The Crossover Read Online Free
Author: E. Clay
keep it together, but a few tears slipped before I could wipe them away. I answered her.
“Because, my dad would have come back for me. At least once. But he can’t because he’s dead. I would give anything just to see him one last time to let him know I followed his plan and it worked. I owe him so much. At age 67 he was gone from a heart condition.”
My dad and I did everything together. We loved competitive sports. He taught me to throw darts and how to bowl. He also taught me how to talk trash. I reminisced. Shortly after his death I had the same reoccurring dream. It started out pretty much the same every time but got weird towards the end. In one dream, after bowling, my dad insisted on paying with his credit card and it was declined. He couldn’t figure out why his bank rejected the transaction. It was rejected because he was dead and all his accounts were closed. He was frustrated with the attendant behind the counter so I paid. On the way home dad wanted to show me newly installed pews in the sanctuary of his church, Alpha Baptist. His key wouldn’t open the door. His frustration escalated and got the best of him. I had to calm him down. I could never bring myself to break the news, that he was dead. In my dreams dad didn’t know he had died and it broke my heart to see him so confused.
Reminiscing was painful. I missed my dad.
Monet looked at me and embraced me with a supportive and loving hug. Then she kissed my face and told me she loved me.
I soon snapped out of my self-induced fog and wiped my eyes. I was back to normal.
“I stopped performing mentalism in my magic shows after dad died.”
“Mentalism? What’s that?”
“It’s a psychic routine. Instead of me telling you, how about if I show you? Hand me your purse, please.”
Monet reached behind her and grabbed her purse watching my every move. She handed it to me, very slowly.
“What are you looking for?”
“I know you’re an avid reader. I’m looking for a book. Found one. Hmm, Ann Rice, Sleeping Beauty. Interesting.”
I leaned over beside the bed and unzipped my garment bag. I retrieved my latest novel The Mogadishu Diaries . I held up both books and asked Monet to pick one.
“I don’t trust you with your own book, so I pick Ann Rice.”
I handed Monet her own book. I began fanning the pages of my book and told her to tell me when to stop.
“Stop.”
I immediately stopped and looked at the page number in the book I was holding.
“Okay. So page 74 it is. Go to page 74.”
Monet stood clutching her book and walked into the living area to prevent any sleight of hand.
“Okay. I’m on page 74. Now what?”
I went straight into character.
“Monet, concentrate on the first word of the first sentence on page 74. Now close your eyes and see the word in your mind’s eye.”
“Okay. I see it,” Monet replied.
“The word I am getting is a command. Am I right?” “Keep going,” Monet replied.
“It’s a command to end or to halt. The word I see is the word… stop. Is that your word?”
Monet poked her head in the doorway.
“How did you do that?” Monet asked cagily.
“I’m not done yet, babe. Go back into the room and focus on the last word of text on the page.”
“Okay, got it.”
“Hmm, I see emotion, expression. Close the book, babe.”
I walked into the living room where she was sitting on the sofa with the book in her lap. I sat beside her and kissed her face.
“Is it the word... face?”
Monet was spooked.
“Honey, that’s not possible. There’s no way. That’s really creepy. I don’t know how you did that but it was powerful and kinda scary.”
“Sweetheart, that was kid’s play. There is one mind-reading act that I have to be careful with.”
“Why?” Monet asked with intrigue.
“Because it freaks people out. They think it’s some kind of witchcraft or sorcery. But if they only knew, it’s all smoke and mirrors. I’m a professional fake.”
THREE
----
Maxine’s
G ood
“Because, my dad would have come back for me. At least once. But he can’t because he’s dead. I would give anything just to see him one last time to let him know I followed his plan and it worked. I owe him so much. At age 67 he was gone from a heart condition.”
My dad and I did everything together. We loved competitive sports. He taught me to throw darts and how to bowl. He also taught me how to talk trash. I reminisced. Shortly after his death I had the same reoccurring dream. It started out pretty much the same every time but got weird towards the end. In one dream, after bowling, my dad insisted on paying with his credit card and it was declined. He couldn’t figure out why his bank rejected the transaction. It was rejected because he was dead and all his accounts were closed. He was frustrated with the attendant behind the counter so I paid. On the way home dad wanted to show me newly installed pews in the sanctuary of his church, Alpha Baptist. His key wouldn’t open the door. His frustration escalated and got the best of him. I had to calm him down. I could never bring myself to break the news, that he was dead. In my dreams dad didn’t know he had died and it broke my heart to see him so confused.
Reminiscing was painful. I missed my dad.
Monet looked at me and embraced me with a supportive and loving hug. Then she kissed my face and told me she loved me.
I soon snapped out of my self-induced fog and wiped my eyes. I was back to normal.
“I stopped performing mentalism in my magic shows after dad died.”
“Mentalism? What’s that?”
“It’s a psychic routine. Instead of me telling you, how about if I show you? Hand me your purse, please.”
Monet reached behind her and grabbed her purse watching my every move. She handed it to me, very slowly.
“What are you looking for?”
“I know you’re an avid reader. I’m looking for a book. Found one. Hmm, Ann Rice, Sleeping Beauty. Interesting.”
I leaned over beside the bed and unzipped my garment bag. I retrieved my latest novel The Mogadishu Diaries . I held up both books and asked Monet to pick one.
“I don’t trust you with your own book, so I pick Ann Rice.”
I handed Monet her own book. I began fanning the pages of my book and told her to tell me when to stop.
“Stop.”
I immediately stopped and looked at the page number in the book I was holding.
“Okay. So page 74 it is. Go to page 74.”
Monet stood clutching her book and walked into the living area to prevent any sleight of hand.
“Okay. I’m on page 74. Now what?”
I went straight into character.
“Monet, concentrate on the first word of the first sentence on page 74. Now close your eyes and see the word in your mind’s eye.”
“Okay. I see it,” Monet replied.
“The word I am getting is a command. Am I right?” “Keep going,” Monet replied.
“It’s a command to end or to halt. The word I see is the word… stop. Is that your word?”
Monet poked her head in the doorway.
“How did you do that?” Monet asked cagily.
“I’m not done yet, babe. Go back into the room and focus on the last word of text on the page.”
“Okay, got it.”
“Hmm, I see emotion, expression. Close the book, babe.”
I walked into the living room where she was sitting on the sofa with the book in her lap. I sat beside her and kissed her face.
“Is it the word... face?”
Monet was spooked.
“Honey, that’s not possible. There’s no way. That’s really creepy. I don’t know how you did that but it was powerful and kinda scary.”
“Sweetheart, that was kid’s play. There is one mind-reading act that I have to be careful with.”
“Why?” Monet asked with intrigue.
“Because it freaks people out. They think it’s some kind of witchcraft or sorcery. But if they only knew, it’s all smoke and mirrors. I’m a professional fake.”
THREE
----
Maxine’s
G ood
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