Omens

A Drop of Rain

Anita sat at the coffee shop table after the lawyer and the girl were gone. She didn’t like to hurry off—that seemed as if she was nervous out here, alone. The poor old blind lady. She’d never been that before, and she sure as hell wasn’t about to start now, no matter how hard her heart was pounding after that conversation.

They hadn’t seemed to notice. That was a blessing. She was getting better at hiding it. Yet even after forty years, it took only the mention of MKULTRA to start her heart racing. Most times these days, though, she was the one mentioning it. Masochism, Blake used to say. Facing her demons, she’d say.

She wished she could tell Blake about the girl and the lawyer. He’d know Walsh. Probably wouldn’t have had anything good to say about him, judging by the tidbits Anita picked up in a few quick calls made after Walsh contacted her. Blake had been a civil rights lawyer—he had little patience for young sharks like Walsh. But Blake was gone now, dead four years, and no one had replaced him. No one would.

A footstep crunched on broken concrete, so close that Anita’s head shot up. She listened, but no other noises came. Then, when she strained hard enough, the faintest sound of breathing.

“Yes?” she said, snapping with as much impatience—and as little anxiety—as she could manage.

The breathing continued, so close her heart slammed against her chest.

“If someone is there, I fear you’ll find this old lady a particularly poor target,” she said briskly. “I carry twenty dollars in cash, no credit cards, and no jewelry worth the hassle of hocking it.”

She didn’t expect that to scare away a would-be mugger, but the street was not completely empty—she’d heard a few people pass since the lawyer and the girl had left. She’d spent enough years with Blake to develop at least a little faith in the human race. They might not be quick to intervene in all cases, but there were some advantages to being a blind old lady.

Yet her voice only echoed into silence. Then another shoe-squeak, so loud it seemed deliberate. The breathing moved closer until it was right across the small table from her.

She snatched out her wallet, cursing her trembling fingers as she did. She plucked out the twenty and kept the wallet open.

“As you can see, I spoke the truth. This is all I have. If you insist, you’re welcome to it.”

Her voice rose as she spoke, taking on an air of desperation. A car whooshed past. Then a second, a loose tailpipe rumbling, and she wanted to leap to her feet, cry out for help, but she knew it would do no good. Drivers would pass oblivious, intent on their destination.

The breathing grew louder, as if he was leaning over the table to take the twenty. Good. Just take it. Please take—

A drop of rain fell on her arm. She swiped it. As she did, she felt something she hadn’t felt in forty years. A sensation she’d never forget. Her flesh burning.

Anita screamed. She scrambled up from the seat so fast it toppled over and she fell with it, legs tangling in the bench, taking her down, her hands still raised against her attacker.

Footsteps pounded across the pavement. Hands grabbed her. She fought, screaming.

“Lady!” The voice was young, female. “I gotcha, lady. You’re okay.”

A male voice, just as young. “Here.”

More hands, grabbing her arms to help her up. As she rose from the concrete, her glasses slid off. She tried to grab them, but it was too late.

She heard the boy suck in breath. “Jesus. What—?”

“Don’t,” the girl whispered to him. A clatter as she snatched up the glasses and pushed them into Anita’s hands.

Anita put them on quickly. The chair scraped the concrete. The girl’s soft hands helped her into it.

“You’re okay,” the girl whispered.

“S-someone was here,” Anita said. “Did you see him?”

Silence.

“Did you see anyone?” she said.

“There was a chick and a guy,” the girl said. “Blond chick. Big dude. We passed them.”

The lawyer and the girl. Anita’s mouth went dry.

“When? Where?”

“Few minutes ago. Down the road. Darnell nearly smacked into the guy coming around the corner. Scared the crap outta him.”

The boy grunted. “Dude wasn’t that big.”

The girl chuckled.

“Anyone else?” Anita said. “Anyone running away just now?”

“Nah.”

“No, sorry, ma’am.”

Anita cursed under her breath. Had she imagined the whole thing? Memories of the acid attack sending her brain into a tailspin?

She brushed her fingers over the spot on her arm and winced with the jolt of pain. No, someone had been here. Someone had warned her. But this time, she wasn’t going to be frightened off.