**
He couldn’t let it go. He started spending all of his time not taken up by eating, band practice/shows, work at the music store, and after party activities, checking out online news sites and YouTube, searching for signs of other people with abilities. There was no way in hell he was the only one. Hugo Meyers was nothing special and statistically speaking he couldn’t be the only one. It was difficult, because he didn’t know what he was looking for. He expanded his search to tabloid magazines, but the articles themselves were logistical nightmares so he stopped.
But he remembered every single word of every single one and when he was laying awake, fighting sleep, he would comb through them, looking for connections amongst the clutter. One name came up several times: Gideon Enterprises. He didn’t know what it meant yet, but they seemed to show up at a disproportionate number of hoax miracles for a philanthropic organization.
However, right now was taken up by eating. It was a little cold, but he was finding the roof of his building more and more inviting; the wind constantly crushing and rearranging his scarf, pulling the smoke from his cigarette along with it.
Hugo chewed on his bagel and returned his attention to the coffee and cigarette. He wanted it to be windier. Not for practical reasons, but just because for some reason it made him feel better, more awake. He watched the few people up this god-awful early several stories below him intently. The wind whistled faster. He was grateful.
The Sound of Wind Page 4
