Inevitable

Inevitable

Tamara Hart Heiner

Kindle edition

copyright 2013 Tamara Hart Heiner

cover art by Steve Novak

Also by Tamara Hart Heiner:

Perilous (WiDo Publishing 2010)

Altercation (WiDo Publishing 2012)

Kindle Edition, License Notes:

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Inevitable

Dedication

To my sweet children, who know that Mama writes books but don’t understand what that means, other than when she’s at the computer, it’s quiet time.

You little people are the light in my world.

And to my husband, without whom none of this would be possible. Thank you for everything.

CHAPTER ONE

T
he smell always hit me first.

I noticed it right when I opened the office door, and I paused. It was a lemony smell, like walking through a citrus grove. Growing up in New Jersey, I didn't know much about citrus groves, but I was sure that's what it would smell like. Every time I smelled the lemons, I knew death was in the air.

Mr. Harris looked up and gave me a smile over his dark brown glasses. I made eye-contact with his forehead, a survival technique I mastered years ago. The aroma rolled off him in waves, overpowering the scent of his black leather chair.

“Ms.—” he glanced down at my resume on the mahogany desk. “Lockwood. Please come in.”

I swallowed and stepped inside, the wooden door behind me closing with a swish.
Don’t look into his eyes.
My palms felt sweaty, and I was glad I wore a black blazer over my white button-up shirt.

Clutching my spiral notebook to my chest, I sat in the chair across from him. My eyes dropped to my polished black heels. I spent a lot of my time studying shoes. Looking at the ground was safer than looking at faces.

“Thank you for showing interest in our internship position, Ms. Lockwood.” Mr. Harris’s voice was kind, and I knew he thought I was nervous. Little did he know that if I met his eyes, I would See his death. Lucky me. “I notice from your resume that you write the sports column at your high school. You go to Lacey Township High?”

I gave a nod. “That’s right.” How could I escape this? There was no point in continuing. My interest in the internship position at Lacey Patch, the online news column for Lacey Township, had vanished. I examined his desk, determined to avoid eye contact. My gaze landed on a picture of Stephen, wearing his navy blue and white lacrosse jersey.

My stomach plummeted even further. Harris. Great. Not only was a vision of this man’s death taunting me just out of eye contact, but he was the father of my ex.

He must’ve noticed my stare, because his fingers closed around the photograph. “You covered the lacrosse team extensively in your column. You even mentioned my son a few times. Do you know Ste
phen?”

Did I know Stephen? I was embarrassed he had to ask. I happened to know Mr. Harris had a small affinity to his Scotch, and that was probably why he didn’t remember the night Stephen had brought me over after Jessica’s pool party.

Not that I remembered much from that night, either. It was the same party where Stephen  hooked up with Jessica—the little hoochie—and still had the gall to take me to his house afterwards. To Mr. Harris’s credit, we’d only met briefly, saying hello as Stephen pulled me up the stairs to his room.

“Ms. Lockwood?”

Oh, right. He wanted to know if I knew his son. “Sure, sure.” I looked over his shoulder, out the window. Clouds floated lazily by, and the branches of an oak tree with pink blossoms waved at me. “Everyone knows Stephen.”

“I’ve looked over your writing samples, and they are very precise. Yet you manage to insert your voice nicely. Would you be comfortable venturing outside of sports?”

I jerked my head up. “Oh, no. I couldn’t.”
Stop talking. Stop talking. Drop your eyes.

Too late.

The vision started as soon as our eyes met. I melted into his soul, becoming, for a brief moment, Ben Harris.

Images flashed through my head of Mr. Harris with his wife, photographing Stephen in front of the mantle with his prom date. Even locked in the vision, I couldn’t help feeling a stab of jealousy at the sight of the beautiful blond.

Wait. That wasn’t Jessica.

The vision continued, sucking me back into Ben’s mind. An ambulance, a white hospital room. A funeral. My heart clenched with the pain of the death of Ben’s wife, Abigail Harris. Abigail was dead, and Stephen blamed his father, turning into a moody, rebellious teenage boy. I couldn't bear the guilt, the anger, the sorrow that suffocated me.

Those weren’t my emotions.
Hold on to yourself, Jayne.

I struggled to maintain my own identity while Mr. Harris climbed onto the roof of the house and gave into his despair. He hit the pastel bricks head first, with a crack that threw me out of the vision.

The End.

I gasped and jumped to my feet. It took a moment for the pain in my head to dissipate. Mr. Harris frowned behind his desk. He was still alive. It hadn’t happened yet. And the air was free of the oppressive lemon smell.

Maybe two seconds had passed. Time doesn’t really move for them when I’m in a vision. I shook my head, trying to clear it away. My heart still pounded as if I stood on the roof, looking three stories down.

“Mr. Harris—” I began. I never knew how to tell them about their impending death. Especially since they never believed me. I swallowed hard. “You should—you shouldn’t—”

My phone rattled next to me and I pulled it from my bag, grateful for the distraction, not caring how unprofessional it was.

It’s bad enough that I can See their deaths. Experiencing them is even worse. My throat ached with unshed tears, as if it were my dying wife and my angry son.

“Are you all right?” Mr. Harris asked. “Do you need something to drink?”

The tears welled up, threatening to overflow. “Excuse me. I have to take this.” I tried to keep my voice steady and rushed from his office, dragging my binder and purse with me.

I needed to warn him. But how? No way was I walking back in there. He’d call security for sure. Or was I just making excuses?
I’ll send him a letter
, I consoled myself.
I’ll remind him what he has to live for.

Joshua’s face flashed in my mind, a vivid reminder of the first time I’d tried to change a death and failed. The first of many, many times.

I stopped in the hallway and closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe. I remembered his little red bike with the yellow training wheels, the one he always rode around the neighborhood. He couldn't have been more than six years old. I was only twelve when I met him, and new to the lemon smell.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed off the wall and lifted my eyes. Light streamed through a tall window at the end of the hallway nearest me. Curiosity overran my desire to get away from Mr. Harris’s office. Was she there?

I stepped up to the window and peered outside.
She might not be here
, I reasoned.
Maybe she’s on the other side of the building, where I can’t see her.

There she was. I spotted the tall, wiry blond, her billowy white dress blowing in the breeze. She stood regal and out of place on the busy New Jersey sidewalk. People moved next to her as if she didn’t exist, oblivious to this odd, beautiful woman rooted to the concrete.