A Second Sight: Paranormal Romance Page 3

  Whatever happened, I had to stay. I had to understand why it was that I was ever able to see them in the first place—that was only if it was the same people. It was strange but possible that I was seeing very different people from different places and very different eras. I could have been seeing all of them together because my brain was rebooting itself. They say in our dreams we can only see people we have seen in our waking life, no matter how brief the encounter was. I could have had a waking dream in the park because at some point somewhere in town my eyes happened upon Peter as he was walking by. I only doubted that because there was no way I was going to forget a face as striking as his in just a few short months.

  It was five minutes after the time we had agreed to meet, and I was getting a bit anxious. It would have been cruel if he was lying about meeting me and just decided to bail, but it also wouldn’t have made sense. What joy would he get from not showing up and having a total stranger wait around for him? It would only work out if he was nearby watching and snickering at the idea that I was almost excited to be invited on this early afternoon trip with his friends.

  “Hello.”

  The voice was a little bit to my right. When I turned, I saw Peter walking over to me. My eyes flickered for a moment. He was wearing what I had seen him wear when he was in the park but also not quite in the park. His sweater was brown with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing many of the tattoos he had on his arms. His jeans were dark and tight, and he had sneakers on just a few shades lighter than the color of his sweater. Behind him, I already recognized the pink fairy, the pixie with the large hat, the witch, and the warlock. The two of them weren’t holding hands now, but they were side by side and laughing about something. None of the others had quite seen me yet.

  “Peter, hi,” I said. I smiled wide and hoped my cheeks hadn’t turned red to give me away. I was curious and excited. I had seen these people in these clothes before, and I couldn’t figure out why that was.

  “This your friend?” the pixie girl asked. Her skin was a tan color, and her hair was the lightest of greys with one dark brown streak in it. Her hat’s wide brim left a shadow across most of her face. She wasn’t much shorter than I was, but her build told anyone within a certain radius that she was a pixie. The dress she wore was tight and ended below her knees. The sleeves were long and covered up about half of her hands. Her shoes were black sneakers with laces the same orange color as the dress she wore. I knew her wings were tucked behind her.

  “Yes. We met at West Lake House. This is Samantha, and this is Baylee,” Peter said.

  “Doing an introduction without us?” the warlock said. The others had joined us. The warlock’s face was covered in piercings. There was a piercing on either side of his bottom lip, one on his nose, another on his septum, and a final one on his left eyebrow.

  “A fairy girl,” the witch said. Her voice was beautiful. It was husky but it was also quite squeaky like a child. She spoke slowly, so even though it was high pitched, there was something alluring about it. The black tribal markings were visible on her brown skin. Her white dress was cotton, loose fitting, and ended right at her ankles, so there wasn’t much to see of the tribal markings that snaked up and down her body. The warlock had on torn jeans and checked shirt.

  “Half-fairy. She’s something else,” the other fairy said. She stood beside Peter and stopped walking. Her hair was so purple that I almost didn’t believe it was its real color. It was such a harsh contrast to the pale bubblegum pink of her skin.

  “My dad’s a human,” I said.

  The witch and the warlock ooh’d and aah’d at that.

  “You sure that’s what it is?” the fairy asked. I was feeling a bit uncomfortable. I wasn’t certain what she was even talking about.

  “Pretty sure,” I said. There was the slightest twinge inside me. I was remembering when I was younger and I was quick to anger. I could have lashed out, or skipped a step and just socked her in the face, but I was a changed woman. I had to find better ways of handling my emotions. Not everyone had an irate nature, and not everyone wanted to fight.

  “Samantha. This is Reginald, his girlfriend Philomena, Delilah, and you just met Baylee,” said Peter. I doubted that he was able to read my emotions, but it looked to me like he was trying to keep the peace.

  “Can I call you Reggie?” I asked the warlock. He frowned.

  “No.”

