Read Online Geekomancy by Michael R. Underwood - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael R. Underwood
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computer, check to see if there were some hidden factors.” Hidden factors? The hell was that? This is going to fall apart fast without the magic. Less talking, more snooping.
Moorely didn’t respond at first, so Ree opened the door all the way, blocking the blood as best as she could with her body, and stepped out into the hall.
That broke him out of whatever reverie had been holding him. He shook his head, then nodded. “Sure. Her passwords probably have something to do with Justin Bieber, or maybe Tyra Banks.”
Ree nodded and opened the bedroom door again. “I’ll work here until your wife arrives. Thank you for your help, Mr. Moorely.”
She closed the door, sealing herself in again. Ree heard steps in a slow descent. A shiver ran over her body at the thought of losing a child. She didn’t even want kids, but the idea of losing them was far worse. To have the ghost of a person who was part you, part the person you love, haunting you for the rest of your life.
Shit. Ghosts. Were they real, too? Was Angela’s spectre hanging around in the room? Ree looked over her shoulder, realizing that while she didn’t have a clue about how to deal with spirits, she still didn’t want to be surprised by one.
Uncertain, she spoke aloud to the room. “Angela, if you’re here, I’m doing what I can to understand what happened to you, so you can move on . . . or whatever the ghosts of suicides do.”
She waited but received no response.
“And don’t ask me for answers. I’m new at this.”
She turned her attention to the desk and the girl’s computer and started the creepy process of learning about someone’s life from the inside, scrolling through status updates and friends lists.
Note to self: Better passwords so that people can’t snoop through my life when I die.
While the creepy-intruder feeling didn’t go away, Ree did manage to pull up some information that gave her leads on Angela’s emotional state. She’d seemed fairly happy and teenager-in-super-mega-greatest-love-ever, though “teenager” automatically indicated “hot mess.” The hormonal soup of adolescence was vicious, viscous crap, and even skimming it through someone else’s perspective was enough to give Ree flashbacks to being the skinny nerdy girl with the big glasses and no friends except a circle of a half-dozen geeky boys. Every last one of whom wanted to date her and would eventually reveal that in their own marvelously clumsy ways.
Ah, memories.
Reaching her digital-voyeur limit, Ree left the computer behind and took another look through the room, making sure she hadn’t missed anything. She treaded lightly through the house, returning to the main floor, as if it were 2 AM and she was returning from a late party.
Fuck, this place is depressing.
She promised herself a solid evening of goofing off once this was done, which would have to come at some imagined future after laundry, cooking, cleaning, and paying bills (which was its own kind of magic, trying to stretch a tiny wage across all those bills each month without letting her life collapse while simultaneously walking the tightrope of Sandra’s goodwill). At times she felt like the lost member of the Flying Graysons—and then wondered whether that story line had already been done.
Chewing on that bone of Bat-trivia, she found Angela’s father at a desk, hunched over a computer. Still no sign of Alexandra.
Her smooth-talking mojo was failing her, and it was rapidly becoming food-o’-clock, as Ree’s blood sugar was plummeting. Her stomach grumbled in agreement in a most unprofessional fashion. She waited for another half hour, her stomach protesting all the while, but eventually, Alexandra Moorely returned.
Alexandra’s telling of the story took several minutes, as she broke down into sobbing repeatedly—she’d tried to keep the sight from her husband and failed, though the police had come quickly when called. Alexandra gave William’s phone number to Ree,
Moorely didn’t respond at first, so Ree opened the door all the way, blocking the blood as best as she could with her body, and stepped out into the hall.
That broke him out of whatever reverie had been holding him. He shook his head, then nodded. “Sure. Her passwords probably have something to do with Justin Bieber, or maybe Tyra Banks.”
Ree nodded and opened the bedroom door again. “I’ll work here until your wife arrives. Thank you for your help, Mr. Moorely.”
She closed the door, sealing herself in again. Ree heard steps in a slow descent. A shiver ran over her body at the thought of losing a child. She didn’t even want kids, but the idea of losing them was far worse. To have the ghost of a person who was part you, part the person you love, haunting you for the rest of your life.
Shit. Ghosts. Were they real, too? Was Angela’s spectre hanging around in the room? Ree looked over her shoulder, realizing that while she didn’t have a clue about how to deal with spirits, she still didn’t want to be surprised by one.
Uncertain, she spoke aloud to the room. “Angela, if you’re here, I’m doing what I can to understand what happened to you, so you can move on . . . or whatever the ghosts of suicides do.”
She waited but received no response.
“And don’t ask me for answers. I’m new at this.”
She turned her attention to the desk and the girl’s computer and started the creepy process of learning about someone’s life from the inside, scrolling through status updates and friends lists.
Note to self: Better passwords so that people can’t snoop through my life when I die.
While the creepy-intruder feeling didn’t go away, Ree did manage to pull up some information that gave her leads on Angela’s emotional state. She’d seemed fairly happy and teenager-in-super-mega-greatest-love-ever, though “teenager” automatically indicated “hot mess.” The hormonal soup of adolescence was vicious, viscous crap, and even skimming it through someone else’s perspective was enough to give Ree flashbacks to being the skinny nerdy girl with the big glasses and no friends except a circle of a half-dozen geeky boys. Every last one of whom wanted to date her and would eventually reveal that in their own marvelously clumsy ways.
Ah, memories.
Reaching her digital-voyeur limit, Ree left the computer behind and took another look through the room, making sure she hadn’t missed anything. She treaded lightly through the house, returning to the main floor, as if it were 2 AM and she was returning from a late party.
Fuck, this place is depressing.
She promised herself a solid evening of goofing off once this was done, which would have to come at some imagined future after laundry, cooking, cleaning, and paying bills (which was its own kind of magic, trying to stretch a tiny wage across all those bills each month without letting her life collapse while simultaneously walking the tightrope of Sandra’s goodwill). At times she felt like the lost member of the Flying Graysons—and then wondered whether that story line had already been done.
Chewing on that bone of Bat-trivia, she found Angela’s father at a desk, hunched over a computer. Still no sign of Alexandra.
Her smooth-talking mojo was failing her, and it was rapidly becoming food-o’-clock, as Ree’s blood sugar was plummeting. Her stomach grumbled in agreement in a most unprofessional fashion. She waited for another half hour, her stomach protesting all the while, but eventually, Alexandra Moorely returned.
Alexandra’s telling of the story took several minutes, as she broke down into sobbing repeatedly—she’d tried to keep the sight from her husband and failed, though the police had come quickly when called. Alexandra gave William’s phone number to Ree,
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