A True Prophecy

The gypsy woman stared at the crystal ball as her hands slowly encircled it. Meanwhile, Jack had a feigned look of terror and dread while he was smirking inwardly. This was turning out to be everything the cartoons said it would be. Old gypsy woman with a bandanna covering her hair? Check. Big golden hoop earrings on her ear? Check. A crystal(?) ball with obscure patterns being reflected in the dim lighting? Check. The only thing left at this point was the inevitable prophecy of doom and gloom that required him to give her more money so that she would save his life, probably. He was excited as this was the first time he had even entertained such a stupid notion. Normally he would be too busy, but he had decided to humor her because he had always had a bit of a soft spot for old women and children.

The nicest person he had known growing up was Mrs. Taylor the kind old lady from across the house he had lived in. She had given him comfort when he had gotten bullied by his elder siblings and had always encouraged him to see the good in others. Her own children had all but abandoned her when she had followed her late husband's last wish to donate a rather sizable portion of his fortune to charity. While her husband's health had deteriorated, her children had argued nonstop about how they were going to split the inheritance. Their greed and selfish behavior had incensed the old man. He instructed his lawyer to take out their names from his inheritance and donate it to charities that helped orphans and those in the foster care system. He knew how bad the situation was as he himself had been an orphan.

His father had gone to study at Oxford where he had met his mother. They had taken to each other quickly and had gotten married immediately after their graduation. He had whisked her away to his hometown of New York City in America and they started their lives as newlyweds. Just a couple years later, she had given birth to him just as a massive war was brewing in Western Europe. His father had been drafted a couple of years later and was tossed onto the front lines of combat with limited training and barely enough equipment to survive. His mother had not taken very well to that and her depression slowly took hold as she was isolated from her family and friends in the United Kingdom. The last straw that broke her was the knock on her door one day from an officer in the Army along with a chaplain. Her husband had sacrificed his life to complete an important mission that would allow for the Allied Powers to advance into Germany. The officer had been a close friend of her husband and informed her of his bravery and the importance of his sacrifice as he handed her his dog tags and the medal the army had posthumously awarded him. She had broken down in despair and had taken her life that very night.

He had found his mothers body the next day and ran to his neighbor screaming for help. The police came to cut down his mother body from the ceiling fan and he had been handed to a CPS (Child Protective Services) agent who had taken care of him while they tried to find his relatives. His grandparents were contacted and they were beside themselves with grief, laying the blame solely on his father for taking their daughter away and causing her suicide. They refused to take him and thus he was placed into the system. He was one of the lucky ones, adopted after only a year in foster care. His new parents were exceptionally wealthy and showered him with love.

His upbringing gave him opportunities that many other children would never have allowing himself to achieve great financial success as he grew up. He got married to a beautiful and loving woman from a similarly wealthy family and had 4 children that he loved very much. He didn't know where he went wrong, but all of them had turned out to be selfish and uncaring when they had grown up. Yes, they all had achieved some success in their lives and careers, but they severely lacked compassion and empathy for those less fortunate. After his passing, a small portion of the money had gone directly to Jack's foster home, which had improved his quality of living by a lot. They had gotten new mattresses, school supplies, books and many other things that Jack couldn't possibly imagine having. After learning from his foster mother that the improvement was due to the generosity of the family from across the street, he had gone to thank them. That day, he had inadvertently walked in on the old man's wake. He looked out of place in his baggy clothes and the gazes of the people had made him very anxious.

He saw an older woman who was being surrounded by people comforting her and thought that she must be the one to thank. He approached her and said "Excuse me? Are you Mrs. Katherine Taylor?"

The woman looked up, her eyes puffy and red from excessive crying. Not recognizing the boy before her, she swiped her eyes with the handkerchief she was holding to dry her tears. She did her best to smile, even though she really couldn't and answered "Yes dear. May I help you?".

Relieved that he had approached the right person, Jack replied "Hello, my name is Jack and I live across the street in the Cooper house. I recently got new school supplies and books and asked Mrs. Cooper about who had given them. She said that you donated a lot of money and that's how we were able to afford it, so I wanted to come to thank you."

When Mrs. Taylor heard him, she had choked down a sob. Her husband, God rest his soul had informed her of his decision before his passing and she had wholeheartedly supported it. She was also getting on in the years and Lord knows she didn't exactly need the money. She wanted to do something good and her husband's personal connection to and history in the foster care system had made her encourage him to go through with the redistribution of the inheritance. With her emotions still raw from his passing, seeing such a young child come over to thank her for her husband's actions brought tears to her eye.

Jack was worried and scared when hearing her hoarse sob. He thought he had said something wrong and immediately panicked. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make you sad!" he exclaimed, afraid that he was going to get punished by Mrs. Taylor for making her cry.

He felt a pair of arms surround him and was pulled into her embrace. "No dear. Don't you worry. You didn't do anything wrong. You have nothing to apologize for." She said slowly as she stroked the back of his head. He was stunned as this had never happened before. As long as he could remember, nobody had bothered to hug and comfort him like this. It was always threats of violence and no food that forced him to stop crying. This was the first time he had been hugged and it brought on a warm feeling inside him as he too started to get overwhelmed by this new emotion he was feeling.

