Read Online Amy Maxwell's 6th Sense by Heather Balog - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Heather Balog
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voice of reason is shouting into my ear.
“No, he’s um, in college,” I lie.
The two men exchange a skeptical glance again.
“Well, you look really good for having a college kid,” the first one tells me, a sly smile playing on his lips. My brain is screaming at me to get away from these two creepy men.
“Well, it was nice talking you,” I tell the men as I head toward the stairwell, shuddering and panicking. I need to find Colt before he falls victim to the likes of these creeps.
~Six~
I have searched the hotel high and low, but I still have not found Colt. Considering the idea that the vending machine on our floor had been out of Doritos, I scoured the machines on the floors below and above us, with no luck in finding him. My mind is racing with all the possibilities of what could have happened to my child. He could have been kidnapped. He could be at the bottom of the ocean. He could be in a sweatshop somewhere making sneakers.
I feel cold, clammy, and nauseous all at once. I am going to have to tell Roger that I’ve misplaced our child, and we’re going to have to call the police. Or whatever they have on the island.
Alas, I am dragging myself through the door of our room, mentally preparing myself for how to proceed, when I see Colt reclining in the middle of one of the beds, fingers stained orange.
“Colt!” I gasp, the door slamming into the wall.
“Hi, Mommy!” He glances up guiltily, and then reaches for a blue bag on the bed. “I got you Doritos, too. Aren’t they your favorite?” This is a game we play. He claims to get me a food (i.e. Doritos, Cheetos, etc.) and then when I tell him I don’t like that food, he offers to eat it for me. He is now wiping his hands all over the sheets in attempts to rid himself of the snack food indulging evidence.
For once, I don’t care about the mess he is making. I only care that he is in front of me, and he is safe. I rush at him like a soldier on furlough. “Thank God!” I exclaim, scooping him up and planting kisses all over his sweaty forehead. “Oh, thank God!” I repeat while he squirms to get out of my reach.
“Ewww, Mom! What are you doing?”
“Just appreciating that you’re not at the bottom of the ocean,” I say, not releasing my grasp on him at all.
That’s it! I’m not letting any of my children out of my sight for even a second anymore! Why, so much can happen in a minute! He could have been swept out to sea! Or kidnapped! Or run over by an ATV out on the sand! Or mauled by a jellyfish!
“I went to the vending machine!” Colt says, his voice muffled because I have him completely smushed up against my body. “I told Daddy I was going!”
I drop him like a hot potato at the mention of Roger’s name. Roger knew where he was? And he didn’t tell me? How could he? He knows how neurotic I am about these things!
“What's going on in here?”
Speaking of the devil . I turn on my heel, slowly and deliberately, locking eyes with my husband, who is standing in the doorway. I am hoping that fire is actually shooting from my retinas and singeing his own eyeballs in the process. He continues to stare at me, not sensing my fury.
“Where have you been?” I finally ask, ending our staring contest. “How dare you leave and not tell me that Colt went to the vending machine and—”
Roger interrupts me. “You told me to go straighten out the room situation!”
I cross my arms over my chest. Oh, I guess I did, didn’t I? But he still could have told me where Colt was to save me some panic. I decide not to dwell on it and change the subject.
“So when are we moving into our new room? Or are we staying here and the kids are moving?” I consider the latter idea to be less desirable. The kids have already ruined this room with their Doritos hands and juice boxes and stinky little bodies that haven’t showered in two days. Although, the same might be said for Roger. For a second, I ponder the possibility of getting my own
“No, he’s um, in college,” I lie.
The two men exchange a skeptical glance again.
“Well, you look really good for having a college kid,” the first one tells me, a sly smile playing on his lips. My brain is screaming at me to get away from these two creepy men.
“Well, it was nice talking you,” I tell the men as I head toward the stairwell, shuddering and panicking. I need to find Colt before he falls victim to the likes of these creeps.
~Six~
I have searched the hotel high and low, but I still have not found Colt. Considering the idea that the vending machine on our floor had been out of Doritos, I scoured the machines on the floors below and above us, with no luck in finding him. My mind is racing with all the possibilities of what could have happened to my child. He could have been kidnapped. He could be at the bottom of the ocean. He could be in a sweatshop somewhere making sneakers.
I feel cold, clammy, and nauseous all at once. I am going to have to tell Roger that I’ve misplaced our child, and we’re going to have to call the police. Or whatever they have on the island.
Alas, I am dragging myself through the door of our room, mentally preparing myself for how to proceed, when I see Colt reclining in the middle of one of the beds, fingers stained orange.
“Colt!” I gasp, the door slamming into the wall.
“Hi, Mommy!” He glances up guiltily, and then reaches for a blue bag on the bed. “I got you Doritos, too. Aren’t they your favorite?” This is a game we play. He claims to get me a food (i.e. Doritos, Cheetos, etc.) and then when I tell him I don’t like that food, he offers to eat it for me. He is now wiping his hands all over the sheets in attempts to rid himself of the snack food indulging evidence.
For once, I don’t care about the mess he is making. I only care that he is in front of me, and he is safe. I rush at him like a soldier on furlough. “Thank God!” I exclaim, scooping him up and planting kisses all over his sweaty forehead. “Oh, thank God!” I repeat while he squirms to get out of my reach.
“Ewww, Mom! What are you doing?”
“Just appreciating that you’re not at the bottom of the ocean,” I say, not releasing my grasp on him at all.
That’s it! I’m not letting any of my children out of my sight for even a second anymore! Why, so much can happen in a minute! He could have been swept out to sea! Or kidnapped! Or run over by an ATV out on the sand! Or mauled by a jellyfish!
“I went to the vending machine!” Colt says, his voice muffled because I have him completely smushed up against my body. “I told Daddy I was going!”
I drop him like a hot potato at the mention of Roger’s name. Roger knew where he was? And he didn’t tell me? How could he? He knows how neurotic I am about these things!
“What's going on in here?”
Speaking of the devil . I turn on my heel, slowly and deliberately, locking eyes with my husband, who is standing in the doorway. I am hoping that fire is actually shooting from my retinas and singeing his own eyeballs in the process. He continues to stare at me, not sensing my fury.
“Where have you been?” I finally ask, ending our staring contest. “How dare you leave and not tell me that Colt went to the vending machine and—”
Roger interrupts me. “You told me to go straighten out the room situation!”
I cross my arms over my chest. Oh, I guess I did, didn’t I? But he still could have told me where Colt was to save me some panic. I decide not to dwell on it and change the subject.
“So when are we moving into our new room? Or are we staying here and the kids are moving?” I consider the latter idea to be less desirable. The kids have already ruined this room with their Doritos hands and juice boxes and stinky little bodies that haven’t showered in two days. Although, the same might be said for Roger. For a second, I ponder the possibility of getting my own
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