Fitzgerald What's Done Is Never Done

1. Auflage 2011
ISBN: 978-1-61842-117-3
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 175 Seiten

Brian is a no-nonsense type of guy, but his world is turned up-side-down when a chance encounter with an offbeat fortune teller results in an unwilling trip back in time to the night of his ten-year high school reunion. While visiting this critical juncture in his life, Brian takes the opportunity to make a few adjustments in order to remedy what had eventually become his very unhappy marriage to a not-so-pleasant classmate. Changing the past has repercussions Brian hadn't considered and reversing the damage his tampering caused is enough to make one swear-off time traveling for good.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Fitzgerald, Dan

Leseproben

Chapter Four
    After taking a deep breath, Summer walked through the gate toward the small cottage. Moonlight through a dying magnolia tree cast an eerie shadow across the front of the small cottage, which was completely hidden behind ivy and vines to the point where an arch was cut through the vegetation to expose the ragged and torn screen door. Above the door, a green gargoyle with bat-like wings stared menacingly at all who passed underneath. To the side of the door and behind a flickering candle was an old wooden sign with the words MADAME TOUSSAINT – PSYCHIC. On the roof, a weathervane jerked back and forth in the breeze and made a rusty squeak with each movement. A black crow was perched in the magnolia tree and seemed to answer each squeak with its ghostly “caw-caw.” Summer reached through a tear in the screen door and gave three short raps with the iron door knocker. The heavy wooden door behind the screen door slowly opened. Summer stepped back. The other three followed her lead and maintained a safer distance. After a moment, a woman’s face emerged from the darkness. In the flickering glow of the candle, her leathery skin, thick black eyebrows, and deep-set eyes appeared even more frightening than Summer remembered. “Madame Toussaint?” Summer asked, her voice slightly trembling. “Who has come to my house at this un-Godly hour?” the woman asked in a husky voice. “It’s Summer and Cheyenne… and two of our friends.” Dickie stepped forward and, feeling a bit like the Tin Man meeting the Wizard, attempted to shake her hand through the tear in the screen. The woman just stared. “Okay…,” Dickie said as he slowly stepped back and away from the door. Cheyenne added, “Can we get a reading for my friend? It’s his birthday.” “Which one?” Madame Toussaint asked, still staring at Dickie. “The idiot?” “Oh, no. Not the idiot,” Summer answered as she pushed Dickie away and pulled Brian closer to the door. “This one.” Brian wanted no part of this. “That’s okay. No big deal. We’ll come back. Lovely meeting you though.” Brian was several steps into his departure when he heard the screen door open. He froze and grimaced. “Please enter,” Madame Toussaint said. Brian gave Dickie an exasperated look as he turned slowly toward the front door. His mouth formed a disingenuous smile, and his eyes revealed an obvious reluctance to participate. The group cautiously entered the dark cottage. Madame Toussaint held the door open and gave Dickie the evil eye as he passed. She moved about in a long, black dress. Her shoulders were draped with a white shawl, and her hair was hidden beneath a tight, brightly colored scarf. Large, circular earrings dangled against her cheeks. This “gypsy look” gave the middle-aged psychic the appearance of a much older woman. Her heavy accent revealed a strange mix of French and Romanian influences. Madame Toussaint slowly closed the creaking door and led them into a room where dozens of chimes hung from the ceiling. The evening breeze had found its way through a lavender curtain and gently pushed the chimes about, creating a ghostly musical concert. “Nice touch,” Dickie commented, looking up at the chimes. Madame Toussaint ignored him—as most women did. Candles flickered from every nook and cranny. Antique furniture was sparsely positioned about. The walls were dark and somber, and their color was impossible to distinguish in the eerie, unnatural glow of a black light. Madame Toussaint looked at Brian. “It is time. Follow me.” Brian looked to Dickie for help, but Dickie could only muster an expression like a pirate watching a man walk the plank. Madame Toussaint stopped and turned back toward Brian. “Please. Come. The spirits—they do not like to be kept waiting.” Brian cautiously followed the psychic toward a back room. Summer and Cheyenne held each other closely and stared wide-eyed at Brian. Brian’s shoulders slumped as he reluctantly slipped through a musty curtain that separated the two rooms. This back room was darker than the previous room—if that was possible. One of the walls displayed a poster of a human palm mapped-out like a highway system providing instant assurance for customers that a random wrinkle