Being able to see into the future told me everything and yet nothing. Naturally, it failed to inform me that she would come. When she arrived at my doorstep, bruised and bloody, broken in more ways than a simple word can describe, I thought she was going to die. I knew it too. If I didn’t help her, she was going to disappear. The little line of her future would snap and shrivel up, unraveling into nothingness. Up in my penthouse, she came through the door like a train off the rails, smashing into my life and hurling everything I thought I knew about myself out the window. I had no medical knowledge, no training, just scissors, a sewing needle, and some twine. I shouldn’t have even tried to save her. If I was ordinary, not like this, I wouldn’t have. She needed a doctor. But I am who I am and I know what I know.

I found each disparate end of her future, each little ragged torn edge of her. And I pieced them back together. Ten thousand ways I saw her die. Ten thousand times I started to cry. But the future never lies. Every time the needle was about to hit an artery, every time I almost pierced the wrong vein…I saw her die…and I went the other way. It took more time than I ever want to experience again, her heartbeats held in my fluttering, shaky hands. I just wanted to give up, to end her suffering. But I knew…or at least I tell myself…I could see the end. It wasn’t just my selfish desire to see this beautiful life live, to keep her alive so I might see her smile at me in gratitude, to have something good to myself. Those selfish things which I was probably really thinking…I try not to dwell on them. You might wonder how the story ended. Did I stitch her up with no medical experience? Did she live? Did I find my salvation?

Well…not exactly.

I saved her.

But it cost her.

It cost me.

#

I was a quiet child in class, hardly a little ray of sunshine even then. New York’s famous pigeons droned on in the background of Mr. Foreman’s class and it was all I could hear until the bell rang, just this relentless, pounding, flock of flapping vermin. Back then, I thought I was smart, smarter than the rest of the normals. Oh, how little I knew. Since birth, I had the innate gift of knowing what people were going to say before they said it, and it rubbed them the wrong way when I interrupted them with the words they thought they owned. Eventually, I learned to hide my ill-given gift, to let them think I didn’t know them better than they knew themselves. I blended in better that way. And so, I grew up, ordinary, without praise. A hidden watcher in the crowd. I could see, but not speak.

It all began in a locker-room, the result of my inability to keep my mouth shut. Some stupid comment, an angry word which struck the ears of the school bully, Lance D. Mortensen. I’ve forgotten what I said over the years, probably some insult, but whatever it was, it rubbed him the wrong way and he tried to punch me. My back against the metal lockers with the foul stink of sweaty boys all around, I knew he was going to deck me unless I dodged. But then, for a split second, I also knew that if I did dodge his fist, he was going to kick me in the groin. While I was contemplating which of the two possibilities was worse, his fist found my face and my lips found the ground. The stars in my head blasted away any chance of understanding what had just happened, and for a few minutes more, I did not realize the truth. But it was already too late. Always too late.

I had changed.

It was when I got to the nurse’s office that things took a truly strange turn. When she was applying the disinfectant to my cut lip, I knew how much it was going to sting before the burning liquid even touched my tongue. It was like seeing double. I could feel it, sense it. The future had reached me. There was this split second where I knew what would happen if I leaned away before she touched me, and then I even caught the beginning of the words she was going to say.

“Mister, don’t you dare turn-“

“Mister, don’t you dare turn away!” Her voice caught up with my memory of what would be and the fake reality joined with the real one to become the world as it was. An inkling of doubt formed in my mind. Did I just…? The suspicious look on her face as she grabbed the top of my head felt too familiar. Because I had just seen it a second ago before she even reached for me. I’m losing it. The punch scrambled my brains. There’s no way I can see…

Then it happened again. And again. I was seeing what everyone would do before they would do it. All throughout the rest of the day, I was tormented by the impossibility of my strange second sight. I even googled concussions. Tried to see if getting hit on the head could cause delusions of grandeur, hallucinations of the future. A good punch can make you see things that aren’t real. But I was watching my whole life play out in front of me before it happened. And that didn’t seem normal. Not at all…

So, I experimented. Played pranks on the bully who had tormented me. It took a few tries, but in the end, I found a way to use my newfound power to my advantage. It was the first and last time I used my ability in such a crude way during my youth. The next time he tried to punch me, I saw what would happen if I didn’t move…and I moved. Down below the fist as it was still cocking back to fire, past the smile which I knew would turn into a frown, into the slowly twisting hips, building power to thrust, and up and out the chin which was stupidly far forward, a perfect target.

