Cosmic Girl: Lost & Found: Superhero series for young adults - Book Three.

by R S J Gregory

  “Are you okay?” I ask as I help her to her feet.

  She stares at me blankly, then looks over at the car, as steam vents from the mashed-in hood. She steps back, shaking.

  “What are you?” She asks in a frail wispy voice.

  “Umm, lost, actually.” I say and smile.

  “Where am I?” I ask.

  She frowns and smooth’s down her thick woolen jacket.

  “You’re in London.” She replies, but I stare blankly at her. “England.” She adds, then she looks me up and down. “Your accent. You American, huh?” She says, then rolls her eyes. “Bloody typical.” She grumbles.

  I frown and cross my arms.

  “Yeah, and I’d like to get back there.” I say and walk over to the black taxi.

  I lean by the window and tap on the glass gently. The driver’s still rubbing his head, but he presses a button, and the window is lowered. “Hi. Sorry about that.” I say. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’ll live.” He grumbles, then leans over and looks into my face.

  “What the bloody hell are you supposed to be?”

  “I’m just...you know...being me.” I say and shrug.

  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell the insurance company.” He grumbles and sits back in his seat.

  “What year is it?” I ask, and he laughs.

  “You’re having a laugh, right?” He says, frowning. “Here.” He hands me a newspaper that rests on the seat next to him.

  “Thanks.” I say and take the paper. “You do realize the steering wheel is on the wrong side of the car, right?” I say, then check the front page of the newspaper.

  Tuesday, 13th October 2014.

  “Where is the President?” I ask him as I hand him his paper back.

  “How the bloody hell should I know?”

  “Thank you.” I say and turn and rise up into the air, while a crowd of people form and gaze up at me.

  I shoot through the clouds and head west. I accelerate and leave the gray city behind, and fly over green fields. I head higher up to avoid any air traffic and leave a couple of sonic booms far behind me as I rocket through the sky.

  In a few more seconds I’m flying over a dark, turbulent ocean, then I spot land on the horizon in a few more moments. When I see the lay of land below, I begin to recognize some the shapes. New York and the island of Manhattan is straight ahead, so I slow down and bank to my left. I focus my eyes and zoom in as I search the skies and land around Washington D.C. All I see is normal commercial traffic. I don’t see Air Force One anywhere. But I do see the White House.

  I hope someone’s home.

  I rocket down toward the immaculate green lawn, right myself at the last second, then glide gently over the marble steps, past the colonnades, and land gently in front of the large oak door. I look down at the matt placed before the door. The Presidential Seal is the confirmation I need.

  This is the place.

  I take a deep breath and ring the doorbell. The door opens after a few minutes, by a man in a navy blue suit suit. He immediately steps back and pulls a gun from inside his suit jacket.

  “There’s no need for that.” I tell him and hold up my hands peacefully.

  “I need back-up. Lobby. Now!” The man shouts as he aims the gun at my chest.

  His eyes look scared as he stares at my face.

  “Oh.” I realize and laugh nervously.

  “You mean these?” I say and point to my glowing blue eyes. “I’m sorry if they freak you out.” I tell him, as I hear quick footsteps heading our way.

  Behind him, a squad of men in black suits, armed with sub machine guns, come running across the black and white tiled lobby floor.

  “Hi, fellas.” I say and wave.

  “How the hell did she get in here?” One of the men asks the man in front of me.

  He shrugs. I rise slowly up from the ground.

  “This is how.” I tell them, then land again.

  “Why are you here? And what is that bulge?” A tall agent asks and steps forward.

  “I have vital information for the President.” I tell them.

  “What information?” I hear a calm voice call out from behind the group of armed men.

  “The Potomac is dirty.” I say.

  “It’s okay.” The calm voice tells the men, and they part for him.

  A tall man in a navy blue suit and red tie steps forward. His tanned face wrinkles around his eyes as he smiles at me.

  “Who are you?” He asks as he stops and looks down at me.