  “Yeah, Reginald hates that,” Philomena purred in her unique voice. “You can call me Phil or Philo though. You can call me anything except ‘mean’.”

  So far, Philomena was my favorite. She was the only one who hadn’t glared at me or demanded to know what I was mixed with.

  “So, are you all new in town?” I asked. Small talk was painful and pointless. I just needed something to talk about while we dragged open the creaking gate before us. We had closed it and were walking through the back section of the park when I started speaking.

  “I haven’t lived here too long. I came here a few years ago right after college,” Phil said. She took hold of Reginald’s hand and looked up at him. His mouth was so thin, but when he smiled, there was a genuine light about him.

  “I was born here,” Reginald said.

  “That,” Baylee said and pointed at Reginald. She had lived here her whole life too. My stomach twisted just a bit.

  “Been here a few years,” Delilah said. She looked at me and then looked at Peter, expecting him to speak.

  “Delilah and I work together. We’re chefs at the Witches’ Brew. I met everyone here through her,” Peter said. Delilah’s face lit up at the mention of her name. She smiled, and her face became a darker pink around her cheeks. Her grumpy attitude toward me was starting to make a bit more sense now. I was still trying to figure out Baylee, who didn’t seem too keen on speaking to anyone at all. I had to wonder how they all became friends. There was such a mixed bag of energy about them.

  “That’s very cool you guys are chefs. What made you pursue the culinary arts?” I was looking at Delilah when I asked. I wanted her to feel included. Delilah shouldn’t have to feel threatened by me; she had no reason to be. I didn’t know anything about Peter beyond finding him attractive. If she had feelings for him, then I was going to stay as far away from that as much as possible.

  “I like food and I like art,” Delilah said with a shrug. Baylee was walking ahead of everyone and Philomena and Reginald trailed behind her. I could hear Philomena laugh at Delilah’s joke, but it wasn’t in such a way that it made me feel as if it was at my expense. Delilah picked up her pace and walked after the others.

  Peter was hanging back. He was being polite so I wouldn’t feel left out.

  “My father is a chef. My mother died when I was pretty young, and he spent a lot of time at work because back then we couldn’t afford a nanny. Some days after school, he would take me to the restaurant and I would stay in the kitchen with the other chefs. I loved the hustle and bustle. There was so much excitement in the kitchen, and all the smells and the flavors just brought me closer to my dad. It was just the two of us, and our love for cooking brought us together.”

  That was such a beautiful story. I could see that Peter reminiscing was bringing up some memories. He was walking a bit faster now and his head was down. We had just walked by a familiar tree. I recognized it as the one Malcolm had liked and climbed.

  I was growing anxious now. If they were all dressed in the same way as when I saw them in my vision, what was it going to mean when they lived what it was that I saw?

  Peter was still walking ahead of me. I jogged forward to catch up with them. If anything was about to happen, I wanted to be prepared for it. Delilah turned around to smile at Peter. She noticed I was standing close to him and her face fell. She shook her head and turned around.

  My stomach lurched. That was the reason why Delilah had seemed so dejected when I had seen them weeks ago. I was the reason why she had been upset.

  Just then, Peter turned his head to the lef
t. He was looking down at something. I stopped walking for a second to check out what he was looking at, and that was when it hit me. He was looking at me. I wasn’t there on the ground, but when I had seen him for the first time, I definitely noticed he looked down and saw me for a moment.

  Peter shook his head and kept walking. He glanced back at me.

  “Sorry about that. I thought I saw something, but I guess I was just seeing things. Could have been the heat. What is it you do, Samantha?”

  “I work as an assistant pharmacist down by McLarry’s,” I said. Mr. McLarry [I had never heard anyone refer to him as Dr. or anything else] was a decent enough crabby old man who had had a very difficult time finding an assistant who he could trust—or one that he actually liked. Most people didn’t know what they were doing or thought Mr. McLarry was way too kooky. But I found him during a period of great transformation in my life, and I realized I may have needed him more than he needed me. To be talked to without judgment was definitely something I had needed at the time.

