“Yeah, and that shit just ain’t right, you know? I never volunteered for it and I would have done anything to get it to stop.” Images from the past, of him collapsing at malls and at schools and in libraries and movies, flooded his brain. “It was torture. I never knew when the trances were coming and I didn’t know what I said in them and the people I didn’t scare the shit out of thought I was crazy.” He laughed in a hard burst. “Might have been different if I’d been able to predict the lottery, but I’ve only ever had bad news to share. Anyway, so there I was, seventeen, clueless, at the end of my rope, with nothing but a pair of violent, alkie parents at home who couldn’t offer me any help or advice…I didn’t know what else to do, where to go, who to talk to. I mean, my mom and dad? Fuckin’ A, I wouldn’t have asked them what to make for lunch, much less anything about that stuff. So one day close to Halloween, which is my birthday, by the way, I see in the back of the Courier Journal a bunch of ads for these psychics, healers, whatever, and I decided to give one of them a try. I went downtown, knocked on some doors and finally one of them opened. The woman seemed to understand the situation. She told me what to do and I went home and I did it…and everything changed.”

“Like how?”

“The trances stopped, for one thing, and then I just had luck on my side. My parents finally imploded—I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say the end was simply an evolution of the alcoholism. After they were gone, I was relieved and free and…different. I turned eighteen, inherited the house and my father’s plumbing jobs…and that’s how it all started.”

“Wait, you say you were different—how?”