After Mia is rescued from the trafficking ring's basement brothel, she and Thomas begin putting both their lives and the well-guarded pieces of the Sevens Prophecy together. Although they quickly discover their cause may already be in jeopardy, they are unaware that the powerful forces alluded to in the prophecy have begun working to unite the light psychics together with them in Baltimore. Unfortunately, those same forces are assembling the dark psychics as well.
As both sides of the prophecy gather, which group will ultimately decide the fate of the world?
tw: violence against women, gun violence, abuse, domestic abuse, eating disorders, death, loss, grief
As both sides of the prophecy gather, which group will ultimately decide the fate of the world?
tw: violence against women, gun violence, abuse, domestic abuse, eating disorders, death, loss, grief
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Chapter One
Jose
Wednesday, August 24
The hospital was as quiet as hospitals ever can be, which is to say there was still a modicum of chatter from the nurses’ station and muted clicks and beeps could still be heard coming from patients’ rooms if you listened carefully. Beyond that, the halls were silent, as no visitors were allowed in the ICU overnight.
Jose passed through the ward on his way to the ER and gave a nod to Selma, one of the nurses who also worked the graveyard shift. The two had been out together several times but no relationship ever developed. This bothered Jose if for no other reason than he had always been drawn to the warmth of her smile. She waved to him, barely making eye contact, and quickly returned to her conversation with the others.
He slowed his pace once he was past their line of sight and scanned the patients’ names on the doors as he strolled down the hallway. He was familiar with all but two, who he assumed had been brought in since his shift the night before. Their files hung on wall hooks just outside their rooms, and after glancing back down the corridor to be sure he wouldn’t be seen, he snatched Chloe Hall’s clipboard from the wall and stepped inside her room.
The lights were off and except for a faint overhead light in the doorway and the eerie glow of the machinery monitors, the room was dark. He peered into the dimness and could barely make out the shape of a figure asleep under the sheet. Chloe appeared tiny and her chart confirmed that she was only 17 years old, hospitalized as the result of a traumatic head injury – a horseback riding accident was listed as the cause. Jose crept slightly further into the room until he could see the steady rise and fall of her chest and the green halo of the ventilation machine. Wisps of hair peeked out from beneath the gauze around her head and he imagined what she’d looked like the day before, atop her horse soaring across the Sonoran Desert, the wind chasing her down.
Without a word, he reentered the hallway, cautiously replaced Chloe’s chart, and entered the room of the other newcomer to the ward, Matt Mulhaney. A quick scan of his chart revealed the reason for his admission – a front end collision with a dump truck early that morning. He’d spent all day in surgery having his arms and legs bolted back together, and while there was only a slight threat of internal bleeding, the doctor’s notes indicated he remained in the ICU because of his lethally high blood pressure. Framed by the light from the hallway, Mulhaney appeared to be a sort of prehistoric arachnid, his limbs suspended around him as if he was caught in a web of his own construction. Jose wondered if the man’s family was waiting somewhere in the building or if they’d relented and gone home after a full day of weeping and praying. He envisioned the man’s small children climbing over waiting room furniture, no longer satisfied with broken crayons and daytime TV, unable to comprehend just what ‘critical condition’ really meant.
Jose left the second patient’s room more confused than when he entered, and after confirming he hadn’t been seen, made his way through the double doors and into the elevator which delivered him to the emergency room where he was expected for work. The glaring brightness and cacophony of the ER was a stark contrast to the intensive care unit on the second floor. Vanessa, the head nurse, spotted him cutting through triage on the way to the break room and stopped him before he even had a chance to drop off his bag.
“Have you clocked in?” she called, pushing an elderly man in a wheelchair through the waiting room.
“I was just on my way,” he replied, motioning toward the door.
She shook her head. “I’ll have Gloria swipe your card. I need you to take Mr. Fletcher here to the restroom to get washed up. It seems he’s had a bit of an accident.”
The stench coming from the man indicated what kind of accident he’d had and it wasn’t the type which involved a motor vehicle. Although he initially balked, Jose quickly remembered his job as an orderly was a means to an end. Changing the old man’s pants now was the only way he would have access to the others later, so with that in mind, he left his bag behind the triage desk and hurried Mr. Fletcher to an unoccupied restroom.
He cleaned the man quickly and proficiently, redressing him in a pair of standard issue scrubs while avoiding both eye contact and small talk. When he began working as an orderly right after high school, tasks involving human waste often made him consider other career options, but six years later, he knew he could never leave. The access it gave him to complete his life’s work was unsurpassed, so he quickly learned to overcome his squeamish tendencies.
After returning Mr. Fletcher to his wife in the waiting room, he was immediately called to help restrain a new arrival who was hopped up on hallucinogens and threatening to tear an examination room apart.
