“That’s all I know,” Betsy said. She had never, in her whole life, had premonitions about a group of people. They always came to her one at a time, one person at a time. The only reason, she figured, that she had had multiple premonitions at once was because she was so stressed, so scared, and so broken. She had no strength left. That allowed the premonitions to break in altogether, as fractured pieces into her fractured mind. That had to be why. She turned to the judge. “Have fun tonight.”

It was silent in that courtroom.

“You want the jury here, Betsy,” Zoe said, trying to collect herself, trying to control her temper, “these smart men and women, to believe that you knew what was going to happen that day when you killed Peter Kandinsky? That you envisioned it, it came to you like a bolt of lightning to your head and you knew it would happen?” She made a scoffing sound in her throat. She would demolish this stupid woman for what she said about her daughter in open court.

“Yes. I saw it after I got off work as a waitress. It was clear as day. I ran to his house and I heard them arguing about Johnny’s mother, with Johnny accusing his father of killing her. Peter was raving, I’ve never seen anyone that angry. He hit Johnny in the face, twice. Johnny would be dead had I not done what I did. Peter was going to shoot him. Johnny’s head was going to be split open like a cracked melon.”

“How did you know?”

“Because I knew that Peter was going to turn to the gun cabinet.”

“So you saw Johnny’s father going for the gun in the gun cabinet?” she sneered at Betsy.

“No, I saw it in my premonition.”

“In your crystal ball?”

“There is no crystal ball.”

“You never saw him turn, that day, in real life, for the gun?”

“No.”

“Then there was no threat to your life,” the prosecutor snapped. “Peter Kandinsky did not have a gun.”

“There was a threat to Johnny’s life,” Betsy said. “He was going to be shot and killed by his father because Peter was incensed that Johnny was accusing him of killing Gabriella, Johnny’s mother. Peter was afraid that Johnny would go to the police and he would go to jail, so he was going to kill his own son.”

“Without a gun?” The prosecutor tried to look puzzled. “So you stabbed him. You defended Johnny from a gun that was still in the gun cabinet when the police arrived.”

Betsy’s attorney said, with a semi-shout, “Fifteen minutes with my client, please.”

“Granted.” The judge hit the gavel. He was already looking forward to his party.

* * *