“I know you don’t like to Jade, and I am grateful.” I heard the soft crinkling of a plastic bag. I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm my racing pulse. I half hoped that I wouldn’t get a reading off of whatever it was he was going to hand me. I knew it was small, because he had carried it in on his person, probably in one of his pockets. “Are you ready?”
I swallowed hard and nodded. I felt him kneel in front of me. I cupped my hands in my lap. He knew the drill, he had to drop it into my hands, he could not be holding it too or I could get mixed messages. I’d get his impressions too. Unfortunately I had learned that the hard way. I was still feeling the repercussions from that. It was a few years ago, working on a kidnapping case. They had one man in custody; one man who Nate was positive was guilty. They had given me the little girl’s doll, Nate had handed it to me personally. The vision that I had gotten off of it had been more chaotic than usual, and it had implicated the accused. They had found some evidence that had been overlooked at the time, and it cleared the man that Nate and I had condemned. Well you can imagine how well that went over with the police. Most of them were a little skeptic to begin with, now…most of them won’t use a psychic, and they don’t believe me anymore. So Nate and I keep our meetings like this a secret. Everyone in the department knows that we are friends, but they don’t know that I still help him with tough cases.
It was warm to the touch. Smooth, small, some sort of metal. Round, probably a wedding or engagement ring. I let it sit in my palm, felt its significance grow. It seemed to grow heavier, warmer. I ran my finger round the circle, and I could see. A small silver wedding band. A hand, a smile, sliding smoothly over knuckles. Thick, hot, sticky liquid. Seeing through a haze of red. A falling star, streaking pain, a fresh hot spattering of red rain. I can hear the rain, splattering on the walls. It tastes like pennies, smooth and coppery. It tastes like home. I see his face then, through the haze of panic. Someone was screaming, and that someone was me.
“Jade, are you ok?” Nate was shaking me gently. I had a flash of the crime scene, police men, crime tape, two dead bodies and lots of blood, splashed on the walls, soaked into the mattress, dripping onto the floor. I felt such uncontrollable rage and helplessness, I knew then why Nate had come to me for help.
“Nate, don’t touch me.” I had gotten his impressions from the crime; I had seen it through his eyes. I didn’t need to see anymore blood and bodies. His hands left almost the instant I spoke.
“I’m sorry Jade, I forgot. You were screaming and I was worried.” Nate was one of those guys who felt obligated to help the damsels in distress. I may look like a damsel, but I was defiantly not in distress. I was one of the most independent people I know. My mom always had a problem with my independence while I was growing up. I think that my blindness played a big part in my independence. When I first started going blind I wallowed in self pity a lot of the time. I refused to learn Braille, convincing myself that it was only temporary. By the time I was fully blind I was almost completely helpless. My mom basically did everything for me. That was when I realized that I was blind, and I wasn’t going to see again. I think that lit a fire under my ass, because from that day on I was very independent, I wouldn’t let my mom help me; with anything. I learned Braille, I did my own laundry, and I started to cook for myself, which was a little harder than you’d think. Especially when I was trying to add spices. It took me a long time to label them all correctly. I had some strange tasting food for a while. I could discern most tastes and smells, but some of them were a little tricky; and I refused to let my mom help me unless it was absolutely necessary. She didn’t take to that too well. And then when I got a job, got my own place and moved out, she freaked. She still calls me every day to make sure I’m ok. I was twenty when I moved out, that was six years ago. I enrolled in collage and got a degree in psychology, hoping that it would further my understanding of my visions. Luckily for me the government paid for most of my schooling. Now I am an over qualified receptionist for a psychologists office down town. I make more money off of my “gift” than I do at work. Yes the police paid me, for services rendered; I used to be on retainer with them, until my very public mishap. Now I do favors for Nate.