Seeing Is Believing
“He’s going to die.”I see his death in the photograph because that’s what I do—it’s my gift and like many gifts from the gods, it isn’t a good one. I hate it. Especially on days such as today when some crying mother or wife or lover hands me a photograph and waits for me to tell her that she’s right to be scared to death.
Because I can see it coming. Almost never in time to change it, but that doesn’t stop them from showing up on my doorstep, eyes bright with unshed tears.
“I can’t cry,” they say. “Not until I know for sure.”
“Please,” they say. “Tell me what you see.”
My gift from the gods is to see death.
James Foster. It’s his death I see today and I know by the time his mother and sister get home their phone will be ringing and some jaded cop from a jurisdiction two or three time zones away will be breaking the news.
I don’t know how he’ll die, I only know he will. Soon. Probably before I finish turning off my computer and turning on the alarm system.
Some gift. Foresight, precognition, prescience. Doesn’t matter what you ca ... read full excerpt from Seeing Is Believing ebook
