Kaleidoscope

Book 1: The Vision Chronicles

by Chariss K. Walker

Genres: Paranormal; Thrillers; Domestic Thrillers; Psychological Thrillers; Supernatural suspense; Suspense

Synopsis

A man with a secret that he doesn't want to share.

Michael James Lewis, a 44-year-old geophysicist, lives a life most would envy. Handsome, well-paid, and well-traveled, what could be the problem?

First, he can't tell anyone about his psychic ability. He can't admit that he can see horrifying visions of disturbing future disasters through a kaleidoscope.

2018 B.R.A.G. Medallion Winner Kaleidoscope is the first fast-paced, captivating novel in the Vision Chronicles series by award-winning author Chariss K. Walker!

Good News! To get The Vision Chronicles Complete, Books 1-9 ASIN: B07G9LFXMQ

Second, someone has been watching him for a very long time, but now, they have aggressively attempted to abduct Mike.

“A cliffhanger from the start, this book is a great beginning to a suspenseful series” - Benedict Stuart, Author of The Proximity of Stars

The Vision Chronicles nine-book thriller series is best read in order. The series is a slice-of-life metaphysical/visionary story that details Mike's changing ability and his survival from the hired thugs who doggedly pursue him.

If you love mind-boggling suspense with a dash of paranormal and a touch of romance, this is the thriller series for you.

Scroll Up and Grab Kaleidoscope Today!

Release date: February 16, 2014

Publisher: Independently Published

Print pages: 269

Content advisory: mild violence

Sample

Chapter 1

On the flight from Terni, Italy, I once again noticed two men paying close attention to my every move. They were the same men I had seen outside La Citta Vecchia where I'd had an amazing dinner on Friday evening, my last night in Terni. They had also been outside the rental office when I returned the rental car.

Due to my long legs, I had an aisle seat on the right side in the business class section of the commercial airliner. Now, the same men sat one row back on the left. I found it odd that their course would follow my own path and destination so closely, but I brushed the paranoia aside like an irritating gnat.

The taxi I had snagged from JFK pulled up to the curb outside the brownstone where I live. I got out with a single carry-on. As I leaned in to pay the driver, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. Instantly alert, I noticed a large SUV parked across the street. When I spotted the idling vehicle with two men in the front seat, the driver drove away.

What the hell is going on? I wondered. Am I being followed? Who would care that much about my whereabouts? Does someone know my secret? 

I'm Michael James Lewis and for years I have lived in some kind of strange fugue or fog. Although I am excellent and always on target when it comes to my work, it seems that I can't quite put my finger on the lingering doubt and frustration that haunts my personal life.

Does it have anything to do with my secret—a secret I have kept for fifteen years?

How the hell am I supposed to know that?

I thought about my life back then… I was indeed the youngest degreed geophysicist leading a team outside Cairo. The specialty geological survey crew did more than mere surveying. On this particular job, we were camped around a peculiar anomaly in the desert. The project was hush-hush. The sights and smells returned to me now as I considered that day so long ago.

A shudder trembled down my spine as I recalled everything.

It was blistering hot during the day, but the evenings cooled off enough that the crew needed a campfire unless inside their tents.

On that night so long ago, I was unaware that my life was about to change forever. I had no idea that this dangerous secret would be so difficult to bear or cost me so much.

I was blindsided.

I went to the campfire to have a late-night coffee and smoke. Adom, a twenty-seven-year-old Egyptian worker, moved his stool over to sit beside me. He was slender and had intelligent, dark-brown eyes and a very bright smile against his tan complexion.

"Dr. Mike," Adom greeted with white teeth flashing into a cheerful grin.

"Hello, Adom. How are you this evening?" I cordially replied.

We were near the same age. That alone was enough to give us a commonality, a bond of sorts. Our previous conversations had always been casual and we began to talk informally, as we had done before. After a few moments, Adom stopped talking and stared at me intently. The silence was as concentrated as his gaze was.

"You have a gift, Dr. Mike," Adom finally stated in a calm tone.

"Have you been hitting the juice?" I jokingly asked.

"No, Dr. Mike, I have a gift too. I can see when others have an ability. There is no need to deny it. I clearly see it," Adom replied as he pronounced each English word distinctly, rarely using contractions.

"Adom, I don't have a clue as to what you could mean," I sternly responded. I was bewildered by the observation and irritated as well.

Gift of what?

