Pandora's Box

6. A Cup of Anxiety

A roaring crash of thunder rouses me from my peaceful, dreamless slumber. My mind and my body are both numb, but I will life into both at the urging of instinct. It takes a moment for me to realize why I need to wrench myself from sleep and back into consciousness. Those visions were important, and I need to write them down before I begin to forget crucial details. I grope for the notebook and pen in my bag, flipping to a clean page as soon as I've pulled them out. The pen flies across the paper, scratching furiously as I race to record the visions flitting around in my mind.

Satisfied that I've captured all of the visual details, I draw a line and add observations I've never had to record before, or at least, never thought to record before. I note my own sensations, the prickling of my intuition, the temporary blindness, and the exhaustion alongside my recent visions. Beneath it all, I write stronger, why?

These two recent visions have been clearer than any I've ever had, which means they've required more energy than I've ever used before. Waking up from them has left me feeling like I'd just completed an ultramarathon. It isn't unusual for stronger visions to be more taxing - the sudden sensation of being burdened with someone else's' burning emotions isn't exactly a cakewalk - but I can't identify the emotional distress in these visions. It's like there's a weighted sense of impending doom, a hopelessness I can't pinpoint. Molly is the only person in my vision, yet when I focus on the memory of the vision, it feels like the despondency is coming from multiple sources. But who? And why?

I bolt out of my chair at the crash of thunder that echoes above. My head aches, and I rub my temples to relieve some of the tension. It's not enough. What I really need is a strong cup of coffee and a good nap. Maybe not in that order.

The tarot card box is still on the table. I normally leave it in the shop, but right now it doesn't feel safe out of my sight. I return the original Tower card to the deck, then place the duplicate and the photograph back into the envelope and set them on top of the deck. Closing the box, I place it carefully in my bag with the notebook and the pen, as well as the stack of cash. I flip off the lights and open the door slowly to gauge how hard the rain is falling.

While the thunder still rumbles overhead and lightning flashes a little too close for comfort, the rain has stopped for the moment. Large puddles dot the road, but I think I can walk home fast enough to beat the next downpour. Plucking my sign from the door, I toss it inside and make my way home.

I'm soaked through by the time I tumble into the lobby of my apartment building. I get a few dirty looks from neighbors hanging out on the first floor, but I'm too tired to care that I'm dripping a river from the front door to the stairs. It's water, it'll dry. I trudge up the stairs, exhausted and irritated with myself. I'm forgetting something, I know I am. Too tired to wrack my brain, I continue the beeline for my apartment. Nothing else matters right now except a nap.

I reach the fourth floor and freeze. The thing I forgot is sitting against my door, legs sprawled across the hallway. I'm too tired to do this - whatever it is - right now.

Nudging his foot with my own soaked shoe, I mumble, "Go home, Indie."

He looks up, deep brown eyes full of concern. I know I should feel like the luckiest girl in the world to have a friend like Indie, but I'm still hurt by his disbelief.

Indie stands and starts to say something, then stops, taking in my disheveled appearance. "Cassadilla, you are aware that umbrellas exist, right?"

I brush past him like a zombie, plunging the key into the lock and letting myself inside. At this point, I don't care about Indie. I'm on a mission, which now includes a nice warm shower before a nice long nap, and nothing is going to stop me from reaching my cozy goal.