Chapter 4

Sometimes the premonition continued, a horrifying epilogue.

It showed Dad, his face ashen, his eyes burning with a terrible light.

"Get out," he' d rasped at Mom, his voice shaking with suppressed rage. "Get out of my house."

Mom, for once, looked shocked, her victim act faltering. "David, how can you..."

"Out!" He' d roared, a sound so full of pain and fury it seemed to shake the premonition-kitchen.

She' d stumbled back, a flicker of fear in her eyes, then anger. "You'll regret this, David! You'll be sorry!"

She' d grabbed her purse and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

The premonition then showed Mom alone in her car, the mask slipping. Not grief, but a frustrated anger. A brief, private breakdown, then a chilling composure. A quick mental reshuffling, already planning her next move, her story for the world.

My detached premonition-consciousness watched all this, helpless, a ghost in my own tragedy. I wanted to scream, to warn Dad, to tell him it wasn't his fault.

Then, the premonition would shift back to Dad, kneeling beside my body. He' d gently brush my hair from my face, his tears falling onto my cheek.

"My baby girl," he' d choked out. "I'm so sorry. I should have protected you. I should have seen."

He' d talk for a long time, his voice thick with regret, confessing his passivity, his fear of her, his desire to keep the peace at any cost. A peace that had cost me my life in that terrible vision.

Then, a new, chilling resolve would enter his voice in the premonition.

"She won't get away with this, Sarah. I promise you. She won't hurt anyone ever again."

My premonition-self would try to scream, No, Dad, don't! I understood his despair, his need for her to face consequences, but his plan, hinted at in his grief-stricken words, felt like more destruction.

The premonition would then show him meticulously cleaning the kitchen, erasing any trace of Mom's "mistake." Then, he' d write a note.

Later, it showed Mom returning, perhaps summoned by a worried neighbor after seeing Dad' s car still there for too long.

The premonition showed Dad waiting for her, calm now, a terrifying, empty calm. He' d confront her, not with rage, but with cold, hard facts, laying out her cruelty, her manipulations, her final, fatal act.

She' d deny it, of course, try to twist it.

But he wouldn't break. In the premonition, he' d reveal his "trap" – something that implicated them both, a shared destruction. Perhaps he' d already taken something, a lethal dose, and revealed an empty bottle.

The details were hazy, but the outcome was always the same: a final, violent confrontation. Her screams. His chilling silence.

Then, nothing. Just a fade to black.

And I would awaken, gasping, drenched in sweat, to the real sounds of my parents arguing downstairs about Emily.

The argument was the same, but I was different. The premonition wasn't just a nightmare; it was a blueprint of what could happen if I didn't act. It was the fire under my resolve.

This time, I wouldn't be the victim. And Dad wouldn't be driven to such a desperate end.

I would save us both.