Page 3 of Sight of Fate

There’s plenty of work. But all I have is a fake driver’s license, which is enough to get me freelance work on gig sites but not enough for a regular job. My brow furrows. Maybe I can find a way to hire someone to forge an I.D. that will hold up to scrutiny. In the meantime, I’ll have to find a part-time gig to supplement the graphic design work. Maybe as an admin or a PA. Not that I have experience in either, but I can learn.

Hours later, I tiredly pull into a Wal-Mart in Dallas. After asking about overnight parking and getting a confirmation, I use the bathroom and stock up on a few groceries, enough to last the rest of the week. Then, I splurge on a hot cup of soup and a sandwich from Subway before heading back to the car.

With the wedge pillow propped up behind me, I slip into the sleeping bag, tap into my phone’s hotspot, and grab my laptop. Maybe I can find a permanent part-time gig. Or a couple of new design gigs. Even if I have to push myself to work every possible hour for the next few weeks, I need an emergency fund. I snort. It’s not as if I have anything else to do.

I find a few jobs and submit the bids. Lower than my usual fee, but I’m going for quantity here. Beggars can’t be choosers. Switching from graphic design to administrative gigs, I peruse the few listed, but nothing fits. I go back and look at the other categories.

I’m reading through a long list of customer service jobs when a ping sounds. Yes! Maybe one of my bids was accepted. I click on messages and glance at the name. Nope. It’s from someone new—IrishGuardian3. I open it and frown at the jumbled mess of scrambled letters. Dammit. Did I open a virus? A dizzy feeling slides over me, and for a second, the world tilts. Shaking my head, I reach up and rub my temples. Maybe I’m getting a migraine. I’ve never had one, but I’ve heard they can mess with your vision. I blink a few times, then refocus. What in the… The message is perfectly clear. Weird. Maybe I’m more exhausted than I thought.

PA position available for the right person. Must be able to relocate to Greystone Vale for a six-month trial period. Winter is coming, and once the snow starts, the pass will be blocked until spring. Offering $100,000 with option to negotiate after trial. I’ll need an answer soon. Directions provided upon acceptance.

Teague Lochlan,

CEO, Granite Securities

555-542-9347

One hundred thousand dollars. For six months. Seriously? A million thoughts race through my brain as I stare at the message. This has to be a scam. Who pays that kind of money for a PA? Celebrities? The mafia? Billionaires? I chuckle. Obviously, I read too many romance books. Still, though. I chew my lip as I stare at the amount like it’s going to disappear any second.

That’s literally life-changing money. I finger the threadbare sleeping bag and eye the small crate of food next to me. Am I really going to continue taking small jobs to stay afloat? A hundred thousand would buy me a van and nice campgrounds to stay in. Running water and clean showers that don’t smell like the gym. Or…a better yet, a foolproof I.D. that would allow me to leave the country.

It takes everything in me to stop my fingers from typing a reply and accepting the position. My eyes skim the details again, and my excitement pops like a balloon as my gaze stops on four words. Six-month trial period. Everything in me yearns to stay somewhere for six months and call a place home again. But I can’t because it’s safer to keep moving, not just for me but for everyone. Look at my mom and Cara. While I can’t prove it, I know Hank killed them both.

There’s no use wishing for the impossible, I remind myself. Reluctantly, I click on the message and delete it.

Focusing on the other two promising jobs, I skim the offers. Decent pay. I accept both. The two combined will add a nice chunk to my little stash, and I can get them done within a week. Ooh… One job is creating character art for a book. My fingers twitch with anticipation. I love drawing, and while I list it as one of my skills, nobody has ever given me the chance.

I scan the details and see it’s for five characters…one woman and four men. There are inspirational photos of each, along with details like height and key features. This is going to be fun. I take screenshots of everything so I can work from my tablet later.

Clicking on the other job, I see it’s a website for an insurance agent, but there’s not a lot of information. I reply and ask them to fill out my brief.

Another message pops up. IrishGuardian3. I open it and see the same message from Teague. That’s odd. It’s a sign. My heart beats wildly in my chest as I briefly imagine saying yes.

I open a new tab and search for Greystone Vale. The pin drops on Greystone Dr. I type in Greystone Vale city. A local quarry comes up, and I frown. Did I type it wrong? I check his message again. It’s right, but Google can’t find Greystone Vale. Although, technically, he doesn’t really say it’s a city. I blow out a breath. It. Doesn’t. Matter. I repeat those words several times, trying to convince myself before I delete the message for the second time.

Chapter Three

CHARLI

Breathing in the familiar smell of coffee and tuning out the conversations around me, my hand cramps as I race to capture the vision I had last night. Or at least the few features I could see, since the man was partially facing away from me. My pencil doesn’t waver as I outline the side of his strong nose, then shade it in. It would likely be too big on anyone else, but with his sharp cheekbones and granite jaw, it fits him. He’s staring down at the envelope in his hands, knuckles tight with tension, his lids at half-mast, the sooty lashes fanning across his cheeks. If only I could see the color of his eyes. The picture is incomplete without that crucial detail.

I move on to his dark, wavy hair. In my dream is was an espresso brown color. Cut close on the sides, the thick mass is messier on top, as if he’s run his hands through it a million times. Heat rises, and my cheeks flame as I pore over the image, wanting nothing more than for him to glance my way.

Swift strokes outline his long neck and broad shoulders, which look like they could easily shelter someone in a storm.

A bank of monitors sits on his desk along with a laptop, but the screens are dark. The rest of the room is a blur of shadows and light. Nothing to give me a clue as to who he is. Or where.

Months have gone by since I last dreamed of him but all I usually get is a single feature, maybe two if I’m lucky. That’s how I eventually figured out my visions were actually showing me the same three men for the last couple of years. All with different key features, like a cleft chin, a light, neatly kept beard, or a clean-shaven, dominant jawline.

Unfortunately, my collection of sketches are tiny glimpses into tantalizing possibilities, but the features never match anyone I meet. A pair of intense, deep blue eyes that call to me from the dark. Stern, compressed lips that make me shiver with something I can’t define. A broad smile that warms me from the inside out. I’ve got pages and pages filled with their features.

My visions have never given me a whole scene with one of them. I slide my thumb across the paper, smudging the outer corners until the lines are blurred, then add the date. Done. I stare down at the image, wondering…always wondering…when I’ll find one of them.

Most of my visions are triggered by touch, which is why I tend to avoid getting too close to people, especially in public where it would be hard to hide what’s happening. But no matter how hard I try to evade them, the visions always find me.

Sometimes the people I help are down on their luck, like the elderly woman I convinced to buy a scratch-off lottery ticket. Other times, they’re not aware I helped them, like the dad I stopped at the grocery store to give me directions, holding him there until I knew he would avoid a tragic accident on his way home. My visions usually consist of a series of images that show me who I’m supposed to help and what I need to do. So far, I’ve gotten nothing on these three men.

Gift? Curse? Depends on the day. My visions didn’t save Mom. Or Cara. For a long time, I screamed and raged at the unfairness of it. Tried to ignore the visions, but they’re relentless, bombarding my brain with images until I give in. Now I tolerate them.