Before

Patrick Jane was as one would call a weird child.

Weird as in a child prodigy. A percipient kind of kid. He wasn't super brainy when it came to school subjects, although he did make all A's. He was intelligent when it came to other people. Reading their expressions, even micro ones. Sensing when someone was sad or angry. Knowing their entire life story just by looking at them.

It was abnormal for a young child to be so perceptive, so astute. He claimed his father taught him everything he knew. Alex Jane—a gruff, callous man—worked at the town's carnival and offered up his son as a money-maker. He ran a palm-reading service that quickly grew into a psychic show called Boy Wonder.

Patrick never caught a break when he was with his father. When they were together, it was always work and work and work. He couldn't even breathe without his father chastising him, urging him to do another reading or show so he could have some more money in his pockets, money he would never share with the actual person working for it.

That was the kind of man his father was. Cruel and selfish. A taker, never a giver.

The summers were grueling, the season when the carnival got the most visitors. Kids ran around, happy to be out of school, while parents tried to catch them with fried food in their hands. Most booths had lines of customers, whether it be for food or custom-made jewelry or a clown snapping pictures of families.

Not many people cared for a child telling them about their future. Nobody really believed it. Alex grew restless with every summer day that passed and barely anyone showed up at his booth, so he took his son aside and struck a deal with him.

"I've got an idea," he spoke urgently, as if he couldn't wait to get his hands on another stack of bills. The ten year old in front of him stayed silent, knowing better than to interrupt the man. "I've seen psychics—real psychics—talk to the deceased. It's a real thing that people pay hundreds for, and I know that if we play our cards right we'll be making way more than we are currently."

It's ironic how the word we was used, when the money only went to him.

Still, Patrick agreed. There wasn't much else for him to do.

He was good at pretending. He could conjure up the ability to speak to the dead, if only for the opposite eye to see. Or think they see. Because speaking to the dead itself is impossible.

But people will believe anything if it's to put their aching heart at ease.

He went straight into it, luring customers in with his act. He looked believable, the real deal, and people were eating it up. They'd ask him to speak to their dead relatives and he would act it out as if he were in a play. In the end they were left with relief in their eyes and a steady ground to walk on, and he'd be paid with stacks upon stacks of bills, only for him to be forced to give them to his father.

If Patrick had known any better, he'd think his father was proud of him for making so much money. But his father didn't see him as his son or even his employee. He saw him as a puppet to toy around with for his own pleasure.

He was used to it, but it didn't lessen the dull pain throbbing in his chest. For once in his life, he just wanted his father to see him. But that would never be possible now that his mother was gone.

His mother had been the one to hold this family together. The missing piece to the puzzle. The calm amidst the storm. But she was gone, and there was no more of her sweet voice or soothing hugs.

He would never be able to live the life of a normal child because of his father. He'd never gone to school; his father preferred to homeschool him because putting him into school would take time away from work. But there still wasn't much homeschooling. He'd learned the basics, such as reading and math, but everything beyond that his father refused to teach him.

He had no friends. Friends are useless, Alex said. Friends will come and go. They'll desert you. Just stick to yourself, because you can't run from you.

Even if his father was right, Patrick didn't want to listen. He deserved to be a normal kid. He deserved to go to school and play sports and hang out with friends. So why was he handed a life of conning and pretending?

Maybe he would never know.


Blistering. That was one word to describe the heat of Florida in the summer.

But the heat didn't give Patrick the luxury of staying inside the camper. Alex pushed him out and demanded money to be made, so off to work he went.

The older he got, the more his father pushed. He was becoming a man, Alex liked to remind him, so he should act like it.

Despite the unruly heat, the carnival was as packed as ever. Kids were bored and parents didn't know how to occupy them, so to the carnival they went. Patrick was seated behind the Boy Wonder booth, watching people walk past and leave footprints behind them in the dust.

As he looked on, his face burning and scalp sweating, he spotted a young girl amongst the crowd. Her height and build made her look terribly young, but he could tell they weren't far apart in age.

He didn't know what exactly caused his attention to fall on her in a sea of restless people. Maybe it was because she was alone, no parent in sight. Maybe it was because the clothes she was wearing were not her size at all, practically hanging off of her small frame. Maybe it was simply because she was pretty, with straight dark hair and pale skin.

He didn't know what pulled him to her. But he was intrigued.

He watched as she kicked a rock with her sneaker, seeming to be dying of boredom. Maybe she was there with somebody, but not a parent. No parent would leave their young daughter alone in a mass of people at a carnival.

But then he thought back to his own father and realized maybe a parent would do that.

He continued to watch her, his eyes never drifting away. Somebody could be standing at his booth right now and he wouldn't even notice, all because he was too fixated on this random girl.

A few moments of staring went by and a flash of kids flew into his view, all crowding around the girl. Three little boys, all younger than her. They waved something in front of her face—tickets, it looked like—and her face broke out into a small smile.

She was still far away, but Patrick just knew that smile was breathtaking.

They shared some incoherent words and two boys grabbed onto both her hands, tugging her to where they wanted to go. Patrick blinked as they got closer to his booth, and just when he thought they'd stop they pulled her past him.

It took him a minute to realize the boys had tickets to a show that was going on in the next ten minutes. A "danger" show, as the parents liked to call it, where talented people swallowed flaming swords.

