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  MORNING SUN

  CHILDREN OF NOSTRADAMUS, BOOK 0

  Jeremy Flagg

  Copyright

  Series Info

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Eleanor

  Vanessa

  Skits

  Dwayne

  Conthan

  Gretchen

  Dav5d

  Jasmine

  Alyssa

  Twenty-Seven

  Sarah

  Cecilia

  Next…

  ISBN: 0998928232

  ISBN-13: 978-0998928234

  Copyright © 2017 Jeremy Flagg

  All rights reserved.

  Book design by Jeremy Flagg.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons— living or dead— is entirely coincidental.

  Children of Nostradamus Series

  Book 0

  Morning Sun

  Book 1

  Nighthawks

  Book 2

  Night Shadows

  Book 3

  Night Legions

  (Coming Soon)

  This book is dedicated to the lack of sleep and the many cups of coffee necessary to make a novel happen. Without them, I’d still be staring at blank pages.

  I must acknowledge the support of many who without their help this book wouldn’t exist. First I must thank the support of the Metrowest Writers, they have been my biggest cheerleaders. Thank you to my editor, Therese Arkenberg and my beta readers Erin Fitch and Trisha Wooldridge.

  Eleanor

  July 4, 1933

  My Dearest Diary,

  The dreams have returned.

  I’m standing near the pond, shivering, unable to get warm despite the beautiful spring day. It starts like each dream before it. I am lost, unsure of how I have come to be so far away from the house. I am cold. When I realize how cold, the world changes like magic. Snow covers the ground and the leaves have fallen off the trees.

  I can hear Benjie playing, but I can’t find him. It sounds like he’s far away. I finally see him, standing atop the ice of the pond. I try to yell to him to get off before Momma finds out. He can’t hear me. The ice breaks and he falls into the water.

  I’m scared. Not just about Benjie falling through the water. I’m scared about the girl nearby watching it happen. It’s me, but not. She watches as he falls through the ice but she scarcely moves an inch to help. She doesn’t scream for momma. I wake up at the same moment every time, my heart feeling like it might leap right out of my chest.

  The girl, the one watching, it’s me.

  I don’t want Benjie to die.

  With Regards,

  Ellie P. Bouvier

  August 15, 1942

  Eleanor leaned against the bar while her friend rattled on about her boss leering at her at work. The jukebox started and drowned out Susan Lee. It was early in the evening and Eleanor scanned the room, suspiciously eyeing each of men in the establishment.

  The neighborhood bar had been a sanctuary for evening activities for years. On one side of the bar several Negroes laughed. The tavern struggled for business, allowing colored men to buy drinks as long as they kept to the back of the establishment. It wouldn’t be long before Negros became known as African-Americans, accepted by the rest of society. It was difficult to remember those victories were decades away. It pained her to know what the future held and be stuck in the today. Frequently Eleanor felt as if she was a woman born in the wrong decade. Eleanor caught the eye of a young gentleman who smiled back at her. She blushed and turned away.

  “...how does he expect me to work? He’s handsy and always leering at me.”

  Eleanor nodded in the right places.

  “You’re doing that thing where you respond where you should but you’re not listening.”

  “I’m listening,” she replied.

  “That’s what you always say.”

  Eleanor turned to her roommate. Susan Lee didn’t attempt to hide her displeasure. Eleanor let out a long sigh. “Susan Lee, what do you expect to happen?”

  “I would hope my roommate would...”

  “About Richards, I mean. What do you expect to happen with him?”

  “I would hope somebody would whup some manners into him.”

  “I don’t foresee that happening any time soon,” Eleanor said, detaching herself from the conversation.

  “You’re hopeless, Eleanor,” her roommate said. “I’m going to go home.”

  Two men in suits talked in a hushed manner, leering at the few women in the bar. One of the men appeared familiar, as if she may have seen his face while walking along the street long ago. “I’ll be home shortly. Please don’t let me find you on the fire escape smoking, Susan Lee.”

  “I would never...”

  Eleanor looked at her with a disapproving glance.

  “I hate that you do that,” she grumbled, standing up and gathering her belongings. “Be careful walking home, Ellie.”

  Eleanor tried to ignore the image of her roommate coughing violently into her hand, pulling it away to reveal blood. The nightmares frequented her at night. The one where her roommate’s health deteriorated had come more often.

  Since her abilities developed, every dream had become a prophetic vision. In the dream Susan Lee was older, still too young to be corrupted by black lungs. Eleanor foresaw the outcome. It didn’t mean she couldn’t try and slow the inevitable.

  “The apartment is just across the street, Susan Lee,” she said,. “I’ll be right as rain.”

  “Don’t be bringing home no fat-heads,” Susan Lee chided.

