Catalyst

Some families are forged through marriage, through birth, or through adoption. But there are those – albeit few – that are forged by defiance: unintended by-products of a hierarchy’s oppression.

Catalyst

 

Book One

You Are The Light

 

By

Adam Wolf

 

CONTENTS

1. DARALICE

2. WALTHIS

3. KIRA

4. THE BIG APPLE

5. THE LITTLE APPLE

6. CHAYA

7. DONAV

8. THE ODD COUPLE

9. GILLY

10. CROSSED PATHS

11. ZOE

12. HAPPY BIRTHDAY

13. YOU’RE NOT ALONE

14. CLOAK AND DAGGER S**T

15. TEMPER TANTRUM

16. TEAM AWESOME

17. BUILDING BRIDGES

18. PROGENIES DIVIDED

19. THE WORLD ABANDONED ME

20. PREPARATION

21. BLOOD, CARNAGE, AND A BIG WHEEL

22. THIS IS WHY WE FIGHT

23. SAY MY NAME

24. MY DAUGHTER’S THE BOMB

25. GENERAL ORRECK

 

 

 

 

1. DARALICE

 

 

Daralice’s long hair hung from her scalp an oily, knotted wreck. She’d never been prone to vanity, but her dark brown locks had been the one physical feature she’d occasionally fretted over. It had been months since she’d washed them, months since she’d had the privilege of running the bristles of a brush through them. Now the only thing that ran through her hair was a multitude of lice. This unkempt, infested mass draped her pale face and narrow shoulders as she sat upon the basement floor, rubbing gently the flesh above her left ankle, at where the shackle had chafed it raw. The marred flesh radiated pain, but the sensation wasn’t all bad, for with it came a reminder: in order to feel pain, one must be alive. Daralice was alive. He hadn’t murdered her yet.

Next she tended to her calves and thighs. She dribbled murky water from a filthy bottle onto them, onto the numerous cigar burns they bore. The fresh burns responded with a stinging sensation. The older burns �" blots of scarred flesh �" offered no response, the scorched nerves incapable. She tended to her task amid the dim glow of a naked thirty watt bulb. This scant source of light hung center the basement ceiling from a length of bailing wire. The basement bore no windows, and this faint glow was all she had. When through tending to her wounds, Daralice sipped once from the bottle, fought back a reflexive gag, and swallowed the polluted water. She did not know the source of the tainted fluid, and did not care to. Next she ran her tongue across her gums, across the area where her upper right molars had hung. They now resided within a pocket of her soiled denim shorts. She wasn’t sure why she’d held on to them; they could never be reattached. Perhaps it was defiance, an unwillingness to relinquish any part of herself, even the broken pieces.

Daralice returned the bottle to the crumbling concrete that comprised the floor. She picked up a book, its pages stained and withered from age, but intact. It rested among two other books: Guinness World Records, and Donald Trump’s How to Get Rich. Of these latter two, several of their pages had been torn free, having served as toilet paper, a rusty metal bucket as her toilet. The book she held would not suffer the same fate. She’d solemnly sworn this to herself. Even if she were to have to wallow in her own filth, this book would remain intact. It had been her sole companion throughout the months, an escape from this hell, if only through the boundaries of her imagination.

She stared at the artwork upon the fantasy novel’s cover before progressing to the tale within. The beautiful imagery consisted primarily of the story’s protagonist: Murcalis, Elvish Queen of the Septon Isles. She stood tall, clad in intricate armor composed of onyx and silver, infused with magic bestowed upon it by the seven elder priestesses of Ranthorn Peninsula. The elvish queen held in her powerful hands Thelsus, the fabled spear of her ancestors, six and a half feet in length, half a foot shy of her height. Beyond her danced the oily black tendrils of Besdion, the heart and living capital of the Septon Isles.

Daralice delicately unfolded the novel, bringing herself to the first chapter. She’d read the tale several times, having lost count after the twentieth. She breathed deep in preparation of experiencing it yet again. This was her refuge, her meditation. This book tethered her sanity the way the shackle bound her to this basement prison. She ran the fingers of her left hand over the words upon the page, over the power that seemed to radiate from them. The portion of her pinky finger beyond the final joint was missing, but she hardly seemed to notice anymore. She’d chewed it off what seemed ages ago, and it managed to heal well enough since. That had happened during a darker time: before Murcalis, before the Septon Isles, before she’d discovered the safe haven within her mind, within her dreams, within her soul.

As Daralice began to read, she slowly detached herself from this world, this prison within, its damp reek of mildew, the coarse, cold ground below her, the painful songs the wounds throughout her legs sung, the nauseating stink of the bucket overflowing with her piss, s**t, and bile. She exchanged this horrific world for the one she held within her grimy, scarred hands.

She was several chapters, several hours into the tale when a distant thud sounded from above. Had she heard it, she would have recognized it for what it was �" a door slamming shut. It was him, returning home. The sound had reached her ears, but not her detached mind. More and more as of late, her ability to immerse herself in Murcalis’s tale had increased in potency. When the squeak of hinges and a shaft of light came from a far corner of the basement, these things went unheralded as well. Not even the thud of his work boots as he descended the staircase registered. Not until he hovered above her, his immense shadow cast about her, dimming the words beyond recognition, did she begin to take notice.

“Those were given to you for wiping, not for reading.”

His grisly voice yanked her further back into reality, back into the hell he’d transformed her life into. The sound of it was monstrous, as if upon awakening each morning he chose to gargle with a cupful of thumbtacks. His gruesome voice was accompanied by a billow of smoke wrought from the half smoked cigar protruding from his thin, cracked lips. The cloud descended upon her, its stench mingling with the myriad of others that hung in the air.

He brooded above her like a giant, a monster ensconced in the body of a three hundred and fifteen pound man. His tattered blue jeans and t-shirt were an ill fit, and clung tight to his bulbous physique. And to his clothing clung a collage of grease and oil stains. She’d long ago surmised he was a mechanic, or a machinist of some sort. She’d long ago surmised it did not matter. He was a monster. This was all that mattered.

He raised an immense hand to his lips, and with grotesque, sausage-like fingers, plucked the cigar from his mouth. Holding it several inches from his face, he proceeded to stare at it. She knew what this meant. She knew what was soon to follow.

“When I was a boy, I had a dog,” the monster recounted. “A stupid mutt, like you. Before I’d house broken it, I’d lay newspaper on the kitchen floor so it could do its business. At times that mutt would get to playin with them papers as if they was a toy. I’d kick that mutt hard as I could every time it did. Eventually the lesson sank in, and that mutt quit usin those papers for amusement, and only used em for what they was intended for. I’m wonderin now,” he swung a heavy, boot clad foot forward with a swiftness uncharacteristic a man his size, the steel tip impacting the soft flesh of Daralice’s stomach, “how many times I’m gonna hafta kick you before you learn your lesson.”

Murcalis’s tale fell from her hands. Where Daralice had sat, she now lay, writhing in agony. The pain was excruciating, debilitating, forcing tears from her eyes. She’d almost grown accustom to the cigar burns, but this sensation was new, rewriting her definition of the word ‘misery’. She fought for breath, but it seemed a losing battle. Her tears continued in silence.

The monster dropped to his knees. They slammed upon the concrete floor like two massive clubs. He took hold of her unshackled leg and plunged the searing red tip of the cigar into her flesh. This was a brand of pain Daralice knew all too well, and she bore it unflinching.

“You’re no better than a dog,” the monster grunted as he ground the tip of the cigar into ash. Daralice’s skin bubbled, hissed, and popped in response. A mixture of steam and smoke rose from the fresh, sizzling wound. Daralice continued to struggle to regain her ability to breathe as pain stampeded throughout her body. “As a matter of fact, you’re less than a dog. At least a dog can be taught to obey,” the monster rasped as he rose and shuffled upon massive feet toward the bucket that had served as Daralice’s toilet for so many months, toward the excrement, urine, and vomit congealing within. He grasped it with immense hands, carried it to where Daralice lay, and poured its contents onto her head and face.

Daralice’s faculty for breathing returned to her in this instant, a stunted gasp, and with it came the acrid stench of the filth she’d been doused with. She wretched, gagged, and finally she vomited what little food her stomach contained. She then struggled to her hands and knees and clamored away, coughing and heaving as she did.

“You even walk on all fours like a dog,” the monster spat in disgust. He swung his leg back and kicked her again, the toe of his boot impacting her bladder, loosing its contents.

Daralice crumpled to the floor as fresh urine spread about her shorts. Again her breath was stolen. This second impact had been even more excruciating than the first. With it came blots of white light before her eyes as she began to slip from consciousness.

“I’ll break you,” her captor grunted, “the same way I broke that mutt.”

He pressed the sole of his boot against her shoulder and pushed, rolling her onto her back. She stared up at him through the lights of delirium that danced about her eyes, through the s**t, the urine, and the vomit caked to her face, through the long auburn hair matted to her skin. She stared up at death itself as it raised one massive boot above her head in preparation of dropping it with all his might, crushing her skull, extinguishing her soul.

The dim thirty watt bulb illuminating the basement flickered. The monster’s foot loomed above Daralice’s head. Again the light stuttered. Death faltered, brought its foot back to rest beside its other, then swiveled about to peer at the bulb with dark, displeased eyes. The glow of the bulb slowly diminished until it was little more than a spark, then blinked into nothingness. Another light took its place, permeating the darkness, seeming to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at once. This new, mysterious light was faint, but not so faint as to deny the monster sight of the impossible �" the oily black tendrils that began to seep from the ceiling, bleed from the walls, and rise from the floor. He stared in shock as the basement was engulfed by this anomaly. Seconds crept by as his world gave way to another, as the living darkness swallowed his reality.

 He slowly turned back toward Daralice in search of something, answers perhaps. But where a battered and nearly broken girl had lain, something now towered in her place.

The monster looked up. Now it was he who stared at death, into her glowing, blue eyes. She stared back, a deity, both beautiful and frightening. The dark armor that clad her was offset by the intricate stencil work throughout, etched in pure silver. What little of her skin was exposed was pearl white, nearly translucent. A battle helm, made of the same onyx and silver that comprised the rest of her armor, partially concealed her face. Long, pointy ears protruded from the sides of her head, swept back in anger, swept back like a vicious beast in preparation to strike. Strike is precisely what she did, the point of Thelsus piercing the monster’s pronounced belly, exiting his back with a gush of blood.

The monster did not immediately acknowledge the six and a half foot length of steel that had impaled him. The sight of this deity held him entranced, unawares. When he eventually did take note, he let out a gasp of surprise, and with it came a dribble of blood. It poured from his lips onto his chin, then coursed the length of his neck before saturating the hem of his shirt. His astonishment did not cease here, for next the deity spoke.

“Fitting,” she said, her voice all at once angelically melodious and terrifying, “to be stuck in such a manner, like the pig that you are.”

She concluded this wicked inflection by raising the spear, and the monster with it. The bloodied point of the weapon arced steeper and steeper upward until the wretched excuse of a man impaled upon it began to slide down toward the right hand of the deity that clutched it. His descent ceased when his massive gut met the long, taut fingers that held the weapon.

The elvish queen raised her left hand and placed it upon the monster’s head, her palm nearly encompassing the full circumference of his scalp. Her long fingers curved around and draped along his skull. The monster’s eyes panned up in horror. The only image they returned was of the rigid, muscular underside of the deity’s forearm. This was the last thing he would ever witness.

Murcalis clenched her fingers tightly, shattering her tormentor’s skull. Blood poured from every orifice of the monster’s face amid a sonance of pops and crunches. When her vice ceased, what she held in her hand, crumpled and oozing, could be described as little more than a sack of mush. She released it, and what had been the monster’s head slumped back and hung from its thick neck, oozing blood and brain matter onto the dark, shifting tendrils that now comprised the floor. Slowly she declined the spear, and from it slid the hulking remains of the man impaled upon it. The corpse met with the ground, the oily mass slithering about, and succumbed to oblivion. The tendrils lashed at the immense carcass, entwined it, and tore at it before parting to form a chasm that swallowed the remains whole.

The deity, which was truly neither Daralice nor Murcalis, yet in some wondrous way both, tilted her helmed head skyward and all at once laughed, sang, screamed, and cried. The tendrils of Besdion shook in response to her mirth, her pain, her joy. When their dance of sorts ceased, they tore at the ceiling, splitting it in half. Next they poured into the upper level of the house, engulfing its wooden frame, twisting, pulling, prying. The structure cracked, moaned, and splintered as it was pulled down around the elvish queen. The dark, shifting floor opened around her, absorbing the ruins of the house, drowning them in nothingness.

When silence ensued, the deity was all that remained within the swirling shadows, standing victorious. The tip of her spear was laid against what had been an unyielding restraint to a tortured young woman, but little more than a nuisance to this warrior queen. The iron shackle shattered and fell to the floor, now a living thing eager to consume it. Murcalis then stood center the undulating mass, motionless, for what may have been hours.

 

When finally the immense dark cocoon receded, it gave way to a different kind of darkness �" a star filled sky. The elvish queen was gone, having retired to the confines of Daralice’s mind. The tortured young woman gazed up at the sleeping sky, at its countless stars, its crescent moon. Tears streaked her face, mingling with the filth covering her from head to toe. A state of being washed over her, vaguely familiar. It took her some time before she fully recognized it for what it was: something long lost, something long desired �" freedom.

A breeze danced through Daralice’s hair and played across her pallid face, a loving gesture, an old friend welcoming her home.

She parted encrusted lips and spoke softly into the night.

“Hello world. I missed you so very much.”

 

FOUR YEARS LATER

 

 

 

 

2. WALTHIS

 

 

Chicago, the ‘Windy City’, was anything but on this pleasant summer day. The few trees lining the streets gave testament to nature’s dormant breath, their rich green leaves lax, basking in the sun’s receding glow. Though the air was still, the city’s inhabitants were not, bustling through the streets, most at a hurried pace. Walthis Crane was one of the many, though his pace was not. He moved slowly, in no rush to be home. In a sense he was already there, these city streets his front yard. As he moved about down-town Chicago, he breathed deep the tainted air. This particular area smelled of diesel exhaust and fried food. There was also a peculiar underlying odor Walthis did not care to put an origin to.

The scents upon the air did not concern Walthis at the moment, nor did they seldom ever. He was currently attuned to sight. Looking. Always looking. Searching rather, for someone: someone out of the ordinary, someone who stood apart from the crowd, someone aglow with something wondrous, something magical.

Auras. A silly concept to most, but then most could not see the world the way in which Walthis could. Walthis even felt there was a very real possibility that no one other than himself could truly sense someone’s aura. In a way this saddened him, to know the rest of the people he shared this flawed planet with could not see the beauty that surrounded one another.

Walthis watched as a delivery man wheeled boxes stacked upon a dolly into a nearby building. The building’s height was vast, and it seemed to be in competition with the other towering structures throughout the city, each in want of grazing the cloud strewn sky, some meeting their goal, others exceeding it, piercing the clouds it testament to mankind’s unending quest for greatness. The delivery man was alight, a soft luminescence permeating his entire body, as was the woman who politely held the door ajar for him. The deliveryman smiled in thanks. The woman answered his gratitude with a smile of her own. Walthis found a prodigious amount of joy in this simple act of kindness, a small reminder that the world was far from lost.

A young mother walked toward Walthis. She exuded this same glow, this essence of life. On her face she wore a smile as well, a truly blissful expression as she delicately pushed a baby stroller before her. Walthis glanced down as she passed, viewing the precious young life within, the source of the woman’s joy. Surrounding the infant girl was a glimmer, a kind of magic, the outward projection of her soul. Walthis smiled at the child. She smiled in response, cooing and wiggling her tiny hands about jubilantly.

Do you know, young one? Do you know I am in search of the saviors of this world? Do you see as I see? If not, do not fret. I will find as many of them as I can. I will bring them together, and the world will be better for it.

Walthis came to a standstill at a crosswalk. He idled in wait of the indication to cross. Around him stood a dozen or so others awaiting the signal as well. At six foot three inches Walthis stood taller than them all.  They were of differing ages, differing builds, and differing ethnicities, yet they all shared one commonality �" they glowed a soft but prevalent white light. Walthis searched the multitude of people as they moved about, some on foot, others within cars, all of them shimmering, none of them shining bright.

The signal to cross emerged. Walthis moved with the small crowd, pivoting his head slowly about in search of the saviors of the world. In a city of millions, he’d yet to find a single one. They were here though, this he knew, this knowledge born of hope, this knowledge born of determination.

 

After an hour’s passing, Walthis found himself midway along The Magnificent Mile. His feet had grown tired, though his will to succeed had not. He took seat upon a bench and observed the lives unfolding before him. The crowd of people was dense here, swirling about, each individual aglow. He looked in search of the one that shone brighter than the rest, one of the chosen few destined to mend this wounded world. He waited and watched as the hour grew late. The crowd gradually dwindled, and with it the odds of finding a savior on this forlorn of days.

Walthis rose begrudgingly, running a large hand over his graying brown hair as he did. He was often spry for his age, but this was not one of those oft moments. As he took to his feet, his muscles yawned and his joints creaked in complaint of fifty-five years of use. He stood still for a minute before venturing on, looking about one last time before returning home for the remainder of the night. He did not find what he was in search of. With an inward sigh he relented, ceding to the notion that today would not be a day marked by discovery. But Walthis took some comfort in knowing on the cusp of today was tomorrow, a new day abounding with possibilities.

He ambled toward Murcott Center poised before him, his suite atop the fifty-first floor. The building and its fifty-seven floors total were all his, as were half a dozen other high rises throughout the city. Of them all, he preferred to call this one home. He had immense appreciation for the view it offered of the streets below, of the multitude of souls that often set them alight. He was greeted at the entrance by a doorman, and again within by a security guard dressed discreetly in a tailored suit. Once within the elevator, his rather crestfallen mood waned slightly at the remembrance of the package that had arrived for him by way of mail this morning: Spring harvested Tieguanyin leaves imported from China. He would prepare himself a cup of the sweet tea before settling into his office to browse the internet and the seemingly endless quantity of news channels displayed on the multitude of television screens that lined the walls. He would study the current state of the world, examine its flaws, remind himself how essential it was to find those who would deliver it from turmoil, how essential it was to find the world’s saviors and shield them from those who would vilify them, those who would say the magic they possessed was a corruption, a thing to loathe and fear.

 

 

 

 

 

3. KIRA

 

 

“What’s our defense against these abominations, these living weapons?” Riccus Mandalay’s spiteful voice spread through the vast warehouse unassisted by a microphone, his hatred alone serving him well enough in amplifying the words he spoke. The plain clothed men and women gazing at him stirred with contempt for those of which he spoke. “Do we trust in a government infested with larcenists and malingerers when they assure us there is no need for panic?”

Sporadic semi-shouts of “No” erupted from the standing crowd. Riccus Mandalay was just getting started. Their frenzy hadn’t piqued yet. He would bring them to this point soon enough. He was becoming quite adept at rallying a crowd.

“Humanity’s fate hangs in the balance! Its defense relies upon you, and you, and you!” Riccus exclaimed as he jabbed his finger at random people within the crowd. Murmurs of approval were heard throughout.

“Just last week, a man possessing an ability which allows him to manipulate fire through sheer will was broadcast on every news channel throughout the country!”

Intriguing, Kira thought, showing interest toward what Riccus Mandalay was saying for the first time since he’d opened his mouth some thirty minutes ago. Maybe I should watch the news more often.

“This freak of nature was brought to our attention by way of the Biological Anomaly Protocol. If this is what our government is allowing us to be privilege to, just try and fathom what monstrosities are being kept hidden from us. Just imagine what threats are locked away within secret facilities located throughout this precious land we call America, this sacred soil we call home. What dangers truly lie in wait? BAP 14 is a farce! It’s a sham set in place by our sinister government with the intent of manipulating us into a false sense of security. The real evils have yet to be seen!”

You’ve got no f****n idea, preacher man, Kira thought while displaying a slight, knowing grin.

“Change is upon us my fellow men and women. Make no mistake about it; we are in a state of crisis.”

The crowd murmured their agreement. All but one. Kira stood center the drove of fifty or so disciples, listless, dressed head to toe in black, the large hood draped over her head casting all but her blood red lips in shadow. Those lips parted, and through them ventured a yawn.

“Do we sit idly by and allow these morally corrupt government officials to dictate our future?” More semi-shouts of “No” leapt from the crowd. “Or do we steer our own course, determine our own fate? These genetic abnormalities should not simply be registered and then monitored in only the most extreme cases, they should be wiped from the face of the earth! This world will only be safe once it has been purged of these demons. I say kill each and every one of them! And then, and only then can we sleep soundly at night!”

And here we go. S**t just got real.

“Do we allow this scourge to live among us? This is not what God intended. These creatures are not like us. They were not crafted by the hands of our Lord. They were molded by the cleaved hooves of Satan himself! These abominations are excrement loosed from the very bowels of hell!”

Did this pickle-dick m**********r just call me a piece of hell s**t?

“This filth shall be flushed from the world by the righteous!”

This guy’s hilarious.

“We must succeed where our government fails us. We must fight where those who are foolish enough to believe this pagan sculpted treachery fail to.”

Kira looked about the spacious, run-down, dimly lit warehouse. The crowd that occupied it seemed small by way of comparison. But what would its occupants’ numbers be months from now �" hundreds? What about years from now �" thousands?

“Our society is slowly becoming inundated with these devil spawn, desensitized to them. We are being fed information in their regard in small doses, when in reality the problem has already risen to astronomical proportions. We are not safe. We are not alone. These demons walk among us!

“What liberties will these vile creatures be further granted? Already they are permitted to work among us. Next will they be allowed to attend school with our children? Can you find comfort in your offspring sharing a classroom with a monstrosity capable of crushing a building with its mind?”

What! Is there documented proof of this? Or is this lunatic just making this s**t up as he goes? Crush a building with their mind . . . That’s f****n amazing!

“When is this world no longer ours? Do we realize we are under attack only after we’ve been stripped of the ability to defend ourselves? Do we realize the severity of the problem at hand only once it has grown to such epic proportions that we are no longer the majority? Do we allow ourselves to become the minority population in a world overrun with devils? Would it end there? I assure you it would not. Their desire for us is extinction. Their desire is to witness this world stripped of all the blessed inhabitants that God intended it for. I for one will not allow this to occur! Will you?”

“No!” the crowd boomed.

Kira, startled by their sudden uproar, flinched in response.

F****n morons.

“Then take up arms with me, brothers and sisters. The only way we will attain success is if we quell this infestation before it is permitted to envelope all of society. This is a kill or be killed scenario. There is no other plausible alternative. Either they die, or the human race as we know it ceases to exist. We need to strike at the heart of Satan, and we need to do so now! Preemptive strike, my compatriots! Preemptive strike!”

“Preemptive strike!” the crowd roared. “Preemptive strike! Preemptive strike!”

Their chanting carried on, strengthening as it did.

Kira inserted a few words of her own into the thrum of hatred, curious as to whether or not they would be discerned amid the noise.

“Riccus Mandalay has a PHD in c**k-suckology!”

She scanned the crowd from the shadow of her hood. Nobody seemed to have distinguished her comment from the chanting.

“I can’t believe I’m missing Game of Thrones for this s**t!”

Still no one took notice.

“Preemptive strike! Preemptive strike! Preemptive strike!”

The more they said it, the more it seemed like a good idea to Kira, though not at all in the way they envisioned.

“Preemptive strike! Preemptive strike! Preemptive strike!”

Kira’s blood red lips broke into a crooked grin.

“Preemptive strike! Preemptive strike! Preemptive strike!”

Riccus Mandalay pumped his fist in the air in rhythm with their collective shouts. This inciteful display closely resembled the large banner hanging behind him depicting an upheld fist, the words ‘HUMANITY UNITED’ printed at the top.

“Preemptive strike! Preemptive strike! Preemptive strike!”

The grin on Kira’s face widened.

She extended her right arm toward the podium, toward the maniacal man who stood behind it thrusting his fist above his head repeatedly.

“Preemptive strike! Preemptive strike! Preemptive strike!”

Kira spread the fingers of her right hand wide. She then whispered inwardly, one word.

Suffer

Riccus Mandalay exploded, a massive red spray of blood and tissue. The explosion itself created no sound, unless one were to count the gasps and shrieks that erupted from the audience. The banner that hung behind where Riccus had a moment ago resided was now saturated with his remains, as was a good deal of the stage he’d stood upon. The audience’s inflections of horror were accompanied by a sound unbefitting the situation �" chortling: Kira letting her amusement run wild. A moment later she reined it in.

From the dark recess of her hood she observed the bedlam, listened to their cries as their simple, hate filled minds tried to process what had just occurred.

I wonder how many lives I just saved by killin that silly f****r. I wonder how many lives I’ll save by killin the rest. I think I’ll consider this my good deed of the day.

Kira spread her arms wide at her sides, palms face out, fingers extended. Again she whispered internally. Again one word.

Suffer

The crowd pushed away from her as they dematerialized. The blood and tissue, which had been forty-six living entities, hung in the dank air for a moment, forming a massive ring in which center stood a young woman, clad in black, little more than five feet tall. This cloud of sorts, these liquefied human beings fell to the ground an instant later with a resounding slap. There the blood and gore coalesced forming an immense puddle of death.

Kira stood statuesque for several seconds, arms outstretched, deriving immense comfort from the newborn silence. Eventually she brought her hands to her hood, lowering it to reveal the short, violet hair beneath. Around her neck hung a pair of ear buds. She placed them in her ears, pressed play on her MP3 player, and began strolling toward the nearest exit. She scrunched her nose in disgust as she stepped through the crimson swath of human remains pooling on the floor, being inordinately mindful of her footing.

“Gross,” she muttered as she glanced at her shoes.

Note to self: buy new Keds.

 

FOUR MONTHS LATER

 

 

 

 

4. THE BIG APPLE

 

 

“The meeting seemed to have gone quite well, Mr. Crane.”

“That it did, Evette,” Walthis replied distractedly. “That it did.” He gazed out the rear passenger window of one of New York’s famed taxis. Despite all his wealth, he seldom traveled. This was a rare opportunity to look, to search abroad.

“I’ll have those numbers you requested within the hour, sir,” Evette went on to declare as she tapped away at her laptop.

“No rush, Evette. I think I may take in the sights when we reach the hotel. Perhaps you should unwind a little yourself. I have been told the Four Seasons spa is splendid.”

“Maybe I will, sir,” she replied distractedly.

In all likelihood she would not, this Walthis knew. His workaholic assistant seemed to derive comfort from nothing other than whatever laborious task was currently at hand. Inertia seemed a brand of torture to the woman.

Fifteen minutes later, Walthis was strolling north on Fifth Avenue, taking in the sights and sounds of New York �" more notably the sights. He watched the city’s inhabitants as they moved about in every which direction, a shimmer outlining each and every one. He searched for the one that stood apart, the one that shone brighter than the rest.

Along with sights and sounds, the city offered a plethora of scents, some pleasant, most not.

As like Chicago, New York was well equipped when it came to assaulting his sense of smell. As with Chicago, Walthis paid the varying odors little mind. He was busy, busy looking, and could not suffer distraction.

He came upon a man seated cross legged upon the pavement. His clothing was in shambles, and judging by the dense growth of hair on his face, he hadn’t shaved in several months. The man was quoting bible verses, reciting them by heart. Before him lay an upturned straw hat, two dozen or so coins and a few bills within. Walthis removed his wallet and added a bill of his own to the tattered, old Panama.

“God bless you, sir,” the man said as Walthis carried on. A moment later he peered into the hat and witnessed the denomination of the newly added bill �" one hundred. “God bless the s**t outta you, sir!”

God, if there was such an entity, had blessed Walthis Crane, blessed him with the ability to view the souls of those who walked this world. Perhaps God would bless him further on this particular day. Perhaps today God would unite Walthis with the first of the saviors of the world. Or perhaps today would yield no result in this regard. Perhaps today would merely be like those that had proceeded it, and Walthis would be left to fend off the mounting uncertainty of his cause.

He crossed the street, leaving Fifth for Madison. He peered through the windows of the restaurants he passed, at the patrons dining within, through the windows of a fitness center, at its numerous occupants striving to enhance themselves, through the windows of a bookstore, a toy store, two pharmacies, a men’s clothing store, two women’s clothing stores, a print shop, a bike shop, a pet store, two record stores, and no less than six coffee bistros. All the while he split his attention between those moving about the street. They glowed. They all glowed. Each and every one of them. But not one of them glowed bright.

Walthis took pause at where Madison intersected with East 86^th, taking seat upon a bench on the sidewalk. He would rest his feet before continuing, but only for a few minutes. The infrequent occurrence to be amid this perseverant city was one he did not care to spend idling. While seated, he continued his search, observing the pedestrians, New York’s lifeblood, as they filed past. His forth minute of rest was approaching its fifth when something beyond the people walking before him seized his attention: what appeared to be a motorcycle, weaving through traffic, heading in his general direction, traveling north, down Madison Avenue. The seeming disregard the operator had for the drivers of the vehicles it sped beside, and swerved in behind and in front of, was accentuated by the fact that the motorcycle’s high beam appeared to be on. This seemed odd to Walthis, being that it was mid-afternoon, but he figured it was New York, after all, and the city was abound with oddities.

The motorcycle continued to approach, slicing through traffic. The speed at which it traveled wasn’t seeming to abate. Walthis began to grow fearful. Closer still it drew �" the vehicle peculiarly silent �" until it was nearly upon him. At the very last instant, just as the motorcycle was to jump the curb and plow into Walthis, it swerved sharply. When it did, Walthis was permitted to view it from the side, and was surprised to discover it was not a motorcycle at all, but a bicycle. Where he was surprised to discover this, he was left in utter shock by the revelation that what he’d presumed was a high beam, was in actuality a young woman. She glimmered. She shined. She exuded a light so bright Walthis had to shield his eyes.

Fascinating!

Walthis shot to his feet. Any protest his body gave in response to this abruptness was muted by the adrenaline that now poured through his veins. He lunged toward the curb and watched as the shooting star he was witnessing continued north up Madison Avenue. She was here. She was real. He wasn’t imagining her.

“Taxi!”

It took fifteen seconds of repeated hails to yield a result. It felt to Walthis like an eternity. He hurried into the rear of the cab, his body trembling with excitement.

“Where to, mister?”

“Follow the girl on the bike!” Walthis spat, nearly breathless from astonishment.

The cabbie, a balding man in his forties, turned toward Walthis to find him pointing in the direction the girl had ridden. He turned back around to gaze out the windshield, toward the area Walthis was indicating.

“I don’t see no girl on a bike, mister.”

“She is probably a few blocks ahead of us by now,” Walthis responded frantically as he fumbled in his pocket and produced his wallet. “A thousand dollars,” he began as he extended his hand through the open partition and dropped ten, one hundred dollar bills onto the front passenger seat, “if you can�"”

Walthis was thrown back into his seat as the taxi rocketed forward, as the driver cut him off mid-sentence.

“What’d she look like? What kinda bike was she on?” he asked hurriedly.

“She was a young woman. I did not get a good look at her. She was riding a mountain bike, or a ten-speed perhaps.”

“If she’s a bike messenger we’ll be lucky to catch up to her. I can’t weave this heap in ‘n outta traffic the way a messenger on a bike can.”

“A thousand for the effort. Another thousand if you find her.”

“Hang onta your sack, mister!” the cabbie exclaimed as they jumped from forty to sixty miles per hour.

Walthis did not take hold of his sack, but he did apply his seatbelt.

They barreled down Madison Avenue, one block, two, three, and then Walthis saw her, or rather the bright light she exuded.

“There she goes!” he bellowed.

The cabbie swiveled his head about. “I don’t see nothin, mister.

Of course not, Walthis thought with realization. This man could not see the way in which he could.

“Just keep going straight. I glimpsed her up ahead. Of this I am certain.”

“Whatever ya say, mister.”

The taxi continued to race forward. Brighter and brighter the light grew. Oh what a beautiful thing it was to behold.

Half a mile later they were nearly beside her as she raced along the adjacent curb, a simple messenger girl to the rest of the city’s inhabitants, an angel to Walthis’s eyes.

“That her, mister? That’s gotta be her, right?”

“Indeed it is,” Walthis murmured nearly inaudibly. He stared in wonder as she cruised at a brisk pace. They pulled alongside her. She paid the taxi little mind, same as she did all the other vehicles crammed into the streets of New York.

“Now what? You want me to honk or somethin? Get her to pull over?”

“No,” Walthis replied softly, entranced by the profound blaze of her soul. “Do not disturb her, please. Just follow her to her destination, if that does not pose a problem.”

“Mister, for two grand her destination could be Miami and it wouldn’t be a problem.”

The young woman traveled one more block before coming to an abrupt stop before a high rise. She swiftly dismounted the bike and secured it to a nearby parking meter with a cable lock.

“Looks like this is her stop,” the cabbie proclaimed. “Does that make it yours as well?”

“Yes,” Walthis whispered in response. “I believe it does.” He still clutched his wallet in his hand. From it he removed another thousand dollars and handed it to the cabbie.

The cabbie took the money eagerly, then said, “I don’t know who that girl is, mister, but tell her I said thanks.”

Walthis nodded in reply, not having truly heard the man. “Thank you for your service,” he said as he exited the taxi.

“Aye!” the cabbie yelled after him. “Ya want me ta wait? For two grand ya sure as s**t get a round trip.”

“Thank you. But that will not be necessary.”

The cabbie shrugged. “Alright, pal. Take care.”

The ‘OFF DUTY’ sign atop the taxi came on. The vehicle pulled away from the curb, traveled down the block, and came to rest in front of the first bar the cabbie happened upon.

Walthis watched as the young woman hurried toward the building, nearly sprinting. Through her luminescence he made out a cardboard tube protruding from a satchel on her back. She did indeed appear to be a courier. She was making a drop off, after which she would return to her bike, which is where Walthis would wait.

He wrung his hands together nervously as he attempted to compose himself. He’d gone through this scenario a million times in his mind in preparation for this moment, but now that it was here, now that this wondrous occurrence was actually transpiring, he found himself on the verge of panic.

I was meant to find her, Walthis reminded himself. This is destiny. All my struggles, the financial empire I’ve established, the lonely life I’ve lived, it all means nothing. What matters is this moment and hence forth. The future begins now, here, with her, this angel, this savior. Don’t allow your apprehensions to botch this glorious opportunity. Compose yourself Walthis Reginald Crane.

Through power of will Walthis established a degree of calm, not absolute, but enough that he no longer feared his faculty to speak would fail him when the young woman emerged. Six minutes later she did, bursting through the door, a brilliant ball of light, a miniature sun soaring toward where Walthis stood, poised beside her bike.

She gave Walthis the briefest of glimpses before stepping to the fixed speed, kneeling to undo the cable lock binding it to the parking meter.

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

“Don’t bother, mister. ‘Cause whatever the f**k you’re sellin, I aint buyin.”

