Adventures of Matt Parkman, Chapter 2: What worked
Matt went back to the daycare and picked up Matty. He'd blown all his useful time today finding supplies. He stowed them at his house, hiding them in the toes of a couple old pairs of shoes. The evening went well. He told Janice he was out trying to find a job as a delivery driver and he had a couple leads. He made them up based on something one of the other people at the therapy group had said. Their job had given them freedom to drive wherever they needed and stop to get high. As long as the parts got to where they were going, it was all good. Until they got busted after an accident, of course. It made for a decent cover story though. Matt had no intention of getting busted.
The next day he dropped off Matty again and returned to the efficiency apartment he'd rented for his project. He got out the drugs. He'd already disposed of the rohypnol, having no use for it. He'd flushed the pills too, since he wasn't sure what they were - he suspected, but he wasn't about to take them without knowing. That left him with cocaine and marijuana. The cocaine was probably adulterated to the point he didn't want it, but the weed was smelly and might not be enough to trigger the precognition. Besides, he'd never smoked; not even cigarettes. After a long internal debate, he snorted the coke.
It numbed his nose and burned, meaning it was either pure as the driven snow (which was ridiculous for street-purchased drugs) or very highly adulterated. Matt wasn't a drug user, so he had no tolerance built up to it. The dose he took gave him a high within fifteen minutes regardless of the adulteration. A feeling of contentment and well-being filled him. He knew it was artificial, but he gave in to it and embraced it. He took up his paint brush and began to work.
The vision came easily to him, fluidly. The future flowed by like a river and he could see where he would dip his finger in the water and cause ripples. It was beautiful to see. He knew he'd have setbacks, but now that he'd embarked on this path, he'd see it through. There were people he'd save. There were lives he'd changed and had already changed. All would be as it would be and he was as a leaf floating down that stream, bumping into others, tossed on the currents, able due to his ability to occasionally alter his course and that of those floating around him.
When he came to himself an hour later, he had three paintings. One was of a red-haired young woman texting as the car she was driving hit the one in front of her. He had painted the device screen in detail. It showed the date and time, but the other lines were blurred. The next painting showed a group of horses running down the highway in the darkness. Cars were swerving around them. One in the background was hitting a horse and going into the ditch. The last painting showed a white man bleeding and kneeling on the pavement, a black man behind him, pointing a gun at his head execution style.
Matt sat in front of the paintings, feeling the pleasant rush of the drugs still coursing within him. Or maybe it was the euphoria of knowing everything that was yet to happen. He wasn't sure. The paintings held a level of frustration for him. He knew, he recalled, that these were three events he would try to change, lives he would try to save… but how? Where was this woman texting in a car next week? When did these horses get out on the road and why? Who was this man being shot and how was Matt supposed to find him and stop it from happening?
He rubbed his head. He racked his brain. He looked at the rest of his paints. He looked at the ample supply of coke he had left. He looked at the seventeen blank canvases. He had eight days until the texting accident and he was pretty sure that one happened first. He wasn't positive - it was just a vague feeling. He paced, trying to think of anything he could do other than try to paint again. The text message itself wasn't helpful and the username was blurred.
Frustrated, eventually he gave up on it and went to get Matty. He went grocery shopping, then home. He cooked a nice meal. He told Janice his job-seeking hadn't panned out, but he was still trying. He argued with her viciously about the job her brother had offered him. They slept apart.
The next day he was depressed that he couldn't think of anything to solve the mystery other than take drugs and paint, so he stayed home. The same for the day after that. The next day he had five days until the first painting came to pass. He wondered if, because he'd painted it, it was inevitable. That doesn't make sense. It can't be. Isaac painted New York blowing up and it never happened.
I'm being a coward again. I can save her and whoever else is hurt in that accident. I just have to go back and find out more details… Maybe a new painting will show a traffic sign or a landmark or something. I won't get addicted and even if I do, if I save people then it's worth it. Fortified by that thought, he went back out. He made it an hour without using the coke. He'd timed it, telling himself that he'd try through mundane methods for at least an hour before resorting to drugs. As a result, he spent most of the hour standing around waiting for time to pass so he could use and get on with it. He told himself he was at least giving himself a chance. His ability did not take that chance.
