of the Amparo
woman showing up and the concept of my dad and his friend being killed by some
mysterious person powerful enough to make their deaths appear accidental. I
looked around at my favorite photos, books on great photographers, and fiddled
with a few of my old matchbox cars that lined my bookshelves. The sense of doom
worsened, so I meditated.
A sudden knock at the front door jolted me,
and I carefully peered out the window. Amber’s turquoise bug was parked next to
my dad’s old Toyota silver 4x4 pickup truck. Mom had saved it for Dustin, who
had driven it for one day before his suicide run to Shasta. I used to think she
was keeping it for when he got out, but now it seemed more likely she was
saving it for me, if she ever let me get my license. But I was determined to
see Dustin drive it again.
“I’m glad you stopped by. Can we go for a
drive?”
“Sure.” She smiled. Amber was wearing a
purple tank top and white shorts, thin leather sandals. She must know how
distracting her looks were.
I told her about the message from the guy
in Brookings. We forgot about a drive and just sat there talking. She listened
to the whole story, the concern on her face clear. “Oh, Nate,” she finally said,
casually putting her hand on my thigh. “It’s exciting and scary at the same
time!”
“Yeah, I don’t know what’s going on.”
“But maybe after seeing Dustin and the
Brookings guy, the mysteries will unravel.”
“Or get deeper.”
“Think positive.”
“I’ll try, but just in case, I want you to
know the meeting is at the first low tide on Sunday at Tea Leaf Beach in
Brookings. You’re the only one I’m telling.” I fidgeted with the beads hanging
from her rearview mirror.
“I’ve never heard of Tea Leaf, and I’ve
been going to Brookings forever.”
“Well, if someone’s trying to set a trap,
why wouldn’t he just grab me here. I’m not hiding. And he knew about that Outview.”
“I know; that’s so amazing.”
“Frightening is more like it, that
someone’s been inside my head.”
“Maybe he wasn’t in your head. Maybe he’s
from that lifetime.”
“Great, maybe Brett’s come back to finish
me off. Not only is there danger in this lifetime, but people are traveling
through time to kill me.”
“I doubt it. I just know it’s someone
trying to help you. I can’t wait to find out. Do you want to stay at our beach
house?”
“Could we?”
“Yeah, no one’s there.” She told me where the
key was hidden.
“I wish you could come.”
“Me, too, but my mother gets back tomorrow
for a long weekend of ‘quality time.’ It’s a joke; my mother’s only close to
her make-up mirror. But my sister will be home, too.”
“I had another Outview today.” I waited
until her eyes found mine. “You were in it.”
“Really?” She couldn’t hide her pleasure.
“When was it? Where was it?”
“We were sisters. It was at least a hundred
years ago because you were driving a horse-drawn wagon. I was lying in the back
in dirty blankets and straw, cold. But there were wildflowers. You spoke in a
language that sounded German, but I don’t think it was. My body was brittle on
the rough road, like a vase rattling in a crate, and I begged you to stop.”
“You were dying?”
“Yeah, like always. You started crying when
you finally stopped the wagon.”
“How old were we?”
“Hard to say. We looked sixty, but I think
we were really thirty-something. So you were crying because you knew we weren’t
going to get any help. Even if we did, it was too late. You could tell I’d be
dead very soon.”
“Tell me about the way an Outview comes to
you. How do you see it?”
“It’s almost like watching a movie, but the
screen has no defined shape. And only pieces are in focus as I look at them.
Sometimes just part of a face is clear, but what I can see is in 3D. I’m like
an observer floating right there, but at the same time I’m one of the
participants, experiencing and
woman showing up and the concept of my dad and his friend being killed by some
mysterious person powerful enough to make their deaths appear accidental. I
looked around at my favorite photos, books on great photographers, and fiddled
with a few of my old matchbox cars that lined my bookshelves. The sense of doom
worsened, so I meditated.
A sudden knock at the front door jolted me,
and I carefully peered out the window. Amber’s turquoise bug was parked next to
my dad’s old Toyota silver 4x4 pickup truck. Mom had saved it for Dustin, who
had driven it for one day before his suicide run to Shasta. I used to think she
was keeping it for when he got out, but now it seemed more likely she was
saving it for me, if she ever let me get my license. But I was determined to
see Dustin drive it again.
“I’m glad you stopped by. Can we go for a
drive?”
“Sure.” She smiled. Amber was wearing a
purple tank top and white shorts, thin leather sandals. She must know how
distracting her looks were.
I told her about the message from the guy
in Brookings. We forgot about a drive and just sat there talking. She listened
to the whole story, the concern on her face clear. “Oh, Nate,” she finally said,
casually putting her hand on my thigh. “It’s exciting and scary at the same
time!”
“Yeah, I don’t know what’s going on.”
“But maybe after seeing Dustin and the
Brookings guy, the mysteries will unravel.”
“Or get deeper.”
“Think positive.”
“I’ll try, but just in case, I want you to
know the meeting is at the first low tide on Sunday at Tea Leaf Beach in
Brookings. You’re the only one I’m telling.” I fidgeted with the beads hanging
from her rearview mirror.
“I’ve never heard of Tea Leaf, and I’ve
been going to Brookings forever.”
“Well, if someone’s trying to set a trap,
why wouldn’t he just grab me here. I’m not hiding. And he knew about that Outview.”
“I know; that’s so amazing.”
“Frightening is more like it, that
someone’s been inside my head.”
“Maybe he wasn’t in your head. Maybe he’s
from that lifetime.”
“Great, maybe Brett’s come back to finish
me off. Not only is there danger in this lifetime, but people are traveling
through time to kill me.”
“I doubt it. I just know it’s someone
trying to help you. I can’t wait to find out. Do you want to stay at our beach
house?”
“Could we?”
“Yeah, no one’s there.” She told me where the
key was hidden.
“I wish you could come.”
“Me, too, but my mother gets back tomorrow
for a long weekend of ‘quality time.’ It’s a joke; my mother’s only close to
her make-up mirror. But my sister will be home, too.”
“I had another Outview today.” I waited
until her eyes found mine. “You were in it.”
“Really?” She couldn’t hide her pleasure.
“When was it? Where was it?”
“We were sisters. It was at least a hundred
years ago because you were driving a horse-drawn wagon. I was lying in the back
in dirty blankets and straw, cold. But there were wildflowers. You spoke in a
language that sounded German, but I don’t think it was. My body was brittle on
the rough road, like a vase rattling in a crate, and I begged you to stop.”
“You were dying?”
“Yeah, like always. You started crying when
you finally stopped the wagon.”
“How old were we?”
“Hard to say. We looked sixty, but I think
we were really thirty-something. So you were crying because you knew we weren’t
going to get any help. Even if we did, it was too late. You could tell I’d be
dead very soon.”
“Tell me about the way an Outview comes to
you. How do you see it?”
“It’s almost like watching a movie, but the
screen has no defined shape. And only pieces are in focus as I look at them.
Sometimes just part of a face is clear, but what I can see is in 3D. I’m like
an observer floating right there, but at the same time I’m one of the
participants, experiencing and
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