Psychics, Ghosts and Psychometry

Outtake of The Fine Art of Deception – a paranormal romance series with psychics and ghosts!

* * *
I picked up Paintings of the Louvre from the coffee table and flipped open to the Italian School section. I traced my fingers over the Canaletto paintings on the page and wished on every star that I could touch them in person. Just for a moment.

Because I had been born with a gift. Several gifts, really. But the gift of psychometry was easily my favorite. All I had to do was give any item a light touch, and its story began to pour forth. With art, even through standard-issue white cotton gloves the energy traveled like lightning through my circuits, showing me a chronological movie of the object’s life, the artist’s personality and mental process, the highs and lows of their life, how and why the art was created and so on.
Sheer nirvana.
There really was no end to the details I could see about the art, its history and its creator, as long as I had the hunger to know them.
And that I had. Because connecting with art was the only meaningful connection I had with people.
(Of course I could see the history of other objects, too. But those histories weren’t nearly as much fun to see.)
If I got this job, not only would I be happy every day of my career, but maybe I could even make a career for myself authenticating art. That was my theory, anyway. No one had to know how I did it. Then my masquerade as normal would succeed.
The city lights twinkled. Only a few cars drove by. I sank into the silence and safety of my home, and began to mentally prepare for my day. I shifted my body weight, and brought my legs under me.
Sometimes it took me a minute to realize who still had a body and who was masquerading as though they did. They all looked the same to me. Which only made me question my sanity. And sometimes my intelligence.
“No, no, no, no, no,” I whispered into my empty apartment and dug my nails into my pale hands as the truth hit me. It was never a welcome surprise when I did figure it out. “Not today. Not this morning.” I turned away from the window and held my breath. Not breathing always made me think I could fool them into believing I wasn’t here.

I don’t know why. They were dead. Not stupid.

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