TOG: Out of Touch excerpt

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From Chapter Nine...

I performed my normal ritual on the table in my consultation corner. I used the time to quiet my mind. Trying to do a reading while feeling anxious was not helpful. The first and second fragments of shirt did not yield a clear lake. Instead, I was on a frozen block of ice with fog rising and swirling in the cold air and there were no memory threads to be found. My brain certainly had a dramatic way of translating the classic “the reading/future is cloudy” schtick of old. Quieting down my mind again, I continued.
The impression from the third article of clothing, part of a shoe, was very faint, but I could capture one fleeting thought, “I’m glad that Marnie couldn’t come with me. She has little sailing experience and I’d feel awful if something happened to her. Damn squall. Psycept speaking, end of impression. I was not even able to get a glimpse of Marnie from the person’s mind. No prior memories arose, but I can say that the mind voice is male. I am sorry I could not get more; the person’s mind was very chaotic and hazy.” What I didn’t say that was the article was too light in sentimentality to carry me to the heavier thoughts. The mind lake was slow to appear, and the memory thread was a gossamer short ribbon, and this was the only memory on it. That led me to believe that the shoe was not well-loved, but maybe he was wearing it when a significant event happened. This little part of a shoe was trying its best to link me to the weightier memories but was unable to forge the path.
The fourth and final piece, the bill of a ballcap, hit the jackpot. The was a delay between me touching the cloth and speaking as I was wading through the memory rope trying to consolidate pertinent bits of information. Growing up in northern Texas and now living in Albuquerque, I have no nautical experience. On the other hand, the memory holder had extensive sailing experience. There was a slight period of adjustment as I took a crash course on sailing to ascertain useful bits of information from gibberish.
“I’m on my father’s small, sturdy sailing vessel, an open water catamaran, or cat. It was night and the boat was set up with a windvane to steer. I woke every hour or so to check the trim, weather, heading, and a brief lookout for other ships.
“I went out for a three-day deep-sea fishing excursion and was heading into my final day before returning to port. The cat is not comfortable for long distance sailing but can easily be operated by one sailor. There is a small cabin; it houses a captains’ chair, one bunk, a dinette table with two small bench chairs, a pocket galley, some radio equipment on a wall shelf, and a hand-operated head. Dad and I usually only go thirty or so miles offshore to fish.
“This time, I was alone, though. I planned on surprising my girlfriend, Marnie, who loves to freshwater fish but does not sail much. We had both originally taken the week off from work, and the sailing was to be a getaway, but she was asked to fill in last-minute at some work conference. My usual off-shore fishing buddies were working, and my parents were on a European vacation. I decided to go fishing alone but planned to return to take Marnie out for the weekend. Stupidly, I had not told anyone of my solo plans.
“I awake from a light slumber as I register a sudden plunge in temperature. I make a cursory check of the navigation unit, then go on deck and saw a squall line behind me, bearing down fast. I try to see if I should attempt to go behind the line and steer clear of the squall, or if I should heave-to and ride out the squall. As I am checking the squall line to determine the cloud margins and maybe make out the rain direction, a deadhead collides with the port hull and jolts me overboard. Unfortunately, I get tangled in the deadhead and dragged from the boat.
“Psycept speaking, I have written down the coordinates, time, and date and will call the Canadian Coast Guard with it. This happened six days ago, but I do not yet sense death. The person’s name is Gregory Sammons and the name of the catamaran is Betty Rose. Signing off now, written report to follow.”

      I feel sick to my stomach, the package has been with me since Monday, but it was Wednesday, and I am just now reading the materials sent. 

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Out of Touch, available now on Amazon Kindle. 

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