Joe seems to look as nervous as I feel, but he holds his hand out steadily. I swallow hard and press my hand against his palm. A white light flashes before my eyes.

I see myself, the Waverly of the future, crying, holding her sides she’s sobbing so hard. There is Scarecrow, and then there is Joe.

“What did you see?” Scarecrow shouts. 

“You’re going to shoot him,” she whispers. 

Boom!

Joe falls to the floor, blood oozing from his head wound. 

The white light flashes again and I feel the tears form in my eyes.

“What did you see?” Scarecrow whispers.

I can’t stop the tears. I don’t know Joe from anyone, but I don’t want to see him murdered right in front of me. The tears flow quickly and I start to heave. The heaves turn into sobs and I start to hold my sides. I know this is what I just saw, and I want to change something but I can’t.

“What did you see?” Scarecrow shouts.

“You’re going to shoot him,” I say softly.

Boom!

I close my eyes tightly, having already seen what Joe looks like with a bullet hole in his head.

“So it works,” Scarecrow says. “Do it to me. I want you to tell me my future.”

“No,” I say.

“You will do it,” he says. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” He holds out his hand to me, waiting for me to grab it.

“What if it’s bad?” I say. “You will be angry with me if I give you bad news.”

“You are giving me the power to know what I need to change,” he says. “If I can know the future, I am the master of it.”

If only that were true, I think to myself.

I bite the bullet and reach out to touch Scarecrow’s hand. He pulls back briefly. “The truth, now. You hear me?”

“I understand.”

I think it’s the vilest thing to touch Scarecrow’s hand. I want to bite off his finger or grab his gun away and start shooting, but I know such an act would just get me killed.

My hand touches his and the light returns.

I see my future self standing on a metal walkway on the second floor of the warehouse, a railing on both sides of her to keep her from falling into the crowd of hungry greyskins below. She’s holding a crowbar, walking toward Scarecrow at the end of the walkway. 

He smiles at her bitterly. He holds up his gun, points it at her and pulls the trigger. The click tells her that it’s empty. Scarecrow holds the gun in the air and shrugs. “I guess you have me cornered.”