“I assure you I am not soliciting anything.”

“Then what is it?” the young woman asked as she stood and tossed the lock into the pack slung over her shoulders.

“My name is Walthis Crane,” he announced nervously.

“That’s great,” she replied as she mounted her bike and made to ride off. “Take care.”

“Wait!” Walthis cried. “I implore you.”

“What the . . .” the young woman said through a burst of laughter. “This aint the renaissance. People don’t ‘implore’ one another of s**t.”

She looked about the street in preparation of disembarking the sidewalk and merging with the traffic.

“You . . . You have a gift,” Walthis blurted. “A power of sorts.” The young woman spun her head and set dark eyes on him, eyes full of malice and fear. If looks could kill, Walthis would have died a thousand deaths that instant. He continued hesitantly. “I . . . I know this because I possess a gift of my own. I have the gift of sight.”

The young woman didn’t respond. She remained atop her bike, poised rigidly, boring into Walthis with that menacing glare.

“I believe the reason I was endowed with this ability is because I am fated to bring together those such as yourself, those who are to reshape this world, save it, if you will.”

“Well, good luck with that, mister,” the young woman said as she turned away and pumped the bike’s pedals once. The fixed speed’s front tire dropped from the curb onto the street.

She was leaving. All these years of searching and in an instant she would be gone.

Walthis plunged his hand into the pocket of his slacks and removed a gold card case.

“My card, please,” he said as he removed one. The young woman braked and looked back at him. “I know this must all sound maddening,” he said as he approached her. “But once you have had time to process all that I have said, I would be elated if you were to contact me. I have written my personal number on the reverse side.”

He held out the card. She looked at it as though it carried the plague, then looked at Walthis as though he were insane.

“You can research me online,” he stated. “You will find that I am a lot of things, but I am not a liar, I am not deranged, and I whole heartedly believe what I have told you.”

She stared at him a moment longer before reluctantly accepting the card.

“Thank you,” Walthis sighed in relief. “Thank you very much. I look forward to speaking with you.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath,” she replied as she stuffed the card into her pack, turned, and sped off.

Walthis wasn’t holding his breath, he was exhaling for what felt to be the first time in years. He’d found one of them, and was now more certain than ever he would find more.

He watched as she rode off, watched until he could no longer see her, her light, the bright radiance that was her soul.

She’d seemed frightened, apprehensive. But what was to be expected? Walthis was a grown man approaching her out of the blue in a city �" in a world �" full of malcontents. What little he’d spoken to her was momentous. She would need time to ponder it all. Walthis had no qualm with waiting. He was a patient man. She would contact him eventually. He was certain. Destiny.

He began the lengthy trek back to the Four Seasons, opting against taking a cab, feeling energized, full of life, as though he could run a marathon. He’d discovered the first. Or, perhaps she’d discovered him. Ah, but that was just semantics. All that mattered was they’d been united with one another. Walthis may have been alive for five and a half decades, but he felt as if his life hadn’t truly begun till this moment, this glorious day.

She hadn’t been what he’d expected, but that had been because he hadn’t truly known what to expect. She’d been young: late teens, early twenties, and quite petite. Walthis had never been particularly adept at relating to youth, not even when he’d been one himself. She was guarded, as were most New York’s inhabitants �" it was a necessity for survival. Her eyes had been a dark gray, beautiful, but there had been a sorrow about them as well, as though they’d seen too much pain in her short life. Where there had been a sorrow in her eyes, there had been ferocity as well. He’d witnessed it firsthand when he’d declared she had a gift, a power all her own. Not only did he know she was different, but she knew she was different. Whatever ability she possessed, it wasn’t latent. She’d experienced the fear and wonder of her gift, and in all likelihood she’d done so alone. But she wouldn’t have to suffer it alone any longer. Walthis was as she was �" gifted. They were similar in this regard, if only in this regard.

She’d appeared to be a punk rocker of sorts, though he’d thought that fad had gone the way of the eighties. Apparently it lived on in her: in the studded spiked collar she wore, the steel loop through her eyebrow, the far greater number of piercings that rimmed her ears, and the short, violet hair atop her head.

 

*       *       *

 

It was the middle of the night when the ringing of Walthis’s phone roused him from a slumber suffused with vivid dreams. He glimpsed the digital clock atop the nightstand on which his phone rested before answering. 1:47AM. He cleared his throat.

“Hello.”

“Walt Crane,” the voice on the other end replied, more in declaration than in question.

“This is he. May I ask with whom �"”

“Multi-billionaire. Notorious recluse. One of the richest men in the world. One of the largest real estate owners in the U.S.. One of the country’s largest land owners. One of �"”

“It is you!” Walthis declared. He’d hoped she’d contact him, but hadn’t dared hoped it would be so soon. Only twelve hours had passed since he’d made her acquaintance.

“Also says on Google you’re a Chicago native,” the sharp, female inflection declared. “What brings you to the big city of dreams? More money?”

“A business venture. A corporate merger of sorts.”

“More money, like I thought. How long you in town for?”

“A few more days. But,” Walthis added hurriedly, “I would be more than willing to extend my stay if need be.”

“Write this down,” the young woman demanded.

“Just allow me a moment to retrieve a pen and paper.” He sprang from the bed and hurriedly rummaged about the lavish hotel room. “Alright,” he said a moment later.

“Central Park. Be there at noon, tomorrow. Sit at the picnic bench just north of the Victorian Gardens Amusement Park, by the big oak tree. Be alone and be prepared to wait; I’m not gonna show till long after you have.”

Walthis read back her instructions word for word. “I will be there, noon tomorrow, I assure you, Ms. . . .”

“Mister, you’re gonna hafta answer a shitload of questions tomorrow before you get to ask any of your own.”

“Fair enough,” Walthis humbly replied.

“Here’s some info I will give you though: you were right when you said I have an ability. Come tomorrow, if I sense for even one second I’m being set up, I’ll show you exactly what I’m capable of . . . and it’ll be the last f****n thing you ever experience.”

Walthis swallowed hard. “Fair enough,” he replied again, but found he was speaking to dead air. She’d already hung up.

 

 

 

 

 

5. THE LITTLE APPLE

 

 

Walthis Crane sat upon the picnic bench within Central Park at which he was instructed to wait, hands folded atop it, blanketed by the shade of the massive oak rooted beside it. He’d been waiting for quite some time now, but he was a patient man and would continue to wait �" until the sun set if need be. He’d waited years for this moment. What were a few hours by way of comparison?

“Enjoying the beautiful weather?” a voice inquired of Walthis, taking him by surprise. He spun around to face a woman, her hair long and blond. He squinted in response to what he presumed to be the sun’s glare.

“Indeed. It is exquisite. One could not dream a more . . .” he trailed off as the realization struck him. It was her �" the wig an ill fit.

“I said noon. You’ve been here since eleven,” she said as she walked around to the opposite side of the picnic bench and took seat.

“I figured I would arrive early, in case you chose to do so yourself.” She knew he’d been here since eleven. Walthis glanced at his watch. 1:15PM. Had she been observing him this entire time? And why the wig?

“If I may be so bold as to inquire,” Walthis went on, “why the guise?”

She waved her finger at him as though he were a disobedient child, as her dark gray eyes locked onto his. Walthis was a grown man, twice her size, but ability or not, there was something immensely intimidating about this young woman.

“Tisk, tisk. What did I say about questions?”

“Of course. My apologies.”

The young woman looked about apprehensively before situating herself more comfortably upon the bench. When next she set her piercing eyes upon Walthis, she did not speak, she simply stared at him for a full minute.

Can she read minds? Is she reading mine now?

Walthis smoothed his suit jacket as he waited anxiously for the silence to disperse. His suit �" its tailored precision, its authoritative demand, its thousand dollar price tag �" a pronounced disparity to the young woman’s attire. She wore black sneakers, frayed black leather pants, and a white high collar button up shirt. The shirt had been poorly stitched in areas that had succumbed to old age, and left Walthis to wonder if the tailoring handiwork was hers.

“So, Walt,” she eventually said. “Tell me everything about yourself that someone couldn’t find out on the net.”

“Well,” Walthis said before clearing his throat in preparation. “Where to begin . . .”

“The start’s usually as good a place as any.”

“The start. Indeed it usually is.”

“Leave out the pointless s**t though,” she amended. “I don’t wanna hear about your first lay or anything like that.”

“Of course not,” Walthis replied, abashed. “I had no intention of recounting my first sexual experience.”

She laughed a wicked laugh, apparently amused by what he’d said. Once her mirth had subsided, he began his tale.

“I was thirteen when my ability manifested. I began to notice a faint glow about people. As time progressed, this light became more pronounced. I began to think I was developing a vision impairment of some sort. I divulged the problem �" as I thought it was �" to my parents. They took me to a series of specialists, but every test they conducted came back inconclusive. I started to wonder if it was all my imagination, if I was going insane. For the sake of my parents, to help stem their concern, I said I had ceased seeing this glimmer of sorts about people. I suggested that perhaps it had been a fluke. The specialists, for the most part, concurred with this fictitious hypothesis. One even strengthened it by declaring the luminescence I was witnessing was possibly an odd by product of pubescence. My parents’ minds were put at ease, and for that I was grateful.

“I gradually became accustomed to the way in which I now viewed people, and I became accustom to keeping it secret. Eventually I ceased fearing the way in which I viewed the world, and instead embraced my unique perception, finding a beauty about it. I have come to believe �" and I hope this does not sound absurd �" that I am witnessing peoples’ souls.

“The light was never more pronounced from one person to the next: always a dim, but prevalent glow. Except on four different occasions.

“The first time I viewed someone that shone brighter than the rest, I was a young man of eighteen on vacation with my parents in Prague. We were walking past the St. Vitus Cathedral, sightseeing, when we crossed paths with an elderly woman. There seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary about her, except for one very noteworthy thing �" the light that outlined her glowed noticeably brighter than the rest. I didn’t know what to make of this at the time, so I did just that, I made nothing of it. Simply an oddity amid my oddity I assumed.

“It wasn’t until two decades later that I saw someone else that shone brighter than the rest. It was a child, an adolescent boy of perhaps five. He was roller skating along Navy Pier with the assistance of his parents. I was stunned by how brightly his young soul glowed. I watched in amazement for a few minutes before carrying on. Again I had not known what to make of it, so again I made nothing of it.

“It was not until the third occurrence that I began to understand. That occasion had been a revelation of sorts. I was attending a Democratic rally in Chicago. Among the speakers was Paul Grayson. You are likely familiar with the name.”

“The politician that can move objects with his mind,” the young woman replied, sounding thoroughly unimpressed. Her dark eyes had remained locked on Walthis’s throughout his recital. Walthis had the distinct feeling she was searching for something within him, deception perhaps.

“That is the man of whom I speak.

“While attending the rally, I viewed him for the first time in person. He shone like everyone else in attendance, but unlike everyone else he shone bright. It was at that moment I began to wonder, began to believe that these slight few people I had seen throughout my life that glowed brighter than the rest did so because they carried within them something most others did not: a unique ability, a gift. I began to understand that the way in which I viewed the world was my gift, and with that gift came a responsibility; I am tasked with finding the individuals that will reshape this world, save it from itself. I know that must sound extreme�"”

“Yup.”

“�"but it is what I truly believe.

“I saw Paul Grayson at that rally six years ago, and ever since, I have been searching for those like him, like me, like you. You were the forth. I knew immediately when I saw you that you were unique.”

“Because why? Because to your eyes I’m a giant glow stick?”

“That is an interesting way of paraphrasing it, but yes, you definitely shine bright.”

“Shine bright like a diamond,” the young woman sang softly to herself. Walthis raised an eyebrow in befuddlement. “It’s a song,” she explained. “By Rihanna.”

“Oh. Sorry. I am not familiar with it.”

“No, Walthis Crane, no you wouldn’t be, would you?

“So, you do what?” she went on to ask. “Stroll around looking for people that glow like they’ve been swimming in radioactive waste?”

“As often as possible. Yes.”

“Why not just flip through television channels? Or surf the net?”

“Ah,” Walthis sighed. “You see, that is the frustrating part. I can only see the light when viewing people directly. When seen on television, or the internet, or in a magazine or what have you, there is no glow. I have even noted, that when viewing someone’s reflection in a mirror or window, there is no perceivable luminescence. I must witness their light directly, or not at all.”

Her eyes left his and stared off into the distance. She seemed to be pondering all that’d been said. After a time she returned her gaze to Walthis, placed her hand atop her head, yanked the wig from it, and tossed it upon the picnic table.

“F****n wig,” she hissed. “Was startin to itch,” she declared as she preened her violet hair.

“So, Mr. Crane, you’ve been seeing glowy people since you were thirteen.”

“That is correct.”

“Bummer,” she said with a snicker. “Puberty has gotta be difficult enough as it is for a young boy. But for you it musta been twice as bad: nothin but hard ons and halos.”

Walthis shifted on the bench uncomfortably.

“And now you think you’re suppose to find all these people and bring them together to save the world or some s**t?”

“I believe something to that extent, though I do not dare think I will find all of them. Perhaps only a few. But maybe, just maybe, a few will be enough.”

“I got some bad news for you, Mr. Crane. The governments of the fucked up world you wanna save are two steps ahead of you.”

“Yes,” Walthis sighed in agreement. “Biological Anomaly Protocol 14.”

“Yup.” She was silent a moment, then said, “So, seeing people’s souls, or whatever the f**k it is you see, isn’t the only power you seem to possess. Why don’t you tell me about your other ability.”

Walthis was perplexed. “I am afraid I do not understand.”

“Your ability to make s**t-tons of money.”

“Oh,” he responded with a light chortle. “That ability. That one is a tad simpler to explain. Sadly my dear parents perished in a boating accident while I was attending my final year of college. They had amassed a considerable amount of wealth in their lifetime, and, being their only child, they willed the vast majority of it to me. Numerous subsequent investments, which proved to be quite lucrative, have brought me to the financial standing I find myself at today.”

“Multi-billionaire,” the young woman added.

Walthis nodded humbly in response.

“Around fifty-two billion,” she elaborated.

Again Walthis nodded.

“That’s alotta f****n cash.”

“That it is,” agreed Walthis.

“Tell me somethin, Daddy Warbucks. If you’re so dead set on changin the world, why not start by turnin out your pockets? You know, you could help a helluva lotta people with fifty-plus billion dollars.”

“And I have every intention to do just that,” Walthis confided.

The young woman’s demeanor faltered for the first time since their meeting had begun. She almost looked surprised.

“Oh ya? And how exactly is that?”

“By using the vast majority of the wealth I have accumulated throughout my life to fund a series of charitable organizations, as well as medical testing facilities with the intention of developing cures for the various diseases that plague the inhabitants of the world.”

She thought this over a moment, then huffed snidely. “Saint Walthis. Has a nice ring to it.”

“I have no desire for sainthood. Only a desire to help those in need.”

She rolled her eyes, then set their dark stare back on him. “So now what? You think I have some sorta power? You think I can fart rainbows and shoot lasers outta my tits? How does the world benefit from that? What’s the next step now that you’ve found me?”

“I have no idea what form of ability you possess. I am not even entirely certain you do possess an ability. There is the off chance my interpretation of my own gift was inaccurate. But, if my interpretation was not inaccurate, as I hope and believe it was not, then you do indeed possess a power. I doubt it consists of flatulating rainbows or emitting lasers from your . . . chest, but whatever it may entail, I am almost certain the world could benefit from it in one way or another.”

The young woman ran the palms of her hands along the closely cropped hair on the sides of her head as she tilted it skyward and laughed roariously.

“Mister,” she said before her laughter fully subsided, “you’ve got no f****n idea. What I’ve got the world can’t benefit from. And I’ll prove it to you by givin you a little demo. ‘Cause that’s what you want, isn’t it? To see what I can do. Abra-f****n-kadabra,” she said with an air of mysticism as she wiggled her fingers at him as though she were a magician.

She stood abruptly and strode to a nearby trash bin, rummaged about it, and returned with a half eaten apple in hand. She set the apple upon the picnic table, then retook her seat.

“You’re gonna wanna scoot over,” she announced. Walthis slid a slight ways down the bench so that he was not directly aligned with her and the piece of fruit. “All the way over,” she elaborated. He slid further, to the very end of the bench, and watched anxiously. She raised her hand, extended her fingers, and a moment later the apple seemed to melt away.

Walthis gasped in astonishment. “May . . . May I return to my previous position?” he inquired.

“Sure,” she replied casually, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t see why not.”

Walthis retook his seat before her, before the apple, or rather what remained of it; there was nothing left of the half eaten piece of fruit but a puddle of mush that closely resembled apple sauce.

“If you would permit me to ask, what precisely did you do to it?”

“I’m no scientist, but I’ve come to figure what I can do is something along the lines of molecular deconstruction . . . or some s**t. I’m breaking the bonds that hold things together.”

“Anything?” Walthis asked after a few seconds of silent wonderment as he continued to stare at the remnants of the apple.

“What?”

“Can you . . . deconstruct anything?”

“Oh, I get you now. No. Not anything. Not inanimate material. Only organic. Only living things.”

There’d been a chill in her voice when she spoke these last three words. Walthis felt it leap from her words into his body, causing a slight shiver throughout.

Within his mind a memory suddenly surfaced, something that had been prevalent on the news a few months past. This memory had manifested as a direct result of what he was viewing. His eyes, wide with wonder, now went wider with fear.

He looked nervously from the puddle to the young woman. She seemed to sense his terror, its source, and spoke upon it.

“You didn’t get to be a gajillionaire by being an idiot, Saint Walthis. It looks to me like you’ve put two and two together. Now tell me, now that you’ve seen what I can do, and realize what I’ve done, do you still think I’m some sorta angel?” She leaned forward a few inches. When she next spoke, her voice had dropped a few octaves. “Or do you think you’ve just met the Grim Reaper?”

Walthis Crane found himself at a loss for words. The saviors of the world were supposed to save lives, not take them. This definitely wasn’t how he’d envisioned things.

“The news said forty-seven souls,” he said hardly above a whisper. He was barely conscience of the fact he’d spoken, more or less thinking aloud.

“Mister, there wasn’t a single soul among them. If you’d watched the news like you claim to have done, then that shoulda given you enough info in their regard to back up what I’m sayin. They were evil, each and every one of them, hardcore Humanity Untied m***********s.”

“The reports stated there was nothing but liquefied remains,” Walthis said, his voice remaining low, weighted by shock. “It took weeks of DNA testing to determine who was who among the carnage.”

She laughed at this, a high pitched cacophony, genuine amusement.

Walthis was further stunned. “How can you find humor amid death?”

“The same way people find humor amid life,” she replied.

“Aww,” she cooed, noting the ravaged look upon his face. “Don’t be so glum. There’s good and bad people in the world. They were bad people. So don’t lose sleep over it. I sure as hell haven’t,” she concluded with a grin and a chuckle.

“Good and bad people . . .” Walthis mused. “I am not so sure it is that simple.”

“It is, Saint Walthis. And the sooner you realize that, the sooner this mission you’re on can truly take flight. You wanna bring people like us together? Well then you sure as s**t better believe there’s gonna be people that are gonna wanna tear us apart. And let me make somethin real f****n clear, Crane. The streets will run red with blood before I let some bureaucrat slap my name on some threat list, or allow myself to be hauled off to some dungeon where some hack doctor on a military payroll slices me open in search of answers.

“Whenever someone sets out to change the world on a grand scale, people tend to die. It’s a sad fact. What are you expecting to happen? To find a bunch of people with extraordinary powers, bring them together, and have them join hands and sing Kumbaya till the world cries itself better? If so, you’re delusional.”

Walthis looked down sullenly at the picnic table, at the remains of the apple. He felt tired all of a sudden. And old. Very, very old. Was there any merit to what she was saying? And how many people had she killed to become so inoculated toward the concept? Did the journey truly begin here, with someone so full of hate? Or had he made a grave error?

“Perhaps I made a mistake by having approached you yesterday,” Walthis muttered.

With this she rose and began to walk away. “Take care, Saint Walthis.”

Or is this the mistake �" allowing her to leave? Would he ever be able to find her again? With his vast resources he surely could. But that was granted she didn’t leave New York. What if she were to flee, and these were the first steps of that flight?

“Wait,” he called out against his better judgment.”

The journey truly begins now, Walthis Reginald Crane.

She slowed reluctantly and turned around. She ambled back to the picnic bench.

“Ya?”

“You forgot your wig.”

She huffed in disappointment. “Keep it. Give drag a try. Spice up your life.”

She turned to leave again.

“I have a proposition,” Walthis exclaimed.

She paused, turned back around, and retook seat upon the bench. “Let’s hear it.”

Walthis took a deep breath and began. “I would like to offer you a residence in Chicago; a suite within one of the high rises in my possession. I would make at your disposal a vehicle and an adequate source of finances. In return I would ask your assistance in finding others such as ourselves. I would also require that you promise to practice the utmost discretion when it comes to using your ability. I would need your word that you would not use your power unless your life, or the life of someone else was in direct peril.”

She pondered what he’d said for quite some time before voicing a response.

“The penthouse suite, the car, the money . . . All that s**t sounds tempting. Really tempting. But I don’t know what you expect to happen. I can’t see the way you can. How do you expect me to help find others like us? Or do you just want me along for moral support?” she laughed. “If it’s just companionship you’re in need of, you’d be better off gettin a dog.”

“I believe we were destined to meet one another. In all honesty I have very little notion of what will transpire next. But I believe whatever the future holds, you, I, and the others we are certain to encounter, are fated to brave it together.”

She looked far from convinced, but he did not blame her. Walthis was no longer certain he was convinced.

“What’s Chicago like?” she asked with a touch of a grin.

“Similar to New York. Equal parts good and bad.”

She turned her head toward the massive oak tree and gazed at it thoughtfully. When she returned her attention to him, she poised another question.

“If I agree to go with you, you’re not gonna expect me to call you ‘sugar daddy’, are you?”

“Assuredly not,” he huffed, almost a laugh. “As a matter of fact, I would prefer you did not.”

She snickered, then said, “I’ll pack my s**t. When do we leave?”

Walthis was taken aback by the suddenness of it all.

“I . . . I am scheduled to return to Chicago the day after tomorrow. You are welcome to accompany me if you would like.”

She shrugged and replied, “Works for me.”

“I’ll arrange to have movers transport your possessions�"”

“Don’t bother. All the s**t I own can fit in a few suitcases.”

Walthis found himself saddened by the notion.

“I’m dead broke, by the way, so you’re gonna hafta ante up and get me a plane ticket.”

“There will be no need. We will be taking my personal jet.”

“Oh ya. I almost forgot. You’re a bajillionaire.”

“As I stated though, in order for this to work I would need your word that you would practice the utmost discretion when it comes to using your ability.”

“I practice discretion all the time,” she replied defensively, her tone harsh. “Just take a look around,” she continued, motioning in a wide arc with her hands. “You see all these people goin about their business, alive and happy? That’s discretion. If I wasn’t practicing it, the Big Apple,” she motioned with a much wider arc meant to encompass the entire city, “would look a lot like that little apple,” she concluded, pointing at the remnants atop the table.

Walthis wondered for the umpteenth time in the past few minutes if he was making a mistake.

“I do not even know your name.”

“Kira. Kira Harington. And now you know.”

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Kira.” He wasn’t so sure it was.

His apprehension must have been apparent, because when next Kira spoke, she said, “Relax, Walt. We’ll get along just fine. Just look at us. We have so much in common.”

Again she laughed a devilish laugh. Again Walthis wondered if he was making a dire mistake.

 

 

 

 

 

UNITED NATIONS SECURITY COUNCIL

 

 

BIOLOGICAL ANOMALY PROTOCOL 14-a

 

Clause 1: UNSC BAP 14 requires any and all citizens of the nations of the world possessing an ability of an ultra-human nature to be chronicled and evaluated so as to determine the threat status of the ability they possess. Detailed information regarding those afflicted by this phenomenon is to be shared via intergovernmental channels so as to better understand this worldwide affliction. In addition, any knowledge garnered as to the cause of this phenomenon is to be shared openly between governments.

 

Clause 2: Passage from one nation to another is forbidden to individuals possessing an ability of an ultra-human nature, unless a: said individual has been granted rights of international travel by their home nation, and b: the nation said individual wishes to ingress has granted them sanction to do so. Any business of transportation, whether by way of water, land, or air, for clear and present safety concerns, retains the right to deny access to individuals possessing an ability of an ultra-human nature.

 

Clause 3: Source of employment is not to be denied anyone afflicted by this phenomenon, unless a: said individual’s ability poses a direct threat to the business in question, or b: said individual’s ability poses a direct threat to those who would be their fellow employees. Until further . . .

 

 

 

 

 

6. CHAYA

 

 

“You’re all familiar with what you’re viewing,” said Chaya Algus of the image projected upon the screen. There were fifty desks within the classroom auditorium, excluding Chaya’s, and at each sat an attentive student. The college professor glimpsed a large clock on the wall. “Let’s spend what time remains of class discussing it. I’d like to hear your opinions of the decree.”

Virtually every soul in attendance raised their hand. Chaya’s eyes perused the classroom for a moment.

“Yes, Ms. Kowalski,” said the professor, pointing to a blond haired woman of twenty with one hand while using the other to resituate the off kilter wire-rimmed glasses that adorned her face. “Share with us your thoughts.”

“A necessary evil,” the young woman declared. There were nods of approval throughout the room, as well as equal number looks of disdain. “If an individual possesses a formidable weapon, it should be registered, even if the weapon resides within the individual.”

“Interesting viewpoint. But when does an extra ability become a weapon? And who deems it such?

“The decree’s appendixes separate abilities into two categories: defensive, and offensive.

“As many of, and likely all of you are aware, a U.S. citizen by the name of Harold Marsh was recently reported as possessing an ability that allows him to combust materials through will, though only on a small scale. This makes Mr. Marsh the fifth U.S. citizen to be documented as possessing an-ultra human ability since BAP 14 was enacted fifteen years ago, and makes him the sixty-third worldwide case. This talent, if you will, was immediately categorized as an offensive ability, deemed such by the U.S. Department of Defense in accordance with BAP 14. But what say you? Don’t we all wield the knowledge of fire? Therefore, shouldn’t we all be chronicled as threats?

“Mr. Otan,” said Chaya, acknowledging the raised hand of a gentleman seated within the second row.

“We can’t all create fires with our mind,” he countered.

“Have you ever struck a match?” Chaya inquired rhetorically. “Did not the ensuing flame coalesce in response to a simple thought?”

“With Harold Marsh a process has been eliminated,” the gentleman elaborated. “With me there are two steps: inception �" the conscience decision to strike the match �" and the physical act of doing so. Harold Marsh’s ability eliminates this second, crucial step.”

“And this deems him a threat?” Chaya inquired.

“According to the government,” Mr. Otan replied.

“In your eyes,” Chaya amended.

The young man deliberated briefly before responding. “I would feel uncomfortable being alone in the same room as him.”

Light laughter erupted from some of the students.

“What of the esteemed Democratic constituent, Paul Grayson?” asked Chaya, speaking the name with a trace of disfavor. “Would you be uncomfortable toward being alone in the same room as him?”

“I’d be uncomfortable with being alone in a room with any politician,” Mr. Otan replied to more sporadic laughter.

Chaya smiled. “In regard to his ability, Mr. Otan, not his career choice, would you be afraid?”

“Not as much so.”

“And apparently neither would the U.S. Government, as they’ve listed his ability as defensive. But I could think of numerous ways in which such a power could be used in a destructive manner, as I’m sure all of you can. Now why is Harold Marsh subjected to wearing an electronic monitoring device for the remainder of his life, whereas Paul Grayson must not?

“Ms. Kimbridge.”

“Because Paul Grayson has political clout, and Harold Marsh is just a dock worker from New Orleans.”

“A plausible theory,” replied Chaya.

“Mr. Ruiz?”

“Because people have a natural tendency to fear fire.”

“Very true.

“Mr. Santiago?”

“Paul Grayson doesn’t need to wear an electronic monitoring device because he’s a media w***e who makes his whereabouts known 24/7.”

Again came bursts of laughter.

“A tad harsh, but not a deviation from the truth.”

Chaya Algus’s eyes swept about the room and came upon Donav Miller. Teachers were not suppose to harbor favoritism toward a particular student, but if Chaya were to be honest with herself, there was a special place in her heart for Donav. His passion for knowledge rivaled her own, and his insights into the class’s frequent symposiums were always balanced and enlightening.

“Donav, share with us your thoughts if you will.”

Donav lowered his hand with a grace that seemed to accentuate everything he did. Whenever he spoke, the class became highly attentive toward what he had to say, especially those of the female persuasion.

“I believe electronic monitorization is simply the beginning. What of things yet to pass?

“Hector mentioned people have an inherent tendency to fear fire. Sadly, we as a human race have a tendency to fear a great many things. However, it isn’t our fears that pose a problem, but the manner in which we deal with them. What will registration and monitorization devolve into? Segregation? Imprisonment? When does fear become hate �" the most destructive ability known to man?

“What I fear is that one day the world will look back in search of an answer as to when it all went wrong. I fear that future world will find our timeline at fault, will find us at fault, because we were too lax in the face of the onset of a dilemma.

“Whatever powers these unique individuals wield pale in comparison to the power humankind has been harnessing throughout the centuries �" technology. With it, the powers that be will eradicate their dependence upon voluntary disclosure of ultra-human abilities. I can say, with almost absolute certainty, that a means to determine who possesses a power most others do not is being sought by the collective governments of the world. Technology will likely provide that means. And when it does, what will fate hold for those born different from the rest of humanity? And will the birth of many of those unique individuals even come to fruition? Will technology allow parents to test their unborn children while in their mother’s womb for any latent genetic trait that may one day manifest into a unique power? Will parents then abort the child based on this assessment? A horrifying thought, but a very real possibility if we are to allow our unchecked fears to shape the future.”

Donav went silent a moment, shaking his head as if disappointed. “I’m sorry, Ms. Algus. I seemed to have drifted away from your question.”

“Or simply broadened it,” Chaya replied. “No apology needed.

“Mr. Miller made a compelling point when he touched upon the topic of fear. Fear of the unknown is something very pertinent to this class’s subject matter. I would like for us to discuss these fears and their ramifications . . .” She glimpsed the clock again. “. . .tomorrow, when class reconvenes. Because it looks as though Father Time wields a power all his own.” As if on cue, the bell indicating the end of class sounded.

“Until tomorrow then,” Chaya said as the room’s occupants rose and began to disembark.

A minute later the classroom had emptied of all its constituents but for two. Chaya had taken seat at her desk at the head of the room and was browsing a day planner. Donav remained seated within the third elevated row of the auditorium fitting books into a duffel bag, going about the task in no hurry. When he’d finished, he sauntered down to the front of the class and stood before the professor’s desk. Chaya looked up in mild surprise.

“Donav. I thought everyone had gone,” she said as she brushed aside a lock of graying black hair that had worked loose from the bun atop her head.

“I lingered so that I may have a word with you in private.”

Chaya noted, not for the first time, the slightest hint of an Irish accent when he spoke. He seemed to take great strides in concealing it, and was often successful, but every once in a while he slipped and sounded every bit the Irish native that he was. She didn’t understand his desire to conceal his accent, and was left to assume it was for want of sounding more ‘American’ so as to better connect with his college associates.

“What would you like to speak of, Donav?” she asked as she laid down the planner and gave him her undivided attention.

Donav’s deep brown eyes glanced at the door apprehensively. “Perhaps another time,” he said as he turned and made to walk away.

“Donav,” Chaya said in an austere, yet friendly tone, halting his retreat. “If there is something you’d like to discuss with me, then by all means, discuss.”

Donav glanced at the door again, at the small window set within its center, the only way of viewing the room from the outside. “A moment please,” he said as he stepped to the door and lowered the small shade that hung atop the window. Chaya observed him curiously.

He walked back to her desk, shifted nervously upon his feet, then spoke.

“I’m about to tell you something . . . show you something that will undoubtedly surprise you. But before I do, I think it would be best if I segued into my demonstration by revealing we have a common friend.”

“A common friend?” Chaya echoed, mystified.

“A common friend who refers to themself as ‘Jupiter’.”

Hearing the name spoken aloud sent a chill tumbling down the back of Chaya’s neck. Memories of cryptic e-mails suddenly wafted her mind. She sat in stunned silence for a moment before curiosity trumped her quietude.

“How exactly are you familiar with that name, Donav?”

“I’m familiar with that name because I believe I may owe the person who shrouds themself with it my life.”

Chaya was set further aback by this statement. “What makes you think you owe this person your life?”

“That’s something of a long story.”

“This is my lunch break. Unless it’s longer than an hour, you should have plenty of time to enlighten me.”

“Alright. But in order to dispel any disbelief toward what I’m about to tell you, I’ll need to begin with the demonstration I spoke of.”

“A demonstration of what sort?”

Donav looked about in search of something. He seemed to have found it a moment later atop her desk.

“The dictionary,” he said, pointing to it.

“Yes?” Chaya responded as she directed her attention toward the large, leather bound tome, a gift to her from her beloved, deceased father. “What of it?”

Donav’s brow furrowed in concentration as he stared at the dictionary. An instant later it rose several inches from the desk, hovered in place for a few seconds, then floated to rest in its original position.

Chaya stared in wonder. Gradually the stunned expression on her face morphed into one of amusement. Her lips parted, and through them flowed laughter.

“Is this a trick, Donav? The e-mails, this . . . magical display, are they all just a silly college prank? Congratulations. You had me going there for a while. And tell whoever the computer whiz is that’s been hacking my e-mail account they’ve been doing an impressive job, but I would greatly appreciate if they would stop.”

Donav appeared a bit frustrated. He glanced over his shoulder, then returned his attention to his esteemed teacher.

“They may not all land in their original position,” he said. “But I’ll be sure to clean up any mess I create.” He followed up this statement with another look of concentration, this time a touch more severe.

Chaya didn’t have a clue as to what he was talking about.

“Donav, what are . . .”

She trailed off as all fifty desks beyond Donav left the floor. They each hovered a foot above the ground for several seconds. Some seemed to remain absolutely still as they did, others listed slightly or rotated slowly. When they sank back to the floor, one desk, which had tilted to a precarious angle while suspended, fell onto its side. The resulting thud gave Donav a start.

“I was afraid of that,” he said, laughing lightly. He peered over his shoulder again, then returned his attention to Chaya. “Like I said, I’ll be sure to put everything back in order.”

Chaya didn’t speak for quite some time as she stared at the misarranged desks. Not until Donav waved his hand in front of her did she reestablish eye contact.

“Are you alright, Ms. Algus?”

She nodded in reply, her jaw slightly agape.

“I know it must come as a shock, but I had to show you before I explained how I came to be in your class. I had to show you before I explained who I really am. I had to show you so you would believe my story.”

Chaya gazed at him, dumfounded. Eventually she motioned toward a chair beside her desk.

