And soon.
Unless I did something about it.
I stepped out of my van.
5.
The sun had set minutes earlier and I felt like a million bucks. Or, more accurately, I felt like a freaky, nearly invincible, bloodsucking creature of the night who will probably never sniff a million bucks.
Potatoes, potatoes.
I inhaled the evening air—the sunless air—supercharging my undead body. Feeling stronger than I ever had, I beeped my minivan locked out of instinct, shoved the keys in my front pocket, and headed across the street.
6.
Like a good pedestrian, I waited for the light to turn green before I crossed Harbor going east. As I did so, I kept my eyes on the young girl, who was currently digging in her handbag for something. That something turned out to be a black e-book reader. My guess was a Kindle. Then again, I’d only just gotten a Kindle this Christmas, so what the hell did I know?
She turned it on and sat back and crossed her legs. Her left foot kicked up and down. I watched all of this as I continued across the street.
She was still south of me; Amerige Street still separated us.
Now, as I waited for this light to turn green, I watched her suddenly look up and frown. She turned and looked behind her. I looked, too. There was no sign of a bus anywhere. She frowned some more and almost reluctantly went back to her Kindle.
As I waited for the light, frowning myself, I reflected that people were more psychic than they realized. Had she sensed some impending doom? Had her body given her its own warning bell, and she chose to ignore it?
I didn’t know, but it was something to think about as my light finally turned green, and I crossed Amerige street, heading south on Harbor.
I suddenly felt foolish.
It was just a dream, after all. Granted, a very freaky dream. But a dream nonetheless. And yet…
And yet…all the pieces of the puzzle were here. Everything. From the girl, to the bench, to the hedge behind her. Everything except the runaway bus.
And one thing was certain: a bus was coming.
Yes, I felt foolish, but if I’ve learned anything over these past seven years, it’s to expect the unexpected. A prophetic dream seemed strange as hell, sure. But no stranger than drinking blood and changing into a giant vampire bat.
God, I’m such a freak.
So, I moved toward her a little more confidently, even picking up my pace. I passed a few pedestrians, couples mostly, no doubt on their way to one of the many downtown restaurants. No one paid me any mind, and no one paid the girl any mind, either. No one but me.
Your friendly neighborhood vampire.
So how do you warn someone of danger?
I didn’t know, but I was going to figure it out. Feeling nervous and more than a little anxious, I sat on the far end of the bus bench. She looked up as I did so, and I smiled. The smile caught her off guard. She gave me a weird half-smile, as if she’d never smiled at a stranger before. Good enough.
I sat straight, knees together, wringing my hands, the very picture of the crazy bus lady.
Maybe I am crazy, I thought.
Maybe. But the dream was real.
I leaned forward a little and looked down Harbor Boulevard. There, about two blocks down, was the bus. The same bus from my dreams. I’m sure of it. Down to the red stripe over the wide grill. Presently, it was unloading some passengers as many more boarded. No doubt making its last stop before it would stop here…for her. Or us. I hadn’t ridden on a bus in years, and I had no plans to ride this one.
And I had no plans to watch a young girl die today, either.
The bus lurched forward again. The crawling marquis over the windshield proclaimed it was heading toward Fullerton College, which was up the street past us on Chapman.
I swallowed hard, forced myself to calm down. To think.
I was a mom, dammit. I had two kids. I watched Survivor. I wasn’t a hero. I wasn’t something out of a comic book. Sure, I was freaky as hell, but I never asked for any of this.
I rocked a little on the bench as the bus drew ever closer.
So how do you walk up to a complete stranger and tell them you’d been dreaming of their death? I didn’t know, but I was going to have to think of something. And quick.
Think, Sam.
A favorite writer of mine likes to have his characters “cudgel their balky brains.” I was beginning to appreciate that phrase. My balky brain needed some cudgeling, some sense knocked into it. Something, anything to kick start it.
Just talk to her, I thought. Do something.
“What kind of reader is that?” I asked.
She looked up at me again. This time she wasn’t smiling. After all, to smile at the crazy street lady would only encourage her, right?
“Kindle,” she said simply, emotionlessly, and went back to reading. She was wearing a Cocoa’s uniform: black slacks, red pin-striped, short-sleeved blouse.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s okay I guess.” She kept her head down.
The bus was a block away. Waiting at a red light, it looked menacing as hell, especially if you imagined it careening out-of-control, bounding up the curb like an enraged beast.
Sweet Jesus.
I swallowed my pride and said, in as non-threatening a voice as I could, “This is going to sound crazy—” words, I’m sure, every person waiting at a bus stop wants to hear— “but I believe your bus is going to…be involved in some sort of accident. I’m sorry. I know I sound like a crazy woman, but I really, really think you should listen to me.”
Her eyes shot up as the Kindle came down.
“What?”
The bus was a half block away and picking up speed. From here I could see the driver. An older man, both hands securely on the steering wheel, staring intently ahead. The picture of professionalism. There were a few passengers further back, I could see, but it was impossible to tell how many. I could hear the bus’s big engine growling, its shocks squeaking as it bounced over the pavement.
When I looked back at the girl, I saw that she was now sitting as far away from me as possible.
I spoke urgently now, admitting to something I rarely admitted to anyone, let alone a stranger. “Look, I see things. I know things. I’m weird like that, I know. But I’m here now to warn you.”
“Warn me, why?”
“You’re going to die.”
She stared at me, long and hard. Sure, I was expecting a reaction, but not the one I received. As she stared at me, and as the bus bore down on us, she burst out laughing. “Who set you up? Dillon? That fucker. Where is he? Is he filming this shit? What are you, like, his mom or something?”