Adom could have been referring to anything, but my strong denial did not disturb or dissuade the young Egyptian. Something about what he had said rang true, making me uncomfortable and uneasy, but I was unable and unwilling to accept or delve into it.

"I have often wondered how you could attain such a high position while still so young, Dr. Mike. It is unheard of in our country. Only those with years of experience are promoted to high levels of authority, and yet, here you are. I suspect now, after having observed you for several weeks, that you 'see' things before they happen. I suspect that you have used this ability to some degree your entire life. Did you use it to select the college you would attend? This job?" Adom asked.

I ignored him.

I was about to leave when he continued. "Do you use it to help others, perhaps friends? I suspect that you have used it for many purposes that enabled you to excel and pass by others who would contend for the same opportunity or position. You can see there is no reason to deny it any longer. It is my gift to see such an ability in others."

What Adom said profoundly irritated me.

Without another word, Adom reached out and quickly tapped me on the forehead, just a slight poke to the middle of the brow. Although the tap was not forceful, I nearly fell off the low stool as an electrical current passed between the two of us. It was nothing if not electrifying, shocking, and perplexing… and it hurt.

"What the hell, Adom!" I yelled, jumping to my feet. My natural instinct was to punch him, but somehow I managed to control the automatic reflex.

"Well, you will allow the gift to work now, Dr. Mike. You certainly have it now," Adom replied as his grin widened. I turned and angrily stomped away from the campfire, returning to my tent.

What Adom had done surprised the hell out of me. I wanted to get far away from him and the strange conversation. I needed to be alone; my head was spinning and my stomach reeled and lurched with a sudden burst of nausea.

That was only the beginning…

 On that night, and for several nights afterward, the ability began to work. My head hurt like a son-of-a-bitch and I could still feel Adom's tap right between my eyes. It felt tingly as if a mild wattage of electricity was still zapping me. There was a dull, agonizing ache behind my eyes.

A week later, the kaleidoscopic images erupted with a terrifying vengeance. The visions tormented me day and night whenever I closed my eyes.

I avoided Adom after that evening, but when I did happen to see him around the job site, he merely grinned and nodded. The gesture conceded that he knew the 'gift' was now activated and working in me.

At first, the images were blurry and unclear. I wasn't sure what I was seeing. I wasn't awakened by nightmares or bad dreams. It wasn't like that at all. Rather, the images kept me from falling asleep. I tossed and turned trying to bury my head in the pillow, but it didn't help. Nothing stopped the onslaught. Once asleep, I rested well—the real problem was getting past the visions to sleep.

I asked the medic who traveled with the team for sleeping pills. It worked for a while, and when it didn't, I added a couple of stiff shots of bourbon to speed up the effects of the pills. Although it was clearly abusive to my body, I took that course during the first year.

That, along with denial.

There was no way in hell I would admit to anyone that I saw images through a kaleidoscope. Even the sound of that made me feel sick. Still, I lived in fear that someone would find out.

Our specialized jobs require precision and clear heads. What I was experiencing did not fit into those parameters. Admitting that I suffered from this phenomenon would have been grounds for dismissal. I certainly didn't want that to happen. I like the job, the generous pay, and world travel. In reality, I also like that it limits my options to commit in a relationship.

Or, do I?

I suppose it would be more truthful to admit that as long as the ability is in my life, there isn't a foreseeable long-term relationship in my future. Such a committed connection with another person requires complete honesty.

And, I can't be honest, can I?

The ability is a secret I have to keep.

It's impossible to tell anyone about it. Knowing would put that person in harm's way. Admitting that I have this paranormal and unusual gift would certainly put me in danger from those who clamor to study such phenomena.

I concluded that the safest explanation for the maintained bachelor status is easier and more convenient to blame it on the job.

During the first twelve months, I probably saw six different images, but they were fragmented like all images in a kaleidoscope. They were also blurry like an old black-and-white television on the fritz. After a while, the focus became more distinct even though it remained as broken, irregular pieces. Despite this, I could make out enough to understand that the visions were of a future event.

It was often months later that I learned the outcome. Being in the desert, in a third-world country, or near the top of Mt. Everest for several weeks or months, didn't lend itself to staying on top of current events. I didn't know if I had seen the images before or after the incident occurred. Most of the visions were not major news; they were often broadcast for only a few days. Despite these obstacles, I finally realized that the kaleidoscope showed true and real visions of the future – future disasters.

