The Killing Vision - By Will Overby Page 0,20

dripping honey.

“You seem so familiar.”

She nodded, still smiling. “You’re a sensitive, aren’t you?”

His arms and legs went numb. He stared at her blankly. “What?”

“A sensitive. A seer. Whatever you call it. You can read people, can’t you?”

He continued to stare, and he felt himself nod almost involuntarily. “How…?

She laughed. “I’m one, too.”

A dry laugh of incredulity escaped from his throat. “You’re kidding.”

“I’ve been watching you for several weeks.” A stab of alarm shot through him; it must have shown on his face, because she laughed again. “I don’t mean I’ve been stalking you or anything. I’ve just seen you out places, noticed things about you. Watched how you stayed on the fringes of things. Tried not to touch people. That kind of stuff. I wasn’t sure at first; I have been wrong before about people. But when I ran into you today, I knew.”

“How?”

“I was behind you when you came into the store. I saw the greeter try to give you a cart, but as soon as you touched it, you asked for another one.”

All he could do for a moment was blink. It was true; he had refused to take that first cart. It had felt corrupted somehow, like grabbing hold of—

“It was like grabbing hold of a live wriggling snake,” she said, finishing his thought, and laughing at his expression. “I know. I didn’t take it, either.”

He was smiling in spite of himself. “What do you think it was?”

She shook her head. “Not sure. Maybe the person who’d used it before was psychotic. Who knows?”

He was beginning to feel as though he had passed over into a surreal dream. This beautiful black woman had appeared from nowhere knowing bizarre, intimate aspects of his life. She was practically reading his mind. Unease again overtook him. “Look,” he said, “I don’t mean to be rude. You seem like a very nice person. I’m just not interested in anyone right now.”

A burst of laughter popped out of her, and she covered her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said, stifling her giggles. “I didn’t mean for you to think I was hitting on you. It did sound like that, didn’t it?”

He was more confused than ever. His face was suddenly hot and flushed. “Then what do you want?”

She was laughing, shaking her head, showing her perfect white teeth. She dug into her purse and pulled out a notepad. “My name’s Deb,” she said. “There are about fifteen of us now. We meet one Sunday afternoon a month over in Springfield at St. Thomas Church. Tomorrow’s the day. Two o’clock.” She scribbled this information down and handed him the note.

He shook his head, bewildered. “I don’t understand.”

She looked at him directly. “We’re like you. All of us.”

“All fifteen of you?”

“Well, some of us have different gifts, but it basically amounts to the same thing.”

He stared at the paper in his hand, then back at Deb. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just a little flustered.”

She laughed. “I understand. You thought you were the only one, didn’t you?”

“Well, no, not exactly. I mean, I always assumed there were others. I just didn’t expect so many. So close.”

“We’re not all from Springfield or Cedar Hill,” Deb said. “Some of the members drive a couple of hours to get to the meetings.”

“Really?”

She nodded, then turned to look back at her half-filled cart. “Well, I should really be going. I hope you’ll join us. If not tomorrow, then another time.”

“What exactly do you do at these meetings?” He was beginning to feel a touch of skepticism, and he worked to keep it out of his voice.

“It’s more of a support group than anything,” she said. “It’s just a place to belong. To make new friends.”

He shrugged, still noncommittal. “I’ll think about it.”

“Most of us have spent our lives either denying we had the gift or feeling like freaks. At our meetings we can feel normal.”

Normal. He liked the sound of that. He had never at any point in his life felt normal. He glanced at the note again.

She smiled and grabbed her cart. “I really do hope you’ll come. Once you meet everyone, you’ll know you don’t have to be alone anymore.” She started moving away. “Goodbye, Joel.”

He stood silently, watching her go. He realized that at no time during their conversation had he given her his name.

* * *

5:42 PM

Halloran had finally decided he could stomach the Mexican leftovers, but now they had been in the refrigerator so long they had started to mold. He scraped them off