“Sit,” she said. “Tell me your tale.”

 

 

 

 

 

7. DONAV

 

 

“My real name is Patrick. Patrick O’Fallon.” His forced American accent suddenly melted away, replaced by the unobstructed clip of his Irish tongue. “Donav is a name granted to me by Jupiter. With this false name came a false identity. For anonymity’s sake though, you should probably continue to refer to me as Donav.

“I was born and raised in Mullingar, Ireland. My mother, father, and younger sister still reside there. They don’t know my current whereabouts. For their safety, as well as mine, it’s better they didn’t �" at least for the time being.

“About a year ago I worked as a forklift operator at a large distribution warehouse twenty miles west of Mullingar. It was a well paying job with benefits, and I was fortunate to have acquired it, especially at my age. The first three months were a probationary period. It was near the end of this three months that I was unloading some expensive freight. It suddenly shifted on the forks and began sliding off the pallet. I panicked. I saw my career flash before my eyes as the freight fell and went plummeting to the ground. There was nothing I could do but wish it would stop, will it to stop. To my surprise that’s exactly what happened. The freight ceased falling and hovered a few feet above the ground. I had no idea what was happening. I thought the tingling sensation I was feeling throughout my body was just my nerves reacting to the situation. I didn’t realize at the time that it was me making the freight hover.

“The freight continued to just kind of float there for a while before gradually settling to the ground. I managed to work it back onto the lift and relocate it to where it was suppose to go. I finished the remainder of the work day in a daze, unsure, exactly, of what had occurred.

“It wasn’t until a few days later that I began to wonder if I was responsible for what had happened. There had been no one else around at the time, and though I’m a religious person I doubt God would intervene over so small a thing. I began to wonder if I had an ability like the people I’d heard about on the news, the people BAP 14 was created because of, and that I’d witnessed that ability for the first time that day at work.

“We’ve got an old barn in the back of our home in Mullingar. I took to it the following Sunday and set about trying to make it happen again, to will something to float. It took a few hours of repeated failed attempts, but eventually I managed to make an old wheel barrel hover a few feet above the ground. That confirmed it.

“Maybe I should have been excited, but truth be told I was only terrified. I was afraid I might unintentionally harm someone: my family, my friends, co-workers. I thought it over a couple of weeks and decided to submit myself for testing and registration. The Irish government claimed to have the knowledge and equipment to help people better understand their abilities. Unlike most other countries, registration is anonymous in Ireland. Otherwise, I probably wouldn’t have gone that route �" I didn’t want my family to be ostracized because of what I can do.

“I chose to go on a Friday, after work, figuring it would be like a short hospital stay �" perhaps a few nights. I told my family I was going to Dublin for the weekend to visit some friends. I drove to a facility about sixty kilometers south of Mullingar. It looked harmless enough: three stories tall, all the windows mirrored glass. It looked like a fancy office building of a sort. There was a reception area inside: a woman seated at a desk, a waiting area with chairs and magazines, paintings hung on the walls . . . It all seemed pleasant. In hindsight I now realize that was all a ruse.

“I introduced myself to the receptionist and she gave me several forms to fill out. Mostly the forms were a bunch of questions: medical, personal . . . anything and everything. After spending a few hours filling out all the paperwork, I was introduced to a Dr. Gallagher. He seemed a kind enough man at the time. He ushered me to his office upon the second floor and proceeded to ask me a series of questions, most which were similar to those I’d answered on the forms I’d just filled out. One question he asked, which wasn’t on the forms, was whether or not anyone knew I’d come to the facility for testing. I told him no, that I’d come in secret. That question should have been the first indication something wasn’t right. This Dr. Gallagher fellow was rather manipulative though, and led me to believe otherwise.

“I was asked to stay for the night and undergo a series of tests including blood work, CAT scan, full body x-ray . . . the works. I’d expected this, and agreed willingly.

After the day’s tests had concluded, I was given accommodation in a room within the building that looked like something out of an upscale hotel. The medical staff were all quite friendly. The accommodations were the fanciest I’d experienced in my life. It seemed an odd little vacation of sorts. I felt in no way threatened at this point.

The doctor explained there were more tests they wished to conduct the next day which would culminate in a demonstration of my ability. He asked if I’d be willing to remain the following night as well. I agreed, but explained I had to be back home no later than Sunday evening, so as to be at work Monday morning. He assured me all the remaining tests they wished to conduct would be concluded by then.

“Once alone in my room for the night, I made to call my parents to let them know I’d arrived in Dublin safely. I couldn’t get a signal on my phone, but thought nothing of it. The room didn’t have a landline, so I decided I’d simply contact my parents the following day. It was late �" around midnight �" and between work and all the tests I was exhausted and fell asleep almost immediately.

“When the following day’s tests concluded, I was taken to a room in the basement level in which to give a demonstration of my ability. The room was bare, save for a large metal table bolted to the floor. Atop the table there’d been a few random objects. Along one wall there was a long mirror. It was obviously two-way. There were video cameras mounted to every corner of the ceiling, and an intercom suspended directly above the table. Dr. Gallagher’s voice came over the intercom and requested I levitate a particular object on the table. I was still quite unaccustomed to my ability, and it took some time, but I obliged. He went down the row of objects on the table and asked me to levitate each individually. Once through, he asked me to levitate the objects simultaneously. It took a lot of concentration, but I managed to. After that, I was asked to wait, and was told someone would arrive to open the test room door shortly. It hadn’t even dawned on me that I was locked in till that moment. ‘Shortly’ turned out to be an hour, and I began to grow impatient. I started pounding on the door, demanding to be let out. A minute or two later the door opened to reveal the doctor . . . with two armed guards standing beside him.

“I asked what the armed escort was for, and he replied that it was protocol . . . or something to that effect. Suffice to say I was ready to leave, and told the doctor as much. He guided me to the elevator, and with us came the two guards. They were burly lads �" hair cropped. Military sorts, but without the uniforms. They wore black khaki outfits, no identification.

“When we entered the elevator, the doctor pressed the button for the sub-basement. I’d begun to sweat by this point, but hoped I was just being paranoid. I thought maybe the two armed guards were to get off on the sub-basement floor, then the doctor and I would continue to the first, and I would be on my way. I thought wrong apparently, because when the elevator doors opened, the doctor prompted me to exit. I pointed out the obvious: that we were on the wrong floor. It wasn’t the wrong floor though, not to them �" that’s precisely where they wanted me to be. When I didn’t heed the doctor’s request, the armed lads encouraged me forward by placing their hands on my shoulders and pushing me out of the elevator.

“The sub-basement lacked any of the appeal of the upper floors. The walls were white, bare, and surveillance cameras were mounted all throughout the halls. I was led to a small room, a cell of sorts, and placed within. Before the door slammed shut and locked behind me, Dr. Gallagher requested I remain calm, said that this was just a cautionary procedure, and that I’d be released shortly. That’s the last I saw of Dr. Gallagher. Can’t say I miss the lad,” Donav added with a weighted chuckle.

“I was still wearing the hospital garb they’d required I wear for the medical tests. I had not a one of my personal possessions with me, which meant no phone to try and call for help with, no watch to tell time . . . nothing. The room I was placed in was about three by three meters. There was a metal table and stool, both bolted to a concrete floor. The bed was metal as well, and it too was bolted to the floor. It even had one of those stainless steel toilets like the prisons have. That little room would serve as my home for the next two weeks.

“I had plenty of visitors throughout that time; doctors mostly, or at least they claimed to be. They had a million different questions they wanted to ask me, but I refused to answer a single one. I demanded to be allowed to leave over and over. I was repeatedly told I was being held for national security reasons, and that once it was established that I was not a threat, I would be released. I wasn’t buying into that, and they realized this soon enough. After a while, I started receiving visits from this young woman, pretty lass; tall, with long red hair and emerald green eyes. She was a real starlet. Claimed to be a psychologist of some sort. She tried to charm me into talking, but I wasn’t fooled so easily.

“Eventually they wanted another demonstration of my ability. This time they brought me to the test room under a four guard escort. I wouldn’t give them the encore they wanted. They were far from pleased. I remained locked in that room with the two-way mirror for what felt like a day or more �" no food or water. Every so often a voice came over the intercom prompting me to use my ability in order to be let out. I continually refused. Eventually they escorted me back to my cell.

“Days went by and it was more of the same �" doctors would ask me questions and I would refuse to answer. The only other time I was taken out of that cell was for taking showers. The shower room was down an adjacent hall, and of course I was always led there under armed escort. To and from the shower room I would see what looked to be other cells, but the slats on the little windows on their doors were always closed, so I had no way of knowing if anyone was in them.

“I figured I was being allowed a shower a day, so I began counting the days in this manner. On the thirteenth day in the sub-basement is when someone, or someones granted me an escape.

“I was lying on the bed in my cell, staring at the ceiling, feeling pretty damn hopeless, when all of a sudden there was a knock on the door. I sat up expecting it to be another doctor paying me an unwelcome visit. The slat on the door’s window didn’t slide open, which was unusual, because the doctors always liked to take a peek inside before coming in. A second later a slip of paper was slid beneath the door. I went over and picked it up and on it were seven words written in marker: OPEN THE DOOR AND FOLLOW THE ARROWS. I didn’t know what to make of it until a minute later when the electronic locking mechanism on the door clicked.

“At first I thought it might be some sick test my captors were conducting on me. I opened the door hesitantly and stepped into the hallway. There were red lights flashing as though a fire alarm had been sounded, but there was no blare of a siren. On the walls were large black spray painted arrows. The paint was fresh �" I could smell it in the air. The arrows continued down the hallway, one every two or three meters or so. When I reached a T section the arrows indicated I go right. Before turning right I glanced left. There were three guards down that way, slumped on the ground. I couldn’t tell whether they were alive or dead, and I didn’t stick around to find out.

“The arrows led me to a thick metal door similar to the one my cell had. This one was unlocked as well. Beyond it was a stairwell and more arrows. I followed them up until I came upon one final door. When I passed through it, I was amazed to find myself standing outside the rear of the building.

“A few meters away was a car idling, but no one inside. The driver side window was down, and from inside a phone began ringing. I looked down as I made to take a step toward the car, and saw one final arrow painted upon the ground pointing directly toward it. I opened the door, got in, and answered the phone resting on the front passenger seat. A voice spoke to me �" garbled, disguised �" and told me to drive west to a specific hotel in the town of Tralee. They were adamant that I call no one, less I risk putting their life in danger.

“I heeded their instructions, and their warning. It was dark out, and I’d never driven to Tralee before, but there was a gps to guide me, so I made it there well enough.

“Once I’d reached the hotel in Tralee, the phone rang again. Whoever it was must have been watching me, or tracking the car, because they knew the moment when I’d arrived. They told me to open the glove box. Within was a key to one of the hotel rooms. The person on the other end of the phone told me to go in the room and remain there until told otherwise. They told me to get some rest, because in the morning I would be driving to Cork to catch a flight out of Ireland. Again I did as I was told, except for the ‘get some rest’ part; I was wound so tight I didn’t sleep a wink.

“Come morning, the phone rang again. I was instructed to go to the car I’d driven to Tralee in and take the black Audi that was now in its place to Cork. Sure enough, someone had switched the green Chrysler I’d driven in for a black Audi in the middle of the night. I got in and drove to Cork. Again someone was watching me, or the car was being tracked, because the phone rang the moment I reached the airport. I was told to open the glove box. Within was a falsified passport, a plane ticket, a airport locker key, and a few thousand dollars in U.S. currency. Any fog of mystery as to where I was destined for receded that instant. The voice on the other end instructed me to take the flight to San Diego, California, and then use the key to open a specific locker there once I arrived.

“When the plane touched down in San Diego, I again did as I was told. Within the locker was a new phone, more falsified identification, and an envelope containing ten thousand dollars. The new phone rang. I answered and was told to discard the old phone and catch a cab to a specific address in El Cajon. Once I arrived, I saw that the address was an apartment complex. The phone rang again and the caller told me this was my new home and that I’d find a key under the welcome mat. I was told I could come and go as I pleased, but to maintain a low profile at all costs. My family couldn’t know where I was. If I was to contact them, I was only ever to do so with the phone in my possession �" I was assured it could not be traced. I was to tell my family I’d met a girl, and moved with her to Australia on a whim. The person giving me these instructions assured me my family was being monitored �" including phone taps. Under no circumstances was I ever to divulge to them my true whereabouts.

“It’s been utter hell,” Donav said as a single tear slid down his face, “not seeing them . . . lying to them. The four of us were always so close. Now they think I just up and left to prance around Australia with some lass I met at a pub. I haven’t seen them in nearly a year. It’s driving me mad.”

Chaya placed her hands on her desk in front of Donav, palms up, welcoming him to set his in hers. He accepted her sympathetic gesture, and for a time they simply held hands in silence. Eventually Donav continued his tale, voice heavy with sorrow.

“After about three months at the apartment, I received a call from someone, perhaps the same person I’d spoken with before . . . It’s hard to say considering their voice is always disguised. This time the caller identified themself as ‘Jupiter’. Jupiter asked if I would like to attend college, Seraphina University in particular. They said there was someone there who might be sympathetic to my plight. They asked if I would be willing to attend Seraphina and observe this person firsthand, determine for myself whether or not their assessment was correct. That person, of course, is you.

“Donav . . .” Chaya muttered, unsure how to respond. “What little correspondence I’ve had with Jupiter was always ambiguous. They would pose questions to my moral beliefs and my view of BAP 14, but they never indicated they wanted me to lend assistance to anyone in need. Up until a few minutes ago I’d assumed Jupiter was just some computer whiz with too much free time in search of a pen pal. I’m . . . I’m just a professor. What could I possibly offer in way of help?”

Donav let his hands slide from hers as he looked about the room, at what it represented.

“Knowledge. Guidance.”

Chaya pondered this uncertainly.

“Of all the people in the world, why did Jupiter choose me?”

“I’m not entirely sure. Perhaps a psychological profile is stored in some government database they hacked into and you seemed best suited for the task. Or maybe Jupiter is a former student of yours who recalls your aptitude for compassion. Jupiter never explained, so I’m left to guess.”

Chaya’s eyes fell upon the immense leather bound dictionary resting atop her desk. It evoked thoughts of her late father, the gentle man who’d bestowed it upon her, and the words he’d spoken as he did: “Chaya, my heart, this will teach you the meaning of words. Your deeds will teach you the meaning of your life.”

“My poor Donav,” Chaya sighed. “You’ve suffered so much, and all on your own.” Her body suddenly went rigid with determination. She went on to pound her fist once lightly upon her desk and declare with a voice empowered, “I’ll help you in any way I can.”

Donav smiled a humble smile and said, “Thank you, Ms. Algus.” After a moment his smile faded, replaced by a look of apprehension. “I’m afraid it wouldn’t end there, though. Jupiter has indicated their hopes for this . . . for us to become a waypoint of sorts for others such as myself.”

“Others?” said Chaya as her determination seemed to waver.

Donav reached into his pant pocket, removed his wallet, and a folded piece of paper therein. He offered the paper to Chaya. She took it and gazed at it inquisitively. It was worn, having been unfolded and refolded several times, its message read and reread by Donav throughout the past several months.

Chaya unfolded the piece of parchment and silently read the words within.

OPEN THE DOOR AND FOLLOW THE ARROWS

Donav spoke softly. “Ms. Algus, I believe from now on those arrows will lead to us.”

 

 

 

 

 

8. THE ODD COUPLE

 

 

“This is f****n siiiick!” Kira exclaimed, hands pressed to an immense window of the forty-ninth floor suite. She gazed at the bustle of activity below, mesmerized by it all.

“I am pleased to know the accommodations are to your liking,” Walthis responded. He held a suitcase in each hand and set them gently upon the dark wenge floor.

Kira spun away from the window and pirouetted across the room to a massive flat screen television hung on the wall. “Hello, you beautiful beast,” she whispered to it, kissing it lightly. “You and I are gonna be good friends.”

“Fan of cinema,” Walthis said in note of her enthusiasm.

She turned to face him, spread her arms wide, and bellowed, “I’m the queen of the world!”

The movie reference seemed lost on Walthis.

“Titanic,” Kira explained.

“The ship?”

“The movie about the ship.”

“I am afraid I have never seen it.”

Kira sighed with disappointment as she let her arms drop. “You’re probably the only person in the world who hasn’t.”

“I am more of a theatre person,” he declared.

“That doesn’t surprise me. So . . . When do we start?”

“Start what?”

“Looking for people like us.”

Walthis was stunned by her eagerness.

“I thought you might like to take some time to get settled in, as well as become acclimated to your new surroundings before we look for others.”

Kira glanced at her bags, all two of them. “It’ll take me about ten minutes to get settled in. And while I’m getting ‘acclimated’ to my new surroundings we might as well look for people to join our noble, as of yet undefined cause.”

“Perhaps tomorrow then,” Walthis responded. His mind was still reeling by the suddenness of it all; a few days ago he was virtually alone in this world, now he was partnered with a vibrant young woman who might suffer from �" among other things �" murderous tendencies. “We could tour the city once we’ve established a savings and checking account in your name.”

“Never had a bank account before,” confessed Kira as she wandered about the suite, Walthis following in her wake. “This s**t’s all new to me. The living room in the place is bigger than my apartment was in New York. Boy is the landlord gonna be pissed when he finds out I bailed. I owe that f****r two months’ rent.”

“Perhaps you would allow me to mail him a check,” Walthis offered.

“Fuuuuck him. He was a total a*s. Mail him a dick in a box, with a note attached telling him to suck it.”

Walthis was unsure how to respond to this, and as a result he simply chose not to.

“Woh!” bellowed Kira as they came upon a room adjacent the living room. “Look at all this fitness equipment!” Walthis smiled, pleased with her enthusiasm. His smile diminished a moment later when she said, “I can guarantee you I won’t be touching any of this s**t.”

“I highly recommend physical fitness. I, myself, do my best to stay in top shape. The mind and body are�"”

“The only thing I like to workout is my ego,” interrupted Kira.

“I tend to practice modesty,” responded Walthis, glowering.

“Holy-f****n-s**t!” Kira exclaimed as they came upon one of the suite’s three bedrooms. “Look at the size of that bed!” She sprinted and jumped upon it, then proceeded to bounce up and down on the king size mattress.

“’C’mon, Walt!” she said, waving for Walt to join in the activity.

“I would prefer not to. Thank you.”

“For the love of money,” Kira crooned. “Some people got to have it. Some people really need it . . .”

Walthis watched as she danced and bounced atop the bed, her violet hair responding by bouncing and dancing atop her head.

“Money, money, money, money . . . money!”

For the hundredth time he wondered what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

 

*          *          *

 

Kira woke the following morning to the chime of the doorbell. She rolled off the massive sectional couch within the living room on which she’d slept and sauntered to the door, her small, bare feet pattering upon the wooden floor as she went.

“Who is it?” she grumbled.

“Walthis Crane.”

She unlocked the door and let it glide open, turning and walking back to the couch as she did, sporting Smurf pajamas and a matching night cap.

“Good thing you said your last name,” she said as she flopped onto the couch, curled into a fetal position, and laid her head on a massive pillow, “or else I mighta mistaken you for the other Walthis I know.”

Walthis didn’t immediately get the jest, but once it registered, he said, “Oh,” then produced a stunted laugh.

“Did I wake you?” he asked as he poised himself at the precipice where the kitchen merged with the living room.

“Sure as s**t did. What time is it?”

“Nine AM.”

“Nine AM? S**t, it’s early.”

“I can come back at a later time if�"”

“It’s alright. I’m just gonna need some time to wake up. Go ahead and pop a squat, Walt,” she said, slapping a couch cushion as she did.

“How long you been up?” she went on to ask as he took seat upon a section of the couch furthest from her.

“Since six AM.”

Kira’s head remained upon the pillow. Her eyes had shut. “Damn. Why you get up so early . . . morning cartoons?”

“I tend to rise with the sun.”

“Oh ya? I tend to fall asleep ‘bout an hour before it rises.”

“Apparently our sleep routines are as different as our personalities,” noted Walthis.

Kira let loose a massive fart. A print of Smurfette on the seat of her pants shook in response. Walthis’s eyes went wide.

“You can thank Cui Fong for that,” Kira explained. “Ordered some takeout from there last night, and that s**t’s still talkin to me.” She inhaled deep. “Smells like egg rolls and fried rice.”

“I hope it does not find its way to me,” Walthis said unhumorously.

“I think you’re safe over there.

“So, Walthis Crane, what’s on today’s agenda?”

“A bank account to begin with. And you will require a vehicle, as I also mentioned.”

“This s**t’s too good to be true,” Kira murmured dreamily.

“There is something I have been meaning to ask you,” declared Walthis, “and I hope you do not take offense when I do.” He continued hesitantly. “You are about to become privy to a modest, while at the same time substantial source of currency. And . . . Well . . . If you are not accustom to having access to such significant finances, I am concerned it may be detrimental to you.”

“How so?” Kira asked, perplexed.

“If you suffer from any . . . narcotic dependencies, I fear with the sudden acquirement of so much money you may overindulge.”

“What!” Kira shouted, her eyes springing open as she sat upright. “You think I’m a f****n junkie?” she barked.

“If I have made a mistake, I am sor�"”

“Why? Because I look the way I do? Or is it because the way I act?”

“I apologize if I have�"”

“I’ve never drank or gotten high in my life. Can you say the same, Saint Walthis? I’ve experienced firsthand what that s**t can do to someone, and I’m not about to make the same mistake.”

Kira fluffed her pillow, laid back down, and closed her eyes.

“I meant no offense,” Walthis declared. I was simply�"”

She interrupted him with another massive fart. “I couldn’t have said it better myself, Cui Fong.”

“I was simply concerned for your well being. I am glad to discover you have not entered into that particular trapping in life which so many others often fall prey to. Again, I apologize if I have offended you.”

“Show your remorse by fixin me a cup of coffee.”

“Certainly,” Walthis replied as he rose. “Would you like anything to eat with your morning beverage?”

“Ya. Heat up some of that left over Cui Fongs in the fridge.”

 

*          *          *

 

“Perhaps this was not the ideal choice of vehicles for you,” Walthis said as he braced himself against the front passenger seat by pressing the palms of his hands against the dashboard.

“You think I shoulda went with the blue one?” Kira asked as she wove the candy red 1967 Camaro through the late afternoon traffic at an excessive rate of speed.

“I think you would have been better suited with a vehicle less inciteful of exceeding the speed limit.”

“Aw, Walt,” Kira whined. “I’m just breaking it in.

“Take a look around. You see anyone glowin bright?”

“At the rate at which we are traveling, everything is a blur,” Walthis declared.

Kira sighed and eased off the gas.

“Better?” she asked after cutting the Camaro’s momentum in half.

“Much,” Walthis exhaled in relief as he removed his hands from the dash.

“See anyone now?”

“No one out of the ordinary.

“I hope I have not in some way misled you into believing our results would be instantaneous. As I told you, I have only seen four other people throughout my life that displayed a brighter luminescence than everyone else. It may be years before I see another, if ever.”

“Ya gotta be optimistic, Walt. We’ll find someone sooner than you think. It’s destiny, and all that good s**t, like you said.”

“Hopefully,” Walthis replied somberly as he gazed out the passenger window, searching. “In the meantime I was thinking it would be best if we utilized our time together in between these excursions by coming to better understand your ability, its strengths and limitations.”

“What’s to understand? You pretty much know what I can do.”

“I thought perhaps we could conduct a few experiments of sorts. Knowledge has no boundaries. There is always more one can discover about them self.”

“I conducted plenty of experiments back in New York,” Kira responded as she cut in front of a slow moving SUV. “My s****y lil one bedroom apartment had the occasional roach. I would zap those nasty fuckers on sight. Same result every time. End of experiment.”

Walthis wondered eerily how many cockroaches she’d had to ‘zap’ before graduating to taking human lives.

“Your ability is a complex anomaly. There is still much you can learn of it.”

“Sure,” Kira replied with a shrug. “Whatever floats your boat. If you’ve got a bowl of fruit back at that high rise of yours you’d like me to turn into punch, I’d be happy to help. I wouldn’t recommend drinkin it though.”

“Watch out!” Walthis wailed.

“Relax,” Kira replied as she swerved around a male pedestrian sprinting across the street. “I see his dumbass.”

“You nearly struck him,” Walthis stated in horror.

“He nearly struck me,” Kira corrected. “He wasn’t supposed to be crossing in the middle of the street like that.”

“Where did you learn to drive in such a brash manner?” Walthis inquired, aghast.

“The same place you found me. I had a job in Yonkers for a while delivering pizzas. The delivery car was a little piece of s**t. I use to drive that thing like a maniac.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” huffed Walthis.

Kira laughed her devilish laugh, then continued. “Faster delivery time usually meant better tips. So I was under a lot of pressure as you can imagine. That job only lasted around six months. I just couldn’t handle the f****n stress. Speaking of pizza . . . Isn’t Chicago suppose to have some of the best in the world? How bout we stop and get one and take it back to your palace? For dessert we can conduct some of these ‘experiments’ you mentioned.”

“Yes. Yes, that sounds ideal,” Walthis replied emphatically, eager to cease being co-pilot to her treacherous driving.

Kira stuck her head out the driver side window and yelled at the car in front of them. “It’s called a turn signal, you degenerate f**k! Learn to use it!”

 

*          *          *

 

Kira belched loudly, the littered remains of a deep dish pizza strewn about the table before her.

“Quality. Quality pizza.”

“Yes,” Walthis agreed. “It was quite good.”

“You only had one slice.”

“A person my age needs to be more critical of their salt and saturated fat intake.”

Kira rolled her eyes. “You aint that old.”

“Speaking of age,” Walthis said ponderously. “What precisely is yours?” It was one of many questions he’d wanted to ask her on their flight from New York to Chicago, and one he likely would have, had she not slept the entire trip.

“Oh, Walt,” she sighed disapprovingly. “Don’t you know it’s impolite to ask a woman such a thing?”

“My apologies. I was just�"”

“I’m just shittin ya. I’m twenty. What about you? I’m guessin . . . fiftyish.”

“Good guess. Fifty-five.”

Kira congratulated herself with a pat on the back.

“Any family?” Walthis further inquired.

“Nada,” Kira replied impartially. Despite her aloof tone, Walthis thought he detected an underlying sorrow. He did not persist, however.

“We are alike in that regard then. I am alone in this world as well.”

“You aint alone,” Kira exclaimed cheerfully. “Ya got me, the baddest b***h in the universe.”

Walthis chuckled. “I suppose you are correct.”

“So what’s the first experiment, test, thing . . . whatever the f**k we’re callin it?”

“I am not entirely certain.” He was silent a moment while he thought. “How about we begin with a background on your ability. When did it manifest? When did you first realize you possessed the power that you wield?”

Kira’s expression turned cold. Her eyes drifted from Walthis’s and went on to stare blankly over his shoulder.

“That’s somethin I’ll never discuss,” she said in a tone as frigid as the expression she wore. A moment later her eyes snapped back to Walthis’s and she said, “Ask me anything else though and you’re likely to get a response.”

“How about the second occurrence on forward?” he inquired trepidatiously.

“Hmm,” Kira pondered as she gazed up at the ceiling. “Sure. I Guess so. But I gotta warn ya, Walt, it aint exactly pretty.” She wore her sinister grin when she said this, the one that unnerved him the most.

Walthis folded his hands atop the table and braced himself for the tale that lay ahead.

“After the first time I did what I can do,” Kira began uncomfortably, “I didn’t do it again for nearly two years. By that time I was sixteen years old.

“I was walking home from this s**t job I had as a grocery teller. At the time I was stayin at some lil run-down hotel �" payin by the week. Anyways, I passed by this alley, and there was some guy in it standing by the backdoor of a bar, slappin the s**t outta his girlfriend. Not little slaps either; he was smackin her like he’d just found out she’d given his best friend a blowjob or somethin. Seein her gettin hit like that made me furious. I looked around for somethin to throw at his punk a*s and spotted an empty beer bottle layin by a nearby trash can. Not one of those lil twelve ouncers either. It was one of those big twenty-two ouncers. I scooped that s**t up and tossed it at him. I can’t throw worth a damn, but it musta been my lucky day, ‘cause it smacked him broadside his head and shattered into a million pieces. I was so f****n happy. I felt like I’d just scored the winning touchdown of the Super Bowl or some s**t.

“So, the guy stumbled sideways and yelled out in pain. He put his hand on his head. There was blood all over. It was pretty fucked. Then some really crazy s**t went down; the girl looks at me and screams, ‘I know you didn’t just throw a bottle at my boyfriend, b***h!’ I was all like, ‘I was tryin to help you, you fugly skank!’ And god damned was she ugly. She looked like someone had taken a s**t on her face, then tried to clean it up with a weed wacker.

“Next thing I know this crazy a*s broad is runnin at me like she wants to kick my a*s. More like stumblin, actually, ‘cause she was drunk as hell and wearin three inch hooker pumps. She only made it a few steps before fallin flat on her face. Next, the guy starts runnin in my direction. At first I thought he was gonna go help his girlfriend, but he didn’t stop at her, he just stepped on her like a throw rug and kept comin my way. I was like, ‘Oh s**t!’ and took off. He was fast though. Faster than me. I’d only run about a block before he caught up to me.

“I wasn’t about to get tuned up like his girl, so I spun around and, well, he stopped chasin me.

“I was terrified. I’d sworn it would never happen again. But when I was suddenly faced with havin to either let some guy kick my a*s, or turn him into a puddle of blood and s**t, the choice seemed easy.

“I didn’t even stick around long enough to watch his remains hit the pavement. I took off like a bat outta hell. When I got to the hotel I was stayin at, I was crazy paranoid. I kept thinkin someone musta seen me do what I did. So I went in the bathroom and cut my hair, ya know, to change my appearance, be less recognizable. It used to be real long, down to my a*s. Ever since that day I’ve kept it about as short as it is now. A week later I dyed it violet. Then came the piercings. And now I’m the rockin b***h that sits before you.”

She made devil’s horns with both hands, stuck out an abnormally long tongue, and rolled her eyes back so that only the whites showed. Walthis smiled nervously in response. A second later her deranged expression dispersed and she resumed her tale.

“After that I slowly began to come to terms with what I can do, whereas before I’d sorta been in a state of denial.

“There’s this old warehouse I used to go to when I just wanted to get away from everyone and everything. It was locked up pretty good, but I can be a sneaky b***h when I wanna be, and I knew a way in. A few weeks after that second occurrence, I went in there with a grocery bag fulla s**t: empty soda cans, a few empty Kleenex boxes, old magazines, s**t like that. I spent the entire afternoon trying to vaporize that s**t, but it was a no-go. I tried everything I could think of: evoking different emotions, positioning myself at different angles and distances, but nothing worked. I’d all but given up when I saw a massive rat scurrying around in the corner. I hate rats. And this f****r was huge. I kinda waved my hand toward it, and basically willed it dead, and poof, no more rat. That’s when it clicked; whatever it was I was doing only worked on living things.

“I went back to the warehouse the next day, but this time I brought a bag fulla vegetables, fruits, and lunch meat. My mojo worked on all that s**t. Next I set about creating a kinda failsafe, ya know, to keep my wicked a*s in check. I chose a word to say in my mind every time I wanted to use my ability. Without that word my power won’t trigger. Of course the word alone isn’t enough to activate my power �" it’s a whole succession of things �" but that word is the final thing.

“Afterwards I wasn’t so afraid of myself. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m like one of these freaks they talk about on the news. ‘Cept the world aint ever seen nothin like me, and I aint tryin to sound like ‘Miss Badass’ when I say that. I’m just bein real. Paul Grayson can move objects with his mind? Big f****n deal. I can melt Paul Grayson’s mind. You think the world can handle some heavy s**t like that?” she asked angrily.

“That’s some other s**t entirely though.

“Anyways, after vaporizing a weeks’ worth of groceries, I simply went about living my miserable life. For about a year and a half I didn’t use my ability on anything ‘cept roaches, rats, and flies. Every time I needed to think my word, my trigger, or else my power wouldn’t fire. Then, when I was seventeen or eighteen years old came the real test.

“I was waitin in the subway for the train to take me home. By this point I was livin in the lil, nasty one bedroom apartment. There was nobody down there ‘cept for me and some guy. He turned out to be a real creep. He came up to me and asked if the carpet matched the drapes, which is ridiculous, ‘cause who the hell would dye their pubes? I told him to f**k off, and hoped that’d be the end of it. He wandered off. A few minutes later I felt someone grab my a*s. It was that creep. He’d snuck up behind me to cop a feel.”

“Vile creature,” Walthis muttered in disgust.

“Damn straight. So I spun around and set out to do what I can do, but nothin happened. He just stood there, fully intact, a nasty smile on his greasy face, staring at me with rapist eyes.

“It was the word, ya see? I’d forgotten to whisper it in my mind. Next, when I focused all my anger and disgust on him, I used the word as well. He blew apart, a big cloud of red that splattered against the subway wall.

“My train arrived a few seconds later and I hopped on and rode it home.

“I was happy. So happy I had to struggle to keep from laughin out loud to myself like some wacko. The entire ride home I had a huge grin on my face. I even cried a little I felt so good. It wasn’t killin that f****r that had me so ecstatic, it was knowing that I was in control of my ability. For the longest time I’d thought of it as a curse. Now I’ve come to realize it’s a blessing of sorts.

“I’ve never had any real friends. I’ve always been kind of a loner. I know this may be hard to believe,” she said with a smirk, “but I’m not exactly a people person. Once I accepted what I can do, once I learned to control it completely, it became my friend. My friend watches my back. My friend doesn’t take s**t from anyone. She’s a mean lil b***h and I love her to death.”

Kira smiled a pleasant smile, took a deep breath, and continued.

“Nothin happened over the next few years that required me to use my ability. There were plenty of instances where I nearly did, as you can imagine; New York’s got its fair share of a******s, after all. But nobody did anything over those next few years to justify an introduction to my friend. Not until that day with those Humanity United pricks.

“My neighbors were blastin their music, and driving me nuts in the process. I just had to get away for a few hours, so I went somewhere I hadn’t been to in quite a while �" that old warehouse. When I got there, it was empty like usual. I took seat up by the rafters on a gangway. The rats never went up there, so it was my favorite spot. I had my MP3 player with me and I just hung out and listened to an audio book. After an hour or so some guys showed up and started settin up a stage. This s**t tripped me out ‘cause I’d never seen anyone in there before. So outta curiosity I stuck around to see what was goin on. They couldn’t see me up where I was, so I figured no harm no foul. They finished puttin up the stage after a while, then more people started showin up, and eventually their little rally got under way.

“The crowd became so entranced by the crazy s**t the guy at the podium was spewing they didn’t even notice when I snuck down and joined them. I had no intention of using my power at that point, I was just havin fun. It wasn’t till they started talkin bout killin people like us that I realized nobody was gonna leave there alive ‘cept me. Soon after . . . Well, you saw the news reports.

