That night a storm blew threw Harrow Hall, the wind thrashing so hard that branches came falling down, lightning striking anything that drew its attention, and sheets of rain hitting every exposed inch of the town. I heard the patter of my dad's feet as he went around to unplug the electronics, mostly his brand new flat-screen television which he considered his second child, while checking that all of the windows were closed. A crash of thunder snapped through the sky, shaking the foundation of the house and prying me from what little sleep I was able to cling to. I counted the seconds in my head to see how far away the thunder was, but I barely was able to count to three Mississippi's before the thunder cracked once more, this time with such ferocity that the lightning that followed hit a tree somewhere outside of our house and sent a large bang echoing throughout the town. I jumped from my bed, scanning the clock beside me to see that it was only four-thirty in the morning, immediately darting to my window which faced the street in front of the house. With only the mellow light of the street lamps I could see that part of the tree in our yard had been cracked right down the middle, half of it laying in charred pieces on the lawn, while the other half shook unsteadily from side-to-side as the wind blew it around.
I heard the mumbles of my dad downstairs, knowing fully well that he wouldn't be pleased with what happened to the tree. Mostly because it was going to be a pain to cut down the rest of the tree before the county made it their mission to harass him. It hadn't been the first time that he had been harassed by the county for something on our property. We had half an acre of land that now backed onto the brand new golf course, which meant that dad had to go through a lengthy process of negotiations on which of the trees had to be cut down and the height of his fence. Apparently they found some dusty by-law that forced him to spend the entire last summer pulling down the fence that had been put up years before we had owned the house, which meant he spent all of his evenings after work taking it down. It didn't help that the fence poles had been secured with cement underneath, which made the process even more frustrating for him.
Unable to sleep any further, I joined him downstairs in the living-room while he stared out at the tree. I could see how tense his shoulders were and could hear the click of his tongue every time another branch came crashing down.
"Lucky the damn thing didn't take out the power-line," Dad mumbled, washing a calloused hand over his face. "Frank Moon would never let me hear the end of it. By god, he'd probably blame the whole storm on me."
I could already hear the ensuing argument between my dad and Frank Moon, our crusty neighbour who, for whatever reason, had always held an unknown grudge against dad. If Frank could find something to gripe about, he wouldn't hesitate to come knocking on our door to blame everything in the last few months on him. The last issue he had with dad was when a golf ball came streaming through the back shed's window and caused glass to scatter throughout Frank's lawn, which was clearly my dad's fault for not boarding up the window before it could even happen. Frank said that the glass made it nearly impossible for him to care for his Rhododendron and Hydrangea plants, that he kept getting cut up by the tiniest pieces imaginable. Dad and I tried to go through his gardens and pick out the majority of the pieces, but somehow Frank would end up kneeling on a piece of glass or having glass slip into the palm of his hand and that meant, yet again, we were at fault. Dad joked that maybe Frank was purposefully cutting himself so that he had something to argue with him about, which wouldn't surprise me if it happened to be true.
Frank clearly had nothing better to do; he was an elderly man who had never married and worked every single day of his life so that he could retire on time. He was the type of man that would rather sit on his money than help anyone, often screaming at any Girl Scouts who had 'the gall' to come knocking at his door asking for money for, what he had assumed, was just another pyramid scheme. Frank had always been a suspicious man and never trusted anything he heard on the news, he believed that the president was just a face covering up the fact that a secret organisation was pulling all of the strings like some maniacal puppet master. Dad took a bit too much joy out of getting into lengthy discussions with Frank from the other side of the fence that separated our yards, often making it his mission to purposefully disagree with everything Frank said. If Frank believed in aliens, then dad was adamantly a sceptic. When Frank believed that the county had been hoarding our tax dollars in order to take luxurious vacations, dad would argue that the county were some of the hardest working people he had ever seen, and for that reason dad believed they deserved every vacation that they took. I tried to tell dad to stop messing with Frank's head, but I also found it slightly comical that dad wanted so badly to anger our neighbour. The two of them were like children in a schoolyard, trying to find any way to annoy each other.