*Thud*

He never saw what hit him. I was two steps ahead and he was one second behind. That was all the difference it took as kids. I could solve every problem with just one second of warning back then. But I didn’t always interfere with fate. Even then, before I could see that far ahead, I knew that to abuse my power would be the end of me. I just didn’t know how right I was. Or how little it mattered…

#

Hiding my powers was easy, but it was also not easy. There were times when I saw things which were going to happen and I just had to let them happen. Some normals wouldn’t understand, but I think many would as well. To avoid all hardship, to be in too convenient a place at too convenient a time, it would add up if I did it too often. Someone would figure out that I wasn’t normal. I wasn’t so conceited that I didn’t see it. Overusing my powers would draw suspicion.

So, I let certain things happen, even if they were not good things. A knife, falling on the cutting board the wrong way, in front of a girl I liked. A rushed trip to the emergency room for three stitches and a big bill. I paid the price in good faith, an investment into an image. I had to be weak, vulnerable. Of course, I made sure not to be in any real danger. I didn’t want to damage my body in any permanent way. But a little scar on my hand was a small price to pay for a disguise. To seem normal. My first girlfriend, Linda, believed I was normal, just like her. When we broke up and went to college, I knew there was one person who thought I was just a man, albeit one with impeccable timing. Someone who could vouch for my mortality. Even gods have to bleed sometime. It makes them seem human.

By that time, school had become boring. My powers had grown faster than I could master them. Imagine seeing just two seconds ahead all the time. It doesn’t sound like much, but it’s a lot, even after years of practicing. So many possible timelines, so little time to decide which was the best one to take. It became a game to me, choosing the best possible timeline, the best way to cheat on the exam, the best kid to cheat off of. Studying was silly. I knew that if my powers kept growing, one day I could just look at the possible answers to any question on a test and know which response would lead to an A. Since I didn’t have to study as a kid, I had plenty of time to explore.

It became apparent quickly that manipulating the stock market was out of the question. Maybe too many minds, too many possibilities, but even I couldn’t see whether the price would go up, down, sideways, or some other which way. Gambling was easier, but only in small games. Poker was a breeze, but sports betting a whole other challenge. Despite all my power, the ability to get rich quick was incredibly, not one of them. Even if you can see a few seconds into the future, people will try to stop you from earning too much money at a young age. There are systems in place, rules to keep the talented from rising. That didn’t stop me though. While others were studying and hoping to find someone to pay them to work one day, I was already working the world.

Naturally, I found my way to crime rather quickly. One could say all the casinos I cheated were indeed illegal ventures, for I had most certainly not taken their money by their rules. But that was just a start, and I could never make much playing by the house’s rules anyways. After a little bit of gambling, I’d inevitably get kicked out with a smile and a wave and if I ever tried to predict the jackpot, the future grew fuzzy and the visions too numerous to make out. It gave me a headache trying to see that far ahead…or maybe it was just the cigarette smoke clogging those awful casinos. Regardless, the gambling industry never recovered after I was done with it.

The money gave me happiness at first. But that faded quickly. It wasn’t real. Like all the futures I chose to discard, in the end, money changed my experience, but it wasn’t the end. Once I had money, it wasn’t enough, and once I had enough, money wasn’t anything at all. By the time I was eighteen, money meant only one thing to me…more time to do whatever I wanted.

Alone.

I saw it around me, in the “friends” I pretended to have, and the ones I didn’t bother to follow anymore. They were all trapped in this endless struggle, this strange loop which I was not a part of. Imagine spending all of your day in some office cubicle, or a construction site, or a bar, but not as the customer, but as the bartender, working your whole life for a tip it took me less than a second of cheating at a casino to make. Some of these people were like me, at least a little. They escaped their mindless jobs. Most never did, and a few were in-between, on one side of poverty today, the other tomorrow.