“A few months later I met you. And now here we are.”

Walthis was struck dumb by her disclosure, by the body count it entailed. However, he’d not been so naïve as to have convinced himself the Humanity United rally had been the first time she’d taken human life.

“There’s somethin I was wonderin about you,” Kira went on to say. “Can you see yourself glow?”

When she’d concluded the telling of how she’d come into her power, Walthis had found himself at a loss for words. He was now glad she’d poised a question, inciting him to speak.

“Yes. Yes I can. But I have become so accustom to it I am hardly aware of it anymore.”

“What about my glow?”

“It’s still quite prevalent,” Walthis replied with a gentle smile.

Kira matched his smile with one of her own, not sinister or contrived in the least, a genuinely pure expression.

“Do you really think we’ll find others like us?” she went on to ask.

“I hope so. I truly do.”

“Me too,” she replied somberly. “Me too.”

A moment of silence transpired before she spoke again. When she did, she was struggling to restrain tears.

“Can I ask you a question, Walt? But you’ve gotta swear to answer it with a hundred percent honesty.”

Walthis was stunned by her show of anguish. “I . . . I give you my word my response will be void of everything but the truth.”

“Do you think I’m evil?”

Walthis wasn’t sure what he found more astounding: the immediacy of his reply, or the reply itself.

“No. No I do not.”

Kira smiled bright, her beautiful grin matching her glow.

“Thank you,” she uttered.

Walthis realized with immense sorrow that this was a question she’d likely asked herself countless times. Perhaps it wasn’t until this moment she’d received the answer she’d been so desperately in search of. He began to understand how alone she truly was, how afraid, and how incredibly brave.

Kira thrummed her hands on her knees and shook off her moment of vulnerability. When next she spoke, she did so with her usual razor sharp inflection.

“So, what’s gonna be the first experiment? You wanna see me melt the remainder of this pizza or some s**t? It’d be a shame to see perfectly good leftovers go to waste though.”

“How about we postpone any experiments until a later day,” Walthis offered. “Instead we can continue talking if you would like.”

“F**k it. Whatever. But let’s talk in front of the television. Sittin across from one another like this is too much like a therapeutic session. We can bond while watchin Game of Thrones.”

“Very well,” Walthis replied. “Game of Thrones . . . I believe I have heard of that. It is a movie, correct?”

Kira sighed. “It’s a television show on cable. God, Walt, you’ve got so much to learn.”

 

 

 

 

 

9. GILLY

 

 

“She smells like pee,” hissed Devin James.

“She stinks like piss,” rasped Barry Wilkes. “Only babies say ‘pee’.”

“She smells like piss,” Devin amended.

“She’s scummy,” declared Kathy Vale in her nasally inflection. “She lives in a trailer like a hillbilly. Dirty hillbilly.”

Kathy had called her a hillbilly before �" on numerous occasions. It was Kathy’s favorite name for her, though Gilly could not say why. She’d asked her mommy what the word meant when Kathy had first used it against her so many months ago. Mommy had answered, reluctantly, before sending Gilly to her room for the night.

“A hillbilly ish a dirty pershon that livesh in the hillsh.”

Mommy hadn’t had her teeth in when she’d told Gilly this, making her ‘s’s sound funny again. She wasn’t completely without though; she still had five of her own, but they weren’t enough to keep her words from coming out wrong.

“Hills where?”

“How wud I f****n know? Shtop ashkin shtupid questionsh and go to your room.”

“I’m sorry, Mommy.”

“And don’t come out till morning. I’m shick of your shtupid questions. And I’m tired of lookin at your crooked eyesh. They’re makin me dizzhy.”

There were no hills in Wellmarble, Texas, that Gilly knew of, and she’d lived here her entire short life. Why Kathy Vale chose to call her a hillbilly mystified Gilly, as did the cruelty of her classmates in general. And this particular cruelty wouldn’t cease any time soon; they enjoyed it too much, especially when used in conjunction with her name.

“Hillbilly Gilly,” crowed Megan Parks. “Hillbilly Gilly. Hillbilly Gilly.”

Why does it have to rhyme? Gilly wondered woefully. She stared at the concrete blacktop that comprised the school playground, eyes crossed, long, stringy light brown hair hanging lackluster from atop her tiny head. The look upon her face was not one that could be described as sorrow, it was a look of something far worse: defeat �" an expression no child should have to bear, and one she wore almost constantly.

“Hillbilly Gilly,” half a dozen other children joined in. “Hillbilly Gilly. Hillbilly Gilly.”

Gilly clutched Marigold to her chest and waited patiently for the chorus to cease, for the taunting as a whole to draw to an end. It would not last the entirety of recess. It never did. They would grow bored eventually and abandon their deriding behavior for other activities, reverting to ignoring Gilly �" breaking off into smaller groups to play hopscotch, or tag, or whatever school yard game happened to be popular that week.

“Even her doll is dirty,” Gale Burrows declared disgustedly.

Gilly embraced Marigold tighter in response.

If Marigold was dirty, it wasn’t her fault. Dolls didn’t know how to take baths. Gilly hated when they were mean to her, and she despised even more so when their cruelty was directed at Marigold.

They’ll go away soon. They’ll go away and then me and Marigold can go sit and talk. Marigold would make her smile. She could always count on Marigold to make her feel better, just as she could always count on her classmates to be mean.

Susie Yates leaned toward Gilly and sniffed at the air. “She smells like piss,” she spat.

Why do they still say that? She hadn’t smelled like pee in months, not since the lady in a fancy suit and the police officer man came to her house, not since they made Mommy scream and cry. When they’d left, Mommy had said it was all her fault, that she was a bad girl, and that they’d wanted to take her away.

Mommy had cleaned that day, and she’d made Gilly help. Together they’d swept, and scrubbed, and vacuumed, and polished, and when they were through, their little house was cleaner than Gilly had ever seen it. The cleaning didn’t end with their house. Mommy had packed up all of Gilly’s clothes and they’d driven to the laundromat. They’d washed load after load. Gilly couldn’t remember ever having had so many clean clothes. Mommy had even done something when she’d dried them that made them smell like flowers.

Even Marigold had gone for a swim in one of the washing machines after Mommy had explained to her that dolls couldn’t drown. “Are you having fun, Marigold?” Gilly had asked in wonderment of her faithful companion as she watched her whirl about the sudsy water, one hand pressed gently to the machine’s window, a beautiful smile on her face. Marigold’s subsequent spin in the dryer had left her smelling much like her name. “You smell so pretty, Marigold,” Gilly had remarked joyously.

When they’d left the laundromat, it was dark out. It had been a long day, and Gilly was tired, but also quite happy; who  knew cleaning could be so much fun? Gilly’s pleasant mood was shattered when her and Mommy arrived back home. Mommy took Gilly by her long, sandy brown hair and marched her to the bathroom. She filled the tub with water so hot steam wafted from it. She made Gilly strip and sit within. The water was so hot it made Gilly cry, and what came next made her cry even harder. Mommy scrubbed her so violently she’d left her skin raw, chastising her as she did.

“You’re a dirty girl! People from school told the police how dirty you are and they were gonna take you away!” Mommy still had her teeth in from when the fancy suit lady and police man had visited, so her words came out right. “No more wetting the bed like a little baby! And from now on you change your clothes every God-damned-day!”

Mommy had scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. Gilly had cried and cried and cried. Eventually Mommy grew tired of her tears and slapped her face till they stopped.

Gilly had been cleaner since that day, not always as clean, but cleaner. Now when she wet the bed she changed her clothes before going to school, instead of hiding the fact from Mommy and letting the wet dry.

She didn’t smell like pee anymore. She was clean now. She wished they could see that. She wished they would leave her alone.

“Scummy b***h,” bawled Jerry Teal.

Gilly knew that second word. Mommy used it often. Sometimes on her. It was a bad word, for a bad girl. Gilly hated being a bad girl.

She continued to stare at the blacktop as she waited: waited for their hatred to subside, waited to be left alone. They would abandon their tormenting eventually, leaving Marigold and her to speak freely to one another of pleasant things.

“Her eyes are crooked like a monster’s,” yawped Alicia Kirkland.

“They’re different colors, too,” declared Fred Calloway. “Nobody has different colored eyes. You’re a freak, Hillbilly Gilly.”

They’ll leave me alone soon, and then I’ll talk to Marigold. Maybe Marigold will even want me to sing her a pretty song. Marigold loves songs.

“She’s a dirty monster girl,” growled Fran Goldwench.

“She’s a smelly b***h,” roared Dennis Finnegan.

The insults began to come so fast and from so many, Gilly found it difficult to assign each tirade to its author.

“Stinky, pissy hillbilly.”

“Ugly monster.”

“You’re poor.”

“She lives in a trailer. Only poor people live in trailers.”

“That’s why she smells, ‘cause she’s too poor to buy soap.”

“Her mom smokes drugs. Her mom’s a monster too.”

“Gilly the monster.”

“Pissy pants.”

“B***h.”

“Freak.”

“Scummy.”

“Monster.”

“Smelly.”

“Dirty.”

“Ugly.”

“Take her doll!”

No! Not Marigold! Marigold was a good girl. Marigold had never done anything wrong to anyone.

“Ya! Take her doll!”

“Take her doll!” they began chanting.

“Take her doll! Take her doll! Take her doll!”

Gilly ceased staring at the ground and shifted her gaze toward Ms. Kandlish. The second grade teacher stood at the opposite end of the playground too preoccupied to pay Gilly’s plight any mind. She was talking to the gym teacher, Mr. Garand again. Last week Gilly had overheard Carl Devon say Ms. Kandlish spoke to him so often because she wanted him to stick his penis in her. Gilly didn’t understand. She had no idea what a penis was, and couldn’t imagine why Ms. Kandlish would want anyone to stick anything inside of her.

“Take her doll! Take her doll! Take her doll!”

No! No! No!

Helen Durant stepped forward and grabbed at Marigold. Gilly reeled away with a gasp of fright.

They surrounded her. Their chanting intensified.

“Take her doll! Take her doll! Take her doll!”

Gilly spun around, looking for an escape, finding none. Hands began emerging from every direction, clutching at Marigold. Gilly pressed her only friend in the world even harder to her chest.

I won’t let them take you, Marigold.

Hands continued to grasp at Gilly, at her precious Marigold. She whirled about, doing her best to avoid them. Back and forth she swiveled, so much and so swiftly she began to grow dizzy. She faltered and stumbled, nearly tumbling to the ground.

Jackie Falk managed to grab hold of Marigold’s faded yellow hair amid this totter, giving the doll a sharp tug.

“No!” Gilly yipped as she twirled about, wresting the doll free.

“Take her doll! Take her doll! Take her doll!”

Through the chanting and blurs of children’s faces, a sickening realization descended upon Gilly �" she was trapped. With this realization came fear, but not of the immediate situation, instead she feared what was to come.

Not since Mommy’s last boyfriend was alive had Gilly felt trapped, not since he’d cupped his hand around her throat and breathed evil words laced with whiskey into her face. He’d squeezed tighter and tighter as he’d proclaimed his hatred for her, declaring she’d grow up to be a w***e just like her mother. Gilly hadn’t known what a w***e was, all she’d known was Mommy wasn’t home to stop him, all she’d known was she was trapped. What had happened next wasn’t her fault, it was because of her, but not her fault. She was a bad girl, but she couldn’t help it.

She’d made Mommy’s old boyfriend stop hurting her. Afterwards she stepped from their home onto the street. She hadn’t needed to open the door, it was no longer there, nor were the walls or the ceiling. When Gilly’s bare feet had touched the pavement, she’d ran, and ran, and ran until her little feet were so tender she couldn’t run anymore. She’d come to a stop in a field. It had been dark, and she hadn’t recognized it. At the time she’d thought her feet had carried her so far that she’d wound up in another town. She’d taken seat upon the ground, brought her knees to her chin, and wrapped her arms around her legs. Sometime later the police had found her like this. She’d progressed to singing a tune of sorts, one unintelligible word repeated over and over.

They’d said it was a gas leak that had caused the splosion. Gilly hadn’t understood what that meant. What she did understand was she wasn’t being blamed. Mommy’s boyfriend was dead, and nobody knew it was because of her. She’d been bad, very bad, and she’d kept it a secret since. Mommy had been sad that her boyfriend had died in the splosion. This had made Gilly sad. She’d never wanted to hurt Mommy. She’d never wanted to hurt anyone, but she’d been trapped, and something scary had happened.

They’d stayed in a hotel for two weeks afterwards. Gilly had liked that. The television worked and had lots of channels, and the carpet didn’t smell nearly as bad as the one in their sploded home had. Mommy had found a new home for them after two weeks �" another trailer, on the other side of the trailer park from where their old home had stood. Three more weeks later Mommy had a new boyfriend and was happy again. He was fat, and greasy, and farted a lot, but he never put his hands on Gilly, so she liked him well enough as she could.

“Take her doll! Take her doll! Take her doll!”

Hands continued to lash at Gilly from every direction like uncoiling snakes. She continued to whirl about in a feeble effort to evade them. Again someone managed to take hold of Marigold. Again Gilly managed to wrest her free.

Go away! Go away and leave me and Marigold alone!

“She’s crying,” someone screeched. “Look at her. She’s crying like a baby.”

It was true �" she’d begun to cry. But she wasn’t a baby; she was just scared: scared they would take Marigold, scared they would hurt her beloved friend, scared of being alone.

Barry Wilkes managed to grab hold of Marigold as Gilly whirled about in terror, tears streaking across her face. Gilly fought with all her little might to pull Marigold free, but Barry Wilkes was the biggest and strongest boy in class, and his grip held firm.

“No!” Gilly whimpered as Barry tugged violently on one of Marigold’s arms.

An awful sound suddenly accompanied the children’s’ spiteful chorus �" Marigold’s arm tearing free at the shoulder. Gilly watched in horror as the stitching snapped and a little fluff of cotton was exposed. It was all too much: being trapped, Marigold’s impending demise, the cruelty of the world as a whole.

An odd tingling sensation suddenly washed over Gilly. Though she’d only experienced it once before, it was all too familiar, and terrifyingly so. Next the air around her seemed to vibrate on an almost imperceptible level.

I’m a bad girl.

“Take her doll! Take her�"”

All at once the circle of taunting children were propelled outward by a massive shockwave, the detonation originating from the object of their cruelty. They hurtled about like overgrown bowling pins, a blossom of second graders traveling at an immense rate of speed in every which direction. Some, such as Jackie Falk, skimmed along the pavement as they went, suffering vicious abrasions in the process. The soft flesh of the entire right side of Jackie’s face was sheared clean off as it slid upon the faded blacktop that comprised the school yard. Devin James’s left arm and leg were skinned nearly to the bone. Kathy Vale’s ample bottom was flayed to bloody tatters, leaving a thick pair of crimson streaks in its wake.

Some of Gilly’s tormentors did not have to contend with the scientific principle of friction. They soared through the air like winged creatures, but for the immense rate of speed at which they traveled. Barry Wilkes found that when traveling at this brisk pace, coming in contact with the school chimney was quite fatal. Jerry Teal’s back slammed against the lip of the school roof, the impact snapping it violently. Jerry would suffer the remainder of his life a paraplegic, a life that ended four seconds later when he slid from the three story building and met face first with the stone hard ground below. Carol Lemont flew in the opposite direction of the school, her flight interrupted by the steel jungle gym she favored climbing so often. She slammed into it, as did the shockwave, contorting it, causing the webbed metal to shriek in protest as it bent and snapped. The jungle gym managed to remain rooted to the ground, though barely. It was now little more than a crumpled heap, Carol Lemont impaled upon it, a section which had torn free having pierced her shoulder.

Kenny Rowland’s flight went unencumbered by any obstacles as he soared in a direction similar to the one in which Carol had traveled, but at a much steeper angle. The only thing Kenny found himself having to compete with was gravity. Gravity, naturally, won out, and Kenny’s travels ended three quarters of a block away from where they’d begun. By some remote chance he wound up landing in Ms. Timmins inground swimming pool. Unfortunately, Ms. Timmins had drained the pool one week prior in preparation of having its liner replaced.

When the shockwave struck Gilly’s second grade teacher, Ms. Kandlish, who stood talking to the gym teacher, Mr. Garand, it played the role of Cupid, expediting their romantic union, slamming them into one another, propelling them into the street. A passing U.P.S. truck solidified their unification with eternity when its front end smacked into them just as the blast tossed the vehicle onto its side.

All at once the eastern windows of Sparrowford Grade School shattered and rained on the unlucky occupants within. Along with the glass came the concussion, sending teachers and students alike crashing into the opposing wall. Some classes now found themselves host to displaced second graders, the former Ms. Kandlish’s pupils whose hatred had triggered the miniature apocalypse.

Following in the wake of the explosion was a thunderous roar as the immense force punched through the sound barrier. This resounding boom was a precursor for the sounds to follow: the cries of terror, the shrieks of pain, the shouts of confusion, the wail of car alarms, the braying of far off dogs.

Center the chaos now sat a young girl. Her legs were pulled up to her chest, her fingers interlaced around her knees. Between her legs and chest was propped a doll. One of the girl’s eyes, brown of color, gazed in wonder at her friend, her only in the world. The other eye, green, seemed preoccupied with something else entirely, listing toward the little girl’s nose. The child began rocking back and forth, and through her lips passed a soft melody, one meaningless word repeated over and over.

“Moom-moom-moom.”

“Moom-moom-moom.”

“Moom-moom-moom.”

Marigold loves songs.

 

 

 

 

 

10. CROSSED PATHS

 

 

“Damn, it was good to be back in New York for a few days,” Kira exclaimed as she strode beside Walthis through O’Hare Airport. “It was like visiting an old friend with really bad hygiene, but you can’t help but love the f****r anyways.”

Walthis grimaced. Over the past couple of months he’d become more accustom to the explicit way in which she expressed herself, though none the more comfortable with it.

“So, the merger thing’s all done?”

“Yes.” Walthis replied. “It is a ‘done deal,’ so to speak.”

“So how much richer are you because of it?”

Walthis exhaled something resembling a chuckle.

“Not much, as of yet. But over the years the merger should prove quite profitable, God willing.”

The unlikely pair continued walking for a moment in silence, each wheeling a suitcase in tow. Walthis more often than not found silences brief while in Kira’s presence.

“Walt, I’ve got entirely too much free time on my hands. I’ve been thinkin ‘bout enrollin in the Art Institute of Chicago.”

“Well, that is wonderful,” Walthis remarked, a bit astounded. “I had no idea you harbored an interest for artistry. It could serve as an outlet for your unique personality.”

Kira came to an abrupt standstill. An instant later Walthis followed suit.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Kira snapped.

“I meant no offense. Art is a form of expression. And you are a very expressive person.”

They stared at one another as they stood among the center of the airport terminal, polar opposites. Where Walthis stood at six foot, three inches tall, Kira barely cleared five feet. The multi-billionaire wore a tailored Burberry suit. The eccentric young woman wore work boots, torn jeans, and a Statue of Liberty t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off.

“You said ‘unique personality’. Was that a veiled insult?”

“Not at all.”

Kira studied his face, searching for deception upon it. She relinquished a moment later, seeing no need. She’d come to realize over the past two months that he was virtually incapable of lying. She continued walking. Walthis resumed as well.

“I like to sketch,” Kira stated casually, as though the brief quarrel had never occurred. “It helps me relax.”

“You never mentioned this before.”

“I’m kinda embarrassed by it,” she confessed.

“How come?” Walthis inquired, a bit touched by her disclosure, the tenderness of it.

“I dunno. Drawing’s just kinda personal to me.”

“What do you like to draw?”

“A little bit of everything: still life, emotive, perspective . . . I’ve got a couple of sketch books fulla s**t at home. I’ll show ya when we get there, if ya want.”

“I would be honored.”

She’d said ‘home’. Throughout the past two months Walthis had heard her refer to it as the penthouse, the suite, the pad, castle in the sky, crib . . . but never ‘home’.

“Ah,” Walthis sighed pleasantly as he inhaled deep. “Unless my nose deceives me, I smell roasted peanuts.” He looked about and spied a vendor in the distance. “Wonderful. I believe I will purchase a bag for the ride home. Would you care for one as well?”

“Sure,” Kira replied indifferently. “But while you’re gettin peanuts, I’ma go drop a deuce in that washroom over there.” She nodded in the direction of a nearby ladies room.

Walthis shook his head in disgust.

“No need for the detailed description of your intentions. All you need say is, ‘Please excuse me while I attend the ladies room’.”

Kira came to another abrupt standstill. Walthis sighed inwardly as he did as well.

“Don’t try and censor me, Walt. Men have been censoring women for thousands of years. I don’t play that s**t. I talk how I wanna talk.” She began undoing the belt looped through her jeans. “I’ll take a dump right here in the middle of O’Hare Airport. I don’t give a f**k. I’m nasty like that. That’ll be my contribution to the women’s movement �" having a movement, right here in front of everyone.”

“That would be highly inappropriate,” Walthis sternly declared. “Security would arrest you immediately. I was not attempting to censor you. I was merely suggesting an alternative way of expressing your intent. I am about to consume a bag of peanuts. I would rather not hear someone speak of excrement prior to doing so.”

Kira giggled mischievously as she redid her belt buckle. “Would you please watch my bag for me while I attend the ladies room?” she went on to inquire in a genteel tone.

“I would be more than happy to,” Walthis replied, pleasantly surprised by her newfound social grace.

“’Kay. Thanks. I’ll meet ya back out here when I’m through takin a gigantic dump,” she declared before turning and striding off.

Walthis frowned defeatedly as he took hold of her bag and ventured to the peanut stand.

Ten minutes later Kira emerged to find Walthis seated upon a nearby bench, delicately prying a peanut from its shell.

“All done,” she declared as she took seat beside him.

“Oh,” Walthis responded, so preoccupied with his small task he was taken a bit by surprise. “Splendid. Here you are,” he said as he handed her a small brown bag.

“Thanks.”

“You are quite wel�"”

Walthis stopped short as he caught sight of something in the distance.

Kira glanced at him and found a stupefied expression on his face.

“Sup, Walt?” she asked as she looked about in search of the object of his attention. “You see some a*s you wanna tap? The future Miss Crane?”

“One of us,” muttered Walthis.

“Huh?”

“One of us,” he repeated.

“Oooh,” Kira sang in response as the realization took root. “Which one?”

“The young woman with the long brown curly hair. She’s wearing black slacks and a red blouse.”

“Alright,” Kira responded as she caught sight of her poised in line before an information booth. “I see her.”

Walthis stood. His eyes remained fixed on the woman. Kira rose as well.

“You’re sure she’s like us? It’s not the lighting in here playin tricks on your eyes?”

Walthis’s voice trembled from fear and excitement as he spoke. “I am sure. She shimmers like you. We . . . We have to talk to her before she leaves. We . . .  We cannot miss this opportunity.”

“You need to take that s**t down a few notches, Walt. You can’t approach her like a loony. You’re liable to get maced if you do. Take a deep breath. Calm the f**k down.”

Walthis breathed in deep, then exhaled. He repeated the process a few more times, until he’d regained much of his composure.

“Alright,” he said, sounding and looking more in control of himself. “We’ll do this as we rehearsed. Are you ready?”

Kira shrugged. “I guess so. C’mon, Walt,” she said as she started in the woman’s direction. “Let’s go introduce ourselves to this broad.”

They covered the distance to where the woman stood. When they’d come within a few feet of her, Kira motioned Walthis forward and said, “You’re up. Remember, be cool.” Walthis nodded in regard and brought himself one step closer to the woman. He cleared his throat, adjusted his suit, then spoke.

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

The young woman looked about uncertainly for a moment before her brown eyes settled on Walthis. He greeted her acknowledgement with a cordial nod and a gentle smile.

“My name is Walthis Crane. This is my associate, Kira Harington. He motioned toward Kira to the side of, and a few feet behind him.

The young woman looked from Walthis to Kira, then back to Walthis, a curious expression on her elegant face.

“Hello,” she responded, her voice soft, pleasant. “Can I help you in some way?”

Walthis reached nervously into the inside pocket of his jacket and removed a plain white envelope.

“You are different,” he declared, speaking in a hushed tone. “And within this envelope is an explanation as to how I know that.”

He held forth the envelope tentatively, offering it to her. The young woman did not accept it. Instead she merely stood rigid, distrust pouring over her face, as well as something resembling terror.

It was now Kira’s turn on stage, and she stepped to her mark.

“He’s not crazy,” she declared as she moved forward and took position beside Walthis. “He can tell people with abilities apart from those without.” She spoke quietly, not wanting anyone to overhear. “I know this because I’m capable of somethin outta the ordinary, and he found me because of that. He has an ability that allows him to view others like us in a way normal people can’t.”

Walthis spoke in turn. “I believe I was bestowed with my ability so that I may find people such as us and bring them together. For what purpose I am not, as of yet, entirely certain.” He spoke this with a touch of distress. “But I believe whatever the reason may be, it is so they, and the world, may benefit from their unification in one way or another.”

It was Kira’s turn again.

“I know what you’re thinkin. That this is some heavy s**t we’re layin on ya. I thought the same thing when I first met him and he told me all this. But just do like I did �" think it over. Then get in contact with us if you got any questions.”

The young woman stared at Kira for a long moment, a ghostly expression on her face. Then, with great reluctance, she took the envelope from Walthis’s hand.

“Cool,” Kira said in a casual tone. “Now this is the part where we leave.”

She turned to walk away. When Walthis did not follow �" remaining fixated on the young woman shining brightly to his eyes �" Kira snapped her fingers and said, “Let’s roll, Walt.”

Walthis shook his head, clearing it of some of his astonishment. He turned, and together he and Kira departed the airport.

 

*          *          *

 

Walthis sat stiff within the rear of the limousine as it skimmed along the Chicago Loop, staring blankly out the rear window. Kira sat across from him, relaxed, slumped in her seat, cracking open peanut shells and tossing their contents into her mouth.

“Relax, Walt. If it’s meant to be, she’ll call. In the meantime, we’ll keep lookin for more.”

Walthis looked at her and forced a smile. Kira wasn’t fooled by the fictitious expression.

“Cheer up,” she barked. “This is a good day. You found another freak like us. And only a couple months after finding me. What are the odds?”

Walthis glowered.

“We are not ‘freaks’.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“But you were correct when you said this is a good day.” He smiled again. This time it was sincere. “I am just perplexed. What is the meaning of it all? We find those like us . . . and then what? I am no more certain of the reason now than I was six years ago.”

“Don’t think too hard on it. Maybe when enough of us come together the riddle will solve itself.”

Walthis pondered this for a time, finding some calm within the possibility.

 

 

 

 

 

11. ZOE

 

 

The past few months had been a bounty of revelations for Chaya and Donav. Their teacher/student relationship had quickly evolved into a close friendship as they’d shared with one another in depth details of their lives. The majority of their discourse had occurred after Chaya’s final class of the day, within her classroom, under the ruse that Donav was assisting her as a teacher’s aide. Their discussions would sometimes span hours as they traded stories ranging from the mundane: tastes in music, movies, and food �" to more delicate topics, such as family.

Along with their discussions, they’d conducted several small scale tests as to the limitations of Donav’s ability. One such test had been endurance. For two and a half hours he’d floated a pencil tethered to Chaya’s desk by a piece of thread as they shared with one another insights into literary works they favorited. An experiment of a grander scale had been performed two weeks past when teacher and student had traveled to the western outskirt of the Mojave desert in Chaya’s Range Rover. Here Donav had distorted a gravitational field for what Chaya had surmised �" with the assistance of a digital range finder �" had been a quarter mile in every direction. His ability’s endurance had proven far shorter when subjected to this immense trial. Where he’d floated the pencil for two and a half hours, he’d only been able to hold the multitude of stones and loose brush of the Mojave aloft for one minute, and this had only occurred through great concentration.

Where Donav and Chaya had the privilege of getting to know one another much better over the past two months, their acquaintance with the mysterious ‘Jupiter’ had only grown minutely.

Chaya had found a phone in her mailbox the day after she’d agreed to assist Donav and those such as him. It had been enclosed in a small cardboard box. The box had no return address and had not been affixed with postage. The moment she’d opened the box and removed the phone, it had rung. She’d answered hesitantly. The distorted voice that spoke to her did so briefly.

“Thank you, Professor Algus, for being so opened minded. From this point onward, when I wish to contact you, it will be by way of this phone. Keep it on you at all times. Use it for no other purpose other than communicating with me. If you find yourself in need of contacting me, do so by dialing ‘1’, eight times, then pressing the send button. This means of contacting me will only work by way of the phone you hold, and its twin within Donav’s possession. Only attempt to contact me in the case of an emergency. Repeat to me how you would do so.”

Chaya was silent a moment, caught off guard by the question, by the conversation as a whole.

“By . . . By pressing ‘1’, eight times, then send.”

“Good. Say it again, please.”

“By pressing ‘1’, eight times, then send.”

“Very well then. We’ll be in touch.”

With this, Jupiter had abruptly hung up.

Neither Chaya nor Donav had received any contact from Jupiter since. Not, that is, until one week ago when their veiled counterpart had called to inform them Seraphina University would soon receive a new enrollment, someone who would seek them out, someone who was in a position similar to Donav’s. The day this individual was to seek their assistance was today. Other than this, they knew nothing of the new arrival, neither their age, nor their gender. Jupiter had been as cryptic as ever in their regard.

Now Chaya and Donav sat within the otherwise vacant classroom expecting a visit from Seraphina University’s newest pupil at any moment. Chaya sat at her desk grading exams. Donav sat beside her desk assisting in the task. Their usual discourse had been replaced by an anxious silence. Frequently they glanced at the door in expectation of the newest inductee of their clandestine group. When finally the door opened, through it stepped an alluring young woman: curly long brown hair, eyes that matched in color, her attire casual but enhanced by a tall, curvaceous physique. She stepped lightly through the doorway and stared at Chaya and Donav for a time, fear and appraisal in her eyes. Chaya and Donav stared in return, exuding the same uncertainty as their guest. Eventually the young woman spoke, a sweet, tenuous inflection.

“Are you Chaya Algus and Donav Miller?” she asked, looking from one to the other as she spoke their names.

Always the consummate gentleman, Donav rose in greeting. “Indeed we are.”

Noting Donav’s courteous gesture, Chaya matched it, rising in turn.

“I was sent here by . . . Jupiter,” the young woman went on to declare.

“We’ve been expecting you,” responded Chaya. “Please, come in and have a seat.”

Donav hurriedly fetched a chair and placed it before Chaya’s desk. The young woman glided across the room with the graceful, delicate step of a ballerina. She nodded in thanks to Donav, then took seat.

For a few tense seconds nobody spoke, they merely glanced at one another inquisitively.

“Welcome to Seraphina University,” Chaya eventually said.

“Thank you,” the young woman replied.

Chaya pursed her lips and shifted in her chair, uncertain how to continue. “Are you from the States, or abroad, as is Donav?”

“I’m from the U.S.. I’ve lived in Maine most of my life. Now it appears I’ll be residing in California for a time.” She said this uncertainly, and with a dose of sorrow.

Chaya wondered if her tale was as bleak as Donav’s, if she too had been torn away from friends and family.

“Have living arrangements been established?” Chaya asked. “Do you have someplace to stay?”

“Yes,” the young woman replied. “I’m staying in a small apartment just off campus.”

Chaya nodded satisfactorily.

“I hope this doesn’t seem intrusive of me,” said Donav. “But Jupiter told us very little about you , and we’re not even certain of your name.”

“Oh!” the young woman chirped. “Of course. I’m sorry. My name is . . . Zoe. Zoe Phelps.”

Chaya and Donav both wondered the same thing: if this was her true name, or an alias. Both assumed the latter. Both had the tact to abstain from asking.

“Hello, Zoe,” said Donav, running one hand nervously through his dark hair as he did.   

“Hello, Donav,” Zoe replied, blushing lightly.

Chaya smiled, amused by their bashfulness.

“Do you both . . .” Zoe began. “Do you both . . . possess an ability of some sort?”

Chaya and Donav looked knowingly at one another and smiled.

“I can cook a damn good kasha varnishkes,” Chaya declared with humorous pride. “But as for wielding an ultra-human ability . . . I cannot attest to such a feat. Our esteemed Donav, on the other hand . . . ”

Donav’s pale skin went momentarily red. “It’s nothing, really,” he declared modestly. “But apparently some covert branch of my homeland’s government felt otherwise. Which is what brings me here. I have our mutual friend, Jupiter, to thank for that. If not for his or her help, I fear I may have suffered the remainder of my life as a lab rat.”

“Ah,” Chaya sighed as she stared ponderously past her two companions. “Jupiter. Our very own Wizard of Oz. Is this person any less a mystery to you as they are to us?” she asked as her eyes fell on Zoe.

“I’m not sure. All I know of Jupiter is what little I’ve gathered from speaking to them on the phone.”

Chaya smiled and reached inside the purse resting atop her desk. “A phone such as this?” she asked, producing a non-descript blue cell phone.

Zoe looked at the device briefly before replying, “Yes.” She then reached into her pant pocket and produced a phone identical to that which Chaya held, with the exception of its color �" red.

Donav laughed lightly, took hold of the book bag beside his chair, and from it removed his own gift from Jupiter, an identical phone, but for white in color.

They smiled in unison, then returned their phones from where they’d come.

Chaya folded her hands upon her desk, thought for a moment, then spoke, directing her attention toward Zoe.

“I’ve been teaching psychology at Seraphina going on fifteen years. For one reason or another, Jupiter believes I can be of assistance to people such as Donav and yourself. I’m not entirely certain as to how or why this ‘Jupiter’ character chose me to help, but help is precisely what I’ll attempt to do, in any way that I can. Seraphina and the surrounding area can be a safe haven for you. It has proven to be such for Donav. While here, we can evaluate your ability �" whatever it may be �" and in the process help you better understand it, help you better understand yourself.”

Zoe nodded appreciatively. She was as apprehensive as she was grateful; these were strangers to her, deemed friends by a enigmatic individual who she’d only ever communicated with by way of phone, and only then when their voice had been disguised electronically. If Zoe was to be honest with herself, she didn’t know who to trust, if anyone at all.

“Jupiter helped liberate me from a facility in Ireland,” said Donav. “If not Jupiter directly, then an associate, or associates of his or hers.” He shook his head, distraught. “I’m really not certain who to thank for that. It’s all a big mystery to me. The only thing Jupiter mentioned to Ms. Algus and myself in your regard was that you are in a position similar to mine.” He hesitated, then asked, “Was Jupiter merely alluding to you having a power of some sort, or were they insinuating that you’d been held against your will as well?”

