Blurry Vision

It's times like these I hate the most.

Tristan is certain that in the social ladder of Goran society (and possible/probably the two others, which I will talk about later), "seers" are middle-class or lower.  I am a seer.  Born with innate abilities untapped, for good reason, the gift of "sight" was unleashed the moment of my birth.  I knew things.  I saw things.  Sometimes Mom will deny I could have possibly have the thought process I know I had at the age of 3, but it's easy to think "you wouldn't have known what was going on" when you're used to a normal, all-American society dictating childhood mental development.  There are no textbooks on extraterrestrial humans or their offspring.  This is just something we have to learn and discover by trial and error.

Anyhew, I digress.... All my life I would see images in my mind, passing them off as daydreams that freakishly coincided with yet-to-occur events.  I would see a person and think thoughts in my head that would turn out to be snippets of who they are (one time I freaked my best friend out by telling her who she made out with at a bar, and I'd never met the guy).  I would develop theories that wound up being true.  It's this ability that made me one of the top three analysts in the unit.  My pride got ahead of me, but I still could see a photo and somehow see the event in my mind occurring as if it were a memory.

My theories.... I tend to try to not believe them.  They tend to be very much an accurate estimation.

A few weeks ago, Tristan and I were robbed.  We came home to find all our things spilled out in our room, his lockbox opened (but not broken), all our money gone that we had saved for rent, his journal was missing (which he found today), and the blinds were pried open at one part where it looked like someone had peeked out in a hurry.  The only things that hadn't been overturned was one drawer in the nightstand (that you could see all of its contents right where it was), and my small black latch-box where I store my jewelry.  For some reason my mind logged that overlooked detail that the box hadn't budged from its original location.

I analyzed the scene after I got over my initial shock and anger.  No, not fear.  After having death threats scrawled on mirrors and untying an unconscious Jake I don't know how many times, the fear and feeling of violation just vanishes.  I was angry that someone took my hard-earned money, and even angrier that with all the people who were in and out of the house, NO ONE saw anything amiss.  No one noticed anything out of the ordinary, no one else was robbed or trashed, and there were zero markings or evidence of an actual break in.  The thief literally could have/would have walked right on in through the front door (or back), whistled his or her way down to my room and just done whatever.

Finding no plausible theory coming to mind, I shoved aside the mystery and focused on work and getting my living arrangements, well, arranged.  Then yesterday a thought started nagging at my mind.  I rubbed the spot on my ring finger where a diamond ring used to be, glittering with purple tanzanite and tiny white diamonds in delicate silver.  My first gift from Jake.  Last year one of the gems popped out of their casing and I couldn't find it anywhere.  Not wanting to ruin my ring further, I put it in a silver chain with my prayer box.  Later on, when Ben gave me a claudagh pendant, I added it to the box and ring on the chain.  When we continued moving around frequently, I put it inside my latch-box for safe keeping.  Second drawer on the left on the inside.  I put it there and never took it out.

This sudden need to look at my ring and pendant nagged at me until this morning when I decided to open my box and slip the necklace on.

It's gone.

No one knew where I kept my ring except maybe Tristan.  I know I put it in there right before moving to my current place, and never ever took it out so it wouldn't be lost.  And now it's missing.  The whole freaking necklace, ring, pendant, prayer box....it's gone.

"It could have been the Raves, they are masters of disguises."  


"No, somehow this feels way too human.  All this is too human.  It's not slashed apart, nothing else was taken but the money, and how would they be able to open your security box without breaking it?  This is too human...."


That thought kept echoing in my mind.  Was my ring taken in the robbery?  Had the thief put my box back neatly after taking the one possession that has true sentimental value to me?  I remembered telling Tristan, who also had the same theory, that whoever came in was after something, most likely the money, and then intentionally made it look like an invasion.

But who?

On my way to work, my heart leaped to my throat as I suddenly dared to create a theory in my mind.  But I didn't just create a theory, I saw it.  A young man, tired but determined, walks into the house past several people preparing to help move boxes for the other roommates.  They smile at him, because they know him, or they think they do.  He smiles back and goes down to my room, where he knows Tristan's things are.  And my things.  He looks around, tips over the hamper to find clothes that fit him, but he knows most of them will because he'd picked them out himself.  He needs money so he goes to the lock box and thinks of a combination of numbers Tristan would be likely to use.  It works, and he takes well over $150 in cash so he can buy food and shelter.  There's not much else of use in the room, and as he looks around his stomach clenches.  He doesn't know why.  He sees my jewelry hanging on the wall, and looks over at them to see if the ring is among them.  He doesn't see it anywhere, but then looks down and sees the latch-box.  He opens it, and finds the chain with my prized gems.  Swallowing hard, he puts it in his pocket.  Maybe he will fix it and return it.  Maybe he will keep it.  He isn't sure yet.  He gets up and walks out of the room, maybe to take a quick shower, a luxury for him nowadays.  There's no major rush or worry, because the people in the house recognize him.  They just don't know he's not who he looks like.

It's difficult to describe, and believe, that this entire scene flashed in my mind in a single moment.  What's even harder to believe is the face I saw.

The other day as we were sitting, eating, Tristan suddenly said,  "I don't think Jake is dead."

"Oh, NOW you believe me?" I teased.

He nodded.  "The more I think about it, the more it makes sense.  Although I don't see him as being one to just stay on the sidelines.  He's got to be in on something, doing work somewhere."

I do not dare to believe my theory could be true.  At least, I try not to.

But what if...?