Gradually, I drifted away from all of them, both winners and losers. After so long at the top, I no longer cared to maintain my relationships with those at the bottom. They still knew I existed. I made sure to keep them knowledgeable of some of my more believable exploits. The ones which could in no way be tied to my real pursuits. I was still a part of the system, just not quite plugged in. The linkup was broken, I was disconnected from the reality normies knew. But they would still recognize me if anyone asked, the perfect cover. People knew of me…but no one knew me.

For a time, I was what you might call an adventurer. You’d be hard pressed to recognize me in those photos which I didn’t have destroyed. A world traveler, sun-tanned, the still photographs couldn’t capture the grace I could bring to a surfboard when I knew where the best waves would land long before they broke. From the highest mountains to the lowest valleys, I hiked, climbed, and danced my way beneath the stars in a way no normal could ever believe. I was blessed. But utterly alone. My conquests were many, and never-ending. But never satisfying. The fun continued from one night to the next and the highs blended into the lows until it all became the same. By twenty, I was over it. Hungover before my first legal drink.

I came back to New York a changed man, but perhaps not for the better. My abilities were growing. Before I could barely see two seconds ahead, now it was two plus some change. Money had never been an issue before, but now it was a challenge. The IRS does not take kindly to those who make more than their fair share. I had to be careful to avoid suspicion, even if I earned the money “fairly”. If I spent all the money I earned, they would inevitably start to scream one word I wanted to avoid at all costs,

“Cheat!”

I will admit…I lost some of my own suspicion overseas. I became careless, because it didn’t seem like anyone in the world was aware that I was different. The people in other countries were freer and my government’s eyes, farther. Eventually though, I’d had enough of traveling. I was lonely. When I came back to Manhattan, I rented a penthouse. A move I’d never have considered before. Can you imagine a youth, no parents, without a steady job, renting the biggest penthouse outside of Billionaire’s Row? The landlord must have thought I was some Saudi prince’s illegitimate son, he wanted to question me, but my lawyer took care of everything. Even careless, I knew to stay in the shadows, for the light would surely bring danger. Perhaps my time abroad really had lulled me into a false sense of security. For though I kept my eyes peeled for anything suspicious…I never saw any evidence of someone like me. Like the fine wine I used my powers to buy without worrying about being carded, the safety dulled my senses. It slowly began to kill me before I even knew it was happening.

I met Jen over one of those very dulling glasses of wine. She had the body of an angel as well as the heart and mind of an empty glass bottle. I just had to put money on one side of her and everything on the other side became hard to see. She followed me like a puppy from bar to bar, thinking I was protecting her when I held the door open. Can you imagine? I was the invisible lover, the hidden hand with a scar in the back of her pictures on social media. One of those roman patrons of old, little did she know, she had it all reversed. I was the one whose image was being protected. I was using her.

When people walked into the bar, they didn’t see a strange boy with too much money drinking all alone. They saw a man with his woman and all the little untruths that came with that false picture. That was all I wanted, a portrait to hang in front of the man hiding behind. I saw the future, but Jen would never know. She was too simple to see past the dollar signs. The damn girl never even noticed how many other women I was visiting while she was passed out in her bed. What does it matter? She’s a normal. It’s my right to do what I want. If it wasn’t, someone would have stopped me.

I had no goal after my return to New York. No more things to chase, unless you count meaning, which everyone is looking for whether they know it or not. Every one of my questions was answered before the person I was asking could say the words. The future was…everything to me. It was poisoning me. What was the point of living if you know exactly what will happen before it does? It was a simple existence. When you can have all you want merely by acting out a script, the play becomes a bit slow.

I felt like I was sinking in molasses, just drifting around, a jellyfish with no impetus, no momentum of my own. If something swam into my tentacles, I might snatch it up by reflex, but my complete control of my fate had ironically taken away all the reason to control it in the first place. The ultimate problem seemed so simple. And yet it was killing me. I…I have no problems. No equals. No enemies in this world. I am just…above them all. Perhaps I am a god. But if I am…then why do I feel no urge to protect my people? Isn’t that what gods do? Unless I am a vengeful god. But though I may do what I want, I am no great sinner even by the standards of normals. Really…I have no purpose at all.