“I . . .” Zoe began, her voice wavering. “I came to realize a few years ago that I can do something . . . out of the ordinary. I kept it secret up until a few months ago. Eventually I entrusted this secret with my father. When I did, he insisted I submit myself for testing. That’s not at all what I’d wanted. What I’d wanted was to confide in someone I thought would understand my desire to keep what I can do hidden. I misjudged my father’s reaction. Eventually he convinced me to adhere to the Department of Defense’s requirement that all people who possess an . . . anomaly . . . an . . . ability present themselves to the nearest military facility to be tested, chronicled, and categorized.  I did as my father wanted.

“He drove me to Fort Brand in North Carolina. When I explained why I was there, they didn’t seem all too concerned. Apparently a lot of people show up at bases throughout the country claiming to have a power of some sort �" people who turn out to have no such power. It wasn’t until I gave a small example of what I can do that they took interest in me. Great interest, unfortunately.

“They requested my father stay at a hotel in the nearest town while they ran a series of medical and psychological tests on me. They told him I would be required to stay at the military instillation until the tests were completed. They told him it would take only a day or two. My father didn’t seem nearly as bothered by it all as I was. He’d served in the military when he was younger, and I think that instilled in him an overabundance of trust toward the people we were dealing with. He agreed to wait in the neighboring town, and assured me everything was going to be alright.

“During my first day there, they didn’t ask for any further demonstration of what I can do, they just asked me a million different questions about myself. Time went by fast �" I think because I was so nervous �" and next thing I knew it was late. They put me up in a room on the base for the night. A woman sat in the room with me while I slept. They said it was protocol that I remain under constant observation throughout my stay. She sat in a chair and kept to herself while she read an iPad all night long. It was the most uncomfortable night’s rest I’ve ever had. Up until the following few nights, that is.

“The next day I saw people that I hadn’t on the first. I think they were flown in from other parts of the country. They were dressed like high ranking officers. They were in attendance for another demonstration of my ability . . . Speaking of which . . . I suppose I should give you an idea of what it is I can do.” She said this uncertainly, and with a twinge of pain in her voice.

“That’s entirely up to you,” responded Chaya.

Zoe stared blankly at the wall beyond Chaya, debating. She’d apparently had her fill of ‘demonstrations’ of her ability.

“If it helps any,” added Donav, “I could go first.”

Zoe’s eyebrows rose, followed soon after by the corners of her lips as they broke into a gentle smile. “Show and tell? Alright, you first.”

“A minor demonstration if you would, Donav,” prompted Chaya out of fear he may want to ‘show big’ in order to impress their new associate. “Let’s not spend the next ten minutes resituating the classroom.”

“Of course,” replied Donav, blushing lightly. He had Zoe’s complete, undivided attention now. She stared curiously at him, her brown eyes wide.

“The dictionary, if you will,” he said, directing her attention to the tome atop Chaya’s desk. She held her gaze unsurely on Donav for a moment, then switched it to the book. A moment later it left the corner of the desktop and hovered a few inches in the air. It remained this way for a moment before settling gently into more or less its original position.

“You’re . . . You’re like Paul Grayson?” asked Zoe, her words wound with intrigue.

Donav looked at Chaya and laughed lightly. “Déjà vu,” he went on to say.

“I asked him the same thing the day he showed me what it is he can do,” Chaya explained with an amused grin.

“I’m displacing gravity within a set area,” said Donav. “I can’t quite will the objects within that area to move wherever I want them to, as Paul Grayson can �" they just kind of float about.”

“That’s fascinating,” responded Zoe. She gazed at him in awe as a result of what she’d just witnessed.

“It’s nothing, really,” replied Donav.

Chaya had never seen him so flustered in all the time she’d known him. She couldn’t help but laugh aloud.

“Oh Donav,” she sighed. “Paul Grayson could take lessons from you on humility.”

“I suppose it’s my turn,” Zoe went on to declare. She was silent a moment, then added, “Perhaps I should warn you in advance that what I can do involves electricity.”

“How so?” asked Chaya, more in wonder than concern.

“I . . . I can create it,” elaborated Zoe. She did so in a meek tone, as though she were ashamed of what she was saying, as though she were ashamed of herself. She then stood and took half a dozen paces backwards. She raised her hands in front of her, palms facing one another, and between them an electrical arc began to dance. Donav and Chaya stared, mesmerized as the current hummed and crackled lightly. As abruptly as the display had begun, it ended.

Zoe lowered her hands to her sides, stepped towards Chaya’s desk, and retook seat before it.

“Amazing,” said Donav, nearly breathless with astonishment.

“Truly,” added Chaya, sharing in his amazement.

Zoe forced a smile and stared at her feet. She didn’t seem to share their enthusiasm. If anything, she seemed saddened.

Chaya, sensing her disdain, masked her excitement when she next spoke, doing so in a neutral tone.

“Does the, um, the current you generate only pass from one part of yourself to another?”

Zoe shook her head no, then went on to declare, “I can project it outward.”

“To what magnitude?” Chaya further inquired.

Zoe lifted her eyes from her feet and looked at the professor. “That’s what they wanted to know at Fort Brand. My second day there, they asked me to give a demonstration to all the new arrivals �" the officers that weren’t there the day I’d arrived. I gave them the same demonstration I just gave the two of you. They wanted to know what you wanted to know: if I could project the current away from myself. I told them I could. They asked me to demonstrate on an old tree stump in a nearby field. I did what they asked, and essentially got rid of the tree stump for them.

“I think now I should have downplayed my ability. But at the time, I figured the sooner I showed them what they wanted to see, the sooner I’d be able to leave. They told me I would have to stay another day or two, that they were going to fly me by helicopter the following day to a facility where they could gauge what it was I was doing. The next day they flew me and a bunch of people from the fort to a building somewhere quite a ways off �" they never did say where. When we got there, it was surrounded by military jeeps and soldiers. I think it was a civilian facility they’d commandeered. We flew in from what I think was the rear, so I never did catch the name of the place.

“They took me inside and brought me to a huge room about the size of a basketball court, with this thing in the center that looked like a big aluminum tube stood on end. On top of it was what looked like a big aluminum orb. They told me to use my ability on it. They watched from a window lined observation area off to the side as I did. I was told to go full force, not hold back. What I can do makes me nervous, so I didn’t exactly go all out, but I did fire a bolt of electricity bigger than I ever have in my life. It struck the aluminum tower thing, and then a while later we left. We all flew back to Fort Brand in the half dozen or so helicopters we’d flown to the facility in. On the way back, I overheard someone mention something about ‘one billion volts’. I think they were referring to what I’d just done.

“When we got back to the base, they had me stay in my room for the rest of the day. Like before, I was never left alone. I asked when I could leave, and they told me it would be at least another day or two. I hadn’t talked to my father in all this time. They’d told me they didn’t allow phone calls to or from someone while they were undergoing testing for an ultra-human ability, that it was protocol. I figured all right, I’ll see my dad in a day or two when they were through, so no worries.

“The next day I wasn’t asked to give another demonstration, I was hardly spoken to at all. That night, a woman stopped staying in my room with me, and instead it was two armed soldiers. Things had shifted in a bad way. The next day was more of the same: a lot of waiting around, nobody asking me anything. I asked again when I would be able to leave, and they told me I may have to stay a bit longer than they’d first anticipated �" perhaps a week.

“That night is when something unusual happened. Well, more unusual than what was already occurring, which is saying a lot. I was in the room they were keeping me in, under guard, when someone knocked on the door. The soldiers standing beside it opened it, and in stepped two other soldiers flanking an officer of some sort. The officer turned to the two soldiers at the door, a suitcase in his hand, and they saluted him. The soldiers he’d entered with closed the door behind them, and then the officer said the oddest thing to the soldiers who’d been guarding me �" ‘You will discuss with the gentlemen accompanying me your favorite movies. You will pay no mind to the woman in the room, or me. You will not hear anything she and I discuss.’ The two soldiers who’d been guarding me immediately turned to the two who’d just entered the room and started talking about movies. Then the officer stepped toward me. I was sitting on the bed and he asked if he could take seat beside me. I said yes, and he did. That’s when I noticed something odd about him, something I still can’t quite put into words: his appearance seemed to . . . shift. Or at least my perception of his  appearance did. I suddenly felt a little light headed, as if I’d just taken a few shots of Tequila or something �" not exactly drunk, but something along the lines of a buzz.

“What was said by the officer next rocked my world. He told me I was going to be transferred to a secret facility at an undisclosed location. He told me the U.S. military had no intention of allowing me to be let free, that  my power had proven to be of too great a potential asset to them to simply let me walk away. He said that my only hope for freedom was to come with him, that he would assign me a new identity, and that I would be transferred across the country to a new destination where I was to remain hidden.

“I didn’t know what to think, what to believe. He told me the decision to go with him was mine to make, but if I chose not to, my life was as good as over. I thought it over for a minute, as he looked at me in want of an answer, as the four soldiers stood at the door speaking casually to one another.

“I made my decision.

“The officer opened the suitcase. Within were military fatigues like the other four were wearing. He told me to change into them, and to be quick about it. I told him everyone on the base knew what I looked like, and that nobody would be fooled. He replied that he would assist in masking my identity, that the uniform was to make the act of doing so less taxing on him.

“He was . . . He was doing something like us. I realize that more clearly now. He was like us. He was controlling people’s minds in some way. I’m all but certain of that now.

“I changed into the uniform like he’d asked. Next, we left the building I was being kept in, and got into a jeep idling outside. The four marines came with us. We drove to the base’s entrance. The officer showed the marines at the guard post his identification. They examined it briefly, then gave us the okay to leave.

“We drove south . . . I think. I rode in the front passenger seat next to the officer. All the while the four marines seated in the back kept talking about movies. After about an hour, they started questioning the officer as to where we were going. He told them we were headed to another military base to pick up some documents, and that afterwards we would return to Fort Brand. As time continued to pass, they started to ask that same question over and over: where are we going, and why. They started to seem confused, and talking about movies transitioned into talking about why it was they were suddenly traveling in a jeep in the middle of the night.

“Eventually the officer turned to me and said, ‘I’m getting tired. I can’t hold them much longer.’ He pulled over and told the marines we were going to go camping. ‘You all love camping,’ he told them. ‘It was a favorite childhood pastime. The four of you are going to sit in that field over there and tell each other campfire tales. My friend and I are going to go into the nearest town to pick up marshmallows for roasting. We’ll be back soon.’

“The marines turned to one another and said things like, ‘I haven’t been camping in ages. This is gonna be great.’ They seemed like a bunch of enthusiastic kids. We dropped them off on the side of the road, and they set off into the field. They dropped to the ground and sat in a circle as if they were seated around a campfire. The officer pulled away and told me they wouldn’t come to their senses for an hour or so. I wish now I’d asked him about what it was he was doing, but at the time I was so terrified I couldn’t bring myself to utter a single word. I was silent the entire trip.

“About a half hour later we wound up in some little town. We pulled into a motel parking lot and exchanged the military jeep for a civilian car. We drove in that for the remainder of the night. By the time the sun had risen, we were in Atlanta Georgia. The officer told me to change back into my clothes I’d been wearing before I put on the fatigues. I crawled into the back seat for a little privacy and did as he requested. A little while later we arrived at Hartsfield-Jackson Airport. I was given a plane ticket, some money, and an address. The plane ticket was to San Diego, California. The address was to the apartment I’m now staying at.

“A few days later I received a phone in the mail.” She forced a weak smile, and then said, “And here I am.”

“You poor girl,” said Chaya. “All you’ve described is terrifying. I had no idea the U.S. Military was reacting in such a manner. What we’ve been led to believe . . . is all a lie.” She shook her head, distraught. “Harold Marsh was the fifth U.S. citizen to be documented,” she uttered, “but how many have been swept off never to be seen or heard from again?”

“It’s a shame,” said Donav. “I’d hoped America would be an open book when it came to dealing with those such as us. A fool’s hope apparently.”

Chaya fiddled with the wooden hair pin that was doing a poor job of holding the bun of hair atop her head in place. “A daunting revelation indeed,” she said distressfully.

A moment later she summoned a more pleasant tone. “You’re here now, Ms. Phelps. You’re safe now. I know it’s not the same as being home, but perhaps this can be your home away from home �" at least for the time being.”

The professor was silent for a short time before continuing. “Perhaps Donav could help familiarize you with Seraphina University.”

Donav’s pale skin went bright red for the umpteenth time since Zoe’s arrival.

“I’d be happy to,” he responded.

Chaya managed to stifle a laugh, but not the smile that etched across her face. Apparently her beloved Donav was more than a little smitten with this attractive young woman.

“That would be very helpful,” said Zoe. “Thank you.”

“Perhaps now would be as good a time as any for Donav to show you around the campus,” Chaya suggested.

“Alright,” agreed Zoe. Donav took hold of his book bag and stood eagerly, only to retake his seat a moment later when she added, “But there’s something else I would like to discuss first.”

She reached into her pocket and removed an envelope.

“Jupiter said to contact them on the phones we were given in case of an emergency. I’m not sure if what’s in this envelope qualifies as an emergency, but I think it’s something Jupiter would want to know of either way. It was given to me by a man at O’Hare Airport while I was awaiting a connecting flight in Chicago. He approached me and said he knew I was different. He was with a woman �" maybe my age �" who said he could sense people like us.” She nodded toward Donav as she said this. “She claimed to have a power as well, and that he’d found her with his. He said he was looking for people like us, to bring us together for some reason or another. I didn’t know what to think. To be honest, I was terrified. He handed me this envelope, and they walked away. Within is a brief description of how he can tell us apart. There’s also a half dozen or so ways to contact him.”

She set the envelope upon Chaya’s desk. Chaya looked at it apprehensively for a few seconds before picking it up. Within was an elegant piece of stationery upon which was written, in the neatest penmanship she’d ever witnessed, all that Zoe had said there would be. She read it carefully, then handed it to Donav.

“Walthis Crane . . .” she mulled softly. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

She typed the name into a laptop atop her desk. A moment later she laughed lightly.

“That’s why,” she said as she swiveled the laptop around so Zoe could view the image upon its screen.

“Surely this isn’t the gentleman you saw.”

Zoe’s eyes went wide. “That’s him!”

“You’re . . . You’re certain?”

Donav’s attention shifted from the slip of paper he held, to the computer screen.

“I’m absolutely positive,” Zoe replied.

“This lad some type of big shot?” Donav asked in regard to the image he was now viewing: a tall, well dressed man on the cover of Forbes magazine.

“One of the richest men in the world,” Chaya replied to both Zoe’s and Donav’s astonishment.

“What of the woman that was with him,” said Chaya. “Did she give you a name?”

“The man who gave me the envelope mentioned her name. Karen or Kina . . . or something. I’m sorry. I don’t recall. But I do remember she was the complete opposite of him, at least in appearance.”

“What did she look like?” Chaya next inquired.

“Well, she had pale skin, purple hair, and a bunch of piercings in her ears �" one in her lip. She was rather, um, petite. I don’t remember much else about her appearance, other than her eyes; they were a dark gray. And, I’m afraid this may sound rude, but, well . . . she looked a touch psychotic.”

 

 

 

 

 

12. HAPPY BIRTHDAY

 

 

Walthis walked north along South Halsted Street as he passed through Chicago’s Greektown. He was alone, Kira a mile and a half away attending her first drawing lesson at the Art Institute of Chicago. The sketch books she’d shown him indicated a degree of talent far exceeding his mundane expectations. Apparently she was gifted in more ways than one, and Walthis had been ashamed of himself for expecting otherwise.

Today not only marked the day of Kira’s first art lesson, it also marked the day Walthis had been born fifty-six years prior. He’d kept this bit of information to himself. His birthday was something he hadn’t celebrated in quite some time. He no longer saw reason to. Time was simply an antagonist. What point was there in celebrating its passing? Another year of life only meant he was that much closer to death, and Walthis did not care to be reminded that he had fewer years ahead than he did behind.

This day of days, this unwanted anniversary brought with it an ongoing dilemma: Walthis was growing more and more uncertain of the purpose of his life. He’d found Kira, or perhaps she’d found him, but he was no more sure of the reason why than when they’d first encountered one another two and a half months ago. And now, just two weeks prior, he’d discovered another profound soul, and with Kira at his side. But she had yet to contact Walthis, and he’d begun to fear she never would. Perhaps she had not wanted to be found. Perhaps she knew not of her gift. Perhaps she did, but wished for it to remain secret. Perhaps Walthis would never know.

He had foolishly convinced himself throughout the years that the questions which loomed in regard to finding others such as himself would be answered upon discovering the first of the saviors of the world. Not only had these riddles not been solved, but they now seemed greater in number. There had to be meaning to it all, but Walthis knew not what it was. Wasn’t this his purpose: to find others, and in doing so discover the reason as to why? They were destine to save the world, this much and this little he knew, but as to how they were to do so he was at a loss.

The world was a chaotic place, but even amid chaos there was order. Sadly, Walthis could not find the specific order he was so desperately in search of, could not find his reason for being, could not find their reason for being. They were put here on this world for a purpose, but he knew not what, and he was beginning to despise himself for it, beginning to drown in the misery of uncertainty.

Where there was sorrow and confusion, there was also unexpected joy. The more he’d come to know Kira, the more he’d come to realize she was not the threat he’d feared she may be. She was irrefutably unpredictable, brash, obnoxious, and had subjected Walthis to more profanity in the past two and a half months than he’d been privy to throughout every other day of his life combined, but he’d come to find there was a kind, if not heavily guarded heart at the center of it all. Granted, she had taken human life, and on more than one occasion, but the more Walthis analyzed these occurrences, the more he felt she’d been within her right. The Humanity United incident was the most disputable, but even within this incident of mass carnage he’d found justification.

Though Walthis and Kira’s personalities were as different as night and day, they seemed to balance one another in an odd sort of way. Walthis had taken strides in nurturing their unlikely friendship. Just last week, for example, he’d managed to convince Kira to accompany him in attendance to a live performance of Evita at the Oriental Theatre. She’d been reluctant, but had accepted, falling asleep no later than fifteen minutes into the first act. She’d snored lightly throughout the showing, mumbled on occasion amid her slumber, and farted once while the woman portraying Eve Perón sang ‘Don’t Cry For Me Argentina,’ but Walthis had been appreciative of her company regardless.

Most their bonding took place while they were out looking together for those such as themselves. More often than not this occurred on foot. Walthis did not care much for driving himself about, nor was he any more comfortable with Kira’s driving than he’d been the first time he’d been subjected to it. So, more days a week than not, they would walk about the streets of Chicago in search of someone such as themselves. They had yet to find anyone within this immense city, among its millions of inhabitants. What Walthis had begun to find was he was losing hope, and the prospect was debilitating. Hope was not entirely lost however, it had merely gone astray. And where hope had meandered, it was about to reacquaint itself with Walthis in a way, in an individual that would prompt him to never suffer hope again.

Walthis threw his hand up before his eyes the instant he rounded the corner of West Adams Street, shielding them from a luminescence so bright it seemed almost as if the sun had fallen from the sky and landed a mere four hundred feet from where he stood. He came to an abrupt stop and stood frozen with shock. The immense glow consumed any discernable features of the structures that surrounded him. He stared at the ground as his hand shielded his eyes, trying to come to terms with what was occurring. He tried to will himself to focus, tried to force his ability to cooperate.

It took a full minute, but gradually the light lessened to a degree that allowed him to discern the shapes of the buildings beside him. He followed them, allowed them to guide him as he moved slowly down the sidewalk, a sidewalk basking in the radiance of the hope he so desperately sought.

Before long he’d come to the end of the block and found himself standing directly across the street from the source of his wonderment. He chanced a direct glimpse and immediately turned away, the brief, direct observance paining his eyes. He set his gaze upon the building to his immediate left instead �" a small bistro. It bore large windows that wrapped around the corner it was situated upon, large windows which granted an ideal view of the structure alight across the street, and the indiscernible source of this light from within.

 

It was two hours, two cups of tea, and a Danish later before Walthis’s unique sense of sight had adapted well enough that he was capable of looking directly into the light. It was still immensely bright, but had dimmed just enough that he was capable of discerning its direct source, capable of discerning who was exuding it. The building from which the light shone housed a restaurant, and within were three waitresses busy at work. One in particular held Walthis’s attention, for all around her shone the brightest, most beautiful light he’d ever seen.

Walthis reached into the pocket of his slacks and removed his phone. With the touch of a button the device autodialed Kira’s number. She answered on the fifth ring.

“What?”

“Are you at home?”

“Ya. I just got back from class. We got to�"”

“I need you here immediately,” Walthis interrupted.

“Where the f**k is ‘here’? And why for?”

“I am in a coffee shop on the corner of West Adams in Greektown. I have found someone like us.”

“You’re sure?”

“I am positive.”

“Is it the same chick we saw at the airport? ‘Cause if so, I don’t see the point in approaching her again.”

“No. It is not her. It is indeed a woman though. She is waitressing at a restaurant across the street from my location. Please come immediately. I would like to approach her when her shift ends. And I would prefer to do so while in your company.”

“Alright, alright. Don’t get your panties in a knot. Where you at again?”

“The coffee shop on the corner of  West Adams in Greektown.”

“I have no f****n clue where that is,” Kira grumbled. “I guess I’ll catch a cab.”

“Please be hasty in your arrival. Her shift could end at any moment.”

“Slow your s**t, Walt. I’m already in the elevator.”

“Splendid. Thank you.”

 

Thirty minutes later Kira sat beside Walthis gazing out a window of the bistro into the confines of the restaurant across the street. She’d just taken her first swig of a large cup of coffee �" none of that frothy topping crap, not even cream or sugar, just good old fashioned coffee straight up.

“Ah,” she sighed delightedly. “Liquid heaven.

“So which one is it?” she asked a moment later.

“The brunette,” Walthis replied. “With long hair. She looks to be in her twenties, but it is difficult to tell from this distant vantage point.”

“I see her,” responded Kira. She took another swig of coffee, then said, “She makes two in less than a month. Maybe s**t’s gonna start fallin into place now.”

“Perhaps,” replied Walthis, wringing his hands together anxiously, mesmerized by the waitress’s glimmering soul.

“How long you been sittin here watchin her?”

Walthis glanced at his watch. “About two and a half hours.”

“Damn,” Kira mumbled. “We’re liable to get kicked out before she gets off work.”

“I’ve made an arrangement with the bistro’s manager,” announced Walthis.

“You tipped the f****r a s**t load of money so you could sit here as long as you want,” was Kira’s translation.

“Precisely.”

 

After roughly an hour’s passing, the waitress in question emerged from the restaurant, a small purse slung over her shoulder.

“Show time,” Kira exclaimed.

She and Walthis rose and exited the bistro. A moment later they crossed the street in pursuit. When the woman had reached a block’s distance from her place of employment, Walthis and Kira had progressed to a few yards behind her.

“As we rehearsed,” Walthis whispered.

“Are you gonna tell me that every time?” Kira snapped.

“Perhaps.”

“I’m not tarded, ya know.”

A few more paces and Walthis called out, “Excuse me, ma’am.”

The waitress glanced over her shoulder to find him looking directly at her. She came to a standstill, turned to face Walthis, and said, “Yes?”

“My name is Walthis Crane. This is my associate, Kira Harington.” He nodded toward Kira.

“What I am to say next will undoubtedly come as a surprise.” He paused for an instant, then said, “I have an ability, an ability which allows me to see others with a gift of their own, to differentiate them from those without.”

“It’s how he found me,” Kira declared proudly while pointing to herself.

The waitress’s face was utterly stoic.

Walthis spoke again. “I believe my gift was bestowed upon me so that I may find people such as my associate, and such as yourself, so that the world may benefit from doing so in some way.”

“He’s not wacko,” Kira assured her. “I thought he might be at first, but he’s not. What he’s sayin is legit.”

Walthis reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced an envelope.

“Within this envelope is a brief description of my ability: when it manifested, how I now see the inhabitants of the world because of it �" as well as my contact information.”

He extended his arm toward the woman, offering her the envelope. She looked from it to Walthis, and then to Kira.

“Do like I did,” Kira suggested. “Think it over and give him a call. You could join us and come look for freaks like us. You might actually enjoy it.”

“We are not freaks,” Walthis groaned in disappointment.

“He hates when I say that,” Kira whispered to the woman, knowing full well Walthis could hear her.

The expression on the waitress’s face had remained the same throughout Walthis and Kira’s introduction �" absolutely indifferent. Walthis had conducted a fair share of multi-billion dollar corporate negotiations throughout his life, and when doing so he’d encountered some of the most driest expressions among board members, but this woman had them all beat. She wore the most consummate poker face he’d ever witnessed.

“I have a few questions,” the woman stated, her neutral tone as unexpressive as her face.

“I would be delighted to answer them,” Walthis replied anxiously.

“But not here,” said the waitress. “Someplace more private.”

Walthis and Kira looked about, at the few pedestrians walking among the particular area of Greektown amid which they stood. When they returned their attention to the woman, they found her back to them, walking away. With her right hand she motioned for them to follow, not bothering to look back as she did. Kira looked at Walthis and shrugged, and together they followed.

When the woman reached an alley, she turned within. Kira and Walthis continued in her wake. Lining the alley were brick facades of buildings four stories tall. They painted a shadow on the alleyway, an alleyway that ceased at a dead end. The waitress continued to this dead end, stopping only when she’d come within a few feet of it. She did not turn, not at first, she simply stood motionless with her back to Walthis and Kira. Their mutual curiosity toward this woman began to transform into apprehension at this moment, a moment that came entirely too late.

All around them the world seemed to shift, contort, and then melt away. In its wake poured darkness unlike any Kira or Walthis had ever experienced. It consumed their reality, wrapping it in an oily black living void. This nothingness moved, swirled about Walthis’s and Kira’s feet, and from it bloomed vine-like tendrils. They wrapped around Walthis’s and Kira’s legs and pulled them down, forcing them to kneel before the entity that had taken the waitress’s place, the deity the waitress had become.

Murcalis, Elvish Queen of the Septon Isles, turned to face her captives, Thelsus primed in her hands, eyes alight, glowing a metallic blue, a soft mist of similar hue wafting about them.

She stepped forward and laid the tip of her ancestral spear against Kira’s throat, peering down at her as though she were a lesser being. To this demigod, that’s precisely what she was.

Kira, despite all her power, had never fancied herself a god. Though, at times she might be compelled to label herself something of a devil. And no devil cared for being threatened.

Kira’s fear and disbelief were immediately overwritten by an indomitable fury.

“I don’t know what kinda crazy, fucked up, World of Warcraft type of s**t is goin on here,” she snarled at the elvish queen, “but what I do know is you just made the biggest f****n mistake of your life!”

Where Kira’s legs were bound, her hands were not. She turned her palms up, up toward the deity poised majestically before her. She harnessed her rage, focused it, and all that remained was one simple thing. Within Kira’s mind was a trigger. She wrapped her finger around it and pulled.

Suffer

. . . . .

Nothing. The elvish queen did not so much as flinch.

“Who are you truly?” she demanded, shifting the tip of the spear from Kira’s throat to Walthis’s. “Lie to me and I will tear you apart and search for the truth amongst your remains.”

“We are who I stated,” Walthis proclaimed, voice trembling. “We mean you no harm. If you do not wish to have anything to do with us, we will leave in peace, never to accost you again.”

The elvish queen’s head pivoted gracefully upon her neck as she set her glowing gaze back upon Kira, looking down on her as she knelt unwillingly.

“Are you servants of your world’s government?”

“Do I look like a government agent, you pointy eared b***h?” Kira rasped.

“Kira . . . please,” Walthis pleaded. “You are not helping matters.”

Kira wrenched at the vines entangling her legs, but they yielded not in the least.

Walthis spoke with urgency, fearing for their lives. “My associate and I do not work for the government in any capacity. Our intent is to find others such as ourselves so that we may offer them assistance, protection if they should require it. Our intent is to help them better understand their gifts, to help dispel any fear or shame they may harbor because of  those gifts.”

The elvish queen cocked her head curiously to one side.

“Do I appear afraid to you? Ashamed?” she inquired, her voice equal parts brutal and melodic.

“No,” Walthis replied hurriedly. “Not in the least. I have made a mistake in your regard. I apologize for the misunderstanding. Now, if you would be so kind as to release my associate and myself, we will gladly be on our way, never to interfere with your life again.”

The elvish queen stared at Walthis for a time, studying him, and then retracted the tip of her spear from his throat. Kira had taken to punching the tendrils that bound her with her tiny fists, face red with anger, eyes dark with rage.

The elvish queen lowered herself gently to one armor ensconced knee, flicked open Walthis’s suit jacket with a long, pearl white finger, its tip, as its sisters, fitted with a sterling silver talon. She reached delicately within the inside pocket and removed from it the envelope, then returned to her full height of seven feet.

“I will leave you now. When my world gives way to the wretchedness that is yours, you will remain where you are for no fewer than ten minutes. You will not follow. You will not approach me again.”

Walthis nodded in agreement. “We will respect your wishes to the fullest.”

The elvish queen then shifted her attention to Kira, her glowing blue gaze settling upon her. The rambunctious young woman had progressed to stabbing the tendrils that bound her with a set of keys she’d produced from her pants pocket. They yielded in no way, bore absolutely no damage as a result. The elvish queen furrowed her brow in mystification toward the violet haired woman’s determination, looking at Kira as though she were the true oddity among the three. A moment later she stepped between her captives and carried on in the direction that had been the alleyway’s entrance. Walthis and Kira looked over their shoulders and watched as she departed, watched as she melded into the darkness and faded from sight. Seconds later their bindings melted away, as did the alien world around them.

Kira wasted no time. She sprang to her feet, a woman scorned.

“I’ll melt that b***h’s face off!”

She strode quickly, angrily toward the alleyway entrance with the intent of doing precisely as she’d declared. Walthis took off after her, his long legs bringing him alongside her just as she was about to pass through the mouth of the alley. He placed his hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

In all the time Walthis and Kira had known one another, they’d never had contact. Neither was prone to physicality. They’d never exchanged a hug, or a handshake, not even a playful high five. Kira looked at his hand, furious, and then shifted her menacing glare to his face. The expression upon it softened her bitter heart: pleading, sorrowful, desperate.

“Discretion,” he muttered. “I beg of you, Kira.”

She looked into his sad eyes a moment longer, then shook his hand off. She did not continue her pursuit. Instead she took to the nearest building lining the alley, leaned her back against it, and crossed her arms over her chest. Silently she brooded for a half minute before asking, “Now what?”

“We wait,” Walthis replied softly, staring at the expanse beyond the alleyway, recounting the maddening events that had just transpired. “Ten minutes, as per her request.”

“Hah!” spat Kira. “I’ll give the b***h five. If that aint long enough, she can suck my balls.”

Walthis sighed, looking from the opening of the alley to his short tempered companion.

“You do not have balls. And ten minutes is a perfectly fair request.”

Kira huffed in disapproval. She slid her back against the building, downward, until her butt smacked against the pavement. She remained seated for the full ten minute wait, speaking only once, midway through, declaring, “This alley smells like a*s.”

 

Forty minutes after their wait had concluded, they found themselves seated across from one another upon the massive sectional couch in Kira’s living room, her temper having traded places with her curiosity.

“Well, what the f**k was that?” she said, a question that was certainly on Walthis’s mind as well.

“I am not entirely certain,” he replied as he peered thoughtfully at the adjacent wall.

“I aint ever heard on the news of anyone bein able to do any s**t like that.”

“Nor have I,” replied Walthis softly. “Nor have I.”

A minute of silence transpired as they further pondered the perplexing event that had so recently occurred.

“I tried to kill her, Walt,” Kira suddenly declared. “And I aint ashamed of sayin so. That c**t had a spear to my throat. That c**t had a spear to your throat.”

“Yet you did not,” marveled Walthis.

“I couldn’t,” responded Kira, both mystified and enraged, and even a touch embarrassed.

She went on to stand and stride determinedly to the kitchen. Walthis watched her inquisitively as she stepped into the adjacent room. She swung the refrigerator door open, perused its confines for a moment, then removed a head of lettuce. She set it upon the kitchen table and raised one hand toward it. An instant later the table top was awash with lettuce juice.

Kira smiled contentedly.

“I thought maybe she stole my mojo. Looks like I’ve still got my little friend,” she said, speaking lovingly of her power.

She hurriedly mopped up the mess she’d created with a half dozen dish towels, tossed them into the sink, then returned to her seat within the living room.

Something suddenly dawned on Walthis, and he spoke the realization aloud.

“I could not see her aura when . . . when she changed everything around us. Nor yours. Nor mine.”

Kira’s eyebrows arched as her eyes went wide with surprise. “Well, the b***h has got talent,” she reluctantly admitted, “in her little world. But in my world I reign supreme.”

“Arrogance is unbecoming of you, Kira,” grumbled Walthis.

“Whatever,” she scoffed. “I’m just polishing my tarnished ego,” she said in justification. “I didn’t enjoy being powerless.”

“You are vastly powerful,” proclaimed Walthis. “With or without your ability.”

Kira wasn’t accustomed to compliments, except for those she frequently showered upon herself. She squirmed uncomfortably in response.

“I almost forgot,” she suddenly exclaimed, slapping her hands excitedly upon her knees.

“Forgot what?” inquired Walthis, altogether clueless as to what she was referring to.

Kira sprang to her feet and dashed to her bedroom. When she returned she held in her hands a large, flat rectangular object wrapped in tissue paper, around which was tethered a bright blue ribbon.

“Happy birthday!” she bellowed, laughing lightly, grinning ear to ear.

She stepped to Walthis and handed him his present. He went flush with embarrassment.

“How did you know?”

“Duh,” sang Kira. “I’ve known since a few hours after we met. I researched you online, remember?”

“Of course,” replied Walthis as he held the gift admiringly before him.

“Well . . . Open it.”

Walthis heeded her demand and carefully undid the ribbon and peeled back the tissue paper to reveal a framed, strikingly accurate rendition of himself. From the shoulders up was drawn his likeness, sketched with meticulous care. Atop the portrait’s head floated a circlet, a halo glowing bright.

“Saint Walthis,” Kira declared.

Walthis smiled amorously as he gazed at the unexpected gift. His lips parted in preparation to thank her, but the words got stuck in his throat. Next he was startled to find himself on the verge of tears. Kira sensed his moment of emotional frailty and acted quickly to intercept it.

“Don’t start with any of that s**t, Walt. This aint the Oprah Winfrey show. You aint gotta cry. Just thank me and be grateful I didn’t get you a cashmere sweater or some s**t.”

Walthis cleared his throat and composed himself.

“Thank you,” he said, a bit shakily, but without tears.

“You’re welcome. No big deal. Just another surprise on a day full of surprises.” She went silent a moment, then added, “And as for the demon waitress we met earlier . . . you aint gotta worry, she’ll call.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I could tell by looking at her . . . before she turned into one of Santa’s lil helpers on steroids.”

“The woman’s face was unreadable,” declared Walthis.

