Ah, love, let us be true

To one another! For the world, which seems

To lie before us like a land of dreams

So various, so beautiful, so new

Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,

Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain,

And we are here as on a darkling plain

Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight

Where ignorant armies clash by night

As I closed the book, I thought of how similar life was to the poem.

Matthew Arnold's prose eloquently orchestrated what I'd known for a long time: nothing existed outside of ourselves. The idea of a higher power was a fairy tale. If life hadn't already convinced me of this fact, my latest return trip home certainly did.

Had my sister Rosalind still been alive, she would've laughed at the dreary, adolescent turn my thoughts had taken. Again. She would have known my secrets without a word from me. I wasn't the only family member gifted with an otherworldly power. Except, I was the only sibling one left alive.

Juliet, Rosalind, Imogen. My mother had named all of her daughters after three of her favorite leads from Shakespeare plays. She hoped the traits from our namesakes would rub off on us. In a way, they had.

Juliet had been a quiet sweet girl, everyone's favorite. She hadn't been a star-crossed lover, but had died at a young age. Leukemia. Rosalind was the middle child, but that didn't stop her from being the center of attention. She was funny, loud, and loyal, much like her As You Like It counterpart. Her death was an additional waste of young life.

My name was from the play Cymbeline. The character Imogen was celebrated as a fighter. She overcame a shit ton: being accused of adultery, almost being raped, and even faking her own death. In the end, she awoke from her stasis to confront the lies in her life, enabling a happy ending with the man she loved. Nothing like that had happened for me. If I discounted the deaths of both my sisters, I had led a fairly normal life. If my sisters' ends were any indication, my life would turn out to have an equally tragic ending. Having famous literary names had certainly cost my sisters. I wondered what my name would cost me.

I tried remembering what had prompted me to move far away from home, but I couldn't quite put a name to it. College life back in Boston was so small compared to the tragedy of Rosalind's death. Late-night studying and cappuccino trips. Debating ethnology and zoology with my study group as it applied to modern day anthropology. The occasional boyfriend that wasn't really worth having, obviously. None of it mattered anymore, not in the large way it had before.

A huge ugly knot grew inside, taking root and twisting. I should have visited more, called more, or not moved away at all. Time was precious, life was short, and all the other stupid sayings in between. I appreciated their import, too late.

I settled on the four poster bed in Rosalind's bedroom. My mom had encouraged me to go through her things and save what mattered to me. Doing that just now seemed unthinkable to me. Rosalind's room appeared untouched, with pale pinks and blues draped throughout. She had been a girly girl, and for that reason, I could forgive the few stuffed animals staring at me from her nightstand. Pictures clustered the wall opposite the bedpost, creating a collage of happy memories. The bed was made, ready to bring the comfort of sleep to someone who would never again pull back the covers. Downstairs, murmurings of fellow mourners overlapped:

"...She was so beautiful..."

"...A miscarriage? Really...?"

"Only twenty? My God, that's too young...!"

"To lose two daughters in one lifetime...I can't imagine..."

At that moment, I was grateful not to have Rosalind's mind-reading abilities. Yes, that's right. We were a family of weirdos. As my grandmother had assured us, we hailed from a line of witches. My mother would laugh when my grandmother spouted this, but in part, my siblings and I believed this. We had seen the outcomes of such a claim

Me, future girl.  Rosalind, mind reader girl. If Juliet had been gifted any powers, she hadn't had time to share them.

Even though my power had done me little good, hearing the thoughts of thirty or more people at a wake would suck more. Rosalind had lived life with a far upbeat outlook than most, even after her gift whispered the longings of a pedophile she thought was her friend. Yeah, knowing such damaging info nearly killed my faith in people, but she held on, telling me trite things like:

"Sure, the little old lady across the street watches little people porn and longs for a return to racial inequality. But, she never forgets a birthday. She has twenty grandchildren, seven children, and never forgets."

My eyes sealed tight, but I couldn't shut out her memory. It had been such a weird fucking disclosure. As soon as I heard the word porn, I had phased out any relevance to what she'd been saying.

That day she wished to convey an ideal to me, but I ignored the important parts. Instead, I focused on Mrs. Trebuskie's erotic video collections. We both agreed (with much laughter), that something was wrong with her.

The suffocating feeling crept back. To avoid falling over, I laid back on Rosalind's bed.

Why had fate offered me the wonder of two loving sisters, only to snatch them away? Why did I get to live, and they did not? Was I more deserving, or was fate infinitely spiteful? What was the point of growing up with them, knowing them, and loving them if I was gonna lose them? There was no point to anything.

