DEJA PREVU: The story of a clairvoyant who could see one second into the future

By Joe Nixon

What if the feeling of déjà vu was not just a feeling?

It is the year 2029 and Harry wakes up in a hospital room with a headache—he has no memory of who he is and what happened to him. His doctor recognizes him and claims that he is the most famous goalkeeper in the world. However, a second man appears with a different version, insisting that Harry is working for the FBI.

Is it possible for anyone to be both a celebrity and a secret agent?

All that Harry remembers is that he has a small superpower—he can see 1 second into the immediate future...

“DEJA PREVU” follows the story of a young clairvoyant and the chain of events leading to an unimaginable situation.

Growing more intriguing with every page, this novel will fascinate you with layered characters, entertaining dialogues, and unpredictable situations occurring in the near future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781678104375

Book preview

DEJA PREVU

The story of a clairvoyant who could see one second into the future

JOE NIXON

Copyright © 2019 Joe Nixon

All rights reserved.

Edition 5

ISBN: 978-1-6781-0437-5

TO MY WIFE

WHO PREDICTED THIS BOOK

PROLOGUE

I opened my eyes slowly. I was in pain. I couldn’t tell which parts of my body were injured—somehow, it hurt everywhere. I was laying on the ground, wearing a weird dark uniform. There was a strong smell of metal, fire, and burning flesh. Everything was gray. How did I get here? I couldn’t remember a thing—neither where I was nor who I was. No memories, at all. Was this the beginning of my life or the end?

My vision was blurred, so I tried to focus. I was in the middle of a big city street. Everything was covered in dust. I looked up to the sky—even the sun was gray, surrounded by thick black smoke. Was I in hell? Was I dead?

I was in front of a tall building—half of its windows were missing. It looked like a skyscraper. I was probably in Dubai or some Chinese city. Or, maybe in New York City. I moved my head around, although my neck hurt. There were a few people on the ground—some were clearly dead, missing body parts. About 5 feet away from me, there was a man, with a small piece of metal stuck in his back.

A horrifying silence reigned over this place. The only noise that I could hear was the rhythmic cracking of a distant fire.

As if it was the end of the world and Death had somehow missed me. I tried to remember why I could possibly be part of this postapocalyptic scenery.

Nothing.

My mind was empty.

Suddenly, I heard a drumming sound of an approaching helicopter. It landed on top of the skyscraper for a minute and then flew away, creating a surreal whirlwind in the black smoke around the building.

I could as well be in the middle of a war. Perhaps, I was a soldier. I wasn’t wearing civilian clothes, that was certain. However, no one around was dressed in my uniform.

I examined the ground. I found what I was hoping not to find: a gun. I felt sick—I may have killed some of those people.

Then, I finally remembered something. I was a clairvoyant. I could see the future. Well, not the entire future, just one second of it. The second that followed. If I concentrated hard, I could see it, I could feel it. A second that would most likely disappear before I knew what to do with the information.

This ability, this superpower of mine, obviously hadn’t helped me avoid the injuries. Or, maybe I was still alive thanks to it?

I needed some rest; I was too tired.

I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to look at this painful gray world, anyway.

I awoke in a white room. It was a hospital room, without any doubt. I thought that if I was in the enemy camp, there would probably be a guard at the other side of the door. I looked at my hands—no handcuffs. Good!

A doctor entered the room. He closed the door, came to my bed, and dove his hands in his white apron.

Good morning! he greeted me cheerfully. How are you feeling?

Where am I? I asked.

In a hospital. In Bellevue Hospital Center, the doctor replied almost immediately.

Which city? Are we in France?

The doctor scratched his massive beard. Young man, do you remember your name?

No, doc, I don’t, unfortunately.

You need to get some more rest. You have an mTBI. Our scanners confirmed it.

What is mTBI? I asked as I grimaced.

It’s a concussion, a mild traumatic brain injury. You’ve had a head injury which affected your brain functioning. Hence, the memory loss, the doctor explained. You are in New York City. In Manhattan.

I sat up on my elbows. Do you know who I am? Do you know my name?

Yes, your name is Harry Miles.

Harry Miles… I repeated as if to see how the name sounded. What happened, doc? What happened to me?

You need to stay calm. Get some rest now. The doctor made a step backward. There is someone here to see you, but I’ll tell her to come later.

Her?

Yes, a young lady is here to see you.

I looked at my fingers—no ring. I feel fine. Can I see her?

You feel fine? The doctor smiled. You don’t remember who you are and where you are. What an irony, the whole world knows you, and you don’t.

