Jonas visits a fortune teller first. She sends him to a Voodoo Doctor to help him eliminate his chronically ill wife. The means is delivered with precise instructions that were not followed and a triumphant demon does what he loves the best. Now: if you live at 114 Mimosa, move! You won’t like what happens if you stay.
Jonas Stricky sat in a dimly lighted room breathing in the heavy, thick smell of often used incense. Across a round table, draped with a dingy grey cloth, sat Sister Grace, a fortune teller of renowned fame. He waited nervously, palms’ sweating, for her to reply to his inquiries concerning his future and his marriage.
Sister Grace watched the crystal ball on the table between them. More intently, she watched the reaction of her client from the corner of her eye. She exercised caution, for she had met many strange persons during her career. Jonas was more unsettling than most, and she found herself wary. Since he had spoken the first time, his demeanor had kept her on guard. She vowed she would not let it down, until she discovered what he really wanted.
“I see much trouble in your future, Jonas,” she said after a few motions of her hand over the ball.
“I knew it!” stuttered Jonas “It’s the wife, right? There’s been nothing but trouble for me since I married her.”
Ah, Sister Grace thought. Now we make progress. “I see grief, plenty of grief, and death. It looks as if your wife will die.”
“When?” whispered Jonas anxiously.
“Not soon, I’m afraid. I see long years of suffering for her. Much time will pass before release of life comes. The grief is for you and your thoughts, Jonas,” replied Sister Grace.
Jonas sat silent and thoughtful for a spell. “I don’t want her to suffer more than she has. It isn’t right for people to lay and suffer. Can you hasten her death?”
His voice carried a pleading quality that sickened Sister Grace. She sat up straight, staring icily at him.
“Sir, I cannot do things such as that, nor would I if I could. I see only the future as it will be. I don’t try to change it.”
He was pensive for a few moments as the fingers on his right hand drummed top. “Well, if you can’t, do you know someone who can? Surely you must.”
Sister Grace sighed. “People like you disgust me. You give honest fortune tellers a bad name. Why not live with her and let it pass?”
Jonas scowled. “I can’t live with her.”
“You could divorce her.”
“Money. She has lots of money.”
“Then just never mind, but stop talking for now.” She left the table and disappeared through a set of hanging beads in the doorway. She returned shortly with a scrap of paper with a name and address on it.
“Here,” she said, as discourteous as possible. She handed the paper to him. “The man’s name is David Bascombe. He has no phone, doesn’t believe in them. He can help you if he wishes, and he probably will. Furthermore, mark my words, you will live to regret it. Now, remove yourself from my place. For as long as we both live, I wish never to see your face again.”