character intro || lochlan “lock” findlay || UNTITLED
the crackling purple sign emblazoned with a spread of cards and the word PSYCHIC was the only draw towards the small cottage. it had needed a new coat of paint since 1997 and the front porch was unfortunately creaky, but the current occupant insisted that these things only added to the ambiance. he was correct.
he was sitting in what used to be the downstairs living room. it was sparsely decorated, which always surprised his clients. though, not as much as he himself did. there were certain images that folks associate with a purple neon PSYCHIC sign. he fit none of them. he was pale, short, with clear grey eyes and a line of acne across his left cheekbone. he scrolled idly on his phone, waiting for something.
a woman pulled into the gravel driveway. her name is irrelevant. he was already smiling when she entered, a welcoming expression that reached his eyes. they exchanged pleasantries, but it was clear she wasn’t in the mood for idle conversation.
he moved a large clear crystal off of a beautiful deck of cards. “they belonged to my mother,” he said, beginning to shuffle them fondly. it was a half truth, as so many things about her experience would be. they did belong to his mother, but it was wrong of him to imply she had ever used them for divination.
the woman was quiet, simply observing him. he knew her type – they felt as though speaking would break the spell and he capitalized on their awe. it was ever so easy for her to miss the subtle changes in the shuffling. he slipped the cards where he wanted them, weaving a tapestry that would make her desperate to return.
divination was never his talent. his talent was reading his clients. he knew what they wanted to hear. he knew what to say to make them come back to him, time and time again. he laid out three cards in order, explaining as he did so – past, present, future. she needed to know that things were going to be okay, and she would return for him to tell her such again. the cards told a story of growth and possibility. it was so easy.
she slid her payment across the table, looking relieved. as she left, he picked up his cards to pack them away. one slipped from the deck and landed face up. the tower taunted him from where it sat. he scoffed and dropped the rest of the deck on top of it.
a storm blew in from the ocean. a lone man with tangled hair stepped smoothly out of the waves and out of his skin. lock turned on the television, still pleasantly ignorant of what was to come.
