Free Six Seconds by Rick Mofina Page A

eyes.
A thin, feeble woman, bent by age and deterioration, emerged from the darkness. One gnarled hand gripped a cane. Her free arm was hooked around Helga’s neck. The stronger woman supported her as she inched for ward.
Fatima was wearing an emerald muumuu and a green head scarf. Maggie detected the smell of jasmine as Fatima eased into a chair at the table, the silver cross hanging from the chain around her neck captured the twilight.
Maggie sat across from Fatima thinking that she re sembled a concentration-camp inmate. The skin on her face was wrapped tight to her skull behind oversize glasses. Looking beyond them, Maggie met fierce dark eyes as Fatima’s ghost of a smile liberated the tips of crooked brown teeth.
“It’s finished for me,” Fatima said, pulling off her kerchief revealing that her hair had fallen out. Small islands of down were all she had left. “The cancer. Not much longer for me. You are Maggie?”
“Yes.”
“Your husband has taken your son away and you wish to find them?”
“Yes, he’s a good man but he’s mixed up about—”
Fatima’s palm stopped her.
“Did you bring me something that belongs to each of them?”
Maggie reached into her bag for Logan’s pirate key ring and Jake’s penknife which she’d retrieved from the sofa where they were forever losing things. A fond memory flickered in the corner of her mind as she placed them in Fatima’s hands.
“My glass please, Helga.”
Helga placed a glass with ice chips next to Fatima.
“We shall begin,” Fatima said. “Whatever you hear or sense, you must not move or speak, or be afraid. If I ask questions, answer only yes or no. Say nothing more. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“The window and the candle please.” Fatima put some ice chips in her mouth. “The ice cools my throat and stomach.”
Helga lit a white candle, placed it in the center of the table, then drew the heavy curtains. Calm filled the room as Fatima extended her arms, resting her hands on the table, her skeletal fingers caressing the key ring in one hand, the penknife in the other.
Helga removed Fatima’s glasses for her. Maggie noticed the jasmine smell intensifying. The candle flame quivered in Fatima’s eyes while she continued ca ressing the knife and key ring. A sound akin to soft lowing flowed into the room before Maggie realized its source.
Fatima.
She was humming, creating a surreal aura; candle light haloed around her round head as she began to sway, her gaze fixated on nothing as if she were search ing another dimension, seeing other lives and other worlds.
All the while, Fatima never ceased massaging the knife and key ring, increasing her ardor with each passing moment, drawing energy from them, as if sensing the very thoughts Jake and Logan may have left on them.
Fatima shut her eyes.
Her body began to bounce up and down slightly as she continued humming.
“I see a truck.”
Maggie caught her breath.
“A big truck,” Fatima said. “Near mountains.”
Fatima began bouncing slightly as if she were there in the cab of a rig.
    Maggie felt Logan near. Felt his presence. Detected his scent!
“Logan! Honey, it’s Mommy! Where are you?”
“Shush.” Helga touched Maggie’s wrist.
Fatima’s humming stopped.
Maggie had trespassed on the moment.
Fatima’s work resumed. She continued rubbing the items in her outstretched hands, continued humming and bouncing as if a passenger in a rig.
Fatima’s head snapped back.
Maggie gasped.
Fatima’s body jolted as if punched by a powerful force. It jerked again, nearly throwing her from the chair. Fatima’s hands let the knife and key ring slip to the table as jolt after jolt shook her in her chair.
Maggie’s skin tingled.
Fatima’s eyes bulged to the point of nearly bursting. Her pupils rolled back in her head, leaving only the whites.
She was motionless.
Each minute melted into the next, devouring time in huge chunks before Helga blew out the candle and drew back the curtains.
Fatima began