This is a rough of something, I think… *pokes story*
“They found her in a room tied to a chair watching this whole bank of tvs; sports channels, pay per view matches, everything and anything you can bet on.” The officer shook his head as he led them through the hallways. “She had a stack of paper on this desk in front of her and there was this godawful tape repeating ‘Who will win?’ over and over… damned creepiest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“And they seriously thought she could tell them?” The detective was two seconds from turning around, going back to the real work waiting for him.
“Didn’t think,” the cop finally stopped by one of the doors, “knew.”
“So what did they tell you?” He tried not to sound annoyed, but dammit he was annoyed. This was a waste of time, but the sooner it was over the sooner he could get back to work. The other detective was staring through the one-way glass, almost oblivious to his entrance.
“Said she had a gift, could tell the future.” The other detective leaned against the wall with a puzzled, but unalarmed expression. “Only you had to ask her the right question.”
“And she’d tell them?”
“Nope, she’d write it out.” He gestured with the half-full cup of copy of coffee at the table in front of the teenager, covered with blank paper.
“Sure, okay, so why did you need me?”
“She wrote it with her left hand.”
“So anything someone asks you, it answers?” The detective was trying very hard not to look at the withered arm, even if it hadn’t done so much as twitch. Not that he believed any of this, even at it’s most bizarre he’d still had cases that surpassed it in wtfery. Humans were strange animals.
“Only sometimes,” the girl was looking into space over his right shoulder, “that’s why they had to keep asking. I can’t make it work. If I could make it they would have let me go.”
“I could have asked it how.”
“This is a waste of time.” He sat back in the chair, annoyed at her for wasting his time, annoyed at himself for letting her. “What can you possibly say that would convince me?”
“I don’t–“, but her hand was moving, ungraceful but smooth, it grabbed the marker and scrawled his answer in cheery lime green.
I can tell you how your brother died.
|These snippits are copyright Martha McMahon Bechtel and may not be reproduced or distributed without express permission. All rights reserved.|
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