Days became weeks at the old farmhouse, without end. The pastor said nothing nor indicated any sign that he wanted his guest to leave. For once in his life, Mackland felt welcomed and slowly opened up to the older man in a way he never would've dreamt possible; especially since they'd only known each other a short time.

With the pastor's tutelage and his contacts, Mackland soon felt comfortable enough with his abilities to leave the house. He began taking long walks around the lake, then once he was strong enough to walk more than a few minutes at a time, he walked through town.

It did not take long for him to develop a daily routine with the pastor. Mac started working on his physical therapy during Jim's morning chores while listening to classical music. Try as he might, Mac couldn't force himself to scoop up horse manure or other farm necessities. In an attempt to be a gracious guest, he followed the older man to the barn one time to assist. It only took stepping into a smelly pile of poop for him to quickly run out and take an hour-long shower. He did not need to beg off the chores—every time Mac went out to the barn, Jim would start laughing at the prim and proper doctor, waving him away.

Mackland had taken to practicing his psychic powers outside by the lake. It was far enough away from any structures to cause any damage. Unfortunately, during this 'training' period, many a tree suffered in his attempts to gain control. Soon, he felt stronger than he had ever felt before. He was able to move small objects from one place to another—larger objects if he focused very hard. The 'visions' for lack of a better word were harder to control. They manifested only when he touched certain objects—the research he'd found called the phenomenon psychometry or psychoscopy. The visions were intense, frightening to the core. It was hard to understand exactly what he was seeing; sometimes, it was the past—more often of things yet to come.

The first time –terror wasn't a strong enough word for the emotion he felt during and afterward. The vision was quick, unexpected; the small-town grocery store was managed by a gray-haired old man who'd felt the need to ask him twenty questions every time he stopped in. For a while, Mac tried to avoid causing any rumors—keeping quiet, yet polite when asked about his limping and why he was staying with the pastor when it was obvious from his gold watch he could afford a place of his own.

A young woman carrying a baby and juggling a couple of bags walked towards them, shaking her head at the old man with a fond look of exasperation. She wasn't paying attention to her surroundings, Mac gathered, and almost tripped over a small case of soda pop near the register. Gasping, her hands flew to steady her child and dropped everything else to the ground.

Mackland did not hesitate to slowly bend down to pick up her fallen bag; the baby's teddy bear had been tossed out and as soon as his fingers touched the object—his mind was flung into the unknown. Flashes of water splashing, a child crying out unheard, beer bottles crashing, and screams overwhelmed him. He did not realize that he'd fallen until the vision cleared and everyone who'd been in the small shop was now kneeled in front of him staring in fear.

"Mister, should I call an ambulance? Are you alright?" The young woman asked, in a panic.

"No." Mac quickly reassured them all, as he struggled to his feet. The old man had come out behind the counter to help him. His mind still felt a daze—not understanding what he'd just seen. The baby now sobbing in his mother's arms was in danger.

An urgency rose through his gut, making him lose his sense of decorum. He gripped the woman tightly, pulling her towards him a rougher than he'd planned, "Miss, don't leave the baby alone with your husband."

The woman stared at him fearfully, her arms hugging her son a bit more closely to her chest. "Wha—what do you mean?"

"Your husband drinks to excess frequently." He stated it as a fact—there was no question in his mind that the man was an alcoholic. "It's dangerous to leave a man that passes out drunk alone with a baby. He might forget him in the bathtub one night."

The old man gaped, mouth dropping open. "Now, mister, why would you go around saying something like that? That's not right to judge a man."

Mackland looked away, letting the mother slip from his grasp, desperately trying to hold on to his secret… "I'm not judging him; I am merely warning this lovely young woman that leaving her baby with a man that drinks will lead to tragedy."

She pursed her lips, backing away from him, but looked as if she was considering his words as truth. It was clear she loved her baby; perhaps more than she loved her drunk husband. She nodded, then left the shop—leaving her purchases behind.

The crowd that had gathered slowly dispersed, muttering to themselves. Mackland could hear the whispered comments and flinched at the thought that this incident would only spread the rumors about him.

He took the time to pick up the fallen items the young lady had forgotten in her panic to escape him. "Perhaps you could be so kind to deliver these to the young lady. I'll gladly pay." The old man quickly agreed, charging him for the extra items and packaging them for delivery.

Before he left, the old man had one more question. "You aren't some kind of freak, are you?"

The word made Mac freeze; even the blood in his veins went cold. He couldn't formulate a response for a minute and stood there staring at everything but the man who was staring at him like he was a piece of shit on his shoe. "No, I'm not. I'm a doctor." He said it with pride; he'd never cared what others thought of him before—and he wasn't going to start now.

He walked out with his head held high.