Shadow's End

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With one blunt forefinger, Graydon tapped out a text on his smartphone.

We can’t put off meeting any longer. I can’t explain why in a text, but we’re running out of time. I need . . .

He paused as an onslaught of emotion cascaded through him.

I need to see you.

I need to touch your cheek, clasp your hand.

I need to look into your eyes, your beautiful eyes.

I need to know the precious light inside you has not died.

That was when the vision hit him.

He was used to having visions. He’d had them his entire, very long life. The Gaelic had many words and terms for such a thing. An Da Shealladh or “the two sights” was one of the most famous of them.

When he was tired to the point of distraction, or hungry to the point of feeling hollow, he saw images of places he had not yet seen or things he had not yet done, and he knew he would see those places, and he would do those things. Eventually.

The vision rolled over him as inescapably as if he had plunged into a vast ocean and water had closed over his head.

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