Free The Rasner Effect by Mark Rosendorf Page A

good facility. They help children who need it.”
    “But do any of them really get help? Do any of them ever get out?” Rick wanted an answer other than the one Hefner had given him.
    “Some do.” Obenchain’s response sounded more like a guess. “Of course, some don’t. Some are there for inadequacies that leave them with difficulty functioning in society. Without the intense treatment they receive, they will forever be a danger to themselves and others.”
    “That would be a shame.” Rick sat up. He shook his head.
    “It’s not an easy place to work, I know that.” Obenchain placed the clipboard on his desk. “I’m sure you’ll do good work there. In the time I’ve known you, I’ve seen you become a caring individual who will make rational and caring decisions. I am now confident you will see these children’s best interests are met.”
    Although he found the wording strange, the compliment brought a smile to Rick’s face. Knowing he was pleasing his mentor gave him a great sense of satisfaction.
    Dr. Obenchain knew this as well. “Is there anything else, Rick?”
    Rick opened his mouth, but then stopped himself. “No,” he finally answered.
    “Are you sure?”
    “Yes.”
    “Very well, then.”
    Both men stood up. “I hate to cut your visit short, Rick, but today is Arnold’s birthday. I promised him a dinner of his choice and a cake. I’m sure that means I’ll have to eat pizza again.”
    “Wish your son Happy Birthday for me.” Rick shook the doctor’s hand and began his long hike home.

Chapter Eight
    Derrick sat in his kitchen typing on his computer. He thought he typed fast for someone with no training. He reached to the side and clicked the mouse to save his document. He’d just touched his fingers back on the keyboard when a hot draft fluttered across his face and bare legs. There was a flash of color off to his right and he turned his head. Down the hallway, the front door stood wide open. Bright blue sky made his eyes water. A hand touched his shoulder. He spun in the chair. A thin blonde lady, about his age, with pale arms folded across her chest, stood over him. Her violet-colored eyes were slightly slanted, her arms, while not muscular, were decently toned. She wore khaki-color shorts and a white tank top, cut low in front. She didn’t have big breasts but they were up high. The rounded mounds pushed from the top of the shirt.
    He wrenched his gaze from her chest. “You don’t believe in knocking?” he asked his sudden guest. This was as much of a greeting as he was willing to offer.
    “My father made sure I would never need to knock on a door in order to enter a room,” Jen replied with a sarcastic smirk with which Derrick was all too familiar.
    “The Colonel taught us well. Especially you, his namesake.” Derrick referred to the man with fondness. “Hey, remember the time when we were hired to kill that diplomat and you…”
    “I’m sure you didn’t make me drive through half a state just to reminisce about the old days.” Jen maintained her stance, arms folded across her chest. “You said it was important. What do you want?”‘
    Derrick rolled his chair toward the kitchen table, which looked like it had been the cheapest one at a flea market. Besides being small and green, it was plastic and wobbled on weak legs. Still no tablecloth but the surface had been scrubbed to a glossy sheen. Jen glared down at him, waiting for a response to her question.
    “I’m a genius. But more importantly, I was right!”
    Jen’s eyes narrowed. “We’ve been through this before, Derrick.”
    “He’s not dead.”
    “I’m not anxious for another wild goose chase.”
    “No wild gooses here, Jennie. He’s alive. And this time, I have proof.”
    Jen’s interest was finally piqued. She dropped her arms and leaned forward, placing her palms on the table. The top hem of her tank top bowed out, exposing those round breasts. She was braless. No surprise.
    Derrick sat up