Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 53529 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 214(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53529 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 214(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
Kyle smiles. “Good. And don’t forget your wig.”
I’m dressed in my long black wig and green-and-red tie-dye shirt. I keep my jeans and Converse. Kyle hands me the photo of the meet-up spot, and I start preparing to do my thing.
Basically, I envision being somewhere, and suddenly I’m there. I have no clue how it works. How does a human body travel at the speed of thought? Do I turn into vapor and whoosh through the air? Do the cells in my body communicate with the particles around me, and the particles just get the hell out of the way, creating a sort of vacuum that pulls me through?
Trust me, I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. I’ve read every book on astrophysics and quantum physics I can get my hands on, but I’ve yet to find a theory that comes close to explaining how I’m able to overcome the g-force, let alone how I propel myself at two thousand miles per second. That’s faster than any supersonic aircraft, but much slower than the speed of light at one hundred eighty-six thousand miles per second.
Could I go that fast?
I’d need a destination to travel to first, and I’m not about to test out the moon. A little dangerous without a space suit.
“All right, it’s go time. Be careful, Huff.” Kyle slaps my back, and I close my eyes, visualizing the new location.
Suddenly, the air around me feels cold and damp. When I open my eyes, I’m definitely in Paris. It’s dark out, and couples are strolling along the walkway behind me.
I stand under a streetlamp that casts an orange hue over the scraggly bushes and trees surrounding the small pond with columns. It’s actually pretty here. I’d love to come back some day and sightsee. That is, if anything’s left of Paris after this is all over with.
I look over my shoulders and scan the surrounding trees. Kyle said there would be people watching from various positions around the small park, but I don’t see anyone. Maybe they’re hiding in the branches?
I slide my hand in my pocket and grab my tube, popping off the cap. I don’t know what to expect, but I have to be ready with my syringe.
I glance at my watch. Two minutes to go. I turn my head in the other direction, looking for any sign of Morris, and spot the top of the fiery Eiffel Tower peaking over the buildings in the distance.
“Jesus. That’s pretty impressive.” The flames are a funny blue-and-gold color that remind me of those little lamps you find under chafing dishes, the kind they have at fancy buffets.
“Hello again, Huff.”
I turn my head, and Morris is standing one foot in front of me, but he looks different. Kind of like…me? He’s about six inches shorter, but his muscles are huge instead of scrawny. Even his brown hair looks thicker. He must’ve taken something. Uh-oh.
He grabs hold of my arm and then whoosh! We’re standing in a dark, empty warehouse. A propane lamp is sitting on a small table next to a wooden chair. There’s a filled syringe on the table. This isn’t his lab.
“What the hell, Morris.” I’m about to split when I remember I’m supposed to kill him. Shit. Shit. Shit. I don’t know if I can.
Morris immediately takes ten steps back. “I bet you’re wondering why I wanted to see you.” Morris points to the chair. “Have a seat.”
“No thanks.” My mind floods with images of tearing off his head. If I can get to him fast enough, I might be able to do it. “I see you figured out how I got this way.” He’s ripped from head to toe and moves just as fast as me.
“No. I only have half the formula. Mine wears off.”
Oh. Too bad.
“Which is why I need a sample of your blood,” he adds.
Just as I predicted, he’s after my blood, but why else would he want me here? Not for my witty humor.
“Sure. Come and get it,” I say. I need him within arm’s reach to snap his neck.
He eyes the tiny table. “First, inject yourself with the sedative, or I’ll blow up Paris.”
I scoff. “Like I care. French food is the worst. So much…” I can’t think of a French dish off the top of my head, so I say, “Bread.” And make a sour face. Silly, because who doesn’t love bread?
“You say that now, but wait until you see the countless faces of the dead on the news.”
I don’t react. “Why are you even here, Morris? You could’ve picked a city way closer to home.” Also, he could’ve kidnapped someone I care about, like Kyle, to blackmail me. Why go through all these theatrics?
He stares for a long moment with his twitchy brown eyes. “Keni wanted to live here. It was her dying wish.”