Page 6 of Pulling Strings

The chair from which Warren had risen completed a lazy turn. Metal framed and sturdy enough to support 300 pounds plus, it may have been tough enough to take on reinforced glass.

A growl of exertion escaped me as I turned Reeves back around and wrapped his hands over the chair’s padded armrests.

Hurry up!

The other men closed in on Warren. One even moved in front of him. But the chair worked as an effective battering ram, clearing a line toward the windows.

Warren forged a path past his would-be saviors, fighting me for every inch. They always did. But people struggled the wrong way—flexing muscles, straining, stiffening—battling the physical symptoms of mental control. A war of the mind had to be waged there, and no one could beat me on my own turf.

Sweat slicked my forehead by the time Warren pushed the chair to the exterior wall. Once there, he needed to lift it, a challenge I hadn’t foreseen.

I could only work with the tools I was given, and Warren’s atrophied biceps were blunt instruments, at best. Heaving the desk chair even to waist height proved a mammoth task. He swayed forward, then back, wobbling in place while my hand curled into a white-knuckled fist.

My agitation manifested as muttered words.

“Just pick it up, you lumbering loaf of—”

Success.

The glass shattered with a pop, and the other men leaped back as though they thought this was an airplane and they might get sucked out if they got too close.

From there, the job finished itself.

Off-kilter from swinging the chair and tightly gripping the armrests I hadn’t dared allow him to release, Warren Reeves fell. His bulbous body pitched forward, then down and out of sight.

3

Dirty Thirty

If the old man screamed, I didn’t hear it. And I didn’t linger to see the aftermath unfold. Warren had been the focus of everyone’s attention till now. With him gone, they would turn my way next.

An EXIT sign at the end of the hall beckoned. I broke into a sprint, passing vacant conference rooms on my way to the stairs. Another camera winked at me from the fast-approaching corner. Without time or the presence of mind for delicacy, I swiped at it, ripping it from the wall before I entered its field of view.

I’d heard some telekinetics could fly. That would have made things easier. I could break my own window and take off, free as a lark. If only I had focused more on aerodynamics than assassinations. Wasted potential.

Within seconds, the executives spilled out after me. Raised voices clamored more clearly, but I didn’t dare look. Another twitch of my outstretched hand turned the exit door’s handle and flung it open. I didn’t slow till I reached the landing beyond, where concrete steps with rubber treads stretched down in a squared spiral.

A mad dash propelled me forward. The stairs seemed to go on forever, steps and sharp corners around which I slung myself over and over again. Sightbecame a blur, and my lungs a hollow ache rapidly emptying of oxygen.

I hit the ground level running, nearly crashing into the wall when I tried to turn toward further descent and found none. Darkness crowded the corners of my vision. If I passed out now, it was all over. I’d be caught for sure, and then… dominoes.

Overhead, voices echoed. Was it the slew of men in suits fleeing their meeting gone awry? Or were security officers chasing me down with vengeful intent?

Ahead, the lobby waited. It could have been crawling with investigators by now. Killing Warren Reeves had only taken minutes, but it felt like I’d been here for hours.

My stomach lurched into my throat, burning with bile I forced myself to swallow. When had I last eaten? And did it matter since I’d probably flushed it down Nash’s toilet last night?

A gagging cough interrupted my attempts at steady breathing. I gulped at the air before squaring myself with the door to the lobby. Unless I was willing to tamper with every security camera in the soaring atrium, I would have to appear as nonchalant as any innocent bystander. My heart thundered in my chest, still pumping blood and adrenaline that made my whole body shiver.

I grounded myself by gripping the cold, steel door handle. I clung to it for one quiet moment, an anchor in the midst of my internal storm.

“Hey, you!” someone shouted from above. “Stop right there!”

I pushed out into the lobby.

Sirens wailed nearby. Security officers raced across the slick, tile floor. Some crowded the elevator bay while others flocked near the building’s entrance. Ipocketed my hands and made for the edge of the room, far from the center of activity. Ducking my head took almost more courage than I could muster. It limited my sight and potentially my awareness of anyone who might approach.

Still, I kept looking down and let the sunlight lead me to fresh air and freedom. Outside, the fountain gurgled, and a cool breeze dried the sweat on my brow. I could breathe again, feeling farther from danger than I truly was.

---