definitely carries reliable information about one’s future. In the center of the room, a Tiffany lamp hung from the ceiling and scarcely illuminated a small, round table. It was covered with a dark tablecloth that extended to the floor. He began to convince himself that there was no need to worry. After all, if push came to shove, he knew he could take this strange woman in a knockdown-drag-out. But wait a minute. This was crazy thinking. This woman, he reminded himself, was half his size. The last thing she’d do is attack him, so what was he afraid of? Certainly, the fact that Summer and Cheyenne had been here before and looked as if something bad was about to happen wasn’t helping at all. This woman was obviously a charlatan. A fake. A fraud. A sham. A nut. A mental patient on temporary leave. Get a grip, he told himself. Nothing to be afraid of, just wary of. But, what if? What if she had some kind of power? It wouldn’t be so easy to overtake her if she turned him into a toad. Toads can’t do squat. And even if his new toad legs did happen to trip her up, allowing him to escape, what would there be to look forward to in the civilian world as a lowly toad? Until this life-as-a-toad scenario arose, he used to think that heading to work in an un-ironed shirt was challenging. Even if it was just the power of suggestion she possessed, that alone could be devastating, and maybe even worse than actual powers. What if she suggested that he should suddenly find her attractive? And he was relegated to spending the rest of his days making love to her under the chimes, gazing into her eyes as if she were Angelina Jolie, helping her pluck hairs out of her chin that she could no longer see with her aging eyes, and reading Edgar Allen Poe to her until dawn. Hell, he thought, that stuff makes the toad life look like a hop in the park. “Sit down, my son.” Brian joined her at the small table and sat directly across from her. She paused for a moment and studied his face. “Give me your hands.” He cautiously extended his hands, palms up, toward her. She reached out with her cold hands and placed her thumbs across his palms. She closed her eyes and angled her face toward the ceiling. After a moment, she opened her eyes and spoke. “I know you.” “You do?” Her expression became deadly serious. “I know your soul. Your spirit.” “Have we met before?” Brian asked. “Maybe a thousand years ago. Maybe longer. Do you have a major credit card?” That seemed to surprise Brian a bit. “Well, yes… yes I do.” Brian let go of her hands and retrieved his wallet. “Do you take Visa?” Without saying a word, she took the Visa card from him, swiped it on a machine positioned immediately to her left, and handed the card back to him. He placed it back into his wallet. “How much is this anyway?” Brian asked, unaccustomed to paying for his own birthday present. Madame Toussaint ignored his question. “I know your spirit from ages long past,” she said. “My son, you must trust me. I know your heart and your mind and every step you’ve taken for ions. Do you have a photo ID?” Well, he thought, so much for knowing me. He reached again for his wallet and flipped it open, revealing his driver license. “I forgot to get the expiration date on that Visa,” she said. Brian gave her a skeptical look and read the expiration date to her. “No.” she said. “I must see it for myself.” He shook his head and handed the card to her. She squinted at the card for a long moment before finally giving him her official look of approval. Even though he found her tactics a bit irritating, he was relieved to realize that she was truly just a small time con artist and not a spell-casting toad maker. “Look, can we get on with this?” he urged, “I don’t have a lot of time.” “Do you trust in the cards?” “What?” “Tarot cards. They can guide you.” “Whatever.” Brian would have settled for a quick round of Scrabble if it would’ve hurried things along. The psychic slowly stood, walked to a table against the wall, and began looking for something. After a moment, she returned to the table with an incense stick and placed it in an incense holder. She made her way to another corner of the room and returned with a small cup and a larger pitcher. She poured water from the pitcher into the cup. “What’s that for?” Brian asked. “It is water,” she answered. “What are you going to do with it?” Her voice lowered. “I find that when I am thirsty, I like to drink it.” Brian cocked his head slightly and studied her face for signs of pretense. “I’m sensing a negative aura. I must burn an incense stick to cleanse your aura,” she said. “Will this require my Visa card again?” Madame Toussaint struck a match and lighted the incense stick. She lifted the smoldering stick from its holder, walked around the table, and stood behind Brian. She continued, “Auras become dirty with negative energy. Incense is used as a purification ritual. It will clear away your negative energy.” “I’m afraid I really let my aura go lately,” Brian said with a...