cage.
“Not right now, girl,” he said. He stuck a finger through the wire cage and scratched her head. “I have to earn your snack money. Then I'll let you out.”
He put on some Mozart on the stereo and reached for his phone. The flier was already locked away in his memory. He paced back and forth between the bedroom and living room for five minutes before finally dialing the number.
A woman answered the phone. “Hello?”
He took a deep breath. “Hi. I'm calling the number on the flier, about Abigail Wheatley?”
There was stunned silence. “You've...found Abby?”
He did his best to ignore the pain in the woman's voice. This was a business call. There would be time for emotions later.
“No ma'am, I haven't. But I can find her for you. My name's Mason Thomas. I'm a private investigator. Are you her mother?”
“Yes. I'm Rachel Wheatley. We've already hired private investigators. The police couldn't find her. Investigators couldn't find her either.”
“Well, I can.”
“Listen, Mister Thomas. I'm done hiring investigators. There's a reward, and it's open to anybody.”
“That's what I called about. I can find your daughter. This is a fact. But the reward, is it... your money?”
She hesitated for a moment. “Not all of it. Most of it is from my husband's job.”
Mason felt a little better. “Okay. That's what I'll take then. Most of it.”
“You sound very confident.”
“This is what I do. It's my job.” He paused. He always saved the most difficult question for last. “I have to ask one more thing. When I find her, she might not be...alive. Is closure still worth the reward?”
She let out a small cry. “I'd give anything just to know what happened to my baby girl.”
“I'll be in touch then, Rachel.”
He hung up and set the phone on the coffee table. The phone call went very well. Parents had hanged up on him outright before. There was even a father who accused Mason of having something to do with his missing child.
He leafed through his collection of CDs, another way to procrastinate. The phone call was out of the way, but the mind slide itself waited just around the corner.
The mind slide would be easy. Mason no longer had to worry about a lab, technicians putting sensors on him, or doctors trying to invent radical scenarios to test his abilities.
The only thing he had to worry about was possibly seeing a dead ten-year-old girl.
It wouldn't be the first time.
He sighed as he laid down on the couch. He kicked his shoes off and relaxed as best he could.
“Okay,” he whispered as he closed his eyes. “Abigail Wheatley, where are you?”
*****
Mason opened his eyes to find himself standing in front of a house in a yard. The street before him looked like any other suburban neighborhood street. Cars were parked in front of houses. An elderly man sprayed his grass with water from a hose. A woman in a bikini lounged on a lawn chair in her front yard. A mailman walked from mailbox to mailbox. Birds sang and flew overhead. A dog barked off in the distance. It was a very relaxing scene.
Except for the fact that he was within one hundred feet of a missing girl.
Still, he had mind slid to much worse places.
Like when he saved Kelly Rierson.
He turned around and looked at the two story home behind him. It needed a paint job, but looked like any other house on the block.
He made a mental note of the address before stepping onto the front porch. 1211 Montgomery Lane.
The only question remaining was city and state.
He poked his head through the front door. He was almost surprised to see a little girl sitting on the living room floor, watching television. She slowly ate a cereal bar. Her hair was shorter than in the flier, but it was her.
Abigail Wheatley.
Mason stepped completely into the house. He was relieved to see not only was Abigail alive and well, but she looked fine. No cuts or bruises, no abuse that he could see. As always, he was prepared for the worst, but he'd take
“Not right now, girl,” he said. He stuck a finger through the wire cage and scratched her head. “I have to earn your snack money. Then I'll let you out.”
He put on some Mozart on the stereo and reached for his phone. The flier was already locked away in his memory. He paced back and forth between the bedroom and living room for five minutes before finally dialing the number.
A woman answered the phone. “Hello?”
He took a deep breath. “Hi. I'm calling the number on the flier, about Abigail Wheatley?”
There was stunned silence. “You've...found Abby?”
He did his best to ignore the pain in the woman's voice. This was a business call. There would be time for emotions later.
“No ma'am, I haven't. But I can find her for you. My name's Mason Thomas. I'm a private investigator. Are you her mother?”
“Yes. I'm Rachel Wheatley. We've already hired private investigators. The police couldn't find her. Investigators couldn't find her either.”
“Well, I can.”
“Listen, Mister Thomas. I'm done hiring investigators. There's a reward, and it's open to anybody.”
“That's what I called about. I can find your daughter. This is a fact. But the reward, is it... your money?”
She hesitated for a moment. “Not all of it. Most of it is from my husband's job.”
Mason felt a little better. “Okay. That's what I'll take then. Most of it.”
“You sound very confident.”
“This is what I do. It's my job.” He paused. He always saved the most difficult question for last. “I have to ask one more thing. When I find her, she might not be...alive. Is closure still worth the reward?”
She let out a small cry. “I'd give anything just to know what happened to my baby girl.”
“I'll be in touch then, Rachel.”
He hung up and set the phone on the coffee table. The phone call went very well. Parents had hanged up on him outright before. There was even a father who accused Mason of having something to do with his missing child.
He leafed through his collection of CDs, another way to procrastinate. The phone call was out of the way, but the mind slide itself waited just around the corner.
The mind slide would be easy. Mason no longer had to worry about a lab, technicians putting sensors on him, or doctors trying to invent radical scenarios to test his abilities.
The only thing he had to worry about was possibly seeing a dead ten-year-old girl.
It wouldn't be the first time.
He sighed as he laid down on the couch. He kicked his shoes off and relaxed as best he could.
“Okay,” he whispered as he closed his eyes. “Abigail Wheatley, where are you?”
*****
Mason opened his eyes to find himself standing in front of a house in a yard. The street before him looked like any other suburban neighborhood street. Cars were parked in front of houses. An elderly man sprayed his grass with water from a hose. A woman in a bikini lounged on a lawn chair in her front yard. A mailman walked from mailbox to mailbox. Birds sang and flew overhead. A dog barked off in the distance. It was a very relaxing scene.
Except for the fact that he was within one hundred feet of a missing girl.
Still, he had mind slid to much worse places.
Like when he saved Kelly Rierson.
He turned around and looked at the two story home behind him. It needed a paint job, but looked like any other house on the block.
He made a mental note of the address before stepping onto the front porch. 1211 Montgomery Lane.
The only question remaining was city and state.
He poked his head through the front door. He was almost surprised to see a little girl sitting on the living room floor, watching television. She slowly ate a cereal bar. Her hair was shorter than in the flier, but it was her.
Abigail Wheatley.
Mason stepped completely into the house. He was relieved to see not only was Abigail alive and well, but she looked fine. No cuts or bruises, no abuse that he could see. As always, he was prepared for the worst, but he'd take
Similar Books
