Darcy Clay: Freelance Detective and Telekinetic Investigator

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. The author does not condone the use of telekinetic powers on bratty teenagers.

“Go ahead. Make your move.”

I fired the words like arrows as I stood and glared at the eighteen-year-old hell fury that was glowering back at me. She was all flame hair, freckles and green-eyed rage.

I don’t know if I can explain what lead up to this confrontation without beating my head on the keyboard.

Kelly O’Rourke: Even her name suggested someone who wanted to fist fight me. I’d been dating her incredibly hot mother now for six months and had only just convinced her to move in with me. She’d come with some baggage though (who doesn’t) which in this case were two oversized pieces of Samsonite indeed.

The first was that she’d left her husband of twenty years for another woman.

Yours truly.

The second was her feisty daughter. Did I say ‘feisty’? I meant ‘near homicidally furious in perpetuum’. Kelly was every step-parent’s worst nightmare – and I hadn’t even married her mom yet.

She habitually wore shorts that would have been far too short on a girl with even normal-sized legs; let alone the super-modelesque pins she was tottering around on.

She didn’t know the ‘Less is More’ rule when it came to applying make-up (preferring to opt for the ‘More Is Never Enough’ rule instead). Oh and she also had more burner phones than your average CIA operative.

She paid little attention to her mother (even less to me) and to make matters worse, the crowning fly in the perfumed ointment…

She was a Grade B Telekinetic.

Now admittedly that was one of the things that had drawn me to her mom in the first place (these things are usually genetic – Kelly’s mom was shifter. She could transform her body into all kinds of amazing forms. She even does this ‘thing’ with her… Wait… Never mind..).

We specials will often seek each other out for friendship; Lord knows there’s no one else in the world who understands what we go through. We are less than point zero-zero-zero-one percent of the population, and we really have just two options on how we can live our lives.

Option one: Work for the government. You’d think that would be great and I’m sure there are some spies out there with special abilities, but most of the people blackbagged by Uncle Sam don’t end up on assignment. They end up in a lab.

And option two: Live your life as quietly as you can.

Which is what I went for. ‘Quietly’ means living by something we have nicknamed ‘The Rule Of The Beige Buick” which is: ‘Never attract attention to yourself’ (honestly; when was the last time you paid attention to a beige Buick?).

Well ya know what? To hell with that. Just this once I was throwing that rule right out the window.

Which brings me to the gunfight at the OK Corral that was brewing in my lounge at two in the afternoon on that Saturday. The buildup had been the usual morning of argument (her mom was at work) and I’d decided to go for a walk to clear my head and get over the urge to launch her into the next county with a wave of my hand.

I came back to find her in shorter shorts than usual, a top that was one heavy inhalation of breath away from exposing her nipples; and standing out on the lawn sharing a lemonade with the handsome young man who was paid to mow my lawn every two weeks.

I approached them. All smiles.

“Hi Miss Clay.” said Brett with all the assurance of a boy walking out of a female locker room.

Resting pouty bitch face decided to say nothing.

“Hi Brett. Taking a break?”

Did I mention that I was a coercive? Grade C telepathic ability to influence emotions and decision making. Not strong enough to get Kelly to do anything but more than a match for the impressionable young mind of Brett the Lawnmower Man.

…Who was suddenly hit with an overwhelming urge to stop ogling my ‘stepdaughter’ and get back to work; which he dutifully did. As the mower was rattle-roaring its way to the far end of the front yard I walked through the door and into the lounge, accompanied by the dulcet tones of a young woman screaming the worst obscenities she could think of at me.

My lounge was nice; comfy modern couch, wool carpet, flat screen tv, huge windows that overlook the front yard, horrible figurine on shelf of two naked greek goddesses inverted on each other – I don’t mind admitting that I have no taste.

Oh and one furious red-headed brat with telekinetic powers and a chip on her shoulder the size of Staten Island (another place I wanted to throw her too). She was on form too, shouting all manner of helpful suggestions to me:

Where I could place my holier than thou attitude.

Where I could travel too so I could find another woman who likes women and leave her innocent mother alone.

And where I can best find a man so I can have real sex and come to the realization that I was making the wrong decisions in my life. She even offered her father up for this particular service. Bless her.

All framed in the worst possible language her imagination could manifest. And trust me; it was grim – to a normal person it would have sounded mortifying.

Sadly for her I’m not a normal person. I’m Darcy Clay. And I have stared down things in this world hundreds of times more terrifying than a petulant Grade B with a penchant for invective.

So there I was; squared off with Kelly O’Rourke like we were a pair of wild west gunslingers. She had her back to the lace-curtained windows and I could see Brett and the lawnmower travelling back and forth behind her with more than his usual level of enthusiasm.

When you learn to control your powers they teach you how to ‘set’. It’s a like a check-list you go through to get ready to fire them off. Telekines, telepaths, pyrocrats, elementalists, shifters, travelers – it doesn’t matter.

