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Contemporary Fantasy

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I hate the rain. It reminds me too much of being stuck with nowhere to go on that stupid farm when I was a kid. I can’t see a thing.
Connor Mulligan adjusted his windshield wipers to the next higher setting and gripped the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles bulged a bright white. He leaned forward, hunched over the wheel, squinting to try to see better. It wasn’t much use. The rain was coming down sideways. The radio was blaring and not doing much for his concentration, but his mind was on the meeting. This was going to be his only chance to meet with the ‘financier for special circumstances’, and if he was going to save his business, Rollie was his last hope.
He heard his phone go off again and he glanced over and saw that it was Sarah. She had called at least a dozen times just since he had been in the car. She didn’t want him doing business with a loan shark. But Connor wasn’t listening to her.
She just doesn’t understand what it takes to make it in business, and if I’m ever going to have a shot, I just need a boost. He kept telling himself.
He had been driving for just over five minutes and knew that he would be at Rollie’s office soon. He popped open the briefcase on the seat beside him and started rifling through a stack of papers, looking for the title deed and the other papers ‘the businessman’ told him to bring. He hated that farm. It was a constant reminder of the life he wanted to leave behind. But Sarah was livid when she learned he was going to use his grandfather’s property, and his inheritance, to secure the loan with Rollie. “That was the only thing that you have left of him, ” she would say.
The phone again. He kept digging for the papers.
He glanced back at the road and swore that he saw a person standing right in the center of the road. He blinked and the person was still there. Yes, it was a person. He panicked. He dodged to the right and hit a pothole, then he over corrected to try to regain control. The last thing He saw was paper orbiting all around him and the cell phone flying through the air. Then white. A bright, piercing white.
Then silence.


Lightning flashed and thunder shook the walls. Connor could no longer sleep. Once again, his pillow was soaked through, sweat permeating his hair and pouring in rivulets down his face. He sat bolt upright and clutched his chest, gasping with everything he had for air.
His heart felt as if it would race out of control. A strong breeze blew through the small window to the left of his bed and caused the calendar’s pages on the wall to flap.
August 1929.