Free Don't Kill The Messenger by Joel Pierson Page A

with your powers of mind-reading ability.”
    She considers what would be a good demonstration. “All right, think of a card from an ordinary deck of cards. Picture it in your mind. Have you got it?”
    “Yes,” I say.
    “I will tell you what your card is, simply by reading your thoughts. Let me concentrate.”
    Out of the corner of my eye, I see her concentrating. It borders on adorable. She scrunches up her face and closes her eyes tightly. From the intense expression on her features, she is either concentrating or defecating. I sincerely hope it is the former and not the latter.
    “Is your card … the three of spades?”
    A look of wonder visits my face. “Yes … yes, it is.”
    She looks amazed and delighted. “It is? I got it on the first try?!”
    I can’t do it to her. “No. Actually, it wasn’t really the three of spades.”
    She smacks my arm, harder—I think—than the infraction deserves. “Then why did you tell me it was?”
    “I wanted you to feel like you were doing well. Didn’t it feel good when you thought you got it right?”
    “Come on, be serious. Tell me the truth. Is it the jack of diamonds?”
    “No.”
    “Six of hearts?”
    “No.”
    “Ace of clubs?”
    “Nope.”
    “Ten of diamonds?”
    “Sorry.”
    “You’re not using a tarot deck or something, are you? I won’t give up after thirty guesses and you’ll tell me your card was the five of tentacles, will you?”
    “It’s pentacles, and no. Regular card. I know the rules.”
    “Two of hearts?”
    “No.”
    “King of spades?”
    “Nope.”
    “Well, fine. Maybe I’m not psychic then. What was the card?”
    “Pernell Roberts.”
    “That’s so not funny. Really, what was it?”
    “Five of diamonds.”
    “Shit.”
    “But, ironically enough, the diamond looks a little like a pentacle, so your tarot card guess was very close to my card.”
    She looks terribly disappointed.
    “What’s so wrong with not being psychic?” I ask her.
    “Nothing,” she says quietly. “It would just be … interesting. Like you.”
    “You can’t tell me that you think you’re uninteresting.”
    “If I tell you what my biggest fear is, do you promise you won’t make fun of me?”
    I’m almost offended that she has to even ask such a thing, but I’m simultaneously flattered that she’s willing to share this with me, so I answer, “Of course.”
    It takes her a few moments to find the words. They are spoken with the tone of a confession. “I’m so afraid of dying without ever making a difference.”
    And there it is. The fear that so many millions have felt throughout human history, but so often feels unique to the person feeling it. A fear I myself have felt many times in my life, times when I was sure that I would never make a difference, never mean anything to anyone. Now, here is someone who shares that fear—probably never realizing that she has the potential to make a great deal of difference.
    “I understand, Rebecca. Better than you may realize.”
    “But look at you. This journey you’re on. Every day, you’re saving a human life. God, what does that feel like?”
    “I don’t know if I could put it into words,” I tell her honestly. “But you’re right. Every time someone listens to the message I deliver, I feel like I’ve changed a very small part of history.”
    “I want to feel that in my life,” she says.
    “You’re forgetting one important thing.” She looks at me quizzically. “One of those people I saved was you. I don’t fully understand this mission I’m on, but I have to believe that means you’re meant for something important.”
    She brightens at the prospect. “You really think so?”
    “It makes sense. Otherwise, why send me all over creation to warn people?”
    “Well,” she says, “there are those who believe that every human life is valuable, no matter what the individual is doing with it.”
    I shoot her an incredulous look. “Oh, come on.”
    “Yeah, well, I didn’t say I