The Dead: Book 13 (frag. 1)

The Book of the Story

DÉJÀ VU.

It all happened so fast.

Morris walked into the liquor store, rapidly and with purpose, then lost his stride for a moment when he saw the clerk.

It wasn't the usual guy. He was quite certain he had never seen the man before. Except...

It wasn't just the sideburns and the yellow headband, or even the expression on the guy's face.

It was a thousand little things, as well.

It was the way the guy snapped the pen against his palm, the sound of a car hitting its brakes outside, the warm summer air drifting through the door, the evening light pouring through the window, the scent of corn chips and dust.

Morris knew, in that moment, that he had been right.

He lost track of his purpose, stopped halfway between the door and the counter, remembering the previous evening.

His brother had laughed at his theory—not surprising or unusual. Barry normally ridiculed any attempt at understanding anything, no matter who it came from.

The dirty plates were still on the table, and Barry lit up one of his detestable little cigars, even though he knew full well that Mildred hated them. He'd grinned his sarcastic grin and leaned back in his chair.

"Okay, Morris. Let's hear it—no! Wait a minute. Maybe we should get someone down here from the Times."

"Yeah, Barry. Funny. But I still think I'm right about this. You know that experience you sometimes have, when you think you've already seen something before, when you're just seeing it for the first time?"

"It's called a re-run, genius. They don't make enough shows to go all year round, so..."

"Like I said. Funny. But listen—here's the thing. I think I know what causes it."

"Like I said. They don't make enough shows..."

"Shut up. I'm talking about déjà vu. I think that sometimes we have dreams about things that are going to happen to us..."

"I hope so. I had a dream last night about this blonde..."

"...and then, when the thing actually happens, that's when you get that feeling."

"I mean, she was gorgeous. And you know what she wanted to..."

"Only, usually we don't remember the dream, so all we get is this kind of vague sense that..."

But this time he did remember.

He'd had the dream only two nights before.