The Overseer by Conlan Brown Page B

head against the glass, smacking it with his palms. He cursed loudly, angry at himself for how weak and feeble he’d let a woman make him.
    A woman.
    He let loose with a vicious string of profanity, grabbing a rolling chair and flinging it across the room. The chair tumbled to a stop.
    John slid to the floor and sobbed.

    Vince Sobel walked through the hall, past the night guard posted at the door. Nodding, he indicated that it was OK to enter.
    The door shut behind him, and he paused—the room going dark. He looked at the man named Angelo. The man sat in a chair. Calm.
    Vince pulled up another chair and sat in front of the other man. “It’s Angelo, right?”
    A set of eyes lifted from the obscurity of darkness. Dark, intense eyes.
    “I am who you say I am,” he said softly and with resolve.
    Vince adjusted in his chair, suddenly unsettled by this man. “I hear you wanted to talk to Devin Bathurst,” Vince said with a smile. He leaned, elbows on knees, trying to be friendly. “I hear it…didn’t go so well.”
    Angelo didn’t blink.
    “So,” Vince said with another smile, “tell me about yourself, Angelo.”
    Angelo said nothing. He stared with dark eyes through the dark room, watching Vincent.
    “Listen,” Vince continued, still smiling, “this will all go a lot smoother if—”
    “You can’t let them proceed,” Angelo interrupted, face stern.
    Vince frowned. “I’m sorry?”
    “Devin Bathurst plans to save the politician from being killed. It’s a trap. You can’t let him.”
    Confusion was the only thing that Vince felt for several seconds, staring at the other man. He laughed, suddenly and awkwardly, reaching into his pocket for a slip of paper and a pen. “Let me make a note of this,” he said, regaining his composure, trying to make Angelo feel like he was being taken seriously. “I need you to explain to me exactly what is going to happen.”
    Angelo blinked. “You don’t believe me.”
    “Of course I—”
    “I can feel your thoughts,” Angelo said.
    “Uh…,” Vince stammered, trying to find a way to backpedal.
    “You don’t believe that I can see the future,” Angelo continued, “or the past.”
    Vince smiled encouragingly. “I hear that you see all three?”
    Angelo’s head dipped slowly in a nod.
    “Like Alessandro D’Angelo?” Vince asked.
    “Founder of the Firstborn orders.”
    Vince shook his head, suddenly concerned, feeling outmatched. “Is there any chance that you’re wrong about Devin Bathurst and everything having to do with—”
    “I know about your wife,” Angelo said with eerie calm.
    Vince’s body went cold, down to his core. “What do you know?” he said, hesitant, scared, and trembling.
    “The man that she met.”
    Anger bubbled up in Vince. “What did she tell you?”
    “Linda? We’ve never met.”
    “Then how did you…?”
    “You had been married eight years when Linda met him. She told you she had only been seeing him for six months, but it had been more than a year.”
    “What?” Vince said, feeling all the old feelings—black and poisonous—start to well up in him.
    “You say that you’ve forgiven her. You told her that. And the counselor that. Even your friends—and the pastor you spoke to. But you haven’t.”
    Vince felt any semblance of a smile evaporate. Anger—no, rage—took over. “That’s not true.” He launched to his feet, trying to tower over Angelo. “I love my wife, and I forgave her for what she did.”
    Angelo remained seated and calm. “Do you believe that I see things yet?”
    “You could have found out about my wife through a lot of different ways. You’re just making up the rest!”
    Angelo’s eyes became sad for a moment. “I know what you never told the counselor. What you’ve never told anyone.”
    Vince paused, watching the calm man. “What do you think you know?”
    “That sometimes, when you think about it, you wonder if she would cry if you jumped from the roof of the office building