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What happens when a toddler drinks a chemical and alters the way the soul and body works? When a company wants to develop the same formula for its own personal use, Allastor Roberts goes on the run. Only he can make it work, but he's not going down so easily...not without bringing the company down with him...
©2009 Bonnie Watson
Six stories up and the only thing between me and escape was a gap in between rooftops. Six minutes ago I thought I had lost her. Six hours ago I had been at a coffee shop wondering whether to tell my parents the truth. Being pregnant would have been a better story and possibly had a happier ending. Quite the opposite now as I scanned along the narrow ledge for an escape ladder, steps, anything! There should have been a streetlamp below. Now the alley was as dark as the night sky.
The rattling of metal staircase alerted me to another person approaching. I knew who it was. We had met for coffee earlier. An attractive woman, her blond hair was like mine, short and wavy. I had felt drawn to her then. Her words were compelling and understanding in that motherly way. But it was all those probing questions that got me thinking. It was as if something was telling me to get away, some nagging pull that led me here. But why?
I whirled around. My breath caught in my throat when I saw the revolver.
“Stay away from me!” I never realized how whiney my voice was until now. No wonder grownups hated when teenagers talked.
“Okay, calm down. No one’s going to hurt you.”
That was a lie.
“I’ll jump!” I threatened. I was as far as the flattop root would allow. One more step was all it took.
“Listen to me. I understand what you’re going through. I want to help.”
“You’re lying!” I screamed. This wasn’t happening. Why her? Why hadn’t I told my parents all this time?
She was caught off guard the same as I by the hiss. A black object landed between us, and I jumped back in fright before realizing it was a cat – before realizing…I didn’t have room...
Pain; there was always pain when a link between souls was broken, though this time it didn’t last as long. I was just thankful I wasn’t stuck with the voice of a fifteen-year-old.
I reached for the phone. “Persistent one, aren’t you?” I knew the number by heart now. Without thinking, my fingers started dialing. When the rings switched over to voicemail, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. “You can’t blame yourself this time, Marissa. Who knew a cat was going to show up and scare the girl. On the bright side, I did her a favor. She was dying. Not with what I did, but what she did. She didn’t want her parents to know. And now, they don’t have to.”
There was a click as though the message was getting ready to cut me off. Then another voice, cold and angry, picked on the other end. I knew she’d been listening the entire time.
“Listen to me, you son-of-a—”
The line went dead.
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