“If I could say my piece, do you think I would have sent owls after you? It was owls, wasn’t it? That past is my favorite. You didn’t even notice the pigeons. An entire flock coming at your head. How do you ignore an entire flock of pigeons?”
“I’m done.” I walked straight at her. I’d been a spirit for most my years. I figured she was a spirit too. And one thing about spirits is they are not solid.
“Wait,” she said, holding up both hands, like that could stop me. “I’m not—” She scuttled to one side, and I checked her shoulder as I kept going.
She “oofed”.
She felt real; she felt solid. I hadn’t expected that.
“You won’t believe me here. No matter how many ways I try to say it.” She chuckled and there was music in that laughter, pure delight that stilled my anger.
“I know you have muscles and a lot of stubbornness. At least this isn’t the time where you try to pick me up and toss me over the horizon. See where you are, where we are, Brogan Gauge.”
The gas pumps were slightly behind me and to my left. In front of me was a building, white with floor-to-ceiling windows in front and a roofline that angled up, like a jet plane wing. It was a store, maybe a restaurant.
“Go ahead,” the owl woman said. “Get a good look.”
I turned a slow circle and spotted the sixty-six feet tall neon soda bottle attached to the building.
We were at Pops 66 Soda Ranch in Arcadia, Oklahoma, which is where she’d told me to meet her in the first vision.
I finished my turn, facing her. “Try,” I said. “Tell me what I’ll never believe.”
She pulled her lips over her teeth and squinted at me. “All right. All right. I’ll tell you. That god who found you isn’t what he seems. He’s not on your side. He’s not helping you. And if you continue down this path, you will regret having anything to do with him. There.” She stabbed a finger in the air in front of her. “Now that I’ve so much as mentioned it, he’s gonna tear this vision to shre—”
The gas station exploded.
A wall of heat steamrolled across the pavement, stealing all my air and burning my lungs. I yelled—
—and stumbled.
I was running, the air thick with the algae green of a river under the afternoon sun. There was no fire, there was no explosion. Bird shadows swooped above me.
The disorientation set off panic, fear, and then just plain anger.
Anger always set me right.
I almost landed on the concrete face first, but caught myself on one knee and hand, and pushed back up.
This was not the gas station—
—blue sky above—
—this was not Oklahoma—
—silver truck just ahead—
—this was not an explosion—
—Lu, half out of the truck, turned as if to run to me, sunglasses casting rose shadows over her eyes, one hand on the pocket watch she wore around her neck—
—this was not a dream. Or a vision. This was reality. Now.
I slapped my hand against the truck’s tailgate, and the vehicle rocked from the impact.
“Brogan?” Lu asked.
I pivoted, scanning the street behind me—empty, quiet, Streetcar café, gazebo in park, and all the rest just as it was—then the sky.
