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Jeremiah Oldham really did cry, although it wasn’t particularly dramatic or spectacular. A couple tears when he realized there was no way he was going to avoid jail. He also confessed to essentially laundering money from the MFM into what he called “the catharsis.”
Things got interesting about halfway through when Cass suddenly gasped, and everybody else tensed, turning to look at her. Raj stopped the recording as Kurtz leaned forward, lifting his furry legs off the desk where they’d been propped.
“What is it, Cassie?”
She shook her head, her eyes wide and—definitely not normal looking. I watched, my own eyes probably just as wide but probably considerably less creepy, since I was pretty sure mine were still lavender with little black pupils, rather than solid blue-grey with no pupil at all.
Kurtz took her hand gently in one of his, his goat-feet planted on the ground. Everyone else remained quiet, waiting.
For what, I had no idea.
Until Cass gasped again, then bent forward, her elbows on her knees. Kurtz had let go of her hand and was rubbing her shoulder. “Can you tell us, Cass?” he asked gently.
She sat back up, and her eyes had returned to normal. She offered me a wavery smile. “Well, now you know what it looks like when a Seer has a vision.”
“It looks—not fun.” I tried to be diplomatic rather than tell her it was creepy as fuck.
Her lips twitched. “It really isn’t.” Then she turned to the expectant looks of the others. “How much do we care if this asshole gets shanked in the prison showers?” she asked.
“Seriously?” I gaped at her.
She nodded. “Coming out of them, I think. He had two bigger guys with him, acting kind of like body guards. But then one of them just turned to the side as they’re leaving down the hall, passing a group of other prisoners. And then Oldham’s on the floor, bleeding out while the two guys just stand there and stare at him.”
Everybody just stared at her for a long moment.
“Son of a bitch,” Kurtz muttered.
Cass sighed. “Yeah. I guess I know what I’m doing for the rest of the night.”
“What?” I asked, feeling like the dumb one out.
“Filing an SPR,” Raj answered. “Seer’s Prescience Report. Any time Cass has a vision, she has to document it and file it.”
“Does that happen… often?” I asked her.
“Every month or so, maybe? At least things that are work-relevant.”
“What’s not?”
“Someone losing something, like an earring. My visions are always bad”—she grimaced as she said it—“but there are definitely degrees of bad. You know. Lost teddy bear or broken vase on the one side, shanked in the shower on the other.”
“So if it’s a crime…”
“Yeah. Or if it involves a witness, victim, suspect, or federal employee.”
“So if you have a vision that I stub my toe…?”
“Well, you’re not a federal employee at the moment, so, no, I could skip the annoying paperwork.” She grinned at me. “If Kurtz or Raj or Drew stubs a toe, though, it means another two hours of documentation for me.”
“Ew.”
“So let me just go get started on that.” She sighed. “The rest of you should finish this. I’m not really in the mood to watch the interrogation of a guy I just saw bleed to death, anyway.”
Kurtz patted her on the arm as she left. “Every time she has one of those, I’m glad I went goat,” he remarked after the door had closed behind her.
Raj snorted. “Shall we continue, then?”
We did, although there weren’t any particularly shocking revelations and the fun was rather taken out of the whole thing by Cass’s vision. Because now I spent it trying to decide if I hoped her vision came true or whether even contemplating that made me a terrible person.