We talked for a bit longer about the tree before I felt my eyes getting heavy again, feeling as if the worst of the storm had already passed over us. It wasn't common to have such a violent storm in March, but it wasn't entirely unheard of. For some reason I felt a strange connection to the storm, getting flashes of the premonition that I had of Johnathan. I could feel the fear pulling me into his head again, all of the panic rising and falling in my stomach like everything sharp inhale and exhale as he tried to fight off the murderer. I hated feeling as trapped as he did, wishing that I could rid the premonition from my mind entirely. It would be easier to not know at all instead of feel the guilt of knowing that soon this man would be killed, and I didn't know how to stop it. I wanted to stop it, but I reminisced about the past again and how I knew fully well there was nothing I could do, leaving me feeling helpless.
I sleeplessly tossed and turned for another few hours before the phone on my nightstand began to chime, hesitating to reach over for it. To my surprise, it was Leeson's Grocery asking if I could come help out at the store because the storm had weakened a soft spot in the roof and ceiling, causing part of the ceiling to collapse and subsequently making a huge mess. They needed more people to come in to help with the clean up while they brought in some people to fix the roof and ceiling. I accepted the invitation to come help, pulling myself out of bed and readying myself in a few minutes. Dad was still fast asleep, but I knew fully well that his alarm would be going off within the next half hour. He worked over at the auto-shop doing engine repairs, sometimes the days were long for him if the equipment wasn't working the way that he wanted it to.
I worked alongside some of my coworkers, none of which I knew well enough because they were mostly all still in their teens, which meant I had nothing in common with them. We had to clean the plaster from the floors and then try to mop up as much of the rain water as we possibly could, after that we had to try to salvage what was left of the products on the shelves that were directly beneath the hole in the ceiling. Unfortunately, it turned out to be mostly the bread aisle that got hit by the debris, which meant there wasn't much to save. I spent a large amount of the morning taking inventory of what was lost, until finally Fletcher Daniels and a few of his employees from the construction business came in to take a look at the damage. I heard them talking in the aisle next to mine, barely listening in on the conversation while penning out as much of the inventory as I could.
"Ah, it may take a few days but it should be done by no later than Tuesday afternoon," Fletcher said, taking a few steps down from the ladder he had brought with him.
"How bad is it?" Ernie Leeson asked, clearly on edge about how much of a dent would be put in his wallet.
"Well, I've got my nephew working for me for awhile as a favour, so I'll put him on the job to cut down the cost of labour. As for supplies, well, that's going to cost a pretty penny," Fletcher replied. I could practically hear the lump growing in Ernie's throat.
"How soon can you start?"
I almost dismissed the entire conversation until I realized that Fletcher had just said his nephew – who just so happened to be Johnathan Shop – would be working for him. I didn't know how I was going to do it, but somehow I had to find a way to get closer to Johnathan, maybe there was some way I could stop his murder. But how? And where was I supposed to even start? I couldn't tell him that I had had a premonition about him getting killed, because that would certainly scare him off, so there had to be some way I could extract enough information to figure out why someone would want to kill him in the first place.
Curious, I snuck around the aisle and peered down to see Fletcher wave someone over, and soon enough Johnathan came into view. He didn't look enthused to be at the grocery store, and looked even more uncomfortable as he toted a toolbox in one of his hands. I stepped back so that I wasn't fully exposed, peering around the side of the shelving unit to watch as he discussed how he was going to rebuild the ceiling. I heard chuckling nearby, pulling myself from the scene only to find two of my coworkers standing a few feet away, looking puzzled.
"That's a little creepy, Ellion," Natalia said, a younger coworker who was soon going to be graduating from high school. "If you think he's cute then you should just ask him out, or something."
I hated the way the teenagers spoke to me, mostly because they acted as if I was so ancient in comparison to them, that I couldn't possibly relate to them despite the fact that we had only about five or six years in age difference. Natalia wasn't the worst of my coworkers, she just had days when I found her mildly annoying. But her friend Rechyl, who was staring at me with the fake friendliest smile she could manage, took the cake. It wasn't that I disliked my coworkers, they were probably really nice people in their own ways, but I didn't like the way they treated everyone around them. Most of them had an unearned sense of entitlement that clouded the way they acted, often going above and beyond to appear as though they are nice, only to turn around and say the most awful things behind everyone's backs. I had overheard Rechyl talking to another coworker, Brennan, about Natalia one day and saying how she thought Natalia was going off the deep end and that she didn't actually like her. After that she went running back to Natalia and started spouting about how much she loved her. Maybe I am old in comparison to them, but I don't understand how that behaviour is in the slightest bit productive. I had heard the way they talked about me, and it was no secret that they, too, thought I was weird. I tried not to concern myself with the names they called me behind my back or the awful rumours they tried to spread about me, I knew who I was and that was all that mattered to me.