  It sucked because sometimes I had to pull off a double shift if Mr. McLarry got a house call from one of his clients that he never referred to by name. He carried his antique doctor’s bag with him and would titter off without so much as an explanation beyond telling me to “mind the fort” and he “would be back to lock up shop.” I didn’t get mad. I don’t think I had it in me to. Mr. McLarry was decent, and he paid fairly.

  But Mr. McLarry’s kookiness was sometimes mind numbing. If there was nothing happening in the pharmacy, he insisted the entire shelving system be rearranged to make finding medications easier. He completely ignored the fact that constantly rearranging the shelves meant it was difficult to remember where anything was. And all he wanted to do was talk about figurines he carved out of soap in his spare time, the musical genius of Moritz Moszkowski [who in his opinion greatly surpassed the works of Chopin and Debussy], and to share little gossip about the no-name customers who sought more mythical methods of healing. He knew quite a bit about alternative medicine and about certain enchantments and spells. Those cost extra [either financially or if the customers considered selling their souls]. I doubted the soul thing was true, but there were some special clients who would go directly into the back room and come out with bags of things I wasn’t at all sure about. Or Mr. McLarry would disappear into the night for hours. Who knew what secrets that old man was keeping to himself and about himself and other people? I was curious, but it was never my place to ask. So, I went with the wildest ideas my imagination could think of and left it at that.

  “I’ve heard about that place. I haven’t been sick since I arrived here, so I haven’t had a reason to go in. I do go by it sometimes if I don’t mind taking a longer way back home from work,” Peter said.

  “Oh. Maybe that’s why I talked to you at the grocery store the other day,” I said, “maybe there was something about you I recognized.”

  “Could be. I wonder how often our paths have crossed without us having a second thought.” His tone was somewhat dreamy. It sounded like he was truly thinking about all the times we could have met but didn’t because of the random circumstances of the universe. “Do you know someone named Eli? He’s Reginald’s cousin, and he’s a nurse. He was supposed to come today, but he couldn’t get time off.”

  “No, I don’t think I do.”

  We were getting closer to the edge of the water. There was a small white boat with a blue lining around the upper rim. From what I could see it, had no name. I didn’t see boats on the lake very often, so it more than likely belonged to someone in our merry crew. I was too nervous to ask just in case it was Delilah. She didn’t scare me. I was more worried about scaring her if she felt like trying anything with me. I wanted to keep that side of me in total check.

  I had been on boats before. I wasn’t scared of the water. It was difficult trying to get in, but with a bit of heaving and some wobbly legs, I managed to get on. Getting on a boat was the silliest thing because everyone always looked inebriated even if they hadn’t had anything to drink. Reginald and Baylee chose to stay on the shore to keep track of our belongings.

  I was feeling more at ease the farther from the shore the boat moved. The lake was so peaceful. The sun was shining bright enough to leave a glare on the top of the water.

  Philomena was sitting across from me. She wasn’t fishing, but she didn’t feel like being on land. She was staring out and running the tips of her fingers on the top of the water. Almost her entire top half was leaning over the edge of the boat. Delilah was sitting next to her holding a rod in her hand. Peter was at the front of the boat, and I was behind him with my back to him. I preferred being able to see Philomena and Delilah rather than worry that Delilah thought I was staring at the back of Peter’s head.

  The gentle sound of the boat floating on the water was the loudest part of the boat trip so far. Everyone but Philomena had a fishing line dangling in wait for a fish or any other edible creature to snatch the bait. From the corner of my eye, I could see Delilah stealing glances at Peter and at me. He and I weren’t even facing each other. I could already see that this was going to bring me some unnecessary problems.

  “You know… you look kind of familiar to me, Sam,” Delilah said. Her voice was rather curt. Philomena glanced over her shoulder at us, but she was still mostly over the edge of the boat.

