Status: on hiatus while i do some rewrites. bear with me.
The Twelve Percent
Scandal
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Trying to figure out how Natalie Brightwell was murdered was proving to be harder than expected. The tiny town of Teratone was not the kind of town to launch a full blown murder investigation. Despite the promise of giving the public more information on her murder; the paper had yet to print anything further about it. I didn’t have any theories on why; but I was going to find out. Natalie couldn’t tell me how she was murdered yet; but that didn’t mean I couldn’t do some serious B&E.
After decking myself out in all black and throwing a few necessities in a black backpack, I headed downstairs. It was nearly two am, so Mom and Dad had gone to bed hours before. They told me to be careful, of course. I’d only gotten caught breaking and entering twice on ghost expeditions. Once when I was sixteen and once when I was twenty. The first time my parents were annoyed – but not angry. They get why I do it.
Natalie had already been buried in the local graveyard. The police station and morgue were open twenty four hours a day so I couldn’t very well go in there trying to find anything out. The Teratone Gazette was closed though. I was planning on Telekinetic-ing my way in after hours.
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I’m going to go ahead and assume that the same experts who came up with the ghost-sighting statistics haven’t met any of the twelve percent before. I’ve met one though. Annabeth Cotter. Back in Little Rock there was an elderly ghost who’d had a heart attack in the grocery store a year before. She wandered aimlessly around, picking up items she had been shopping for before she died, and dropping them into her imaginary cart. Locals were starting to get a little freaked by the sudden drops of produce onto the floor.
I saw her three days after we moved in, when Mom and I were picking up groceries. Except, when I saw her, she was talking to a short blonde girl. A short blonde girl who was most definitely alive. I introduced myself and Annabeth nearly sobbed of relief. She was so certain, for her entire life, that she was the only one who could see them. It wasn’t long before we were bonding over our shared experiences and talking about our abilities.
Mine pretty much hit the wall at telekinesis. Ability to shove things around, lift things, unlock doors; things of that sort. Annabeth’s talents were slightly less refined than mine, and focused more on controlling electricity and electronics. She could make your phone go on the fritz or knock the power out of any room. We tried to see if the abilities could be taught but – aside from the small stuff – they couldn’t. I was able to learn how to overpower lights and she was able to learn how to lift small things, like pens or bottles.
These sorts of abilities didn’t kick in for either of us until shortly after our twenty-first birthdays. I’d be willing to bet that if the experts knew about this – they would experiment on any of the twelve percent they could get their hands. Trying to figure out how we had these abilities. I was also willing to bet it was the wiring in our heads. The same things that made us different and able to see the dead; gave us these abilities. Except only twelve percent of us had the more extreme wiring differences that led us past the age line of twenty-one and into the realm of mind powers.
Of course, I’m not an expert. Or a scientist.
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On the outskirts of the ‘Old Historic Downtown Teratone’ was a three story office building. The bottom two floors belonged to The Teratone Gazette. I crept up the steps, keeping my eyes and ears focused on the street behind me. I held my hand up, palm facing the doorknob, and pictured the insides turning like the key was being inserted; a single click, and the knob turned. Immediately, a soft beeping started to my left.
I approached the alarm system, and crossed my fingers in my head. If this didn’t work, I’d have to bolt. Again, I pictured what I wanted; the electricity to quit feeding itself to the alarm system. Beats later, and the beeping stopped.
Grinning, I locked the door back and went on a search for the office of chief staff writer, Amanda Robeje. She had been on site, according to a public police report on the murder, during the crime scene investigation. If anyone was going to have information on Natalie Brightwell’s murder – it was Amanda Robeje. I crept along the walls, watching the corners for cameras. My suspicion so far – that a small town newspaper wouldn’t be able to afford cameras – was correct. Regardless, I wasn’t going to take any chances.
I was not going back to Woodglen.
I made my way up the stairs, silently. The door at the top creaked when I opened it, and I winced. Leaving it open, I quickly assessed the room. It was full of cubicles with walls that wouldn’t even hide a reporters head during business hours. Gray seemed to be the color of choice, with no brighter hues visible. Then again – it was pitch black. The walls of the room were glass, with offices strategically placed behind the glass. I was going to venture a guess that that would be where Robeje’s office would be. Her being a chief staff writer and all.
