Her fingers turned the small glass round, watching the way the clear liquid coated the sides and left barely visible vapour trails on the smooth surface. The rim was marked with traces of her lipstick, and opaque fingerprints decorated the outside. The girl had been drinking from the same glass all night, ever since she had convinced the barman to sell her the entire bottle of vodka so that she didn't have to stand up and wend her way back to the bar every five minutes.
She knew that the barman was watching her, and it made her smile. He was watching her pour neat vodka down her throat, worried that at some point she would pass out and he would have to throw her onto the street. Esme smiled because she knew that wouldn't happen. She was working her way steadily through the bottle, but she was still no more than halfway drunk, although she did intend on making it all the way there by the end of the night.
Someone else was watching her as well. She had been aware of his attention for several minutes now, but she hadn't bothered to look up and return his stare. Instead she concentrated on her glass, turning it between her fingers and watching how the smeared surface refracted the dim light of the bar. If she closed her eyes just a little and stared through her eyelashes she could almost imagine seeing all the stars in the universe within the clear liquid.
Finally she looked up, smiling as she saw that the man was coming towards her table. He was tall, with black hair that was slightly longer than suited him, and he looked to be a little older than most of the regulars that came into the bar. He was also breaking the unofficial dress code by wearing anything other than black – in this case a white t-shirt and blue jeans. It was too warm to be wearing a jacket, but he looked the type who would forsake one anyway. Esme studied his open, friendly face as he approached and found herself smiling. It had been a while, and she guessed that tonight of all nights she could use the company.
'All alone?' the man asked.
Esme made a show of looking around at the empty table. 'Sure am,' she smiled. 'Wanna join me? You'll have to leave the beer behind though – this is a vodka only table.'
The guy laughed, setting his half-empty bottle of beer down on one of the other tables. Esme waved at the bartender until he brought over a second glass, which was noticeably cleaner than her own.
'What are we celebrating?' the man asked, dragging his chair a little closer.
Esme shook her head, pouring a liberal dose into his glass. 'Not celebrating. Commiserating. But don't ask until I'm a lot drunker.'
'Okay. I'm Bobby.' He held out his hand politely and Esme pinched it between two fingers to shake it. She noticed him staring at her nails, which were long and curved and painted ebony black.
'Esme.' She took her hand back and cupped it again around the small glass. 'Drink,' she instructed.
Bobby did so, choking a little on the uncut liquor. 'So,' he asked, 'are you here for the convention?'
'Mostly.' Esme shrugged, her gaze wandering off across the room as if bored already. The bar was small and the windows were blacked out, making it look like a poorly lit tomb from the inside; the effect accented by the short, stubby candles that stood on each table. The air was thick with cigarette haze and waxy smoke. 'I was hoping to find a real psychic among all the charlatans, but I’ve not had any luck.'
'No? There's a lot of them here.'
'Well, maybe.' Esme made a face. 'But either the real ones are all avoiding me, or the whole thing is bunk. I've not quite decided which yet.'
Bobby sipped at his drink. 'What're you looking for?' he asked.
'I want my fortune told.' Esme made her eyes wide, like the dozens of young girls she'd seen that day who had wandered around the stalls with expressions of vapid delight on their faces. 'Or more specifically, I want to know when I’m going to die.'
The man blinked, but it was obvious he had heard crazier things that day. 'And no-one could tell you that?'
'Not truthfully, no. They all told me that I would lead a long and happy life untinged by tragedy.'
'You don't believe that?'
Esme drained her glass; poured herself another. 'Nope. Not the happy bit and definitely not the long bit. None of them would be honest and tell me the truth.'
Bobby watched her as she rotated the glass between her fingers, frowning to himself. Just by looking at the girl he had known that she would be strange and at least a little drunk, but he was surprised to find out exactly how strange and how drunk. 'So... when do you think you’re going to die?'
'Soon.' The girl's eyes flicked up and held his briefly. 'Probably tonight.'
'Seriously?'
Esme nodded, and Bobby knew that she wasn’t joking, not even a little. 'I had a premonition,' she told him, carefully enunciating each syllable of the word. 'I've never been psychic or anything like that... although my grandma was, a little... anyway, I had this dream and when I woke up I had this date in my head. Twentieth of August, this year. And I knew that that was when I was going to die.' She raised her glass in a mocking toast. 'That was about ten years ago, so I’ve had a bit of time to get used to the idea.'
'Wow.' Bobby had heard a lot of stories during his life, especially at this time of year when the conference came to town, but it always interested him to see the different ways that people reacted to the knowledge they were given. 'So, this is what we're commiserating here, huh?'
'Yep. Guess I didn't have to be that much drunker before I told you.'
'And you came here to find out if your... premonition was true?'
