The Pawn of the Phoenix (The Memory Collector Series Book 2) Read Online Free PDF

thinking he could just call on me anytime and expect me to run to him immediately. God, I hated him.”
    Andrew falls silent, staring vacantly at his glass. His animosity toward his father becomes tangible like the smoke that permeates the air around him, layering the atmosphere with yet another cloud of discord. I wrap my arms around my torso. There’s too much emotion; I’m beginning to dread the moment when the detective will ask me to enter Andrew’s mind. I’m reminded of Rachel’s and my own despair when I had been lying in the underground prison a month ago. Neither memory is one I wish to reminisce about at the moment, so I hastily shove them into the far corner of my mind. They can stay there forever for all I care.
    Keenan’s pleasant voice pierces the silence, pulling Andrew out of his thoughts. “Was your relationship with your father quarrelsome?”
    He exhales bitterly. “Yes, I loathed the man. He was tyrannical and cold-hearted, and he despised me just as much. You see, I was a disappointment and a burden—a waste of good breeding and wealth.”
    “Was your animosity toward one another well-known?”
    His breath cuts the air in a short, vicious laugh. “Yes, you could say that, Detective. When I wasn’t wishing I had someone else as a father, I was wishing him dead. I wanted him dead, and there were times when I thought I would kill him myself.” He breaks off as his words settle heavily around us, his eyes wide with horror. “Fuck.”
    His head falls into his hands helplessly, and I hear a choked sob before he vigorously wipes his eyes with the heels of his hands. Andrew takes a long inhale of his cigarette, his hand shaking slightly as the end of the stick between his fingers glows a bright red.
    He avoids looking at us, and mumbles under his breath. “Sorry.”
    “It’s alright, Andrew,” Keenan assures him in that soothing voice of his. “Take your time.”
    Andrew snuffs out his cigarette in the ashtray and takes a desperate gulp of his liquor. “Right, as I was saying. I thought he wished to speak with me, so I came home. But when I spoke to him, he acted like he never called for me. Then, the letter arrived and at that point my memory blanks out. The next thing I knew I was standing over my father’s dead body with his blood on my hands.”
    “Have you ever visited the dream, memory, or pleasure house? Or spoken with any blocker recently?”
    Andrew’s eyes flicker to me, and he quickly glances away. “As for being a client at any of the three houses, I can honestly say I have not.” He pauses, and here his eyes dart to my face again. “I don’t exactly find the idea of someone else in my mind appealing. And, as for blockers, I encounter several on a daily basis. Do you think one of them messed with my mind and made me kill my father?”
    “Yes,” answers the detective truthfully. “Unfortunately, you’re not the first one and I doubt you will be the last. I hope you will permit Moira here to access the memory to verify your account, not that we doubt you. You have my word she will only read anything that pertains to last night’s incident and nothing more. Do you consent?”
    “I doubt I have a choice, do I?”
    The detective’s gaze softens in sympathy for the young man. “No, but it’ll be easier for all of us if you give her permission.”
    “Alright.”
    He swallows the rest of his liquor and looks at me expectantly. I’ve been dreading this moment for the past half-hour, so I reluctantly rise from my seat. Andrew’s bloodshot eyes meet mine and his face pales. He wasn’t lying when he said the idea of an empath in his mind is unappealing, but what he failed to mention was the fact the idea terrifies him. I can’t blame him, especially now the Phoenix has somehow managed to get inside his head. But not all empaths are horrible—though I may not be the best example. When I sit down beside him, I notice he’s perspiring slightly around his hairline.
    I place