Precognition is understood to be the psychic ability to see future events. While it has been suggested that this ability violates the basic principle of causality, the cause is partly responsible for the effect and the effect is partly dependent on the cause this only holds truth if it is accepted that the world progresses in a linear fashion, but though human beings order their lives in this manner, it is understood by scientists that the concept of time and space are manmade constructs.
Time is a concept of measure; an impression within the minds of human beings who perceive the events of their life experiences as separate incidents occurring in a flowing continuum in the same physical location, and it is only when the individual shifts their perspective that they perceive the existence of time because it is that individual’s relationship to what he or she perceives as being part of their past, present, or future, but if that individual is aware that time is a construct and can understand that events within the human experience existing congruently only within varied vibrational frequencies then precognition might be understood as the psychic ability to see events aligned with another vibrational frequency or occurring in other dimensional plane other than the one the individual is currently dwelling within.
It took some time to reestablish some resemblance of order in the small back office of Luminosity, and though Elizabeth Bennet wasn’t upset by the chaotic destruction I had caused, I was. My abilities had been triggered by an unidentified source and I was uncertain as to how or why. I was concerned that there was a possibility that it would occur again without my prior knowledge or consent. Was it possible that Elizabeth Bennet had triggered my ability with her own just as Chloe did that afternoon in my bedroom? I had read about precognition within the pages of Sacred Magick, but had no firsthand knowledge about how it worked so I couldn’t be sure that Elizabeth was the catalyst, but if she was, then how could I stop this from happening again? What was the technique I needed to learn? I couldn’t continue to allow outside influences to trigger my ability. It was paramount for me to be in control of my power, because like it or not, I was the responsible one even if someone or something outside of me triggered it.
Perhaps the solution to this whole fantastical situation was less complicated than I imagined. Maybe I just needed to reconsider my opinion about the medication I had been prescribed my Dr. Worth. As much as I disliked the feeling I had while medicated I needed to consider the well-being of those who were around me: my friends, my family. What if my power was triggered and I unintentionally hurt someone? Or killed them? Would I be able to live with that guilt?
“I’m so sorry about this mess,” I apologized, as I picked up the fragmented pieces of one of the many broken statues that hadn’t yet been placed on the display shelves in the shop.
“It’s really my fault, Angie. I asked you to show me your ability and you did. I just wasn’t as prepared as I should’ve been. I underestimated you,” she said, glancing at my tutor, who was gathering scattered packing peanuts. “I think we all have.”
Mr. Stokes never glanced up from his task. He appeared to be caught up in his own thoughts.
Elizabeth seemed to be more familiar with me than I was with her and I couldn’t help but wonder how detailed was her knowledge concerning me? Did she know who I was that day I first wandered into her shop, the day I purchased the sphere and books? Was she aware of the connection I had with each of the items? Did she know that Abigail Williams was of my bloodline before our discussion about the inscription I found in the copy of Sacred Magick that I purchased from her shop?
“You know what I find funny?” I questioned. “It seems that you know a lot about me, but I don’t know you at all. You know things I share before I even share them, and yes, I know you’ve told us that you ‘read the portents’, and that’s fucking amazing, but I also know that some of the information you know about me came from,” I pointed at my tutor, ”him …”
“Angie,” Mr. Stokes attempted to interrupt.
“… because it’s clear to me that the two of you have some sort of ‘thing’ going on,” I continued, “which is really none of my business, but you shouldn’t include me in your ‘thing’, because I don’t want to be a part of it.”
“You don’t under –,” began Elizabeth.
“Yes I do,” I cut her off, caught up in my own bravado, “I understand more than you know, more than you all know. I am the epiphany of understanding. But you’re right about one thing; you have all underestimated me.”
With a heavy sigh, Mr. Stokes dropped the plastic bag he was holding and the white foam pieces he had captured within escaped their dark prison and reveled in their newly discovered freedom as they danced to the floor. Elizabeth Bennet looked from me to my tutor without speaking. The tension grew weighty as seconds passed in silence.
