Chapter 1

1

"Show me the future," she said, leaning forward slightly in her chair.

She had come like they all did, told by a "friend of a friend" that there was a man with a machine that, for a price, would let a person see into the future. It was not something he advertised; he trusted in the discretion of those who had come before, those who heretofore had only sent along those whom they felt absolutely needed the use of his machine. So he sat and contemplated her for minutes on end, his chin resting on his fingertips as he considered her request.

"Why?" he finally asked, startling her with the sudden question. Up to that moment, she had looked at him directly, challenging him to deny her with a steady, unwavering gaze. But, with one question, he unnerved her; her eyes began to dart and dance, looking for anyplace to alight other than his own implacable stare.

"I..." she hesitated for a moment, considering. Then, raising her face, she looked directly at him again. "You would know if I was lying, most likely. So I won't lie. I want to see into the future... into my future... because I need to know if I'm making the right choices. For me," she hesitated again, looking down to where her left hand rested lightly on her abdomen, "and for him."

The man did not move from his position of contemplation, but his eyes widened ever-so-slightly. He sat still for a minute more, then, with a brief nod, stood and walked around the desk until he was directly in front of her.

Looking down at her, he said, "You know there are conditions?"

"My friend said only that you would not use the machine until you were satisfied with my understanding of what I was asking you to do. She implied that the 'conditions' were different for each person who sought you out."

Hearing that, the man smiled slightly, nodding. "Indeed, depending on how you answered my first question, the way forward could vary. But, given what you have said, and how you have said it..." he strode toward a bookcase to the right of his desk. Books of all sorts climbed crookedly toward the ceiling, aligned in an order perhaps only he knew by heart. Still, he hesitated only a moment, plucking four books from a shelf level with the top of his head, then returning his position in front of her, "... these should do nicely toward meeting my first condition." He handed the four books to her.

She read the name of each book aloud as she looked at their covers. "Dune. Dune Messiah. Children of Dune. God Emperor of Dune." She paused to look up at him. "The first four books in the Dune series by Frank Herbert." Her lips curled upward as she tapped the cover on the top-most book. "I read Dune about 8 years ago when I was reading nothing but science-fiction. I rather enjoyed it, but I never got around to reading the other three. But what do these books have to do..."

"... with your request?" He smiled his thin little smile again, as if used to the question. "The first condition you must meet is both simple and complex, and will give me a rather good idea about whether I should let you see into your own future. You must read these four books, completely and thoroughly, and, when you return here, be ready for me to ask you a single question. Based on your answer, I will decide if you will continue onward toward your desire... or if you should go and never return. Do you understand?"

She looked at him intently, her eyes narrowed, as if wondering if he were completely sane. Then, as she reviewed her options, her gaze returned to its normal, softer look, and she bobbed her head slightly in response.

He held out his hand to her, helping her to her feet, and then using his grasp to lead her to the door of his office. Before saying goodbye, he reached into the right front pocket of his vest to fish out what looked like a business card, which he proffered to her ceremoniously. "You will wish to call me when you have finished reading. This is the direct line to this office; I will be waiting to hear from you." He then opened the door to the hallway, bowing slightly at the waist.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Perry. Until we meet again."

With that, she found herself in the hallway, the door shutting behind her with a slight rattle of the frosted glass upon which the word "PRIVATE" was painted in thick black letters.

And though she had much think about, including the necessity of reading the four books he had place in her care, the one question to which she could find no answer came unbidden to the top of her mind.

"How did he know my name?"

2

Her name was Julia Perry, and, up to two weeks before, she had never heard of the town of Ogdensburg, New York, or the man there that said he could show people the future.

However, it was at that time that a man by the name of Richard Sprewell committed suicide in a most public fashion: by running in front a speeding bus at 4:30 in the afternoon in the middle of rush hour traffic in downtown Rochester. He was dead at the scene, having been thrown under the tires of the public transport; its weight turned the midsection of his body into a pulpy mass that had to be shoveled into a body bag with the more intact pieces of his remains.

