The Heart of October (II)

"So we meet again."

Without turning, I know who possesses that gravelly voice. My hands quake as long-forgotten anger reawakens. He is lucky I only have my wallet and my keys. Otherwise, he'd be joining the scores of others that are here, six feet under and just as cold.

"Why are you here, Jared?"

"Probably for the same reason you are, my lady."

"There's no way you could have known this man! I knew him!"

I reluctantly stand up and face the man that ruined my career, framing me for fabricating stories. His eyes match the shaded branches of the nearby trees. Those coal black orbs that are now my inspiration look at me in that familiar, chilling manner.

"Tell me, Jared," I hiss. "How did you know this man?"

"He was my brother's master."

"Master?"

"Are you that naive, Layla?" he asked, a hint of laughter lingering in his words. "He dominated my brother. Do I need to put it in smaller words?"

"No, you don't. I know perfectly well what you mean."

"Are you sure? Then how did you know this man?"

"I interviewed him for an article I wrote a few years ago."

"What was that article about?"

"Superstitions. He believed October 13 was a lucky day."

"Why's that?"

"He was born on that day, got into his desired profession on that day, got married on that day, and apparently even lost his virginity on that day."

"Then isn't it a coincidence that he died on October 13?"

"I'd say so, Jared, but they found his body a day later."

"On my fortieth birthday. Layla...you said you watched him die."

"Yes. I saw him get shot, but it was in a dream. I saw the exit wound, red like the leaves on the trees surrounding us. I didn't think it was real. I'm not sure why I dreamt that."

For a moment, Jared and I are frozen in silence and chilled by the unforgiving Massachusetts atmosphere. I travelled hundreds of miles to pay my last respect to a man who helped revive my career only to face the man who nearly destroyed it. It's hard for me to stand here and explain exactly how much the deceased gentleman had helped me to the man who invents potent lies to get whatever he wants. Why the hell didn't I just stay in Minnesota where I had met my career savior? What compelled me to come here?

"Layla, there's something you don't know about that man," Jared mumbles.

I look at him, my eyebrow cocked. "What would that be?"

"He wanted to die."

Tears spring forth as Jared's words hit my ears. I hold them back and force a steely glare on him. I'm almost certain of what he wants to do. There's no way I'm going to let it happen.

"Did he tell your brother to pull the trigger?" I challenge.

"No."

"Then who did it?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't believe you. That man wouldn't have wanted to commit suicide. He-"

"-may have been a devout Catholic, but he sure played that charade for all it was worth," Jared interjects. "He was, shall we say, different. He was a superhuman, gifted with telepathic abilities."

"Now you're really bullshitting me."

"Not exactly, Layla. I've come to learn something in my journalism-related pursuits."

"What is that?"

"Telepathy is genetic. It is one of the few powers that we know we can possess."

"I always felt that humans had a lot of power," I muse.

"Now, Layla, you're confusing power with ability."

"How so?"

"We're both aware that humans are able to do more things and are more powerfully built. However, very few humans have any true power."

"What is power?"

"Power is predominantly mental. Telepathy, predicting the future, and psychokinesis are all regarded as true powers."

"So the man was powerful?"

"Yes. I wasn't allowed to cover the story of his death because the police interviewed my brother right away, but I was able to view his DNA records. He had the telepathy gene."

"Well...that's interesting, I suppose. I'm still not convinced, though."

"Maybe this will do the trick."

With that, he hands me a manila envelope. On the front, I see 'Layla' scrawled in bright red ink. I look at Jared with great trepadation but still open the envelope. Several small leaves spill out of the envelope revealing a small piece of crisp white paper. I unfold the paper to find a letter from Joseph. I read it, all the while shaking my head in disbelief. There's no way I could have psychic powers!

"Where did you find this?" I ask.

"Troy gave it to me," Jared replies.

"Troy is your brother?"

"Mm-hmm. He figured I'd know where to find you since he only knew you were a journalist. He didn't really know about your career."

"Did you know anything about this letter?"

"I did read it before giving it to you. I was curious as to why someone would want to leave you something in death's wake. I also learned about his power from Troy. Troy had been desiring being submissive for years, and he simply begged telepathically."

"How did Troy know?"

"Someone slipped some information to Troy about Joseph swinging both ways."

"Okay, then."

"I was surprised to hear my brother had similar inclinations as well, Layla. I met this man, though, and I can tell you the man is right about power. I engaged in silent communication with him, and after that, I couldn't stay a skeptic. Trust me on this, Layla. Trust me."

I turn away from Jared and stare at the letter. Ten years of anger and distrust will not be washed away by this or any other groundbreaking revelation. Who's to say Jared didn't just make this up?

Without warning, I collapse and land on my knees. I lean against the tombstone and attempt to quell the overwhelming dizziness. It is eerily quiet, but suddenly I hear a soft whisper. The voice of the whisper is unmistakeable.

Trust him, Layla, or you will be like me.

Joseph? Yes, it is.

I have this power? There's no way.

For a moment, I kneel at the tombstone trying to communicate with him. Nothing happens until I move my hand. Then, I hear his voice again.

You have it. Use it wisely.

With that, I feel blood returning to my brain, but I still find myself unable to move. My normally toned and agile body trembles as I make my return to the real world, and I find it hard to breathe.

"Now do you believe me?" I hear Jared ask.

Unable to speak, I simply nod. I'm still in a mental daze, trying to keep myself together. I hear Jared's feet as the grass crunches beneath them. His hand rests heavily on my shoulder, but when I move my hand to push it away, I find myself holding it.

"Go ahead and cry, Layla."

With that, I face Jared and hesitantly lean against him. Tears race down my cheeks, and I'm once again dizzy. As I cry against Jared's shoulder, I realize I have no choice but to trust him. He understands how power works, and he has experienced what this kind of power can do.

"Why me, Jared? Why do I get this power?"

"You're smart and lucky. Now the question is what are you going to do?"

"I'm going back to Minnesota and never returning here. I've paid my respects."

With that, I force myself to stand up and leave, but Jared follows.

"Me, too."

"What?"

"I'm going with you, Layla."

"Why?"

"You need me."

"What makes you think that? I'm in my late thirties, Jared. I'm not a child. I can handle this on my own."

With that, I run past the blood red trees and out of the cemetery, the crisp air of October pushing me along. When I return to my car, I think about Jared's words. Perhaps I do need some support, and maybe I can compromise with him. I close my eyes for a moment, and I see Jared playing with a child. When I open my eyes, I realize I have no choice.

I must go back to get Jared.



This is a pared down version of "The Heart of October"  [18+] that I'm hoping to submit to an offline short short fiction contest.