Hunting the Girl

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Have you ever wondered how the world would be if psyhic powers were real? How would someone who could see past the bodies we wear to the true person within, see us? However, because we are humans it is all too likely that some with such powers would use them selfishly. This is a story of one such man, the Hunter.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. None of the characters, places, or anything else is meant to be represented by anything in reality. Duh! Fiction, get it? I the author reserve the rights, so please don't go posting this anyplace else without my permission. A very special thanks goes out to Cathy who spent the time to make this story readable. Another round of thanks goes out to all the others out there in BCTS land who have encouraged and inspired me to write and keep writing. Any remaining mistakes are all mine.

Hunting the Child
by
Grover
12/29/2013

The Hunter pulled into the drive of the lower middle class home. His vehicle was as carefully selected as was his attire to blend in. The older, very common mini-van wouldn't draw comment and neither would his drab uniform.

As the final touch he reached out with his well-trained 'Bender' talent, deftly dulling everyone's attention over his arrival. It'd taken him weeks to narrow down the location of the intermittent psionic contact. Like most new talented, her mind glowed with the strong emotion that had triggered her emergence.

In this case it was extraordinarily powerful. While the Psionic Studies Foundation had a legally mandated right to search out and train young 'talents' so they weren't a danger to themselves or others, this girl offered other possibilities. That was why he was here.

A net search revealed a Mr. Henry Fowl live here and that he'd recently lost his wife of thirty years, Evelyn, to cancer. Strangely, no mention of children could be found, but the Hunter had found dolls and other signs of a young girl while on a cautious reconnaissance of the residence.

The Black Society's clairvoyants had correctly identified the new talent as a young girl. Her mental signature was unmistakable. Certain assumptions could be made such as just entering puberty and the loss of Evelyn Fowl, being the keys to the recent flowering of her talent.

Due to her strength she couldn't be remotely, from a distance, bought under control by the Society's 'Benders.' That was because of the powerful forces of grief and passion the girl was feeling. However, there was answer to that. It was this girl's remarkable potential that had caught the Society's attention.

While the Foundation acknowledged the mundane world by kowtowing to ULTIMATE and the world of the mind-blind, the Black Society was the arm that made certain that its interests were protected without regard to anything as non-consequential as the laws of man. What was the mere power of superheroes and the technical accomplishments of mankind next to the boundless possibilities on the mind?

The old man would not be a threat. While the girl's untrained power had kept the Hunter from entering her last guardian's mind, in a direct confrontation he was confident he could easily overwhelm that unknowingly 'borrowed' protection.

To secure a young talent like this girl, who was completely off the books for the Black Society, would be quite a triumph. Already he was one of the top 'troubleshooters.' This would further assure his raise in the leadership. Politicians might rule nations, but the Foundation with help of their unknown Black brethren ruled them.

His telekinesis had the deadbolt and rape-chain unlocked in a handful of seconds. He could only exert a few pounds of pressure, but years of practice had turn that talent into an invaluable tool. Advancing quickly, his TK closed the door behind him. There was the old man to deal with.

The double metallic clack of a weapon's hammers being cocked, startled him. It was also pleasing. The pure power of this girl to hide a mundane this close to him. She would be make a very effective addition to the Black Society. Of course only after suitable indoctrination with drugs and other tools of the trade. Like the Hunter, such things as morals, or a conscious would only be a hindrance in furthering the Society's goals.

Confidently, he lashed out with an invisible whip of telekinesis that would mimic the symptoms of a stroke.

The Hunter's mouth dropped open when the old man only sighed instead of collapsing.

“Now that wasn't very wise.” Dressed in a rumpled, ill-fitting gray suit, the balding ginger haired oldster held a double barreled shotgun with the business end aimed at the Hunter. “My eyes and reflexes might not be what they once were, but with this I can't miss.”

Hunter didn't hesitate. Using his talent, he mentally leaped at Henry Fowl's mind.

And promptly bounced off.

Startled and surprised didn't begin to cover it. Using what folklore would call his 'third eye,' the sense given to him by his talent, it showed him the impossible.

The young girl, he'd been searching for and the old man who'd just lost his wife was one and the same.

“Ah, now you see the truth.” The shotgun never wavered an inch as the recent widower spoke. “I'm a lot like Peter Pan, the boy who never grew up. However, fate saw fit curse me not once, but twice. In my hearts of hearts, along with forever being a child, I'm a girl.

“A girl who cried as her body grew not breasts, but hair and muscles.” The bitterness was biting as Henry Fowl recalled the past. “Something about that stunted or stopped my mind, my soul, from growing older although it did nothing to stop my body. I knew what was wrong, but was helpless to stop or cure it. Perhaps the same fear that kept me from telling anyone else also helped kept me from revealing my something 'extra'.”