Oftentimes I would go to the top of the penthouse, beyond the pool, and sit by the city spotlights beneath the stars. Just dreaming, is what I’d tell anyone watching, but in reality, I was calculating. Others might imagine what would happen if they stepped off the edge, might even correctly guess who might miss them, but I knew.

No one would miss me if I jumped.

Oh sure, Jen might be sad, she might be angry for a little bit, but her small empty heart would harden without my money, just as surely as it had hardened without her parent’s love, and she would move on to the next eligible bachelor with a wallet. That was just how she was. Other times I’d check my phone, see if anyone would call. When no one did, I’d scroll through my past messages, reading the timestamps and seeing the dates of when those I’d left behind had last checked on me. Then I’d tell myself I’d never do that again, because just the act of staring at those dates, showed me a future not long for this world. I’ll really do it if I keep looking. This is no good. Backing away from the edge, I’d go back to my room and look out the glass window, putting a thin barrier between the end and myself. Oh, it really was a pointless existence.

That was when she came to me you know. Not Jen, someone else. I was groggy, drunk out of my mind, unable to do so much as move without seeing a horrible future. Oh, you have no idea the pain. Unless you’re like me. Then you’d know. She was like me…but yet not. Hammering on the penthouse door, a complete stranger. When I woke up and saw her face in the security camera, the desperation in her eyes, the blood on her lips, I didn’t think, though the future was squirming and twisting in dangerous ways I’d never foreseen. None of the possibilities mattered, they all led to me opening that door. It was a rush, a premium adrenaline rush like no other, and though, if someone were to pass by in that moment, they surely would have thought she was the one in need of my help, that would have been only half true. I needed to help her just as much as she needed to be helped. We were destined to meet, and unlike most, that is not a word I utter lightly.

*Beep*

The trill of my doorbell rang again. How she found me I had no idea. Why she chose me, I also didn’t know. The blood, oh the scarlet blood, she was white as a ghost, and it was only through her wide eyes, dulled with pain, that I knew she was beautiful. I hesitated but an instant, the future holding me back as it always did before every action, but this time was different. I wanted to move. For the first time since I had come back from my journey overseas, I wanted to change someone’s fate. And it was a terrible one indeed, if she hadn’t come to my doorstep at that exact moment. Even if she had had the ability to call an ambulance, even if those who had done this to her had allowed the EMT’s to come, if the hospital was right next door, and the world’s best surgeon on call that night…she would have been a corpse before the first sirens blared to go pick her up. Yet somehow…somehow, she had come to the one person in this world who could change her dread fate. Only someone who could see the future, could know exactly how to stitch her wounds together without killing her, could have saved her that night.

When my door unlocked and my hand flew to the handle, I was already in a cold sweat. You have no idea the pressure, the stakes when your soul mate appears. I didn’t see her coming, having just woken up. For the first time in so very long, I was the deer in the headlights, one of the normals I had secretly mocked since developing my power. It was not an ideal first date, her bleeding all her life out in my hands, me drunken, panicking, trying to push it back in. Some part of her, the bit that made her not normal, like me, it kept her awake for an ungodly long while beyond when a regular person would have fainted and died. At first, not knowing better, I was screaming questions at her,

“Who are you?”

“What are you doing here?”

“What happened to you?”

But she just laid there quietly in my fussing arms mouthing the words I was afraid I couldn’t grant,

“Help me…”

I almost cracked a million times. The world class surgeon next door would have thrown down his scalpel and pronounced her a lost cause, long before she even made it to the operating table. But the future wouldn’t let me stop. Because I caught a glimpse in that moment, when I was crying over this complete stranger, for who knows what reason why. That crumpled form, the slim limbs, and the ripped dress, she would mean something to me…if I let her.

All I had to do was the impossible.

So, I did it.