For most, the tale of Richard Sprewell was an overnight affair; the follow-up reports on his suicide painted the picture of an introvert, a loner, someone who was known, but who no one knew.

Julia Perry agreed with that description wholeheartedly. She had known Richard Sprewell her whole life, yet had never seemed to know him at all, despite the fact they lived in the same house, shared the same mother and father.

But Julia Sprewell Perry was the only surviving member of the clan, her mother and father having died within weeks of each other in 2002. And thus, it was Julia whom the authorities called to make the final arrangements for the disposal of Richard Sprewell's remains and property. And so, it was Julia who poured over the few possessions in her brother's studio apartment, trying to see if she could make any sense of what he had done.

As she cleared away the empty beer cans and discarded fast food wrappers, the old newspapers and wadded-up plastic grocery bags, she found two things that greatly disturbed her.

One was a group of nearly empty prescription pill bottles. The first, labeled Vicodin, was nearly a year old and, according to the label, was to be taken as needed for headaches. The other, labeled OxyContin, had been prescribed three months earlier, and was supposed to be taken twice a day "for pain."

Julia knew that both were powerful, even addictive, pain relievers. She wondered if her brother had been ill... or an addict.

But it was the second discovery that chilled her: a cheap, cardboard-covered notebook with every page ripped out but one. She could only assume the words she found there were the last her brother had ever written.

His epigraph ended there.

It would have been easy to simply toss the notebook into the trash with the rest of Richard's meager belongings, shutting the door on years of not understanding with a simple flick of the wrist. But she did not... she could not.

Instead, she removed the battered notebook from her purse, setting it beside the four books she'd been given earlier that day. After her brother's funeral, she had gone home to Bath, to normalcy. She lived in their parents' seemingly ancient cottage, and as she sat in the breakfast nook, drinking coffee and looking out the window into the backyard, thinking about her fourth grade students and their assignments for the upcoming week. She thought about the coming of spring, and whether her flowers would bloom again or if she would need to replant. She thought about the man who had said he loved her, and then left with no forwarding address as soon as he heard the word "pregnant."

But her mind kept returning to her brother, to the only words he had left her. The notebook sat closed on the kitchen table, its words constantly in her mind without any need to open it cover. No matter what delusion Richard might have been under at the time of his death, Julia knew that, as aloof as he'd always seemed, Richard hadn't been crazy.

At least, not before he went looking for his future in Ogdensburg, NY.

Each morning, Julia would make coffee and sit at the kitchen table, staring out the window while her fingers drummed on the cover of the notebook. She remembered her brother's smile, of the times when they were children that he had acted like her big brother; she sat thinking the thoughts of guilt and loss, thinking that she could've done something... and Richard would still be alive.

Finally, she awakened one morning and put on her coat, climbing into her trusty old Cavalier. The map she had pulled from the screen of her computer said she could be in Ogdensburg in roughly five hours, depending on traffic. And so, she drove.

And now, she sat on a bed in a cheap motel, her legs folded Indian-style. Her original intention had been to find the man with the machine that told the future and pummel him until he told her what he had done to her brother. She had intended to make him show her the machine, in order to knock it to the floor and jump on it with both feet, smashing it into a million pieces.

But, after walking into that office, after sitting in the thinly padded chair in front of the balding man whose smile said "I know everything about you," she realized that she didn't want revenge, because she had never been so close to her brother to feel such a deep emotion.

No, what she wanted was answers. She wanted truth. She wanted to be rid of uncertainty and doubt. She discovered that what she really wanted was what Richard had apparently wanted.

To know the future.

So instead of saying who she was and what she knew, she had simply said that she had been sent by a friend, because it was said he could show her the future. She hadn't demanded anything, but had made her request; he did not reveal anything, not even his name, but he had given her the books, and implied that he might help... if she met his conditions.

She took the first book off the top of the pile and, cracking it, began trying to discern its secrets.