“It’s not what you think,” he said, almost reading my mind. He turned to my girlfriend. “I didn’t recognize you initially, but I did after you got out of the car. You’re Electra, right?”
On her part, Electra didn’t say anything; she merely looked at me.
“Fry his camera, babe,” I said, holding the camera out to her. A white ball of electricity immediately began to form in Electra’s hand.
“No!” the guy screeched, almost in a panic. “Please, don’t!”
Neither Electra nor I said anything, but I felt raw, unrestrained anxiety rolling off the guy in waves.
“Please,” he continued, pleading. “Don’t destroy it. I’m freelance, alright? I’m not on salary anywhere. I take pictures and try to sell them to interested parties – newspapers, social media, what have you. But I’m not like paparazzi. I wasn’t trying to peek into your windows, sneak into your house, or anything like that in order to get shots.”
“But you are willing to trespass,” I declared.
“I admit it,” he said. “I slipped inside when the gate opened to let Electra in, but it’s the first time I’ve ever done anything like that.”
“Right,” Electra muttered sarcastically. “That’s what they all say.”
“Look,” the guy implored, “I’m just trying to earn enough to make my next tuition payment at the university. Taking pics is how I pay the bills. So you can take the chip out and destroy it if you want, or even wipe the hard drive clean. If you want to call the cops, I’ll make a full confession to trespassing, illegal entry – whatever you want. But I’m begging you, don’t destroy the camera. It’s all I’ve got, and I can’t afford another.”
While he’d been speaking, I’d had my empathic abilities turned up to the max; from what I could discern, he was being completely sincere. More specifically, his plea brought to mind something I’d learned once in history class.
Back in the Old West, they used to hang horse thieves. It wasn’t because horses were that valuable in and of themselves, but because the animals were used for everything from wrangling to farming. Thus, when you stole a man’s horse, you often took away his livelihood. You robbed him of the ability to earn a living, thereby making him destitute.
Our visitor’s plea for his camera left me with much the same impression. Moreover, I developed a mental picture of what had likely happened earlier: after recognizing Electra, the guy had probably gotten excited about the money he could make from her picture (which had resulted in the emotional spike I’d detected). In short, I didn’t really think this fellow was a stalker.
<What’s going on out there?> Gramps asked telepathically, his unexpected intrusion bringing me back to myself. He had apparently picked up on our visitor’s panicky thoughts.
Mentally, I gave him a quick rundown of what had happened, resulting in a short telepathic conversation that also included Indigo.
When we finished, I turned to our visitor, who had a deer-in-the-headlights look about him as he waited to hear the verdict regarding his camera.
“What’s your name?” I asked, wondering if he’d try to dodge the question like before.
He gulped, and then seemed to struggle to find his voice for a second before finally stating, “It’s Matt. Matthew Kroner.”
I smiled. “Well, Matthew Kroner, today’s your lucky day.”
Chapter 10
I woke up the next morning not of my own volition, but due to someone psychically tapping on my mental shields. It was the telepathic equivalent of someone nudging me awake.
<Hurry up and get down here,> Gramps said. <There’s a surprise for you.>
I mentally acknowledged that I was awake and promised to be down momentarily. I then grabbed my cell phone off the nightstand and checked the time. I groaned softly; it was still early.
In addition to noticing the time on my phone, I also saw that I had received a text roughly fifteen minutes earlier. It was from Smokey’s girlfriend Sarah and said, “Have you talked to him yet?”
I stood up and stretched, contemplating Sarah’s message as I did so. I hadn’t talk to her in a while, so presumably her message was meant for someone else. (It wouldn’t have been the first time that I received a text meant for another person, and probably wouldn’t be the last.) After dwelling on it for a moment – and remembering Smokey’s question about bringing a guest – I assumed it was meant for him. My guess is that Sarah was trying to reach her boyfriend and had inadvertently texted me instead.
Shifting into super speed, I then raced through my normal morning routine and got dressed. After looking in the bathroom mirror to make sure I was presentable, I went back to normal speed before heading down to the breakfast area.
Only my grandparents were present when I arrived, sitting in their usual spot at the table with a newspaper between them.
“Come take a look at this, boy,” Gramps said, excitedly waving me over.
“What is it?” I asked as I walked towards them.
Instead of responding, Indigo tapped the newspaper laying on the table. Taking a good look, I saw that the front page had a large color photograph of my grandparents. The background was obscured so that you couldn’t tell where the picture had been taken, but it showed Gramps and Indigo staring lovingly into each other’s eyes. It was a beautiful photo, effortlessly capturing the depth of emotion between the subjects in it, and I smiled as I noticed who was credited with the snapshot in the caption below the image: Matthew Kroner.
In brief, after hearing Kroner’s plea, we had decided not to destroy his camera. Even more, my grandparents had come outside and essentially posed for him, giving him a photographic exclusive. (It was literally a money shot, since I assume he sold it for a nice chunk of change.)
“It’s a nice pic,” I stated truthfully, “although I’m
