time Jamie had seen the man cry, and for some reason the sight had struck an obscure nerve of pleasure inside him which he’d never felt since. Nor did he want to.
‘This phone call will be important,’ Shalice said, drawing him back from the reverie he had been slipping into. Her eyes flickered constantly from Jamie to the ball, back and forth in a flash. ‘This call is from the mother of your child. She’s threatening to take you to court for more money. Your son needs minders, medication, equipment, special ed. Her pill collection is not cheap, either.’
Jamie’s throat was dry and he swallowed what felt like a mouthful of lint. Opposite him Shalice was nodding. ‘You discovered six months before this phone call that you were entrapped. Your child’s mother and sister had a nasty falling out, and her sister told you out of spite. So now, every time you think of the mother of your child, you just want to kill someone. There is no respite from your anger. You want to wrap your hands around somebody’s neck and squeeze. That is what goes through your head, nowadays.’
Jamie shut his eyes. His voice came out as little more than a croak: ‘What’s so special about this phone call?’
‘This is the call that drives you over the edge,’ the fortune- teller replied. ‘Watch.’
In the crystal ball, older Jamie hung up the phone, gently, calmly, then sat back in his chair. He stared into the distance as another clerk came to dump more folders on his desk. Older Jamie didn’t seem to notice; he just stared into space, then calmly, gently, picked up his briefcase and strolled out of the office, to the lift, through the lobby, out the building’s front door.
‘Where’s he going?’ said Jamie. ‘Why are you showing me this?’
The look in her eyes answered him, and a cold chill raced up his spine. ‘There, there,’ she said. ‘It is not a particularly unusual thing to happen. Most murders run to this script. Love gone wrong. A shame, but not unusual.’
‘I don’t want to see the rest,’ said Jamie, for he felt nauseous. ‘Turn it off. Please.’
‘A little more,’ she said softly. ‘You need to see it all, Jamie. I show you this for a reason.’
In the glowing ball, Jamie was now walking up a flight of steps. The building looked like an inner city apartment block, a little rundown and in need of new paint. There was a slump in his shoulders, like a great weight hung from his neck, and a slow dreamlike rhythm to his footsteps. The door opened and a woman stood in the doorway, a thirty- something brunette with a bathrobe tied at the waist and sedated eyes. The look on her face said she’d been neither expecting nor hoping for a visit from older Jamie. The pair of them exchanged words for a minute, then she tossed her hands up in exasperation, stepping aside to let him in.
Once inside she went to the kitchen and put on the kettle. Older Jamie watched her with a blank look on his face. With that same blank look he walked to the kitchen and stood directly behind her. She seemed not to have heard him as shereached to take two coffee cups from a shelf. Older Jamie raised his hands and placed them, calmly, gently, around her neck.
She tensed and wheeled about, tried to shove him away, shouted something, and that seemed to break older Jamie out of his blankness. He grabbed her fiercely and threw her to the floor. She fell hard. Her robe came undone and parted, showing legs as white as wax kicking at the linoleum floor as she tried to back away. He took a knife from the rack, his face strangely expressionless as he fell on top of her and, without pausing, rammed it into her guts, again and again and again and again …
Blood poured, coating his hands and wrists like another skin. Finally she stopped struggling and curled into foetal position, face gripped in a spasm of pain as her killer stepped away to let her die.
Jamie watched all this and felt sickness rise in the back of his throat. He
‘This phone call will be important,’ Shalice said, drawing him back from the reverie he had been slipping into. Her eyes flickered constantly from Jamie to the ball, back and forth in a flash. ‘This call is from the mother of your child. She’s threatening to take you to court for more money. Your son needs minders, medication, equipment, special ed. Her pill collection is not cheap, either.’
Jamie’s throat was dry and he swallowed what felt like a mouthful of lint. Opposite him Shalice was nodding. ‘You discovered six months before this phone call that you were entrapped. Your child’s mother and sister had a nasty falling out, and her sister told you out of spite. So now, every time you think of the mother of your child, you just want to kill someone. There is no respite from your anger. You want to wrap your hands around somebody’s neck and squeeze. That is what goes through your head, nowadays.’
Jamie shut his eyes. His voice came out as little more than a croak: ‘What’s so special about this phone call?’
‘This is the call that drives you over the edge,’ the fortune- teller replied. ‘Watch.’
In the crystal ball, older Jamie hung up the phone, gently, calmly, then sat back in his chair. He stared into the distance as another clerk came to dump more folders on his desk. Older Jamie didn’t seem to notice; he just stared into space, then calmly, gently, picked up his briefcase and strolled out of the office, to the lift, through the lobby, out the building’s front door.
‘Where’s he going?’ said Jamie. ‘Why are you showing me this?’
The look in her eyes answered him, and a cold chill raced up his spine. ‘There, there,’ she said. ‘It is not a particularly unusual thing to happen. Most murders run to this script. Love gone wrong. A shame, but not unusual.’
‘I don’t want to see the rest,’ said Jamie, for he felt nauseous. ‘Turn it off. Please.’
‘A little more,’ she said softly. ‘You need to see it all, Jamie. I show you this for a reason.’
In the glowing ball, Jamie was now walking up a flight of steps. The building looked like an inner city apartment block, a little rundown and in need of new paint. There was a slump in his shoulders, like a great weight hung from his neck, and a slow dreamlike rhythm to his footsteps. The door opened and a woman stood in the doorway, a thirty- something brunette with a bathrobe tied at the waist and sedated eyes. The look on her face said she’d been neither expecting nor hoping for a visit from older Jamie. The pair of them exchanged words for a minute, then she tossed her hands up in exasperation, stepping aside to let him in.
Once inside she went to the kitchen and put on the kettle. Older Jamie watched her with a blank look on his face. With that same blank look he walked to the kitchen and stood directly behind her. She seemed not to have heard him as shereached to take two coffee cups from a shelf. Older Jamie raised his hands and placed them, calmly, gently, around her neck.
She tensed and wheeled about, tried to shove him away, shouted something, and that seemed to break older Jamie out of his blankness. He grabbed her fiercely and threw her to the floor. She fell hard. Her robe came undone and parted, showing legs as white as wax kicking at the linoleum floor as she tried to back away. He took a knife from the rack, his face strangely expressionless as he fell on top of her and, without pausing, rammed it into her guts, again and again and again and again …
Blood poured, coating his hands and wrists like another skin. Finally she stopped struggling and curled into foetal position, face gripped in a spasm of pain as her killer stepped away to let her die.
Jamie watched all this and felt sickness rise in the back of his throat. He
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