“Did they believe you? When you told them?”
“They . . . tried? I mean, no one said I was crazy. Even Daniel. Sam and I drove around the neighborhood, looking for the car. Couldn’t find it, and after a couple of days, Dad goes back to work. Can’t stay home forever, just ’cause your kid has a premonition. Two days later, he’s checking out a stalled vehicle. The truck driver said Dad turned away from the car, looked straight at him, and stepped into the path of his truck. There was another witness who said the same thing, so . . . clear-cut suicide. The kicker, though? Taylor found a picture of the crime scene about a year ago. The stalled car was the same one I saw in my premonition. Mom says that’s all it was, that I was tapping into the fact that a similar car would be at the scene when Dad died.”
His eyes are red, like he’s on the verge of tears. “But that’s not how it works. I don’t get visions. I don’t see things before they happen. I hear someone planning to hurt or kill somebody. Even if the person they’re thinking of hurting is themselves. I heard it from Mom half a dozen times in the year after Dad died. Even heard it from Taylor once. We lost Dad in 2015, and ten months later, Molly was gone, too. It was one bitch of a year. But I never got a suicide vibe from my dad. He visualized hurting Cregg plenty of times but never himself.”
Aaron clearly believes what he’s saying. But who’d want to admit his Dad committed suicide? That’s an even worse kind of abandonment.
Which I guess brings us back to the question he asked me. “So, you think you have this whole spidey sense thing because of some job your father took before you were born? And that’s why you’re wondering about my parents?”
“Yes and yes. Listen, there are people everywhere with little glimmers of psychic ability. They never miss the bus, because they just know somehow which morning it’ll show up five minutes early. They instinctively swerve seconds before a collision that might otherwise have killed them. Or they sense something is wrong with somebody they love hundreds of miles away. It’s not common, but those people do exist. The thing is, I know of three, and that’s not counting you and me, who have something that goes well beyond a little glimmer. One is Taylor. The other two also had a parent who worked either at Meade or at Fort Bragg down in North Carolina, which was connected to Stargate, as well. So, yeah—when Porter showed up saying some teenage girl claimed she was in touch with Molly’s ghost, it did occur to me and Sam that there might be a connection.”
I shake my head. “If there is, I wouldn’t know. Someone left me in the food court at Laurel Mall. Security noticed an unattended toddler clutching a teddy bear in one hand and an empty Orange Julius cup in the other. Kelsey tried hypnosis, which has worked pretty well on me for . . . other things. All she got was fuzzy recollections about a beach and a woman with blonde hair. All I know about myself before that was on the note pinned to my dress: name, date of birth, and the very helpful information that I was possessed.”
Aaron is silent for a few seconds. “That’s . . . seriously messed up.”
I’ve related these details to maybe a dozen people over the years, usually leaving out the bit about being possessed. By the end, most people have the same look of pity on their faces that Aaron is wearing right now, and I do understand. I’d probably look the same way if someone told me that story.
But it still bugs me a little, because I’ve heard much worse.
Deo always wears long sleeves, even in the summer, because he’s got burn scars on his left arm from when he was a baby. They’re not from an accident. Anyone can see they’re cigarette burns. And someone gave him those scars before he could even walk. Before he could even tell anyone who hurt him.
That’s my own personal definition of seriously messed up.
But that’s Deo’s secret, and I don’t share it.
“Compared to some of the stories I’ve heard, I got off pretty light, Aaron. Claiming I was possessed was a little uncalled for, but they had good reason for believing it. And while they abandoned me, there’s no evidence I’d been mistreated or deprived. No scars. Not every kid gets off that easy.”
“Well, sure. I didn’t mean . . .” Aaron sighs, then waits a moment before starting over. “Listen, I’ve seen a few nightmare cases myself in the past few years. But not all scars on the outside, right?” He holds my gaze. “I only meant it can’t have been easy for you, being bounced around to different homes so many times. Without a family.”
Molly sends a wave of smugness and something else I can’t quite identify.
See. I told you he was a nice guy. I mean, really. Just look at him. Aaron would never hurt anyone.
I give Molly a firm shove backward.