I thought of a plethora of things to say in return, mostly denying the fact that I was staring at him. After a few seconds of contemplation, I realized I owed them no explanation. "You guys are supposed to be helping the produce shipment that just came in," I said, checking my wristwatch.
Rechyl pressed her lips together, but continued to smile, "We were already going there."
They didn't say another word, instead they took off and whispered to each other before making their way into the shipment room. I saw Natalia look over her shoulder once more at me, before bursting out into a chorus of laughter with Rechyl. I would be lying if I said it didn't hurt to know they were saying things about me that were entirely untrue and rude, but I knew I had to be better than to let them bring me down. Sometimes I find that I listen too closely to the negative things people say about me rather than remembering who I truly am and what I'm worth. It's easy to get stuck in our own insecurities, and it doesn't help when other people prey on them. I tried to shake off the cloud of negativity that hung around me, turning back to look down the aisle. As soon as I did, I bumped into the shelving unit, causing a few of the items to fall down off the shelf. I cursed under my breath, leaning down to pick them up.
"I won't tell anyone, don't worry," A deep voice called out, soon followed by a chuckle. I looked up to see Johnathan looking in my direction as he bent down in front of his toolbox. "As long as you don't tell anyone when I get a case of the butterfingers."
I felt a shaky smile pull against my mouth, my cheeks flushing slightly as I placed the items back on the shelf, "Deal."
He stayed quiet for a moment while he searched through the toolbox, pulling a few things out before stepping up the ladder. "I know it's unprofessional, but would you mind giving me a hand?"
"Sure, what do you need?" I said, placing my clipboard between my arm and my side as I walked down the aisle towards him. I wasn't sure where Fletcher and Ernie went, but I assumed they would be back relatively soon.
"See that two-by-four over there?" He pointed a bit further down the aisle, "Would you mind bringing that over while I find the studs?"
I did as he asked, making my way back to the ladder as he brought out a device that began beeping as he placed it up against one of the boards in the hole. I noticed a small tattoo on the underside of his wrist, it looked like a hummingbird.
"You look familiar," Johnathan said, reaching down for the board that I held in my hands. "We've met before, haven't we?"
"No, I don't think so. I'm Ellion," I said, about to raise my hand for him to shake only to realize that his hands were already full.
"Huh, that's a cool name. I'm John," He replied, balancing the board on the top part of the ladder while he fiddled with the ceiling a bit more. He paused, looking back down to me. "Wait, I know where I've seen you --- last night at Ice Queen."
"Oh, you're right. Sorry, my minds in a bit of a mess with everything going on."
"No worries, this is pretty inconvenient. I heard they had to call a whole bunch of you guys in to work today, hopefully it wasn't your day off."
"Luckily it wasn't, I don't typically work in the store, though. I'm just a driver."
"A driver, hey? How's that?"
I wasn't sure why he was taking such an interest in me, but for some reason I enjoyed it. For a moment I forgot entirely that I had seen his death, until he looked down to me again and I stared into the deep brown of his eyes, seeing a flash of the premonition and the fear that crippled him. I had to quickly pull myself away, trying to shut out the images that refused to leave my thoughts.
"You okay?" He asked, taking a step down cautiously from the ladder. "You look like you're going to pass out."
I placed a hand on my head, feeling the ache of his future pain persisting. "Yeah, I think I've just been standing too long. Sorry, I should ---"
"---Let me get you a bottle of water or something, you don't look so hot," He said, immediately hopping off of the ladder and placing his hand on my shoulder. The second that his skin met mine, I felt a surge of energy pass through him and into me. Suddenly I was transported again, but this time the setting was different. I saw him trying to close his car door from the inside while someone on the other side desperately tried to open it, until they managed to snake their foot inside and pull it open wide. He slipped further into his seat, trying to crawl over the console as someone launched themselves at him, immediately dragging him out of the car. He managed to push them off of him, but not before the person was able to grab something from his belt. He paused, terrified as his eyes darted down at the hand which was now holding his knife, quickly checking the small holster that was attached to his belt. He was so afraid, but somehow he was still trying to remain positive. I could feel his urge to fight, yet he knew fully well that now wasn't the time. Instead, he scattered in the opposite direction as the figure chased after him. He ran towards the lake, unsure of what to do. With one misstep, he tripped over a jagged rock and found himself tumbling down the shore and into the water of Lake Newberry. From there, it was the same as I had seen before, except I still couldn't make out any distinguishing characteristics of his attacker.
