The Source-Corey Cole
It all started one day in the middle of summer when I was walking down the street by the park, minding my own business. Out of nowhere, there was the sound of an explosion that came from the park. Immediately people began running, though there was no sign of debris. Nonetheless, I raced for the epicenter. Once there, I saw nothing.
The sound around the area was settling down, but one sound stuck out. Crying. A little girl crying nearby. With nothing else to do at the moment, I found the little girl huddled up in a bush. "Hey, it's OK," I said, placing a gentle hand on her back. "It'll be--"
"I'M SORRY!" the girl screamed. "I'M SORRY I DIDN'T MEAN TO!"
I blinked. "What do you mean?"
The girl took in some breaths and looked over at her. Her bright blue eyes seemed to pierce into my soul--devastated as they were. "I didn't mean to!" she repeated. "I just didn't wanna go with that man and I got angry and big boom!"
I froze and stared at her. There was no way...
No, it was a coincidence.
"You didn't cause it," I told her.
"Yes I did!" she said. "I felt it in my belly! I'm sorry!"
I frowned and looked around. There was no other possibly source to be found. My phone went off.
"Explosion in Central Park," my brother, Derek, was said when I answered.
"I know," I told him. "I'm here."
"Do you know what caused it, yet?"
"Yeah, I have her right here."
"Our source," I said.
An hour later, we were sitting in the living room of the base. -(location not disclosed)- The girl sat on my lap eating a bowl of ice cream that my colleague, Mary, had prepared for her. Many of my colleagues surrounded us in the room. My brother, Dylan, sat on the other side of the couch, using a laptop to look up any and all information that the girl gave us.
"Your name's Nefertiti?" I asked her.
"Yup!" she said. "But only Momma and Poison call me that. My brothers and sisters call me Nef!" She grinned as she spooned her ice cream.
"What's your last name?" Mary asked.
"Uhm..." Nef thought about that one, pausing her enjoyment of her ice cream to think. "Nefertiti Dixon!" she announced gaily.
"And how old are you?"
"Four!" She held up four fingers proudly before returning to her ice cream.
"You're really big," I told her. I looked over at Dylan.
"No records," he said. I sighed and looked back at the girl.
"What's your mommy's name?" I asked.
"Momma," she said with a grin.
I frowned. "What about your daddy?"
"Poison," she said simply. "I don't like Poison. He's mean. But you guys are nice. Can I stay here forever?"
I gave her a small grin. "Sorry, but you can't. We have to get you home."
"I don't wanna go home."
"You don't wanna go home to your mommy and daddy and brothers and sisters?" I asked.
She shook her head. "Momma and Poison are mad at me and I don't wanna go home."
"I'm sure they'll just be happy you're OK," I insisted.
"Nope," she said, spooning the last of her ice cream.
I sighed. "Where do you live?"
"We used to live at Momma's house," she said. "But then Momma said it was 'time to move on'. So now we live in...NEW YORK CITY!" she announced proudly. Well, that made sense, considering I found her in Central Park in New York City.
"What's your address?" I asked.
She shrugged. "This is boring," she decided, placing her bowl on the coffee table. "Let's play a game."
I shook my head. "We need to find your parents," I said. Hopefully they would explain how she caused the explosion. I wasn't sure how she'd done it, but there was no doubt in my mind that she had.
"I don't want to!" she insisted, pouting and crossing her arms.
"I don't wanna!" she cried.
"You're right, Nef, this is boring," Mary said, silencing me with a hand on my shoulder. I gazed over at her, confused. But she had a strained look on her face. And I knew her well enough to trust her. "Why don't you go with my brother Michael and play some games on his computer?"
"OK!" she said, jumping from my lap and going over to Mary's 14-year-old brother. Michael stood and led her out of the living room, towards his bedroom.
"What was that about?" I asked her when they were out of earshot.
"I'm not sure," she said. "But I sensed...a strong reaction to her frustration. Like...like something bad was going to happen if we kept letting her get worked up."
"You mean besides a temper tantrum?" my other brother, Shawn, asked.
She nodded. "Yes," she said seriously. "Much worse."
I frowned. "This can't be good," I said. "She's not even in the US records. Did you try Canada, Dylan? Mexico?"
"Yeah," he said. "Nothing. Nothing in Europe, either."
I shook my head. "This girl is going to cause us a lot of trouble," I said. "I can feel it."
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