Am I famous?

Yes, Mr. Miles, you are pretty famous in the world of sports.

Sports? I recalled wearing a uniform. Which sport?

Try to remember. Look at your hands and try to remember, the doctor suggested.

I am in New York City, so it must be basketball or baseball, I murmured.

Don’t try to guess. Try to remember.

I closed my eyes. I can’t.

Well, you are the best goalkeeper on the planet, the doctor whispered. It will come to you…

Suddenly, someone entered the room—a good-looking man with his right hand in plaster.

Doctor Morgan, please leave us. The man showed the doctor what seemed to be a police badge.

My patient needs some rest, the doctor objected.

I need 5 minutes.

The doctor nodded and left.

Miles, do you remember me? the man asked once he closed the door.

No, I don’t, I admitted.

My name is Matthew Cole, and I work for the FBI. You work for the FBI, too.

Muddle-headed, I was sure that one of them was lying to me—I couldn’t be both a celebrity and an agent.

You don’t believe me, do you? the agent asked to interrupt the thoughts in my head.

I needed a random question to change the topic. What year is it?

The agent bowed his head, discouraged. It’s the year 2029.

Can I see my parents? I asked.

I’m not sure it’s a good idea to bring them here. We haven’t called your parents. Get some rest now. I’ll come back tomorrow.

The agent left the room, his loud footsteps clouding my empty mind. I felt my eyelids grow heavy…

chapter 1

I was born on the 29th of May 2004 in the United States. My hometown, West Point, was a small city in Davis County, Utah, 30 minutes away from Salt Lake City by car. It was the most beautiful city to me. It lied between the Great Salt Lake and the Wasatch Range, a mountain range often powdered with snow. One could see the mountain peaks from every corner of the city; the range was like a defensive wall, which was always there having your back. Although West Point had a population of nearly 10,000 people back then, there were several golf courses nearby, and even a small airport! There were only houses—no tall buildings. If you looked closely, the houses were different, but they all had this simplistic style, with identical vivid green lawns and dull gray roofs, as if to show that life there was a mixture of brightness and boredom.

Our house was neither big nor small. It was just right for the four of us: my mother Lidia, my father Bryan, my big brother Jason and me.

I’ve never had clear memories of the first 6–7 years of my life. That was probably because people would recall mainly traumatic moments. At least, that was my case. I had a few specific positive memories, though.

I’ve always remembered my friends, Roxy, and Natе, respectively short for Roxana and Nathаn. I could say that these guys were quite guilty for the overall happiness during my childhood. It was usually hard for me to define the essential aspects that made me feel happy in life but being socially accepted has always seemed crucial to me in the early stages of my life. Without any doubt, I would have felt lost without Roxy and Nate. Part of that was due to the sad fact that I was a timid boy. Somehow, I’ve never been part of this world; instead, I was passing through it, discovering it from far away, observing people without getting socially close to them. It was different with Roxy and Nate. We were quite a weird gang. In fact, ‘gang’ wouldn’t be the right word as we were far from gangsters. The right word would be ‘alliance’. We were allies who have verbally signed a treaty to face everything together, bad or good. This agreement was beneficial to all parties.

Still, it was a weird alliance. All the kids in West Point gathered by gender: boys played with boys; girls played with girls. Not us, we had Roxy. It was great for Nate and me because we had a member from the opposite sex in our camp; it was like having a spy. She would laconically share what girls thought, what they liked, what they expected. And we knew all that from an early age. We discussed others all the time; we reported to each other what other kids, parents, or teachers had done, said, or how they had reacted to actions of our alliance.

On the contrary, no one was discussing us. We were a bit like renegades; we would always sit, stand, or play together, without expecting or hoping anyone else to join us. We didn’t care, we were happy, our capsulated alliance was vast enough.

We were spending most of our time playing outside, watching the golfers, or playing video games. I was quite good at multiplayer games. As Nate would ask, How come you are always one step ahead?

The other major factor for my childhood happiness was, of course, my family. I’ve had a good connection with my mother, although she was always yelling at me and my brother Jason for fighting over something plain stupid. Jason, being three years older than me, was beating me regularly. Later in life, he became one of the most influential persons for me but back then, we weren’t exactly allies.

And then, there was my father. He took good care of us; we all relied on him. I remember my father often coming home with a small gift, like a candy or a little boy toy, something you could buy from a gas station. But he never just gave it to me, he would hide it in one of his palms, and he would play the guess which hand game with me. I would take my time before choosing a hand, no matter how impatient I was at that moment. And I always picked the right one! All this became suspicious to me, and my obvious guess was that, every time, my dad must have been buying two gifts and that there was one in each hand. I had decided to test my theory, in the hope to get both rewards.

