drink of choice.
“Feel better?” she asked. “Your nose stopped bleeding, I see.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I replied. Then I reconsidered her question. “Actually, that’s not entirely true. To feel ‘better’ would require that I wasn’t pissed off that someone tried to kill me and members of my family.”
She nodded but stared at me warily.
“Who are you exactly, Logan Bringer?” she asked. “I’ve never seen anything like what I saw happen this evening.”
I drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled, wishing that I had proper answers for her, and for myself.
“Yeah, I’m still coming to grips with that myself,” I replied. “Two weeks ago, I’d have said that I was just some lucky schmuck who managed to live through brain cancer. But today…hell if I know.”
She’d asked a fair question, really.
Who am I? What am I?
An uncomfortable silence grew between us, and no less than two agents slowed as they passed Sanders’ desk, each openly staring at me with mixed degrees of curiosity.
“Thank you,” Sanders offered in a quiet voice.
I looked into her hazel eyes with surprise, and then realized what she’d meant.
The bullets.
I felt really good about what I’d managed to do, and I couldn’t keep from breaking into a wan smile.
“You’re welcome.”
She was the first to break eye contact, instead glancing down to some printouts before her. She had beautiful eyes.
I opened the sports drink and started chugging. Unfortunately, the sweetness of the liquid was mixed with the lingering taste of ash and smoke. That aside, I quickly appreciated the subsiding pain and aching in my head within a matter of minutes.
Electrolytes; my newest little friends.
“What happens next?” I asked.
“Procedures dictate—” she started to say but stopped midsentence.
She sighed. “Actually, Mr. Bringer, I’m afraid that we’re way outside standard operating procedures right now.”
Something in the back of my mind sensed she was distracted, almost as if torn between decisions at that moment. Frankly, I found her indecision mildly comforting; I wasn’t the only person who felt completely out of their element.
Difficult circumstances were more bearable when shared.
“How’s Agent Burroughs?” I asked.
Her expression darkened.
“He’s in surgery right now.”
I nodded. “Listen, Agent Sanders, both of us have people we care about at the hospital right now. Maybe we’d be best served there.”
I thought I caught a brief flash of relief cross her face before she composed herself again, back to the ever-clinical looking FBI agent.
“Okay, we can talk about that phone call you received earlier this evening on the way there,” she conceded.
“Sure,” I said.
“Then maybe you’ll tell me a little bit more about how you came to stop bullets in mid-air,” she added in a subdued tone.
“I’m afraid that’s a bit more incredible,” I said.
“Try me. I have a fluid imagination,” she countered with an arched brow.
I was beginning to like Agent Sanders in ways that I hadn’t expected.
Chapter 6
By the time we reached the hospital, I’d described to Sanders some of the abilities I’d developed since my last treatment. To say that she’d appeared surprised bordering on disbelief was an understatement. Somehow, I got the impression that if she hadn’t seen the bullets suspended in midair before her, she’d have immediately delivered me to the Guthrie County Psychiatric Hospital.
I finished describing the mysterious phone call that I’d received at the park as we pulled into the hospital parking lot. Sanders remained silent, appearing contemplative, as we strode through the emergency entrance.
I followed her to one of the hospital’s surgical waiting areas, which frankly reminded me of an oversized doctor’s office waiting room. Though a number of people were present, a worried-looking woman who appeared to be in her thirties immediately caught my attention. Beside her
“Feel better?” she asked. “Your nose stopped bleeding, I see.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I replied. Then I reconsidered her question. “Actually, that’s not entirely true. To feel ‘better’ would require that I wasn’t pissed off that someone tried to kill me and members of my family.”
She nodded but stared at me warily.
“Who are you exactly, Logan Bringer?” she asked. “I’ve never seen anything like what I saw happen this evening.”
I drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled, wishing that I had proper answers for her, and for myself.
“Yeah, I’m still coming to grips with that myself,” I replied. “Two weeks ago, I’d have said that I was just some lucky schmuck who managed to live through brain cancer. But today…hell if I know.”
She’d asked a fair question, really.
Who am I? What am I?
An uncomfortable silence grew between us, and no less than two agents slowed as they passed Sanders’ desk, each openly staring at me with mixed degrees of curiosity.
“Thank you,” Sanders offered in a quiet voice.
I looked into her hazel eyes with surprise, and then realized what she’d meant.
The bullets.
I felt really good about what I’d managed to do, and I couldn’t keep from breaking into a wan smile.
“You’re welcome.”
She was the first to break eye contact, instead glancing down to some printouts before her. She had beautiful eyes.
I opened the sports drink and started chugging. Unfortunately, the sweetness of the liquid was mixed with the lingering taste of ash and smoke. That aside, I quickly appreciated the subsiding pain and aching in my head within a matter of minutes.
Electrolytes; my newest little friends.
“What happens next?” I asked.
“Procedures dictate—” she started to say but stopped midsentence.
She sighed. “Actually, Mr. Bringer, I’m afraid that we’re way outside standard operating procedures right now.”
Something in the back of my mind sensed she was distracted, almost as if torn between decisions at that moment. Frankly, I found her indecision mildly comforting; I wasn’t the only person who felt completely out of their element.
Difficult circumstances were more bearable when shared.
“How’s Agent Burroughs?” I asked.
Her expression darkened.
“He’s in surgery right now.”
I nodded. “Listen, Agent Sanders, both of us have people we care about at the hospital right now. Maybe we’d be best served there.”
I thought I caught a brief flash of relief cross her face before she composed herself again, back to the ever-clinical looking FBI agent.
“Okay, we can talk about that phone call you received earlier this evening on the way there,” she conceded.
“Sure,” I said.
“Then maybe you’ll tell me a little bit more about how you came to stop bullets in mid-air,” she added in a subdued tone.
“I’m afraid that’s a bit more incredible,” I said.
“Try me. I have a fluid imagination,” she countered with an arched brow.
I was beginning to like Agent Sanders in ways that I hadn’t expected.
Chapter 6
By the time we reached the hospital, I’d described to Sanders some of the abilities I’d developed since my last treatment. To say that she’d appeared surprised bordering on disbelief was an understatement. Somehow, I got the impression that if she hadn’t seen the bullets suspended in midair before her, she’d have immediately delivered me to the Guthrie County Psychiatric Hospital.
I finished describing the mysterious phone call that I’d received at the park as we pulled into the hospital parking lot. Sanders remained silent, appearing contemplative, as we strode through the emergency entrance.
I followed her to one of the hospital’s surgical waiting areas, which frankly reminded me of an oversized doctor’s office waiting room. Though a number of people were present, a worried-looking woman who appeared to be in her thirties immediately caught my attention. Beside her
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