There was more than one way to complete any task. His TK lightly extended seeking the mechanical assembly of the firearm.

“It was meeting Evie that saved me.” The sorrow and sadness flowed off of the old man as he spoke. “She accepted me. In a lot of ways she was a forever child like me, but better able to step between the adult and the child's world. Together we supported each not just as only the man and wife the rest of the world saw, but as best friends and playmates.”

The Hunter kept his success to himself as he TK fused the parts together. No one would be pulling those triggers.

“Losing her hurt worst than my parent's death or the childhood as a girl I never got to live.” Henry's sad eyes looked up at him. “You've made a mistake.”

“And that is?” The Hunter asked, his hand slowly bringing up the tranq gun he'd kept hidden beneath his jacket.

“Just because my heart of hearts is that of a child, doesn't mean I'm don't have decades of experience in the use of my power.” The young girl smiled within the old man's body as she TK 'tapped' the pair of shotgun shell's 'primers' with her power. Just as good as the falling hammers, both barrels fired throwing the intruder away.

“They all fall down!” She whispered the old nursery rhyme, but then composed herself pretending to be 'him' again.

“Hello?” Henry called the police. “There's been a break-in and he had a gun. I had to defend myself.”

He and Evie had always known the dangers of the Foundation's heavy handed self-interest. However, her love had kept that inner little girl content and happy, despite the busted-hand of cards fate had dealt. Knowing the end was near, Evie did her best to help prepare her beloved for what would come.

Called Robin because of her red hair that little girl felt so alone and afraid after the one she'd love so much and for so long had gone away. She just couldn't hold all the hurt inside and some got out for the mind-peepers to see.

The one that laid dead in front of here had been very icky. His thoughts had been all edges and angles with none of the warmth of most people. She had seen far more than she wanted when during his last moments when his 'light' had faded and his thoughts were unguarded.

She didn't want to, and knew she wasn't ready for what was to come, but Robin did what she had to do. No way did she want to be taken by such 'bad' people. However in those thoughts were also clues to those who could help her. There were those who knew of and disagreed with this 'Black Society.'

Her bags had been packed for sometime knowing her visitor was coming and accepting that there were too many memories for her to stay here.

Turning to face the house where she and Evie had been together for so long, the tears fell. From the dead man's memories she knew the vehicle was clean and not monitored. Like the dead man she didn't need a key.

“Bye bye Evie. I love you. ” Robin whispered, before beginning her next journey … alone.

The End
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Comments

sad little girl

stuck inside a grown man, a horrible fate ...

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Age test

I found it of interest about that age test that someone blogged about a few weeks ago. In it, the test claimed that most people came out a few years older than their actual age. Here almost everyone who passed on their own results were decades younger. Of course you always have to take such tests with more than a little salt, but it did make me think. Of course we also have the 'kids' here at BCTS too.

Those things gelled the idea for this story and even provided an idea for another. However, one story at a time!
Thanks for the comment Dorothy.
hugs
Grover

Sad little girl, indeed.

Poor child, but a very capable one, too. Nice story Grover.

Little girls

Yes she is, Maggie. I thought about adding more, but sometimes less is more when you're writing. Sure more details like her hiding a doll or small stuffed animal on her person would speak 'child' more, but that altered the tone. This story needed that 'flat' tuneless tone children get when they've been badly hurt.

As for capable, a child at heart or not, Henry still managed to function in the world and reached old age. That's with creating a mental safe place for him and Evie to play.

Thanks for your comment Maggie and for all the encouragement you've given me and others here at BCTS. :)

hugs
Grover

So sad

Amethyst's picture

And though it is short it's a well written tale that really pulled at my heart.

Nicely done Grover.

PS It was me that posted the age test. It said that I'm mentally 12

*hugs*

Amethyst

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Don't take me too seriously. I'm just kitten around. :3

Twelve!

If I wanted to read way too much into things, I aged normally till six and then showed down to one for every two. I'm now in my fifties but the test results said 28.

Losing someone you love is so very hard. For one of the 'kids' it has to be even worse. The idea that a telepath could see the real us and make some really wrong assumptions has made me think a lot about the subject. The old 'What If' thing.

I don't know if Robin has anymore stories to share or not, but there is some hope there that she can find someone to help her.

Thank you for your comment and all the wonderful stories you've shared with us. :)
Hugs
Grover

Neat Story

I could feel the little girl's presence . . . and her determination.