That was scary as hell.

It was not welcoming news—in fact, I felt both guarded and panicked from the understanding. I didn't want the damn gift, but apparently, I was stuck with it. It alarmed me and I found myself silently cursing Adom for the tap that opened this doorway to the future.

Now, fifteen years later, I'm still as confused as I was then. In all honesty, I know I have never tried to understand the ability—I have merely resisted and avoided it.

I have stuck my head in the sand, hoping it would go away. I have tried to hide it and hide from it. I am a fool and a coward for taking that stance, but I don't know what to do about it.

As a result, my life has been on hold since that fateful evening in the desert. At one time, I wanted to find love and have a family like the one my parents had. Now, I simply suppress the dreams I once held dear.

I am forty-four years old. I have finally reached a tipping point, a precipice, where I can continue to keep any aspirations secret or find assistance. I have chosen to seek help by calling on an old college friend, Dr. Nelson Fitch.

Monday will signal the beginning of something new. I don't know what will happen next, and for me, that's the scariest part of all.

Chapter 2

Sunday afternoon, I took a pack of cigarettes from the fridge and thoughtfully tapped it several times against my palm. I counted out ten cigarettes and then reached for one of the icy cold beers.

I am a smoker if you consider less than half a pack a day smoking. The company doctor who performs my annual physicals does not consider me a smoker. I guess I'm unusual; I smoke on occasion because I like it, not because I have to smoke. I can go days without lighting up.

I stepped out onto the covered deck into the warm, fresh air. It smelled of the gardenia bushes that flanked the back steps of a miniature backyard. It felt as if spring had arrived even though it was still too early for that season. I deeply inhaled the aromatic sweet scent and sat in one of the Adirondack chairs situated around the railing's edge.

I had gotten home in the early hours of the morning from the most recent job assignment in Terni, Italy. Despite the paranoia that had followed me home, I slept until noon. It was good to be home, but now that I am fully awake, I feel more than a little anxious about the appointment with Nelson tomorrow.

I can trust Nelson; it isn't that. It's the fact that I have never told anyone about the kaleidoscope visions. If I tell Nelson, then the secret is out. Nearly fifteen years of silence and I'm now willing to let someone else know. It didn't sound like me. Acknowledging that felt foreign and outlandish. I had guarded the secret well and at great cost. No one knew. Well, in all honesty, no one knew except Adom, the Egyptian worker from all those years ago.

Did Adom tell anyone?

 

My financial situation is secure and, at this stage of my career, I work when I find a job or location that interests me. My living expenses are moderate, almost modest. I live in my childhood home; it was paid for before my parents died. My employer, Geomatics, or GMS, provides round-trip transportation to the job sites and living quarters once I arrive. Furnished uniforms of freshly starched khaki pants and white shirts are always waiting at each location. Other than cab fare, dining out, and a penchant for great coffee, I spend very little in any given month. I am fortunate to save or invest the rest. I could retire even now, but I enjoy consulting for various firms.

I first went to work for GMS in 1992 after completing a doctorate at Columbia. GMS takes on geodetic and geomatic jobs all over the world. My work involves a lot of geology and physics to evaluate the earth's crust and gravitational fields. It also includes observation and documentation of any anomalies, such as tides, crustal and polar motions that could affect earthquake faults, and other natural shifts. These anomalies can eventually lead to a natural disaster.

In many cases, my crew sets up remote surveying and sensing devices to monitor these irregularities and other geographic information. After the equipment establishes a baseline and makes a hands-on initial assessment, GMS monitors the locations remotely. Such was the case in November 2012 when the crew set up equipment near Bogotá, Columbia. We were there to monitor any crustal motion near the equator that might occur during December that same year—a time of uncertainty. Many feared a Mayan Apocalypse and were nervous.

The recordings that were taken by our crew clearly proved a geomagnetic polarity where the earth's magnetic field shifted slightly. Even though it was too minor to be felt by human standards, the sensitive equipment recorded it. It was an uncommon event thought to take thousands, if not millions, of years to occur. Nevertheless, a shift, not a reversal, was recorded.

Key scientists pored over the documentation to determine the possible long-term effects of a geomagnetic polarity shift of that size. So far, most agree that it could affect normal weather patterns around the world. It is possible that there could be a climate shift in the southern direction. The results would mean a longer and colder period for southern states and countries while the northern hemisphere could experience a more severe frigid weather shift.