“He thinks we’re trying to kill him,” one of the shift nurses told him. “And he’s seriously strong, so be careful. Dr. Unger’s already in there and has been calling for back up, but I didn’t know where you were.”
Without the slightest hesitation, Jose hurried past the support rooms toward the treatment area where he heard the man screaming obscenities and threatening the staff. The room’s door was no longer closed for privacy and exposed the scene inside as he approached.
“Listen, Kirk, no one is trying to hurt you,” Unger was telling the patient when Jose rushed up behind him. “Just set down the scissors so we can find out what’s really going on.”
Kirk, a formidable looking teenager, stood against the far wall wielding a pair of surgical scissors he’d obviously scavenged from a drawer somewhere in the room. The terror in his eyes convinced Jose the kid truly believed his evasive actions against hospital personnel were necessary for his survival and that there would be no reasoning with him. Mascara stained the cheeks of a pretty brunette pleading quietly from the corner of the room for him to stop, while Vanessa and Gloria stood behind Unger, positioned to flee if necessary.
“Come on, baby. Just chill out, okay? Please?” the brunette begged. “Let’s just forget any of this ever happened and I’ll just take you home.”
“NO!” he screamed at her, “you’re in it with them! All of you together! You’re all trying to kill me but I won’t let you!”
Jose immediately wished there was another man in the room. He knew with Unger’s help he could restrain Kirk, but the adrenaline surging through the kid’s veins made him unpredictable. There was no telling what he would do if they provoked him further.
Unger turned to Vanessa. “Has security been called?”
She appeared poised, but did not take her eyes off the boy. “Yes, of course, but someone said they were outside dealing with a fight in the parking lot. Who knows when we’ll see them.”
Kirk’s eyes darted around the room and Jose sensed he was planning to make his escape. Lives would be in jeopardy if he was allowed to leave the room and there was no telling what type of chaos would ensue. He took a step closer to the teen.
“Hey, border bandit,” Kirk sneered. “Stay away from me. I’ll kill you if I have to! Nobody will care if there’s one less Sanchez in the world!”
The words sliced a nick in Jose’s composure – no one ever cared he was a fourth generation American of legal descent, but it wasn’t enough to provoke him into action prematurely. He ventured another step forward with Unger by his side.
“Ready?” Unger whispered.
“Yeah,” he replied.
The men tackled the boy in one fluid motion, Unger on his left side and Jose on his right, pinning him against the wall. Vanessa fumbled for a set of zip tie cuffs in the bottom drawer of a cabinet as Kirk wrestled to free himself. Once she found them, she ran to Unger who quickly strapped his left hand into the tie while Jose continued to restrain Kirk as best he could, cautious of the scissors which were dangerously close to his body.
“Get off me, Chalupa!” Kirk spat as he thrashed his head in sheer defiance. “I’ll kill you, I swear it!”
After securing the boy’s left hand, Unger slid behind him in an attempt to reach his other side, but as he lessened his grip, Kirk seized the opportunity to lunge forward, stabbing the scissors into Jose’s thigh. He cried out but didn’t release the boy, jamming his shoulder securely into his chest. Within seconds, Unger slipped the tie over Kirk’s right hand and pulled tightly on the restraint, forcing him to the ground.
“Oh my God, Jose,” Gloria cried out, noticing the blood pooling in a ring on his scrubs.
He brought his hand to the wound, testing to see how deeply he’d been pierced. “It’s nothing,” he replied, as she hurried to his side. “I don’t think it even needs stitches.”
Security arrived as the police were being called and Gloria led Jose into an adjacent room to look at his injury.
“Seriously, it’s fine. I’ll just change my pants and put on a Band-Aid,” he said.
Gloria slipped on a pair of latex gloves. “Nonsense,” she replied as she carefully began cutting a hole in his pants to expose the wound. “Just let me make sure that little punk didn’t do any serious harm.”
He allowed her to examine him as it gave her peace of mind, but he knew there would be no lasting damage. As she cleaned and dressed the puncture, prattling on about how they didn’t get paid enough to deal with crazy people, he allowed his mind to wander to the new ICU patients. It was always hard when he had to make a choice and tonight he could only choose one person on the floor. To choose more than one would be far too risky. He couldn’t chance exposing his intent. By the time Gloria finished, he’d weighed all his options and made his decision. He hoped it was the right one.
The police were escorting a subdued and restrained Kirk out of the ER as Jose sought out Vanessa to tell her he was going on his break. He slipped unnoticed through the lobby to where the elevators carried him back to the second floor.
It was still peaceful there as he crept down the hallway, hugging tightly to the wall so he could duck into an alcove if one of the nurses made an appearance. When he arrived at the room of the patient he’d selected, he wasted no time getting straight to work.