Once I was certain there were no cameras on this floor either, I stood up from my creeping stance, and walked along the edges of the room. Taking in each name plaque, one caught my eye. Tanya Brightwell – Chief Staff Editor “Natalie’s mom?” I pondered out loud. Curiosity got the best of me, and I tried the doorknob. Locked. Amateur hour. Again, I held my hand up to the lock, and visualized the lock on the inside of the door flipping. The door clicked, and I smiled.
My research hadn’t told me that Tanya Brightwell worked at the Gazette. I rummaged through her drawers, stopping for a moment to look at a framed photo of her family hidden inside of one. I guess she didn’t want the reminder of Natalie on her desk right now. I looked sadly at the photo. Natalie had her arm thrown around her younger brother, and her parents had their arms wrapped around their kids. They were all smiling like someone was holding a check for a million bucks on the other side of the camera. They seemed genuine. I tucked the photo away again, beneath a stack of papers. Unlocking the lower drawer, I flipped through the files hanging inside. One at the back, labeled Mystery Meat Scandal caught my eye. Tanya was the chief staff editor and she was working on a story about school lunches?
I yanked the folder from the hanging file and rifled through it. Hiding inside the folder was forms, papers, and reports from the police. I glanced at them, but kept going through the folder. The last few pages inside were full page colored photos of the crime scene. The type of photos you only see when you’re watching Law and Order and the detective slides them one by one in front of a suspect. The smooth pages of the photos glided between my fingers as I looked, one by one, at the gruesome scene that was Natalie’s death.
Forget Amanda Robeje. This was what I came for. I turned to the copier in Natalie’s mom’s office and quickly made copies of everything. Wanting the same quality of photos as Tanya Brightwell had, I slipped a few pages of the glossy high quality paper into the machine before copying the last pages. I wouldn’t be able to see the little things with regular paper photos. Things would blur and missing one tiny detail could mean a big difference in my ghost detective work.
I arranged everything the way it had been when I arrived, and stuck my copies of the pages into a spare folder off the shelf behind the desk. Locking everything back, I headed downstairs. Without reengaging the alarm system – I wasn’t sure how to do that and not set it off – I locked the front door and sprinted back home.
|||
Trying to figure out how Natalie Brightwell was murdered was proving to be harder than expected. The tiny town of Teratone was not the kind of town to launch a full blown murder investigation. Despite the promise of giving the public more information on her murder; the paper had yet to print anything further about it. I didn’t have any theories on why; but I was going to find out. Natalie couldn’t tell me how she was murdered yet; but that didn’t mean I couldn’t do some serious B&E.
After decking myself out in all black and throwing a few necessities in a black backpack, I headed downstairs. It was nearly two am, so Mom and Dad had gone to bed hours before. They told me to be careful, of course. I’d only gotten caught breaking and entering twice on ghost expeditions. Once when I was sixteen and once when I was twenty. The first time my parents were annoyed – but not angry. They get why I do it.
Natalie had already been buried in the local graveyard. The police station and morgue were open twenty four hours a day so I couldn’t very well go in there trying to find anything out. The Teratone Gazette was closed though. I was planning on Telekinetic-ing my way in after hours.
|||
I’m going to go ahead and assume that the same experts who came up with the ghost-sighting statistics haven’t met any of the twelve percent before. I’ve met one though. Annabeth Cotter. Back in Little Rock there was an elderly ghost who’d had a heart attack in the grocery store a year before. She wandered aimlessly around, picking up items she had been shopping for before she died, and dropping them into her imaginary cart. Locals were starting to get a little freaked by the sudden drops of produce onto the floor.
I saw her three days after we moved in, when Mom and I were picking up groceries. Except, when I saw her, she was talking to a short blonde girl. A short blonde girl who was most definitely alive. I introduced myself and Annabeth nearly sobbed of relief. She was so certain, for her entire life, that she was the only one who could see them. It wasn’t long before we were bonding over our shared experiences and talking about our abilities.
Mine pretty much hit the wall at telekinesis. Ability to shove things around, lift things, unlock doors; things of that sort. Annabeth’s talents were slightly less refined than mine, and focused more on controlling electricity and electronics. She could make your phone go on the fritz or knock the power out of any room. We tried to see if the abilities could be taught but – aside from the small stuff – they couldn’t. I was able to learn how to overpower lights and she was able to learn how to lift small things, like pens or bottles.
