Mind Slide (7 page)

“Last favor I do for you.”

“Hey, you got paid, ferret-man. Get a Boston crème for me.”

Brian hung up.

Mason rolled his eyes as he made the turn into the Dunkin Donuts.

Ten minutes later he pushed the doors open to the police station. Jennifer flashed him a smile from behind the front desk. She pushed a strand of hair away from her face and sat up a little straighter.

“Hi, Mason. I didn't know you were coming in today.”

“Yeah. I'm just here to see Brian. I brought some presents. You get first pick.”

Jennifer picked out a chocolate donut while putting the phone to her ear.

“Brian, Mason's here to see you.”

Mason remained quiet and smiled at Jennifer as he waited for Brian with two dozen donuts in his arms. He
officially
became a private investigator when he was eighteen, five years ago, when he could apply for a license. He worked with the police off and on for the past two years. He still didn't know exactly how they felt about him.

At least Jennifer seemed to like him enough.

Brian opened the door next to the front desk. He wore a shirt and tie, forgoing the coat for the day. Mason knew his best friend had to be happy to never wear that blue uniform again.

“Hey, Mason. Did you bring...Oh there they are. Come on back.”

“Hold on. Jennifer, do you have a pass for me?”

“Screw the pass. Those donuts are your pass. Let's go.”

Brian led Mason back through the maze of desks and offices. Mason listened as police officers interviewed people, took statements, made phone calls. Brian settled in behind his desk. It didn't look like much paper had been moved since the last time Mason sat opposite from him.

Mason moved a stack of folders aside and set the donuts down, next to the picture of Lisa and Dani, Brian's wife and daughter.

“Hey everybody,” Brian called. “Mason brought us donuts. Don't the touch the Boston crème, or I'll shoot you.”

They were gone in seconds as cops came out of nowhere. Mason noticed everyone was polite and thanked him. He knew he ruffled feathers when Brian brought him in to help with an investigation not long ago, but everyone treated him fine.

“They don't seem pissed.”

“I might have exaggerated a little. I just wanted donuts. I would stay away from Simmons, though.”

“Simmons is a dick.”

“Yup, that's why you should stay away.”

Brian grabbed a folder from a corner of his desk and offered it to Mason. Mason took a deep breath and accepted it.

“Did you hook that multifunction printer up at your apartment yet? Lisa got that for your birthday. She'll kill you if you haven't.”

Mason nodded as he skimmed through the
missing persons
fliers Brian always collected for him. Sadly, the folder was thick and heavy.

“I could have faxed these over to you then.”

Mason was quiet. Brian took a bite of his donut.

“You drive in here to put it off,” Brian said.

Brian wasn't saying anything Mason didn't already know.

Mason had a simple method as to which flier he would choose. He usually selected the one that had the most number of zeroes as a reward.

There was no feeling like reuniting loved ones together. He would never forget helping to save Kelly Rierson's life when he was sixteen. Over the past seven years he found countless missing children.

But he had to charge a price. He had to make a living.

He just wished he could get a handle on the guilt that always came with the money side of his job.

A flier caught his attention. Abigail Wheatley, a missing ten-year-old girl. Been gone for the past six months. The last known location was the local mall. In her school photo on the flier she had blond hair, blue eyes, and braces.

The reward was ten thousand dollars.

“And who's our lucky parent today?” Brian asked.

Mason shot him a look. He had that slight pain in his chest he always felt before a case.

“Brian, I'm getting ready to extort ten thousand dollars from a grieving family to find their daughter. Do you call that lucky?”

Brian leaned forward, his eyes serious. “Yes, I call that lucky, because you
will
find their daughter. Come on, I've told you before. You're not extorting money from anyone. That money usually comes from a lot of different people. Donations, the parents' jobs, other family. You're not
robbing
anyone.”

Mason heard the same speech over the years. Brian was doing his job as a best friend, trying to help Mason feel better.

It seldom worked.

“Why does that not make me feel tingly?”

“Hey, I put bad guys in jail. And I get paid for it. Firemen get paid, too. You don't have to feel guilty.”

Mason said nothing. He tried to keep calm, keep his nerves under control. Brian was right, but it was hard to feel good about taking someone's money to find their child.

The only good part would come after the job was done.

“You alright?” Brian asked.

Mason nodded and rose to his feet. “Yeah, I'm fine. I'm gonna head back to my apartment and make the call.”

He winced at his choice of words. Make the call. He felt like a kidnapper asking for ransom.

“Alright, man. You take it easy. I know it's case day and everything, but you're still picking up Dani after school, right?”

Mason laughed to himself. Mason Thomas. Private investigator. Mind slider. Babysitter.

“Yeah. No problem there.”

“You're sure? Just let me know. I can give Lisa a call. She can probably swing out of work early.”

“Don't worry, Kojak. I'll pick her up.”

“Okay. Get out of here and make someone happy.”

*****

Mason grew more nervous as he drove back to his apartment. The call was usually the hardest part. He thought he'd gotten better at it over the years, but still sometimes felt sick after hanging up the phone.

Lucy looked at him as he stepped into his living room. She wanted out of her cage.

“Not right now, girl,” he said. He stuck a finger through the wire cage and scratched her head. “I have to earn your snack money. Then I'll let you out.”

He put on some Mozart on the stereo and reached for his phone. The flier was already locked away in his memory. He paced back and forth between the bedroom and living room for five minutes before finally dialing the number.