'Well, partially. Also when I had that premonition thing, I knew where I would die as well. It kinda made sense after all – I was born here, in this town, so it figures that I would die here as well.'
Bobby frowned. 'You think you're going to die here, tonight?' He laughed suddenly. 'Hell, if it were me I'd be on the other side of the planet right now, probably hiding in the safest place I could find.'
Esme's smile was serene. 'What's the point of that? When you've got that black cloud over your head, it's your time to go, whether you accept it or not.'
'Black cloud?'
'That's what my grandma used to call it.' She refilled his glass, motioning for him to drink up. 'When a person's about to die they get this aura around them, like a big cloud of mosquitoes or thick smoke or something. She sometimes saw it around people and when she did, that person would die within the next couple of days. She told me that her aunt could see it even more strongly, and it drove the poor woman mad. Wouldn't even leave the house in the end, because she couldn't deal with knowing that someone was going to die and not being able to do a damn thing about it.'
Bobby set down his glass and Esme immediately filled it again. 'And that's what you came here looking for? Someone to tell you whether you've got a black cloud around your head?'
'Oh, I know it's there.' She waved an unsteady hand around her head, describing a wide halo. 'I don't need anyone to tell me. I just... wanted to make sure...' Esme laughed. 'I'd hate to think I'd spent the last week calling all my friends and family and telling them I loved them for nothing. Also I'd have to pay back the money I borrowed. And I've spent it all.'
Bobby lifted the vodka bottle, tilting it to see how much was left. 'Are you planning to die of alcohol poisoning?' he joked.
Esme shrugged, leaning heavily on the table. 'I'll take whatever I can get at this point. I always figured I'd die through violence, but passing out in my own bed and never waking up... I guess I could deal with that.'
'You are seriously messed up.' Bobby shook his head, still laughing. 'Do you realise how weird it is to hear a young girl talking like that?'
'Never too young.' Esme spoke quietly, as if talking exclusively to the glass in her hand. 'Once you're ready, you're ready. But yes.' She raised her head and smiled, her green eyes sparkling. 'I guess I am a little messed up. Drink with me.'
Bobby held up his hands in surrender and drained his glass, refilling it himself from the rapidly emptying bottle. 'I'm here for the convention as well,' he said then.
'Really? Business or pleasure?'
'Business mostly. I’m a psychic.'
Esme sat back, eyeing him with sudden interest. 'Are you re-ally?' she cooed.
'Uh-huh. Not a great one, but enough to be able to stumble my way through life and make a living out of it. And you know what else?'
'What else, Bobby?'
'I can see the black clouds too.' He raised his glass, returning her toast.
Esme sat watching him for a moment, then started to laugh. She tilted her head back, her dark hair tumbling down over her shoulders. 'And what do you see right now, Mr Psychic?' she asked, her half-closed eyes gazing up at the ceiling. 'What do you see when you look at me?'
'I see a long and happy life.'
Esme laughed even harder, rocking back precariously on her chair. 'Ah, it's so cute that you do that!' she managed to say. 'Maybe everyone I've spoken to today has just been too damn nice to tell me the truth.'
'Would you really want to hear someone tell you you're going to die?'
'Yes!' She rocked forward again and thumped her hand down on the table. 'I know that it's true and I'm sick of people telling me I'm a liar! If I say I'm going to die, then dammit, I want people to believe me.' She lifted her glass again. 'Bastards.'
Bobby watched her swallow the vodka as if it were water. 'I believe you,' he said at length.
Esme looked up at him through her long lashes. 'Really?' she asked. 'You see this?' She traced the air around her head again, questioningly.
Bobby nodded.
'Cool.'
'Not really.'
'So, am I right? Is it going to be tonight?'
Bobby's gaze followed the swirling darkness around her head. 'I think so,' he said truthfully.
There was a long silence between the two of them. Finally, Esme leaned back in her chair again and dug in the pocket of her jeans, pulling out a handful of money.
'That's the last of what I own,' she said, pushing it across the table. 'Go buy me more vodka. I'm going to try for the alcohol poisoning thing.'
Bobby took the money and stood up. 'Ever hear of a self-fulfilling prophecy?' he asked as he headed towards the bar.
Esme yawned loudly, then put her head on the slightly sticky tabletop and feigned sleep until he came back. Then she poured the last of the vodka from the first bottle into their two glasses and cheerfully opened the second.
'Here's to the future!' she laughed, filling both glasses to the brim.
Bobby lifted his glass. 'Here's to blissful ignorance,' he suggested.
'That too.' They clinked their glasses together, spilling a fair amount of the contents.
They sat and drank in silence for several minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. Esme kept smiling to herself as if amused by some private joke. Eventually she leaned back across the table towards her new companion.
'Bet you're glad you came to sit here with me,' she said, then laughed drunkenly.
