Ghosts (The Girl in the Box Book 50) by Robert J. Crane

Author:Robert J. Crane [Crane, Robert J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ostiagard Press
Published: 2022-06-01T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

I tried to read my file in flight, but it was a short jaunt and the papers were flapping all around, in danger of blowing out, so I stopped and focused on my flying. The sun was absolutely beating down, and I made it to the McDonald's in about thirty seconds. Sweat was soaking through my clothing and beading on my upper lip.

“Ms. Nealon.” One of the DC cops waved me down as I landed by the police cordon. He was brown-haired with a pudgy baby face. “I'm Officer Foster. Chief said you were coming.”

“Give it to me quick, Foster,” I said, thrusting the file at him. “And take care of this for me, will you? It's worth more than your life if you lose it.”

He glanced from me to the folder, a look of abject panic painting his youthful features. “Uh, okay. Witnesses report this guy walking into the restaurant and stuff starts flying everywhere, like he brought a storm in with him. Some real Carrie stuff going on, y'know?”

“Like...the movie, or Carrie Underwood?” I asked. “Scratch that, actually, with some of her videos it's one and the same.”

“Right,” Foster said. “Anyway, people start clearing out, but our walking psychic disturbance seizes one of the customers, a Philippa Creighton, and won't let her leave. If you listen, you can hear him in there,” he paused, and sure enough, there was distant, florid ranting in the air. “Calling everybody devils and saying the hostage is in on it. We have a sniper in place,” and he pointed to a concrete block building behind us, where, out of a high window I could see the outline of a rifle barrel in the interior shadows, “but if this guy is throwing stuff around with his mind, y'know...?”

“He could be shielding himself, maybe,” I said, drawing that same conclusion. Was it possible for a telekinetic to keep a bullet at bay? I didn't know, but it wasn't unreasonable. They could create force with their mind, so gathering it up around them in some sort of barrier? It wasn't out of the realm of possibility. “Has anyone made contact?”

Foster shook his head. “We were holding out for the social worker,” and he chucked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate a black woman with a bag on her arm that she was clutching tight. An officer was gesturing toward the restaurant while she shook her head furiously, mouthing, “No, no, no.” “I guess she doesn't want to go in, so we called the chief, and...”

“And here I am, on command,” I muttered. “Hang on to that file for me. I'll go settle your business for you.”

“Great,” he called after me as I stalked toward the door of the McDonald's. “Thanks!”

I slipped up to the lobby entry door and opened it, then paused before opening the inner door. It was one of those newer McD's, but without a PlayPlace. I'd seen a meme online where the design of McDonald's had gone from bright and colored in the seventies to kind of quiet and depressed now.

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