One day, my dad got home in a good mood.

Anybody home? my father asked as he hung his coat and kicked off his boots.

Right here! Jason is out.

Let’s see if you can pick the right hand… again!

I concentrated for a bit, scratching my chin like a chess grandmaster, and pointed at his left hand. My father opened his hand, and there was a colorful toy soldier with a rifle. I had never seen a toy like that, it wasn’t even packed in a box, but it was so cool!

Wow! Look at you! You are in luck! My father also seemed excited.

I was ready to solve the mystery. Now… show me your other hand!

My father looked surprised. He slowly opened his other hand.

It was empty!

What’s wrong, son?

I looked at the toy soldier, confused. Why am I always lucky?

My father laughed loudly. I don’t know, Harry, but I wish you always are.

CHAPTER 2

It was 2014, and I was ten years old. I’ve been having that autumn day on my mind all my life. The weather was perfect. The kind of weather that dragged us away from home.

My mother, my brother, and I decided to go shopping in Salt Lake City. It was not far, and we would do this occasionally. It always felt like flying to another galaxy—Salt Lake City was nothing like West Point. The streets were a lot larger; the buildings were all unique, no gray roofs, no old trucks parked, and there were people everywhere. In terms of population, Salt Lake City was 20 times bigger than our city, with a similar density per square mile, but it seemed infinite to my brother and me.

My mother was driving, while Jason and I were sitting in the back seat. Jason was a bit fed up with my mom for not letting him sit in the front seat next to her, but he quickly forgot about it as he was too distracted by the view. And the view was amazing! The streets were almost free of cars; people preferred to take a walk—the weather had successfully dragged them from their homes as well. We could see a lot of smiles; this made us smile, too—like it was contagious. As per a sign that we saw, we were on a street called W S Temple St, probably standing for West South Temple Street. It didn’t make sense to us because we were in the North of the city. But we did see a temple on our left. What a temple! It was the Salt Lake Temple. It looked like a majestic white castle to us. Or like some flagship building in London. On our right, we could see several tall buildings, also white, with blueish reflecting windows—to me, it looked like the buildings had sunglasses. These buildings somehow conveyed power and authority. At the top of one of them, I saw the American flag slowly dancing with the gentle wind. It felt like we were in London and New York City at the same time.

The car turned right to Main Street after my mom waited for a few pedestrians to cross the street. We passed by The Grand America Hotel and The Little America Hotel, these two hotels being situated one against the other, on the same street. The former really looked ‘Grand’, like a fortress, with expensive cars parked in front of it, while the latter looked like an ordinary tall building made with maroon bricks.

You know, Harry, Jason looked at me over his right shoulder. I’m like Grand America, and you are Little America!

Jason laughed sardonically while I smiled and rolled my eyes.

Autumn looked good on this street. The trees that we were passing by were in all sorts of nuances: yellow, red, and all the colors in between. It was magical.

I looked at my mother. She was focused on the road. I could see the shades of the trees quickly passing through her face. I felt relaxed and sleepy. But I didn’t want to fall asleep and miss everything, so I moved to the center of the back seat and stared at the road ahead as if co-piloting. The radio started playing some new hit, and my mom turned the volume up, which tamed the roar of the engine. We all started singing silently.

Suddenly, I felt a loud squealing sound of brakes and a shout…

Stop!!! I yelled at the top of my lungs.

I heard the same squealing mixed with the rhythmic sound of the ABS. My mother had kicked the brakes to the ground, the three of us leaned forward and, as the car started slowing down quickly, a young man landed in front of us. The car stopped about 10 inches away from the guy’s face. I didn’t hear a shout.

I saw a second person; both were teenagers. The one on the ground looked dizzy; the other was petrified. By the look of things, the two teenagers had been fighting, and one had pushed the other. They both ran away without saying a word to us.

Jesus! My mother finally spoke.

I’ve never seen her so shocked. I had the feeling that she got scared by my yelling more than by what happened after it.

Harry, honey… How… My mom was out of words. How… did you know?

I just saw him fall, I tried to explain.

The look on her face clearly showed that she didn’t believe me.

She tried to formulate another question, but she gave up. She turned the car’s engine back on, and we drove away.

I heard Jason exhale deeply, almost as if he hadn’t breathed for the last half an hour. He gave me a light punch on the shoulder as a sign of encouragement.

No one said a word,