'It’s been an experience,' Bobby admitted. He emptied his glass for what felt like the hundredth time that night. 'Are you glad you're spending your last night on earth this way?'
'Yes. Hell yes.' Another laugh. 'So what's it like, being able to see the black clouds? Doesn't it drive you insane?'
The man shrugged. 'You try not to think about it. You pretend it was just a trick of the light. You don't mention it to anyone, ever, and if you see it on someone you turn and walk away as quickly as you can. Same way as everyone deals with death, I guess.'
'Not everyone,' Esme disagreed. 'But you see my point, right? That it could put you right out of your mind?'
Bobby raised his eyebrows quizzically but said nothing.
'I know it would for me.' She lifted her glass so that she was talking into her drink again. 'You'd start looking at the people you hate and wishing so hard that they were the ones with the black cloud over them, instead of all the innocent people out there. Then you'd wish for it just so that you could walk up to them and smile and say nothing, and just know. Just know that there's nothing they can do about it.'
Bobby was shaking his head. 'I don't do that.'
'Hell, I wasn't saying you did. But some people would – you can see that, right? That sort of gift could push you over the edge, and if you were a little disturbed already...' She made a vague gesture with her free hand. 'You'd start laughing instead of crying when you saw the darkness. And then... and then...'
'And then what?' Bobby wasn't smiling any more.
'You could play.' Her green eyes had gone distant. 'You could see if you could change the world; if you could make the black cloud appear on someone. It wouldn't take much. You look at someone and think, I'm going to be waiting for you when you get out of your car. I'll be there and you'll never see me, and I'll break your skull. And then you could sit and watch the cloud form over that person's head; watch it condense and take shape and know that you had done that. You had changed the universe.' Abruptly, her eyes seemed to snap back into focus and she laughed, reaching for the vodka again. 'If you were truly out of it, of course.'
'Oh, of course.'
Esme didn't appear to hear the coldness in his voice. 'It'd be interesting, I guess. Something to play with... watching how a simple choice that you make inside your own head could mean the difference between life and death for someone else. Huh.' She shrugged, the idea seeming to slide away as quickly as it had come.
Bobby was sitting back in his own chair, his arms folded across his chest, and he had stopped drinking. 'Like the choice between whether I came to sit with you, or with some other girl?' he suggested coldly. 'Is that what you mean?'
'What?' Esme was concentrating hard on tilting the vodka bottle, the tip of her pink tongue protruding from the corner of her mouth.
The man leaned forward abruptly. 'Just how psychic are you, Esme?'
'Huh? Me?' She tipped the bottle to far and sloshed vodka across the table. 'Dammit! There, there we go...' She tried again and managed to fill her glass. 'I'm not psychic at all, I told you that. My grandma, she was the psychic one. And her aunt. I just had that one dream that one time, that's it. Never anything else happened like that.'
For a moment longer, Bobby stared at her, his eyes intense like he was trying to look right inside her skull. But then he relaxed and sat back. 'Drink your drink,' he said shortly.
'Certainly will.' Esme lifted her drink, then frowned. 'Did I say something wrong?'
'No.' Bobby shook his head and smiled. 'Nothing at all.'
'Good.' She took another sip of her drink, then glanced up at the clock. 'Oh my God, have you seen the time? It's half eleven... God, I've not got much time left.' She stood up hurriedly, stumbling a little as she retrieved her coat. 'I'd better go...'
Bobby helped her put the coat on. 'Do you want me to walk you home?'
'Oh... no, thank you. No, I'd rather be on my own now.' Esme smiled up at him. 'I think I'll walk down past the river... see it one last time. But thank you, for keeping me company tonight. And for telling me the truth.'
'You're welcome.' There was something dark and unreadable behind his eyes. 'I... I really hope I see you again.'
'You won't.' She laughed. 'Goodnight, Bobby.'
She stood on her toes and kissed him briefly. His mouth was flavoured with the sharp tang of vodka, and beneath that, a faint bitter sweetness that made Esme smile. She broke away and turned towards the door.
When she got there she supported herself on the doorframe and took one last look back at Bobby. He was just another weak, barely talented psychic, not strong enough even to break through her shields and see what she had really been thinking. But the drug she had slipped into his drink would silence his mind soon enough. If her timing had been right, it should start to take effect at about the same time that he got up from his seat and quietly followed her out of the bar. He would be dead in the streets by midnight.
There was always one, every year. She could always guarantee finding that one bad apple in the barrel, one psychic misanthrope who pushed it too far and stumbled into the realms of the sociopath. It made her happy to think that there would soon be another one gone.
She paused in the doorway for a moment longer, watching the way that the black cloud curled and twined around Bobby's head; enjoying it doubly so as she knew her own was already fading. And then she turned and disappeared through the door into the night.
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