Chapter 5

This time Johnny woke up to the smell of food. It wasn't exactly a good smell, but the scent certainly seemed to indicate that something edible had been brought to the room. His existence had been now simplified to primitive sensations. There was the pain, a continuous throb of his shoulder and arm that he mostly managed to ignore as background noise, except when he made a sudden motion that caused a flare up. There was fear mixed with despair, the most difficult things to handle. His timely loss of consciousness episodes were helping him delay making any important realizations and decisions. And then there was hunger, a gnawing at his stomach which even in his feverish state had now become quite unbearable. He had lost track of time, but from the scruffy feel of his unshaven face and the emptiness in his stomach he was certain that at least a day and a half had passed since his capture.

He cautiously stood up and steeled himself to ignore possible visions that might delay his meal. After a quick but tricky trip to the bathroom, he sat at the table. From his days living alone in his great big house, moping about how to avoid people seeking him out for his psychic insights, Johnny easily recognized the distinctive look of a Hungry-Man dinner. In a white microwavable tray pot roast lay nestled in a mass of gravy and mashed potatoes colored by soft, cut green beans and carrots. A large red plastic cup filled with water completed the meal presentation. But despite his hunger, the smell of the food made him queasy. He knew that he should eat something to keep up his strength, but what he really felt like doing was lying back in the cot to sleep forever.

Shivering, he realized that he had a fever, most likely the wounds were infected. The bandages hadn't been changed and even though there didn't seem to be any fresh blood oozing through, there were some yellow stains. Besides the impending treat of being killed or beaten to death by his captors for giving them or not giving them the information they sought, his arm injuries were ticking time bombs. He had to do something before he became totally incapacitated. One of his biggest fear was that if he became delirious he would be made to say things that so far he had managed to keep secret.

With a plastic soup spoon, the only utensil provided, Johnny took a few bites, chewing slowly while thinking about what he had seen in the visions. The visions he had experienced in this room and those in the interrogation chamber all centered around the bearded man, Dr. Daniele Santori, a scientist of some sort. Santori had discovered a most powerful biological weapon that could wipe out all human life in an entire metropolis like London. He had destroyed the files on his computer pertaining to this discovery and some of the reagents linked to it. However, he had saved some information on a memory stick. Johnny wasn't sure Santori had meant to give the memory stick to someone else. His interrogators hadn't asked him any specific questions about it, but he had a strong feeling that that's what they were looking for. Most telling, the scientist had killed himself rather than betray this information to the group that was now holding Johnny.

The sound of the door being unlocked broke Johnny's mulling things over. One of the masked armed thugs entered the room. He was about a half a foot taller than Johnny's six feet, and outweighed him by at least fifty pounds of mostly muscle. From the distinct imposing built, Johnny recognized him as the male half of the duo that would kidnap the doctor in his vision.

"Smith, time for more fun and games," the thug said in a jovial voice, waving the gun in Johnny's general direction. "Come on, the boss wants to chat with you some more."

"The boss can wait. I am eating dinner or lunch or whatever. I don't even know what day or time it is," Johnny tried to stall. "And I really doubt it that you are going to shoot me if I don't move."

"Very funny," said the man changing his tone and taking a few steps toward him. "Get the fuck up and come with me. I am not kidding."

Ignoring him, Johnny put the spoon down and took a large gulp of water. The man swatted the cup away with the barrel of the gun and then grabbed Johnny's good arm to pull him up to his feet. At the touch, Johnny entered a vision.

He is standing next to a tall unshaven man in his early thirties who is carrying a small bouquet of flowers as he enters a cemetery laid out on a grassy hill. A few scattered trees provide some shade. The man lays the flowers at a small granite tombstone, marked "Jenny Longridge, July 27, 2000-June 14, 2009."

Tears in his eyes, he says, "I am sorry Jenny, I didn't know that's what they were going to do. I was just trying to make money to give you a better life. If I had known I would have had no part of it. All of those people and you and your mama dead…"

The man takes out a gun from under his coat; with no hesitation he points it to his own temple and shoots. With a wide spray of blood, skull fragments and grey matter, he crumples lifeless on top of the tomb.