He measured out his dose, recording the amount with the intention that he would stick to that quantity and refuse to increase if he built up a resistance. It seemed to hit him faster this time, which struck him as odd. He'd relaxed after taking the drugs and was finally able to give himself over to his ability without fear or resistance. Any speculation about why was lost in the rush of foreknowledge.
He tried to guide the vision, but that gave him static and a headache. As the coke kicked in fully, he gave it up and went with it, painting what he saw without trying to influence it. When he came to, he had three more paintings. To his relief, he saw that at least two were related to his previous work. The first was a wide angle shot of the accident with the texting woman. There was a Staples sign in the background and a few other elements of architecture. The second was a road construction worker clipping a wire fence. There were horses in the background. The third was a little black girl on the ground, scooting backwards with a gun pointed at her, held by a white hand.
He scoured the pictures, trying to understand what they meant, trying to pull out what fuzzy details and senses of meaning he could recover from the trance state. As the effect of the drugs dwindled and his conscious mind became sharper, they faded like phantasms. He obsessed over the images anyway. He had begun a journal that started with his drug dosage. Now he added to it what he understood of the paintings.
The next day he put Matty in the car and went for a long drive. He circled the loops of highways around Los Angeles, eventually finding the place he'd seen in the painting with the Staples sign. He pulled off on the side of the road and wrote the location in his journal. He watched the steady stream of cars going by. He had a good description of her car and the one she rear-ended. There were three other cars involved in the accident. He tried to imagine those cars, memorizing them so that he'd recognize them when the time came.
He went home and worked out a plan. He knew the place, the time, and the event. He was confident he could deal with this. He told Janice he'd taken Matty out on a long drive to try clear his head and get the toddler to take a nap. He apologized for the fight they'd had. Feeling jubilant and optimistic about things, he made love to his wife that night.
On the day of the event, he put Matty in daycare and drove out the area in question. He pulled over to the side of the road a couple miles short of where he judged the accident site to be. He waited tensely. He was excited, agitated. He felt an edge of euphoria almost as intense as the coke.
He was going to change the future. He was going to help someone. All by himself… he didn't need a crowd of other heroes telling him what to do or how to do it. His ability would be useful, helpful. He started several times as similar cars to those he was waiting for drove by. Finally, as the time approached, he saw the ones he was looking for.
He pulled out quickly, nearly causing an accident himself by merging too fast into traffic. Horns blared at him. He hunched guiltily over the steering wheel, sorry and exhilarated at the same time. He accelerated to cruising speed and past it, gaining on the cars he needed to catch up with. He had less time than he needed, really. He hadn't taken into account how long it would take to catch up to them. He felt fear course through him and he floored it, pushing his vehicle as fast as it would go.
He caught up with them just short of the accident site and panic ran through him as he realized he might be the cause of the fiasco, not the texting. He slowed rapidly, pulling in behind the car with the young woman. Even now it was swerving back and forth in the lane. He turned on the flashing red and blue dome light on his dash and honked. Absorbed in her message, he went unnoticed. He saw as a vehicle two cars ahead of her cut in, headed for an exit ramp. He knew what was about to happen. The car ahead of her would brake. She wouldn't see it. She'd rear-end them at full speed.
He reached out with his ability and told her, Pull over now! Her red-haired head jerked up and she complied immediately, barely avoiding the slowing car in front of her. He wasn't sure, but she might have clipped it. It wasn't an accident though and the other car didn't stop. He pulled over after her. Adrenaline was running high through him. It worked! It worked! Oh my God, it worked!
He jumped out of his car and nearly got run over by a passing semi, the suction from its passing pulling at his body. It reminded him of where he was, adding a spike of fear to his already elevated state. He hurried forward to where the woman was waiting for him, looking confused. He grinned in at her like a maniac. She leaned away from him. He didn't care. He didn't bother talking, thinking to her, Don't ever text message or talk on a phone while driving. Drive carefully. And don't speed. He walked back to his car, his heart singing. It worked!
He turned off the flashing dome light and waited while the woman eventually pulled back out into traffic. He was pleased that she did so very carefully. He smiled so broadly his face hurt. This is wonderful. He drove down the shoulder to the exit ramp and took it, looping around to head back home. He'd just saved a life, maybe more than one. He'd made a difference.
That night he made arrangements with a sitter and took Janice out to dinner. He effused over the meal about anything she wanted to talk about. Life was great. It was wonderful. He felt so alive. He made passionate love to her. She laughed. She was happy to be with him.