You write such interesting stories. This is the opening chapter of a fill-length novel, but I agree with stopping it where you did, if that is your choice. A character like yours could be extremely fascinating over 75K of more.

I've been writing a story about age regression. I've found it very hard, but quite interesting. I might post it as a serial because it's shaping up to be quite lengthy.

I have a personal problem writing about characters under eighteen. A few years ago I took about a half dozen stories offline because I personally think antagonists under eighteen are lightning rods for the morality morons. Yet, young characters offer insight into why we're the way we are. Since much of what we do here is self=exploration through fiction, it would be a shame to ignore this potential.

In my new story the main character is nineteen, but is often mistaken for someone much younger. Your approach would also work for me.

Thank you for your story and for many others you've written.

Jill

Angela Rasch (Jill M I)

I agree

Writing character vastly younger than yourself is a very big challenge. As I joke with my spouse, shows, TV, and movies that I clearly remember really liking, after seeing them with adults eyes I want to cringe. Yes, that bad.

With writing young characters you have to put yourself back in those shoes and find that child within you again.

It is also a sensitive point with the outside world. Many see us in less than favorable light, and stories we write that include children inflames them even when absolutely nothing untoward occurs in the story.

For us childhood can be a very difficult time. We're filled with feeling and desires that if acted out can cause unpleasant consequences. Even those of us with happy childhoods, have a bitter-sweetness to them because of this.

I'm not going to speak of the bad childhoods. Many have told of their bad times and those stories need to be put where they can be read. Somehow we have to make the 'normal' world understand that no choice is involved here.

However, I write no so much as to try to lead others to understanding, but in order to try and understand myself. My doubts, fears, and desires war within me, and in seeking that understanding, I'm courting peace. Perhaps, I'll never find it, but that nonetheless is the goal.

Perhaps Robin has more of her story to tell, but only time will tell.
Thanks for for your kind words Angela, and I'll look forward to reading your story.
hugs
Grover

You Broke the mold

Too Too many stories have written the pure and good character as so wimpy or unable to stand for them selves they fold and end up, fill in the blank. Your story is wonderfully tense for the bulk of the story, then in the last few paragraphs you are thrown like a rag doll through the emotions of worry, surprise, satisfaction,and lovingly sentimental at the same time. Good Show you managed to incorporate all the great features I love and look for in a short story. especially the lovely twist in the end.

It is so satisfying to see the dark side take on in the chest, stomach, spleen face etc etc. Thank You.

Huggles

Michele

With those with open eyes the world reads like a book

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Re: Breaking the mold

The wimpy approach has always rubbed me the wrong way and I'm about as inoffensive as they come. Children can be very dangerous because they don't see the world in the same way adults do. Child warriors can be as amoral as any psychopath.

Still it is satisfying to see evil getting what is coming to them. :)

Thanks for your comments!

Hugs
Grover

Very nice

That was a lovely tale, and even those of us who try to bring the girl into the light for real do so with limited success.

Thank you so much

Gwen

Robin

had found if not peace than someone, Evie, who made life tolerable for her. Like some here, trying transition felt impossible and could only do so much. What the future will bring for her is unknown.

In other words my muse isn't telling... yet. :)
Thanks for your comment hon, I do hope you feel better soon.
Hugs
Grover

Inner Child

terrynaut's picture

Nice story, Grover.

My inner six-year-old approves. So does my inner twenty-one-year-old. Yes, you read correctly. I have two feminine personalities that live inside a male shell within a male world. It's a little crowded in here but I've got lovely stories like yours to read to help keep me sane. Writing my own stories helps too.

Thanks and kudos.

- Terry

Our inner selves

That's an interesting world view Terry. I think most of us have an inner child, but for some of us we may be more child than adult. Certain the 'kids' here at BC manage to function in the adult world if not happily.

I think I do get the being little crowded. My muse is so hyperactive she comes up new ideas at the drop of a hat. Hmmm... hats flying though the air could mean ... NO, No, No!

Thanks for the comment!
Grover

I loved the approach to both

I loved the approach to both mental age and psionic powers. And the fact that Robin was able to do what was necessary even while finding it repugnant. ... shows that many children have a greater grasp of morality than some "adults" ever will.

And it was just the right place to end the tale, too.
My imagination is positively racing with "what if's".

Xx
Amy

I agree...

...with the other comments that this could be a much longer story. Still, you write it so well that it is complete as it stands. Great writing, Grover! Looking forward to reading more of your work.

YES!

Spot on tale, Grover.

Not a wasted word.

John in Wauwatosa

P.S. I assume a one off or will SHE tie in to the other tales in this unverse eventually?

John in Wauwatosa