Predict a Card, Any Card

By Pamela Love

Trouble started with Miss Herbert’s sixth card.

I do ESP screening, so I’m used to trouble. Psychics are among the few making a decent living in the Depression, which is why people get plenty sore when I tell them they’ve flunked the test. Curses, threats. I’ve dodged punches. Guess I can’t blame them much—wish I had the Gift myself.

Grace Herbert was older than I usually see them, in her sixties maybe. Her faded blue dress was too loose, like she was wearing hand-me-down clothes she hadn’t grown into yet. I’d bet she hadn’t eaten enough lately, like a lot of people around here these days. She stared just a little too long at the chocolate bar on my desk as she sat down.

It was a shame. Chances of anybody passing the screening were one in fifty thousand, and what would this little old lady do if she failed? Her application said, “Unemployed.” Nobody was hiring around here, not since they finished the dam last year.

Watch it, Sanders. I sat up straighter. Get mushy over these people and you’ll lose your own job. Want to wind up like her?

My office was smaller than my mother’s parlor had been, before my folks lost their house. The door hinges needed oiling. The desk and chair and filing cabinet needed painting. And the ash tray was cracked, which didn’t matter because I couldn’t afford to smoke, and neither could the test subjects, mostly. But it was paradise compared to begging on the street.

I jerked a thumb over my shoulder. “See that poster?” Rules say I’ve got to explain, even when the subject knows what to do. “Tell me which of those five pictures is on the card I’m holding. There are five of each, which means 25 total. Get at least twenty right, and you’ll be approved for further screening.”

For her first five cards, she guessed the same design each time, the wavy blue lines. She was right twice.

When it came to the sixth card, Miss Herbert’s lower lip began trembling. “Wavy blue lines,” she said, sounding puzzled.

Six of a kind is impossible with this deck, not that I said so. No advice is allowed. She wasn’t the first person I’ve seen lose count.

On the seventh card, she sniffed. “Young man, is this supposed to be funny? We’ve certainly done more than five cards. Did you think I wouldn’t notice you’ve rigged the deck?”

That was a first. I’ve never been accused of cheating before the test was over. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s the wavy lines again. So is…” She closed her eyes and bit her lip. “So is the next one, and the one after that. They’re all wavy blue lines.”

I sighed. “Ma’am, I promise you—”

Then Miss Herbert almost bounced in her chair, all smiles now. “Oh, I know! Of course it’s on purpose. A friend of mine was a magician. He had a special deck. Whenever he told someone to pick a card, any card, he knew it had to be the four of hearts, because they all were.

“That’s what you’ve done, isn’t it? Only a real psychic could see it. I’m sorry for what I said. You will forgive me, won’t you?”

I shook my head. “There are definitely only five of each card.”

She folded her arms. “Then why do I think they’re all wavy blue lines, hmm?”

Because you’re seeing things, lady. I kept my face blank. Not because of ESP, though. How long’s it been since you had a decent meal?

Her bony hand flashed out, rattlesnake-fast. I thought she was grabbing the chocolate bar. Instead, she slapped the deck, sending the cards flying onto the floor. “Hey!” I yelled. I started around my desk, then stopped.

This was no tantrum. She was on her knees, flipping over the cards with her patched white gloves. “Wavy blue lines,” she kept saying, as if those words could change reality. As if they could magically transform her future.

But her tears were falling on all of the pictures. Wavy blue lines, yes, but also black squares, green stars, yellow circles, and red plus signs.

To blazes with the rules. I knelt beside her. “I’m sorry, Miss Herbert. I know you’re disappointed not to be psychic, but very few people are. I’ve had this job for two years. I’ve never seen anybody pass.”

“I tell you, I see wavy blue lines!” She grabbed one of those cards. “Except they’re wrong. They should go crosswise, like this.”

With a shrug, I pointed to the poster. “As long as I’ve been here, those lines have always been vertical.”

She frowned, not even looking at me. “Still not right.” Taking two other cards like it, she overlapped them, connecting the wavy lines. “It should look like an ocean. Or a river.”

I rolled my eyes. “Ma’am, remember when I explained the rules? You’re just supposed to tell me what’s on the cards. It’s got nothing to do with the ocean.”

“The river… the river,” she muttered, rocking back and forth.

“Okay, the river.” I stood and offered her my arm. “Ma’am, I think you should go home now.” I hope you have one. You can have my chocolate bar. I can live without lunch.

“The river… It’s coming!” She rocketed to her feet.

“What river? Please, Miss Her—”

“Fool! The dam’s burst!” She grabbed my arm. “Climb!” Her fingers dug into my arm as she lunged toward the door. Too stunned to do anything but obey, I followed her up the stairs.

We were halfway up when the flood reached us, loud as a locomotive. It hammered through the room below, sweeping away my desk, my chair, my filing cabinet—everything.

I stared down into the water, panting, heart pounding. “Miss Herbert, I won’t tell anybody you didn’t pass if you don’t.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

After graduating from Bucknell University, Pamela Love worked as a teacher and in marketing before turning to writing. Her science fiction and fantasy stories have appeared in Cricket, Beyond Centauri, and Spaceports & Spidersilk, among other magazines. Her fantasy novel, The Pegasus Potential, is available on Amazon and Smashwords. She is also working on a new fantasy novel.

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