The Fortune-Teller (I)

On the morning of the third of June, an otherwise ordinary Monday, Jet Flynn stood at a street corner with a sign in his hands that proudly proclaimed 'FORTUNE-TELLER' and waited for costumers.

At this point, he had already been standing waiting for an hour, and hadn't had a single costumer, but work-hours were finally beginning, so he thought his luck might increase.

Dozens of people speed-walked by his corner, hurrying to work under the harsh light of the summer sun. Briefcases were carried by people wearing suits in varying shades of grey and dozens of more students walked by as well, dressed in their respective uniforms. Jet observed them all with a discerning eye, trying to spot a good, susceptible target. His eyes flitted from office worker to student and then back again. Eventually, he thought he spotted someone suitable and straightened from his slouching position against a streetlight.

Straightening his clothes absentmindedly, Jet put on his most approachable smile and strode over to the other side of the street. His target was a middle-aged, slightly overweight woman who appeared haggard and overwhelmed, her shoulders hunched and her dark hair knotted, even as her clothes appeared pristine. It wasn't a money problem, then.

"Excuse me."

The woman jumped like a rabbit, flying up in the air from shock. She swiveled her head around to stare at him with wide eyes, surprise evident on her face. She was hugging her briefcase to her chest as if she was afraid it would be stolen.

"Yo-you," the woman began in a raspy voice. She breathed in deeply and her lips quivered. "Wha-What do you want?"

Jet smiled, his lips pulled up into an calming expression. He had left his sign behind him on the street-corner. "I apologize if I'm being too forward. I saw you walking by and noticed your aura. Has something upsetting happened recently?"

"I don't know who you think you are-" the woman stopped abruptly and her eyes moved to staring straight over his shoulder. "It's none of your business." she said after several moments of unexplained silence.

Jet noticed the way her hands shook, the way she hunched even further down as if hiding, the way her eyes tried to look all around her all at once. Her hair was disheveled, her fingernails bitten down and her knees were bent, as if ready to run at any time. He frowned at her and said,

"My apologies, but your aura is very clear. You're in danger, are you not?"

She took a step back from him on low black heels and stuttered, "Ho-How could you, what makes you think... I'm not in any danger. It's just been, it's just been very stressful lately, what with all of the cutbacks at work."

"Miranda." Jet smiled at her again, as her eyes once more widened in shock. "You don't need to be afraid. Whatever it is that's scaring you so bad, I can help you."

"Let me help you."

She visibly wavered, and took another step back from him. "How do you know my name?"

Jet held up his hands in the universal signal that he was unarmed and answered, "Intuition."

"Why should I believe you can help me?" she scoffed out the words, managing not to stutter in the face of her own disbelief. Whatever it was that was scaring her, Jet was willing to bet it wasn't anything that could be considered normal, which meant it was unlikely he would have to worry about fighting. Which he was... not the best at.

Or in any way good at, strictly speaking.

"Lady, I've been able to see things that aren't normal my entire life. I know how bad it can get, how scary it can appear. If somebody had told me they could help me, I've would've run into their arms." Jet lied shamelessly.

"Now," he continued. "what's bothering you?"

She bent her head down, her short hair falling over her face. "I... I don't want to talk about it in public."

For just a flash of a second, Jet wore a victorious smile on his face, before he smothered it in its infancy and pointed behind himself. "Not to worry." he said and swept around on his feet. "There's a café not far from here, and if you're still worried, the wall facing the street is made entirely out of glass. If I were to do anything nefarious to you, everybody and their mother would be able to see it."

She bit her lip, her indecision plain on her face to see, before she nodded once and started walking in the direction he'd indicated. Despite her earlier nervousness, she appeared to have pulled herself together and decided on a course of action.

Jet followed after her at a steady, unhurried pace. Around them, none of the many walking people spared them so much as a glance.

The café that he had mentioned was truly close, and after only a handful of minutes, they'd reached it safe and sound. Like he had said, the entire front wall was made up of see-through glass, allowing anybody who wished to view the inside of the café. There was a small blackboard stood leaning against the streetlight in front of the building, showcasing their current specials, along with opening hours.

Being the gentleman that his parents had raised him to be, Jet sped up to open the door outwards for the woman. She smiled at him uncertainly and entered without saying anything. Jet followed her in.

She hugged the briefcase to her chest once more, as she stared around herself at the café. It gave off a clean but homey look, a large open space with wooden floors and sparsely placed furniture. Jet had been here a few times in the past, when his cycle brought him back to this part of the city, and he had always liked its atmosphere.

"You can choose where we sit while I go order, okay?" Jet called out to the woman as he crossed the space straight ahead to get to the counter.

