Just A Chance

Rachel Yan (10) | STAFF REPORTER

The client sitting across from Harris was prattling on. “And I feel like they just don’t get me, you know what I mean?”

“Of course, I understand.” Harris looked at the man, Mr. Baker or Bailey or whatever his name was. He adjusted the gauzy scarves around his neck. It was hot in the tent. 

“Besides, I’ve been having some troubles with the wife at home. I don’t have much time for the kids.” 

The appointment had started more than half an hour ago, and they still hadn’t made progress. “But what can you do about any of this?” Harris leaned forward. 

“I thought maybe you could show me.” Mr. Baker admitted. “You’re a psychic. Aren’t you supposed to know?” 

Harris couldn’t take another second of dreary complaints. He grabbed the walkie talkie. 

“I just think I could do better, if I just had a chance,” Mr. Baker said. 

“But what do you want?” Harris lunged forward. “More than anything else?” 

The man blinked. “Uhh, a chance to prove myself?” 

“What sort of chance?” Harris demanded.  

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“To, uh, prove to my wife and kids that I can care for them. That I can protect them and stuff.” 

“And do you truly want it?” 

“Y-yes?” the man stuttered.  

Harris spoke a string of code into the microphone. 

“Wait, what was that?”

“Currently,” Harris announced, “a group of seven armed men are being sent to your house. Where your wife and kids are right now.” 

“What! Is that a threat-?” Mr. Baker sputtered. “I’m calling the police.” 

“The police,” Harris said smoothly, “won’t make it in time. But you could. The squad won’t get there ahead of you. After all, we’re giving you a chance.” 

“You’re crazy!” Mr. Baker shouted. He stumbled out of the tent. “You won’t get away with this!” 

“Go prove yourself.” Harris chuckled. “Make your family proud.”