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“You’re very good, a keen eye for dramatic composition. I haven’t seen the sunrise in more than a century, but I feel as if I’m there. I can feel the sun on my face … without the sensation of my flesh bursting into flame.”
“That’s a plus,” I agreed. I pushed past him, taking my journal with me, only to find that he had cleared out the glass-littered bedspread, propped up the bent bed leg, and put the room to rights. “Thanks for fixing the bed.”
“I called the front desk. The clerk was more than willing to let me vacuum up the mess myself. Unfortunately, the party upstairs seems to be a stag night for the manager’s cousin. So the noise levels won’t be lowering anytime soon. Also, the clerk mentioned something about beggars can’t be choosers? Do you know what that means?”
“No.” I shook my head, shrugging. “The noise is OK, actually. It reminds me of when I lived in Detroit, above this noodle shop and karaoke bar. Awesome mai fun. Baaaad impersonations of Britney Spears.”
I slid into the bed and tried not to think about the relative cleanliness of the sheets. Collin settled into his chair and propped his feet on the bed.
“How did you know about the light fixture?”
He pursed his lips as he turned the page of his book. “It’s not important.”
“Right,” I muttered. Unreasonably irritated by this response, I rolled away from him and pulled the blankets up to my chin. “Good night, Collin.”
I closed my eyes, letting the weight of exhaustion drag me into soft, dark near-unconsciousness.
“I see glimpses.”
My eyes snapped open at the sound of his voice. I propped myself up on my elbows, blinking at him. “I’m sorry?”
“I see glimpses of the future. That’s what I meant earlier by ‘it worked.’ It’s been days since it’s worked properly. I finally got a quick impression, and it was you, getting pelted with broken glass from the broken fixture. I believe it was because you were finally still, not able to make plans or decisions.”
“One, that’s kind of a dickish thing to say. And two, thank you for saving me from a face full of broken glass.”
“You’re very welcome. I quite like your face. I would like it to remain intact.”
Lord help me, I actually blushed and struggled for something to say. All I could come up with was, “So you’re psychic?”
“Only vaguely, but over time, I’ve seen the signs of events and can interpret a larger picture. After a while, all of the possible scenarios seem repetitive.”
“And that’s how you knew to throw the coffee out the window earlier?”
He grinned. “No, you were eyeing that cup and my face in a way that could only mean injury for me.”
I sat up, facing him. “Is that why you try so hard to control your environment?”
“Every choice, every change in plans, every shift in direction is a chance for different outcomes. I see them all. If I allow too many of those variables, the effect is disorienting and overwhelming.”
“That’s why you try so hard to avoid contact with people? To avoid being overwhelmed?” I guessed. “And what does that have to do with your anti-fast-food-wrapper obsession?”
“Well, frankly, I find the idea of leaving week-old food wrappers in your car to be pointless and disgusting,” he told me. “But there are other issues. The more cluttered an environment, the more likely it is that an accident will occur. If there are too many potential outcomes in a situation, it can become disorienting for me.”
“But if you can see an accident coming, how did you end up in a plane crash?”
“I didn’t see it coming,” he said. “I’d flown a handful of times without problems. I didn’t see anything going awry when we boarded. And then, an hour into the flight, the pilot was offered a piece of candy. It was an impulsive gesture from a copilot who normally didn’t like to share. The candy had nuts in it, which caused a violent allergic reaction in the pilot—”
“And that crashed the plane?”
“He pitched forward against the controls, sent the plane into a tailspin it couldn’t recover from,” he said, closing his eyes as if to ward off the memory. “There are so many potential outcomes. I can’t keep up with them all. I had to retreat to somewhere where I could control more of the variables. The relief from the short-term chaos is wonderful.”
“But every day is the same, isn’t it? And you have so many of them,” I said, my heart breaking just a little at the very idea. “So I guess when you seem disaffected and bored, you really are disaffected and bored. You’ve been there, done that, and even when a few surprises come your way, they’re spoiled for you. That’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard. And I was once the Dancing Hen at Clucky’s Lucky Chicken Shack.”
“The light-fixture scenario was the first full-fledged vision I’ve had in your presence, which was why I was so smug about it.” He moved onto the bed and took my hand in his. “With you, I never know how things are going to turn out. You are a constantly shifting variable. It seems there are too many possibilities to see. In essence, you’ve shorted out my gift.”
“I’m sorry.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Don’t be. It’s made the last two days rather frustrating but incredibly entertaining.”
