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belamy20
The office smelled faintly of fresh lemon cleaner.
No drawers yanked open, no papers scattered everywhere—in fact, the place looked cleaner and neater than when he'd left.
"Patty?! What are you doing back already?"
Soren sounded genuinely surprised. It wasn't the weekend—she should've been at school or holed up in her apartment.
On the couch, Patty had one arm wrapped protectively around a blonde girl in a cute floral dress. The girl had soft, gentle features and a light dusting of freckles across her cheeks that somehow made her look even more fragile and innocent.
At the sound of the door slamming open, the blonde flinched like a startled quail and burrowed deeper into Patty's side.
Patty rubbed soothing circles on the girl's back, then shot Soren a glare that could cut glass.
When she realized it was him, her eyebrows shot up. "You kick your own damn door like you're raiding a crack house? And I called you like twenty times—every single one went straight to 'out of service'!"
"If you're just using that phone as a fancy paperweight, you might as well throw it in the trash! I was worried sick for nothing!"
"Cough—cough. I thought we had a burglar," Soren said, rubbing the back of his neck.
He couldn't exactly blame her for being pissed. Between spotty highway service and the fact that he usually tossed his phone into the Silent Hill domain during fights so it wouldn't get smashed or lost… yeah, he'd been radio silent.
Before Patty could lay into him again, he nodded at the blonde. "Who's this?"
"Carrie. The friend I told you about," Patty huffed, rolling her eyes.
"Oh, right—the one you were supposed to see that new comedy with?"
Soren set the pizza box on the table and gave the girl a small smile. "So… did you actually run into a ghost at the theater?"
Patty nodded, then immediately shook her head. "I mean—yes. No. Sort of."
Soren pinched the bridge of his nose. Pick one, woman.
Carrie fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, staring at the floor. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "It… it was a guy dressed up as one."
Patty snapped her fingers. "Exactly! That's what I was trying to say!"
Soren caught the uneasy vibe and pressed, "And then?"
Patty sighed, looking exhausted. "Some dumbass thought it'd be hilarious to hide in the women's bathroom wearing a ghost costume and jump out to scare people. Carrie's already got a hair-trigger on her nerves because of… well, everything that happened back in high school."
"She got startled, lost control for a second, and the guy just—"
Patty made an exploding motion with both hands.
Boom.
Soren blinked. In his head he pictured the prankster getting telekinetically turned into red mist.
He looked at the trembling girl on the couch. She looked like the type who'd feel guilty for stepping on an ant. Yet underneath that fragile shell sat terrifying power.
"And then?" he asked again. Patty wouldn't be camped out here if the story ended there.
"I bailed her out with my card before the cops could do anything weird," Patty said. "But with the way that guy… exploded… and Carrie's ability being what it is, I'm worried the wrong people might come sniffing around. So I brought her straight here."
"And the worst part? The dead guy's family won't let it go. I already paid them off under the table—hush money, the works. They took the cash and still want more. Greedy bastards."
She got angrier the more she talked, finally yanking a sleek black credit card from her bag and slapping it on the table.
"Handle them. Compensation, your fee—whatever it takes. It's on me."
Soren rubbed his temples.
A girl with telekinesis who can pop people like balloons, and some idiot thought it'd be funny to scare her in a bathroom? Darwin Award winners, every last one.
He studied Carrie's pale, frightened face and remembered her full story. Religious nutjob of a mother who beat and locked her up for years. The kind of upbringing that turned a kid into a walking bundle of anxiety and people-pleasing.
That same pressure cooker eventually cracked open and woke up her powers.
Later, at the prom, a cruel prank involving pig blood shattered what little happiness she'd found.
The girl who looked like she'd apologize to a door for bumping into it had once turned an entire gym full of bullies into ground beef with her mind.
Telekinesis…
Soren let out a quiet breath.
No obvious drawbacks, either. The bigger the rage, the bigger the boom. Pure "heart says destroy" energy.
He sometimes wondered what the hell people in this world were eating to get powers like this with zero side effects.
Still…
If he played this right, maybe he could recruit her. No point wasting talent like that on high school.
The only problem was that fragile, timid personality. She'd need careful handling—lots of it.
Soren gave Carrie a gentle smile, smoothly pocketed the black card, and said in his calmest voice, "Leave it to me."
…
Next morning – Los Santos Police Department
Morning news played on the big screen in the lobby.
"…The mysterious fog that blanketed Maine has completely dissipated as of two days ago…"
"The area was sealed off for a large-scale live-fire biological defense exercise. Regrettably, a new recruit's error caused minor civilian property damage. The military extends its apologies and will begin the appropriate compensation process…"
Soren looked down, fighting a smirk.
Biological defense exercise. They really had the balls to call it that.
"I would never kill my own fiancée! We were supposed to get married next month!"
Loud arguing spilled from one of the interrogation rooms. Soren's attention snapped toward it.
The blinds weren't fully closed. Through the gap he saw a man handcuffed to the table, eyes bloodshot.
"Soren? Well, if it isn't my favorite pain in the ass."
A steaming cup of coffee appeared in front of him.
The man holding it was a middle-aged white detective with a receding hairline shaped like a perfect M.
Detective John McClane—one of the old-timers at the Los Santos PD.
Soren regularly dropped off the street scum he "handled" to this guy. Their working relationship was solid.
McClane handed him the coffee and jerked his chin toward the interrogation room.
"Guy's wife turned up dead at home. No third-party fingerprints at the scene."
He took a sip of his own black coffee and clicked his tongue. "Interested in taking a look? Might be right up your alley."
Soren accepted the cup, eyeing the detective's puffy bags and dark circles. "More worried about your face right now, old man."
"At your age you should cut back on the high-heel club visits. Your body can't keep up forever."