A woman answered the phone. “Hello?”

He took a deep breath. “Hi. I'm calling the number on the flier, about Abigail Wheatley?”

There was stunned silence. “You've...found Abby?”

He did his best to ignore the pain in the woman's voice. This was a business call. There would be time for emotions later.

“No ma'am, I haven't. But I can find her for you. My name's Mason Thomas. I'm a private investigator. Are you her mother?”

“Yes. I'm Rachel Wheatley. We've already hired private investigators. The police couldn't find her. Investigators couldn't find her either.”

“Well, I can.”

“Listen, Mister Thomas. I'm done hiring investigators. There's a reward, and it's open to anybody.”

“That's what I called about. I can find your daughter. This is a fact. But the reward, is it...
your
money?”

She hesitated for a moment. “Not all of it. Most of it is from my husband's job.”

Mason felt a little better. “Okay. That's what I'll take then. Most of it.”

“You sound very confident.”

“This is what I do. It's my job.” He paused. He always saved the most difficult question for last. “I have to ask one more thing. When I find her, she might not be...alive. Is closure still worth the reward?”

She let out a small cry. “I'd give anything just to know what happened to my baby girl.”

“I'll be in touch then, Rachel.”

He hung up and set the phone on the coffee table. The phone call went very well. Parents had hanged up on him outright before. There was even a father who accused Mason of having something to do with his missing child.

He leafed through his collection of CDs, another way to procrastinate. The phone call was out of the way, but the mind slide itself waited just around the corner.

The mind slide would be easy. Mason no longer had to worry about a lab, technicians putting sensors on him, or doctors trying to invent radical scenarios to test his abilities.

The only thing he had to worry about was possibly seeing a dead ten-year-old girl.

It wouldn't be the first time.

He sighed as he laid down on the couch. He kicked his shoes off and relaxed as best he could.

“Okay,” he whispered as he closed his eyes. “Abigail Wheatley, where are you?”

*****

Mason opened his eyes to find himself standing in front of a house in a yard. The street before him looked like any other suburban neighborhood street. Cars were parked in front of houses. An elderly man sprayed his grass with water from a hose. A woman in a bikini lounged on a lawn chair in her front yard. A mailman walked from mailbox to mailbox. Birds sang and flew overhead. A dog barked off in the distance. It was a very relaxing scene.

Except for the fact that he was within one hundred feet of a missing girl.

Still, he had mind slid to much worse places.

Like when he saved Kelly Rierson.

He turned around and looked at the two story home behind him. It needed a paint job, but looked like any other house on the block.

He made a mental note of the address before stepping onto the front porch. 1211 Montgomery Lane.

The only question remaining was city and state.

He poked his head through the front door. He was almost surprised to see a little girl sitting on the living room floor, watching television. She slowly ate a cereal bar. Her hair was shorter than in the flier, but it was her.

Abigail Wheatley.

Mason stepped completely into the house. He was relieved to see not only was Abigail alive and well, but she looked fine. No cuts or bruises, no abuse that he could see. As always, he was prepared for the worst, but he'd take the alternative any day.

A man who looked like he'd seen better days sat at a dining room table. Long, unkempt hair. Sweatpants and a tee shirt with holes in them. Three empty beer cars sitting in front of him.

“Uncle Mark?” Abigail asked. She looked at him from the living room.

“Yes, honey?”

“Is Mommy going to visit today?”

Mark took a long drink of beer. “I told you, she doesn't want you, Abby. I'm sorry. I've tried to call her. But she doesn't want you.”

“She wants to visit me, right? Even if she doesn't want me?”

He gave her an angry look and finished his beer.

Mason shook his head sadly. Forty-nine percent of juvenile kidnappings were committed by family members.

He walked into the dining room to look at Mark. Mark popped open another beer as he shuffled papers around. Mason looked closer to see he was filling out bills. That would save Mason a lot of time wandering around, trying to figure out where he was.

He peeked over Mark's shoulder and found what he was looking for.

Percy, Maryland.

Just one county over from where Mason lived.

He knelt next to Abigail to check for any injuries he might have missed. Satisfied the girl would be okay for another hour or so, he whispered in her ear.

“Don't worry, Abigail. This will all be over soon.”

Mason closed his eyes and concentrated on his apartment and his body. The sounds of the cartoon Abigail watched slowly faded away. He felt the couch under him, the sunlight coming in through the sliding balcony door. Lucy danced in her cage, wanting to get out.

He didn't sit up right away. He waited a few seconds, making sure the nausea wasn't overwhelming. One time he mind slid to a dead teenage boy, and in the rush to get back to his body, vomited all over himself.

He was halfway to the Percy police station when he made the anonymous call. He made the mistake of calling the parents directly before. There's no one more irrational and emotional than a parent who's just been told where to find his or her child.

He called the police, reported Abigail's location, and that was it.

He parked in front of the police station and reclined the seat in his Jeep. The soft-top was folded down, and the sun felt great on his skin. He enjoyed the sights and sounds around him. The cars driving down the street, couples walking hand in hand on the sidewalk.

He was almost asleep when the squad cars pulled up.

They led Abigail inside first. She arrived in a car by herself. There were tears running down her face. Mark was a few minutes after her, his hands handcuffed behind his back.

Mason could have waited for Abigail's parents to show up before making another move. All he had to do was collect his money and go home. The money wasn't the only thing to him. He needed money to eat, but there was another reason he found children for a living.