Ground yourself.

Sharpen your intent.

Fix your will.

Call your power.

Aim.

Unleash.

Kelly O’Rourke was a telekinetic child still learning to walk. She had to go through all the stages.

I’m a Grade A master. I’m the one you call when you have trouble with other telekines.

I’m Darcy Freaken’ Clay. And I go from step one to step six in half the blink of an eye.

Where was I? Oh yeah.

“Go ahead. Make your move.”

When she was at ‘Ground Yourself’ I had quietly pulled the lace curtains to one side without directly looking at them.

By the time she had ‘Fixed Her Will’ I had sneakily opened the double windows directly behind her.

Just as she was ‘Calling Her Power’ she muttered at me through clenched teeth:

“This ends now you <expletive deleted>.”

To her I hadn’t even moved. I didn’t have that screwed up expression on my face. My hands were not fists. I wasn’t trembling as the power built up in my body. None of that. When you reach my level of mastery you don’t need it.

“Yes.” I replied rather amiably. “It most certainly does.”

With a strong burst of directed telekinetic force I stripped her totally nude.

The look of surprise on her face as her halter, bra, shorts, panties, bracelet and even her thin-strapped shoes went flying out the window was absolutely priceless. The blast straightened her hair flat out behind her for a second and she would have gone tumbling backward if I hadn’t also reached around and put a nice little barrier on her pert little backside.

Her clothes went shooting out into the yard and landed in a scattered arc on the lawn (I’d made sure I’d timed it so that Brett had his back to us and was heading away). All except for her Bluebella Ariella floral mesh bra and panties; which I sent over the road and into Mr Macluskie’s prize-winning petunia bushes.

She went white as a sheet – any strike she was planning well and truly lost. I allowed myself a second to admire the view (I won’t apologise for that, I am a woman who appreciates beauty and Kelly was just as hot as her mom) as she stood there trembling, unable to speak and fully on display. I especially liked the way her firm rounded apples were quivering on her chest, the nipples as firm as a pair of twitching pencil erasers. I also enjoyed the fact that between her legs was a thick perfect triangle of fiery silken fur.

Just like her mom.

A couple of seconds of stunned silence went by and just as she looked like she was about to speak again I waved ‘bye-bye’…

… Before sending her out the window as well.

She jack-knifed backward like a fleeing lobster and landed with a solid thump squarely on her butt in the middle of the lawn, most of her clothes scattered around her.

I heard the lawn-mower turn around.

I saw her get up, a look of complete bewilderment on her face.

I saw the lawnmower come into view… Slowing down…

I heard the rattling and grinding of Kelly’s shorts being torn up by the mower’s blades.

And then… Music to my ears.

With the voice of an angel being put through a paddle wheel, Kelly let out the most horrendous of blood curdling shrieks. She covered herself as best she could, facing Brett and half crouched; one arm over her breasts, one hand covering the cute little thatch between her pale legs.

Dumbly Brett stopped the mower and extricated the remains of her shorts before meekly extending his hand and offering them to her.

This totally set her off.

I saw her run toward the front door. From my spot in the lounge I heard her try the handle, then pound on it with her fists.

“Let me in! Let me in!”

‘Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin’ I thought to myself as I reinforced the telekinetic lock I was maintaining on the solid wooden door.

Then she appeared at the window, just in time to see it shut on her face. Frantically she pounded on the glass but all she could see was my smiling face as the lace curtains slowly closed, as if drawn by invisible hands.

Sensing her next move I blasted her halter top over the road and put it onto Mr Mcluskies’ roof. I hoped if Brett noticed it he’d just think it was a gust of wind or something.

He didn’t notice it. He was too busy gawping at the lovely sight of Kelly O’Rourke; as naked as the day she was born, shrieking and crying and trying desperately to turn invisible (sadly for her, not a power that exists as far as I know).

I last saw her streaking off down the road – I guess she was looking for a clothesline to steal from or a hole to crawl into. I gave it a moment and went out to the yard; I think I saw her turn down the side street that leads to the park.

“Um… Ah… Miss Clay? Um… Ah…” Brett thoughtfully opined.

“Thank you Brett. That’s all for today.”

“But ah… Thelawnisn’tfinished.”

I reached into my pocket, pulled out my ridge wallet (hey! I’m a lesbian private detective with telekinetic powers ok? I don’t do ‘purses’) and slipped him a fifty.

“Here’s a tip. It’s fine. I’ll finish them today. See you in a couple of weeks.”

I last saw him on his bicycle turning down the side street in the direction of the park.

Twenty minutes later the lawns were finished, the house was quiet and I was sitting on the modern couch in my lounge (with a Corona in hand – I had a personal habit of consuming alcohol after using my powers).

I spent some time idly wondering how I would explain the day’s events to my girlfriend when she got home and considering carefully whether or not to order extra pineapple on tonight’s pizza.

While thoroughly enjoying the peace and quiet.