Chapter 11

Shannon was jogging at five a.m ... She hadn't been able to sleep but three hours that night and had finally got up to read. But being too restless and unable to concentrate, she went for a run. Exercise always helped when she was this jittery.

The late night, early morning, air felt good. The sun was below the horizon, still, but it was getting lighter. The pink of the high wispy clouds looked beautiful and a gentle breeze blew over her face from the west and flowed backward through her now, long, waist length hair, Shannon had let it grow out this last year. The wind refreshed her and made her feel good. Spring was definitely on the verge of blooming.

Her route had taken her six miles from home and now, on the return, at the end of her run, she was nearing her house once more. As usual, Shannon picked up the pace the last half mile, as though she were in a road race, and ended up gasping triumphantly while walking back and forth in front of her expensive home as her breathing returned to normal. She could no longer see her breath when she exhaled, she noticed, as she could several weeks ago. It had warmed up that much and Spring was definitely arriving fast.

She didn't know for certain why she couldn't sleep. She hadn't had any caffeine drinks or chocolate, which usually kept her up, but it may have been nothing more than the barometric pressure changes in the atmosphere. As highs and lows changed with different weather patterns, it affected the fluid surrounding the brain, she'd learned through some news report she'd seen growing up, or was it in a health class she'd seen in high school? It didn't matter. Either way, if it was true, it would explain her restlessness last night.

After a soothing hot shower and dressing in her polar fleece Snoopy pants and a long sleeved tee shirt, Shannon went to the kitchen. She merely could have been hungry, too, she thought, earlier, or thirsty, but she was very hungry and thirsty now. Twelve miles did that to you. So Shannon took two Russet potatoes from the basket, on the counter top, and grated them into harsh brows, tossed an egg and some milk, salt and pepper, all in a bowl and mixed them up, then set them to cooking in Canola oil and butter in a stainless steel frying pan.

In another pan, Shannon set her stove top burner to three, a low heat for cooking eggs, as it never burned or crisped the egg's edges at that setting. Letting the frying pan warm, she poured in a little olive oil and let it warm along with the pan. It would take a few minutes. She de-furred and sliced a Kiwi fruit and set it artistically around the edges of her white Corning Ware plate. She poured some of her Red Raspberry juice, she got at the Amish store, a rather large glass of it, and sliced two generous pieces of her homemade bread and set them in the toaster to char until dark. She caught herself salivating in anticipation of eating all the food, taking out orange marmalade and uncovering the butter, again, to spread over the toast in a thick layer.

Eleven minutes later Shannon was eating her meal and she loved the tastes, relishing the salt and ketchup on her hash brown potatoes, the richness of the two over medium eggs, and the crunchy deliciousness of her homemade bread with marmalade. "Mmm..." she hummed, to herself. Sometimes food was soooo good, she realized.

Finishing, she cleaned her plate and washed everything, including the frying pan, and left the kitchen spotless. She refilled her glass with Red Raspberry juice, her third glass, and took it to the living room with her.

Now tucked in with her comforter on the big leather sofa, and with her reading lamp on, Shannon picked up her latest novel and began reading at her usual breakneck pace. She could easily finish a seven hundred page novel in one day. She had started this one last night before trying to sleep and had gotten to page one twenty-seven before calling it a day. It felt relaxing to be there again, all tucked in and comfortable and very, very relaxed, now.

It was early afternoon when Shannon awoke. Her novel was disheveled and pages crinkled on the floor where it had fallen from her hands. She had fallen asleep while reading. She never did that. Well, almost never.

She sat up slowly and stared at things. Her Firenze bicycle, mostly, leaning against the living room curtains and part of the wall. It was her fellow companion with that phenomenon of blue lightning they had both been touched with when she'd first arrived in this area. The bike had some kind of self awareness, she knew, as it could understand her. It could repair itself, too, just as she could heal others as well as her own body. She or the bike had healed a gunshot wound not too long ago, in her. They were both gifted with it, the lightning, though Shannon wasn't completely sure as to the limits of her power with it, or the bikes for that matter, or what that power was, exactly. All she knew was she could influence other people's minds, if she chose to, when concentrating, which wasn't that infrequent, and she wasn't too ashamed to admit it, and thus she had amazing power over other's, when she wanted it, as well as the natural elements, and things physical, too, such as metals. But Shannon doubted it would get the grogginess and cobwebs out of her cobwebbed head and didn't even try.

Brother, you'd guess I had a hang over the way I feel, Shannon mused. But she had never had a sip of anything with alcohol. Shannon had seen the effects of that stuff in other kids, growing up, how imbecilic they acted and most especially, the wasted world of her own mother who was a full-blown alcoholic. She had left home for that reason, left her there alone, and struck out on her own to begin her life over as a runaway, if necessary, and felt it was ... Shannon swore she wouldn't put up with an existence like that anywhere or ever again, before leaving, and finally had left that home to find herself a better way. She didn't think it would turn out to be like this, though, wealthy, and a criminal, but a supernatural criminal with those sci-fi or magic-like powers she possessed.

Maybe I should get up and do something, she thought, then suddenly decided, tossing the comforter aside, not wanting to further explore her past, even if it was only in her mind, she would do something. Those weren't happy memories, after all.

Shannon got dressed in her usual fare of late; jeans, white Asics high top gym shoes, a tee shirt, like the one she was wearing, no bra, and a light leather jacket. She opened the garage door electronically and fired up her 1950's hot rod pickup. She pulled out of the big garage, closed the roll-up door and drove off down her street at a clip that made other residents nearby unhappy.

