Hey Nostradamus! By Douglas Coupland

* * *
After my cigarette with Jessica I drove back to Lynn Valley, up to Allison's house. I know her real name
is Cecilia, but she remains Allison to me.
Her Cutlass was in the carport. The newspapers were still on the front doormat, so I picked them up
and rang the bell. Through the badly built 1960s contractor door, I heard shuffling up the stairs from
where I knew the kitchen was. There were three glass slits in the door, and I looked through them and
saw Allison, who stopped on the third step up, looked at me, and froze. It took her maybe half a minute
to thaw out, and she came to the door and opened it, a tiny brass security chain across the gap.
"Heather. It's awfully early."
"I know it is." She'd have to be a moron not to see a certain level of madness in my eye, but I could tell
she misread this as desperation for a message from Jason.
"I suppose I could let you in."
"Please do."
She unclasped the chain and said to come upstairs to the kitchen for coffee. "You look terrible," she
said, "like you didn't sleep last night."
"I didn't."
The kitchen was generic North Van - lemon-lime freckled linoleum floor with four decades of wear
patterns showing, SPCA fridge magnets, vitamins on the windowsill, and through that window, the
primordial evergreen maw that continues from Lynn Valley until the end of the world. She said, "I know it
must be troubling to wait for messages to come in from loved ones."
I said, "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response."
She looked at me and at my small insurrection. "Heather, I do the best I can." She handed me a coffee,
and I sat and stared at her. She had to be an incredible dolt not to see trouble lurking. "Last night was
psychically very active, and I think I received something you might be interested in."
I smiled.
"Again, it's something that makes no sense to me, but these words do seem to mean something important
to you."
"How much will they cost me?"
"Heather! No need to be so crass."
"I'm out of money. Yesterday was it."
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