Revelations Read Online Free PDF Page B

asked, “Do you know your name?”
    It was such a silly question to me I managed a laugh through my tears. “Yes,” I said. “I know who I am.”
    “Good,” he said, “because I don’t.”
    I smiled just slightly. “Christiana Fletcher.”
    “Okay, Chris,” he said. I put up a hand before he could say anything else.
    “Don’t call me Chris,” I growled.
    He put up both his hands in submission. “Okay then. Christiana. What do you remember about the accident?”
    “My father and I,” I said with emphasis, “were in his Mustang. We were chased. A black sedan with two men in it rammed us from behind and forced us into oncoming traffic. We hit a pickup. The truck exploded. That’s all I remember.”
    “Good enough,” Michael said. “Sit tight for a moment. I’m going to go find a nurse, and we’re going to run some tests and draw some blood.”
    I shook my head. “No. I need to find my father.”
    “You’ve been comatose for three years. The entire medical community wants to know how you managed to heal up to perfection with absolutely no surgery and no apparent atrophy. You’re a medical miracle.”
    I shook my head again. “No tests,” I said, knowing the truth about me would be discovered if they began drawing blood and poking me with needles.
    “Okay, not right now. Just rest,” he said. “I have a phone call to make.” He gestured to the older doctor, and both men left the room.
    I lay in the bed alone. My eyes stared at the white ceilings. When I fell asleep, I couldn’t say. I woke, and I was greeted by a pair of blue eyes set deep in a face I did not recognize.
    “Who’re you?” I asked as I pushed myself up on my elbows.
    He didn’t immediately answer. My attempt at reading his thoughts told me enough. He was a blocker and therefore a mind reader of some kind. Of indeterminable age, he might have been thirty or sixty. Small wrinkles formed at the edges of his smashingly beautiful blue eyes. His blondish-brown hair had been cropped short above his ears. He was neatly dressed in a white-collared shirt and black slacks. I knew, without being able to see, he’d be wearing highly shined black shoes.
    He still didn’t speak, so I did. “So you’re the visitor Doctor Daniels talked about.” Though the good doc said no such thing, I’d plucked this thought from his mind. “Who are you?”
    When he spoke, his voice was sharp, toned, and almost musical. “I think the better question is who are you?”
    I lifted one corner of my mouth. “I think if you didn’t know who I was you wouldn’t be here. So you know who I am. How about the question of who the hell are you?” I articulated each word to make sure there was no misunderstanding.
    “Philip Morris,” he said simply. He held out a hand.
    I refused the handshake and kept my hands tightly at my sides. “Okay,” I said, “you have a name, Cigarette Man. Good for you. What are you doing here?”
    “I think you already know why I’m here,” he said. “I’m here because I know who you are.”
    “And?” I said, dragging out the word.
    “And I know what you can do.”
    I was silent.
    I was scared.
    “You’re a mind reader,” he said. He left it at that. A quick slip into his well blocked mind— something I could get past with a little effort, which I employed here – and I knew he knew nothing about the power within my hands. I pushed this information into the back of my mind, securing it safely away. I wasn’t about to tell him either. Either way, the cigarette man continued. “I have been your only visitor during these three years. Your healing is miraculous, but only because of how you are made. I know many more like you. Like myself. I’ve come to offer you a home.”
    Curiosity overwhelmed me and caused me to say, “A home? What do you mean?”
    “I own a place, a refuge of such, in the California desert. Right now there are nine residents including myself. I would like for you to come and be the tenth.