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I tried to come to terms with what I saw within the tarot cards, but redoing the reading only yielded the same troubling outcome. Staring at those three cards any longer would have driven me mad. The worst possible scenarios played in my mind, and the thought of returning Sam's soul only seemed to doom him.
Surprisingly, I managed to drift to sleep on the couch, mental exhaustion taking over. I was abruptly awakened by Bobby's noise coming down the stairs. The darkness outside indicated that night had fallen upon us.
"Balls," Bobby muttered, clearly concerned. I sat up from the couch as Bobby searched the rooms for Sam but couldn't find him. We both knew what that could mean, given Sam's current state of soullessness.
"He's not here, is he?" I added, exchanging a knowing look with Bobby.
"Can't you track him?" Bobby asked urgently, stepping forward.
"I'm not Google Maps," I retorted, not a fan of being treated like some supernatural locator. I got up from the couch, hoping that Sam hadn't done anything rash, but we were dealing with a soulless version of him here. "Let's hope he comes back," I replied before heading into the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge.
"You seemed upset earlier," Bobby pointed out, breaking the silence. "Want to tell me what it was about?" he asked as I opened the fridge door, grabbed a beer, and turned to face him.
"It was nothing," I replied, twisting off the lid and taking a sip of the beer.
"You forget, you lived under my roof for a time, so I know something is bothering you," Bobby pressed, taking a seat and keeping his eyes fixed on me. I sighed, knowing he was right – Bobby could always read me well.
"I did a tarot reading," I began, sitting down opposite Bobby at the table. "I was wondering if putting Sam's soul back in his body would be a good or bad thing," I explained, the memory of the cards haunting me. "The reading gave me The Hanged Man, The Devil, and the Nine of Swords," I continued, recalling the troubling images. I placed my beer on the table, my hand still on the cool bottle. Bobby looked puzzled for a moment, not grasping the significance of each card. "I tried again, and again, but it kept giving me the same cards. If his soul is put back, he will face a psychological toll," my tone shifted with worry as I spoke. "Even if the wall works, I don't think it'll be strong enough to hold back the memories in his mind," I expressed my growing concern.
"Abby," Bobby's voice was gruff, but there was a gentle undertone. "Tarot readings don't predict the actual future. They only show potential outcomes," he reassured me, knowing a bit about Tarot lore.
"And this could still be the likely outcome," I countered, the unease still lingering within me. "My worries are justified, Bobby. The cards only cement it," I admitted, the anxiety creeping up. I brought the bottle back to my lips and downed its contents in seconds, before placing it back on the table.