Through GMS, I took between six and eight consulting jobs a year. Most assignments lasted for a few weeks. It was rare that a job continued for more than a couple of months. I was only home in New York for twelve to fourteen weeks of the year, but I could live with the routine.

Other than the images seen through the kaleidoscope, my life was stable and safe. It was almost too predictable and routine.

This 'sameness' had recently produced an inexplicable hunger. Something inside me urged consideration that there had to be more to life than what I had experienced. I was missing something instrumental—happiness. I began to ache for whatever it was as if there really was a biological clock ticking inside me.

What am I supposed to do about it?

I would never be content seeing visions of the future, but at least I had finally reached a modicum of balance. Did that balance lull me to sleep? Was I the frog in a pot of water who never noticed the temperature rising? Random thoughts such as these, and a five-week lag before my next job assignment, prompted a call to Nelson.

I don't know what I expect to accomplish seeing a psychiatrist. It is a first for me. I have entertained the hope that perhaps meeting with Nelson is a start in the right direction. After all, he is a therapist. Isn't therapy supposed to help someone like me?

Now, doubts plague me and I'm not so sure.

Chapter 3

Part of my predictable routine is going to the gym every available night. Although I was never a jock in high school or college, I had found that exhaustive workouts helped me fall asleep at night. With that benefit, strenuous exercise quickly replaced the sleeping pills of the past.

I had always been lean and tall, rather gangly from ages thirteen to twenty. I had grown six inches during the summer between middle school and high school. Any weight gain could not keep up with that huge growth spurt. The only physical sports I had ever participated in were the mandatory, one-semester Phys. ed. classes: a little volleyball, baseball, or basketball, and a lot of running and pushups.

The locker room was my worst nightmare.

I suspect it was the same for most young men. In the gym, I was nicknamed 'horse' and ridiculed for being well-endowed. In hindsight, that was better than tagged with 'skeet' or 'snake'—still, those days were traumatic as classmates continually ribbed each other and me. Although circumcised as a newborn, nothing was sacred there. Everyone scrutinized each other in the worst possible light: raw nakedness.

The mockery was torturous. Rumors spread around the school following me everywhere I went. Girls giggled, teachers cocked their heads sideways, and football players woof-woofed, when I passed by. I can still hear the taunting voices echoing against the tiled shower stalls.

"Hey Mike, you ought to get circumcised and let the doctor cut off three or four more inches because that thing is huge! Hey guys, look! Jesus! He's like a fucking horse! What girl is ever gonna take that?"

My body didn't begin to fill out until I went to college, and even then, I was still slender. Girls never looked at me other than as a study partner or tutor.

It was the end of my freshman year before my first kiss. I can still vividly remember that kiss today.

Her name was Helen, and we were study partners. She was trying to cram for a big final, but I was there because she was there. Girls, in general, fascinated me, but Helen had me spellbound. We were in the main campus library when she asked for help to find a book. I obliged and followed her between the long rows of bookcases. She turned abruptly causing me to bump into her when I rounded the corner. It was instantaneous, but it seemed to happen in slow motion as every detail imprinted itself on my mind.

Warm, slender arms around my neck, body pressed tightly against mine, and her lips, slightly parted, were deliciously sweet and passionate.

For a first kiss, it was scrupulously long, soft, and wet. When we pulled apart, a slight trickle of moisture held suspended between our lips, like a spider web, as if prolonging the kiss. Helen stared at me in shock. Her eyes were wide with amazement and her mouth formed a perfect oval before finding the words to apologize for being so forward. I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. That was the wrong thing to do because she avoided me for the rest of the term. Still, the experience was just about as perfect as I had imagined it would be.

Except when with a group of friends, I was brainy and quiet, standing apart from the crowd. During the second semester of my sophomore year, suddenly everything changed. I began to fill out and so did my dating opportunities.

It was usually the older girls, seniors, and grad students, who sought out my company. These girls had more experience and were not shy or virginal. I learned a lot from the older girls. It took a while to figure out that I was no longer that gangly, pimply teenager or an embarrassed kid from the locker room; I was a man.

By age thirty, and after discovering the benefits of exercise, I was six feet three inches and weighed two hundred pounds.

Now, sitting in the warm sun that penetrated the deck, my eyelids closed for a second, and the kaleidoscope images repeated their prophecy. Like Jack's beanstalk, the plants grew quickly and effectively blotted out all life to the earth's surface below. I startled upright, sloshing the now warm bottle of beer onto my pants leg; the cigarette had extinguished itself in the ashtray.