They both cried while hugging and soon many were looking at them with gazes of curiosity as if wondering who he was to the rich, fresh widow. After a couple of minutes, they separated and she said to him "Thank you for coming over Jack, but I'm not the only one you should thank. My husband was also a foster child like you and it was his idea to donate to various foster homes around the United States. I'm sure he would feel happy that a kind young boy like you got the help that you should receive. It would mean the world to me if you would accompany me to visit his grave and thank him yourself."

"I would be happy to ma'am!" said Jack as he expressed delight. Secretly, he would be willing to do anything to stay with Mrs. Taylor for as long as he could. Of course, he would never say that out loud. They smiled at each other and Jack saw her beautiful, icy blue eyes. The warmth and love contained in them seemed to drown his very soul and he made a promise to himself to protect this kind lady from any harm. If his hellish life had taught him something it would be to hold grudges for as long as you can and repay those that help you tenfold. Since he had made his vow, he would never break it, no matter what the cost.

The memory seemed to freeze as Jack was brought back to the present by a hoarse, wheezing noise coming from the old gypsy in front of him. At first look, it seemed as if she was suffering from a cardiac-related event, quite possibly a heart attack. As he was about to get up to assist her, a low voice spread throughout the room. It sounded ethereal, yet harsh to the ears, like broken glass. The gypsy woman's eyes rolled back revealing the white, slightly bloodshot underside. She intoned in a voice that seemed to make the surrounding air roil as if a huge tempest was forming in the very room.

At this point, Jack was worried and if he was being more honest, terrified of what was happening. He had never been one to believe in ghosts or Fate but in his self-education of various religious texts, he had frequently seen mention of such concepts. While not truly believing, he had worked in his world a bit too long to not believe in some sort of inexplicable higher power guiding the universe. Call it destiny, God, or whatever but some things just couldn't be explained if one limited themselves to the realms of science and logic. Just as he was about to beat a hasty retreat, a voice sounded out in his ears, as if speaking to his very soul.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭, 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘖𝘯𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵

𝘈 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘥

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦

𝘈 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺

After the last word, the gypsy woman's eyes rolled back to normal. She looked bewildered and stared at Jack with a questioning look. Jack was still reeling from the voice that had just spoken to him and wasn't paying attention to her at all.

The air had settled down, almost with a deathly stillness. Neither of them spoke to each other, trying to process what had just happened in their own heads first.

"A true prophecy" the gypsy woman whispered under her breath. Jack still hadn't recovered and he was wondering what he should say when he heard the woman's words.

"What do you mean by a true prophecy?" he questioned.

The gypsy woman looked at him and quickly spoke "Come with me! We must go to my tent. If you want to save your soul, we must figure out what the prophecy means. I was always told that I was gifted with The Sight, but it wasn't until today that I actually received a true prophecy. Come quickly! No time to waste!".

She dragged him into her tent at a hurried pace. When he entered, he saw nothing but darkness. It was eerie, yet peaceful as he had long gotten used to working with no light. He called out to the gypsy woman and heard no answer, just the shuffling of footsteps. The first instinct he had was to pull his pistol and get ready for a firefight. This could easily be an ambush, but he still wasn't sure of it. The Agency had hidden his tracks pretty well and he had confidence that a foreign intel service wouldn't be able to ascertain his identity so easily.

At the same time, his instincts wouldn't allow him to relax as all those years in the broken foster care system had taught him a few life lessons, one of them being: The only person you can truly rely on is yourself. It had become his mantra for a long time and it had taken many years of training in the Army to get over that mentality. In the end, he was able to embrace the brotherhood and the concept of trusting your life to someone else.

This had changed when he reached the Agency. There, they stressed the importance of self-reliance and independent thought and action. This stemmed primarily from the difference in operating procedures. Field agents had a very sensitive role among the numerous employees of the CIA. They had to be able to make quick, off the cuff decisions that had a lasting impact on potentially millions of lives. Therefore, they had to be able to critically think about the ramifications of their actions and execute them as they saw fit to complete the mission. The mantra that they had inculcated in all trainees at The Farm was "Never trust anybody". Three words that gave a profound perspective into the dark world in which they operated.

Everybody they would meet had an agenda, including their training officers and superiors. It was up to them figure out what it was and whether they could utilize it to their advantage. Your enemy of one day could be your ally tomorrow. Relationships were very fluid and the subtle power dynamics were too varied to even understand sometimes. All he knew was that when he was in the field, he would effectively be alone. He was one of the privileged few who had become a NOC, an operative with a non-official cover identity. Meaning that while the CIA would take some effort in hiding his name and information, he had to be very careful in how he operated. His cover identity would have very limited back propping and one slip could reveal his real identity.

He waited with bated breath as he tried to decide whether he needed to get the hell out of Dodge.