The Whispering Mind

A deafening explosion, fire consuming everything, and people screaming, scattering like ants—

Nathan's stomach lurched, and he barely reached the toilet before his dinner reintroduced itself in violent heaves. His forehead pressed against the cool porcelain, grounding him for a moment. The images were still there, burned into his mind like an old film reel set to an endless loop.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but it was useless. He had seen the future again.

Shakily, he reached for one of the water bottles he kept in his bathroom closet, knowing from experience that the dizziness wouldn't fade quickly. Sometimes, it came with a nosebleed; other times, like now, it left him gasping for stability. He took a slow sip, then another, willing his hands to stop trembling.

Even though his legs felt like lead, he forced himself upright. He stumbled toward his desk, his safe haven against the chaos of his own mind. The floor-to-ceiling windows revealed Central Park, its beauty a stark contrast to the destruction he had witnessed—and would witness—if he had done nothing.

He opened his laptop, the screen's glow washing over his pale face. He confirmed the VPN was active and logged into his encrypted email account. His fingers hesitated for only a second before typing.

FBI_WMDD@gmail.com

Subject: Possible bomb threat

At City Hall, NYC subway station, a man with a snake tattoo on the left side of his neck is wearing a gray coat and carrying a heavy duffel bag beside column 14.

[Send]

There. It was done.

Nathan exhaled, running a hand through his dark hair. He had been feeding the FBI information for months now. At first, Special Agent Leo Ambrose had been skeptical. But when his anonymous tips started preventing mass casualties, the questions faded. Ambrose had learned to trust him, even without knowing who Nathan was.

He picked up his whiskey glass, the amber liquid swirling as he took a slow sip. It helped dull the edges, if only slightly. His psychic abilities had never felt like a gift. They were a weight, a burden he carried alone. If anyone knew what he was doing, his career as a defence attorney would be over. His carefully cultivated business relationships would disintegrate. His friends and family would never look at him the same way again. And worst of all, he would have no way of knowing what fate had in store for him next.

The next morning was brutal. Running on only a few hours of restless sleep, Nathan all but crawled into the office, his only salvation a strong cup of Andrea's espresso. The scent was rich and enticing, but even the caffeine couldn't drown out the dull pounding in his skull.

He was scrolling through emails when he noticed the shift in the office. There was a hush and then whispers.

"—Cole? The FBI is here."

His fingers stilled over the keyboard. He barely had time to process the words before Andrea approached, her expression tense. She set his coffee down. "They asked for you."

His stomach twisted into a familiar knot.

Two men in dark suits stood scanning the law office at Andrea's desk. Nathan's eyes locked onto Special Agent Leo Ambrose. He recognized him from the FBI profile he had obtained.

He inhaled slowly, forcing his expression into neutrality. He took a sip of his coffee, hoping to steady the tremor in his hands.

His law partner approached, trying for a casual smile. "Nathan, is everything okay?"

He set the cup down carefully. "Of course."

Nathan guided the FBI agents into a conference room, the door shutting with a foreboding click. His colleagues and staff tried not to look at him, but he sensed questions in their eyes.

Ambrose folded his arms, studying him with equal parts curiosity and suspicion. The younger agent beside him—a man with sharp blue eyes and an unreadable expression—set a file on the table and slid it forward.

"Mr. Cole," the agent began, "we received another anonymous tip last night about a man with a snake tattoo on his neck carrying a heavy duffel bag at the City Hall subway station. Does that sound familiar?"

Nathan kept his face impassive. "No, should it?"

"Where were you last night?" The younger agent's impatience was evident; he had no interest in playing lawyer games.

"I worked here until seven, then had dinner with a lady friend. I can give you her name and the restaurant if you want to verify."

Ambrose barely reacted. "Mr. Cole, we appreciate whoever gave us this tip. It saved a lot of lives. But we need to know how this person gets such precise information." He leaned in slightly. "Any insight?"

Nathan swallowed hard. He liked and trusted Ambrose, but how could he explain the truth? If he came clean, could he trust the agency to keep his name out of it? Would they protect him? Or would the younger agent, eager for a career boost, be the first to expose him?

Ambrose's gaze didn't waver. "Maybe this person of interest was involved in the attack," he suggested, tapping the file.

Nathan shrugged, forcing indifference. "Or maybe someone close to the suspect didn't want blood on their hands."

The younger agent smirked, but Ambrose didn't take the bait. "No such thing." His voice was firm. "I don't know who you really are, Cole. But I intend to find out."

Nathan met his gaze, his pulse hammering, but his voice was steady. "Then I hope you're good at your job, Agent Ambrose." He stood, straightening his jacket. "Now, excuse me, I have a case to prepare for."

Ambrose didn't move right away. "I'd offer you my card, but I think you already know how to reach me."

Silence stretched between them before the agents finally left. Outside, the city moved on—honking horns, wailing sirens, an oblivious hum of life. But inside, Nathan could feel the walls closing in.

And in the back of his mind, the visions whispered again.

They came in fragments—fire, screaming, a mother clutching her child, a train screeching off its tracks. Each image clawed at his psyche, louder and more urgent than the last. His gift—or curse—never let him rest for long.

He craved peace, yet the future never stayed silent.

More destruction loomed on the horizon. More impossible choices waited to be made. And the weight of more devastating secrets pressed harder against Nathan's soul.

He had saved lives. But at what cost?

This wasn’t over. Not even close.