I grabbed a gym bag and walked to a favored diner three blocks away. When in town, I ate there at least four times a week. The food was always good and spicy while the atmosphere was quaint. The meals, served in courses, allowed time to savor each dish. Although the owners were Indian, the menu offered many cuisines from around the world, and the variety was another reason I frequented the place.

After a light dinner, I went to the gym for a grueling workout. It was something I did nearly every night of the week. When on a job site, I bought a temporary pass to the nearest gym. My body was lean and hard from the punishment I gave it, but that's what I needed to find restful sleep.

Over the years, I discovered I had a small talent for boxing. I had started working out in the ring because I needed something new to find the level of exhaustion required. One of the regulars at the gym suggested I try boxing.

I don't know why, but I like it. I try not to overthink it. I have no illusions about becoming a fighter and I never think about boxing after I leave the ring. In truth, I had never been in a fight other than the occasional shoving that took place in high school. Still, I liked the idea of having a few protective moves and found it rewarding to give as good as I got in the ring.

After working out on all the equipment, I wandered over to the boxing ring and suited up. I nodded a greeting to Troy, a favorite partner, ready to fight. I didn't know much about Troy other than as a sparring partner. It was rumored that he wanted to go pro and was working up to competition, but he never mentioned it.

Troy, in his late twenties, had blonde hair, blue eyes, and freckles over the bridge of his nose. He was Greek-god handsome and women flocked to him. In fact, there was always a line waiting outside the gym when he exited the building.

Troy was shorter and younger but outweighed me by at least twenty pounds. He was what critics call buff. I was on the lean and hard-as-nails side. Overall, we were a good match in the ring, but it wasn't always that way.

In the beginning, I ended up on the rails, slaughtered by Troy's hard, fast punches. Still, what we did in the ring was merely exercise. It certainly wasn't strategy or defensive and offensive tactics. Under the circumstances, I didn't know how long Troy would last with a real pro.

Chapter 4

Monday morning, I drank a fresh coffee on the deck and thought about my life, wondering where-the-hell it went wrong. There was tightness in the pit of my stomach as I thought about the appointment with Nelson.

Although I can't discount that unsettling feeling, I know I need change. I stubbornly cling to the notion that Nelson will either assist me or point me in the right direction. I finished the coffee and went inside to get ready. Maria would arrive shortly, and I wanted to stay out of her way.

Maria has been the housekeeper since I returned to live in my parents' home. She cleans every Monday morning from eight to eleven whether I'm in town or not. She tidies up the place, picks up and drops off laundry, and makes sure the home doesn't smell musty while I'm away for extended periods—not that there's any real dirt to clean. As a dedicated bachelor, I'm tidy.

I subscribe to the rules left from childhood: if you open it, close it; if you break it, fix it; if you get it out, put it back; and so forth. Nevertheless, dust accumulates, and any home takes on a stale odor when windows and doors remain closed for long intervals.

Maria has the energy of a bumblebee, buzzing busily around to set things right. Trustworthy, she's been a godsend who supports my traveling lifestyle. From the first month of employment, I have paid her exactly what she wanted and increased her wages ten percent each year. She's worth every penny.

Once Maria began the cleaning routine, I went upstairs to the study and closed the door. She dusts and vacuums that particular room while I'm away, never when I am home. For lunch, I returned to the Indian diner for a spicy meal before heading to the appointment with Nelson.

 

As I sat in Dr. Nelson Fitch's plush office, I could tell my good friend had done well over the years. The waiting area, lavishly furnished with Italian leather, said it all. The front office was staffed by a receptionist and file clerk who each had finely grained mahogany desks.

I arrived a few minutes early and had yet to see Nelson's private office, but the receptionist, a petite brunette in her mid-fifties, had buzzed to let him know I was there. A few minutes before two, the door to the inner office opened and Nelson walked out with a patient. The young man, probably in his early thirties, kept his head close to Nelson's and listened intently, "I'll see you next week, Josh."

"Shalom, my good friend, it's great to see you," Nelson greeted loudly with a warm smile after Josh was gone. "Sarah and I have been meaning to invite you to dinner, but time slips away doesn't it?"

I nodded and stood up to shake Nelson's hand. He gestured for me to follow him inside. The mention of Sarah brought back memories of the sassy and confident girl from college who had been part of my group of closest friends.