  “Maybe,” I replied. I didn’t look at her. I pretended to be more interested in the bait at the end of my fishing line. I would have known if I had ever met a fairy with purple hair, pink skin, and no wings, so if she knew me, then it could have been from stories told by other people.

  “Yes! Aren’t you that girl who stole her sister’s boyfriend? That King dude? And then he cheated on her, and they broke up and she set his car on fire and pushed it into the lake when he was still in it?” Delilah’s eyes were wide.

  I was holding my breath the entire time she spoke. She was right. That was who I was. Well, sort of.

  “Oh shit, that’s it!” Philomena said. She popped her head up and everyone on the boat was staring at me. I didn’t know what to say, and there was no way I was going to turn around to see the look that Peter was giving me right now.

  “Did you kill him?” Delilah asked. Her wide eyes were now joined by a half a smile.

  “No! He didn’t die. That’s not how it happened,” I said. I jumped up, which rocked the boat quite a bit. There were so many different versions of the story, and I didn’t want people thinking I was completely insane.

  “He did more than cheat on me. I was defending myself, and we were both in my car when that was happening. I lost control and the car wound up in the lake. I had my seatbelt on and he didn’t, so he hit his head really hard and passed out. I swam through my window before the car was submersed. It was hard for me to get to him because his window was still rolled up, so when I got air, I dived back down and I had to go through my own window to get to him. He was in a coma for a few days, but he would have died if not for me. And when he woke up, he told everyone an entirely different version of the story. He moved a while after that, and I couldn’t even…”

  I stopped speaking. It must have looked like someone had stabbed me in the back because I jumped a bit and then stood pin straight as my eyes flickered in all directions. I was feeling that familiar sensation sweeping over me. To me, the boat was rocking, even though everything around me was perfectly still. I was feeling faint, and the water was swirling around us. I closed my eyes in the hopes that when I opened them the world would no longer be spinning and I would be fine.

  I couldn’t have been more wrong. When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was the color orange. I looked around me, and I could see bright flames flickering. It was like a wall of flames surrounding me. I could hear the crackling and popping sounds of a fire, but wherever it was, it wasn’t at the lake. The lake was not where the fire was. How was I able to see a fire that was going to take place somewhere else?

  Now I could feel t
he heat of the fire around me. I didn’t know it was possible for me to feel the hallucinations as well. Did that mean that I was able to burn if it lasted long enough? How could I turn this off or shut out the hallucinations? How could I stop this from ever happening to me again?

  It was getting warmer around me, and I could barely see the faces of the people on the boat who were right next to me. I don’t know if I screamed, but I shielded my face when I could almost feel the flames getting closer to burning my flesh. I jerked back in surprise and tripped over the seat I was on. Before I could prevent myself from slipping, I fell backward and plunged right into the icy waters of the lake.

  *****

  When I came to, I was back on dry land. I opened my eyes to see heads floating above me. Everyone was looking down on me to see if I was still alive. I couldn’t remember anything from when I fell into the water to when I was awake now. I coughed, and there was some water that came up from the back of my throat. It made me choke, and I had to turn on my side to get the water out of my system. My throat was practically raw. My clothes and my hair clung to me as I let out the last of the water. I was still shaken up by what I just saw and felt.

  I sat up and rested my weight on my elbows. No one said anything. I didn’t blame them. That display was baffling beyond all imagining. I was explaining myself, then I was screaming, and then I was in the water. I didn’t even need to guess I was the only one who saw the fire around us on the lake.

  But who was it that saved me? I looked at each person, but I noticed Peter wasn’t there. Everyone was bone dry. That meant that…

  I heard the crunching of feet on grass and turned to face the direction where the sound was coming from. Peter was walking toward us. He was sopping wet. His hair was no longer in a ponytail. It was now a jet-black stream sticking to his skin and resting just below his shoulders. His shirt was off and he was wringing it dry while he walked. I could see his tattoo did in fact go all the way up his arm, and I was sure a part of it snaked down his back as well.