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I’d found the beautiful girl fascinating, hell, the woman wore a Glock 19 pistol at her hip for work. Patsy admitted that she, in turn, had been intrigued by the quiet soft-spoken Englishman who had appeared suddenly. She was intrigued enough that she had made the first move and asked me out on a date a month after I started at Lone Star.The first date started well, good food at a nice country-style restaurant then fell apart when Patsy took me to a local bar to go dancing. Dancing, for me, had been a Friday or Saturday evening in one of the numerous London clubs packed in like sardines with a crowd of swaying sweaty adults.Patsy’s version of dancing was completely alien to me. She directed me to a barn-like roadhouse a couple of miles out of town. The place fulfilled every fantasy I’d ever had about a western bar. Wooden floors, a bar counter that seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see. To the side was a low stage with a band playing country-style music, and in front was a. My own principally, but Chris' too and everyone else's. His parent's, the household staff's. The people in the other houses around the lake. The people in Wakefield and Reading and Stoneham. The people in Boston and Augusta. Pretty much all the people in New England were strong enough to feel individually. Further than that and it was just a sea of emotion, which thankfully managed to cancel itself out as a blanket of emotional white noise.At first it was an on or off proposition, a little like what I'd gone through as a toddler when the gifts began manifesting themselves. By the time we were eating our grilled bass I'd managed to teach myself to filter out the strong ones, but somehow the background emotional noise was completely unaffected by those filters. Fortunately the 'noise' level was low enough that I could more or less tune it out despite not being able to shield myself from it.Unless I decided to turn it all off, and then boom! All quiet, all the time. But no more living.
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