I counted the bills again, spreading them across my bed like fortune-telling cards that refused to predict anything but doom. Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty… not even close to enough. The walls of my apartment seemed to inch closer with each bill I touched, with each drip from the leaking faucet that marked time like a metronome counting down to eviction.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUXOx48xOoV
The envelope from the casino felt light in my hands, mocking me with its emptiness. My casino fortune was rapidly dwindling, and I had to accept that chapter of my life was closed forever. The shadows I’d witnessed in that world left me too shaken to ever return to the gambling tables, no matter how desperate things became. The bold red lettering on the foremost bill—FINAL NOTICE—burned into my vision, an accusation I couldn’t answer.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡk88QswXFhM
Through the paper-thin walls, my neighbor’s television blared a game show. Applause, cheering, the host’s manufactured excitement. Someone was winning. Someone was always winning, somewhere else.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ20wQAvRxMb
“Eight hundred and seventeen dollars,” I whispered to the empty room. The same total I’d calculated an hour ago. And an hour before that. As if counting might somehow multiply the sum, as if my desperation might manifest more zeroes at the end.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUO2NYRm4qP
I sank deeper into my threadbare couch. A spring dug into my thigh, a discomfort I’d grown so accustomed to that its absence would have been more noticeable. The fabric was wearing thin at the armrests, like everything else in my life.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbJmXH2Uqll
The bills stared back at me. Rent. Electric. Water. Phone. Internet. Each one a mouth to feed, each one hungry for more than I had to give. My fingernails scraped against the coffee table’s surface as I gathered the papers into a neat stack, aligning their edges as if order might somehow create solution.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLHYWSpfuju
“They’re going to throw me out on the street,” I said, pressing my palms against my temples where a headache was forming. “First the store, now this.”14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5Rtz3osn98
The store. My sanctuary with its velvet curtains and scented candles. The place where I’d spent half my life building something that felt like purpose. Gone now, replaced by a pizza joint with checkered tablecloths and too-bright lighting. I’d walked past it yesterday, caught a glimpse of teenagers laughing where my regular clients once sat in contemplative silence. The sign above the door—“Slice of Heaven”—seemed to mock the “Empowering Tarot” that once hung there, proud and full of promise.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6pIzFsCjhx
The faucet in the kitchenette dripped again. A steady pulse that seemed to quicken as my anxiety rose. I should fix it. Add it to the list of things I should do but couldn’t afford. Couldn’t manage. Couldn’t face.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡf8EHMElYep
A chill swept across the room, subtle at first—like someone had opened a window in another apartment down the hall. But the sensation grew more distinct, more localized. The corner of the room seemed to darken, then shimmer, like heat rising from asphalt in summer.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡje8lzEBUsZ
I knew what was coming. Who was coming.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKlg1dGznxp
The shimmer took form gradually, particles of light coalescing into the suggestion of a man. First the outline, then the details. A large, handsome figure in a three-piece suit from another era. Wide shoulders. Strong jaw. The fine fabric of his suit jacket appeared first, then his vest, and finally his bow tie, which he adjusted with translucent fingers as if preparing for a formal photograph.
Mister B. had arrived.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡW9PQGIbw1u
He stood tall in my shabby apartment, an aristocrat in a hovel, though his expression held no judgment. His eyes—dark and penetrating despite their spectral nature—fixed on me with that familiar mixture of sternness and kindness. When he spoke, his voice carried an echo, as if his words were traveling from some distant place to reach me.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ84DLg7C2zX
“You’re being dramatic again.”14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsBXCOAWHpG
I bit back the urge to argue. Mister B. had been with me my entire life. A guide, he called himself. A helper between worlds. He’d taught me to understand my gift, to listen to the voices others couldn’t hear, to interpret the patterns others couldn’t see.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvMksrylzHl
“Dramatic?” I gestured at the bills. “This is reality, Mister B. Cold, hard reality.”14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSVKpcA7vKM
He moved across the room without walking, simply there one moment and here the next. The air around him rippled like water. “Reality is rarely cold or hard. It’s malleable. Fluid.” He peered down at my pitiful stack of cash. “You’ve faced worse.”
“Have I?” I stood, needing to move, to dispel the energy building inside me. “The store was everything. It was how I reached people, how I used my gift. It was how I paid rent.”14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYp1FwnrAlj
Mister B.’s form flickered slightly, a sign of his disagreement. “The store was a vessel, nothing more. Your gift resides here—” He gestured toward my head, “—and here.” His hand moved to indicate my heart. “It cannot be repossessed or evicted.”14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡs9l8198nnE
I paced the small confines of my one-room-apartment, five steps one way, five steps back. The floorboards creaked in protest. “People won’t come to me without the store. It gave me legitimacy. It created atmosphere. Now what am I supposed to do? Read cards on a street corner with a tin cup?”14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡO1WNLJsPa9
“There are always options for those willing to adapt,” he said, his voice gaining that professorial tone I recognized from my most stubborn moments.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ35x1Y2Hmtb
I ran my fingers through my hair, unwashed and limp. “Easy for you to say. You don’t need to eat or pay rent.”14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡc2YVDrEFaR
“I wouldn’t agree on the eating-part,” he said, with a ghostly smile. “But basically … yes, I have other concerns.”14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIJuVHHYK7M
A rush of shame swept through me. Mister B. never spoke of his own circumstances, of what kept him tethered to this world or what obligations he might have beyond guiding me. His patience with my self-pity was greater than I deserved.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmaFYWnrnh0
“I’m sorry,” I said, dropping back onto the couch. “I just… I don’t see a way forward. The world doesn’t need another half-rate psychic. They need rent money.”
Mister B.’s form drifted closer. The temperature around me dropped several degrees, but it wasn’t unpleasant—more like stepping into shade on a hot day. “The world needs exactly what you offer, Rahel. Truth. Insight. Connection. The medium may change, but the message remains constant.”14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeLWRnSks53
I looked up at him, my spiritual mentor, my oldest friend, my most persistent critic. “The medium may change,” I repeated slowly. “What does that mean?”14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3T9Quo0wLR
“It means,” he said, “that perhaps it’s time to consider new ways of reaching those who need you.”14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHcln4cAB6V
The faucet dripped again in the silence that followed, but now it sounded less like a countdown and more like possibility. One drop. Another. Another. Time passing, yes, but also time beginning.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvtpqbHkLq1
My fingers brushed against the edge of the envelope. The casino winnings. Not much, but something. A beginning. “New ways,” I echoed. The words felt strange in my mouth, frightening but also… exciting? “I wouldn’t know where to start.”14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcvgE2FWyzI
Mister B.’s form began to fade slightly, his time with me drawing to a close for now. “You’ll find your way. You always do.” His voice grew fainter. “But first, I believe you have an appointment tomorrow. With your landlord.”14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEp8eVWfzRN
My stomach knotted. “Mr. Goldstein.”
“Indeed.” Mister B. was barely visible now, just an outline, a suggestion. “Perhaps he will have news that will… adjust your perspective.”
And then he was gone, leaving me alone with my bills, my leaking faucet, and a fragile, newfound sense that perhaps—just perhaps—this ending might also be a beginning.
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Thank you for entering Volume 2! If you like to read ahead, Volumes 2, 3 and 4 are already available on www.patreon.com/RahelVega
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and then Add to home screen.