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My psychic power emerged two years ago. I dreamt Old Man Baker was murdered with a switchblade, blood pouring out of his jugular vein, gushing like an oil well. In my dream the killer was wearing a Red Sox jacket and had a green tattoo of Satan on his left forearm that twisted from his elbow to his wrist. I thought I had been reading too many Stephen King novels, but the TV news confirmed my worst fears. Old Man Baker was dead, his throat slashed. The perpetrator, a motorcycle maniac short of cigarette money, was arrested wearing a Red Sox jacket and had the exact tattoo of Satan on his left forearm that I had foreseen. If I had spoken up sooner Old Man Baker might be alive.

My next dream was of the rape and murder of a fifteen year old girl. I saw she was wearing a Catholic school uniform. The assault took place near a corner on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan. Somehow I knew it would happen that night. I went to precinct 29, Manhattan’s wealthy Upper East Side, and tried to get the attention of the police. Nobody listened. I made extensive complaints and was finally ushered in to the office of a Detective Sergeant Rent. He was a trim man in his mid forties with a wide mustache, who looked at me skeptically. I begged him to take me seriously, but he wouldn’t. He listened politely, and pointed out that Fifth Avenue runs for miles through the middle of Manhattan, so my information, even if true,was of no use. He then ushered me briskly out of his office and back on to the street.


Katherine Smith had stayed out late with her friend Eileen. It was almost midnight. They were celebrating Katherine’s fifteenth birthday. There was also an algebra test the next day, and both girls were preparing for the exam. They were diligent students, and both planned to attend Ivy League Colleges. They were at Eileen’s house, on East 89th Street and Fifth Avenue. The girls lived two blocks apart in New York City’s exclusive Upper East Side. Katherine’s Dad, an investment banker who worked long hours, was supposed to pick her up at ten, but he was late. Katherine guessed a client must have called him up at the last minute. That happened a lot. She could stay overnight with Eileen, but she didn’t have her pajamas. Eileen’s Mom was sleeping, so the two girls tip-toed past her room, walked downstairs, and hugged goodbye. Kathy opened the front door and walked out into the night.

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