( First of all, this is faction, a bit of fact, a bit of fiction, so please do not ask me to solve any of your mysteries. It is a large tome, so I have abbreviated it to put on here, hope you enjoy)
I couldn’t tell you how it all began, or when. In fact, the first I knew of my Psychic ability was when a Detective Inspector called at my door; to tell me that I was writing stories about his investigations and solving the crimes before he did.
I am a writer with some degree of success. I have had several books published and and offer from a Movie mogul to make one of my books into a film.
The books had almost ‘written’ themselves, so to speak. I would get an idea into my head and away I went. I had no idea I was picking up the stories psychically; that is until the policeman called.
To say I was stunned is the understatement of the year. I thought they were pretend,, you know, made up, flights of imagination, but he quickly convinced me otherwise.
So you see I cannot say whether it was the circumstances of my life previously with all its traumas. My move to my present house, or even the cat who established himself in my house on my first day. Perhaps you can be the judge.
My story starts way back, and if I skip some of the more painful parts I am sure you will forgive me.
So, my story begins; My name is Emilia Soames and I am 32 years of age. My Father was a Diplomat and he and my mother spent a lot of time in foreign parts. I went to boarding school in England and visited them on long holidays and stayed with my ‘Uncle’ Lawrence for short holidays. Uncle Lawrence wasn’t really my uncle, he was my Godfather and my father’s dearest friend. They had gone to school together and had remained friends ever since.
Uncle Lawrence owned and ran a magazine called The Nationale Geographique and when my parents were killed in a plane crash when I was fifteen, he took over my guardianship.
Obviously I was devastated at the loss, but because they had been so far away at the time, it was almost as if I could pretend it hadn’t happened and they were just still doing Daddy’s job.
I finished my schooling and started to work on Uncle Lawrence’s magazine. I loved it, it was so exciting doing articles about exotic places. At first he only let me write about places I had already been to with my parents. After all, I knew these places better than the average person would ever get to know them. Then, I was allowed to ‘travel’.
Oh the joy of travelling again to the far off and the exotic.
By then I was nineteen.
Also on the staff was a young photographer, only two years older than myself, but very professional. Uncle Lawrence assigned him to me as my very own personal photographer for all of my ‘shoots’.
His name was Nick Falkner-Harris. He was also an only child who had lost his parents tragically. So we had a lot in common.