A single tear slipped from my eyes. One was all I allowed. Later, when the house emptied and my mother floated on a Vicodin-induced cloud, I would cry into a pillow until sleep followed.

Planning my emotional release left me unaware, until a distinctively deep voice stole me from my zombie-like state.

"Want some company?"

A handsome stranger greeted me at the now open bedroom door. I sat up to see who was interrupting my misery.

His full, black hair was combed back, and thick lashes framed his hazel eyes. His skin was impossibly smooth and brown, a mark of his Morcoso heritage. Once I blinked away the fog, I recognized my childhood friend, Ahote Shoal. 

"Ahote?"

"No, Rafe," he said, grinning. "I go by my middle name, or don't you remember?"

Slowly, I did remember. "Rafe. Always so stubborn and independent. Your mom told me that's what Ahote translates to, you know."

"I've heard the same story, thanks." He hovered in the doorframe, giving me time to kick him out or invite him in.

I smiled weakly in response, suddenly worried about my appearance. I tugged down my skirt and tried to discreetly wipe the likely make-up stains from my face.

He chuckled. "You don't have to impress me. Especially not today."

"I'm not. I just—" I tucked brown curls behind my ears. "What are you doing here?"

Rafe gestured to the bed. As I made room for him, he sat and said, "I wanted to see you. See how you're doing. Do you not want me here?"

His cologne was overpowering, but in a good way. As I just lost dumped a boyfriend, I wasn't in the market for another so soon. But someone like Rafe, with that damn perfect smile, was bound to reel me in. Bad idea. I scooted so far to the other side of the bed, I teetered on the edge.

"No, I do. You caught me by surprise. I haven't seen you since I was twelve, so it's a little weird is all."

"It was a long time ago," he agreed. "I'm glad you remember me, weird or not."

I couldn't resist smiling again. "Of course I remember you. We were only best friends."

"Is that what we were?" His smile revealed brilliant white teeth in contrast with his beautiful brown skin.

"That's what I thought, anyway."

I managed to right myself from falling off the bed, and he pretended not to notice.

"We were all best friends: you, me, and Rosa—" There he stopped. "I'm sorry. You're probably not ready to hear this stuff yet." He searched for something to placate me, and, "I'm sure she's in a better place," is what he came up with.

"You don't have to say shit like she's in a damn better place."

My tone grated more harshly than I wanted. Rafe's face registered surprise. The unscheduled anger scared me, but I meant every word.

He raised both hands. "Okay. We can talk about whatever you want, anything else you want."

I sighed deeply. Rosalind wasn't his fault, it was mine.

"Why aren't you hugging me already?"

Well-muscled arms encircled me. I inhaled the familiar scent of soap and pine, a combination that made me feel safe ever since I was little. All it took to jump start my power was physical contact or a quick meeting of the eyes. Then, a stream of scattered images akin to untethered consciousness would invade my mind. Some of the images were easy to decipher, and others I had to make sense of based on context.

Out of habit, I focused on Rafe's future, and instantly regretted it.

In place of the usual images, all I could see was a bright nothingness, a screaming dark cavern with unseen depths I feared I could never escape. It took all of my willpower to pull away from the vortex. It called to me, but I resisted. Barely.

Finally, I pulled away from him and back into the present moment.

"What's wrong, Imogen?" Rafe's angled face twisted in confusion.

I stared at him, trying to sort out the void I'd witnessed with the bright aura of the man before me.

"Nothing," I lied.

My tone imparted something indeed was wrong, but I didn't care. I had to get away from this man, if he was in fact a man. Besides, I still anticipated a good cry alone, something I needed now more than ever.

I backed out of the room, my words hurried, "I wanna be alone."

After the door clicked behind me, I hurried down the stairs to hide in the guest room. The quiet calmed me, and I analyzed the vision from Rafe.

There was a chance I had overreacted. The explanations for his future could be numerous and beyond my comprehension. Maybe I was so intertwined in his future it was blind to my second-sight. Maybe he had no future because he was going to die, soon.

Or

Maybe

It was something else.

~*~

A/N: Hmm, I would've freaked if I saw a void in place of someone's future!

Dear readers, I dedicate this chapter to my latest follower cHaOsOfWar. He's a film-lover who loves astrophysics and behavioral science. Quite the mix, right? Read his sci-fi story, Th3 Great Frontier:

https://www.wattpad.com/story/59402497-th3-great-frontier-foundation