“Nope, not yet.”
“I have something, then.”
“Go ahead, Rick,” I say.
“Something happened with a woman.”
“It’s important for you to say the words,” I encourage.
“It was ten years ago. We were both drinking. Heavily. It was a pub crawl. Afterward we went back to my place. I thought we had a good time.”
“So why mention it, Rick?”
“Her sister sent me a bunch of harsh messages, ripping into me. Saying that I took advantage of her sister. That she was blacked out and I should have known. I lost my shit. I wouldn’t have sex with someone who was passed out. Never.”
“When did you say this happened?”
“Ten years ago.”
“And why are you bringing it up now?” I ask.
“The more time that went by, the more I started to recall details from that night. There was one point where I went to get a towel, and when I came back, she’d kind of fallen asleep, but then she was definitely awake again. To tell you the truth I was pretty drunk too. I was focused on my own performance.”
“So what’s bothering you, Rick? I feel like there’s a detail you are holding back.”
“A few months later I saw her out at a bar.”
“What bar?” I ask.
“Lillian’s. She wouldn’t even look at me. She was crying on her friend’s shoulder. I felt terrible, but also confused. Why didn’t she confront me?”
“Why didn’t you say something to her?” I ask.
“What was I supposed to say? It was so awkward.”
“Always better to say nothing,” Joe says.
“At the time I brushed it off, but I don’t think I’ve ever let it go.”
“Do you think you’re a bad person, Rick?”
“I didn’t hold her down and force myself on her or anything like that. I’m not that kind of man. But I should have talked to her. Apologized for the misunderstanding. Instead, I was more scared of what could happen to me than what actually happened to her. I regret that.”
“I think you have your answer,” I say. “I’ve said this in many of the private readings, but it’s never too late for an apology.”
“She doesn’t want to hear from me,” Rick argues.
“No, she doesn’t,” I say. “And she is under no obligation to hear you out, nor does she have any responsibility to absolve you of your actions. But you have a moral obligation to apologize, to be open to doing anything that might make this right.”
I walk the men through their grounding ritual and ask the Universe to help them heal, but my mind jitters and jumps. Rick said this incident happened ten years ago. At the bar where Andi worked. Could she have known Rick too? No, that doesn’t make sense. Also, he said the girl’s sister messaged him, and I’m Andi’s only sister.
I’m getting paranoid. It’s getting closer to my moment and I’m seeing monsters in every shadow. That’s to be expected, but I have to stay the course. I know who is responsible for what happened to my sister.
After saying good night to the guests, I walk back to my cottage. I hear a rustle in the grass and freeze. It’s probably a deer or raccoon. I wait and let my eyes adjust to the dark.
In the silence, I spot a person walking around my cottage. They look neither small nor large, but I distinctly see a baseball cap. A flash of light sweeps the window. On closer inspection, I’m not sure if they’re inside or outside.
“Hey,” I say.
Their light shuts off. If they heard me, they must be outside the cottage. I dial Eric, knowing how unreliable 911 is in this cell-tower dead zone, but I don’t hit the green call button yet. I let my thumb hover and watch.
“Who’s there?” I call out.
Whether it’s because of my second attempt to engage them or the fact that I’m inching closer, unafraid, they take off. I hear the soft rustling of someone pushing tree branches out of their way as they run through the evergreens at the edge of the property. I try to track their rapid footfalls, but I can’t tell if they’re running toward the main house or away from it and toward the front gate. Whoever they are, they’re fast. A runner.
I scramble into the cottage to check the security cameras, but by the time I get there, everything is dark. I would have been alerted if someone had approached the gate, so it must have been an inside job. But if it was a guest looking for me, there’d be no point in scurrying away, even if coming to the cottage is against the rules. The intrusion makes no sense and that sets me on edge.
I kick off my fancy shoes and shove my feet into sneakers to investigate in person, but before I’m out the door, my phone screeches with an alert from CNN.
Tropical Storm Clementine takes an unexpected turn, sets its destructive rampage on coastal Georgia overnight.
All I can do is track the storm’s progress, but what about the threat that’s already here?
Overstimulated and jittery, I flip off the lights in my cottage and watch the main house in the dark. I observe as laptops and televisions flicker and power down as guests move from room to room, settling into sleep for the night. When the house is completely dark, I take to my bed.
All along I’ve been under the impression I gathered this group for my personal reasons, but what if they arrived with their own agenda in place? To execute a plan that involves me, on the day a psychic told me I’m supposed to die? It’s entirely possible, but I’ll have to figure out why.
Coincidences that big aren’t coincidences at all.