The local WalMart was busy with wives and mothers and noisy kids and slow moving old men and women. Shannon strolled slowly through the maze of humanity and those tall rows of orderly isles without reason or purpose, trying to enjoy the relaxation shopping sometimes brought to her. She picked up this and that and then realized she had nothing to read after her latest novel she would be finishing later that day, probably. She went to the book isle and found some paperbacks she knew she'd like reading, being familiar with the authors, and bought five novels. After leaving, she drove in and around Scottsbluff, her recently adopted town, and with the windows down, enjoyed the air flowing in and around in the cab of the customized truck that tangled her long hair and not caring if it did.

She went by Terry's store and dropped off a bunch of donuts and a gallon of cold milk with plastic cups she picked up at a convenience store. Everyone was there except Jason, Terry's intimate, gay friend. He was in school, still, but Brett, Raymond, and John where hanging out, as was usual for them these days. The place was amazingly busy and Brett and Terry were working their buns off. Partly because of her and because of her influence, for whenever she was in a crowd, like at Walmart, she would tell all the minds she could reach, to go to Terry's store and buy a bunch of stuff, machines like X-Boxes and Play stations, or as many games as they could get. But the store did alright even without her powers of suggestion. It was a great little place, with a lounge area and big sofas and chairs for customers to try out the latest games as well as nibble on snacks from the counter with free munchies, Terry supplied, and sometimes with her contributions. She came here for company, but even her good friends got a bit wearisome, sometimes, and Shannon finally left the store.

She drove to a nearby bird sanctuary, via a road that followed a tributary stream that eventually emptied into the Platt River, and turned off her truck's engine. She listened to the birds returning, squawking, with lots of migrating noises, stopping for a rest before they moved on to some other instinctual destination.

It was quiet there and even though she was in deep with another story back home, Shannon kicked off her shoes and put her feet up on the full bench seat of her beautifully detail truck, sticking one foot outside the passenger side window. The air temperature was cool flowing through her slightly damp cotton sock and it felt heavenly. Her book's story was action packed from the first page and she got engrossed with it right away, being as comfortable as she was in her half reclined position.

A little over an hour later, Shannon heard a distant clunking. A man in a canoe had just scraped to a stop on the shore of the reed lined creek and was walking forward, towards her, with an exaggerated limp. He was good looking and quite tall, she thought. Any girls dream. Was she his kind of dream? she wondered, but doubted it. Her experience with men had not be idyllic, nor did she thing she was that pretty. But men were all hands and had always wanted to maul her or were real sons of you know what. She didn't care to date anyone, except her nerdy buddies when they all went out together in a group, or, horde, whichever way it usually went, if they were all feeling nutty and loud.

She ignored him, though -- this guy from the canoe -- and went back to her book. At least novels were honest about what went on with emotions. It was fantasy and imagination, not deceit or lies, and you could always toss them aside without guilt if you didn't like them.

"Can you help me, please," asked the handsome man, now leaning on the front fender of her truck.

Shannon turned her head when she'd felt the transfer of his weight through the truck's suspension. He was leaning quite heavily on her front fender and he looked as if he where in real pain. His skin tone was very pale, too. She merely stared, though, and said not a word, curious but unable to react at that moment.

"I got bit by a rattle snake a while back, walking near the shore line. I'm in pretty bad shape. Can you take me to the hospital?"

Shannon thought fast. The hospital was the last place she wanted to go. They had sent the local police after her the last time she'd gone there to cure patients, without their approval, and ended up getting shot by an overzealous rookie S.O.B. of a cop. No. She wouldn't take this pretty boy to the hospital. She motioned for him to come to the door.

The man hobbled to the door side. He indeed looked in terrible shape, way pale, blue lips, trembling chin. He started to say he didn't think he could drive but she cut his words short with her own.

"Give me your hand," she said. He did and Shannon took it. She closed her eyes and with the slightest effort, she sent a charge of blue lightning into his body from hers and thought, heal, heal. He was almost immediately cured from any poison he'd been injected with and he quite suddenly stood taller and more robust in stature, looking down at his leg. His color improved, too, after a few mere seconds, Shannon noticed, glancing quickly at him. His coloring, his manner, his features were beautiful. He was gorgeous, she thought, but thought that only briefly. She didn't and wouldn't wait around for questions, though, and started the truck immediately after letting go of the man's hand.

She pulled backward and then quickly threw the truck into first and peeled out of the dirt parking lot with a faint wail of, "Wait," fading in the distance from the man. Before she was out of range, if indeed she had a range with her blue lightning powers, she told the man to go to Terry's store and buy a new X-Box and ten games.

"Poor sucker," she mumbled, a grin spreading across her angelic, rose tinted lips.

Shannon was riding her Firenze bicycle through town, a week later, just cruising, watching people working in their greening yards. It was nice to be out in the air and building up her appetite. As she rode, she thought of going by the gaming store and spending some time with the guys, but didn't feel awfully sociable at the moment and decided to head for her favorite little greasy spoon of a café that always seemed to be open. It wasn't of course. She'd gone there plenty of times in the middle of the night and had to settle for the truck stop on the outskirts of town for a two a.m. meal. It was nicer looking, at the truck stop, but her little café place was homier, she thought. She'd even considered buying the business, once, just so she and her buds could eat there for free. Money was a joke to her. She had way too much of it, she knew, and threw it around with impunity.