We were nicknamed the 'College-Five' by my parents, Dawn and Patrick Lewis. Sarah and Nelson affectionately called it 'our mishpocha' or family. I had seen Sarah less than a year ago, and she hadn't aged a day other than laugh lines at the corners of her bright green eyes.

"Please take a seat anywhere you like," Nelson said, indicating one of four tufted armchairs or a sofa. He closed the door and I sat in one of the chairs facing his large ornate desk. The room was spacious and held all the furniture and accent pieces without feeling crowded.

I recalled Nelson as he had been when we first met at Columbia University. Back then, he had a mop of curly brown hair with a very little beard and a slender build for his five-foot-nine-inch frame. The years had added a few pounds, mostly around his midsection, but this enhanced the overall persona often associated with college professors and therapists. Now, his hair was still curly brown with smatterings of gray throughout. There was a shiny spot on top of his head that resembled a small satin kippah, or the platter-shaped hat worn by Orthodox Jews. The wire-rimmed spectacles, perched on the bridge of his nose, completed the scholarly look.

We had been close friends for twenty-five years and it was because of this enduring relationship that I am sitting in his polished office about to spill my guts. I'm about to share something dangerous and implausible; but, on the other hand, if anyone would believe me, Nelson would. After all, he is a psychiatrist and deals with psychological issues and abnormal brain patterns all the time. Although he might not have any experience dealing with the paranormal, I am here because I need his help.

"Why did you want to see me today? What can I help you with, Mike? Is this an official visit or time to schmooze, just two old friends catching up?" Nelson, curiosity getting the better of him, started the conversation.

"Shalom, my friend. It is official. I called asking for an appointment, and I appreciate that you have made time to see me while I'm between assignments. I have an issue, a problem, I need to discuss with a professional and a friend—that's you. I hope you can help me," I replied.

"Of course, Mike. I will be glad to see what I can do. Tell me why you have sought out my professional opinion." Nelson smiled encouragingly.

"What I am going to share with you is a confession of sorts…I have never told another living soul about this, not even my parents. There's a phenomenon in my life that I need to understand." I paused briefly and took a deep breath.

At that moment, the hair on the back of my neck rose and I wanted to run. I considered leaving without saying another word, but something had to change. I was miserable and the desire for something different kept me seated as I suppressed my natural instincts.

"Mike, whatever it is I am sure we can find some answers," Nelson softly interjected.

"Ok, here it is in a nutshell," I rushed to explain. "Every time I close my eyes, I see a vision of some future event in a kaleidoscope. It is not the kaleidoscope of childhood filled with pretty-colored glass. It crackles and sparkles like the one I had as a kid, but this one shows broken images of terrifying future events. The visions torment me. They are reflections and fragmented, not clear pictures. It uses the same principle as all kaleidoscopes where reflective surfaces are placed at an angle to one another."

I briefly paused again unsure how to give the best description. Nelson remained eerily silent, his lips pressed tightly together, as he considered what he had heard. I didn't know how to take his silence, so I rushed on, "I can't shut it off without opening my eyes; it just happens even when I blink the images are there, distracting and penetrating. I have learned to compartmentalize what I see with whatever I am doing, but it has taken years to learn the skills required to live with this ability."

Nelson still didn't say anything.

He appeared to be either stunned or eager; I couldn't quite determine the look. I continued my attempt to explain, "In the beginning, it almost drove me to the edge of madness. In the beginning, well, let's just say that I have a better handle on it now. The images are horrifying events and I can't do anything to prevent them from happening. What I see through the kaleidoscope doesn't affect me personally. None of the visions I have seen are of people or places I know or recognize."

Nelson's expression had changed from stunned to disbelief. His eyes widened in response and he rubbed his chin in perplexity. It pissed me off immediately and my reaction was heated, "Don't think I don't know how crazy this revelation sounds! I know you think no one can see the future. I will give you a taste, a sample, of what I see through the kaleidoscope. Take a few notes so that when it unfolds you will have written proof of what I am telling you."

"Ok, Mike. Give me an example of what you see through the kaleidoscope," Nelson said with a sigh of frustration, but his right hand thrummed the desktop near the phone.