My vision came flooding back, only to be met by Johnathan's face again. He was gently shaking my shoulder while snapping his fingers in front of my face, clearly worried.
"Hey, you in there?" He said, nervously looking behind him to see if anyone was around. "Are you having a seizure --- am I supposed to put something in your mouth so that you don't bite off your tongue?"
I blinked a few times, stepping away from him as quickly as I could to keep distance between us. Nothing like that had ever happened before, I had never had another premonition about someone. Usually I only saw the moment of their death and nothing before or after, so why was it that I saw John being attacked?
He bridged the distance between us again while I tried to get any words out of my mouth, trying to lean in to touch me again but I managed to snake away from him. I threw my hands up in the air, shaking my head. "I'm fine, please don't touch me."
I could tell he looked embarrassed, pressing his lips together as he threw his hands up in defense. "Sorry, I thought you were going to fall over or something."
Immediately I cringed, unable to stop shaking my head as I tried to work through the images that continued to plague my mind. "No, no, it's not you. I'm just --- I'm not feeling well. I must be coming down with something, I don't want to get you sick."
Before he could say anything else, I quickly took a few more steps backwards, trying not to look at him directly in the eyes in fear that somehow he could see what I had just seen. "I-I've gotta go," I said, and quickly made my way out of the aisle.
I took off through the store, making my way outside to get some fresh air. I went around to the back of the building, finding a secluded area to calm myself. My hands were shaking so much that I had to put them in my pockets, leaning up against the slightly damp brick wall behind me. I was, yet again, stained with the image of his face as the knife plunged into his throat, the sound of him choking on his own blood. I tried everything to stop thinking of it, doing anything to comfort myself as I shook back and forth. Johnathan was going to be murdered and I was the only one who knew about it. How could I live with this guilt?
I heard footsteps approaching, quickly snapping my head over in the direction of the noise only to be met by John. He looked very concerned, holding a bottle of water in his hands. He quickly put his hands up again to show that he wasn't a threat, even though I knew fully well that he wasn't. Approaching slowly, he extended the water bottle towards me.
"I've had anxiety attacks before, too," He said calmly. "You don't need to be embarrassed."
I took the water bottle from him, trying to open the lid but finding my hands shaking too much. He gently leaned in and took the water bottle from me, snapping open the lid before handing it back to me. I took a large swig before sliding down against the wall, placing the bottle beside me. He knelt down in front of me, clasping his hands together between his thighs.
"I'm really sorry if I did something to upset you," He said.
I shook my head adamantly, "You didn't do anything wrong."
"Are you sure? You just --- I don't know, it looked like I said something that triggered that reaction."
I tried to force a smile. "Not at all, you know how anxiety is."
I hated that I had to pretend it was an anxiety attack, but it wasn't far from the truth. My anxiety was induced later on, but that wasn't what mattered. As much as I wanted to tell him what had really happened, I knew that I couldn't do such a thing. He would never understand.
Nervously, he looked around before meeting my gaze again. "Is there anything else I can get for you? Oddly I still feel partially responsible."
"I'm fine, I swear, and you aren't," I paused for a second, staring into his eyes again but this time not seeing the flashes of his death. "You really didn't need to come looking for me."
"Beg to differ," He chuckled. "Last thing I would want is for you to run out into traffic accidentally because you're in shock or something."
"I promise I'm not running into traffic anytime soon."
His smile was so radiant that it calmed my nerves momentarily. He popped his lips quickly before looking around once more. "Well, if you need anyone to talk to at any time, I'll be around for awhile."
"Thanks," I replied. "I'm just in my head too much."
"Yeah, I get that way, too."
He looked at me for another few seconds before smiling politely and standing up straight, making his way back around the building until he disappeared from view. As soon as I knew he was far enough away, I quickly collapsed into my hands and felt myself cry again. I hated crying, I really did. Frankly, I did far too much of it and way too often. But being confronted with him and knowing that his death would be as painful as it was made me sick to my stomach. I couldn't let him die that way, and I didn't care what it took to stop it from happening.