The three boys all rushed to find a seat. The girl ordered them to sit together, and seemed to have told them to stay put because she then turned around and walked off.

Towards him.

Suddenly his internal organs felt all jumbled up as she headed to his booth. He wasn't used to talking to people his age, especially not pretty girls, and the thought of her catching him staring sent a jolt of anxiety through him.

It wasn't long before she was standing directly in front of him. The only thing separating them was the booth, his booth, and suddenly he felt as if it was closing in on him.

Up close, the girl was stunningly beautiful, just as he'd known she would be. Forest green eyes in a heart shaped face. A button nose. Small, pink lips. And many, many freckles smothering her cheeks and nose.

Patrick's heart was stuttering inside his chest, but he managed to keep his cool. After all, pretending was what he was best at.

He plastered on one of his charming smiles and greeted her just as he would any other customer. "Hi. What can I do for you?"

Her lips thinned, her eyes studying him intricately. "I noticed you staring."

Well, that was exactly what he'd hoped not to hear.

He cleared his throat, needing a second to figure out how to respond to her blunt words. "My apologies. It won't happen again."

An eyebrow of hers arched, as if she didn't believe him. He supposed there was no reason for her to. They were strangers to each other, and it's kind of creepy to catch a random stranger staring at you.

She wrapped her arms around herself. "If you want me buy something from you, I don't have any money."

That was a lie. She had money, though not a lot, and it wasn't for her. She had it to spend on those three little boys sitting in front of the stage, boys who must've been her brothers.

He didn't call her out on her lie. Instead he said, "That's fine. It's on me."

Her large eyes darted past him. "What are you even selling?"

"A kiss." It slipped out of him before he could even think, the twelve year old flirt in him coming out to play.

He hadn't even known the flirt existed. But he was a twelve year old boy who wasn't immune to pretty girls, so perhaps his comment was normal.

Her eyebrow lifted again, this time accompanied by a scoff. "Oh yeah?"

He shrugged, trying to act like a cool playboy, but his cheeks were burning with embarrassment. "No, but it was worth a shot."

Much to his delight, her lips quirked up into a tiny smile.

He'd been right about it before. Her smile was breathtaking.

"I can do whatever you want me to do," he finally told her. "Tell you what your future's going to be, if your crush likes you back, what a deceased loved one has to say to you."

She stiffened at the last sentence, her hand reflectively shooting up to caress the necklace around her neck.

His eyes dropped to it. A golden crucifix someone must've given to her before they passed. He'd already conjured up a good guess, and his intuition was never wrong.

Slipping into his act, he smiled softly at her. "It was your mother's, wasn't it?"

Her eyes widened, her fingers still clutching the necklace. "How did you know that?"

"It was her grandmother's," he continued as if she'd said nothing at all. "A piece of her that she gave your mother to remind her that she'd always be with her no matter what. Then your mother gave it to you as a reminder of the same thing. She'll always be with you no matter what."

"You can't possibly know that," she said, disbelief lacing her tone. "What are you, a psychic or something?"

"Not a psychic," he said. He hated that term. "I can just read people really well. I can sense things, if you will."

The look on her face told him she didn't believe him in the slightest. "You're messing with me."

"I promise you I'm not." He assessed her again, carefully this time. He took note of the sweatshirt she wore despite it being close to a hundred degrees outside. He noticed the worn out soles of her sneakers and the dirt on her jeans. "You're twelve years old, though overly mature for your age. Your mother passed away recently, leaving you with an abusive father who drinks away his grief. You're left to raise your brothers because your father certainly won't. You do whatever you can for money—you beg if you have to—so you can feed your brothers and make sure they have what they need.

When you finally acquire enough money for food, you give it all to your brothers, wanting them to be fed and happy even if it means you go to bed hungry. When your father decides to rage, you put yourself in front of your brothers so he'll hit you instead of them. You won't forgive yourself if he hurts them. You wear long sleeves to hide the bruises he leaves, and I know you're sweating bullets even though you act like you're perfectly fine."

He finished his speech. She remained silent, but the look in her eyes revealed all she wanted to say.

You're weird, they said. But I'm kind of intrigued by you.

If he knew anything about this girl at all, it was that she was drawn to adventure. Trouble. Something she could unravel and inspect with her own eyes.

"You're good," she finally admitted. "But I'd advise you not to pity me. My life is fine. Nothing I can't handle."

"I don't doubt that," he said, and it was true. He one-hundred percent believed she could take care of herself. But he'd be lying if he said he wasn't even a little bit concerned for her.

Her eyes flitted to her brothers. Two of them were playing rock paper scissors while the other one watched, toying with his frayed pants.

"I should get back to them," she mumbled, glancing up at him with those enchanting eyes of hers. They pulled him in, latching onto his heart and refusing to let go.

She was much shorter than him, he realized. Her chin only reached his chest. She had to crane her neck to look him in the eye whereas he had to bend his head down.

He didn't want her to go. He wanted to continue talking to her, find out more about her even if he could guess the details himself. He really just wanted her company, but he could tell she was getting antsy being away from her brothers, even if they were in her line of sight.

So he nodded. "I understand. Can I at least get your name before you go?"

Surprisingly, a smirk crossed her lips, her eyes twinkling. "You're the psychic. I'm sure you can figure it out."

As she took off, he thought maybe being weird wasn't such a bad thing after all.