It seemed obvious that he wrestled with a strong impulse to pick up the phone and call for help, perhaps a mandatory psychiatric evaluation. That was a normal response for a doctor who had heard such a shocking and unbelievable confession. Nelson wasn't used to hearing such rubbish from friends, especially those he had trusted in the past. It was natural to want an impartial colleague to observe me. Nelson couldn't be objective or maintain any real neutrality, but he hesitated. It was an imperceptible pause where he struggled to give me the benefit of doubt. He had never known me to lie. Accepting that, he reached for a pen instead of the phone.

"Go on, Mike," he encouraged.

"The most recent images are of overgrown fields and crops completely ravaged and attacked by a plant or weed. It is difficult to be precise because the clips I see are fast, similar to black-and-white time-lapse photography." I paused again as I struggled with the words to adequately describe the vision. Nelson, showing some degree of excitement, gestured for me to continue. "The new plant is so heavy and fast-growing that it covers the fields like kudzu. Everything underneath is choked out and deprived of sun and rain. I can't tell you how, when, or where it will happen, but it will happen. One morning you will hear something on the news about this very scenario," I finished rather lamely.

"Tsuris!" Nelson exploded. I cocked my head sideways because my Yiddish was a little rusty, but he began again more calmly. "We have known each other for a long time and what you have described goes against all that I know about you personally. You have always had a sixth sense, Mike. You have always been able to see things that the rest of us never saw. In college, you saw clearly the things that were ahead and you handled it with your own personal touch. You helped the rest of us when we had difficulties. What you are describing now doesn't make any sense to me. And why the hell did this begin fifteen years ago when I have known you for over twenty-five years, and… well, hellfire Mike, you have always had this ability."

"Nelson, I don't have any recall of the things you are saying," I objected while shaking my head in confusion.

I was shocked even though it was not the first time I had heard this. Adom had suggested this very thing. Was he right when he had insisted that I had used the gift my entire life? Were both men right about my ability? How did they know more about it than I did?

Why can't I recall it?

"Listen, Mike, you're telling me that what you see isn't clear and that it comes through a kaleidoscope… You have me in a quandary here. You have always seen things… when did you start to see them in a kaleidoscope? What in the world happened to you?" Nelson asked.

What the hell happened to me? Why can't I recall it?

I didn't know how to respond to Nelson's line of questioning. I sat speechless in the tufted chair and wondered if I could trust him after all. In the meantime, Nelson studied me in silence, obviously trying to meld the two images of me—the one from college and now. He took a deep breath and the questions took a new direction. He was trying to work things out, figure things out, and reconcile what he remembered with what he had just heard.

"Are these dreams? Are you sure you see these images while you are still awake?" he finally asked.

"I see the images when I close my eyes, Nelson, not while I am asleep. Sleep is my only escape from them. I could close my eyes right now and see the images. Am I asleep?"

"Help me to help you, Mike. That's why you are here, isn't it?" Nelson asked with a puzzled look on his face.

"I can't give you another set of images, Nelson. That's not how it works. I see the same vision until it happens and then a new one begins. I can tell you things that I have seen in the past, but keep in mind that it is a minuscule fraction of natural disasters and catastrophes. In the beginning, I saw about six images each year. Now, I see eight to ten visions a year. I don't know why I see the ones I do. I don't know why I don't see others. I saw the meteor hit Russia. I watched that terrifying scene every night for over a month knowing there was nothing I could do, no one I could tell. I did not see the earthquake in China this year, or the one in Chile during 2010. I have watched tsunamis, earthquakes, and hurricanes. I have watched obscure, bizarre events from around the world. I watch the event over and again until it finally happens, but I did not see hurricanes, Sandy or Katrina, because I would have recognized the locations."

Nelson sat very still. He was apparently stunned. His jaw dropped as he prepared to speak but found no words that could reconcile what I had said with the things he knew about me. He shook his head a few times as if to dispel the uncertainty. Finally, he closed his mouth, crossed his arms across his chest, and nodded for me to continue again.

"For example, when I saw the meteor hit Russia, I didn't know it was Russia. I saw the meteor streaking through the sky and colliding with buildings, but from the vantage point of the vision there was nothing in the image that allowed me to know where it hit." Nelson looked like he was holding as steady as anyone would under the circumstances, so I went on. "As to when an event will happen, I have only recently tried to categorize the kaleidoscope images into some kind of pattern… to understand the timeframe, but I can't find a pattern. It can be as little as a few days or up to a few months. The only thing I know for sure is that the images I see do not change until the event happens."

