Previously...
It turned out Pendragon had the dream as well. Naturally as the guy's father, he would have. It was weird to me that after a year of working together we would discover our relation at the same time.
I suspected he knew something, did something, or said something to put this image into my head. I even insisted he only took me on for work because of my relation to his son.
He ruthlessly denied the accusation. 'YOU walked into MY shop!' Pendragon roared in response, 'Your family is presumably connected to his mother.'
It was the best argument he had made, and the only one which calmed my paranoia. Still, our parting after that night's revelation was tense. All I knew was, come morning, he expected me to return in spite of my 'inability to deal with paradigm'. It was just a bit much all at once.
That night I went home to tell Cayce about the conversatio, but leaving the subway train as my train reached Dekalb I decided to hold back and exit last. I meandered on the platform, as if looking for something in my bag, until the crowd left the station.
With a bit of morbid curiosity, I tip toed around the platform to see if there was anything left behind. Any blood, or maybe even a chalk outline like you see in movies. I am not sure what I expected to find, but I wanted to connect this spot with the vision I had.
But it was just a subway platform. No sign that last night there was someone my age struggling to cast one last spell. 'One last spell...' I said allowed. The statement felt so normal to me. I struggled with believing that I had living relatives, but the idea that I had a vision of his murder was making perfect sense. I wish I could explain, but when information is correct, it has a way of feeling so.
I closed my eyes and stood on the now empty platform. I pictured the way my hands glittered in the dream. No, I remembered the way my hands glittered in the dream. It felt a certain way, too. When I explained it to Aine back in The Shop. I said it was 'as if your hand had those pins & needles from falling asleep, and then you put a vibrating glove on.'
And then it occurred once again. It was brief but I know it was real because my hand flinched like it had touched a hot stove. I looked down fast as I could, but all I saw was my hand. Normal.
Feeling a wave of intensity wash over me, my fists clenched and I shoved them into my pockets. The turnstiles at the end of the platform were beeping with new passengers, so I left the station for home before how I felt became a problem for these others.
The whole walk home my heartbeat throbbed against my neck, wrist, even in my teeth. I was ready to burst, my flesh the only thing keeping me contained. Combustible, but alive. For the first time in my life I felt like I had just done something.
Cayce was not impressed. She circled me as I told the story to her but I suspect it was also because I was holding her leash and wasn't opening the door for her. I walked her, fried a little slice ham on the stove, squeezed some lemons into sugar water. I felt myself begin to calm until, eventually, I considered sleep a possibility.
Wherein I did not consider I'd have another vision. That a fifth person I never knew would be knifed down, and that I would be forced to watch it.
But I did.
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