I wondered what Aunt Rachel thought of Mr. Stokes sharing information with this woman, if she even knew about it. Although I was unclear as to the details of his obligation to our family, specifically to me, I was certain that sharing personal information about me without my consent was breaking some rule. What would the consequences for him be? Did he forget that he was in servitude to the bloodline of Abigail Williams? He betrayed me; by sharing my secrets with this woman, a woman I barely knew even if there was some unseen bond between her and me, he still betrayed me. I would decide what she should know and when she would know it. Not him.
Mr. Stokes removed his glasses and wiped his face with the palm of his left hand before replacing his spectacles. It felt as if he was preparing to offer an explanation, but Daniel returned from a trip to the restroom before he said a word.
“Hey,” my brother greeted as he entered the office. “What’s going on? Something happen while I was gone?”
“No,” I shook my head, retrieving the worn leather bound diaries from their splayed positions on the floor. I smoothed the wrinkled pages before closing each of the books and gathering them in my arms as if they were children. “I think it’s time for us to leave.”
“Please return the diaries to me when you’re finished with them,” Elizabeth requested as she took a step closer to where I stood.
“I will,” I said, clutching the old journals to my chest anxious to leave the shop and begin reading the words that were written on the yellowed pages.
“Angie,” Mr. Stokes cleared his throat before proceeding, “I realize that you’re often discouraged by … well, without sugarcoating it, because I think we’re well beyond that now, so let me just be candid with you here …”
I only ever wanted him to be honest and open with me.
“… your life, but mostly I think it’s the people in your life that frustrate you most because, and I include myself in this lot, we misjudge you. I understand your frustration. I do. You may not believe me, but I do.”
Elizabeth silently nodded from her spot by the desk.
“If I were you, I would be irritated with me, as well,” he slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. “It seems that although I was cautioned numerous times by Rachel to not underestimate you, I did; over and over again, when instead I should’ve been unbiased about your potential. As your teacher I should’ve been encouraging you to explore the depths of your power and guide you in gaining and keeping control of your abilities, but I neglected to do so and I apologize for my failure.”
I didn’t know what to say or think in response to Mr. Stokes’ words so I stood in silence. The sincerity of his expression softened my feelings of agitation and unease with the numerous unknowns that were presented to me. I used to believe that life was filled with boundaries and undeniable truths, but as I uncovered information about the members of my family and our shared history the more I realized my beliefs were naïve.
“I’d like to clarify something, Angie,” offered Elizabeth as she took a step towards me. “It wasn’t Gerald who spoke with me about you.”
I was confused.
“It’s all right,” my tutor said, placing his hand on her arm.
“She should know,” Elizabeth explained. “If we’re going to do this honesty thing then she needs to know.”
“Yes, of course,” he agreed, dropping his hand with a quick nod.
The shop owner glanced at my brother then looked to me.
“It was your aunt,” she confessed. “It was Rachel.”
Aunt Rachel? It was difficult to believe that my aunt was the individual who betrayed me by sharing personal things about me with a stranger. She was the one family member who always acknowledged and valued me as an individual with ideas and thoughts separate from my parents. She knew I had abilities and didn’t refer to me as delusional or paranoid and she never referred to me as being mentally ill. She never labeled me anything but unique. I trusted her. I admired her. I struggled with the idea that she was the one talking to Elizabeth about me.
“She and I are …,” hesitated Elizabeth, “Well, we’re …”
“Lovers?” questioned Daniel.
“Friends,” she continued, her word overlapping my brother’s. “We’ve been friends for years now.”
It was strange the way she said the word ‘friends’ as if the label didn’t quite fit the rapport my aunt and she shared and I wondered if my brother’s assessment of the nature of their relationship was a more accurate one. Honestly it didn’t matter to me who my aunt was sexually involved with, be it a woman or man, but the idea that Aunt Rachel might be currently romantically tied to or had been previously involved in an intimate relationship with Elizabeth Bennet intrigued me, not because she was a woman, but because of the abilities she possessed and how her blood relative, Sarah Osborne was connected to ours.