“That light you see is just the frame, Walt. The window to the soul is the eyes. I could see it there: a kind of pain, a type of sorrow. I see it every time I look in the mirror, so I recognized it right away. It’s that pain and sorrow that prompted me to call you, despite how crazy the s**t you were preachin sounded. And it’ll be the same reason why she calls. And when she does, maybe she’ll be kind enough to explain exactly what the f**k it was we experienced, exactly what it is she can do. ‘Cause I’ll tell you what, Walt: when God was handin out gifts, I think that lucky b***h might’ve got the best of them all.”

 

 

 

 

 

13. YOU’RE NOT ALONE

 

 

Donav was roused from a half slumber, the onset of a dream in which he was teaching his little sister to play the violin. Donav had never held a violin in his life, making the dream peculiar, his sister’s presence �" with her bright eyes and midnight black hair �" offsetting this peculiarity, making the dream altogether divine. The ringing of his phone had punctuated this reverie; not Jupiter’s gift to him, but the prepaid he’d picked up at the local Walmart months ago. It was the phone that he used for ordering takeout, for speaking with Ms. Algus �" whom he still wasn’t accustom to addressing by her first name when they were not in class, though she insisted upon it.

He lay upon the foldout sofa within the small living room of his apartment. He clamored from it to the entertainment center atop which his phone rested.

“Hello,” he said, sleep clinging to the word.

“Hello. This is . . .  Zoe. Did I wake you?”

Her voice made him believe he was still dreaming: angelic, as though her words were softly sung as opposed to spoken.

“I . . . I was drifting off.”

He’d given her his number as a courtesy, a platonic gesture, but he’d not expected her to call so soon, if at all. They were in a situation similar to one another, but he’d told himself this did not necessarily mean she would be drawn to him the inexplicable way he felt drawn to her.

“I’m sorry. I’ll let you go back to sleep. Maybe we’ll bump into one another on campus Monday.”

“Don’t hang up,” he responded almost desperately, shaming himself as a result. “I shouldn’t be sleeping on a perfectly good Sunday afternoon. Stay on and talk. Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine. I just wanted someone to talk to.”

“I’m someone,” Donav replied, trying to sound charming, feeling as though he’d failed at the attempt. She laughed a light laugh. Maybe he hadn’t failed . . . “How’s Seraphina University treating you so far?”

“Well enough, I suppose. What few courses I’ve enrolled in I can’t seem to concentrate on though. I’m too preoccupied thinking about my father . . . my friends back home . . . you know?”

“I understand.” She could tell he truly did. She could hear her pain in his voice. “I miss my family lots.”

“Would you mind telling me about them?” She wanted to be reminded of love. She wanted to be reminded of family. She wanted to be reminded the world was not the evil place she’d begun to think it was.

“I wouldn’t mind at all. I’d love to, actually.”

Donav took seat upon the couch on which he’d so recently lain.

“My mother, father, and sister all live in Mullin�" ”

“Could we talk in person? Face to face?”

“I . . . Of course. Would you care to meet someplace in town? We could talk over coffee, or lunch perhaps.”

“I’d rather not talk in a public setting. I’m dealing with too much paranoia right now to feel comfortable enough with that.”

“I felt the same way when I first arrived. To be honest, I still feel that way sometimes.”

“I would invite you over,” she went on to say, “but I’m still getting settled in. I haven’t even picked up furniture yet. My apartment resembles a campsite at the moment.”

Was she hoping for an invitation to his place?

“You could come here if you’d like. The little place I’m staying at isn’t much, but . . .”

“Alright. What’s your address?”

Butterflies suddenly sprang to life in Donav’s stomach.

“4379 Pace Street. Apartment C. Just allow me a little time to shower.”

“Sure. An hour good?”

“An hour’s fine.”

“Alright. I’ll be by in a little while then. Bye Donav.”

“Kay. Bye Zoe.”

After hanging up, Donav looked about his apartment, at the disorder it was host to. In all the time he’d lived here he’d not had a single visitor. His fear and sorrow since arriving in the States had impelled him to live a rather introverted lifestyle unbefitting his personality. There were dishes and clothing strewn all about, as well as a thin layer of dust covering most everything. Along with a shower, he would most certainly need to do some power cleaning in preparation of his guest. Would an hour be enough time? His cluttered apartment suggested it would not.

“Shite!”

 

When there came a light tapping at the door an hour and fifteen minutes later, Donav found himself bathed, presentably clothed, and poised with a dust rag in hand. He’d worked wonders in what little time he’d had, transforming his little abode into something more worthy of an afternoon visit by a strikingly beautiful young woman.

He tossed the dust rag into a nearby hamper and answered the door.

“Hello,” he said. “Please, come in.”

She heeded his request, smiling a gentle and nervous smile as she passed through the doorway. Donav went on to give her a small tour of his small apartment before they took seat upon the sofa within the living room.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Donav offered. “Something to eat?”

“No. Thank you.  I’m not thirsty. And I had a light lunch before I left.”

They sat opposite ends the sofa. Zoe looked inquisitively about the living room as Donav contemplated what to say next.

“Is that an area you’re from?” Zoe asked of a large framed print hung upon the wall. The picture was of rolling hills of green grass blanketed by the light of an afternoon sun. The profound beauty of the imagery was such that it almost seemed surreal, more on par with a heavenly paradise than an earthly locale. At the base of the print, written in bold, semi-translucent letters was the word ‘Ireland’.

“That’s Monaghan County. It’s a little ways north of where I’m from.”

“It looks lovely,” noted Zoe as she stared admiringly.

“Yes, you are,” responded Donav. His eyes went wide in response to the Freudian slip. “Yes it is,” he swiftly and ashamedly amended. “Yes it is.”

Zoe, blushing, fought back laughter.

“Have you ever been to Ireland, by chance?” he went on to inquire, wanting to propel the conversation past the slight awkwardness his verbal misstep had created.

“No. Unfortunately. I’ve never been outside the U.S.. Coming here, to California, is the furthest I’ve traveled in my life.”

“Doesn’t seem all that bad a place to live,” commented Donav. “Granted, the circumstances are a bit unusual, but . . .”

“Ya. What little I’ve seen of it so far is nice. And what girl doesn’t dream of moving to California? I know most my friends back home would love to be here. But for . . . Well, like you said �" the circumstances.

“Have you seen much of the state so far?” she inquired after a momentary lapse of silence.

“Not as much as I would like. I . . . I’ve kind of distanced myself from people since I’ve been here. With the exception of Chaya, of course. She’s become something of a second mother to me.”

“She seems really kind.”

“Aye. She truly is.”

“She’s coming over next weekend to help me ‘dress up’ my apartment. The furniture I ordered is scheduled to arrive Wednesday, so by the end of next weekend I should be pretty much situated. Then I can return the favor and have you over to my place.”

“Having you over isn’t a favor,” countered Donav. “It’s my pleasure.”

“Thank you. That’s kind of you.”

“I should be thanking you. If you hadn’t come over I would have likely spent the day napping and watching reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”

“A Buffy fan,” noted Zoe, looking at him as though he were bizarre, a playful smirk on her face. “I never would have guessed.”

“Hey, it’s a good show,” he replied defensively. “That Joss Whedon character’s got talent.”

“I’ll take your word on that,” Zoe chuckled. “So . . . Tell me about the Millers, like you started to when we spoke earlier.”

A broad smile broke across Donav’s face.

“The ‘Millers’ are actually the ‘O’Fallons’. And my first name isn’t really Donav. It’s Patrick.”

Zoe’s surprise was prevalent.

“Hello, Patrick. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He nodded thankfully, and then said, “Hello . . .”

Her mood turned somber.

“Just . . . Just Zoe, for now. I . . . I’m sorry. I know that’s unfair of me.”

“Not at all,” he was quick to reply. “I shouldn’t have pressed.”

“It’s alright. So . . . Tell me all about the O’Fallons.”

“Of course,” said Donav, the prospect of doing so imbuing him with delight. He went on to share with her tales of his stringent but loving father, his gentle and tenacious mother, and his energetic, curiosity driven sister. He spoke of their quaint home in Mullingar, of his copious family history which his parents had traced back more than three centuries, and of his beloved 1975 MGB GT which he and his father had restored in their garage, the last of which he’d seen of it being the day he’d entered the facility in which he’d been held captive.

The conversation was wholly one-sided. On occasion Donav had poised a few questions regarding Zoe’s life, but she’d been notably dodgy in all her answers, and always managed to promptly steer the conversation back in his direction. He took the hint, and eventually left well enough alone.

After a few hours of pleasant conversation, an extended silence ensued.

“Would you like to watch the television, or listen to some music?” asked Donav.

Her response had nothing to do with his question. “I’m terrified, Donav.” The amiable expression she wore abruptly changed, matching her sudden confession. “This is all too much �" everything that’s happened. Part of me wants to go public, to tell the media everything, but Jupiter claims the people who want me have a contingency plan in place in case I do. Jupiter says they’ll apprehend me and hold me under false accusation. I was walking through the mall with a couple of friends just a few weeks ago, talking, laughing, carefree . . . Now I’m hiding out like some sort of fugitive. It’s insane. I’m going out of my mind.”

Donav found himself at a loss for a response. He wanted to tell her everything would be alright, but he couldn’t make that claim with even remote certainty, let alone absolute. What was left . . . the truth? Did he tell her he was no less afraid of the situation than he was when he’d first arrived in the U.S. so many months ago? Did he tell her he’d begun to fear he’d never see his family again, and that in all likelihood she had the same fear awaiting her on the horizon? Or had she already succumbed to that fear? What could he possibly say to assuage her terror?

“You’re not alone. If you ever need to talk, you can call or come over. Anytime. Wake me up at two AM if you want. I won’t mind in the least.

“I want to tell you everything’s going to be peachy, that this mess we’re in will be sorted out one way or another, that we’ll be back with our friends and families soon enough, but I don’t know for sure what’s going to happen. I’ve been living one day at a time, knowing things could be far better, but also far worse.

“I’m . . . I’m sorry I don’t have anything more beneficial to tell you. I know I’m not much help, and I’m sorry for that.”

A smile appeared on Zoe’s face, sorrow pulling at its fringes.

“Don’t apologize. You’ve been far more helpful than you realize.” She wiped a lone tear from her eye, then sighed in disappointment toward her show of agony. Fearing an awkward silence, she went on to say, “Let’s nerd out and watch some Buffy. You can fill me in on who’s who.”

“Sounds like fun,” replied Donav as he took hold of a box of Kleenex sitting upon an end table and handed it to her.

“Thank you,” she replied embarrassedly. “You’re a real sweetheart, Donav.”

 

 

 

 

 

14. CLOAK AND DAGGER S**T

 

 

Walthis Reginald Crane sat upon a mat, legs crossed, center his living room. Upon his knees rested his hands, palms up. He was twenty minutes into his evening meditation, and it would be another twenty before it concluded. Or it would have been, if not for the ringing of the phone that lay beside him. This was not his business phone. This phone was of far greater importance. Of it Walthis knew of only four people who possessed its number: Kira, himself, and the two women he’d given envelopes to.

“Hello,” he answered anxiously, remaining seated, legs entwined.

“You and I seem to share a common interest, Mr. Crane,” the voice on the other end spoke in turn, distorted, robotic.

Walthis was silent a moment, caught off guard, then went on to inquire, “And what may that be?”

“Unique individuals. Gifted individuals.”

Again Walthis was silent as he tried to assess the caller’s identity. If this were one of the two women he’d bestowed an envelope upon, why would she bother concealing her voice? Then there was Kira, who, though at times displayed mischievousness, would surely not stoop to a prank this low.

“May I be so bold as to inquire with whom I am speaking?” Walthis eventually said.

“You may refer to me as ‘Jupiter’.”

Walthis huffed lightly. “A false name, no doubt, to match your false inflection.”

“Anonymity is a shield, Mr. Crane, which I clutch unceasingly.”

“And what does this warded caller want of me?” Walthis asked before quickly glancing the phone’s caller ID �" ‘UNAVAILABLE’. He’d expected as much.

“I would like confirmation.”

“As to what?”

“The unique ability you claim to possess.”

“I have made that claim to a select few people, and I am inclined to believe you are not one of them.”

“In that regard, Mr. Crane, you are correct.”

“Therefore, I have nothing to prove to you.”

“Verification of your ability could prove highly beneficial. It could very well open a door, behind which resides new opportunities, new friendships. But I would require more than proof of the ability you claim to possess. I would also require an understanding of your ideals, Mr. Crane, an understanding of your intentions for finding those with powers, your intentions for unifying them.”

“If you have come into possession of this number, then you have likely come into knowledge of my intent.”

“A very loose description,” the tinny, mechanical voice replied. “In order to build a bridge between your ideals and mine, we would first need to determine if those ideals matched. Otherwise, the construction of such a bridge could never commence.”

Another brief silence permeated the conversation as Walthis formulated a response.

“The reason as to why I am attempting to bring together those with abilities is constantly evolving. It is something I do not fully comprehend as of yet. But peace and unity, as vacuous as that may sound, is at the core of my intentions.”

More silence ensued before Jupiter spoke in response.

“I require confirmation of your ability if we are to communicate further.”

“You have this number because you are one of the gifted individuals I gave it to, or because you are associated in some way with one of them. That is your confirmation.”

“Let me propose a purely hypothetical scenario, Mr. Crane . . .

“You work for a division of the United States Department of Defense. A division, that as far as the public is concerned, does not exist. This division has an asset in the form of a unique individual. This individual is held against their will. They go on to liberate them self, with, perhaps, a little help. This individual is a highly valuable asset to this non-existent branch of the U.S. Department of Defense, and naturally they want this individual back. As a member of this covert division, you have knowledge of this individual’s identity. You approach them under the ruse that you have a gift of your own, which allows you to determine those with abilities from those without. They contact you. You arrange to meet them at a predetermined location, one in which they can be safely detained. A valuable asset is reacquired.”

“Absurd,” rasped Walthis, insulted.

“Then prove it so, so that our friendship may progress.”

“And how do you propose I do that?”

“By attending tomorrow afternoon’s White Sox game. I will call you then with further instructions. You will benefit from bringing binoculars. And your young associate, who claims to be gifted as well, is welcome to accompany you if she so desires.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then you’ll never know,” the veiled caller replied. “You’ll find the tickets within the glove box of your Rolls Royce, Mr. Crane,” they added before abruptly hanging up.

Walthis rose and placed the phone in his pocket. He began pacing nervously about the living room of his suite, the relaxation wrought of his evening meditation obliterated. He wondered uncertainly if Kira and he would attend tomorrow’s White Sox game, and if so, whether or not they would be walking into a trap.

 

*          *          *

 

“I f****n hate baseball,” Kira declared as she looked about Comiskey Park with a scowl. “I hate all sports for that matter �" boring as hell.”

“I’m not much of a sports enthusiast myself,” Walthis confessed.

They sat alongside one another within the twelfth row behind the pitcher’s mound, small binoculars strewn about their necks. The afternoon weather was pleasant. Kira’s mood was not.

“This s**t’s like torture, Walt. When’s it gonna end?”

“The game?”

“Yes, the game,” snapped Kira.

“I do not believe it has even begun,” Walthis responded, noting the players warming up on the field.

“Enh,” Kira groaned in agony.

“Use your binoculars,” said Walthis as he lifted his to his face. “Look with me, please. Tell me if you see anything out of the ordinary.”

Kira did as requested. A half minute later she let her binoculars fall back to her chest, declaring, “All I see is fat people drinkin beer.”

Walthis continued to search, for what he did not know.

“It hurts, Walt,” Kira moaned as she writhed in her seat.

Walthis lowered his binoculars and looked at her in concern.

“What hurts?”

“The boredom,” she replied. “It hurts so bad.”

Walthis rolled his eyes before returning them to his binoculars.

“You will survive. I would suggest you wait in your car if it is that excruciating. However, I would rather we not separate under such mysterious circumstances. I would never forgive myself if something were to happen to you. As a matter of fact, I believe it may have been wrong of me to ask you along in the first place,” he added, disappointed with himself.

“What!” spat Kira. “F**k no. Askin me along was the right move. If s**t goes down, I’m your backup.”

Walthis hoped to God ‘s**t’ would not ‘go down’ for the sake of the thousands in attendance. One misfire by Kira could prove catastrophic.

 

Twenty minutes later the game commenced. Walthis’s phone rang the moment the first pitch was thrown. He answered immediately.

“Hello.”

The voice that spoke in reply was the same contorted articulation he’d heard the previous evening.

“Thank you for attending, Mr. Crane. And please thank your associate for attending as well.”

“Can we dispense with the pleasantries and proceed with the demonstration of my ability, and an explanation as to how exactly it is you propose I do so?”

“Soon enough, Mr. Crane. Until then please remain seated, and refrain from using your binoculars until you’re told. This applies to both you and your companion. I’ll call again in due time with further instructions.”

The phone went abruptly silent as the caller hung up.

Walthis found Kira staring at him in anticipation.

“We are to wait,” he stated brusquely. “And we are to refrain from using our binoculars until told otherwise.”

“Oh wonderful,” said Kira as she threw her hands skyward in frustration. “Did we at least get permission to breathe? I’m not enjoying this cloak and dagger s**t, Walt.”

“Nor am I.”

“Next time that f****r calls, let me talk to ‘em.”

“I fear that would be counterproductive.”

“I’m not even gonna ask what you meant by that, so consider yourself lucky.”

“Thank you,” Walthis humbly replied.

“If we get shot by a sniper, I’m gonna be so pissed,” Kira went on to declare.

“I would not be enthralled either,” said Walthis sedately.

“Do like me,” said Kira with sudden enthusiasm as she began swaying from side to side as though she were a cobra being tamed by a snake charmer. “It makes you a harder target.”

“That is a bit ridiculous,” Walthis responded, looking at her queerly. She did not cease.

Walthis grinned in amusement.

“How long do you intend to keep that up?” he asked.

“Until I’ve embarrassed the s**t outta you,” she replied.

“In that case, you can stop now.”

 

Not until the bottom of the fifth did Walthis’s phone ring again.

“Hello.”

“Mr. Crane, you may use your binoculars now.”

With his free hand, Walthis raised the binoculars to his face. Kira didn’t wait for permission to do the same. Peering through her binoculars, she looked about hurriedly in every which direction.

“Now tell me, Mr. Crane, with the exception of your companion and yourself, who in attendance appears different to you?”

Walthis slowly scanned the confines of the stadium, the souls within.

“A moment if you will,” he politely requested.

“Take your time. There’s still at least five innings.”

Walthis continued to cast his gaze about the stadium in search of�"”

“There!” he suddenly exclaimed. “Seventh row, behind right field. A man. Red cap. No insignia. Sunglasses. Beard. Flannel shirt. He is standing. He is�"”

“Remain seated for the remainder of the game,” the caller advised as Walthis watched the man walk down the row he’d been seated in to the nearest aisle, then continue to the nearest exit.

“Very good,” the caller went on to proclaim. “Please do as I’ve requested and remain seated for the remainder of the game. I’ll be in touch.”

Before Walthis had a chance to respond, the caller hung up.

He lowered his phone, then his binoculars, a dumbstruck expression on his face.

“The guy you saw,” said Kira, “was one of us, wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” Walthis replied softly. “Yes he was.”

“So, now what?”

“This ‘Jupiter’ person seemed pleased. They said they would be in touch.”

“When?”

“They did not elaborate as to when.”

“That vague f****r. Alotta f****n nerve. Let’s roll outta this b***h,” said Kira, standing abruptly.

“They requested we remain seated for the remaining duration of the game.”

“Oh, well that’s just f****n great!” she shouted, flopping back into her seat. The people around her paid her little mind, mistaking her for an enthusiastic fan. “Jupiter can eat s**t. You tell that to the f****r the next time they call,” she said as she crossed her arms and closed her eyes. “Wake me when this s**t’s over,” she concluded. Two minutes later she was sound asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

15. TEMPER TANTRUM

 

 

“Make note that at o-five seventeen hundred hours a dose of one-point-one milliliters of Hievaxin-12 was administered intravenously to subject 17-B.” The woman making this dictation wore a white lab coat, graying brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, the name ‘Dr. V.N. Martin’ printed on the security card clipped to her breast pocket. A man standing off to her side dressed in similar garb held a clipboard. He scrawled the doctor’s dictation onto a chart attached to it. The doctor slid the needle from the little girl’s arm to the sound of whimpering.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” the doctor assured the young girl as she pressed a cotton swab to the injection point. “Everything’s fine,” she went on as she secured the swab in place with a strip of surgical tape.

The child had been entirely uncooperative since her arrival. They’d made repeated attempts to coerce her into using her ability, to no avail whatsoever. Suitable containment hadn’t posed much of a problem. Primeus II was outfitted with an immense detonation chamber capable of containing a blast equivalent to one-hundred kilograms of TNT. The chamber currently served as the little girl’s bedroom, the sprawling underground facility that was Primeus II, her home. The child was strapped to a hospital bed. Those straps would soon be undone so the bed could be wheeled from the room. Once this occurred, the blast chamber would be void of anything but a petrified seven-year-old girl. Then it was a simple matter of observing the child via the ten video cameras mounted to the metal walls, encased in blast resistant glass domes. The thin device around the girl’s wrist would send bio readings to the research command station located in the upper western wing of the facility. Once the Hievaxin-12 took effect, the ability the child possessed, which they were so intent on studying, would trigger repeatedly �" whether the young girl wanted it to or not.

The vast subterranean expanse that was Primeus II was fortified against a great many things. Its walls were three feet thick, comprised of cement laid over a dense meshwork of rebar. The structure was designed to be able to withstand virtually any assailment shy of a direct hit by a nuclear missile. It was a modern day fortress through and through. There was, however, one thing it could never be fully shielded against �" human ineptitude.

Hievaxin-12, which had been developed and refined at Primeus I, the parent station of Primeus II, had never been administered by the staff of this newly activated facility. Primeus I’s lead scientist had been scheduled to be on hand for the first usage of Hievaxin-12 on a subject stationed at Primeus II. By some twist of fate, he’d suffered a broken hip one day prior to his arrival. He would not be present for the administration of Hievaxin-12 to subject 17-B. Had he been, he likely would have prevented the error that had just occurred. The young girl strapped to the hospital bed had just been administered a dosage of one-point-one milliliters of the serum, an amount far in excess of what she should have received. All the adult subjects within Primeus I had received dosages of Hievaxin-12 scaled in accordance with their body weight and metabolism. These dosages had ranged from zero-point five, to zero point eight milliliters. The one-point-one milliliters the young girl bound to the hospital bed had received was far in excess of what was required. Not only would the stimulation of her ability be more potent than intended, but the moment the serum was to take effect would be far sooner than the projected fifty minutes.

“Make note that at o-five twenty-five hundred hours subject 17-B’s heart rate was observed to be one-hundred eleven bpm.” Again the man beside the doctor logged the notation on the chart. This concluded the physical examination which procedurally ensued every administration of Hievaxin-12.

“All done, sweetheart,” the doctor informed the trembling young girl. “I’m going to remove the straps now,” she added with a fabricated smile. She proceeded to undo the thick nylon restraints. The final strap to be removed had bound the child’s right wrist, the tiny hand attached to it clutching a shabby rag doll. One of the staff psychologists had sewn the doll’s torn arm securely back in place in the hope that doing so would garner the child’s trust. It hadn’t. The child hadn’t uttered a single word to any of the staff since her arrival. The only one she spoke to was the doll, and she only ever did so when she was alone �" indiscernible whispers heard through the microphones in the walls.

The little girl slid from the bed, anxious to be free. But she wasn’t truly free. All she’d done was trade one confinement for another. She scurried to a rounded back corner of the detonation chamber wearing nothing but a hospital gown, her little, bare feet smacking lightly against the cold metal floor. She took seat, knees to her chin, her doll clutched protectively to her chest. She watched the other occupants of the room as they made preparations to leave, peering at them apprehensively with multi-colored eyes. She wished she could leave too, not only the room, but this odd place entirely. She was tired of the needles, of the poking and prodding, of the make believe smiles, and all the strange questions. She wanted to go home.

Dr. Martin took hold of the bed and began wheeling it toward the blast chamber exit. The two marines standing sentry turned toward the immense door, ten inches thick, resembling the door to a bank vault. One of the marines looked into the lens of a nearby camera, raised an index finger, and whirled it about, signifying the facility control room to unlock the chamber door. There came a muffled thud. The massive door slowly swiveled outward. The two marines stepped into the immense hallway the door opened upon.

It was at this moment Dr. Martin felt what she’d thought to be a draft, a gust of air giving her a gentle nudge from behind. She thought nothing of it as she continued forward, likely just a slight vacuum in response to the chamber being unsealed. The two marines passed through the doorway and took position in the corridor outside. Dr. Martin received another nudge from behind, this one more pronounced than the first. She braced the bed as she was knocked forward. Her assistant, walking beside her, was nearly thrown to the floor. The chart he’d been reviewing as he walked tumbled from his hands, the sound of metal on metal reverberating throughout the chamber as the aluminum clipboard smacked against the floor. He looked at the doctor who in turn looked at him. They swiveled their heads in unison toward the girl huddled in the rear corner. The third emission of the girl’s ability verified their worst fears, tossing them to the floor, sending the bed rolling away.

An alarm began blaring from the corridor.

“Seal it!” one of the marines shouted to the other.

“No!” gasped Dr. Martin in horror.

She stumbled to her feet and ran to the door, her assistant right beside her. They slammed against the enormous block of steel just as it was inches away from shutting completely, entombing them within. They pushed against the door with every ounce of strength they could muster, but the two marines pushing in the opposite direction �" the majority of their free time spent lifting weights in the facility’s gym �" made their effort futile.

“We’ll die in here!” the assistant doctor screamed, his voice cracking from terror.

He was wrong. They would die in the corridor, along with the two marines.

The forth blast slammed into them with the force of a speeding train, crushing them against the door, propelling it open, knocking the marines to the floor.

The screech of the hallway alarm poured back into the blast chamber, intensifying the fear the child within was experiencing. She associated it with the sound of the fire alarms at school during drills. That sound meant danger. She placed her hands over her ears, shielding them from the noise. The doll she’d held fell to the floor, landing a few feet in front of her.

Another shockwave erupted from the child, sending the doll sliding across the floor, through the doorway, and into the hall.

“Marigold!”

The child rose clumsily to her feet and took off in pursuit of her only friend in the world.

“Come back, Marigold!”

Stick thin legs carried the little girl into the corridor where her precious Marigold now lay. The two marines were fumbling on hands and knees trying to regain their senses. The doctor and her assistant, their skulls crushed, would never regain theirs.

Spying her doll laying on the floor, the child sighed with relief. “Marigold. You silly girl. Why did you run aw�"”

Another tremendous shockwave was emitted as she stepped toward the doll. The walls and ceiling of the corridor heaved and cracked, as did most the bones in the marines’ bodies as they were slammed about. Cement dust rained down. Marigold somersaulted through the air as she traveled down the corridor. The fluorescent lights illuminating the vast expanse burst in succession. For an instant the child’s world was bathed in complete darkness.

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” she squealed in fright. The alarm squealed in turn, as if not to be outdone.

Fortified emergency lights switched on, replacing the soft glow of the fluorescents with an eerie red hue. The child caught sight of her doll some one hundred feet ahead.

“Mariiiiiigold!”

She gave chase as the alien world assaulted her senses. The blare of the alarm had transformed into a morbid, warped sound, the sirens expelling the wail having been severely damaged by the most recent explosion. The emergency lights suffusing the corridor with their bloody glow blinked on and off sporadically. Cement dust continued to pour from the cracks in the ceiling, a thin layer of the detritus settling on the child’s sandy brown hair.

Midway down the extensive corridor �" a section which had yet to succumb to a direct onslaught by subject 17-B �" a door opened. A marine NCO stepped into the hall oblivious to the cause of all the commotion. Where they in the midst of an earthquake? Where they under attack by an enemy nation?

“What the f**k is going�"”

“Mariiiiigold!”

Another explosion tore through the corridor, causing it to expand slightly as if taking a shallow breath. The clueless NCO was tossed into the air and propelled down the corridor at an extreme rate. His momentum was brought to an abrupt halt when he collided with a large section of plumbing protruding from the ceiling. His limp, dead body hung from the large pipe, adding more horror to an already horrifying scene.

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Mariiiiigold!”

In the command center of the massive subterranean facility, two floors above, a harsh voice issued an order �" “Lower the blast doors! Contain this f*****g mess before it gets out of control!”

The center portion of the corridor split into a four-way cross section. The adjoining corridors to the child’s left and right were abruptly sealed off as large steel partitions descended from the ceiling. This added to the little girl’s fear, her confusion. Those were huge steel walls dropping from the ceiling. The building was falling down all around her. This prison awash in red was trying to consume her, singing a horrid, demonic symphony as it did.

The blast doors slammed into place, the resounding thud compelling the child to move faster.

“Mariiiiigold!”

The doll was visible laying three quarters of the way down the hall, its silhouette interrupted by brief moments of darkness as the emergency lighting continued to flicker. The little girl further closed the distance between herself and her friend. She was maybe a dozen feet away when another explosion rocked the corridor. The doll went spinning across the floor to the end of the hall.

The child’s terror now mingled with frustration.

“Marigold! You get back here, young lady! You get back here right now!”

Small chunks of mortar detached from various portions of the ceiling. They pummeled the floor like tiny meteors. A golf ball sized piece fell upon the child’s head with a soft ‘thunk’.

“Ow!” she yelped as tears began streaming down her cheeks.

A few seconds later she’d reached the end of the corridor, she’d reached her precious Marigold. She crumpled to the floor, exhausted �" one of the many side effects of Hievaxin-12. She took hold of the rag doll and wrapped it tightly in her frail arms. She was panting spasmodically, her little heart drumming furiously against her chest. The distorted wail of the sirens had further degraded, the devices emitting the noise having been battered to near oblivion. She lay down on her side and curled into a tight ball. The lights continued to flicker. The ceiling continued to weep dust and debris.

Another shockwave coursed through the corridor, noticeably less pronounced than the previous few. The short lived primary effect of the serum was winding down. Soon the explosions went from thunderous, destructive things to tiny, infrequent hiccups. The child had nearly slipped into unconsciousness by this point, curled upon the floor, cradling her soft friend.

“This is a bad place, Marigold,” she whispered, so softly she could barely hear her own words. “This is a bad place, for a bad girl.”

Gradually she drifted into a drug induced slumber. The nightmares that followed were of wicked, subterranean worlds that devoured children, swallowing them whole.

 

 

 

 

 

16. TEAM AWESOME

 

 

It had been two weeks since Walthis and Kira had attended the first �" and what they hoped to be the last �" baseball game of their lives. Walthis’s phone, of which so very few knew the number, had not rung in all this time. Walthis had expected, had hoped to hear from the mysterious ‘Jupiter’ by now, had hoped to learn more of the opportunities, the friendships they’d spoken so vaguely of. It was as a result of this expectation, that when Walthis’s phone rang, he was all but certain the voice on the other end would be shrouded electronically. It, however, was not.

“Hello,” said Walthis, wasting no time in answering.

“Give me the phone number of your purple haired friend,” demanded a female voice, soft but austere.

After a moment, Walthis replied, “I would need to know with whom I am speaking to before I would even consider doing so.”

The woman was silent for an extended period of time. Walthis had begun to fear she’d hung up, when she replied, “This is the woman you and her approached about two weeks ago.”

“The . . . The waitress?” Walthis said in surprise.

“Yes.”

“I assumed we would never hear from you again,” Walthis said, trying to curb the excitement edging into his voice.

“Give me her number, or neither of you will.”

Walthis deliberated briefly before reciting Kira’s number. After which, he said, “She’s likely to be home now if you wish�"” but stopped abruptly upon realizing the woman had hung up.

 

Kira lay sprawled upon her bed reading a novel penned by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child �" the latest Pendergast adventure. She was deeply immersed and wasn’t exactly pleased with being interrupted by the ringing of her phone. She was all but positive it would be Walthis calling. She was a lone wolf at heart, and until he’d ventured into her life she’d had not a single friend to speak of. Even with having lived in Chicago for a little over three months, she’d yet to make any friends, yet to give her number to anyone. So when Kira answered her phone, it was to great astonishment she found a woman on the other end.

“I’m reading. Whatta ya want?”

“Is this Keya, the purple haired girl?”

“It’s Kira, and my hair’s violet. Who the hell is this, and how did you get this number?”

“This is Daralice. Your friend, Walthis, just gave me your number. We met about a month ago. You and your friend approached me after work.”

“Ho-ly s**t! Elf girl!”

“She’s an elve, actually.”

“I know,” Kira admitted. “I’ve seen enough movies and read enough books to know the difference. I’m just given ya hell. So how exactly . . . What exactly . . . What the f**k is it you do? ‘Cause me and Walt have been rackin our brains tryin to figure it out.”

“It’s complicated,” Daralice replied, her tone as neutral as when Walthis and Kira had first made her acquaintance.

“Life’s complicated,” Kira countered. “You said ‘she’s an elve’.  Does that imply she’s not you?”

“She is, but she’s not. It’s like I said: complicated.”

“Are we not goin there yet?” Kira said in note of her evasiveness. “We gotta build trust before we go into detail about what it is you do?”

“Seems only fair.”

“Meh,” whined Kira. “I guess. So what,” she went on, “you spoke with Walt, and after giving you his ‘saviors of the world’ speech he recommended you call me?”

“No. I called him and asked for your number. Aside from that, he and I didn’t speak.”

“Why not?”

“He’s a man. Men tend to be inherently evil.”

Kira laughed a light, wicked laugh. “I can’t argue that. But Walt’s not one of the majority. He’s a bit uptight, but otherwise he’s not so bad.”

“I’ll take your opinion of him into consideration as I develop one of my own.”

“That mean you’re gonna get to know us better? You thinkin ‘bout joinin Team Awesome?”

“I’m not sure I’m a team player,” Daralice replied flatly.

“Ya, I’m not much of a people person myself,” Kira admitted. “But it beats the s**t outta bein alone. So how ‘bout you come over and we talk in person? ‘Cause holdin this phone to my ear is makin my arm tired.”

She waited with uncommon patience as Daralice considered her offer.

“What’s your address?”

Kira grinned. “899 North Michigan Avenue. Forty-ninth floor. Suite four. And wait’ll you get a load of this f****n place.”

 

After hanging up, Kira immediately called Walthis.

“Hello. Walthis Crane.”

“It’s Kira.”

“Did she call?” Walthis asked excitedly.

“Ya. I just got off the phone with her.”

“I was going to call you,” Walthis stated in a rush, “the moment I got off the phone with her. But I did not want to risk interrupting if she were to contact you immediately after speaking with me. I figured I would wait an hour or so.

“What did she say?” he went on to inquire.

“She’s feelin things out, tryin to determine if she can trust us.”

“Did you assure her she can?”

“Heh. I’m not so sure. She’s comin over in a while to speak with me in person. That’s gotta be a good sign though, a step in the right direction.”

“Should I be in attendance?” Walthis asked, eager to be.

