I awoke with a scream.

The scream tore through my body as I sat bolt upright in bed, my face wet with tears and my gut aching with the agony of grief. In a flash of images, I saw my mother's face, a glimpse of cold steel…but only for a second, before I fully awakened. My breathing was ragged as I collected myself, the nightmare slowly fading away and leaving me back in the reality of my bedroom.

The streetlight outside my window illuminated the dark room just enough that I could make out the numerous objects floating around my bed. Picture frames from atop the dresser, a vase, shoes from the closet, my alarm clock, and many other items were drifting about the room at eye level, but about as quickly as I noticed this, it stopped. Everything clattered to the floor. I winced as I heard the crack of glass as the fragile items hit the hardwood.

'Not again,' I thought glumly. 'God, this needs to stop happening.'

I had quite the mess to clean up…but it could wait until the morning. For now, I laid back down and curled into the fetal position, my arms wrapped tightly around myself as I drifted back off into slumber.

"All right, class, you can go. Don't forget: essay number three is due on Monday." The professor's voice projected through the lecture hall, growing louder to be heard over the sound of rustling papers and students scrambling to pack up their belongings. "No late papers, no exceptions! Have a great weekend."

I shut my laptop and stored it away in my backpack. Slinging the pack over my shoulder, I filed toward the front of the room where I paused at the desk. My classmates shoved past, piling out through the door.

"Mr. Davis?" I called, edging toward the desk.

The professor turned and smiled. "Haley," he said warmly. "I look forward to reading your paper. You've certainly set the bar high this semester."

I shrugged, smiling awkwardly at the praise. "Well, I've actually got a question about the paper. I want to make a last minute change…I know it's close to deadline, but I promise that it won't make me late."

"Oh? You were doing the paper on bipolar disorder, correct? I hope you're not thinking of changing the topic; there's nowhere near enough time for that."

"No, nothing so extensive," I assured him. "I know the paper isn't supposed to contain any personal anecdotes, but I think I've found a way to use something without it being too much of a problem. I think it'll add a lot. You remember, my mom had the disorder."

"Hmm," Mr. Davis' frowned as he studied me, mulling over the idea. "I know that this is a sensitive subject for you. If you're sure want to write about it, I suppose you have my permission, as long as you keep things professional. All right. Just be on time."

I nodded and made my exit, leaving the building and heading out onto the sunny NYU campus grounds. I had about two hours to get home, change, and head for work, so there was a briskness to my pace. As I passed one of the campus cafés, a man in a suit suddenly blocked my path.

"Ms. Gallagher, a moment of your time," said the man. I noticed that he had a partner standing nearby, as inconspicuous as one can be when dressed as formally as he was.

"Sorry, I've got no change," I said lightly, sidestepping the stranger. The man was obviously not a hobo. He knew my name and he was wearing a suit. I mean, really. My true suspicions were far more troubling, though, so if I could get away fast, all the better.

Again, the man blocked my path. "That's not what I'm after. Please, this will only take a minute."

"Sorry, I'm in a hurry. Go chase somebody else for your survey or whatever it is." I edged around him, keeping him at a distance until I was past. Then I took off at a run and got out of there.

At home, I tried to push away my concerns about the encounter. I walked into my bedroom to change my clothes and there I noticed the shattered glass littering the floor. Ah, of course. That morning, in my haste, I had put off doing the clean up from last night.

"Beautiful," I grumbled.

After concentrating carefully, I felt my feet leave the ground. I hovered several inches above the floor and took some cautious steps forward, above the glass. Once I felt stable enough, I bent and started picking up the items. I was tossing them toward the bed to get them out of the way, but I paused when I found one of the picture frames. I straightened and looked it over.

The frame held an old photo inside, one of the only pictures that I kept of my mother. It was taken at Coney Island and there was a ferris wheel in the background. I was twelve. Mom and I had our faces pressed together, both of us smiling hugely, our blonde hair blowing in the wind. Her blue eyes were bright and shining, my own chocolate brown ones full of mischief. It was a good day. Now, though, the picture had a tear in it. I stared at it a moment longer before tossing it to the bed with all the rest.

My gaze fell on the glass and I slowly lifted my hand, watching as the sharp, jagged pieces lifted into the air as well. I carefully directed them over to the waste bin in the corner and dropped them neatly inside. Problem solved.

My telekinesis was a useful tool, but I tried to use it sparingly. Truth be told, my control over it was limited and it was a source of constant concern. To make use of it, I had to reach a place of deep concentration, and to keep it from emerging on its own, I had to maintain a certain level of calm at all times. A blessing and a curse, as they say.

I ate quickly, changed, and about an hour later I arrived at work. The movie theater was hopping, which was fortunate. It gave me no time to dwell on my thoughts.

My shift was practically flying by. I had about ten minutes until my break and was handing popcorn to a young boy when a man approached the counter. I flinched when I recognized him as the suited fellow from earlier.

"Ms. Gallagher," he said, with a small smile.

I glanced both ways to see if my manager was nearby. She wasn't.

"Are you serious?" I asked, giving him an incredulous look. "Did you follow me?"

"Like I said before, I need a moment of your time."

I leaned forward and lowered my voice. "Did you actually buy a ticket in order to come talk to me? I'd be flattered, but it reeks of desperation. "

The man smiled again. "In my job, it pays to be persistent. In the past, I've had to go to far greater lengths to gain an audience with people of interest. Please, let's talk."

I stepped back from the counter.

"Marie?" I took my eyes away from the suited man to speak with my manager. She was going to hate me for this. "I think I've got the flu or something. I've got to go home." Without waiting for an answer, I slipped through the door behind me.