  “I’m Cosmic Girl.” I tell him and smile.

  To Be Continued...

  About the author

  R S J Gregory was born in Bristol, England, in April 1973, and is the youngest of three. He has always had a love of stories, whether the story is a movie, in a video game or in a song. This love for stories instilled a desire in him to want to join the entertainment industry and give something back.

  The desire to write came after recovering from Hodgkin's Lymphoma in 2008. He was reading Stephenie Meyer's Twilight Saga, and after finishing Breaking Dawn, the idea for Cosmic Girl was born.

  He currently resides in Essex with his beautiful wife, and daughter.

  I hope that you had as much fun reading this, as much as I did in writing it.

  If you did enjoy it, then please submit a review on Amazon. Reviews are so important, and I would really like to hear from you.

  Sign up to my New Releases mailing list and get a free copy of my short story - The Awakening. Click here to get started: http://rsjgregory.com/free-short-story/

  You can find me on www.Facebook.com/RSJGregory, and you can follow me on www.Twitter.com/rsjgregory, and also on www.Instagram.com/r.s.j.gregory.

  Many thanks, and watch the skies, Cosmic Girl will return.

  Also, here is a little taste of a new horror novel that I am currently writing.

  Enjoy.

  Mountains of Blood

  R S J Gregory

  I will drench the land with your flowing blood

  all the way to the mountains,

  and the ravines will be filled with your flesh.

  Ezekiel 32:6.

  Chapter One

  It was a cold blustery morning in Topeka, Kansas, on Monday, April 12th 1971, when Dr. Samuel Callahan started his car. The emerald green Pontiac Le Mans roared to life, and Dr. Callahan yawned as he gunned the gas and drove north. His wife hadn’t woken when he climbed out of their bed, and merely groaned when he kissed her gently on the forehead before he left. It was 6.a.m. when he turned on to the side road which led to the sanitarium. Dawns first light shone through the birch trees which surround the asylum, and cast their skeletal shadows across the neatly clipped grass. Dr. Callahan stopped at the only gate.

  “Good morning, John.” Dr. Callahan greeted the guard at the gate.

  The security guard stepped forward and leaned down.

  “Morning Doc.”

  “Any activity last night?”

  “Nothing at the gate.”

  John Kirby picked up his walkie-talkie from his hip.

  “Open up, Matt.” John said into his radio.

  Moments later there was a buzz and the huge wrought iron gate began to slide open.

  “See you later, John.”

  Dr. Callahan drove on to the grounds and headed towards the staff parking lot near the main building. He could see a police paddy wagon was parked outside, with a bored looking police officer sitting behind the wheel. Dr. Callahan waved at the driver as he drove past. The car ground to a halt on the gravel with a crunch, which always gave him shivers.

  It made him think of skulls being crushed.

  Working with murderers is beginning to take its toll. He thought, as he yawned.

  He shook his head as he switched the engine off and climbed out. It was chilly in the shadow, cast by the great old building. He yawned again as he gazed up at the six storey red-bricked structure. The round turrets pierced the pale blue sky like blun
t pencils, and a crow perched on the edge of one and was looking down at him. He closed his door, and opened the rear passenger door and reached inside for his briefcase. He locked his car and then lit a cigarette, before walking towards the front entrance. His six foot frame carried him uneasily across the gravel, as his old sports injury began to play up again. He took a puff on his Marlboro as he climbed the stone steps, and then knocked on the door and waited. The metal hatch opened in the middle of the door.

  “Hey, Doc.” Beverly Swann, the head nurse greeted him, as she peered from within through the small portal. She slid the bolt out of the way, unlocked the door and pulled the heavy door open slowly.

  Dr. Callahan greeted her with a small smile and then walked across the black and white tiled floor. His footsteps echoed in the main foyer, and then he opened the door that housed the main population, and his steps were soon swallowed up in the cacophony of moans and shouting.