“Not unless you’ve got a vagina. She seems to be a bit apprehensive of men for whatever reason. Maybe for every reason . . . Let me talk to her a while. If everything goes well, I’ll suggest she meet you. Sound cool?”

“Yes,” replied Walthis uncertainly. Sounds . . . ‘cool’.”

“Relax, Walt. She’s just nervous. Don’t take it personally.”

“Very well.” Walthis thought a moment, then added, “Kira, our first encounter with this woman nearly proved fatal. As I recall, you were quite upset. I hope your anger toward her has abated.”

“That was a few weeks ago. I’m over it,” she assured him. “Don’t worry, Walt. I’ll play nice.”

 

When the doorbell rang an hour later, Kira set her novel down, slid from the couch, and traipsed to the door.

“What’s up?” she said in greeting once she’d swung the door open.

“Hello,” said Daralice softly in reply.

Kira spun around and began walking back to the living room.

“Come on in. Mi casa es poo casa.”

Daralice stepped forward and shut the door gently behind her. She idled unsurely within the doorway.

Kira leapt onto the couch and situated herself comfortably.

“All the way in,” she said to her hesitant guest.

Daralice stepped from the kitchen to the living room and hovered beside the couch.

“Go ‘head and take a seat. Don’t be so nervous.”

Daralice took seat upon the couch, folded her hands within her lap, and looked about the immense suite in veiled awe.

“Pretty big, huh?” Said Kira. “I’ll give you the grand tour in a bit.”

“How can you afford this?” Daralice asked in wonder.

“I can’t,” Kira admitted unashamedly. “It’s Walt’s. The whole building is.”

“Of course,” responded Daralice. “He’s rich. Very rich, according to what I’ve read.”

“Yup. He’s got money comin out his a*s. But he doesn’t act all arrogant about it. And he intends to give most of it to charity some day. He’s a nice guy once ya get to know him. A big ole teddy bear.”

Kira gazed at Daralice curiously for a moment as Daralice’s eyes swept the apartment.

“There’s somethin I wanna know right up front,” she said.

Daralice’s brown eye’s ceased wandering and settled upon Kira’s. “Yes?”

“Are you associated with this ‘Jupiter’ person at all?”

“Who?”

“Did you share the information in the envelope Walt gave you with anyone else?”

“No.”

“Hmm. Musta been the chick from the airport then,” Kira said, more to herself than to Daralice.

“Who?”

“This girl me and Walt saw at the airport. One of us.” She went on to explain the encounter at O’Hare Airport one month  prior, as well as the ensuing events involving Jupiter.

“Sounds shady,” remarked Daralice when Kira had concluded. “You think they were government?”

“I hope not,” Kira replied, shrugging as though the prospect was of little consequence.

“Aye . . . you asked if I was a government agent when we first met . . . or that thing you turned into did . . . or whatever. You think the government’s out to get you or somethin?”

“The government’s out to get all of us,” Daralice replied matter of factly. “BAP 14.”

“True. True,” said Kira, nodding in agreement. She pondered something a moment, then asked, “You think they got the most powerful ones kept secret, locked away somewhere?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it.”

“That’s what I think,” Kira declared vehemently. “Walt thinks it’s all conspiratorial nonsense though unless proven otherwise, but I know better. I mean they gotta be tuckin the really powerful ones away somewhere and keepin that s**t hush hush. Otherwise, how come we haven’t heard of people that can do s**t on the scale of what we can do?”

“’We?’”

“Ya, ‘we’. You aint the only badass b***h in the room,” Kira stated proudly.

“I mean,” Daralice went on to clarify, “I know you have an ability, I’m just not aware of what nature, of what magnitude.”

Kira wiggled her tiny nose as she debated something.

“You showed me yours. I guess it’s my turn to show you mine.” She rose, then added, “I hate wastin food.”

“Huh?” said Daralice.

“You’ll see,” responded Kira as she strode to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. “Ah,” she said satisfactorily as she reached in and removed a half eaten sandwich upon a small plate. “This s**t’s startin to mold anyways.”

She walked back to the living room and set the plate atop the massive coffee table that sat center the wrap around couch. She waved her hand and an instant later the sandwich turned to mush and sprawled about the plate.

Kira settled her small frame back into her seat across from Daralice and awaited the inevitable questions to follow.

“What happened to it?”

“I separated its molecules. Walt bought this big a*s microscope and we examined the remains of s**t I’ve zapped beneath it, and sure enough the molecules are all picked apart. I told him when we first met that’s what I was doin, but he wanted to be certain, because he’s Walt, and Walt’s anal like that sometimes.”

“You just . . . think something apart . . . and it turns into a puddle?”

“Kinda. I wave my hand, and think of a specific word, too, when I want it to happen. To help keep it from happenin accidently.”

Daralice stared at the remnants of the sandwich for a time.

“Could you do that to something larger? Like a car, for example.”

“No. It’s gotta be organic. Carbon based. Plants, animals, people . . . s**t like that.”

“You’ve done that,” said Daralice, pointing to the puddle on the plate, “to a person before?” Her unexpressive face yielded little astonishment, but it was present, if only slightly, within her voice.

“A few people,” Kira confessed. She frowned with indifference and flicked her hand as though the thought were a bothersome insect.

Daralice continued to stare at what lay upon the plate, entranced.

“You’ve killed before too,” Kira stated suddenly, assuredly, interrupting her stupor.

Daralice looked at her unflinchingly and asked, “What makes you think that?”

Kira made a ‘V’ with her index and middle finger and pointed slowly from her own eyes to Daralice’s. For a moment Daralice appeared perplexed, then went on to nod slightly in understanding.

“But I don’t expect you to ever talk about it if you don’t want to,” added Kira. “Neither will Walt. We’re not the morality police. Just don’t kill me or him,” she added with a wry smile, “and we should get along just fine.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” replied Daralice.

“Speaking of killing . . .” Kira said, blushing uncomfortably. “I hope you don’t take this personally, but I sorta tried to kill you.”

“Huh?” responded Daralice, her shock undetectable amid her stony demeanor.

“When you did that tripped out s**t in the alley, I tried to do to you,” she nodded toward the coffee table, “what I did to that sandwich. But . . . Well, it didn’t work. Walt’s power wouldn’t work either in that place, that . . . whatever the f**k it was.”

Daralice was silent, stunned by the revelation two fold.

“So, what exactly is it you do?” asked Kira, her voice wound with intrigue. “’Cause like I said on the phone: me and Walt have been rackin our brains tryin to figure it out. My theory is you can create another dimension, or some sorta Syfy channel s**t like that.”

“It’s my imagination,” Daralice proclaimed. “As far as I can tell.”

Kira’s jaw dropped. “You can make your thoughts into reality?”

“Within a small area.”

“Whatta ya mean?”

“I can only spread my imagination over an area,” Daralice looked about, “roughly the size of your living room and kitchen combined.”

“It’s always the same thing: the elve chick, and that weird black s**t?”

“No. that’s the first time I’ve become her in about four or five years. Mostly I just imagine peaceful things: a little tropical island, a magical forest . . . things like that.”

“I’d be that b***h all the f****n time,” Kira declared enviously. “She was badassified.”

“Heh.” Daralice laughed lightly and donned the faintest of smiles. It was the first real show of emotion Kira had ever witnessed her make. She seemed uncomfortable because of the display, as though it pained her in some way. “That’s Murcalis,” she explained. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever see her again, be her again. You and your rich friend took me by surprise though, and I felt threatened.”

“Ya. I keep tellin Walt we need to just hand em the envelope and walk away. He’s all stuck on the formal introduction thing though.”

“So, it’s just the two of you so far?”

“Yup. So far.”

“And what exactly are you two trying to do?”

“Find people like us, then save the world or some s**t. We haven’t really figured that part out yet. But I’m havin the most fun I’ve had my entire life,” Kira exclaimed with child-like enthusiasm. “And the living accommodations are way better than what I had in New York.”

“You’re from New York?”

“Born ‘n raised. For better or for worse. What about you? You been in Chicago your whole life?”

“No. I’m originally from Washington. I’ve lived in Chicago for about four years now.”

“You got family here?”

“No,” Daralice replied with masked sorrow. “I don’t have family anywhere.”

Kira nodded consolingly. “Me neither.”

An awkward silence prevailed for several seconds. Daralice dispersed it with an observation.

“Your TV is huge.”

“It’s crazy, right?” responded Kira, her mood turning on a dime. “It’s seventy inches of ‘F**k ya!’. And the speakers,” she went on, pointing at small, black boxes situated strategically throughout the room, “make what your watchin sound like it’s really happenin all around you.”

She went silent a moment, then asked, “You like Game of Thrones?”

Again Daralice donned a weighted smile. “It’s my favorite.”

Kira was ecstatic. “We’ll talk more while we watch.”

 

Three episodes later Kira and Daralice had bonded to a point that Kira felt she could chance asking her guest if she would like to meet Walthis.

“Walt lives just a few floors up. You wanna meet him? Or is that somethin you’re not up to doin just yet?”

Daralice considered what she’d been asked.

“You’re sure he’s cool like you said? He doesn’t have some sick agenda, some ulterior motive for finding people like us?”

“Naw,” Kira grumbled, as though the prospect were absurd. “Walt’s incapable of being deceptive. He wears his agenda on his sleeve. And he’s got nothin up his sleeve.”

After a moment, Daralice replied, doing so apprehensively. “Alright.”

“Walt’s solid,” Kira assured her. “I’ll give him a call and you can judge for yourself.”

Five minutes later there came a polite tapping at Kira’s door.

“It’s open!” she hollered.

Walthis let himself in. Seeing Kira and her guest seated in the living room he ventured over and joined them.

“Have a seat,” said Kira.

Walthis took seat upon the center portion of the couch, Kira seated on the wrap around section to his right, Daralice on the section to his left.

“Walt, meet Daralice Poemrush. Daralice, meet Walthis Crane.”

They nodded at one another.

“It’s a pleasure to officially make your acquaintance, Ms. Poemrush.”

Daralice did not reply. Walthis suspected the feeling was not mutual.

“Dara doesn’t know any ‘Jupiter’. That narrows it down to the girl from the airport who looked like a supermodel.”

Walthis shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I hope you haven’t been unnerving your guest with tales of this ‘Jupiter’ character.”

Kira sighed in frustration. “Walt, you’d think with all the money you got you’d be able to afford to pay a doctor to remove the massive stick from your butt.”

Walthis scowled in response. “Quite rude of you, Kira.”

Daralice smiled in amusement, though the gesture was only slight.

“Walt,” said Kira, “we’ve gotta lay all our cards on the table, or else Dream Girl aint gonna trust us.”

“Already she has bestowed upon you a nickname,” Walthis said to Daralice in a tone that implied uncertainty toward whether or not this was an honor.

“It’s befitting,” Kira declared. “She can blend dreams with reality, make her thoughts come to life.”

Walthis was immensely intrigued by this disclosure.

“Is this true?” he asked Daralice, astonished.

“That, or something to the effect,” she replied.

“Amazing,” marveled Walthis. “I cannot even begin to fathom the scientific principles associated with such an ability.”

“‘Cause there aint none,” Kira stated with certainty. “That’s why nobody can figure out how people like us can do the s**t we do. It’s beyond science. She’s living proof,” she said as she pointed emphatically at Daralice.

“Everything can be justified scientifically,” Walthis refuted calmly. “Everything is grounded in reality.”

“She bends reality,” Kira countered. “She bends it over and makes it her b***h.”

“That is a vulgar assessment of what she is doing.”

“But it’s accurate,” spat Kira.

Walthis directed his attention toward Daralice.

“Thank you for meeting with my associate and me,” he said. “I am sorry if our initial encounter was intrusive. We did not mean to alarm you.”

“No harm done,” replied Daralice.

Silence prevailed, but for a moment.

“I’m f****n starving,” Kira exclaimed. “Let’s order a pizza.”

 

A little over an hour later, a few slices were all that remained of a large deep dish with all the toppings. It had taken the place of the disintegrated sandwich atop the coffee table. Time had been spent eating and making casual conversation. Kira now lay sprawled upon the floor clutching her stomach with both hands. She let out a groan, both in pleasure and agony. Walthis and Daralice were seated upon the floor, backs resting against the couch.

“You consumed half the pizza,” Walthis remarked to Kira, as appalled as he was impressed.

She belched loudly, then sat upright.

“For dessert,” she said, speaking to Daralice, “how ‘bout you give us a demo of what it is you do?”

Daralice appeared taken aback by the request, and blushed lightly as a result.

“That seems a bit rude, Kira,” said Walthis.

“Rude? I didn’t ask her to flash her tits. I just wanna see what she can do. And so do you, so don’t say otherwise.”

“I will admit to being curious,” he confessed shamefully, “but it seems wrong of us to ask.”

Daralice shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

Kira’s pizza induced lethargy dispersed instantly. She sprang to her tiny feet and clapped excitedly.

“Whatta ya gonna make?” she asked, eyes alight, grinning profusely.

Daralice rose as well. “Whatever you want,” she replied. “I’m open to requests.”

Kira’s response was instantaneous, and it was more a demand than a request.

“Leonardo Dicaprio! Butt naked! Right here! Right now!”

“No,” Daralice immediately replied.

“Why not?” Kira whined in disappointment.

“I’m not going to use my ability to fulfill your sexual fantasies.”

Walthis, who had remained seated till this moment, joined them in standing.

“How about we let Daralice decide,” he suggested. “Something she is familiar with. Something she is comfortable with.”

Daralice nodded in approval. Kira groaned in defeat.

“This will not jeopardize the structure of the building in any way, will it?” Walthis went on to inquire fearfully.

“Not unless I wanted it to,” Daralice replied.

Walthis was uncertain of whether to derive comfort or concern from her response. Before he could determine which, the living room began to shift, to melt away, to yield to Daralice’s imagination. What took its place was the antithesis of the dark living void Walthis and Kira bore witness to some two weeks ago.

From the dark wooden floor sprang lush, emerald green grass. Flowers of every perceivable color blossomed at an accelerated rate throughout the impromptu lawn, a season’s worth of growth in a matter of seconds. These were flowers unlike any Kira or Walthis had ever beheld, their soft petals sparkling, alight from within. Half a dozen trees suddenly materialized, their bark a soft, powdery white. From their branches sprang long, thin, spiral leaves, metallic blue of color. They unwound and spun downward in a majestic display, the tip of each stopping but a few inches from the grass, grass which had begun to sway as if being massaged by a light breeze, a breeze felt by neither Walthis nor Kira. All along the living room walls and ceiling appeared thin, white tapestry, billowing about, replacing the former boundaries of the room. Through this tapestry shone light of no discernable source, blanketing the magical garden in its glow, as well as its three inhabitants.

Roles had suddenly reversed. It was now Kira and Walthis who were guests, guests of Daralice’s imagination.

Kira spread her arms and began whirling about, giggling with adolescent joy.

Walthis did not share in her action, but he did share in her enthusiasm. “Wondrous,” he whispered in awe. “Magnificent.”

“This is way better than havin a spear pointed at my throat,” Kira declared as she spun past Walthis and Daralice. “Weeee!”

“She seems right at home,” remarked Walthis with a grin.

At five feet, half an inch tall, with violet hair atop her head, she blended well with the magical forest �" a nymph of sorts, parlaying about it. After a time, though, her festive spinning got the best of her, and she tumbled dizzily to the soft ground.

“Umph,” she grunted upon impact. “Ooh,” she went on to groan. “So dizzy. Hope I don’t barf that half a pizza I ate all over your imagination.” She sprawled upon the grass and waited for her dizzy spell to subside.

Walthis’s mind was awash with questions. He wasn’t sure which to ask first, and as a result, found himself at a loss for words. Instead of speaking, he gazed about, at this seemingly impossible place, the beauty that had spawned from Daralice’s mind.

Eventually Kira regained her equilibrium and propped herself into a sitting position. Dozens of butterflies abruptly appeared around her, coalescing out of thin air, fluttering about her head and face. “Woh,” she said in mesmerization. A moment later she shrieked, “Boo!” causing them to scatter in every which direction. Next, she leapt to her feet and took to the nearest tree. She placed her small hands on its soft bark and peered behind it. “Leo,” she sang. “Where are you, my little hump muffin?” She turned to face Daralice, looking at her pleadingly, hands crossed as if in prayer.

Daralice’s lips formed into a faint smile.

From behind the tree second closest to Kira, Leonardo Dicaprio suddenly appeared.

“Hello Kira,” he said, his voice exquisite, music to her ears.

There was maybe seven yards separating Kira from the man of her dreams. She covered them in remarkably little time. Almost immediately she was upon him, tearing the shirt from his chest. In the blink of an eye he was gone. A second later the magical world they were immersed in vanished as well, and the trio found themselves back in Kira’s living room.

“Nooooo!” Kira bellowed as she fell to her knees. “Leeeeeo!” she cried. “Come back to me!”

Walthis shook his head and laughed.

“Imaginary Leo has filed an imaginary restraining order against you,” declared Daralice.

“That’s not fair,” Kira moaned woefully as she rose. Finding herself in a corner of the living room, she returned to where she’d previously stood among Walthis and Daralice.

“That was a blast,” she went on to exclaim.” Everything seemed so real. I could even smell the flowers. I could even smell Leo!”

“Your gift is truly fascinating, Daralice,” added Walthis.

Daralice nodded humbly in thanks.

Kira placed her hands on her narrow hips and said to Daralice, “I’m gonna cut right to the chase. You wanna roll with us, or what? This place has got three bedrooms. You’re welcome to one if you want. I’d make the world’s greatest roommate.”

Daralice was caught unprepared by the offer. “I . . . I’m not sure. We just met one another.”

“I’m not askin ya to f**k me,” Kira replied blandly. “I’m just askin ya to be my roommate, and help us look for freaks like us, and s**t like that.”

“We are not freaks,” scolded Walthis. “And perhaps Daralice would like some time to consider your proposal.”

“What’s to consider?” Kira countered. “She works as a waitress in a big city, s**t for pay, lives in a crappy one bedroom apartment, and has no one she can relate to. Basically the same situation I was in a few months ago, and it took me,” she snapped her fingers, “that long to make my decision.”

Walthis and Kira looked from one another to Daralice. She was staring at her feet in contemplation. Eventually she looked up and said, “Alright.”

A look of surprise befell Walthis. Kira jumped about, clapping her hands joyously.

“I . . . I will have an account and a vehicle arranged for you immediately,” said Walthis.

“No,” Daralice sternly replied. “I’ll keep my job and pay my way the best I can. I’ll have nothing given to me.”

Kira ceased jumping. Her body went slack.

“Great,” she said sourly. “Now I feel guilty for free loading. Wait . . .” she went on to say, a look of anticipation dawning her face. “Wait just a sec . . . Alright,” she exclaimed, relieved. “The guilt passed. I’m all better now.”

She looked at Daralice and motioned with a flick of her head to follow. “C’mon, roomie, I’ll show you around.”

 

 

 

 

 

17. BUILDING BRIDGES

 

 

Chaya sat at the table within her kitchen, her home an ornate Stick Victorian. The large structure was a beast to maintain, but she couldn’t bear to put it on the market: it had been in her family for little over a century. She was all that remained of that family now. Old age and tragedy had claimed the rest. She wasn’t alone, however. At the table also sat Donav and Zoe. These two unique individuals now filled the void in Chaya’s life her family’s absence had created. She hadn’t realized exactly how desolate her life had  been until dire circumstances had brought them into her world, dispelling much of that loneliness.

“Fleadh,” sang Zoe quizzically. “Donav, are you sure that’s a word?”

Donav, smirking, replied, “I’m positive. It’s an Irish music festival.”

“Alright,” replied Zoe, not sounding entirely convinced. “I’ll just have to trust you.”

Donav looked from the Scrabble board to the clock on the wall. Chaya did not need to ask to know he was wondering when the call would come.

Jupiter had contacted Chaya earlier in the week and asked that she, Donav, and Zoe be together on this particular Saturday evening. Jupiter wanted to speak with the three of them in unison, and they were eager to know as to why. Aside each of their tile racks lay a cell phone. The board game had merely been a means of passing time until one of those phones rang. Fifteen minutes later it was Chaya’s that did.

“Hello.”

“Hello, Ms. Algus. Are Donav and Zoe present as well?”

“Yes,” replied Chaya, finding the altered voice no less unnerving than when she’d first heard it. “They’re here.”

“Place the phone on speaker, please.”

Chaya did as requested, slid the Scrabble board aside, and set the phone center the table.

“We can all hear you now,” she stated.

“Very well then. I’m calling because I’ve been in contact with the gentleman that approached you, Zoe, at O’Hare Airport some time ago. I arranged a scenario in which he might further prove the ability he claimed to possess. He did precisely that. He is apparently using this ability to do as he stated in the letter he gave to you, Ms. Phelps: searching for gifted individuals and unifying them, offering them refuge.

“A man with such an ability, and with such vast financial resources, could prove very beneficial a friend. I would like to propose a meeting between him, his young associate, and the three of you. In order for this event to occur, the three of you would have to be in unanimous agreement upon it. If even one of you is not comfortable with this proposal, then I will respect your concerns, and the event will not transpire.

“Please come to a decision within the next hour. I will call again when that time is up. Goodbye.”

The phone went silent.

The trio looked at one another, neither of the three speaking for several seconds. It was Chaya who eventually interrupted the silence.

“I’m apprehensive.” She looked at Zoe. “Especially since your opinion of this gentleman’s associate was that she appeared . . . psychotic, if I remember correctly. I’m on the fence, as one might say. Ultimately the decision lies upon you two to make. It is the two of you, after all, who have endured so much turmoil.”

“That’s not fair to you,” said Donav. “You’re as much a part of this as we are.”

Zoe nodded in agreement.

Chaya smiled thankfully. “As I said, I’m on the fence. I’m willing to agree to whatever the two of you decide.”

Donav and Zoe looked at one another.

“Maybe . . . Maybe it was unfair of me to judge a book by its cover, to claim the girl he was with was crazy based solely on her appearance,” said Zoe. “I’m interested in meeting them,” she went on to declare, her soft voice a mix of fear and curiosity.

Donav debated silently for a time, then looked at Chaya and �" surprising her slightly in the process �" said, “What the hell. Let’s meet this lot.”

 

*          *          *

 

When last Walthis had spoken to Jupiter at Comiskey Park, Jupiter had said they would be in touch. Walthis did not know when, or if this would ever occur. It had been three weeks since he’d last been hailed by the mysterious ‘Jupiter’, and two weeks since Daralice had moved into Kira’s suite. Now it was their suite, and Walthis was grateful for this: grateful Kira had a companion, grateful the brightest soul he’d ever witnessed had gravitated to them, grateful his purpose in life was now clearer than it had ever been. Finding Daralice had caused him to realize he’d been focused too much on the morrow, when he needed to be more conscience of the present. What she was capable of �" her truly fascinating, unprecedented gift �" had taught him dreams could be brought to fruition, and that his dream of a better world was not exempt. He’d simply lost hold of some of the patience he prided himself on. Having rediscovered it, he stopped pressing life forward and instead resumed moving hand in hand with it.

It was dark out when Walthis’s phone rang, the one of which so few knew the number. He’d been standing before the expanse of living room windows within his fifty-first floor suite admiring the shimmer of the multitude of souls below, looking to Walthis’s eyes from this grand vantage point  as though they were shifting constellations. A faint smile formed on his face in response to the phone’s chime. That was destiny calling, rewarding him for his rediscovered patience.

“Walthis Crane speaking.”

The caller did not bother to identify themself. There was no need to. Their modified articulation was identification enough.

“Mr. Crane. Within the glove box of your Rolls Royce is a phone. From this point onward I will contact you only by way of this device. It will ring in ten minutes.”

Walthis’s phone went silent as Jupiter hung up. The billionaire was now host to conflicting emotions: relief that the enigmatic Jupiter had again made contact with him, and anger toward the fact his building, his home had again been intruded upon.

Ten minutes later he was back in his suite, having returned from the parking garage. He now sat at the immense mahogany desk within his office. The desktop was bare, save for the ordinary looking gray cell phone Walthis had retrieved from the glove box of his car. It rang. He answered immediately.

“Walthis Crane speaking.”

“Mr. Crane. When I spoke to you before, I made mention of opportunities, friendships.”

“Indeed you did. Scant, obscure mention to my recollection.”

“I’m calling to elaborate.”

“You have my undivided attention.”

“There is a small assemblage �" three people to be more precise �" I believe you may be interested in meeting.”

“And what makes you think that?”

“Because you’ve already displayed interest in one of this group’s members.”

Walthis pondered this a moment.

“I think it is safe to assume you are referring to the young woman my associate and I approached at O’Hare Airport some weeks past.”

“You would be correct in that assumption.”

“When and where would this meeting occur?”

“The ‘when’ would be this coming weekend. The ‘where’ would be the Southern California area. Likely somewhere in the Santa Barbara region. I can permit you an hour to deliberate my proposal with your associate. After which time I will call you again in expectation of your response.”

“Associates,” corrected Walthis. “Plural.”

“Pardon me, Mr. Crane?”

“We are a bevy of three now as well.”

There came silence from the other end of the phone Walthis held. He denoted this as surprise.

“This newest addition to your group is someone you feel comfortable with, someone you believe can be trusted?”

“Yes on both accounts.”

“She is talented in a fashion similar to you and your purple haired colleague?”

“She is.”

“Interesting, Mr. Crane. . . . Very well. Please discuss with your associates my proposal. I will speak to you again in an hour.”

 

When five minutes later there came a knock at the door of Kira and Daralice’s suite, it was Kira who answered.

“Who is it?”

“Walthis Crane.”

Kira unlocked the door and swung it open.

“You aint gotta say your last name every time I ask who it is,” she said, shaking her head back and forth while laughing with light amusement. She wore black pajamas with depictions of Garfield throughout, as well as a long black nightcap. She waved Walthis in as she sauntered into the living room and took seat upon the couch, retaking hold of a book she’d been reading.

“Is Daralice present?” Walthis asked as he followed her into the living room and took seat across from her.

“Ya. She’s in her room. What’s up, Walt?” she asked as she set her book aside.  “You look like you got somethin on your mind.”

“If you would be so kind as to retrieve her. There is an important matter we need to discuss as a group.”

Kira shrugged. “Alright . . .  DARA!”

Walthis winced in response to the shrill summons. A moment later Daralice was standing within the living room dressed in a plain blue sweat shirt and sweat pants.

“Excuse me if you will,” Walthis said to them both. “I know the hour is late, but a deadline has been imposed upon me . . . upon us, it seems.”

“A deadline?” said Kira.

“I’ve just received a call from Jupiter. They asked that I discuss something with the two of you.” Daralice took seat center the couch as Walthis continued. “They asked if we would be willing to meet with the young woman,” he looked at Kira, “we encountered at O’Hare Airport a few weeks ago, as well as two others within her company.”

“They all got powers?” Kira asked bluntly.

“I do not know,” replied Walthis.

“Meet why?” Kira went on to inquire.

“I would assume to establish a friendly relationship with this group, to discuss common goals, to help one another in any way possible.”

Kira pondered what had been said for a second. “F**k it. I’m down.” She turned to face Daralice. “What about you?”

“This ‘Jupiter’ person knows I would be in attendance?” Daralice asked of Walthis.

“I mentioned to them there were three of us now. However, I did not give any description of you aside from the fact that you are a new  empowered addition to our . . . consortium of sorts.”

“You can say ‘family’.” said Kira. “‘Consortium’ sounds so f****n business like.”

Walthis smiled amorously in response to her recommendation, despite its coarseness. “I mentioned to Jupiter you were a new addition to our family, but I gave them no further detail in your regard.”

Daralice’s response was not as swift as Kira’s had been. “I . . . I suppose.”

“If you have any reservations,” Walthis said, “you need not attend.”

“No,” replied Daralice assertively. “I’ll go with.”

“F**k ya,” said Kira with a twinge of excitement. “Where we meeting these people? They comin here?”

“Jupiter mentioned we would be meeting them in the Santa Barbara region.”

“California?” chirped Kira elatedly. “Surf’s up, dudes!”

“Jupiter will be calling back,” Walthis glanced at his watch, “in about fifty minutes in expectation of our response. They will be doing so on . . .” he reached into his pant pocket and withdrew the phone he’d so recently acquired, “. . . on this phone they left me in the glove box of my car.”

Kira laughed. “I thought you doubled the building’s security after the baseball tickets.”

“Apparently I need to triple it,” Walthis replied a tad contrite.

“What ya need to do is hire some ninjas to guard this place,” countered Kira. “Whelp,” she went on as she picked up the television remote. “Let’s watch some South Park while we wait.”

 

Two episodes of South Park later, the gray cell phone Walthis held in his hand rang.

Kira promptly muted the television.

“Walthis Crane speaking.”

“Mr. Crane. Have you and your associates come to a decision?”

“Tell Jupe I said wassup,” said Kira.

Walthis shook his head no. “We have,” he went on to declare. “We look forward to meeting with the group you spoke of.”

“Very well. I will call later in the week with detailed instructions regarding your rendezvous point. And, if at any time you need to contact me, do so by pressing ‘1’, eight times on the phone you now hold. Shall I repeat that?” 

“‘1’, eight times,” replied Walthis.

“Only in case of emergency, please. I’ll be in touch, Mr. Crane.”

The phone went silent.

“Well . . . ?” said Kira.

“They said they would contact me later in the week with details as to where we are to meet these people.”

Kira furrowed her brow, and then asked, “Why don’t I get a spy phone?”

Walthis grunted as he glared at the device. “If either of you do receive a phone from this ‘Jupiter’ person, please bring it to my attention. I would like to do to it as I am going to do to the one I hold.”

“And what’s that?” asked Kira.

“I have an old, trusted friend on my payroll. He specializes in reverse engineering products developed by competitive corporations. I believe I will have him closely examine this phone . . . its contents. See if perhaps within lies a trail of bread crumbs that lead us to Jupiter’s true identity.”

 

 

 

 

 

18. PROGENIES DIVIDED

 

 

They’d arrived at the modestly sized beach front home Friday afternoon. Nearly twenty four hours had since passed. They were now scurrying about in preparation for their guests. Or was it they who were the guests �" two displaced Chicagoans and a twice displaced New Yorker?

Kira was busy on the rear deck grilling lunch for the company scheduled to arrive within the hour. Walthis had been surprised by her eagerness to cook. He’d had no idea she was a skilled chef, and as it turned out, she wasn’t. She seemed oblivious to the fact though, and went about the task with fervent enthusiasm, dividing her time between burning steaks, hamburgers, and hot dogs and fending off a brazen seagull that had made numerous attempts at the hot dog and hamburger buns atop the deck table. “Little f****r!” she would bellow as she chased it away with a set of cooking tongs, snapping them at the seagull like a lobster gone mad. The bird would flap its wings and soar off, only to return a few minutes later in renewed pursuit of a free meal.

Daralice, who seldom ever smiled, seemed to be enjoying herself as well, occasionally displaying this infrequent expression as she set placements, added the finishing touches to a large pitcher of homemade lemonade, and tended to the interior of the house with a feather duster. Walthis had made repeated attempts to assist the girls in their tasks, but had been shooed away each and every time. Feeling a touch unappreciated, he settled for perusing the selection of books upon the book shelf set into the living room wall. Eventually he made his way onto the front porch and busied himself with an old, tattered copy of Where the Red Fern Grows.

The gentlemen under Walthis’s employ who’d been charged with picking apart the phone left in the glove box of his Rolls Royce had done an exemplary job. The inner workings of the device had yielded nothing worth mention, with the exception of one surprising detail �" a transponder emitting a perpetual signal. Walthis had asked the technical engineer who’d disassembled the phone whether or not the miniature tracking device’s signal could be traced to its destination. He’d replied that do so was a task beyond his realm of knowledge. Walthis had reluctantly settled for destroying the button sized transponder. The phone had been reassembled, and the next time Jupiter had called, Walthis had issued a polite but stern warning that if they were ever to attempt to track his whereabouts again, he would cease any and all communication with them. As a side note, he’d added that if there were any further deliveries they’d like to make to Murcott Center, they could simply leave them with the attendant at the front lobby, as opposed to placing them in the glove box of his car.

Walthis was nearing the forth chapter of the tale he held when a silver Range Rover rolled up the sandy, weed dotted path that led to the beach house. He set aside the book and rose. The vehicle came to a stop twenty feet from the front porch. From it emerged three souls, two of them glowing uncommonly bright. Walthis greeted them spiritedly as they ascended the brief series of steps.

“Welcome. I am Walthis Crane. But suffice to say you already know that,” he concluded with a smile and nod.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Crane,” said Chaya as she returned the courteous nod.

“Hello, Mr. Crane,” said Donav as he stepped forward and shook his hand briskly.

“Hello again,” said Zoe, smiling kindly.

“Yes,” replied Walthis with a light laugh. “Hello again.” His smile broadened as he said, “Please, come in.”

They did as offered and filed into the house as Walthis held the screen door for them. Daralice, who’d been busy dusting the mantle of the living room fireplace, stopped abruptly upon catching sight of the new arrivals. After a momentary silence, she spoke.

“Hello.” Her voice was placid and she wore the expression she most often did: arcane. Chaya, Donav, and Zoe voiced their hellos in return.

“I’ll . . . I’ll go get Kira,” Daralice went on to say shyly.

“Thank you,” said Walthis in response.

There would be no need to fetch Kira, however; by chance she entered the living room that instant.

“Woh!” she said in surprise of their guests. She wore a chef’s apron and was clutching a spatula in her right hand. “Wassup. You must be Team Cali.”

Walthis smiled a bit uncomfortably. “She is fond of nicknames,” he explained.

“I suppose we are,” replied Chaya with a soft chuckle.

“It’s beautiful out,” exclaimed Kira. “Why we wastin time in here? Come on,” she said as she waved everyone forward with the spatula. “Let’s go sit on the deck out back. The view is sick, and I made a big a*s pile of food.”

“Kira,” grumbled Walthis. “Your language . . . You promised . . .”

“‘A*s’ doesn’t count as a bad word, Walt.”

“I suppose that is a matter of opinion,” responded Walthis. “Anyhow . . . The weather is ideal, and Kira has been working diligently at the grill all afternoon . . . Shall we?” he said as he motioned toward the rear of the house.

 

An hour later the party of six was finishing a late afternoon lunch. The conversation that had transpired had been conspicuously void of ultra-human abilities and an obscure individual who referred to themself as the fifth planet of the solar system. Walthis and Chaya had been the predominant speakers throughout, talking of lighter topics such as the differing regions the two groups hailed from, Chaya’s long standing professorship at Seraphina University, and Walthis’s various business endeavors. The younger constituents spoke little during this time. Kira had apologized on three different occasions for the over cooked food. Everyone had assured her the meal was delicious, but she’d sensed they were just being polite. Daralice had hardly spoken more than a single word. And Donav and Zoe, though consistently courteous, had spoken little themselves.

Studious looks hung upon everyone’s face as they gauged the company they were in.

