Of That Day and Hour: A psychological thriller by Anthony O'Brien Page B

beforehand.” Jeff
doesn’t mean to sound patronizing, however even he recognizes the tone of
arrogance in his voice. “Vague observations don’t make worthy predictions.”
    “His supporters claim that
Nostradamus had to write cryptically or the inquisition would have killed him.”
Eve ignores Jeff’s arrogance, testing the strength of his argument as well as
playing the devil’s advocate.
    “They’d have to claim that
to perpetuate such nonsense.” He’s frustrated, and has to rationalize the
discussion to calm the inner workings of his mind. “Let’s say for one moment,
that he did predict the rise of tyrants, nine eleven and the atomic bomb. Then
my question to you is, how did he do this outside of his own timeline?”
    “I don’t follow you?”
    “Nostradamus was famous
throughout France for his predictions in his lifetime only. It’s only after his
death that his predictions became vague.”
    “That’s almost an admittance
from you that he did at least prophesize within his own lifetime.” She waits a
moment for a response, and doesn’t receive one. “It says here that Nostradamus
predicted his own death, and during the French Revolution his body was
disinterred. However when the workers dug him up; they were astounded to find
him wearing a medallion, and it was engraved with that day’s date on.”
    “So they say, but where’s
the medallion now?”
    “I would presume still
around his neck.” Eve frowns in thought. “Anyway what’s the difference between
an engraved medallion and a date carved in wood?”
    “Yes, yes I take your
point.” Jeff’s dismissive and doesn’t wish to take Eve’s comments on board.
    “And I state my case.” A
small victory, she knows, but it feels good.
    “Hmm.”
    “You’ve already studied
Nostradamus; have you found no credibility?”
    “I personally found no
credence to his prophesies.”
      “I see.” Eve has a hunch. “The more I think
about this, the more I believe it’s all directly connected to you.”
    “How?”
    “Is it coincidence that
you’ve spent your life striving to find the very answers we’re seeking now?
Coincidence that Casey specifically asked for you? Coincidence that the date
carved in his mother’s cellar prophesized that you were to be there that day?”
    “That someone was to be
there.” He dismisses the notion. “My name wasn’t inscribed.”
    “Oh Jeff.” Sometimes it’s
like dealing with a stubborn child. “You were involved and that ties you in
with Casey’s timeline; it was predetermined. The date was already in place,
it’s undeniable proof of fate.”
    “I can’t accept the notion
of fate.” His hands rise up, like that of a politician in debate. “If that’s
the case then everything is predetermined, and we have no say in our future
experiences. I’m not a mindless puppet and I have free will. If I choose to
walk out of here now, that’s my choice, and if I choose to stay longer that’s
also my choice. We give ourselves far too much importance. Why would fate, God
or whatever name we choose to give our beliefs, be interested in mapping out
and connecting each and every individual experience during the course of each
person’s life?” Eve smiles as his hands thrust forward, bringing forth past
memories of university, watching him stand behind the lectern. “That’s what
we’re talking about here. Fate as a concept means that every single connection
and interaction would have to be predetermined rather than a random event. I
don’t believe a supercomputer could map out every single interaction for
everything that coexists on Earth, and then Earth’s interaction with the
universe.”
    “Well when you put it that
way, I guess that random events make a more plausible explanation.”
    “Exactly.” At last she’s
beginning to see sense.
    “But.”
    “Here we go.” Jeff rolls his
eyes.
    “It says here that within
his own lifetime many believed Nostradamus was either the servant of the