Helpless
““Right or left?” Constable Bird would ask, and she’d try to feel a tug in either direction. There were streets where she remembered people having smiled or stared at Rachel in a way that now seemed suspicious, and she would get Bird to pull over while she studied certain houses and strained to pick up a signal: a voice in her head, a shift of light. Anything. Twice she and Bird climbed out of the car and knocked on the front door. At the first place a blind man and his guide dog answered. At th...e second it was an old woman who spoke no English.
Where was the telepathic power she’d tapped into Saturday morning? She was trying so hard to be aware and in the moment. Maybe she was trying too hard. Or maybe there’d never been any telepathic communication in the first place; it had all been wishful thinking. She felt foolish and inept, a drain on Bird’s time. But what was she supposed to do with herself? She couldn’t sit around at home, going mad. Bird suggested she join the grid search, and after not much thought she agreed.MoreLess
Where was the telepathic power she’d tapped into Saturday morning? She was trying so hard to be aware and in the moment. Maybe she was trying too hard. Or maybe there’d never been any telepathic communication in the first place; it had all been wishful thinking. She felt foolish and inept, a drain on Bird’s time. But what was she supposed to do with herself? She couldn’t sit around at home, going mad. Bird suggested she join the grid search, and after not much thought she agreed.MoreLess
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