Read Online Paranormals (Book 1) by Christopher Andrews - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christopher Andrews
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and he obviously had not been able to claim them on his medical insurance.
So he just took things one day at a time.
With a start, Lincoln realized that as he had reflected on the events that led him to this moment, Sarah had almost stopped crying altogether. Pulling her gently from his brawny chest, he looked down and whispered, "How you feelin’?"
"Better," she answered quietly.
"Bad one?"
She nodded.
"Same as always?"
Shrug.
"Want some hot chocolate?"
A brief pause, and then a nod.
"You be okay while I go make it?"
"... yeah." Brave sentiment, but he noted that her thumb had found its way to her mouth.
Rushing to the kitchen, Lincoln threw on a gas burner and filled the kettle with water. Giving Sarah a stimulant when she had to get back to sleep might not have been the wisest choice in the world, but his first priority was to comfort her any way he could. Then ... whatever the moment decided.
As Lincoln whirled back around, he reached to place the kettle on the back burner. At the last moment, he realized that in his rush, he had turned on a completely different jet, and that his left hand was an instant away from getting fried. He jerked back a moment too late...
... and then realized that he must have been wrong. He wasn’t too late, because his hand was fine. He’d felt just a second of uncomfortable warmth, then nothing.
Huh. He must have been a lot sleepier than he thought, because he could have sworn that his hand had brushed right into the blue flames.
Go figure.
PCA
Sarah eventually fell back to sleep that night, but Lincoln couldn’t. Between the time spent awake, and his own share of the hot chocolate, his body had decided that he was up for the day.
He arrived at the construction site early that morning. The new high-rise was just beginning to take shape, and there was plenty to do. After lunch, the foreman asked Lincoln to collect a few bags of cement to work into the mix. Lincoln smiled his easy smile and headed to the storage shed.
It would be his last easy smile for some time to come.
Entering, Lincoln evaluated in a glance that some jerk (or jerks) had been in a big hurry to clear out yesterday, because several pieces of equipment had been piled haphazardly on top of the cement bags. Such laziness was not looked upon highly by the foreman, but rather than start an issue, Lincoln decided to take the extra time to just clear the crap by himself. If the boss asked what took so long, he’d just say that he had to visit the john.
As he cleared the random tools, his mind wandered back to Sarah’s nightmares. He was worn out from lack of sleep, and this also contributed to his lack of attention. He had noticed the mess on top of the cement bags — he had not, however, spotted the jackhammer that had been carelessly leaned against the bags themselves. When he cleared things, he grabbed the first bag, and the shifting jarred the heavy article. Lincoln caught movement from the corner of his eye, but he was helpless to react in time to grab the machine, or to move his foot out of the way.
The jackhammer crashed down, and its handle struck Lincoln right above his toes. Even through his workman boots, Lincoln gasped at the sharp pain that ...
That did not come. As with the burner on the stove, he found that he was, somehow, mistaken. There was no pain . Impossibly, the jackhammer must have actually missed ...
But that wasn’t right, either. He’d felt the impact, it simply had not hurt.
Lincoln stood there in a daze, his confused mind racing to catch up with current events, but unable to do so. He squatted and looked at the machine, as if there might suddenly be a label that read: Now weighs less when not in use!
Yeah, sure. He’d operated it a hundred times — he knew how heavy the damn thing was. Even with his impressive build, it took a little heft just to upright the thing
So he just took things one day at a time.
With a start, Lincoln realized that as he had reflected on the events that led him to this moment, Sarah had almost stopped crying altogether. Pulling her gently from his brawny chest, he looked down and whispered, "How you feelin’?"
"Better," she answered quietly.
"Bad one?"
She nodded.
"Same as always?"
Shrug.
"Want some hot chocolate?"
A brief pause, and then a nod.
"You be okay while I go make it?"
"... yeah." Brave sentiment, but he noted that her thumb had found its way to her mouth.
Rushing to the kitchen, Lincoln threw on a gas burner and filled the kettle with water. Giving Sarah a stimulant when she had to get back to sleep might not have been the wisest choice in the world, but his first priority was to comfort her any way he could. Then ... whatever the moment decided.
As Lincoln whirled back around, he reached to place the kettle on the back burner. At the last moment, he realized that in his rush, he had turned on a completely different jet, and that his left hand was an instant away from getting fried. He jerked back a moment too late...
... and then realized that he must have been wrong. He wasn’t too late, because his hand was fine. He’d felt just a second of uncomfortable warmth, then nothing.
Huh. He must have been a lot sleepier than he thought, because he could have sworn that his hand had brushed right into the blue flames.
Go figure.
PCA
Sarah eventually fell back to sleep that night, but Lincoln couldn’t. Between the time spent awake, and his own share of the hot chocolate, his body had decided that he was up for the day.
He arrived at the construction site early that morning. The new high-rise was just beginning to take shape, and there was plenty to do. After lunch, the foreman asked Lincoln to collect a few bags of cement to work into the mix. Lincoln smiled his easy smile and headed to the storage shed.
It would be his last easy smile for some time to come.
Entering, Lincoln evaluated in a glance that some jerk (or jerks) had been in a big hurry to clear out yesterday, because several pieces of equipment had been piled haphazardly on top of the cement bags. Such laziness was not looked upon highly by the foreman, but rather than start an issue, Lincoln decided to take the extra time to just clear the crap by himself. If the boss asked what took so long, he’d just say that he had to visit the john.
As he cleared the random tools, his mind wandered back to Sarah’s nightmares. He was worn out from lack of sleep, and this also contributed to his lack of attention. He had noticed the mess on top of the cement bags — he had not, however, spotted the jackhammer that had been carelessly leaned against the bags themselves. When he cleared things, he grabbed the first bag, and the shifting jarred the heavy article. Lincoln caught movement from the corner of his eye, but he was helpless to react in time to grab the machine, or to move his foot out of the way.
The jackhammer crashed down, and its handle struck Lincoln right above his toes. Even through his workman boots, Lincoln gasped at the sharp pain that ...
That did not come. As with the burner on the stove, he found that he was, somehow, mistaken. There was no pain . Impossibly, the jackhammer must have actually missed ...
But that wasn’t right, either. He’d felt the impact, it simply had not hurt.
Lincoln stood there in a daze, his confused mind racing to catch up with current events, but unable to do so. He squatted and looked at the machine, as if there might suddenly be a label that read: Now weighs less when not in use!
Yeah, sure. He’d operated it a hundred times — he knew how heavy the damn thing was. Even with his impressive build, it took a little heft just to upright the thing
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