Armstrong - Death Prophets

Death Prophets

Copyright 2017

by Steve Armstrong

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Printed in the United States of America

First Printing, 2017

ISBN-13: 978-1544159478

ISBN-10: 1544159471

Alreadynotyet Books
Cortlandt Manor, NY

F or the seventh night in a row, she saw him. He stood across the street, cell phone in hand. She hadnt noticed that before. Previously, she knew he had held onto something but couldnt tell what. But tonight she could see the details more clearly. There wasnt more light than before, but it was as if a thin mist had been lifted, enabling her to discern the definition of his face. The rigid jawline and compact cheekbones suggested a man of strength, of action. His suit and black tie matched his short, neatly combed hair. This time, she could even make out his green eyes.

The man watched something in the shadow regions of her peripheral vision. He spoke into his phone, but the words were muffled. A certain tension animated his movements; this man was on edge about something. His other hand fell down to his right hip and remained there. This was where her vision had ended the previous six nights. Once the mans hands dropped below his waist, the scene faded to black. But tonight, the moment played forward.

He continued onward, toward the area where her vision went dark. She felt her own pulse quicken. Something about the scene told her she should be anxious, too. Suddenly, the man turned back toward the way he came. A light illuminated him, but she couldnt tell if it was a car, a train, a spotlight, or the very light that served as a boundary between life and death. But she knew one thing deep in her soul without any further explanation: she was seeing the moment of his death.

Grace Murphy gasped as she shot up straight in her bed. Once again, the vision of the man across the street had vanished, leaving her to the typical scene of her cluttered bedroom. She brushed her fine, red hair away from her face as she reached toward the little table next to her bed. Grace turned the switch to the lamp on the table, flooding the room with the usually reassuring light. But her mood remained vexed; though the man across the street had once again been exposed as a dream, it felt too real to simply dismiss because her bedroom was now a little brighter.

Grace retrieved a sketch pad from the nightstand and the thick pencil that lay next to it. She flipped through its pagesmost of them filled with landscapes or eyeballsuntil she reached the drawing of the man across the street. Before resuming her work, Grace stacked three pillows on top of each other to support her back and then settled in to add the new details to her sketch. She fixed his jawline by making it straighter and raised his cheekbones. Then she darkened in around his eyes. She placed the phone in his hands, fine-tuning everything until it matched her memories. When she was finished, Grace held the tablet away from her to get a better view of her work. She was satisfied; Grace had brought her dream to life.

I dont know who you are or what you want from me, but I need you to stop visiting me like this, she said to the sketch, which was as unaware of her presence as the man across the street in her dream seemed to be. Her mouth stretched open wide in a yawn. I need to sleep, but its hard when Im afraid youre going to show up again.

Grace dropped the sketchpad onto the table next to her and scooted down the bed so she could lay down. She switched the lamp off, perpetuating the illusion that she could simply go to sleep after the dream. But the dreams had taught her otherwise. In truth, perhaps the struggles with sleep predated the dreams, which were powerful enough that even though they had only arrived a week ago, she couldnt remember a time before their arrival.

Grace closed her eyes, thinking, They have to mean something, dont they?

J ohn Harrison woke up, scrolling his eyes from the harsh fluorescent lighting overhead to the machines on his left and right that beeped and sighed as they read his vitals. Then he located the young woman with the dirty blonde hair, sitting in the chair next to his bed, perusing her phone. She made every other part of the scene redeemable. When Julia heard him stirring, she put down her phone.

Hey. Julia smiled as she leaned toward him and kissed him on the forehead. How are you feeling?

I feel fine, John replied, ignoring the lingering soreness in his abdomen. A week in the hospital had reduced the sensation from the gunshot wound he had suffered from a sharp pain to a dull ache. Getting out of bed and walking down the hallway, however, remained a challenge.

So the doctors say youre on track to go home today. Thats good news, right? Julia asked. For the first time that morning, John noticed the streaks on her face that looked suspiciously like tear stains.

Yeah, I thought it was. Are you okay?

Julia got up and stood next to his bed, placing her hand on his. I was thinkingmaybe I should come stay with you so you dont have to be alone.

Are you sure thats a good idea? As practicing Christians, John and Julia had drawn strict boundaries when it came to physical intimacy. Despite a few close calls, the couple had toed the line and had avoided even staying overnight at the others house.

She shrugged. Its not like its going to change anything between us. I just dont want you to be by yourself.

If you feel so strongly about it, I can stay with my parents for a little while, he said after considering her suggestion for a moment.

No, Julia said emphatically, her face tensing up. But it softened again almost immediately. If its okay, I really want to be the one to take care of you.

John paused before he replied, analyzing Julias features as he contemplated why she felt so strongly about being his caregiver. Is something else the matter, Julia?

His fiance sighed and looked out the window, which overlooked the tree lined parking lot of the hospital. When John had entered the hospital, the leaves had just begun to turn. Julias view should have overlooked an array of reds, golds, and oranges. However, a week of rain and windthe last vestiges of a late-season tropical stormhad stripped many of the trees bare.

Its just that while youre in the hospital, you seem a little safer. Now, youre going to go back out there, and who knows whats going to happen.

He squinted at her, partially because of the fluorescent glare in his face, but also to figure out what was disturbing her so much. What, exactly, are you afraid of? Infection?

No. She shook her head as if she had already dismissed this very real risk as a possibility. Then she sighed. Its because once youre out of here, youre going to pick up your cases, again. Youre going to start investigating Dans death. And youre probably going to have to finish off your report on what happened with Mike Sullivan, and that guy Josh Williams is still out there

John frowned. Im going to have be a cop again, sometime.

She bowed her head. I know. And I want you to. Im just afraid Julias voice trailed off, her emotion escalating as she turned completely away from him.

Hey. John tugged lightly on her wrist. I know the last few months have been kind of crazy with me being involved in two different shootings, but thats really unusual. Its an outlier. Besides, I worked in New York City for awhileI know how to handle myself.

Julia crinkled her mouth, preventing any more emotions from seeping out. I know that, its just that I get so scared. I have this awful feeling like something terrible is going to happen. She swallowed hard. Its like death keeps getting closer to us; first it was Dan, then you got shot; I just feel like next time, its going to Julia failed to finish her thought again.