Read Yesterday's Thief: An Eric Beckman Paranormal Sci-Fi Thriller for Free Online

thinking about it. I was occupied at the moment.
    Up to that point I’d been a little fuzzy on whether girls enjoyed having their breasts fondled. I was pretty sure they just let their boyfriends do it to keep them happy. The boyfriends, that is. But I responded to Naomi’s implied desire, and her moan confirmed I had indeed read her mind. Two revelations in one night: Girls liked guys to touch their breasts and I could read minds.
    My relationship with Naomi didn’t last. I discovered that even while she was professing her love for me, she was thinking of other guys. < He’s okay, but he’s no Pete Logan. And Pete’s a better kisser. > Perhaps that’s where my lack-of-trust flaw got its start. How could I trust people after that? Especially women.
    Humans can’t live without trusting. You can’t drive a car, for example, without trusting that the other drivers will be sober and stay in their lanes. But hearing others’ private thoughts can make trusting difficult.
    Being trust-challenged turned me into a lone wolf. Not a good thing if you want to settle down and have a family. Maybe I can pass my mind-reading talent on to my children. What a disaster if I never had any.
    We arrived at the hospital, and I received a text from Stan: “meet me at the stadium at 4.”
    I got stuck in the ER waiting game until Craig came to rescue me. The downside was that he put me through a much more thorough exam than a normal ER doc would have.
    “C’mon, Craig, it wasn’t bad, let me go.” I checked my watch. “I’ve got to be at the stadium in an hour.”
    “Yeah, you’re probably fine, but you know me. You’ve got some swelling in your ankle. Does this hurt?” He moved it back and forth.
    “No, that feels good. You should have been a masseur. What do I have to do to get you to release me?”
    He laughed. “Nice try, Beckman. I’m not going to think it. Changing the subject, the umpire recovered fine, by the way.” < I’m not going to think about discharge no no I’m just going to think this stuff that isn’t relevant yada yada yada I’m paying attention to the exam do the reflexes discharge against medical ad—no, things didn’t go well in the bedroom last night I think my wife—oh god paying attention to the exam now … >
    I looked away, putting a hand over my smile. Over the years, I’ve let Craig think his blocking technique is more effective than it is. I try to respect his privacy, but I’m no saint, remember?
    When Craig was checking my eyes with the ophthalmoscope, he put his hand on my head, then jumped back. “Jeez, Eric, that’s a huge hematoma. You didn’t lose consciousness did you? That could be serious.” He looked me in the eye. Without the scope.
    “No, no.” I reached up and felt the bump on the crown of my head. “I knocked my head against the guy’s chin.”
    “Did you feel nauseous? A little loopy? Do you have a headache?”
    “I’m fine, Craig, really.” I knew enough to monitor my condition. I snapped my fingers. “Hey, I can get discharged AMA, against medical advice.”
    He stood and did a little running-man thing with his fingers on his chin. “You should stay for observation overnight, but let me do a quick neurologic exam, and I’ll let you go AMA. You’ve got to promise not to drive.”
    * * *
    Some minimal paperwork, and I caught a cab to the AT&T stadium parking lot. Stan was leaning against an unmarked car with his arms crossed. I’ve seen Stan move pretty fast, but when he’s stationary, he doesn’t move a muscle. No wasted motion.
    I got out of the taxi. Stan pushed off from his car and started walking toward the entrance to the park. When I joined him, he said, “Fight?”
    I touched my facial bruises and gave him the abridged bridge story.
    He turned to me. “Guess you were a do-gooder today.”
    All of Stan’s lines are delivered deadpan. Any normal person would wonder whether he was impressed with what I did or making fun of me for being a goody