These sorts of abilities didn’t kick in for either of us until shortly after our twenty-first birthdays. I’d be willing to bet that if the experts knew about this – they would experiment on any of the twelve percent they could get their hands. Trying to figure out how we had these abilities. I was also willing to bet it was the wiring in our heads. The same things that made us different and able to see the dead; gave us these abilities. Except only twelve percent of us had the more extreme wiring differences that led us past the age line of twenty-one and into the realm of mind powers.
Of course, I’m not an expert. Or a scientist.
|||
On the outskirts of the ‘Old Historic Downtown Teratone’ was a three story office building. The bottom two floors belonged to The Teratone Gazette. I crept up the steps, keeping my eyes and ears focused on the street behind me. I held my hand up, palm facing the doorknob, and pictured the insides turning like the key was being inserted; a single click, and the knob turned. Immediately, a soft beeping started to my left.
I approached the alarm system, and crossed my fingers in my head. If this didn’t work, I’d have to bolt. Again, I pictured what I wanted; the electricity to quit feeding itself to the alarm system. Beats later, and the beeping stopped.
Grinning, I locked the door back and went on a search for the office of chief staff writer, Amanda Robeje. She had been on site, according to a public police report on the murder, during the crime scene investigation. If anyone was going to have information on Natalie Brightwell’s murder – it was Amanda Robeje. I crept along the walls, watching the corners for cameras. My suspicion so far – that a small town newspaper wouldn’t be able to afford cameras – was correct. Regardless, I wasn’t going to take any chances.
I was not going back to Woodglen.
I made my way up the stairs, silently. The door at the top creaked when I opened it, and I winced. Leaving it open, I quickly assessed the room. It was full of cubicles with walls that wouldn’t even hide a reporters head during business hours. Gray seemed to be the color of choice, with no brighter hues visible. Then again – it was pitch black. The walls of the room were glass, with offices strategically placed behind the glass. I was going to venture a guess that that would be where Robeje’s office would be. Her being a chief staff writer and all.
Once I was certain there were no cameras on this floor either, I stood up from my creeping stance, and walked along the edges of the room. Taking in each name plaque, one caught my eye. Tanya Brightwell – Chief Staff Editor “Natalie’s mom?” I pondered out loud. Curiosity got the best of me, and I tried the doorknob. Locked. Amateur hour. Again, I held my hand up to the lock, and visualized the lock on the inside of the door flipping. The door clicked, and I smiled.
My research hadn’t told me that Tanya Brightwell worked at the Gazette. I rummaged through her drawers, stopping for a moment to look at a framed photo of her family hidden inside of one. I guess she didn’t want the reminder of Natalie on her desk right now. I looked sadly at the photo. Natalie had her arm thrown around her younger brother, and her parents had their arms wrapped around their kids. They were all smiling like someone was holding a check for a million bucks on the other side of the camera. They seemed genuine. I tucked the photo away again, beneath a stack of papers. Unlocking the lower drawer, I flipped through the files hanging inside. One at the back, labeled Mystery Meat Scandal caught my eye. Tanya was the chief staff editor and she was working on a story about school lunches?
I yanked the folder from the hanging file and rifled through it. Hiding inside the folder was forms, papers, and reports from the police. I glanced at them, but kept going through the folder. The last few pages inside were full page colored photos of the crime scene. The type of photos you only see when you’re watching Law and Order and the detective slides them one by one in front of a suspect. The smooth pages of the photos glided between my fingers as I looked, one by one, at the gruesome scene that was Natalie’s death.
Forget Amanda Robeje. This was what I came for. I turned to the copier in Natalie’s mom’s office and quickly made copies of everything. Wanting the same quality of photos as Tanya Brightwell had, I slipped a few pages of the glossy high quality paper into the machine before copying the last pages. I wouldn’t be able to see the little things with regular paper photos. Things would blur and missing one tiny detail could mean a big difference in my ghost detective work.
I arranged everything the way it had been when I arrived, and stuck my copies of the pages into a spare folder off the shelf behind the desk. Locking everything back, I headed downstairs. Without reengaging the alarm system – I wasn’t sure how to do that and not set it off – I locked the front door and sprinted back home.
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♠ ♠ ♠
i think i sprained a muscle in my buttxx