Chapter 1My Fake Prophecies Solved Homicides

I was just an ordinary rideshare driver trying to scrape together enough cash for rent, which is why I started talking about "the spiritual world" to my passengers. It was a cheap trick to pass the time and maybe fish for better tips.

But one night, a heavily intoxicated woman stumbled into my backseat, sobbing uncontrollably. She told me her younger brother had been missing for days and asked me what she should do.

Just to offer some harmless comfort, I threw out a random suggestion: "Don't lose hope. Go check the fountain at Riverfront Park tomorrow morning. You might find a miracle waiting for you."

The next day, I woke up to find the entire city under police lockdown.

The morning news was covering it live: a local resident had discovered a sealed waterproof backpack at the bottom of the Riverfront Park fountain. Inside was critical evidence that allowed the police to dismantle a massive, interstate human trafficking syndicate overnight.

As I sat there in absolute shock, my phone rang. It was an unknown number.

"Hello, is this Gina? This is the Major Crimes Unit. We've hit a wall on a case, and we'd like you to take us for a little drive..."

* * *

Midnight in the city always feels like a soaked, heavy black sponge, with the neon signs of the bars acting as the only faint, desperate glimmers of life.

My Prius was just another exhausted fish navigating the endless concrete current.

Another one-star review. There goes my weekly platform bonus.

I sighed, pulling over near the crowded bar strip on Capitol Hill, waiting for the app to ping with my next ride. The driver's side window was cracked open, letting in a sharp, unpleasant mix of stale beer and cheap perfume from the street.

Just as my eyelids were beginning to feel heavy, the back door was suddenly yanked open.

A wave of alcohol fumes hit me first, followed by a woman in her late thirties who collapsed onto the leather seats like a heap of wet laundry.

"Just... just drive, please. Anywhere," she slurred, her voice thick with unshed tears.

I glanced at her in the rearview mirror. Her blazer was rumpled, her hair was a tangled mess, and her eyes were terribly bloodshot.

Great. Another broken heart.

I shifted into drive and smoothly merged back into the midnight traffic. When you drive the graveyard shift, you see every shade of human misery. Over the months, I'd cobbled together a pseudo-mystical routine to deal with it—a blend of astrology, energy readings, and cold-reading tricks I'd memorized from late-night Reddit threads and TikTok videos. It was perfect for comforting the lonely and the broken-hearted.

"Hey," I said, keeping my voice low and soothing, adopting my best intuitive persona. "Whatever is heavy on your mind, sometimes it helps to let it go."

The woman froze, as if she had finally found a safe harbor, and then she broke down completely.

"My brother... he's been missing for three days," she sobbed, burying her face in her hands. "The police aren't doing anything! There are no leads, nothing!"

She struck her own lap with a clenched fist, her knuckles turning white.

"He's only twenty-two. He just graduated... I was supposed to protect him."

Missing? My chest tightened. That wasn't a standard relationship dispute. That was real, heavy danger. The practiced words of comfort died in my throat. I was just a rideshare driver; what could I possibly say to make that okay?

The woman leaned forward, her desperate, tear-stained face reflecting in the dark glass of the windshield. "The bartender said you... you can see things. Please. Tell me where my brother is. Is he even alive?"

She looked at me as if I were her absolute last hope. It made my skin crawl.

How should I know? If I actually had psychic powers, would I be driving a hybrid for pennies?

But looking at her swollen, desperate eyes, I couldn't bring myself to shatter her illusion. The silence inside the car became suffocating. I kept driving, my mind racing to invent some harmless, comforting lie to ease her mind.

As we crossed the bridge, the park below us was swallowed by the night, except for a small stone wishing fountain glowing faintly under a yellow streetlamp.

A sudden spark of desperate inspiration hit me. I pointed out the window.

"The threads of connection aren't completely severed yet," I murmured, lowering my voice to a rhythmic whisper. "Your brother is just lost. He's trapped somewhere."

"Where?" she gasped, hanging on my every word.

"A place where wishes collect," I lied, making it up as I went. "People leave so much of their emotional energy there that it creates a pull. He might be waiting for you in a place like that." I pointed toward the stone structure in the distance. "Don't despair. Go check the fountain at Riverfront Park tomorrow. You might find a miracle."

She stared out the window, repeating the words like a mantra. "The fountain... the fountain..."

Slowly, her breathing quieted, and a fragile, desperate hope flickered in her eyes.

When we reached her destination, she handed me a massive tip and gave me a deep, respectful nod. "Thank you, master."

I watched her walk up her driveway, my stomach twisting with guilt. I'm a fraud. I hope you aren't too disappointed tomorrow.

I shook my head, turning the car around and disappearing into the rainy night.