Chloe Hall lay before him, sleeping soundly as she’d been when he first looked in on her earlier in the evening. Selecting her out of all the possible ICU patients wasn’t an easy decision, but he knew in his heart she wasn’t going to make it and that he was the only one capable of putting an end to her suffering. He gently brushed the wisps of hair across her pillow, whispering a simple prayer for her soul, and then Jose placed his hands upon her chest and surrendered himself to what he knew needed to be done.
Jose passed through the ward on his way to the ER and gave a nod to Selma, one of the nurses who also worked the graveyard shift. The two had been out together several times but no relationship ever developed. This bothered Jose if for no other reason than he had always been drawn to the warmth of her smile. She waved to him, barely making eye contact, and quickly returned to her conversation with the others.
He slowed his pace once he was past their line of sight and scanned the patients’ names on the doors as he strolled down the hallway. He was familiar with all but two, who he assumed had been brought in since his shift the night before. Their files hung on wall hooks just outside their rooms, and after glancing back down the corridor to be sure he wouldn’t be seen, he snatched Chloe Hall’s clipboard from the wall and stepped inside her room.
The lights were off and except for a faint overhead light in the doorway and the eerie glow of the machinery monitors, the room was dark. He peered into the dimness and could barely make out the shape of a figure asleep under the sheet. Chloe appeared tiny and her chart confirmed that she was only 17 years old, hospitalized as the result of a traumatic head injury – a horseback riding accident was listed as the cause. Jose crept slightly further into the room until he could see the steady rise and fall of her chest and the green halo of the ventilation machine. Wisps of hair peeked out from beneath the gauze around her head and he imagined what she’d looked like the day before, atop her horse soaring across the Sonoran Desert, the wind chasing her down.
Without a word, he reentered the hallway, cautiously replaced Chloe’s chart, and entered the room of the other newcomer to the ward, Matt Mulhaney. A quick scan of his chart revealed the reason for his admission – a front end collision with a dump truck early that morning. He’d spent all day in surgery having his arms and legs bolted back together, and while there was only a slight threat of internal bleeding, the doctor’s notes indicated he remained in the ICU because of his lethally high blood pressure. Framed by the light from the hallway, Mulhaney appeared to be a sort of prehistoric arachnid, his limbs suspended around him as if he was caught in a web of his own construction. Jose wondered if the man’s family was waiting somewhere in the building or if they’d relented and gone home after a full day of weeping and praying. He envisioned the man’s small children climbing over waiting room furniture, no longer satisfied with broken crayons and daytime TV, unable to comprehend just what ‘critical condition’ really meant.
Jose left the second patient’s room more confused than when he entered, and after confirming he hadn’t been seen, made his way through the double doors and into the elevator which delivered him to the emergency room where he was expected for work. The glaring brightness and cacophony of the ER was a stark contrast to the intensive care unit on the second floor. Vanessa, the head nurse, spotted him cutting through triage on the way to the break room and stopped him before he even had a chance to drop off his bag.
“Have you clocked in?” she called, pushing an elderly man in a wheelchair through the waiting room.
“I was just on my way,” he replied, motioning toward the door.
She shook her head. “I’ll have Gloria swipe your card. I need you to take Mr. Fletcher here to the restroom to get washed up. It seems he’s had a bit of an accident.”
The stench coming from the man indicated what kind of accident he’d had and it wasn’t the type which involved a motor vehicle. Although he initially balked, Jose quickly remembered his job as an orderly was a means to an end. Changing the old man’s pants now was the only way he would have access to the others later, so with that in mind, he left his bag behind the triage desk and hurried Mr. Fletcher to an unoccupied restroom.
He cleaned the man quickly and proficiently, redressing him in a pair of standard issue scrubs while avoiding both eye contact and small talk. When he began working as an orderly right after high school, tasks involving human waste often made him consider other career options, but six years later, he knew he could never leave. The access it gave him to complete his life’s work was unsurpassed, so he quickly learned to overcome his squeamish tendencies.
After returning Mr. Fletcher to his wife in the waiting room, he was immediately called to help restrain a new arrival who was hopped up on hallucinogens and threatening to tear an examination room apart.
“He thinks we’re trying to kill him,” one of the shift nurses told him. “And he’s seriously strong, so be careful. Dr. Unger’s already in there and has been calling for back up, but I didn’t know where you were.”
Without the slightest hesitation, Jose hurried past the support rooms toward the treatment area where he heard the man screaming obscenities and threatening the staff. The room’s door was no longer closed for privacy and exposed the scene inside as he approached.
