The Cassandra Files: File #1- Dragons

Two

Welcome back to the continuation of my series! I posted a pic of Logan for you...he's so fine!!!! ---------> Just follow the arrow to Logan :D

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“So what you’re telling me is that you are a psychic. And you dreamed about this guy while you slept. Am I correct?” Chief Nelson asked.

I was currently in an interrogation room at the Miami Police Department. I sat at the table, opposite the Chief and Detective McMillan, a tall grey-haired man, who looked like he took his job way too seriously. Chris and Logan weren’t allowed in the interrogation room. They’d been forced to watch behind the one-way observation glass.

“Yes, sir, that is correct,” I said, a smirk on my face. He looked at me sternly. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

Chief Nelson shook his head. “No, I do not. So unless you give me a valid reason as to why you were there, I will charge you with accessory to homicide.”

I smiled warmly at the Chief. “Care for me to prove it to you, Chief?”

“Be my guest, Miss Philips.”

I hovered my hand over his arm. “May I?” He sighed. I smiled and laid my hand on him. I put my fingers to my temple as images floated through my head. The strongest, most vibrant image was of a girl, a young girl. “There’s a girl. She’s about six years old. Wearing a yellow sundress and yellow sandals. Her hair is braided and she has a birthmark on her neck. The skin there is lighter than the rest of it. She—”

“Stop.” The command was urgent, the Chief’s voice sounding highly disturbed, but quiet, a whisper. “You can’t possibly know about Lydia…she died before you were born. I never told anyone in this department other than the Psychiatrist and she’s bound by confidentiality. How do you know about Lydia?” he shouted that last part.

I smiled sadly at him. “Sir, I was born with an unnatural gift. I did not ask for it, I never wanted it. Still, I have learned to accept it. Unfortunately, this gift gives me information that is not always happy. And for that I am sorry. So I am asking you now—no, begging you—that you trust me and believe me when I say. I really am a psychic.”

He just looked at me, the color drained from his face. Without a word, he got up and left the room. I sat there, mulling that over in my head.

“I still don’t believe you.” I turned, looking at Detective McMillan. “I don’t know how you did it—break into the psychiatrist’s files, or the record room—but, however you did it, know this: I am on to you.”

“Really? Should I demonstrate on you?” I reached out my hand but he yanked his arm away before I could touch him. He got up and stormed out, following in the Chief’s path.

The door opened and in came Chris and Logan. “Ah, Officer Philips, Officer Ford. It is lovely of you to join me in this cozy room.” I gestured around to the dull gray, twelve-by-twelve foot room with nothing but a table and a few chairs.

Chris sighed. “The Chief said you could go after you give your statement.”

He threw a yellow pad of paper and a pen on the table in front of me. I shook my head but wrote down my story anyway.

“I’m still on duty, but Logan isn’t, so he’s going to drive you home for me.”                     

“What about my Harley?” I asked, puzzled.

“You parked illegally. They impounded it.”

“What? They can’t do that, when do I get it back?”