Misty by Allison Hobbs Page A

get a reading. I had a dream last night that Randolphand I were back together and I’m so excited, I had to see you and hear every detail about the wonderful future my beloved and I are going to share.” He eagerly scooted to the edge of his seat, intertwining his long, elegant fingers.
    Misty wasn’t in the mood to do a reading. The flashes of light that accompanied the images had become blindingly painful since the surgery. But she couldn’t refuse the man who had financed her new face, and so she lifted her good arm as high as she could, and said, “Give me your hand.”
    Gavin gently grasped Misty’s crippled hand and uttered a soft gasp when he felt the sting. Misty closed her eyes and winced as the flashing lights preceded the slide show of Gavin’s life.
    She saw Gavin as a baby wearing a Philadelphia Flyers shirt and knit cap. He was crying as if offended by the hockey attire. Time progressed and he looked to be around seven or eight, and there he was, wearing a football uniform, out on the field, holding a football, limply. Misty got the impression he would have been more comfortable holding a Barbie doll. During his college years, Gavin looked much more comfortable in his skin. He was a dashing young man, the center of attention in his small circle of eccentric friends, artsy types. And later, she observed him fall in love for the first time with a Frenchman while vacationing in Paris.
    Misty closed her eyes tightly as she viewed Gavin’s future. There were two people struggling in the shadows, Gavin and someone else. Gavin hit the floor. “Christ,” she muttered upon realizing that yet another violent future was unfolding before her all-seeing eyes. She was grateful for the bandages that hid the grimace on her face as she watched a silver candelabra being wielded like a weapon. The candelabra was covered in blood and blond hairs. Was it Gavin’s hair? Misty wondered. Was someone going to bashin Gavin’s skull? Oh, for fuck’s sake, how was she supposed to tell him this bullshit?
    Misty opened her eyes, inhaling in gasps and exhaling frantically, as if she’d emerged from battle. The readings exhausted her, but viewing bloody, murderous visions made her pulse race and it was beginning to take a toll on her emotional well-being.
    Gavin sat grim-faced on the edge of the chair, as if he knew his future was fraught with horror. “Misty, you seem petrified. Something rattled you terribly. What was it; did you see something ominous? Please tell me what you saw,” he urged her anxiously.
    â€œI…uh, I saw you as a baby dressed in a hockey uniform. And when you were older, maybe eight or nine, I saw you playing football without much enthusiasm.”
    â€œUgh. I’ve always hated seeing baby pictures of me dressed in sportswear, and it breaks my heart that my parents forced me to play Little League football when they were clearly aware that I loathed all games that required strength and physical prowess. I tried; I really did,” he whined pitifully, “but my coach hated me and kept me on the bench. And being on the bench was where I belonged; it was my preference. But my dad wanted his boy to play. He threatened the coach and the entire county with a lawsuit if I wasn’t allowed to play.”
    Gavin swallowed hard and closed his eyes in agony as he recalled the brief period when he attempted to play football. “I was such a disaster on the field; I had no idea of what I was expected to do with that damn football. And running in those heavy cleats…” His words trailed off briefly as he shook his head at the painful memory. “Running in those things was a nightmare. To this day, my gut clenches and my hands shake if I see anything associated with that sport.”
    Misty gave her best impression of nodding in understanding when she actually didn’t give a damn about Gavin’s poor-little- rich-boy childhood.