an eye on the Nissan and my speedometer. The display says it’s my wife. This isn’t good. I’m supposed to be home by 3:00pm. I won’t make it home anytime before 6:00pm now.

“Hello.”

Shit, why did I even answer the phone? I could’ve called her back after the incident was dealt with at 1:10pm.

“Hi, honey, how long before you’re home?”

“Ah, sometime around 6:00pm.” I can’t lie to her.

“Why so late? What are you doing?”

“It’s difficult to explain,” I reply. The Nissan pulls out and passes a hatchback. Up ahead in the distance, a small line of rigs are coming my way.

“Are you acting on one of your déjà vus again? I thought we talked about that. You weren’t going to do it anymore.”

“This one’s different. It’s more personal. If I don’t resolve this one, someone will die.”

I’m right behind the hatchback now. Vehicle after vehicle is coming from the other way. I can see the Pathfinder is gaining speed, getting away from me. I have to do something. I have to get off the phone and focus. Time is running out.

“You said you’d ignore those episodes from now on, after almost getting yourself killed climbing onto the roof of that office building.”

“I know, I know, but I saved that woman’s kid, didn’t I?”

The Nissan Pathfinder turns a corner and disappears from sight. I look at the dash clock: 12:57pm. I have thirteen minutes to get them in my sight again and be close enough to experience the déjà vu in real time or a disaster will be on my hands.

“You didn’t know for sure that she would throw her kid…”

“Look, I gotta go. I’m sorry, I’ll see you when I get home.” I flip my cell shut and toss it on the seat beside me.

I came around the corner where I last saw the Nissan. It’s at least a mile ahead now and about to be lost from sight again as it dips below a hill.

1:02pm.

I don’t understand what’s happening. Because it’s
my
déjà vu, I have to be there. I saw it happen. This means I
was
there, in order to see it. But I have only eight minutes to catch up, which doesn’t seem likely now.

There’s a break in oncoming traffic. I have a small enough opening to pass, but now the hill where I lost sight of their vehicle is looming, and I can’t make it around any vehicles without placing myself in danger.

I gun my engine and pull out to pass anyway. The top of the hill is coming too quick. I can’t see over it yet. If someone is coming, neither of us will have much of a chance.

The timing couldn’t be worse. My stomach drops as adrenaline shoots through my body. A dump truck crests the hill. The hatchback I’m trying to pass is directly beside me now.

In a split second I decide there’s no time to finish passing him. I jam on my brakes, and - to my horrified astonishment - the hatchback driver does the same. He must’ve thought to let me in, as I was passing anyway, but now we’re slowing down in unison.

The dump truck driver leans on his horn. Everything is happening too fast. At the last instant, I hop to the left, onto the oncoming traffic’s gravel shoulder. Whether it’s instinct or a strong sense of self-preservation, I’m grateful for the move as it saves my life.

The dump truck shoots between the hatchback and me. I ease onto the pavement again as we crest the top of the hill, my heart leaping in my chest. No one else is coming. The hatchback driver motions for me to go ahead. He must figure he’d better let me go if I’m so desperate to pass him.

1:07pm.

I drop the accelerator to the floor and try to get my breathing under control. My hands are shaking on the wheel. The rush of almost having a head-on collision with a dump truck is oozing through my veins.

I race around the next corner in the road, with only minutes left. Two police cruisers are parked on the shoulder. The Nissan Pathfinder I was following is sitting just ahead of them. It looks like the male driver and his female passenger are talking to the officers. As I get closer, I can see a tripod on the shoulder of the road. The police have a radar trap set up and it looks like they’ve stopped the Pathfinder for speeding. What luck. What fate. I’ve got a minute and a half left.

A light starts flashing on my dash indicating engine trouble. I’m pulling over anyway.

When I drop the transmission into park, I can see the driver of the Nissan pointing at me. I open my car door and start walking towards them, looking in all directions for the potential danger I’d seen coming.

“He’s the one who was following us. Every time I would pass someone, he would do the same.”

A police officer turns and starts walking toward me. I look at my watch, fully prepared to act on the déjà vu, although I have no idea
what
to do. I just know someone’s life is at stake. I have no idea how big the explosion will be, or where to hide. I just know it’s coming.

Before the cop says anything, I shout, “Everyone, get down! Move away from the edge of the road. Do it now!”

No one moves. The cop stops walking and gestures at me, “I’d like to have a word with you.”

I hear a crackling noise coming from behind me. I try to turn around, but at that moment, my car explodes.