It’s precisely 20:13 when a man who carries a sorrowful expression walks into my office. He’s been recommended here by earlier customers that found my services brilliant. It can help to freak customers out a bit, so I sit completely still staring right at him.

He jerks the chair down, and falls down into it. “I don’t believe any of this psychic bullshit. You’re not getting any of my money until I get proof that you’re not just scamming me.”

I’d say that his words are hurtful, but I’d be a complete liar then. I guess I already am a liar, because he’s completely right. Every single physicist sits and tells a huge lie to your face. It’s not the words or claims they make that are the lies. It’s the notion they speak to the dead.

“I assume you’re here to talk about Jenna.”

“Ooh, you know her name. So what? There’s been missing posters of her everywhere.”

I know that very well.

“Verywell,” I say, “what question do you have for Jenna?”

A tear slides down his cheek. He’s keeping his composure rather well. She only went missing a day ago. Most parents would be bawling, or screaming at the mention of their child’s name. “Here’s a question only Jenna knows the answer to. On your twelfth birthday what did we do together?”

It takes a second but she answers. Good girl.

“You two watched Jaws.”

He jumps back in this chair, his face going white. He can’t believe it, nobody can, and he actually doesn’t, but his heart so desperately wants this to be true, that he’s ready to ignore his brain.

“W-whos the bastard that did this to you?”

Why does every parent ask the same fucking thing? I hear Jenna sobbing, but only I can hear it. She hasn’t heard anything from her parents for what must feel like ages to her. I shift around in my chair.

“Jenna, do you hear me?” I say. The sobbing grows silent. “ Jenna, who was the man that killed you?”

There’s no response. Fucking bitch. She was taught better. As sneakily as I can, my left hand slides under the table and clicks a button. Through the earpiece in my right ear, I heard Jenna jerk and grunt to the shock. She’s chained up in a cellar about fifty meters away from here.

“You, did it you bastard,” she screams out.

“The name doesn’t come through, but she says that it wasn’t a family member or a friend or anything like that. She didn’t know the man. This is the act of a serial killer.”

True enough.

“Jenna. I’ll get revenge for you sweetheart.”

No you won’t. I ramp the volt up to max and click the button. I think she passed out from the shock. Oh well.

“Sadly, my connection to Jenna dissapeared.”

“When can I do this again?”

“Usually there’d be repeat sessions, but I don’t think Jenna is going to give anymore.”