A new case

A dark gloomy room with ruffling paper, zipping through the heavy smoke which hung in the stale air. A black silhouette of a figure, sitting behind his desk, back to the single window which illuminates the room with spots of blue and white from a busy city-lights in the night. This was the picture I dreamed of. A private investigator with a mysterious office and a haunted look. A success story of this damned too-busy city who mocks the rules of the sinking economy. A king of his own realm. The Sherlock of the century, if you will; Or, the L of Nova-York. But. No. It was not my fate. Instead, I found myself looming over another case, crouching in my jeans, noticing the coffee stains on the crotch area which reminded me--I need to wash these sometime soon. Oh. God no. It wasn't a body I was crouching over. No no no. These cases are left for the "professionals" of course. I was crouching over an empty six-year-old bed with yellowish stains and a stink which reminded me of my own childhoods' potty training. It was a "lost case"--a "professional" term of the coppers for an unsolved case that the department lost interest in. Frankly, they will never say it outright, but, come on, a month?! Who waits a month before referring a missing child case to a psycho like me?! But I diverse... The child, one Kenny Tal, was apparently kidnapped, or got lost, or whatever fantasy the detective told poor Mrs. Tal. Due to the fact that more than a month had passed since mom went to the police and Kenny was nowhere to be seen, I received "the phone call" from her. Thank god to Jeremy. I owe him for this one. It's not that I think there's no chance of finding the boy--I never give up on a trail once I sniff it out--but, a month. That's a lot of time for a six-year-old to be missing. Hell, even an adult would be dead already, if not correctly treated. And why were there no phone calls or demands to poor old mom. The problem with these cases, especially ones that are prompted by dear old Jeremy, that the client usually thinks he knows what to expect, but he rarely does. I take another deep look around me before making the connection. A low bed, a wooden cabinet with clothes dripping from the semi-opened drawers, a messy floor filled with toys, half-eaten snacks and colored pieces of Picasso-art covering what once was a white wall. I rise and face her voicing the three words which she was waiting for. "He is alive." She gasps, hands shooting to her cheeks, then her hair, then she grabs me by the shoulders, nearly yanking the soul out of my body with the gesture. Damn, she has power. I nearly miss what she says, but she never finishes her sentences "How? How? Do you... Why... do you..." "Know?" I offer. She nods. Her eyes tearing up, mouth still open, lips still trembling. There is no other way to explain an experience of emotions, colors and sounds that rush through the soul and connects between the two. And there is no way to prepare one for that. Her palms are still on my shoulders. Her eyes are glossy and begging for information. For an explanation. For something. I touch the back of her right hand with my right index finger and concentrate the string of connection to the center of her soul. The charge rushes through me. I can feel the endless connections between the souls of the objects in the room. Their connections to the soul of the mother, and their connections to the soul of young Kenny. They boom around me and through me, penetrating every fabric of reality I can sense. I concentrate, trying to distinguish the stream of Kenny and collect all the connections into one bundle. I sense the tension, the sadness and the fear of... Dana. The name of his mother pops into existence through the connection to Kenny. That is when I know I have enough force to link them together. And just as always, although I had my hopes this time, when I connect her with the stream, she faints. Her body slumps to the floor, as if lifeless, and the room becomes dimmer--the bright strings of souls fading out of my sight. I feel drained again. Two powerful connections, too soon. But she needed that. She had to know her son is actually here. Even though she lost consciousness during the ritual, she knows. They all come to the same realization after the first touch--this is for real. I lay Dana down and scan the room one more time, waiting for the lights to come to me again. It's too dark now. I cannot see anything. The more I bundle the connections between the souls, the more drained I feel after. Or maybe it is my age, sipping my energy away cycle-by-cycle, connection after connection. I lose the power to connect, and thus I lose the power to see the world around me. I have been using my powers too much as of late--too many cases needed to be solved. Too many souls to catch. And the looming fear of losing my sight once and for all came with every use. The room is reappearing again. First, a small pulse of red light emanating from the floor and painting the surroundings right next to me with blood.  Strings of blue and white began to slowly appear from the center of the red pulse, connecting the souls of the objects in Kenny's room to his mom. She is awakening, I realize. I crouch down again, eyes still zipping around, and wait for her pulse to become stable. Her contour becomes clearer by the moment. Then, I spot it. A strong connection from a toy, tucked under a blanket on the stained bed of the boy. A stable line of emotions shooting from it and out of the room. I am sure it is the connection to the boy. It has the same taste as the one from his mom. "Dana?" I try my luck. "What? I'm... Whe..." Her eyes shoot open and she stiffens immediately. "I felt it. I felt... as if... the entire room was alive. The toys. The bed. The... The... HE is alive. He is alive. We must go get him now. We must go to the police." She was frantic. Her string became more firm, more resolute, more determined. "We will find him." I say softly. "But I need to take something with me first." "No. Let's go to the police now. You can do the same thing with the detective and we can--" "No." I put a hand out to help her up. "You have a strong connection to your son, Dana. The detective does not. It will not work." "But... how? How are we going to find my Ken?" "I am going to take this." I point towards the toy beneath the sheets. "And track him down." "I can help too." she says, standing up. "No, Dana. What you experienced now was only a small portion of what to come. You are not ready. No one is." "I AM. I can handle this. I just need to... I need to..." her eyes begin to glimmer. "I need to do SOMETHING. I can't just. They couldn't. They said it was too late and now. Now I KNOW. I know he is alive. I must get my son BACK." I release her hand and fetch the toy. The two strings are powerful. I am certain the connection is the right one. This IS Kenny. But she is not prepared for what comes next. I never knew anyone who could actually withstand the truth. I look deep into her eyes, making sure a white string forms between us before I speak. "I will find him, Dana." I promise her. "I will find your son."