Chapter 4I Can See How Everyone Will Die

"I'm here to pick up Hailey's things. She still has some clothes at your place," I replied.

Caroline frowned, then turned to Louis. "Wait for me in the car."

He didn't move. Instead, he sized me up before letting out a scoff. "So this is your ex-husband? Man, he looks rough. No wonder you dumped him."

Louis was five years younger than me and carried himself like a spoiled rich kid.

I couldn't be bothered with him.

Moments later, Caroline tossed a plastic bag at me. Inside were three of Hailey's old clothes and a stuffed bunny with one ear missing.

It had always been Hailey's favorite toy, yet John had cut off one of its ears. He insisted little girls shouldn't play with soft toys like that and that they distracted kids from things that actually mattered.

Hailey was only four at the time, and she'd spent the entire afternoon crying.

I took the bag and turned to leave, but John spoke again. "Hold on. We need to talk about the child support."

"The court ordered three thousand dollars. Just pay that amount," I said flatly.

"Three thousand dollars? Are you kidding me?" John barked. "Caroline's pregnant, and Louis needs money for an investment—"

"That's your problem."

John slammed his palm against the back of my electric scooter. "Let me tell you something. Every penny Caroline earns belongs to this family. An outsider like you isn't entitled to any of it!"

Without saying a word, I hung the plastic bag on the handlebars and started the scooter.

John was still cursing at me, while Louis stood beside him, casually scrolling through his phone. And Caroline never said a word in my defense the entire time.

As I rode out of the neighborhood, I passed a dumpster. An older man was crouching beside it, collecting recyclables.

The words above his head read, "58 years old. Will die of old age in 23 years."

A peaceful death from old age was the best ending I'd seen yet. Out of nowhere, I found myself envying a man who made his living digging through other people's trash.

…

That night, Hailey fell asleep clutching her one-eared stuffed bunny.

I sat by the window and totaled up what I'd earned that month. I'd made 4,800 dollars from 15 days of deliveries.

Rent was 1,500 dollars, Hailey's kindergarten fees were 1,200 dollars, and groceries came to about 1,000 dollars. Then, there were the scooter's charging costs and my phone bill.

After paying for everything, I was left with 110 dollars. That was all the money Hailey and I had left.

At that moment, my phone buzzed, and a text from Caroline popped up. "I'll be a few days late on this month's child support. Louis has his eyes on a watch, so I want to get that for him first."

I slid my phone under my pillow without replying. I stared at the long crack running across the ceiling and made a decision.

I wasn't going to let this ability go to waste.

Years ago, Susanna had paid me five million dollars for a single reading.

How many people in this city wanted to know how they were going to die? How many would pay to change their fate?

I was done being a saint. I was going to use these eyes to provide for Hailey and me.

…

It took me three days to come up with a plan. After all, I couldn't just walk up to strangers and tell them how they were going to die like I had when I was younger. That would freak people out and land me in trouble.

So, I created a social media account called "The Healthy Delivery Guy".

The content was simple. Every day, I posted a story about someone I'd met on my deliveries. Of course, I changed all the identifying details.

In the first video, I said, "I delivered food to a woman who had bruises on her face. Let's talk about what to do if you or someone you know is experiencing domestic abuse."

With the recent Fairview Gardens news still fresh in everyone's mind, the video passed 50 thousand views.

In the second video, I said, "Office workers who survive on coffee and skip breakfast every day should watch out for these warning signs."

That one reached 80 thousand views.

I never mentioned anything supernatural. I simply talked about the people I'd "noticed" and framed everything as everyday health advice.

By the time my account reached 20 thousand followers, someone sent me a private message. It read, "Hey, can you tell if someone's sick? My mom's been complaining about headaches lately. Could you take a look?"

But I didn't respond. It wasn't that I didn't want the money. I was waiting for a bigger catch.

…

Two weeks later, I picked up a 300-dollar delivery for an office tower downtown. It was the most expensive delivery I'd ever gotten.

When I checked the order, I realized it was a snack delivery for an entire office floor.

The receptionist told me to leave everything on a table.

As I carried the boxes inside, I noticed the conference room door was open, and about a dozen people sat around the table.

At the head of the table sat a sharply dressed man in his early 40s with the unmistakable presence of someone in charge.

Above his head, the words read, "43 years old. Brain hemorrhage in one year."

Beside him stood a little boy, about five, absorbed in a game on his tablet. And above the child's head were the words, "Five years old. Anaphylactic shock today."

Today…

I set the box down and glanced at the order note. "Severe nut allergy. No nuts in any food items."

The receptionist had placed the snack order.

I opened one of the cake boxes and checked the ingredient list. Almond flour was listed near the top.

"Hey," I called out. "That cake—"

By then, the receptionist had already picked up a box and was walking toward the conference room.