Pandora's Box

7. Twilight Dreams

For the second time today, I'm left with a deep feeling of betrayal. My visions are so clear; if Indie could see them for himself, he would know why I'm so concerned about Molly. Since there's no way for me to share them with him, though, I'll have to stick with my original plan to try and learn more about what's going to happen to her. It would help if I could see her again, be around her, maybe pick up something new with my Sense.

That isn't going to happen tonight. In fact, nothing is going to happen tonight. I look at the box, mulling over Indie's suggestion to start with it on this bizarre heritage quest. It seems logical; I actually don't remember where I even got the box, and the detailing on it is incredible so I'm sure someone could tell me something about it. Maybe I could find the person who carved it. Maybe they're the same artist that made the tarot cards inside.

The mysteries of the box, the photograph, the card, and Molly, can all wait until tomorrow. Even after the coffee, I can feel the weight of the day tugging at my limbs, weighing me down. I lock the door, turn out the lights, and make my way to my bed. My last thought before falling asleep is that my mattress isn't nearly as comfortable as Indie's.

Dreaming as a psychic is weird.

The place where visions come from and the place where dreams come from must be linked; some sort of darkness where swirling scenes morph and materialize in haphazard clips. The indistinctness and emotional connection for both visions and dreams is frustratingly similar, leading me to wake up on more than one occasion certain that I've had a vision in my sleep only to realize later it was probably just a vivid dream. I try not to read too much into dreams or visions I may (or may not) have while sleeping. It's just easier that way.

But damn, sometimes it's hard not to read into them.

The recent Molly visions have me strung out; my Sense constantly searching the world around me for something to intuit. In my relaxed dream state, it reaches out, looking for anything I can read. But with no one nearby, it must turn internally to that swirling darkness where the visions lurk.

Flitting images race in and out of my dreams, dancing just out of reach of interpretation: Indie, standing in my kitchen with a pained grimace. A white marble statue missing its arms. Broken pottery. A figure flying toward me, silhouetted by a brilliant sun. The tower, looming up from a raging sea and into a stormy sky. The creeping sense of impending doom I felt in the Molly visions crawls across my chest, pinning me down. Everything goes dark, and the sense of doom is replaced by feelings of rage and despair. My heart rattles chaotically against my chest and I wrench my eyes open.

My limbs tingle as if I stuck my fingers into an outlet, sharp electric currents racing up and down my arms. I leap out of bed, shaking myself free of the sensation.

Sense and Sight. Better than any alarm clock. Significantly more annoying too.

Sunlight is peeking into the room from behind the curtains, letting me know that it's an acceptable time to be awake. Even though I slept the whole night, I still feel more tired than usual. It must be a side effect of the visions.

Maybe I need to take today off. I do have the stack of cash from Adrian and my standard weekly haul from Leda, which is enough to cover my rent for the month.

I make my way to the kitchen and make my morning coffee. Taking a satisfying sip, I lean against the counter and stare at the tarot box. Indie is right, of course, it's the logical place to start. But where? I doubt I'll get far asking random artists for help identifying it. It feels old, but I don't know if it's old enough for an antique dealer to be able to identify its origins. And even if they did, what would I do with that information? The depictions inside are obviously Greek, but I don't know what to do with that information either.