Behind the counter stood a bored young man, playing on his phone without a care for the world. When Jet cleared his throat to get the man's attention (and really, he was so young he should be in middle school, not working) the bored teenager slowly rose his eyes to meet his. The iris' were a bright pink to match the off-white hair.

After several seconds of staring, the teenager asked flatly, "... What?

"Two cups of plain coffee and an apple-muffin, please."

Sighing overly dramatically, the white-haired teenager wandered off to slowly put a muffin on a white plate, carry it to the wooden counter and then turn around to get two mugs. "Coffee is over there. Refill is free." the teenager said in a monotone voice and pointed gracelessly.

Nodding (he had already swiped his card), Jet grabbed a tray and loaded it with his things, and then walked over to the edge of the counter, where a pot full of coffee stood. He poured a generous amount and grabbed the milk-cup to pour it over. Once the coffee was no-longer pitch black, he raised his head and looked around to find his current target.

The woman — Miranda, according to tiny letters on her briefcase's handle — was sat by one of the windows in a booth. Her briefcase was standing right next to her, as if it was a shield meant to protect her from harm. Or maybe sight.

Jet walked over and sat the tray down on the table, putting her coffee in front of her before he sat down across from the woman. He stirred his coffee with a spoon and took a satisfying sip. Signing in pleasure, he glanced over at Miranda and rose an eyebrow. "Not going to drink?"

She startled, seemingly having been deep in thought, and nodded quickly. She took ahold of the white coffee mug with both of her hands, and bent down closer to it as she lifted it up.

Then she sat it down after taking a small sip and asked, "So what, what is it you do?"

Jet chewed up the piece of apple-muffin in his mouth and answered, "I'm a fortune-teller."

"Then, then why did you, why did you come up to me?" she furrowed her brow in confusion and looked up at him with uncomprehending eyes.

"There is something dark following you, and I couldn't ignore it." Jet answered easily, his voice steady and strong.

The woman seemed to shrink before his very eyes.

"I just," she leant her head down on her hands against the table and whispered out an utterly devastated, "I just don't know what to do anymore."

Jet leaned forward across the table and put a comforting hand on one of her shoulders. He patted her several times before she calmed down, sniffling all the while. When she finally did, he pushed her coffee toward her. "Here. Drink, and tell me what your problem is. If I can, I promise you, I will help."

She sniffled and used her sleeve to wipe her face. Jet grimaced before he could stop himself, but luckily she didn't notice. "Well it, it started a few months ago."

She drowned a large gulp of coffee and elaborated.

"I moved, a few weeks after my husband's... my husband's death. After the heart-attack, I simply couldn't live there anymore. So I moved, and that's when things started... changing. It's a perfectly nice apartment!" she hurried to reassure him and waved her hands around in the air. "I checked, and there's, there's no record of any death's or anything. It's perfectly nice."

She gulped down her coffee once more. "At night, I hear these, these sounds. Not, not exactly scary sounds, but rather just, out of place. The floors creak, and the walls bang and sometimes I think the TV is on but when I check, the power-chord is unplugged. But I checked with the landlord, and all of the apartments are soundproofed, and the flooring isn't wood, so how can, how can it creak?"

It seemed almost like she deflated after saying all of that. She continued, "I just, I just don't understand. It keeps me up at night, all of those sounds. It just doesn't, doesn't make any sense."

Silence descended over the table.

Jet inhaled the last of his coffee, and pushed away the tray to the middle of the table. He sighed, and dragged a hand through his hair. It didn't appear to have anything to do with actual people, which meant that he had made the right choice. A standard haunting wasn't a problem, even for someone with no abilities.

Leaning back on his seat, Jet shook his head at the woman and said warmly, "There is no need to worry. I will help you, Miranda."

"Really?" the woman sat up straighter, her eyes practically sparkling. Then she narrowed her eyes at him and demanded, "You, you're not scamming me, are you?"

"No, no." Jet shook his head and gave her his best innocent smile, the one that made all of those old ladies give him candy as a child. "I would never. This might not be my speciality, but I assure you, I'm fully capable of providing you the help you need."

Jet leaned toward her and smiled disarmingly. "Please. What you're experiencing isn't difficult to deal with, even for a lowly fortune-teller like myself. Let me help you."

Doubt was plain to see on her face, but eventually, she signed and said, "Okay."

She breathed deeply and stated, "I'll trust you."

"Great." Jet contained his urge to smile in victory and stood up from his seat. "Then let's get going."

The woman looked a little bewildered, but rose from her seat all the same. She gathered her briefcase, her hand gripping it so tightly it was white, and watched on as he gathered up their stuff and disposed of the tray.

With her briefcase in a death-grip, she asked, "Go, go where?"

Jet smiled at her. "Your apartment."