Chapter 3

Shannon had eavesdropped in the truck stop's restaurant and found what she had been seeking; A trucker headed for the east coast. This one was going to Richmond Virginia.

She waited for him to leave the restaurant and followed him at a leisurely pace to his truck. He got into his high rig's cab and shut the door. The engine turned over without a hitch and the big diesel engine clattered to life with a growl and a rattle, and the ever present cloud of dark smoke exiting the two, huge, muffled exhausts stacks.

Shannon stood at the base of the man's door looking up at him, holding an eight by ten envelope addressed to her mother, out to the man.

He opened the door and took the stamped envelope from the pretty thing and was about to say something when his mind was interrupted.

I want you to mail that as soon as you arrive in Richmond, Shannon told the man with just her thought. Do it from a post office and think of this responsibility as one of the most serious of your life, and keep the letter prominent somewhere in your vehicle, so you won't misplace it. And do not look into it. Now forget where you got it from and forget that you've ever seen me.

The trucker didn't gaze at her again and instead, slammed the door shut. She saw him, as she stepped back, putting the letter in a group of papers on a clipboard. That would do it, she thought, and left the trucker's parking area.

The letter contained money in the form of a non traceable form of money transfer, bearer bonds, and it was just enough to keep her mother going, hopefully, with a much more comfortable life style than she was now experiencing. That, or the money would help her drink herself to death. Either way, it was Shannon's way of helping her helpless mother out as best she could. She wouldn't stay in that environment any longer and that was why she had run away. It would cripple Shannon to think that she died because of the money, and she knew it, but she loved her mother, in her own way, and would try to do a little something for her.

It also contained a letter to her mother, explaining her feelings concerning their relationship, and why she had left. It had been her fault, to a large degree, she told her and explained how her alcoholism had affected her emotionally, but mostly she just wanted to get out of Duluth and away from that idiot school district and those stupid, childish students.

Shannon hoped the money and the letter would suffice so her mother wouldn't worry if she still had those kinds of feelings. Her mother was pretty far gone when Shannon had left. But there would be more letters and more money in the future, she'd promised herself. She would keep in touch and check up on her mom with a call to the neighbors and the one or two people her mother still knew, when she got out of town, calling from a different state, probably. She didn't want anyone to know where she was living. She didn't want anyone to know her at all, since she'd gained this new ability of hers. This was her show and it wasn't for the public to know about.

Shannon had walked to the truck stop and was leaving on foot, too, wiping away some tears. She really hoped the money helped but at seventeen, it was still hard to be away, in some respects, from her one and only relation.

Her beautiful Firenze bike was safe at home in her paid for house. She'd left it at home on purpose. She didn't want it seen with her when she was conducting business like this, having people do things for her, making them forget, stealing money, shopping, etc. The bike was just too pretty and too memorable, and too precious to her, she felt to take out while messing with people's minds. Someone else might see her and the Firenze together and make a connection. Someone she hadn't noticed and recall it being with her, or a part of her, wherever she happened to be. It was another memory recognition that she didn't want anyone else to have, concerning herself or with that bike.

Shannon was attempting to be ultra cautious. Her safety and independent existence rested on her being invisible and anonymous. At seventeen and looking as she did, that wasn't always easy. Men and women, of all ages, were always looking. She knew there were things about her body she couldn't hide and often, whenever she noticed someone staring, she'd have them forget they'd ever seen her. But there were others, there had to be, she knew, that she never saw, and that was something she couldn't control. So when conducting these private matters, Shannon left her precious bicycle at home. At least she had, so far.

She had gone through with the plans she had concocted, shortly after arriving in Scottsbluff, Nebraska, in the middle of the country's prairie lands. (It was about as mid-west, here, as you could get in the good ol' U.S. of A., she'd often thought.) That is, concerning her house. She had uncovered the richest man in the area and approached him one day, getting into his car, and had him buy her the home of her choice and its surrounding property, suggesting it to his mind, or more precisely, dictating it to his mind. It wasn't a cheap house, and it wasn't brand new as it had been on the market and unlived in for three years, due to its big price tag, since it had been built. But he had paid for it without knowing why and with what he was worth, Shannon calculated, wouldn't even notice the minuet loss of revenue. And then she had made him forget about the transactions. Shannon had made sure of that, as well as the entire financial facility that worked in his big, lavish, for this area, building. She had given him a piece of paper with her name on it and all the important numbers that were pertinent to owning property at the tender age of seventeen, as Shannon was, and had him push the whole affair through, quickly. There were legal dances and ways to get around certain laws of under aged individuals, such as herself, to owning certain kinds of things, and they had done everything for her. She had even had the man set up the very comfortable trust fund with an increasingly enlarging monthly annuity. for her to live on, just in case Shannon ever lost her ability to influence the world like she was able to, now.

