Psi Another Day (Psi Fighter Academy #1)
D.R. Rosensteel
Chapter One
Murder Me Elmo
My life changed forever the night the stalker came to town, although I didn’t realize it at the time. I say came to town, but I know now it was someone who had been there all along. I actually had no intention of getting involved. I thought the cops had it covered. They spotted some guy all over the city dressed up in funny costumes. Clowns, rock stars, flamboyant dinosaurs. People thought it was an advertising stunt until he tried to pull a little girl into his creeper van. Luckily, she screamed and the neighbors came running. Squad cars showed up, but he disappeared without a trace. It was all over the news, and the whole town was put on alert. Police patrols were everywhere. Even that didn’t stop him. He showed up a few days later at my little sister’s elementary school.
That’s where I drew the line. Little sisters, especially mine, were off limits for creeps. The police were in over their heads, so I decided they needed a specialist to step in. The guy was obviously no ordinary stalker.
Fortunately, I’m no ordinary teenager. My name is Rinnie Noelle. I’m a Psi Fighter. We protect the innocent, kind of like Batman. But we don’t do capes. Capes are for weirdos.
Andy and the Kilodan said I wasn’t ready. Andy is my mentor and favorite sparring partner. He’s like a big brother to me—overprotective and annoying, but in a sweet way. The Kilodan is the Psi Fighters’ leader, you know, like Captain America is the Avengers’ leader? Except that the Kilodan doesn’t actually have a name. He’s just “the Kilodan.” And he’s always masked. I’ve known him since I was six, but I’ve never seen his face. He’s really big on secret identities.
They wanted me to fix the problems at my high school instead of taking down the stalker. Major, fly-catching yawn. Don’t get me wrong. The drugs and violence at school are beyond annoying. But what crime fighter wants to put bullies in detention when she can save the world from nefarious villains? I wanted to test my skills on bigger trouble.
Long story short, I got permission to be Andy’s backup on this mission. Something told me there was more to this stalker than there appeared to be. I had no evidence, just a feeling. Turns out, I was right. Feelings are my specialty.
…
I slipped through Sinclair Park, masked and armored, and feeling a little freaky. Not from the outfit. That was awesome. The high-tech mask, midnight blue hood with matching tabard, and formfitting body armor made me all but indestructible. But Sinclair Park was an eerie place. It started out as a cemetery during the Revolutionary War. All sorts of famous dead people were buried there. Then, some rich family bought it in the 1950s and built a playground in the middle of it. They apparently didn’t see a problem mixing toys with tombs. Monkey bars, sandbox, freshly dug grave…maybe I’m weird, but that creeped me out. A little too much Mr. Rogers meets Stephen King for my taste. The Kilodan insisted we’d find the stalker there. How he knew, I didn’t have a clue, but he had this annoying way of always being right.
As the twilight sky darkened, I reached my observation point, a high-tech mausoleum at the edge of the woods. Yes, I said mausoleum. Andy took some poor soul’s gateway to the Great Beyond and turned it into a surveillance center. I love Andy, but seriously, normal was not his style.
Floodlights clicked on with a low hum down by the playground, startling me. I quickly touched the bronze nameplate, calmed my mind, and concentrated. The door slid open and I slipped through. It closed silently behind me the moment I cleared the opening. The inside was about ten by twelve, and well lit for a final resting place. Reminded me of something out of Dark Shadows. The granite bench where the coffin was supposed to go sat in the center. It had been converted to a sofa. No way was I sitting there. A pinball machine with a picture of Elvis Presley in a black leather jacket with black leather wristbands, playing a brown and gold guitar, sat in the far corner. Four bronze doors were bolted to the long marble wall behind the couch. They were labeled, from left to right, “1956—Got Famous,” “1959—Made Fried Squirrel Famous,” “1973—Made Hawaii Famous,” “1977—Left the Building.” They had Andy written all over them.
I hit a button on my armor. All four bronze doors slid upward and disappeared into the ceiling, revealing high-resolution monitors. They flashed to life, displaying the woods and playground across the long back wall like a mural.