I sewed her back together.

My work was patchwork, slow and steady. Sometimes my needle jiggled in my unskilled hands and I felt my breath catch as I saw her future ripple. It was being torn away from my own and I quickly adjusted my hands and steered it back on the right path. Like a canoe sailing down a winding river, I guided the steel needle through every twist and turn of her body, until she was some semblance of whole again. Each time I saw her heart stop in the future, I shuddered, but I found a way around in the present. Oh God, I feared she would die on that cold granite countertop.

If she had, I think I would have gone with her. Anything to keep my fate intertwined with hers, for that glimpse, I had seen of what might be in the future, had me hooked. It gave me a headache, but I held onto that singular potential future with all my might. Perhaps I held onto it a bit too hard. It was hope, really. A chance to not be alone. Our paths could come undone at any point, but for some reason I was going to do my damndest to keep us together…could you blame me? All this time lost and now I had found someone who truly needed me to save her and no one else. It wasn’t money, not vain narcissism, nor any of the things anyone had ever sought me out for before. She needed me and my secret which no one else had ever shared.

“I’ll save you.” I whispered to her incessantly, “Just hold on! I can do this! JUST HOLD ON FOR ME!”

I don’t think she heard me. If she did, her future self showed no signs of registering my cries. I was lost in-between the questions of the past, who did this, why would they, and the present, this endless task. All the work became timeless, a question of timing. A second later, a moment’s hesitation, and she would have died before I finished sewing her up. But she didn’t. I held her together on that tabletop, in that penthouse, on that dark night, and things were never the same. When I finished the last stitch, her half-shut delirious eyes closed for a brief moment and I was scared I had lost her. I was afraid. Not because of the wasted effort, but because she would really be gone without meeting me. But instead of dying, she said her first words out loud which were more than whispered breaths.

“Thank you.”

And that was that.

We had met.

#

I drank a cold glass of water, ice cold, the chilliest glass I had ever gulped, after I was done. Washed my hands under the faucet and contemplated taking her to a hospital. But when I went to move her, I saw her waking up in my arms and struggling to get free if I tried. She won’t go. Something’s wrong.

So instead of trying to move her, I just went to my open penthouse door, closed and locked it. No one had come during my panic. The impromptu surgery had gone unnoticed, at least I think it did. I was exhausted, just barely starting to sober up, in a rare twilight state between waking and sleeping, but I stayed vigilant by her side that whole night. Twice I saw her heart stop and only just managed to find the loose stitch before it came true. Once, I saw something even more terrifying, because what I saw came true before I could stop it. She started shaking, turning blue, and I feared that no amount of warmth could replace the missing blood on the countertops. I hugged her, scared the amateur stitches I had made in haste, would not hold and she might come undone like a child’s doll in my arms. My swift actions saved her. She did not shake herself to death or burst open like I feared, but it scared me, feeling how frail life was.

Two hours after the surgery, she stopped shaking. I saw it coming seconds before it did and I was in agony because I thought that meant she was going to die. But when it happened, I could still feel her fluttering heartbeat in my arms. Then I knew she had not died. I sighed out in genuine relief for another human being for the first time. The wounds covering her body were vicious and savage, made by what could only be described by a monster, though I know now that men are just as much capable as monsters. An hour after she had calmed and started to regain some of her warmth, my door rang again.

I was so tired that my good sense was dulled, but even still, suspicion filled my veins. I kept a weary eye on the future, praying that two and a half seconds could protect me…protect us both. I have to be careful. Whoever did this to her will be looking for her. Padding to the camera monitor by the door, I left her wrapped in a blanket, never-mind the blood, and peered at the screen, though I already knew what I’d see. It was important to follow the motions to make sure the timeline continued according to my expectations.

“Hello? Anyone there?” A blue-uniformed police officer waved at the camera from the ground floor. Outside the building, his serious-looking partner lit a cigarette in the background. The wispy smoke clouded my view as I knew it would, and I pondered what choice to make. Two and a half seconds is only so much time to consider possibilities. In my head I rapidly calculated, considered telling them about the visitor on my couch. Instantly, the future grew murky, and I saw the two draw their weapons. I knew not to try that particular future. They are not friends.

