Telepathy (The Ties That Bind)

After ordering a large, bold cup of Italian blend, Michael said his goodbyes, thanking Jake again for his generous thoughtfulness, and headed to his office. He took a shortcut thorugh the park, hoping to spot his sister finishing up her jog. As he walked, he sipped his hot, black coffee and kept his eyes open for Allison. With no sign of her in the park, his uneasiness increased slightly before he told himself to be reasonable. "She probably just headed into the studio early today...it was just a stupid dream..." he mumbled aloud to himself as he unlocked the door to his office. Still, he could not completely shake the feeling. He and Allison had a special bond that went beyond being twins. Ever since they'd been children, they'd noticed certain oddities about themselves that others might call 'psychic abilities.' They could communicate without words, even from considerable distances. Allison had always had a certain 'way' with animals, and Michael often jokingly called her 'Dr. Doolitle." Michael had always had prophetic dreams, which had served him well in catching criminals during his stint with the LAPD, and later with his PI firm. Striding to his desk, he picked up the telephone and dialed the studio number.

"Hollywood Pictures," said a cool female voice on the other line.

"Allison Bennett, please."

"One moment."

A cheesy elevator rendition of Nirvana's 'In Bloom' filled the earpiece. Michael rolled his eyes and shook his head at the irony he barely had time to contemplate before a brisk male voice came over the line.

"Dorien McMillan."

Michael's lip curled in disgust. Dorien was Allison's ex-fiance, and a hot-shot director in Tinsel Town. About a month before the wedding, Allison received photographs in the mail, depicting Dorien in compromising situations with several of his pretty little up-and-comers. Allison was under the impression they were sent anonymously; Michael knew he was the one who sent them. He had trailed Dorien for nearly a year, snapping candid shots, but knew his sister wouldn't believe him unless there was proof. Once Michael had gotten the proof, he didn't want to be the one to break it to Allison.

"Taking time out of your busy schedule shooting The Last Great Picture Show to mingle with the little people, eh Dorien?"

"Michael. Let's not dwell on the, ah, 'niceties' and, in the interest of saving time, why don't you just get to the point?"

"Well, Dorien, since I asked for Allison and as it's none of your business..."

"Allison didn't show up for the table read today. No chance you might enlighten us all on where she's run off to this time, is there, Mr. Medium?"

Michael's face contorted. "See, Dorien," he said, his voice dripping with disdain, "the way I remember it, you were the master at 'running off,' to put it nicely. Maybe you could lend me some of your tricks...they might help track her down." He chuckled callously. "But then again, maybe not."

"As much as I love these little chats of ours, Michael, I don't have time for this. Tell Allison to call me when you see her," Dorien snapped brusquely, slamming down the receiver with a crash. Michael winced.

"A pleasure, as always, Dorien," he muttered to himself.