The return of Telekinesis girl

The return of Telekinesis girl

There was a pounding on the door. Then some scratching. So I can probably count out the police. But I couldn’t count out the doctors. These days, you can never count out the doctors.

I went to the door, and took a deep breath, released, and stared at the handle. There was some more faint knocking. I have a very bad feeling about this. I opened the door.

“Hi, sweetie…happy to see me?” And she stood there swaying for a couple of seconds, but before I could reply, she collapsed in a heap in my doorway.

I looked nervously around and saw no witnesses, so I decided to try and bring her inside. I got my arms under her armpits and squat thrusted her limp body to stand with mine. Dragged her in backwards, and laid her on the bed. An unconscious and limp human body is quite possibly the most cumbersome object to try to move. Every time you pick up one part, another falls; besides the fact you have to make sure all the body parts don’t twist in some awkward manner, or you end up doing more harm than good. Nothing’s easy. Closed and locked the door, and went to deal with my new problem.

Immediately I could see the line on her neck pulsing in a rhythmic fashion. Watching a little longer showed her thorax expanding and contracting, so I knew that for the moment, she was staying alive.

I took off her dirty shoes that were making a mess of my bed linen, and then found myself at a loss. I didn’t know why she was here…my memory of her was vague at best. The hospital had kept me so doped up and generally confused, it was hard to tell what parts my mind had created. But here she was.

I watched her sleep. The dark black hair, layered in some sort of eighties shag style. Dark eyes, and sarcastically whorish blush, set against the palest cream pallet of skin. A child size shirt that could not adequately cover her chest or midriff, and read in bold, red letters, “Jesus loves me.” Black vinyl pants. I’d forgotten how beautiful she was.

I sat and watched her for over an hour, but it was getting late and I was tired. It was my bed after all, and there was plenty of room left, despite her inordinate sprawl. So I laid on my back, on the empty side of the bed, being careful not to wake her. I managed to get a pillow away from her hoarding, and set to go to sleep. Then she moved.

It seemed she was just adjusting herself while still asleep, but it was the first I’d seen her move and it made me…alert. Her arm accidentally found me, and she reacted instinctively by pulling me over, nuzzling her face against my neck, and finally resting her head on my chest all the while, staying completely asleep.

After I calmed, I closed my eyes and drifted off. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t stop a compulsive grin from gripping the muscles of my face. But I felt it was ok, and I soon found sleep.

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know Dr. Anson. I assumed you let her leave.”

“Maybe I did, maybe I did…but I didn’t expect you not to keep track.”

“Of course I kept track. Who’d of thought you wanted to know?”

“I already know, just say it, you incompetent bastard.”

“Of course…she fled…with her special ability…and presumably went to Bill.”

“Bill…yes of course…Bill…he’s our ace in the hole…he’s our waterloo…..”

“Sir? Do you actually see him as a threat?”

“You are all threats…some because of your incompetence, some because of your morality.”

“But we control him.”

“Yes…of course we do…until she does….”

************

“Bill, we have to go.”

I was waking up. I saw her open eyes centimeters from mine. Then I saw her scared.

“Where are we going?”

“To temporary safety.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I have to go to work soon.”

“No you don’t. I got your work number from your desk and told them your mother died and that you’d be out for a few days.”

“Days?”

There was a cat mangled at the side of the road. It had been killed very recently; blood was still slowly draining from the body. Something had smashed the side of its face, broken its neck, and forced a shoulder blade to pierce outside the skin. She knelt down to it, so I followed. A tear rolled down her cheek leaving a black trail until a bead formed at her chin which I watched fall silently onto the feline corpse.

“They’re close,” she said, trying to maintain composure.

“Who? Doctors?”

“Worse than doctors…”

We spent the night in a drug house. She said it was a safe place, cause no one does any serious research on junkies. Both of us huddled onto a dirty couch, hazed with sedatives, I could almost forget the blaring questions that should normally be asked. Demanded even. But as I watched her sleep, I knew, for the moment, it could wait…

I watched the activity of the house for several hours. There seemed to be three types of people that frequented the house. The first were friends. Friends come over and sometimes pay for drugs, sometimes not, but the key thing about friends is that they always stay. All the worn out, thrift store couches had some one sleeping, or smoking, or snorting, or making out, or whatever. But these were friends and had as close as what could be thought of as free reign in the house as you could get.

The second type were customers. Customers are very polite. They say please and thank-you. They are offered choices like a waiter gives specials in a restaurant. They sit down to make a pretense of socializing, but after the purchase is complete, you can see them counting the seconds like beads of sweat rolling down their forehead, knowing that the entire house could be hauled off to jail at any moment.

The last kind to knock on the door were strangers. Strangers want to be customers, but have no precedent of trust with the establishment. Strangers are treated with great scrutiny. Who do you know here? Who’s Al? How long have you known him? Well, what do you want? I don’t know what you think goes on here, but you’ve got the wrong place, man. And most strangers are turned away quickly and severely.

I am a stranger. Apparently, the girl’s word had some weight, because no one cared that she had brought a Stranger, who didn’t even want to be a Customer. If I wasn’t the way I am, I would have wanted to be a Customer, more so I would have wanted to be a

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