Read Online Stage Fright by Gabrielle Holly - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gabrielle Holly
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choose. She wished there were a manual on how to harness her psychic energy.
Five minutes. Probably more like two now.
Trying to ignore her time limit, she stood in front of the jammed shelves and tried to noodle out the best way to proceed.
One at a time.
Toni positioned herself at the edge of the leftmost case and stretched out her arm. She touched the first book on the top shelf then closed her eyes. She slowly dragged her fingertip across the top line of albums until she was stopped by the edge of the shelf. Forcing herself to keep her eyes closed, she moved to the adjacent case and followed its top row. When she felt nothing, she dropped her hand to the second shelf and repeated the process, this time from right to left. When she’d passed the divide and had reached the middle of the left shelf, she thought she might give up and try a different tack.
Her arm began to tingle as if falling asleep. The urge to pull away and shake circulation back into her limb was almost overwhelming, but she pressed on, sweeping over each binding and concentrating on the feel of the material. Leather. Burlap. Velvet…
An electric jolt coursed up Toni’s arm and through her body. The surge threatened to push her away, but she was intent on isolating the source. She opened her eyes and saw that her index finger had stopped on a dingy scrapbook with yellowed pages sandwiched between ivory faux leather covers. She fished the album from the shelf and swept her hand over the dingy vinyl. The word “Memories” was printed in chipped silver script across the front and in the lower right corner the initials, ‘P.J.S.’
“Gotcha!” she exclaimed an instant before the world went black.
* * * *
Thomas, Bridget and Mike were huddled behind the counter with the crotchety shopkeeper watching Toni on the tiny security camera monitor. They saw Toni’s ponytail bounce as her head swivelled back and forth before she seemed to calm then reached out towards the shelves of photo albums. She appeared to be moving in slow motion as she dragged her finger over the books.
“What’s she doing?” Mike asked.
Bridget shushed him with a shoulder nudge.
Thomas’ belly contracted. He wanted to be upstairs with her, helping her, protecting her. When he saw her pause and pull a book from the shelf he exhaled. He hadn’t realised until that moment that he’d been holding his breath.
He depressed the button on the side of his cell phone and glanced down at the screen.
“Ha! Four minutes, Jean. We’ll be out of…”
“Oh shit!” Bridget exclaimed and Thomas turned to see the redhead go sheet-white.
She and Mike were already headed for the staircase by the time he looked back at the monitor. The sight of Toni sprawled out on the floor—in grainy black and white—jolted him into action. He barely registered Jean’s grumbling.
The three ghost hunters took the stairs two at a time with Bridget leading the way. By the time the men caught up with her, she was crouched beside a conscious, albeit groggy, Toni.
Toni didn’t release her grip on the photo album as she let Bridget ease her upright. Thomas felt a wave of relief wash over him when Toni said, sheepishly, “Got it.”
* * * *
“Well, I think it’s safe to say we’re not welcome back there,” Bridget said as the door to the antique shop slammed behind them and the deadbolt was shot home with a loud thunk .
“Ya think?” Mike said.
Toni pressed the ragged photo album to her chest and leaned into Thomas. He tightened his grip on her waist. She pulled the cold November night air into her lungs and felt her mind begin to clear. A shiver ran over her as much from the temperature as the anticipation of finding out what might lie inside the scrapbook.
Most of the shops had closed up for the evening, but the taverns were in full swing. Toni and her entourage snaked through the clusters of smokers who huddled outside. They were still three blocks away from the
Five minutes. Probably more like two now.
Trying to ignore her time limit, she stood in front of the jammed shelves and tried to noodle out the best way to proceed.
One at a time.
Toni positioned herself at the edge of the leftmost case and stretched out her arm. She touched the first book on the top shelf then closed her eyes. She slowly dragged her fingertip across the top line of albums until she was stopped by the edge of the shelf. Forcing herself to keep her eyes closed, she moved to the adjacent case and followed its top row. When she felt nothing, she dropped her hand to the second shelf and repeated the process, this time from right to left. When she’d passed the divide and had reached the middle of the left shelf, she thought she might give up and try a different tack.
Her arm began to tingle as if falling asleep. The urge to pull away and shake circulation back into her limb was almost overwhelming, but she pressed on, sweeping over each binding and concentrating on the feel of the material. Leather. Burlap. Velvet…
An electric jolt coursed up Toni’s arm and through her body. The surge threatened to push her away, but she was intent on isolating the source. She opened her eyes and saw that her index finger had stopped on a dingy scrapbook with yellowed pages sandwiched between ivory faux leather covers. She fished the album from the shelf and swept her hand over the dingy vinyl. The word “Memories” was printed in chipped silver script across the front and in the lower right corner the initials, ‘P.J.S.’
“Gotcha!” she exclaimed an instant before the world went black.
* * * *
Thomas, Bridget and Mike were huddled behind the counter with the crotchety shopkeeper watching Toni on the tiny security camera monitor. They saw Toni’s ponytail bounce as her head swivelled back and forth before she seemed to calm then reached out towards the shelves of photo albums. She appeared to be moving in slow motion as she dragged her finger over the books.
“What’s she doing?” Mike asked.
Bridget shushed him with a shoulder nudge.
Thomas’ belly contracted. He wanted to be upstairs with her, helping her, protecting her. When he saw her pause and pull a book from the shelf he exhaled. He hadn’t realised until that moment that he’d been holding his breath.
He depressed the button on the side of his cell phone and glanced down at the screen.
“Ha! Four minutes, Jean. We’ll be out of…”
“Oh shit!” Bridget exclaimed and Thomas turned to see the redhead go sheet-white.
She and Mike were already headed for the staircase by the time he looked back at the monitor. The sight of Toni sprawled out on the floor—in grainy black and white—jolted him into action. He barely registered Jean’s grumbling.
The three ghost hunters took the stairs two at a time with Bridget leading the way. By the time the men caught up with her, she was crouched beside a conscious, albeit groggy, Toni.
Toni didn’t release her grip on the photo album as she let Bridget ease her upright. Thomas felt a wave of relief wash over him when Toni said, sheepishly, “Got it.”
* * * *
“Well, I think it’s safe to say we’re not welcome back there,” Bridget said as the door to the antique shop slammed behind them and the deadbolt was shot home with a loud thunk .
“Ya think?” Mike said.
Toni pressed the ragged photo album to her chest and leaned into Thomas. He tightened his grip on her waist. She pulled the cold November night air into her lungs and felt her mind begin to clear. A shiver ran over her as much from the temperature as the anticipation of finding out what might lie inside the scrapbook.
Most of the shops had closed up for the evening, but the taverns were in full swing. Toni and her entourage snaked through the clusters of smokers who huddled outside. They were still three blocks away from the
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