Betrayal Beneath The Spanish Moss
Leslie Stern
Prologue
October 2008
Dr. Emma Weiss sat in a comfortable chair in the eerie atmosphere of a psychic’s lair. The office had been transformed into a parlor with antique furniture, books on the occult, and mystical creatures surrounding her. Emma had been referred to Mary Hoggins by a friend. Mary only accepted referrals as she was too busy with her important clients to make time for just anyone. Though Emma was skeptical of such metaphysical endeavors, she was desperate. Coming here was a last resort and Emma just hoped this woman could help her. She sat quietly, waiting for Mary to do all the talking, a strategy Emma had chosen before she entered the room. If Mary was all Emma had been told she was, then Mary would sense what Emma needed.
“You’re in a relationship but you’re troubled,” Mary paused, her ringed forefinger pointing it’s deep red polished nail straight up. “He’s going to use drugs again during the holidays. And you’re wondering if he’ll get caught. Yes, dear, he will.” Emma’s heart dropped at that remark and Emma found she couldn’t concentrate. As Mary spoke and continued to scribble in an unknown language, all that had happened during the past year since she had met Jake, flooded Emma’s mind. She thought about the first time she had caught Jake using cocaine, only weeks after he had come into her life.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Emma’s previously angelic mouth had shouted at Jake.
He’d been four hours late and made up a story about his truck breaking down and having to walk two miles. She knew even then, that he’d been out scoring coke. Emma had been ready to kill him. She had demanded they go to the drug dealer’s house to retrieve the truck. His words echoed in her head, as she remembered that night and looked blankly at Mary, who was still talking but the words were muffled by Emma’s own memories.
“Baby, we can’t go into a neighborhood like that,” he had said, trying to hang back as she grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the garage.
She hadn’t cared if the drug dealers shot at them. She only hoped they’d hit Jake and not her. She also remembered how scared he’d been. But was he afraid of the drug dealers, of losing the woman he claimed to love – or of just losing his meal ticket?
Mary’s words shocked Emma out of the past and for the moment, she was back in the present. Mary began telling Emma personal information about her late father – information no one could possibly know. She listened intently and was amazed at the accuracy of Mary’s words.
Mary continued to tell Emma about her late uncle and even told her about the child her mother had long ago aborted. Emma tried to pay attention but her mind kept drifting back in time, this time to an incident only weeks prior to this trip to Atlanta. She began to relive a night after Jake’s arrest and his idiotic run from the police. Emma had heard a noise in the house and reached into her nightstand for her pistol. It was gone. Because of Jake, every drug dealer in Savannah and Garden City knew where she lived and the son of a bitch has stolen her gun! How stupid could he be, Emma had asked herself. He was on probation, running from the police, and had taken her gun to a pawn shop where he had been fingerprinted and given his name. After she had cursed him out, he had called three times a day, begging her to forgive him. As she sat across from Mary, she couldn’t believe she had forgiven him and still more unbelievable to Emma was she that still loved him.
As Emma wrote the check for the fifty dollars her friend had told her was Mary’s fee, Mary stopped her.
“Emma, dear, my fee is a hundred and twenty five dollars. But I’ll tell you what. You give me that check and dump this guy of yours now, and we’ll be square. If you dump him now, you might be able to save yourself.”
Emma knew Mary was right, but she also knew she couldn’t break it off. She just wasn’t ready. She had hoped Mary would be the miracle to give her the strength to end it, but she hadn’t. Emma wrote a second check for seventy-five dollars and slid it across the desk.
“I’m sorry, Mary. I can’t do it.”
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Leslie Stern is a freelance writer and writing coach. Leslie wrote her first short story when she was ten years old and has never stopped writing. She owes her passion and work ethic to her family : Her step-father was world-renowned animation genius Iwao Takamoto, whom her mother married when Leslie was five years old. Leslie's next book featuring her personal stories about Iwao is called Living with a Legend and will be releasing soon. Leslie is a member of several writers groups including Writer's Guild of America, Atlanta Writer's Club, and Zona Rosa. Find out more at www.leslieestern.com
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