Rob Thurman - All Seeing Eye

“Therein lies the military involvement.” Hector’s pale eyes were tired. I wasn’t sure if it was that or the alcohol that made him more forthcoming. Or maybe he thought I deserved to know. Having observed him for the past few days, I was thinking it was the latter. He was very much like his brother. “Imagine the benefit if you could go anywhere, see anything, but no one could see or detect you. In the seventies, the CIA had remote viewers working for them with some success. Imagine what they could do if astral projection was available. An operative could travel along the ether, like a skater on a sheet of ice. There would be no secrets any longer… not to our side, anyway.”

I’d suspected that was what was going on, but it didn’t stop the sour curdle of my stomach. “Yeah, funny how I’m never on ‘our’ side. In school or now, I’m an outsider, always will be.” That was the thing about sides. The one in the know, the one with power, it tended to get smaller and smaller, and more and more of us got tossed over the line to the unpopular side. The loser side. The side that ended up looking up at the bottom of a boot on its way down.

“He made a mistake.” Hector looked blindly at his empty bottle. “Charlie always trusted people. He brought me into the project halfway through, and by then…” He exhaled. “It was too late. The money was spent. The deal was done.”

“Signed in blood on the dotted line.” I shook my head. “Charlie was always too good for his own good.”

“I know.” He sat still for another moment, then carefully set his bottle on the desk. “But he took care of me, and now it’s time for me to do the same for him.”

Even if the only thing left of Charlie was a feeling of being lost. One emotion out of hundreds, an unconscious trace of a human being, but it didn’t matter to Hector. He wasn’t letting down Charlie, or even a piece of Charlie-he was that kind of brother. I knew, because I tried to be that kind of brother. Which was why I was there to begin with.

Glory. The baby. Shit. I sighed, and the strong consideration of one more beer became a done deal. You could bet my sister wouldn’t be the slightest bit grateful for what I was doing for her, only take it as her due. But Charlie… Charlie would be proud as hell of his little brother, Hector, although it was hard to imagine Hector as anyone’s little anything.

“When’s the next ETE?”

“Two days.”

“We checking out any more locations before then?” I took another glum swallow at the thought of how festive that would be.

“You’d be amazed at the number of massacres, spree murders, and serial killings that have taken place or are rumored to have taken place in Georgia.” He opened another beer for himself.

“Not so much, no.” After what I’d seen peering into people’s heads throughout my illustrious career, surprise wasn’t something I had left in me. The sweetest little grandma you could imagine had secrets. They never thought about that when they came to see me. It was as if they thought I was a guided missile. They pointed, and I went. They didn’t consider that I saw it all. I saw where they lost their keys, ring, necklace, wallet, where Aunt Susie’s junior-high baby had ended up after adoption, that Mama was in the freezer while her Social Security checks kept coming. They thought I saw what they wanted me to see, but they were wrong. If they knew, safe to say I wouldn’t have any customers. Not a one.

And then there was my own personal massacre.

Hector, again, didn’t have to be psychic to know what I was thinking. “Charlie knew,” he said with cautious sympathy. You couldn’t be sure how killers would take to talking about the blood on their hands. “He didn’t have your records like I do, but he didn’t need them. Charlie had his heart and his faith in people, in you. All the rumors he heard at that state-run piece-of-shit hellhole, he knew better.” Apparently, Charlie had talked his brother’s damn ear off about me back then and not just about the psychic stuff. But Charlie had thought we were friends.

Hell, I was an idiot for taking this long to figure out that he’d been right.

“He knew you did the only thing you could, even if he didn’t know the details.” The details that Hector, courtesy of my files, did know.

I looked into the mellow gold of the beer held fast in the bottle. It was better than thinking of the color of well water. Well water isn’t that nice to look at, not the kind that came out of abandoned wells. That water is dark and full of things you don’t want to know about. Bones and the sludge that once made up the mice and rabbits that accidentally fell in and began to decompose. Tess hadn’t accidentally fallen in. She’d been put there, and there she had drowned. I had never stopped wondering about that. How it had felt when she’d screamed and flailed, sinking and popping up, over and over, because even at five, Tess could swim like a fish. But with the well opening fifteen feet above and no way out, no one can tread water forever-not even a little girl who couldn’t fathom that her mommy or her big brother wouldn’t come save her. That they couldn’t somehow know when she needed them the most.

In her last, lost, drowned breath, she’d thought we’d come. That we’d know to come save her.

But I hadn’t known, not until I picked up her shoe, not until it was too late. I thought that was probably the only thing that kept me sane, that my first psychic connection started with Tess’s last breath, Tess’s death-not during it. If I’d had to feel every second of my little sister’s terror and suffocation, I doubted there’d be a Jackson Lee around anymore, unless he was in a mental institute with dead eyes and drool on his chin.

I’d looked down into the well, still holding that pink shoe, and seen the back of Tess’s head, her strawberry blond hair drifting, her hands riding pale on top of the water. I couldn’t reach her. The water was too far down, and I knew she was gone. That didn’t matter, though. If there’d been any way physically that I could’ve touched her, I would’ve pulled her out. I never would’ve left her like that. I would’ve held her, cradled her in the grass, and let the hot sun warm her. I would’ve told her I was there. Repeated it endlessly. I was there for her now. I’d always be there for her. That’s what I would’ve said, stupidly, pointlessly. Sometimes there’s nothing else to do except the stupid and pointless, because it’s for you. Only you. The dead can’t feel you hold them, and they can’t hear your lies.

But I didn’t have that option. I couldn’t reach Tess, so I ran home, frantic to beat my other sister there. Glory would be getting off the bus from school soon, and Boyd would do to her what he’d done to Tess. I’d thought he wouldn’t touch them. He hit me time and time again, but they were girls, fragile and breakable. I thought he would never touch them, but look how wrong I’d been. I beat Glory home; she’d dawdled at a friend’s house. Lucky, that. So goddamn lucky. I didn’t beat my mom. I wasn’t sure she’d understood anything I’d said. I didn’t remember saying anything, but I must have, as my throat was sore for days. I’d screamed with enough rage and pain that it should’ve brought down the fucking sky.

My mom, meek and ground down from years of that pig’s abuse, hadn’t once lifted a finger to stop Boyd from what he did to me. I’d tried not to hate her for it, but deep down, I did. I shouldn’t have, she was a victim like me, but it’s hard to argue with hate. I forgave her that day-that’s what I told myself, the day she finally found her line in the sand. Whatever I’d told her about Tess was enough to carve a line as deep as the Grand Canyon.