During the short duration of the vision, the man saw Johnny's bloodshot blue eyes turn steel gray and stare right through him, as if seeing something behind him. A numbing ice cold sensation enveloped the hand gripping Johnny's arm. Surprised, he let go of the injured man. Momentarily dizzy, Johnny grabbed the side of the table with one hand to regain his balance.

"What the hell was that?" The ski -masked man whispered, rubbing his fingers to get sensation back. "They warned me about you. You are some kind of psychic who can see things from the future and the past."

Johnny shivered and the sides of his head were beginning to throb with another impending mega-headache. He decided that he had no more time to waste to think of a better plan. He moved closer to the man and held his gaze. The taller man could not help but notice that Johnny's eyes had turned back to their regular color.

"Longridge, that's your name right?" Johnny waited for a fruitless second for an answer. "And you really have no idea what they plan to do with the information they want me to give them? Let me clear things up for you, it's going to kill a lot of people, more than you can possible imagine."

"What's that got to do with me? I am just doing my job."

"Is that what this is? Well, in addition to all the murdered people you don't care about, what you are doing is going to kill your daughter Jenny a few weeks before her tenth birthday. It's on July 27th right?" Johnny paused again expecting a response, but Longridge just stared at him speechless. "The thing is that you are not going to be able to live with that. I just had the pleasure of seeing you blow your brains out at her grave. A messy sight that has clearly made me lose my appetite, even though I have no love lost for you."

"I am not going to listen to this. You're lying," Longridge finally managed to say, knowing that he sounded like a school kid in a playground argument.

"It doesn't take a psychic to know that you were going to say that," Johnny said and with some newly found energy, he started walking toward the door. "Let's go now, Longridge, your boss is waiting. Maybe we can get this over with."

Longridge stopped Johnny before he got to the hallway. He would get in big trouble if he didn't handcuff him for the short trip. He saw Smith shudder slightly at the touch, but he couldn't tell if he was having another vision or if he was in pain. The prisoner's right wrist was decorated by a ring of dark swollen abrasions and bruises. His skin was hot and clammy. Longridge wondered whether he should say something to the boss about the prisoner being pretty sick, but thought better of it. He didn't want to raise any doubts about his commitment to this whole lucrative affair.

While they walked to the interrogation room, Longridge searched his mind for a logical explanation for how this Smith fellow, this total stranger, could possibly know his name and his daughter's name and birthday. He had certainly never mentioned anything about his family in his presence or to anyone else in the group. And they had all followed the specific instructions not to use their real names. It was also true that Longridge had no idea what the point of this whole messy kidnapping was. He had soon realized that it was not for ransom and for a while he had thought that Smith was a former member of the gang who left with some unfinished business. When he had heard about the job, he hadn't put much thought as to why, he had only been interested in the money. And it certainly paid plenty to ask few questions and follow directions. But now he was starting to think that the talk he had heard about Smith being a psychic might be true and if it was, did he tell the truth about Jenny?

Once in the room, Longridge was in the process of transferring his side of the handcuff from his wrist to the chair when Smith suddenly shook him off. With surprising speed he swung and swiped him painfully on the side of the head with the free end of the handcuffs. Dazed, Longridge staggered backwards. Before anyone else could catch him, Smith lunged toward the boss. Both of them fell against the metal cart, which tipped over, scattering the various objects. Right after making contact, Smith stopped resisting and let himself be hit and kicked by the men who had come to their boss's aid.

"Stop it you fools," the boss said scrambling to his feet and pulling them away from the prone prisoner. "He wants you to do that. Just put him back on the chair."

As he hauled Johnny back up, Longridge noticed that the arm had slipped off its sling and both bandages were starting to redden with fresh blood.

"Before you get started on the whole Abu Ghraib torture thing, I want to tell you about my latest vision," said Johnny breathing raggedly. "I am going to pass out soon and you are either going to let me die from blood loss and infection, or you are going to find a doctor to treat me so that you'll be able to hand me over to the Chicago group as planned. I know that they are anxious for me to tell them where Dr. Santori hid his dam memory stick. You decide. At this point, I've stopped caring."

"Now listen to me Mr. Smith," said the boss. "You are in no position to ask for anything."

"I'm really not asking for anything. I am just telling you about my visions. That's why I am here, right?" Johnny said pleasantly and then, true to his word, he slumped to the floor unconscious.