  Eleanor gave her another look and with that, her friend headed toward the door. As she passed a group of guys at a table one of them gave a low whistle. She turned up her nose and continued walking to the door.

  Eleanor slid onto one of the stools in front of the bar and crossed her legs. A young man approached her as she turned to face the room.

  “What’s a dame like you doing in these parts?”

  She took a cigarette out of her clutch and slid the ivory tip between her lips. At her glance from the man to the cigarette, he reached into his pocket and took out a light. The smoke poured into her lungs as she took a drag.

  “What do you think I’m doing there?”

  “A broad,” he said, “alone in a joint like this? I don’t know, but it must be trouble.”

  She sucked in more smoke and held her breath, absorbing the nicotine. She exhaled and eyed the handsome young man. She had to admit he was a very dashing gent. She looked from him to the businessmen sipping on their scotch.

  “Have eyes for somebody already?”

  “I am not your dame, not your broad. If you do not step away, I will demonstrate how ferocious a woman can be.”

  The man pocketed his lighter, held up his hands, and backed away mumbling to himself. Eyes focused on the oddly familiar businessman, and as if she willed it, he looked her straight in the eye. She locked eyes and unlike the exchange with the young Negro earlier, there was nothing innocent about this look.

  With a final inhalation of smoke from her cigarette, she turned around and in a well-practiced maneuver, put out her cigarette and grasped her clutch. The heels of her shoes snapped loudly as she walked toward the man, accentuating her hips as she moved.

  “What do we have here
, Johnny?”

  She held up a finger to the man’s friend in a motion to silence him. “Johnny is the one I’m interested in.”

  “But...”

  “You will talk,” she said, “when talked to.”

  “I like her already, Sam.”

  Eleanor let her eyes drift from the sitting man to her own body. She looked at her breasts, tucked neatly inside her blouse. Eyelashes fluttered as she turned her attention back to a captivated Johnny. “Do you want to get out of here?”

  “Oh.”

  Eleanor gave a slight laugh at the man’s amazement. Both men must be wondering if she might be a prostitute with her strong advances. It didn’t seem to bother either of them.

  Johnny winked at Sam and smiled. “Looks like you’re on your own tonight, Sam.”

  “Lucky guy.”

  She walked toward the door, each foot deliberately placed in front of the other. Reaching the exit, he pressed against her back eagerly.

  “We heading back to your pad?”

  She shook her head and then looked at him over her shoulder. “My old man is home. I’m thinking something a bit more…” She paused as a devilish grin spread across her lips, then finished, “dangerous.”

  He didn’t bat an eye at the mention of her having a husband. The look in his eyes went from sexual to sinister. Eleanor recognized the eagerness on his face: that of a man about to engage in sex he shouldn’t be having.

  At this hour, only ghosts walked the streets. She had resided here for the last year, and had grown fond of the diversity in the village, which was so unlike her hometown in Nebraska. With a war raging in Europe, most of its usual clientele fighting overseas, the tavern ignored who entered—women, colored folks, as long as drinks were purchased the proprietor welcomed them. Eleanor thought back to the black man in the bar. It was only a matter of time before his people pushed for acceptance and the racial tensions eased.

  She stopped in front of a four story apartment building currently boarded up. With young men fighting in Europe and money becoming tight, many families consolidated, leaving entire buildings abandoned. She gave him a coy smile and started up the stairs to the front door. The door opened like her vision said it would. She didn’t have to turn around to know he was going to follow.

  “You’re one crazy dame, aren’t you?”

  Eleanor put her back against the first apartment door and grabbed his tie and pulled him close. The heat of his breath warmed her lips as she maintained a small distance from his mouth. The smell of scotch was thick as she pressed against him. He wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her in close.

  Any semblance of decorum fell away as she fit her body into the curve of his frame. She could feel his hands dip below her waist and grab her buttocks, squeezing as he pushed against the door.

  Not a word passed between them as she reached back to the handle and turned it. They stumbled into the vacant apartment. His eyes reflected the look of hunger on her face as she spun him about and shut the door.

  “We really doing this?”

  She didn’t respond while she examined his body. He was a businessman, one of those men with more money than brains, a sleaze. His fingertips ran up her body until they rested on her breast. She let her hair fall across her face, hiding half of it.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  Johnny was fast to loosen his tie and untuck his shirt. He grabbed his belt and with lighting speed removed the buckle and dropped his zipper. He paused once he noticed she made no effort to remove her clothes, standing motionless, watching him like prey.

  “You going to take off that dress?”

  She didn’t blink until his pants slipped from his hand and dropped to the floor.

  Then Eleanor swung her clenched fist, connecting with his face. His head turned with the blow, blood splattering across one of the walls.

  She pivoted her body and held up both her fists, remembering not to drop her guard. The look on his face changed from lust to anger. Not an anger caused by being hit, it was years of pent-up rage spilling outward. It was the anger she had expected to confront since this morning.

