Zero Worship: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective #6

Chapter 9 - Oculus Sinister

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The back of the house lets much more light in—and out—than the front. Rows of windows flank a sliding glass door. Muted lights bleed through the shades, not offering Zandra much of a look inside. The sliding glass door, however, is a sparkling gold mine.

The sliding door is open, with the bug screen closed, leading to a concrete slab. Patio furniture sits on the slab. It's a typical Midwest setup, right down to the fold-out lounger, about 25 yards away.

And who's that someone sitting in the lounger?

That someone sits with the back of the lounger to Zandra. The glow from the sliding glass door forms a bubble of light around the lounger.

The tree trunks aren't as wide in this part of the woods, so Zandra plops down in place to keep her profile low against the foliage. The lounger covers most of the person sitting, but an occasional elbow or hand will slip into view.

That's a woman, and that's as much as I can tell from here. Is anyone else home?

Zandra focuses on the rest of the patio. A few tall chairs, a table with retractable umbrella, a charcoal grill, and a cooler round of the ensemble.

No one. She's alone. How about the rest of the backyard?

Zandra watches the yard. It's a 40-foot-wide strip of grass between the patio and the woods. Unlike the patio, it's soaked in night.

It's easier to see something in the dark if you don't look directly at it. The rods in the eye, which are better for seeing at night than the cones, are off to the side of the retina. So step one is to look for movement, which is also easier to spot in the night, and step two is to look just to the side of it.

Don't ask me how I know this. There's a lot in my head that I couldn't tell you how it got there. It's just there.

No. Wait. I remember now. I once gave a reading to an optometrist. He wanted to know whether he was a match with a patient he was quite fond of. Actually, obsessed would be a better way to describe it. I had a bad feeling from the start. I pulled up his star chart and her birthday—which he willingly handed over to me courtesy of her patient file—and told him he's actually meant to be a long-haul truck driver, not an optometrist, and therefore the match couldn't possibly have worked out given the origin of their introduction.

I took that creep for all he was worth to get him to that spot, too. Made sure to put a dent in his bank account before the big reveal about the mismatch. That creep even gave me the patient's home address. Can you believe that? I dropped an anonymous note off in her mailbox to warn her. You're welcome.

The optometrist wasn't around much longer after that. I have no idea if he took my advice to switch careers, or if he lost his license, or if he got hit with a restraining order, or if someone did the world a favor and hit him with a bus, but who cares. Fuck him.

Anyway, he's the one who told me about the rods and cones thing.

Despite the trivia, Zandra doesn't spot anyone else in the yard. She does, however, catch a glimpse of a white box sticking out from either side of the lounger from time to time. It's almost like whoever is sitting in the lounger has a pizza box on their lap.

Who puts a hot, greasy piece of cardboard on themselves when there are chairs and a table right there? And are there no plates in the house?

Zandra leans a little too far forward as she watches the lounger. Her seated position in the dirt starts to turn into a roll. She catches herself, but it comes at the cost of a few snapping twigs.