"Mike, have you considered contacting a research facility that specializes in paranormal phenomena? An agency like that could make sense of more than just the timeframe. Perhaps experts would have more success in pinpointing dates and times. Research…," However, after seeing where he was going, I cut him off in midsentence.

"Hell no!" I nearly shouted, reacting quickly to the suggestion. Then I lowered my voice, "Nelson, I can't take the chance that others will find out about this—my life could change forever. People with paranormal abilities are often locked away and studied; you know that. Someone would eventually want to find out why I am different or why I see these events. No, Nelson, I would never consider that option. That is why I have been so careful to never reveal this secret—I don't want the government or some secret society on my ass!"

"I think that is a little paranoid, Mike," Nelson finally said with a deep sigh. "I wish you would give me more to go on. As your friend, I have to admit this admission is mind-boggling, and I am more than a little worried for you. As a doctor, I am intrigued. It is amazing. You don't appear to be under duress or exhibiting any signs of grandiose behavior or psychosis. Other than the story you have told me, you seem fine. I have to wonder what happened to cause this change because it is just not the Mike I have known for many years."

The definition of psychotic break came rushing back to me as if I had taken Psych 101 the previous day. Textbook descriptions of paranoid patients repeating, 'I see things' or 'I hear things' or 'someone is watching me' poured into my mind.

Nelson must think I'm psychotic.

"Well, maybe if I had come to you sooner you would have a little more faith in what I am telling you, Nelson. But the truth is that I haven't told anyone about this and didn't think I ever would. Watch the news. After you hear about the 'attack of giant plants' we will have more to discuss."

I chuckled softly at my own reference—it sounded sci-fi. Hell, everything I had told Nelson today sounded sci-fi, but it didn't change the fact that it was true. I stood up to leave.

"Mike, I have one more point to make…It seems the sixth sense you had in college has evolved into the dramatic version described today. I would like to focus on how that happened at our next meeting. I have you scheduled for next Wednesday at two o'clock. Does that work for you?" Nelson asked.

"Yeah, I will see you next week. Give Sarah my love and pat the kids on the head for me," I replied with relief, glad to conclude the meeting.

"Ok, Mike, ok," Nelson, lost in thought, said again. He looked heavenward, rubbing the bottom of his chin with his index finger and thumb. Then, he stood and came around from behind the desk. "Oh, and Mike, start a journal. Write down everything that happens, even the minor stuff, and journal your thoughts as well. Don't leave anything out or monitor it. I want your honest, free-flowing assessment of everything that you think or dream between now and next week. Bring it to the next appointment," Nelson said as he walked me to the door.

All the while, his hand was on my back, patting softly as if I was an errant child that he attempted to comfort in some way. This gesture was amusing, but I understood how difficult it was for him to hear the things I had shared. I left Nelson's office and walked briskly down the crowded street to Cavender's coffeehouse. A shot of espresso sounded appealing.

Cavenders is a chain internet café and serves every roasted coffee a person can imagine. A latte breve with an extra shot has always been my ticket to happiness. After the stressful meeting with Nelson, I wanted a coffee and a cigarette.

As hard as it had been to tell him, it had also provided a sense of freedom not easily explained. I took the hot cup of Java to an outside table and fished the electronic cigarette out of my shirt pocket. I drank the coffee and puffed on the e-cig in silence before walking home.

As for Nelson's suggestion to journal, I began right away. Just the act of recording my thoughts seemed to help, and once I began to write, I couldn't seem to stop—it was cathartic and purifying. It allowed me to see things I had previously ignored and refused to question.

Is it necessary to look at a thing in order to see it?

I started writing in the first volume of a set of three journals that my mother bought when I went to work at GMS, my first and only employer. GMS had promised travel and adventure. My mother had suggested that, while I traveled the world, the journals would be an appropriate place to record meaningful events and places visited.

The journals, nine by seven inches each, were bound in rich Moroccan leather and hand tooled. Roman numerals I, II, and III were embossed on the individual covers. The inside flaps were lined with goatskin and the edges were laced with a goatskin thong. The plain paper pages, approximately one hundred per book, were unlined and handmade, bound in sheaves rather than glued.

Like the visions, the journals were a very costly gift that I had never appreciated. I had kept the books in the drawer of a bedside table all these years, taking them out on occasion to dust and oil the leather, but they had only been a keepsake, something to remind me of my mother's love.