I blocked Chester during lunch, “We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Yes, there is,” I replied firmly. “You think after you fainted on the ground and then you look at me with this frightened expression that there’s nothing to talk about? God, what’s wrong with you!”

With that, I grabbed him by the wrist and almost dragged him out of the cafeteria, whispers following us all the way. We entered the Art Room and I closed the door. “Look. Either you know something that I don’t, or you’re trying to be my friend in this weird insane way or…whatever. I don't--I don’t know what’s up. I’m not psychic, so just…tell me!”

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” Chester warned.

“Try me,” I replied.

Chester exhaled sharply--nervously--his hands twisted together in fretful clinches. He looked up at me underneath his red fringe and said quietly, “I tell the future."

There was the shortest silence, broken by my disbeliving snort.

"Yeah, right," I rolled my eyes. "And my parents are Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. Surrre,"

"Sarah, I told you--"

"That doesn't mean it's true," I interrupted him.

"I can prove it," Chester blurted out.

There was another silence.

"Can you?" I asked quietly.

Chester dug in his pocket, fishing out a pencil. He grabbed a piece of paper from the shelf and sat down.

I was standing behind him, peeking over his shoulder. The pencil flew over the paper and slowly the picture began to take form.

It was of me, my lips slightly parted in an expression of fear. I was glancing over one shoulder. The black form of a stranger came into form, nothing more than a dark form against white paper.

I recognized the form vaguely. It was from the first time I had been followed...

We both stared at the drawing and Chester whispered, "That's what's going to happen today, Sarah."

The silence that filled the room afterwards felt like the loudest noise I had ever heard. I stumbled back, jaw hanging as I stared at Chester Matheson.

“You’re not--” I choked out after what seemed like ten geological ages. “You’re like--You’re a-a fortune-teller?”

Chester stood up from his seat, “I don’t know! I’ve been having those visions of something…weird. Frightening. Ever since you arrived. And I’ve been having the same vision over and over of you. I don’t know, Sarah! I don’t know everything!”

“What are the visions about, Chester?” I approached him slowly, stood by his side.

He looked up at me with dark eyes, “Murder.”