  “I’m going to kill you,” he growled.

  He stepped forward. His foot caught on the pants constricting his ankles and he stumbled. Eleanor launched a jab, connecting with his face and then another fast jab. He reached out to stable himself and caught her fist.

  Eleanor’s sight fogged over. The image in front of her blurred as she let her focus change. Several instances of her and the man were scattered about the room. In one corner, they pressed against the wall in a lover’s’ embrace. One instance of her lay on the floor beneath an instance of him, her back arched in ecstasy. Each pairing appeared like ghosts, transparent specters acting out their carnal activities.

  The ghost closest to her showed him pulling her in close and holding his arm around her neck while she gasped for air. She focused on the image and it solidified, the others melting away. Eleanor lost herself in the vision, the ghosts of their future caught in a violent struggle.

  He grabbed her by the waist, spinning her around and grabbing her throat with both hands. The ghostly businessman squeezed, straining to push the life out of her body. The other Eleanor stared directly into her eyes and suddenly the light in hers extinguished.

  The vision of her died.

  Less than half a second passed. Eleanor snapped back to the present. He tugged on her arm. One of her heels slid out under her foot, causing her to slip and lose her balance. The ghosts had revealed what would happen next. Instinctively, the knuckles of her free hand jabbed him in the throat.

  He stumbled backward, releasing her wrist. The pants caused him to fall backward, landing hard on his ass. He coughed, sucking in air, then growled, “Bitch.”

  She stopped resisting the ghosts, letting them erupt from every corner of the room. Unlike before, none of them had the couple in the midst of sex. She winced at the sight of her straddling his body, her hands wrapped around his neck. Eleanor watched as he threw her off and straddled her in turn. He pulled her dress up and started grabbing at her underwear.

  Eleanor turned to another instance where she opened her clutch and revealed a gun. The man scurried backward on the floor as she pointed the gun at him. He whimpered as she stepped closer. She couldn’t hear the sound, but a light flashed as the gun fired. A moment later, a red stain appeared on his shirt.

  The last instance showed her speaking with the man. Their mouths moved but no sound came out. Her phantom turned around and walked out the door, leaving the man on the ground.

  Eleanor’s vision snapped back and she reached for her clutch. The cold metal in her hand had become familiar, her fingers tightly wrapping around the grip. The anger in his eyes washed away, replaced by fear. Her finger slid across the trigger.

  “What are you doing?”

  She pulled the hammer back on the pistol. He sputtered incoherently, and stopped, too terrified to speak. With the slightest pull of her finger, lead would penetrate his heart.

  Visions of her hung in the air, variations of each moment, possibilities of what could be. She had become familiar with the phantoms. Hundreds of futures haunted her every day. The ghosts, future versions of herself were always present as she went about her business. As she focused, more could emerge, but this moment was special. The room filled with hundreds of instances, every future being shown to her, each one caused by a slightly different action.

  She was capable of seeing possibilities resulting from her current actions. Unlike any other human, she knew with certainty the outcome of each decision. The ghosts revealed the outcome of every action, giving her an awareness of the future. With concentration, she navigated the ghosts, seeking which catalys lead to the best possible outcome.

  Hours. Days. Weeks. Eleanor experienced the future like it was her present.

  She ran through each possibility in which she let him walk out the door with his life. In some it occurred in days, some it occurred in
weeks, but each of predictions had him standing over his wife, knife in hand, watching the life bleed from her body. The image had come to her in a dream the night before, and while she usually ignored her visions in an attempt to live in the present, her conscience compelled her to try and intercede.

  “You will not harm her.”

  She ran her finger along the trigger, grounding herself in the here and now. The small piece of metal didn’t resist as she squeezed. The ghosts faded away, leaving her alone with the man shivering on the ground. Down her arm, through the sight, she focused on the space between his eyes.

  She hesitated as saw his eyes. His entire body shook. The memory of the woman he would kill in thirty-seven days kept her arm from lowering. Eleanor tried to focus on the fear on his victim’s face as he squeezed her neck and left her body in the park. She tried to hold on to the anger.

  “Damnit,” she hissed.

  Bang. Bang.

  The man cried out as the two shots sliced through his knees..

  She reached into her clutch and pulled out his wallet. She held it up for him. “I know where you live and I know who you are.”

  “Who...” he tried to say through the pain.

  “If you touch her, I will hunt you down. I will kill you for sport.”

  She rested the toe of her shoe over his knee and pushed down. She smiled as a car horn outside drowned out his agony. She stepped back and examined the damaged man. Her body language didn’t give away her speeding pulse or the twitching muscle in her forearm. When she exited the tavern, she had let her emotions wash away. She was terrifying right now, but the future demanded she be nothing less.