  He recognized one of the voices shouting, and as he got to the end of the corridor and unlocked the next door with his keys, he could see Walter Dennings standing on his bed shouting and raising his fists to heaven. He quickly entered and locked the door behind him.

  “Walter. He’s not listening, you know.” Dr. Callahan said as he passed Walter still shouting obscenities at the ceiling.

  One of the black orderlies got up from his chair by the next door as he approached.

  “Morning, boss.”

  “Good morning, William.” Dr. Callahan greeted the orderly in the white t-shirt and pants.

  William Crowe kept an eye on the patients in the C Wing, and assisted in breaking up fights and restraining them when necessary. He was six feet four inches tall, and was a burly fellow with thick arms and large hands, but he had a kind face and a quick smile.

  “Keep an eye on Walter, will you. I think he’s getting a little excited.” Dr. Callahan said as he inserted his key into the next metal door.

  “Hey, Walter. You play nice, now.” William said softly as he walked over to his bed.

  Dr. Callahan closed and locked the door behind him as he made his way over to his office in D Wing, which housed the more interesting patients. His footsteps sounded loud in his ears in the small corridor that connected the two buildings. He took another puff on his cigarette and looked out of the arched windows that ran along the right wall. The wire mesh which covered the windows glinted in the morning sun. He stopped at the last window and looked up at the sun as it shone through the trees. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the sound of the leaves rustling in the morning breeze. He took another puff on his cigarette, opened his eyes and exhaled slowly as he inserted his key into the metal door and unlocked it with a loud click. As soon as he closed the door behind himself, he locked it immediately and then stood for a while and puffed on his Marlboro. He listened for anything out of the ordinary, but the rooms on either side of the corridor in front of him seemed quiet.

  Maybe they were still asleep? He thought.

  He put the keys back in his pocket and walked slowly down the corridor of madness, as he liked to call it. The inmates in this section were the seriously disturbed ones, the murderers, the rapists, the arsonists, and the schizos. They were the ones that needed the most help, as far as he was concerned. They were the patients that demanded the most understanding, and yet were the most misunderstood. No one knew why they did what they did. Hell, even the patients didn’t know. He was determined to make them understand themselves better; to face their inner demons, and to conquer them. Dr. Callahan was alone in this attitude here, though. Dr. Stone and Dr. Matthias always made a point of telling him that he was chasing unicorns. As he passed the secured metals doors with their occupant’s names written in white chalk, he could see the light was already on in his office. Jacob Rhymes was standing outside of his office. He wore his usual gray t-shirt and pants and had a wooden baton dangling from his belt. His bald black head turned as the doctor approached.

  “Good morning, Jacob.” Dr. Callahan greeted him as he approached.

  The big man motioned with his head to the office.

  “Got yourself a new guest, boss.”

  He could hear some voices inside. He recognized Dr. Stone’s high voice. He took the last puff of his cigarette before opening his office door. His small square office was mostly filled with filing cabinets, some shelves behind his oak desk and two chairs. The carpet that covered the small floor was a deep emerald green, which Dr. Callahan had picked out himself. He found the color green soothing. The Tiffany desk lamp was on, but the overhead light was still off.

  “Good morning, Dr. Stone, Officers.” Dr. Callahan said as he closed the door behind him.

  Dr. Stone got up from behind Dr. Callahan’s desk as he placed his briefcase on the green carpet behind his chair. Dr. Stone’s gray moustache twitched as he regarded his younger colleague.

  “Here.” Dr. Stone said as he passed a brown file to him.

  He opened it and began reading the police report.

  Carl Rigby. Male Caucasian. Thirty three years of age. Murdered three colleagues. Weapon type used: unknown. Found staggering along highway 550, just north of Ouray, Colorado, covered in blood and incoherent.

  Wait a second. Dr. Callahan thought, and turned back to the first page. Carl Rigby. Rigby? That name seemed familiar to him. He looked at the black & white mug shot, and then raised his eyes and looked at the man sitting in the chair in front of his desk. Two state troopers were standing either side of the seated figure. The man’s ankles and writs were handcuffed.