“Hi. Officers, how can I help you today?” I pushed the button to answer and chose an innocuous answer without time to think of a better one. I wished I could see far enough ahead to guarantee our safety, but the future was appearing just as fast as I could create the present. Trying desperately not to give anything away in my voice, I realized I was playing a game. One I had been playing all my life, but this time the stakes were higher. All my preparation, all my hiding, today, it had better work. I had better seem normal.

“Detectives…I’m sorry, it’s a bit hard to see who is in which apartment…Mr. Blackrose?” The detective squinted to read the sign and I continued calculating possibilities. But for once, I was out of my depth. Despite all my years spent fostering an image, to actually be in front of someone tasked with discovering truth for the first time was terrifying. Failure was not an option, not now that she had entered my life. I continued to play possum. Pretended that I knew nothing. I lied.

Don’t let them know.

“Yes, that’s me. I’m sorry, it’s late and I’m a little drunk, is there something the matter, Officer?” I kept my voice sleepy, acting irate though in truth I was more afraid. Unfortunately, I slipped up, and seeing the future, I winced, glad I could see his face through the camera monitor, but he could not see mine. The detective leaned into the camera, a penetrating blue gaze seeming to cut through the pixels. Even in the washed-out picture on my monitor, I could tell what color his eyes were for he fixed them on me with a keen suspicion.

“Were you sleeping, Mr. Blackrose? You answered the buzzer awfully quickly, considering I woke you up. I’m sorry…” He paused, maintaining the illusion of politeness, but his words had more bite than innocent apologies should, “My name is Detective Orelio.”

“Ahh…” I thrust my mind out in too many directions at once, the disparate threads of the future always slipped away when I made that particular mistake. It’s better to keep things simple when trying to make predictions. “I understand, I was sleeping on the couch, Detective. But I really should be off to bed proper, what’s the matter, is something the matter?” I toyed with the idea of asking if a criminal was on the loose, but in that future, the detective grew icy cold and his hand slipped to his gun and I knew it was too dangerous to give even the slightest hint that I knew they were searching for someone. I have to give nothing away.

“Nothing particularly important, Mr. Blackrose. But there were reports of an injured girl earlier tonight, and we were sent to investigate. We’ve been ringing folks up in the area. I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything?” Detective Orelio gave a reassuring smile into the camera. His smile was not quite as lively as a real smile ought to be. His companion at the side cursed as the rain put out his cigarette. He flicked it to the ground and I felt a thrill of fear even though I knew he would not find any signs of blood on the doorstep. Thank god for this rain. If she left any bloodstains, they must have been washed away by now.

“Well no, I’ve been out since seven, if anything happened, it must have been later.” I smiled back into the camera though I knew they could not see me, as if it would help them believe my lies. “Sorry to be of no use, Detectives, is that all?” I breathed a sigh of relief as my hand left the intercom for I saw Detective Orelio’s gaze swivel and the hand go to his radio before he reached for it.

“Thank you, Mr. Blackrose. That’s all.” Pressing the button on his receiver, Detective Orelio muttered something and then waved. “Call us if you see or remember anything. I’ll be leaving some of my cards in the mailbox.” He turned with his partner and left. I can only assume they had already called up every room below mine and found nothing. A chill ran up my spine as I remembered how bloody my guest had been at my door. I knew that if I turned, she would still be peacefully sleeping on the couch so I went outside to the hallway and checked the elevator. By some stroke of luck, it was still on my floor, so I knew no one had used it since she had checked in after midnight. Leaving a shoe over the elevator’s sensors to ensure the doors would not close, I ran back to my room and grabbed paper towels and bleach. A few small smears of blood on the floor and handrails were quickly wiped away. I soon had things under control. Once there was no sign of her arrival, I put my shoe back on and went back to the penthouse, confident that for now, any evidence in the elevator had been removed. Then I curled up next to my guest.

I’m going to sleep like the dead.

Is what I thought.

The funny thing is…I think I really did die.