She turned up her denim jackets collar to the cold wind of late September, leaving the truck stop's yard. The cold cut through her black Rustler jeans, too, in spite of precautions. She would have to do some shopping, she thought, for the upcoming winter. From what she had gathered, Scottsbluff, at over four thousand feet of elevation, could get extremely cold during the winter months, and snowy. It would be no joke to go out in it without enough protective clothing. She wished she had put on her polar fleece long sleeved sweater instead of her cotton one. Cotton was a lousy insulator, especially when it got sweaty. Fortunately, she was wearing some newly acquired wool socks and high top basketball shoes, so her feet, at least, were warm.

She shivered, again, and stopped in her tracks, then turned around and went back into the truck stop. They had racks of clothing with gloves and hats there, too, and she was definitely going to take advantage of them. She bought some synthetic lined, leather gloves, and a watch cap, as well another thick polar fleece sweater. It was heavier than her bicycling one she carried on her tours or backpacking trips but this one would be for home and around town.

She was quite toasty when she left the building, having bought a fingernail clipper as well as a small cheap knife with scissors, cutting off all the tags to her purchases and walked back into the better part of town, thinking to go to the library, or her bookstore, or both.

She and her mother never had much to do with electronics, other than her TV, and Shannon was the reader. She loved books with a passion. Already her knew home was becoming a bit cluttered in certain corners with the build up of paperbacks and some hardback books. She probably had a dozen or so books on order from that one little store in town, buying them in hardback just to give them a boost in profits and as an encouragement for them to keep plenty of books in stock.

Passing a used car lot, something caught Shannon's eye. There was an ancient old Ford pickup truck in the back row. A nineteen fifty-one. She only knew that because the old man next to where she had lived with her mother, the fellow who had taught her how to use power tools, back in Duluth Minnesota, owned one just like it. His didn't run and wasn't pretty like this one. It looked brand new. She stepped through the parked cars in the first two rows and stood in front of it. She was, of course, immediately pounced upon by the salesman.

She looked at him and used her silent power to have him tell her what was wrong with it.

"It's basically in show room shape, really. The car buff here in town, that built it said he'd did it from the ground up. The things been rebuilt from the frame he cleaned, strengthened, and repainted, just like everything you see here, the entire car made like new. The engines a new, high performance, small block Mustang motor, as is all the under carriage, disk brakes, and anything else you can think of, there, under the hood. That's why we're asking so much for it. The thing is perfect. Take a look at the interior. It's all leather upholstery, re-chromed bits and pieces on the dash, and all metal repainted. It's a beautiful job. I like the light green color, too. He say's it's a match to the original factory color. It's a hot rod but its real unassuming."

Shannon knew she could buy the thing for a dollar if she wanted to, putting the thought in the guy's head, but this man had to make a living and they had probably given quite a bit of money to the former owner for it, so, she paid the price asked. She had to go home first, to get the money, and came back on her bicycle. It was extravagant, but money was no object, these days. With the truck, she could visit other towns and get even more money. She had several hundred thousand dollars, already, so it was not a thing she was concerned about at the moment. But she was thinking of the future. Shannon wanted a nest egg. A big one. She had lived in poverty all her life and it had not been fun.

Being under seventeen, if she told the salesman that fact, and explained to him her predicament of no parents or guardians, that would go nowhere. She could make him forget about it, after the purchase, but she couldn't own a car without a parent or guardian's co-signed signature. Since she was paying cash and he was making a bundle on this truck, Shannon knew he could come up with something creative, but didn't dare. Imagine? she thought. This guy, a used car salesman, was actually honest, knowing that be dipping into his head. So she suggested to his mind to see her age as twenty-on on her license, and that was that. Easy peasy, Japanesey.

After the sale, she made him and the secretary in the office forget about her presence there. They had their money, the car was legally sold, and that was that; there was only one thing. Shannon didn't know how to drive that well and this thing was a stick shift. A five speed, on the floor. You had to use a clutch to shift the gears in it. She had taken driver training in school, as required, but she had never driven anything but student cars. And they were all automatics. She asked the guy to drive it out onto the street for her, and he did, parking it on the curb, being very nice about it, but then it was hers. He kept the door open for her and she thanked him, got in the truck, and then made him forget about this tiny gesture, too. And her, of course.

Shannon sat in the truck and felt the engine running but was at a loss to know what to do.

Come on, she thought. You have an I.Q. of over one sixty, you should be able to figure this out. How hard can it be?

But after several failed attempts of grinding gears, killing the engine, and jerking her neck muscles off her shoulders, Shannon didn't try to restart the beautiful old, but amazingly difficult vehicle, to drive it home. She was at a loss of what to do.