He chewed his thumb as his eyes raked over the numbers scrawled across the paper, searching for meaning. After the third vision he’d finally realized he needed to filter out the big numbers—pi, a Fibonacci series, the fractals that popped up again for the first time since Ethan—and focus on the numbers in between for useful information. He recorded the in-between numbers using paper and a pencil he’d found in a kitchen drawer. Then he wrote down what he thought they meant: the intersection of Main and Third Street, 2:33 p.m., white Ford Taurus. Silver SUV—stay to the right. The number 7 kept appearing; it was important for some reason. And of course, he also saw a bunch of financial information he’d been trained since puberty to pay special attention to, no matter how much he tried to ignore it. He circled the numbers he thought might be related. It was hard to tell without his books for reference. He possessed an impressive memory, but even he couldn’t remember every value in every table.