  “Mr. Rigby?” Dr. Callahan said as he stubbed his cigarette out in the crystal ashtray. The man didn’t move, he just kept his eyes fixed on the carpet in front of his feet.

  “It says here, you murdered three of your colleagues. Is this true?” Dr. Callahan asked calmly, and perched on the edge of his desk as he held the file open in front of him.

  He always asked if they had done the crime first. Getting them to admit the crime was the first step towards recovery. Helps break the ice as well.

  No response.

  “Jacob?” Dr. Callahan called out.

  The big orderly opened the door, filling the doorframe.

  “Yes, boss?”

  “Thank you, officers. We’ll take it from here.” Dr. Callahan said and put the file on his desk.

  The troopers tipped their hats to the men, and Jacob escorted them out. Dr. Stone went to the door.

  “Rudy? Henry?” Dr. Stone called out.

  After a few minutes, two orderlies entered and stood behind the prone figure seated in the chair.

  “Thirteen is free. Get him cleaned and properly attired.” Dr. Stone told the men.

  Dr. Callahan sat in his office chair behind his desk and looked at the man as he was hauled to his feet. His long black hair hung down, covering most of his face. But he could see the man had been crying. Not uttering a word, the man shuffled from the room with Rudy and Henry helping to prop him up on either side.

  “See you around.” Dr. Stone said and left him with his thoughts.

  Dr. Callahan noted the new tiny unicorn figurine on his desk. He rolled his eyes, and then picked up the case file again. Carl Rigby? He looked at the mug shot again. The vacant expression and dead eyes aside, he knew that face. Then the memory floated up from the depths, and he ran his fingers through his short blond hair, and sat back in his chair.

  It was 1958, and he was at Kansas State. It was the final semester, and he was in the main library working on his thesis. Across from him was another Kappa Sigma. The guy had short hair then and wore glasses as he read. His name was Carl Rigby.

  He pictured his face in his mind, and then looked at the mug shot again. Yeah, it was him. Longer hair, and no glasses, but he recognized the man’s face. After graduation, he hadn’t seen any of his old fraternity brothers.

  He checked the next of kin list. There was a number for a Benjamin Rigby, Carl’s brother. He picked up his telephone and dialed the number. It rang a few times befo
re a man’s voice answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, this is Dr. Callahan at the Topeka State Psychiatric Hospital. May I speak with Benjamin Rigby, please?”

  “Speaking.” The man’s voice sounded cautious.

  “I’m calling about Carl.”

  “Oh. How is he?”

  “Hard to say. He’s unresponsive at present. I’d like to ask you about him, if I may?”

  “Sure.”

  “First of all. What was he doing in Colorado?”

  “Colorado? So that’s where he went?” Benjamin asked.

  “You really didn’t know where he was?” Dr. Callahan asked as he made some notes in his journal.

  “We haven’t spoken for a couple of months. He said something about a project.”

  “What was his relationship to the victims?” He asked and then glanced at the file quickly. “Howard Bacon, Leonard Irving, and Russell Poole?” He added.

  “I never knew them, sorry.”

  Great. Dr. Callahan thought, and then glanced back at the mug shot.

  “Did he have a job?”

  “Yeah, I think so. The last I heard, he was teaching some psychology class at Wichita State.”

  He was a teacher. Dr. Callahan made a note.

  “Thank you for your time.”

  “Whoa, wait up. What’s going to happen to Carl?”

  “He’ll be assessed. If he’s not insane, then he will stand trial for murder.”

  “He didn’t do it, Doc. I know Carl. This just doesn’t sound like him.”

  “But we don’t know what happened out there. I’ve seen this before. It doesn’t take much to make some people snap.”

  “He’s not an aggressive guy, Doc.”

  “Don’t worry. He’s in safe hands.” Dr. Callahan hung up.

  Coming soon