“Listen, Kirk, no one is trying to hurt you,” Unger was telling the patient when Jose rushed up behind him. “Just set down the scissors so we can find out what’s really going on.”
Kirk, a formidable looking teenager, stood against the far wall wielding a pair of surgical scissors he’d obviously scavenged from a drawer somewhere in the room. The terror in his eyes convinced Jose the kid truly believed his evasive actions against hospital personnel were necessary for his survival and that there would be no reasoning with him. Mascara stained the cheeks of a pretty brunette pleading quietly from the corner of the room for him to stop, while Vanessa and Gloria stood behind Unger, positioned to flee if necessary.
“Come on, baby. Just chill out, okay? Please?” the brunette begged. “Let’s just forget any of this ever happened and I’ll just take you home.”
“NO!” he screamed at her, “you’re in it with them! All of you together! You’re all trying to kill me but I won’t let you!”
Jose immediately wished there was another man in the room. He knew with Unger’s help he could restrain Kirk, but the adrenaline surging through the kid’s veins made him unpredictable. There was no telling what he would do if they provoked him further.
Unger turned to Vanessa. “Has security been called?”
She appeared poised, but did not take her eyes off the boy. “Yes, of course, but someone said they were outside dealing with a fight in the parking lot. Who knows when we’ll see them.”
Kirk’s eyes darted around the room and Jose sensed he was planning to make his escape. Lives would be in jeopardy if he was allowed to leave the room and there was no telling what type of chaos would ensue. He took a step closer to the teen.
“Hey, border bandit,” Kirk sneered. “Stay away from me. I’ll kill you if I have to! Nobody will care if there’s one less Sanchez in the world!”
The words sliced a nick in Jose’s composure – no one ever cared he was a fourth generation American of legal descent, but it wasn’t enough to provoke him into action prematurely. He ventured another step forward with Unger by his side.
“Ready?” Unger whispered.
“Yeah,” he replied.
The men tackled the boy in one fluid motion, Unger on his left side and Jose on his right, pinning him against the wall. Vanessa fumbled for a set of zip tie cuffs in the bottom drawer of a cabinet as Kirk wrestled to free himself. Once she found them, she ran to Unger who quickly strapped his left hand into the tie while Jose continued to restrain Kirk as best he could, cautious of the scissors which were dangerously close to his body.
“Get off me, Chalupa!” Kirk spat as he thrashed his head in sheer defiance. “I’ll kill you, I swear it!”
After securing the boy’s left hand, Unger slid behind him in an attempt to reach his other side, but as he lessened his grip, Kirk seized the opportunity to lunge forward, stabbing the scissors into Jose’s thigh. He cried out but didn’t release the boy, jamming his shoulder securely into his chest. Within seconds, Unger slipped the tie over Kirk’s right hand and pulled tightly on the restraint, forcing him to the ground.
“Oh my God, Jose,” Gloria cried out, noticing the blood pooling in a ring on his scrubs.
He brought his hand to the wound, testing to see how deeply he’d been pierced. “It’s nothing,” he replied, as she hurried to his side. “I don’t think it even needs stitches.”
Security arrived as the police were being called and Gloria led Jose into an adjacent room to look at his injury.
“Seriously, it’s fine. I’ll just change my pants and put on a Band-Aid,” he said.
Gloria slipped on a pair of latex gloves. “Nonsense,” she replied as she carefully began cutting a hole in his pants to expose the wound. “Just let me make sure that little punk didn’t do any serious harm.”
He allowed her to examine him as it gave her peace of mind, but he knew there would be no lasting damage. As she cleaned and dressed the puncture, prattling on about how they didn’t get paid enough to deal with crazy people, he allowed his mind to wander to the new ICU patients. It was always hard when he had to make a choice and tonight he could only choose one person on the floor. To choose more than one would be far too risky. He couldn’t chance exposing his intent. By the time Gloria finished, he’d weighed all his options and made his decision. He hoped it was the right one.
The police were escorting a subdued and restrained Kirk out of the ER as Jose sought out Vanessa to tell her he was going on his break. He slipped unnoticed through the lobby to where the elevators carried him back to the second floor.
It was still peaceful there as he crept down the hallway, hugging tightly to the wall so he could duck into an alcove if one of the nurses made an appearance. When he arrived at the room of the patient he’d selected, he wasted no time getting straight to work.
Chloe Hall lay before him, sleeping soundly as she’d been when he first looked in on her earlier in the evening. Selecting her out of all the possible ICU patients wasn’t an easy decision, but he knew in his heart she wasn’t going to make it and that he was the only one capable of putting an end to her suffering. He gently brushed the wisps of hair across her pillow, whispering a simple prayer for her soul, and then Jose placed his hands upon her chest and surrendered himself to what he knew needed to be done.
