I wouldn't call it luck, but the giant cross pointed to only one thing: a Christian church. In a country where only 1% of the population identifies as Christian, that was a significant stroke of fortune. All I had to do was find the nearest church in the city, triangulate its position with a large park, and pinpoint a flower stand nearby.
Watching me do my "mystical things," Mrs. Tanaka had no intention of interrupting. She simply observed with a mixture of hope and something akin to enthusiasm. Who knows what they had said about me on that forum to make her face such a readable poem of emotions.
I pulled out my phone and checked the weather app for the wind's direction and speed. The app indicated that about an hour ago, the wind was blowing south at 22 km/h. The urgent need to move told me something had happened within that hour. It was 5:13 in the afternoon, so something occurred at 4:13, or at least within a 30-minute window around that time.
One thing I've noticed about these visions is that they always relate to me in some way. They don't try to be convoluted; you just feel their meaning. If you overthink it, you get lost in a labyrinth. That's rule number one—so simple, yet the hardest to follow because of my own ego. I'm no Sherlock Holmes, but I read the novels. I wanted to be like him, but here I am, looking for cats.
The vision's clues clicked into place: south of a church, near a park, by a flower stand. A quick map search confirmed a location only ten minutes away. I gave Mrs. Tanaka a reassuring nod, promising to find Donovan—the 'Mister' felt ridiculous—and left. My walk quickly became a run, an inexplicable knot of dread tightening in my gut. It wasn't my cat, and this was just a job, but the visions felt different this time, like a riddle designed for someone's amusement.
I had arrived. I saw the church, I saw several people gathered, the park was there, but the flower stand was missing. Like a fool, I grabbed my phone again, opened the compass, and walked south, but it felt like I was walking in circles. The arrow moved, and I followed it. People stared at me as if I were a caveman following a strange device to nowhere.
"Ouch! My foot, you idiot! Watch where you're going!"
My foot connected with something soft, and a string of curses immediately clarified that the 'something' was a 'someone'.
'I-I'm so sorry!' I stammered, looking up from my phone. My apology died on my lips. The source of the cursing was a young woman leaning against the very thing I'd been looking for: a flower stand. She wasn't selling, just handing out blooms with a look of profound boredom.
"Here, take this and get out of my sight." She handed me one of the flowers, which had a card attached. The woman looked to be in her twenties, dressed in what I'd generously call 'urban goth,' though 'experimental alternative' felt more accurate. She had black teardrops drawn near her eyes and impossibly long eyelashes. In any case, I wasn't one to judge her appearance; she probably looked better than I would in this joke of CEO's suit.
"What is this?" I asked as she adjusted her jet-black bangs. I think I was getting on her nerves more with every word I spoke.
"How should I know? I get paid to hand these out. It's probably to get into the 6 o'clock meeting at the church, with those religious nuts and their stuff," she said with very little enthusiasm.
'I see,' I muttered. 'They sent the antichrist to handle the marketing.' Her eyes narrowed. Before she could unleash another volley of curses, I held up my hands. 'Sorry, bad joke. Look, I'm just trying to find a cat. black, fluffy, probably caused a scene?'
"You're the most disturbing thing that's happened around here recently. But yeah, there was a stupid, hyperactive cat. What about it?" She pointed a finger at me, diva-style. She was wearing black gloves. Every detail I noticed about her seemed to increase her 'dark points,' as if she were winning an award for it.
"Could you tell me where it went?" I asked with a glimmer of hope, though I knew it wouldn't be that simple.
"See that church? Someone grabbed it and took it inside," she mentioned, but I didn't believe a word of it.
"You probably get paid extra for every person who goes into that church, right?"
"True... but someone did take your stupid cat inside." I had to believe her, or at least pretend to.
Her words should have been a relief. If the cat was safe inside the church, the urgent premonition I'd felt was a false alarm. I could just walk in, retrieve him, and collect my fee. But the knot in my gut remained, a cold certainty that this riddle wasn't solved yet. Something was wrong.