The darkest cards in the tarot deck reveal the darkest side of the man sitting opposite Janice—Mr. Edgar Kipp.
She feigns an inability to read for him, but will he believe her?
His parting words indicate that he knows she knows he’s a serial killer. And he plans to return.
The voice of her dead grandmother urges her to be careful, warning Janice she might be seeing her own future in those foreboding cards.
But Janice doesn’t want to listen. Gran’s dead.
How can she possibly help her?
“Well, tell me my fortune then. What do you see?” he asked in a sharp nasally voice.
Janice stared at the man who sat opposite her. He had pinched features and thinning greasy hair parted just above his ear and swept over the top of his head. Nothing about him was unusual. He would easily fade into a crowd, yet there was something about him that made her flesh creep.
One of her clients had recommended him and, although that strange voice of his had echoed down the phone, he had seemed reasonable. Well, as reasonable as one could tell from a telephone conversation. She had told him the fee and he had agreed, so she gave him a time and a date and wrote it in her diary. Now facing him, she wished she hadn’t let him into her house.
She glanced down at the pack of cards in her hand and began to shuffle them. Her reluctance to read for him was growing with every moment that passed.
Be careful what you say. He’s dangerous, warned the voice. You’ll see, the cards will show you. We’ll read them together, but say
“What are you waiting for? You’re a fortune-teller, aren’t you?” He pressed his thin lips together.
Janice continued to shuffle the cards. Who are you? What are you? She asked silently as she flipped over the first card. The Devil.