It was Kira who eventually addressed the elephant in the room as they savored a dessert of cherry cobbler.

“So . . . How did Jupiter find you three? Can Jupe see people the way Walt here can?”

It was Donav who replied. “I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think Jupiter shares the talent Mr. Crane here possesses. I think Jupiter found us by using good old fashioned espionage. I’m left to deduce that’s how they came to know of my incarceration in the facility they freed me from in Ireland.”

“You were held captive?” responded Kira in stunned disbelief.

“Unfortunately,” replied Donav.

“Jupiter freed me as well,” stated Zoe after a brief silence. “From a military base in North Carolina. Jupiter apparently has insight into the acquisition of people such as us.”

“I knew it!” piped Kira. Her gray eyes panned to Walthis. “I was right, Walt. Go ahead . . . say it �" I was right. And you said it was all conspiratorial nonsense. Heh.”

“I did not use those exact words,” replied Walthis, “but apparently you were indeed correct. Please,” he went on to say, directing his attention toward Donav and Zoe “if it is not too troubling, elaborate on these dire circumstances you found yourselves in, as well Jupiter’s role in extricating you from them.”

They did as requested, Walthis, Kira, and Daralice hanging on their every word. When they were through recounting their tales, Kira poised a dozen questions regarding their abilities. Walthis was equally intrigued by their gifts, but when Kira was through with her questions, the one he put forth was of a different nature.

“Ms. Phelps. The gentleman who assisted you . . . did they give you any reason to believe they are the individual whom we have all been speaking with on the phone.”

“Not all,” amended Kira snidely. “I haven’t gotten a super secret spy phone in the mail yet. And neither has Dara.”

Daralice shrugged, as though being in possession of a ‘super secret spy phone’ was of little consequence to her.

“Donav, Chaya, and I have been tossing that possibility around for some time now,” replied Zoe. “We don’t know for certain. But we’ve concluded Jupiter can’t possibly be doing all this on their own. They must be getting help from one or more people.”

“The logistics alone of these undertakings would suggest so,” added Chaya.

“Um . . .” said Zoe. “Mr. Crane, we know of your ability, but . . . Well, the three of us have been throwing around wild ideas as to what it is the two of you can do.” She looked at Daralice and Kira and smiled.

“I can fly.” Responded Kira bluntly. She glanced at Walthis, a peeved expression on her face. She’d agreed to the lie begrudgingly. Walthis had insisted upon it. It was for her own protection he’d declared.

“Amazing!” said Donav. Chaya and Zoe were equally impressed. “Would you mind . . .”

“Mind what?” said Kira. “Givin you a demo? No thanks. I’m shy like that. Just take my word on it �" I can fly.”

“That’s a truly amazing gift,” said Chaya.

“You’re tellin me,” said Kira.

“I’ve never heard of someone with an ability anything like that,” said Zoe.

“Me neither,” responded Kira.

“She flies around our apartment all the time,” said Daralice with a barely discernible smirk. “It gets annoying after a while.”

Walthis began to sweat. He feared they were beginning to have too much fun with the ruse.

“Yes,” he said. “It is quite intriguing to behold.” To tell a lie seemed an excruciating task for him. Kira thought he looked as though he was passing a gallstone.

“Forgive my curiosity, but what about you,  Ms. Poemrush,” asked Chaya. “What exactly is it you can do?”

“Mix dreams with reality.”

“Excuse me?”

“She can make anything she imagines come to life,” explained Kira. “It’s the coolest thing ever. Makes my ability to fly look like rookie shi�" Err . . . stuff,” she amended, looking guiltily at Walthis.

Chaya, Donav, and Zoe looked equally perplexed. What happened next was done with the intent of clarification. Everything around them seemed to shudder, as though the world itself had succumbed to a chill and trembled in response.

They no longer sat on a deck beside the Pacific Ocean; they were now seated within the bridge of the USS Enterprise (NCC-1701-D). Kira seemed nonplussed. She sprang from her seat at the deck table and strolled casually to the empty captain’s chair center the room, taking seat upon it.

“We’ve been watchin lotsa reruns of Star Trek Next Gen. lately,” she went on to explain.

“Greetings, Captain,” said an unusually pale crew member seated at a command terminal before Kira. He’d spun around to face her, pairing his salutation with a nod of respect.

“Sup, Data? How’s it hangin?”

“It’s hanging quite well. Thank you for asking, Captain.”

“Situation report,” Kira called out authoritatively.

A lofty Klingon standing at a station behind her replied, “Borg have been sighted within the quadrant, Captain. We’ve just engaged.”

At the bridge’s forward a massive screen displayed an image of an immense cube shaped vessel glowing eerily green.

“Worf,” said Kira, “have the ship’s sanitation crew redirect all human waste to the forward torpedo bay. We’re gonna rain poop on these Borg swine.”

“Captain . . .” said the befuddled Klingon. “I do not see how that will be beneficial to our situation.”

“Worf! Don’t make me get outta this chair!”

“Yes Captain. Right away, Captain.”

The captain’s chair suddenly dematerialized, as did the rest of the ship’s bridge. Kira plopped upon the wooden deck with a soft thud.

“Ow! Dara! What the hell? I told you to warn me every time you’re gonna make it stop.”

“Sorry,” replied Daralice. “I forgot.”

“No harm done,” Kira assured her as she rose and rubbed her pained butt. She walked back to the deck table and retook her seat.

Chaya, Donav, and Zoe were all speechless, stunned expressions on their faces.

“What . . . What just happened?” Donav eventually asked.

“Daralice’s ability is a rare gift indeed,” responded Walthis. “I am still intrigued every time I experience it.”

“Anything you imagine comes to life?” asked Chaya, aghast.

Daralice nodded yes. “Basically. Within a small area. I can’t dream much bigger than what I just showed you. That Borg ship wasn’t really there. I can’t make things much bigger than the ship bridge we were on.”

“It’s like her own personal holodeck,” added Kira.

“That’s incomprehensible,” said Chaya.

“So, who’s goin next?” asked Kira. “I’m too shy to fly �" hey, that rhymes �" so I guess that leaves you three,” she said, looking at their company.

Chaya chuckled. “I’m afraid I don’t have an ability in the way of ultra-human.”

Donav looked at Chaya and Zoe and shrugged. He then proceed to make a small piece of drift wood upon the beach float. Zoe saw this as an opportunity to display her power in conjunction with his. She emitted a small electrical arc that ended when it met with the piece of wood, causing it to explode, spraying small fragments about the sand.

“Not bad,” said Kira with a wicked grin.

“Intriguing,” added Walthis. “Truly so.”

Daralice made no comment, but her light smile was indication enough that she’d enjoyed the display as well.

Kira folded her arms and looked about contemplatively. “So, what happens now? We join forces or somethin? What’s Jupiter’s master plan for bringing us all together? They were pretty vague about it all . . . like usual.”

“Good question,” said Chaya. “I wouldn’t be surprised if our mysterious friend was to call before day’s end to infer how our union was progressing. Perhaps they will elaborate when they do.”

“Humph,” said Kira, content with the possibility. “In the meantime . . . I found a frisbee lying on the beach . . . You guys wanna toss it around for a while?”

“Sure,” said Zoe.

“Sounds fun,” added Donav.

Daralice displayed her desire to participate in the activity with a simple nod.

“Shall we let the twenty-something crowd bond while we watch from afar?” asked Chaya of Walthis. “You could further entertain me with tales of corporate America.”

Walthis blushed in response. Kira looked at Daralice and bobbed her eyebrows up and down, smirking mischievously as she did.

“I would be glad to,” replied Walthis.

 

The anticipated call came two hours later, and by way of Chaya’s phone. She and Walthis were still seated at the deck table, sipping lemonade, busily conversing. Chaya slid the device from her purse and answered.

“Hello.”

“Greetings, Ms. Algus. I hope you’re finding your present company to your liking.”

“I am.”

“If everyone is present, I would like to speak to you collectively.”

“Of course. I’ll gather everyone. Just a moment.”

Chaya fetched the other members of their party. Tossing a frisbee about had long since transitioned into exploring the scenic beach front, void of inhabitants for a quarter mile in each direction. They’d ventured a fair distance down the shore. Chaya’s rallying cry barely reached them. A minute later all six were seated back at the deck table.

“We’re all here,” announced Chaya, speaking into her phone. “Shall I put you on speaker?”

“Please do.”

A moment later Jupiter was addressing the group as a whole.

“Thank you all for agreeing to meet with one another. I wish I could be there in person.”

“You’re welcome to join us,” replied Kira. “By the way . . . when do I get a phone?”

Crackling came from the phone atop the table �" Jupiter’s distorted laughter.

“Ms. Harington, I presume.”

“Yup. Sup?”

“You may very well be receiving a phone in the near future.”

“Cool,” replied Kira nonchalantly, downplaying her excitement.

“There is a pressing matter at hand I would like to discuss with all of you. A child has been taken into custody. A child, whom to Mr. Crane’s eyes, would glow brighter than most. She is being contained in a top secret facility in the Texas badlands. I would like very much to free this child. The compound she is being held in has rather formidable defenses. She is slated to be transferred to the predecessor of the compound she is currently being held at. This will occur in four days time. The defenses of the compound she is to be transferred to are far superior to that of the compound she is currently being held at �" to the point where it is near impregnable. There is only a small window of opportunity in which to procure this child’s freedom. The constrictive time-frame, in conjunction with the compound’s significant defenses, have brought me to the unfortunate conclusion that in order to free the child, I would require help outside my usual sphere of assistance.”

“You can’t seriously be suggesting . . .” began Chaya.

“Once this child is transferred, her fate is all but sealed. She would die �" whether it be in a month, a year, or a decade �" at the hands of her captors. She is nothing more than a test animal to them. I would not ask for your assistance in this matter if there was any plausible way of freeing her without your help.”

“What’s the address?” asked Kira. “Call the airport, Walt. Tell em to have the G6 fueled and ready. Let’s go get this kid.”

“That won’t be happening,” Walthis declared flatly.

“What?” growled Kira.

“I’ll go,” announced Daralice, casually, as though she were volunteering to take a trip to the grocery store.

“Dara’s in,” said Kira. “That’s game, set, match. Let’s do the damn thing.”

“The endeavor I’m asking you to partake in would place your lives at great risk. It pains me to ask this of you. Please, take the evening to discuss this amongst yourselves before coming to a conclusion. I will call again at ten o’clock Pacific Time in the hopes of a unified decision.”

The phone went silent. A moment later the air was abounding with conversation.

“It makes my nerves crawl to think Jupiter would ask this . . . to exploit your powers in such a way,” exclaimed Chaya. “We’re civilians. We’re not a military extraction team.”

“We’re better than one,” proclaimed Kira. “And, alright, this Jupiter person’s a shady m**********r, but ya can’t fault ‘em for wantin to save a helpless kid’s life.”

Kira’s discretion when it came to using explicit language suddenly went out the window, but due to the circumstances, Walthis didn’t seem to notice.

“I am inclined to agree with Ms. Algus,” announced Walthis. “Jupiter has no right to ask this of any of us.”

Donav and Zoe looked at one another, each thinking the same thing.

“Jupiter is the reason why I’m here, why I’m free,” said Zoe. “Maybe they do have the right to ask this, of me at least.”

“And me as well,” added Donav. “I believe I owe Jupiter my life.”

“You owe your family your life,” countered Chaya. “So before you say another word, think of them. You die participating in what Jupiter is alluding to, and they’ll never see you again. The very same applies to you, Zoe.”

“We can’t just sit around and do nothing,” rasped Kira. “Donav, Zoe, you’re in, right? That’s what you’re sayin, isn’t it?”

Donav ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed. “Chaya has a point. Our families . . .”

“Zoe?” Kira went on to say, looking at the beautiful young woman with pleading eyes.

Zoe frowned and looked away. Her response was in the shamed expression she wore; there was no need to voice it.

“Oh, well that’s just f****n great,” proclaimed Kira. “F**k it. Me ‘n Dara can duo this s**t.”

“What Jupiter is proposing is madness,” said Walthis. “You would be placing your lives at great risk. I won’t allow it.”

“I grew up in New York City,” rebutted Kira. “I’m use to puttin my life at risk. So spare me that s**t, Walt.”

“Your gifts are not weapons,” said Chaya. “Jupiter has no right to ask you to use them as such.”

“Um . . .” said Kira, looking at the professor crossly. “In case you’re not aware, the Victoria Secret model sittin next to you can shoot lightning bolts. Light-ning-bolts. Now tell me that aint a weapon.”

“Chaya, Donav, and Zoe have made their decision,” said Walthis. “And I have made mine.”

“And Kira and I have made ours,” said Daralice coldly. “When Jupiter calls back, we’ll inform them the two of us will be willing to help.”

“I will not allow you to speak with Jupiter on the phone in my possession,” announced Walthis. “I will not allow you to place your lives in harm’s way.”

“I’ll take that phone, Walt,” snapped Kira. “I’ll take that s**t and pull up Jupiter’s number on speed dial.”

“You will do no such thing,” responded Walthis.

“The f**k I won’t!”

Daralice placed an upturned hand atop the table. “Donav. Zoe. May we use your phone?”

Donav and Zoe looked uncertainly at one another.

“I have to respect Mr. Crane’s wishes,” said Donav, his eyes falling back upon Daralice.

“Zoe?” said Daralice.

“I’m . . . I’m sorry. If I let you speak with Jupiter, I’ll feel responsible for whatever happens to you.”

“And if you don’t let us speak to Jupiter,” shouted Kira, “you’ll be responsible for whatever happens to that little girl!”

“We’re leaving now,” stated Chaya, standing abruptly. “Before the atmosphere depreciates any further.”

“Wonderful,” growled Kira. “Go on home then. Have a good night’s sleep while some little girl rots away in a cage somewhere.”

“That’s a truly repulsive thing to say,” Chaya shot back.

“Eat s**t, you cowardly b***h,” snarled Kira.

“Careful,” said Donav menacingly, his dark eyes locking on Kira’s.

“Careful of what? The truth?”

“Lets go,” said Chaya, placing her hand on Donav’s shoulder as she stepped toward the rear door of the beach home.

Donav and Zoe rose, and together the three set off, Chaya the last to pass through the doorway. As she did, Kira bid them farewell.

“Bon voyage, p*****s.”

Chaya spun around and addressed her with a loathsome glare. “It must be difficult walking through life with that devil on your back.”

“It’s not so bad,” replied Kira snidely. “He keeps me company.”

With this, Chaya resumed her departure. A minute later she, Donav, and Zoe were pulling away from the beach home in her Range Rover.

“Well,” said Kira with something along the lines of a sigh of relief, “now that all the p***y m***********s have left the building, we can talk shop. Walt, get Jupe on the line and see if they can fax us a blueprint of this place they’re keepin the girl in.”

“When next I speak to Jupiter,” said Walthis, “it will be to inform them we refuse to offer our services regarding this venture they have proposed.”

“C’mon, Walt,” said Kira, half whining, half hissing. “We gotta help this kid. If we don’t, we won’t be able to look ourselves in the mirror.”

“It breaks my heart to think what may happen to this child,” replied Walthis. “But for you and Daralice to sacrifice your lives in an attempt to save hers only adds to the death toll. I will not allow that to occur. I cannot determine this child’s fate, but I can play a part in yours and Daralice’s. We will have no part in this . . . this suicidal endeavor Jupiter has proposed. And that is the final word on the matter.”

 

 

 

 

 

19. THE WORLD ABANDONED ME

 

 

Kira’s silence was proving more unnerving than her curse laden tirades. It had persisted throughout the ensuing evening, the following morning, the subsequent flight back to Chicago, and the limo ride back to Murcott Center. What little Kira did say to Walthis was conveyed through Daralice, the soft spoken manipulator of realities drafted into the role of mediator. Once they’d reached Murcott Center, Walthis had insisted upon carrying the girls’ bags to their suite, in hopes that in doing so he could earn back at least a trickle of the respect they’d so recently lost for him. It was a feeble gesture, but he was desperate to mend the wound caused by the course of inaction he’d chosen to take.

“I will leave your luggage here,” said Walthis in a meek tone, standing just within the doorway of their suite.

“Come on in,” said Kira, much to his surprise. “Take a seat,” she added, doing so herself at the head of the kitchen table. Daralice situated herself at the table as well. Walthis sensed a trap.

“If you are going to make another attempt at convincing me to contact Jupiter so that you may inform them of your desire to help liberate the child they spoke of, you would be wasting your breath.”

“Let’s give her a name,” said Daralice, her tone harsh.

“Pardon me?” responded Walthis.

“Let’s give her a name,” repeated Daralice. “The ‘child’. Let’s call her . . . Melinda.”

“I’ll leave you two to your suite,” said Walthis with a curt nod, not wanting to be ensnared in whatever type of psychological net she was casting. He turned to leave, but found the door was gone, an uninterrupted wall in its place. He turned back to Daralice, a look of vexation about him.

“The door, Ms. Poemrush, if you would not mind.”

“Ten minutes of your time, Mr. Crane, if you would not mind,” was Daralice’s derisive response.

Walthis straightened his suit jacket with a sharp, affronted tug before striding to the kitchen table. He took seat and declared, “Whatever is said during the next ten minutes will not persuade me to change my mind. I will not contact Jupiter and allow you two to throw your lives away.”

Kira spoke in response, her tone uncommonly placid. “This girl needs our help, Walt. And she’ll die if she doesn’t get it. Or are we referring to her as Melinda now, like Dara suggested? Because she’s not just some kid. She’s not just some objective. She has a name. Whether or not it’s Melinda, she has a name. She’s a real person, and she needs our help.

“You’re always wonderin what this is all about �" why you were given your gift of sight. This is why, Walt. I know it’s scary, but this is what we were meant to do. Not all the souls you were meant to find are gonna be ridin around New York, or workin in some restaurant in Chicago. Some of those bright lights you’re so fond of are gonna be locked away in dark places. Those are the ones that really need to be found. Don’t stop now ‘cause you’re afraid, Walt. You do, and I walk. I can’t be a part of this if we go about it half assed.”

“Me neither,” said Daralice. “It’s all or nothing.”

Walthis propped his elbows on the table and laid his face in his hands. When his head rose several seconds later, he looked as if he’d just been attendant to a dozen funerals.

“I do not desire for you girls to leave, but if that is the decision the two of you have come to, then so be it. You would not be in my life anymore . . . but you would be safe. I could not say the same if you were to do Jupiter’s bidding.”

“What if it were Kira in place of that little girl?” asked Daralice. “Or me? Would you leave us to die?”

“That is entirely unfair of you,” replied Walthis, sorrow stricken.

“Lecture that little girl on what’s unfair,” responded Kira, her voice retaining its calm tone.

Walthis shook his head in frustration. “Are we through here?”

“Not quite,” replied Daralice. “There’s a story I’d like to share with you and Kira before you leave. It’s a horror story, though, so I hope you don’t have a weak stomach. And it’s made infinitely worse by the fact that it’s real.”

She rose from her chair and stepped back from the table. She bent down, took off her shoes, then stood back up. Next, she undid the button of her pants and slid the zipper down.

“Um . . . Dara?” said Kira.

“Don’t worry,” responded Daralice. “I’m wearing shorts underneath.”

She let her pants fall to her ankles, stepped through them, and nudged them aside with her heel. Kira and Walthis stared at her legs in complete shock, legs that did not look like legs at all �" mutilated, blotted with scars, in some places scars overlapping one another. Hardly a patch of unmarred flesh was visible from her ankles to her thighs.

Kira gasped. “Dara. What�"”

“I was traveling from Washington to Florida. My aunt had just passed away. She was my last living family member. She raised me after my mother passed away when I was five. I had all my stuff packed in my little Volkswagen Beetle and a little U-Haul trailer hitched to the back. I had what little money I’d saved over the years, and was going to start a new life in Florida. I don’t know why I chose Florida, other than it was far from Washington: I wanted to distance myself from the pain, from the loss of my family.

“I was in Nebraska when my car broke down. I was off the highway when it happened. It was late, and I was looking for a hotel to spend the night in. I’d gotten a bit lost and found myself on an unlit road in the middle of  a rural area. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with my car, so I set off on foot for the nearest town �" no clue as to where that might be, just walking in the direction I’d been driving.

I’d been walking for about a half hour or so when a pick-up truck pulled alongside me. It was the first vehicle I’d seen in all that time. The man driving . . . No. Not a man. A monster. And you’ll come to realize that soon enough, so I’ll refer to him as such. The monster driving said he’d seen my car on the side of the rode a ways back, asked if I needed a ride. I told him I was alright, and declined his offer; there was no way in hell I was going to get in a vehicle with someone I didn’t know, regardless the circumstances. He seemed insulted, told me ‘Suit yourself’ or something like that, and drove off.

“I kept walking, and after about a mile or so I started seeing stuff strewn about the road. It was pitch black out, and I couldn’t make anything out at first, but then I started to recognize things . . . my things �" stuff that I’d packed into my car, into the trailer. It was that . . . that monster. He’d taken some of my stuff when he’d passed by my car, and then  thrown it onto the road, like some sort of sick message.

“I was terrified.

“All the farm houses I’d passed so far had their lights off. I saw some lights on in the distance though �" maybe a half mile away �" what I’d hoped to be someone’s home, and I started running toward it.

“Next thing I remember I was in a dark basement, chained to the floor.

“I had no clue where I was, or how I’d gotten there. My head felt like it had been hit with a hammer it hurt so bad, but no bump, no nothing, just a massive headache. He used a chemical or something, I think . . . I’m not entirely sure. He must have been waiting for me in one of the fields, hiding. Again, I’m not entirely sure. What I was sure of though, is that I’d never been so afraid in my life. I screamed for help. Nobody came to help me, but someone did come �" the monster that kidnapped me. He let me know he didn’t want me making any noise. He let me know by knocking out a couple of my back teeth.

“I stopped living soon after that. My heart kept beating, my lungs kept filling with air, but something in me died. Instead of living, I just existed.

“I was down in that basement for six months, two weeks, and a day. I didn’t realize this till I got out. There was no clock, the windows were all boarded up, I had no way of gauging time. Every so often the monster would bring me water and toss a sandwich on the floor. And every so often . . . quite often, as you can see, he would burn me with the cigars he always smoked. He never did anything to me sexually. That I’m grateful for. Grateful to whom, I don’t know. Not God, that’s for sure. I know with absolute certainty there’s no such thing. There is a Hell though. I know this because I was there.

“After a while I began to go delirious. I chewed this off,” she said, holding up what remained of her left pinky finger. “I didn’t lose it in a moped accident, like I said I did. I hardly remember doing it, I was so far gone by that point. I just wanted the pain to go away: the fear, the loneliness, the sorrow. I thought if I could consume myself, implode in some way, I could make all the pain stop. I know that sounds mad, but that’s what I’d become �" insane.

“Something happened though that saved me. The monster made a mistake. He brought me three books, to tear out their pages for toilet paper: some sort of get rich book by Donald Trump, a Guinness World Records, and the most beautiful tale I’ve ever read �" Septon’s Defiance. That third book saved my life. It woke something inside of me, something that stirred only when I’d lost all hope. It was Murcalis’s tale. She saved me when the world abandoned me. She saved me when the world betrayed me and left me to rot in some f*****g maniac’s basement for more than half a year. That book was destroyed along with the monster and his house. I still have the tale though. I can recall it word for word. It’s a part of me now, and will be forever.

Daralice slid her pants back on and fastened them in place. Kira and Walthis stared at her in horrified silence, wanting to say something, but incapable of finding the words to convey their immense pity.

“In the short time I’ve been with you two, I’ve started to feel something I never thought I’d feel again �" happiness. I trust you both. That’s something I thought I’d never be able to say of another person ever again. You two are my family now. And that child is a member of our family as well. We’re not going to abandon her.

“Right now she’s giving up on the world. Right now she’s feeling as though it forgot about her, the same way I felt it forgot about me.

“Murcalis saved my life, and now she’s going to help save that little girl’s.”

Daralice inhaled deep. When next she spoke, she did so with the voice of a battle hardened veteran.

“We’re going to that compound in Texas. We’re going to save that little girl. And we’re going to kill anyone that stands in our way. That’s what’s going to happen, Walthis. With or without you.”

Walthis’s reply was spoken softly, and stunted by tears.

“With me.”

 

 

 

 

 

20. PREPARATION

 

 

They arrived in San Antonio, Texas, late that evening. They would have twenty four hours to prepare for the extraction, twenty four hours to study the Primeus II blueprints afforded to them by Jupiter, twenty four hours to acquaint themselves with the tactical equipment deposited in the modified Jeep Wrangler Rubicon that had been left for them in a nearby Cineplex parking lot, twenty four hours to familiarize themselves with the vehicle itself. Such a brief amount of time in which to accomplish so much.

Walthis sat on the edge of one of the beds in Daralice’s and Kira’s hotel room. In his hand he held a manila folder. Within were portions of a file titled: SUBJECT 17-B �" Gilly Francine Keller. The information the file contained was debilitating to say the least �" the destructive nature of the girl’s power.

“This child . . .” said Walthis, his tone detached. “She is . . . She is essentially a bomb. How could we possibly care for her if we succeed in extricating her? How could we possibly protect her from herself? And, if she were to use her ability in Murcott Center . . .”

Daralice and Kira sat on either side of him, each holding a portion of the file they’d been sharing over the past half hour.

“I’ll keep a close eye on her,” said Daralice. “I’ll quit my job at the restaurant. I’ll make sure I’m never out of range of her. If she gives any indication she’s going to use her ability, I’ll nullify it with mine.”

“Good thinkin, Dream Girl,” said Kira, nodding with approval.

Walthis sighed. He was a sickly pale color. The stress wrought of the situation was clearly weighing on him the hardest.

“Don’t worry too much about it, Walt,” said Kira. “According to what this s**t says, this kid was bullied relentlessly. That’s what triggered her power. She aint gonna suffer that type a s**t with us. We’ll home school her �" no lil fuckers around to tease her.”

“The bullying explains the tragic incident at her school. But what of the decimation of the trailer she lived in?”

“It says here they couldn’t link that to her with absolute certainty,” replied Kira.

Walthis cocked his head and looked at her as though she were delusional.

“Alright. It was probably the kid that nuked the trailer,” she admitted reluctantly. “But, this file says they found the mother’s boyfriend’s body among the remains �" a real piece of s**t according to his criminal record �" and I’d bet your billions that f**k was mistreating her in some way. So, apparently this kid only goes ballistic when she’s bein treated like s**t. We’re gonna treat her like a little princess. So there’s nothin to worry about.”

Walthis wished he could believe that. So did Kira and Daralice.

The Primeus II blueprints indicated a facility larger than they’d expected: 260,000 square feet spread over three subterranean levels. Jupiter had outlined the shortest entrance and exit routes. They would infiltrate the compound at one AM the following night. This would be when the compound was at its most dormant state, this would be when the compound was most vulnerable.

Walthis was abounding with trepidations. Jupiter had expressed theirs as well. Jupiter’s intention had been for an assemblage of seven to work in conjunction of freeing the child: Chaya, Donav, and Zoe, as well as Walthis, Kira, and Daralice. The seventh member was to be a gifted associate of Jupiter’s. An individual, who as it turns out, was the person who’d been on sight for Zoe’s liberation. This associate of Jupiter’s was now predisposed in France, attending to another crucial matter, having left under the impression that the attempt to free the child imprisoned in Primeus II would not occur. They would not be back from abroad before the child was to be transferred to Primeus I.

Jupiter had been reluctant to give the mission a green light. Without Jupiter’s approval there would be no indication as to the child’s exact whereabouts. Without Jupiter’s approval there would be no mission. It had taken convincing on Walthis’s, Kira’s, and Daralice’s part that they could successfully accomplish the task as a trio. Only after Kira and Daralice had explained the nature of their abilities �" how truly formidable they were �" did Jupiter agree to commit.

“Daralice, once within the compound, we will be heavily reliant upon your ability for protection.” Walthis sighed, then added, “An ability we still do not fully comprehend.”

“And we probably won’t ever fully understand it,” said Kira. “But it passed the banana test, so it should do alright when we faceroll this place.”

They’d subjected Daralice’s ability to a series of meager tests to determine its vulnerability to an assault from outside its boundaries. When perceived from the exterior, her ability took on the appearance of a swirling black mist, the magic occurring within unperceivable. Kira had thrown a banana from the hotel room’s complimentary fruit basket at it with all the force her little arms could muster. Daralice had observed from within, dimming the periphery of her imagination so that she could view the reality beyond. The banana had not penetrated the boundary of her gift. Kira progressed to swinging a chair at it, which had proved equally ineffective �" penetrating the first few inches of the mist, then smacking abruptly against what felt like a titanium wall, the result rattling all the bones in Kira’s body.

“Kira,” said Walthis, “they will not be throwing bananas and swinging chairs at us. In all likelihood they will be firing upon us with assault rifles.”

“Wait a sec, Walt,” responded Kira, feigning surprise. “Are you tellin me the military uses guns, not bananas? We are so fucked.”

“Now is not the time for sarcasm,” replied Walthis.

“I know this may sound crazy,” said Daralice, weighing in, “but I think I could prevent anything from passing through: bullets, bananas, bazookas . . . whatever they throw at us. But I guess we won’t know for sure until . . . Well, the real trial will be by fire.”

“Trial by fire . . .” echoed Walthis. “A terrifying prospect.”

The next ten minutes were spent in relative silence as they continued to peruse the child’s file. The severity of the task that lay ahead was undeniable, the tension born of it growing with each passing second.

“The hour has grown late,” announced Walthis. He laid the portion of the file he’d been reading on the bed and rose. “I’ll leave you girls to your room. We will make further preparations come tomorrow. Sleep well. As well as you can under the circumstances.”

“Night, Walt,” said Kira.

“Goodnight, Walthis,” said Daralice.

“Goodnight, ladies,” he replied as he left their room for his own.

The young women remained seated, reading the papers they held for some time.

Eventually Kira rose in preparation to get ready for bed. She set off for the washroom. Upon reaching the doorway, she turned to Daralice, and said, “I’m . . . I’m sorry about what happened to you, Dara.” Love shone from her frequently combatant gray eyes, and her tone was compassionate, not the razor edged thing it so often was. Daralice displayed her appreciation with a solemn nod of her head, then went on to say something that took Kira entirely by surprise.

“I’m not sorry it happened.” She brushed a lock of auburn hair behind her ear, then continued. “That monster that held me captive transformed me into what I am today. Of course that wasn’t his intention, but . . . I went in that basement a girl, and came out a warrior. I also came to realize while I was down there that evil is eternal. You can kill the body evil resides in, but it’ll simply take host in another. But, if we destroy enough hosts, leave a large enough pile of bodies in our wake, then maybe we can gain the upper hand in the ongoing struggle between good and evil.” She went silent a moment as she laid the portion of the file she held on the bed, taking hold of the Primeus II blueprint in its stead. “There’s a lot of evil in this place,” she said as she glared loathingly at the blueprint.

“Jupiter and Walthis expect us to go in this place tomorrow night and get this girl, then get out. We should do more than just that. We should seize the opportunity to gain the upper hand. We should leave a pile of bodies in our wake. We should leave this compound in ruins.”

Kira smiled her most wicked smile. “I’m no stranger to mass fatalities.”

 

 

 

 

 

21. BLOOD, CARNAGE, AND A BIG WHEEL

 

 

The night air flowed in the form of a gentle breeze. It had a slight chill to it, a soft bite, one the occupants of the parked Jeep Wrangler Rubicon could not attest to. The vehicle’s windows were rolled up, the three souls within clothed in a thin layer of Kevlar body armor from neck to ankle. The barren terrain was swathed in almost complete darkness, dimly lit from above by a sliver of moon and the multitude of stars that accompanied it. It was a quiet night, a peaceful night, a deceptive night, a misleading prelude, the calm before the storm that was soon to be unleashed on Primeus II.

The main entrance to the compound was an unimposing thing: a small structure no larger than a two car garage. But this was merely the gateway to the lower levels of the subterranean world, a world that was soon to meet its reckoning at the hands of those it was crafted to imprison. This gateway appeared to those three individuals a miniature rectangular structure glowing green, witnessed through the night vision goggles held to their faces.

“Two marines standing sentry,” noted Walthis, “as Jupiter said there would be.”

“The rangefinder on this thing puts them at nearly a kilometer away,” said Daralice.

Walthis sighed. “Roughly half a mile. Well out of range of your ability.

“A plan of approach is necessary. If perhaps you could shield us with your ability, allow us to get close enough to subdue them . . .”

“And if they see the form my ability takes from the exterior and panic, sound an alarm, then what?”

“If you have a more effective plan of approach,” replied Walthis, “I am open to sugges�"”

The two marines poised before the compound entrance exploded, seen through the night vision goggles as a pair of neon green blossoms. Some of what had been the soldiers splattered against the structure they’d been guarding. A smaller portion of their remains �" a fine mist �" was swept away by the breeze.

“Half a mile you said?” inquired Kira. “I didn’t know my mojo could reach that far,” she went on, sounding thoroughly impressed with herself.

“That just leaves the patrol,” stated Daralice coolly.

Walthis slowly lowered the night vision goggles from his face. “They . . . They were just men doing the duty assigned to them,” he uttered, aghast at what he’d just witnessed.

“And I’m just a woman,” responded Kira, “doing the duty assigned to me.” She swiveled her head about, peering through her goggles in search of the patrol.

It was Daralice who spotted it one minute later �" a beige Humvee slowly traversing the perimeter.

“There,” she announced.

“I see it,” responded Kira as she lifted her hand toward it.

The vehicle, a quarter mile off, gradually coasted to a standstill, the two occupants within no longer existing in a solid state.

“Now we go in,” proclaimed Daralice. She set aside her goggles and slid on a combat faceguard. “We’ll be in my gift from here on out.”

Kira made to slip on her faceguard as well, glancing at Walthis before she did. She paused upon noting the look of shock upon his face. He was seated in the driver’s seat, clutching the goggles resting in his lap, staring blankly out the windshield, Kira in the front passenger seat beside him.

“I’m sorry, Walt,” she said in a soft yet stern tone. “But life and death walk hand in hand. I’m sorry you had to see that, but I’m not sorry it happened.”

Walthis didn’t reply. He continued to stare out the windshield for a moment before donning his faceguard. He then stepped reluctantly from the jeep. Kira was the last to affix her faceguard. It was identical to Walthis’s and Daralice’s �" jet black, carbon composite, covering all but their eyes �" with the exception of the jagged, demonic grin she’d scrawled across the mouth piece in red paint.

Once all three had vacated the vehicle, Daralice’s imagination settled upon them. It moved with them, a dark mist slithering atop the dirt, brush, and pebble strewn ground of the Texas badland, a nightmarish thing that crept toward the prison compound that was Primeus II.

 

The inner sanctum of the structure they’d viewed contained a large semi-circular desk, at which were situated three marine NCOs. To each side of the desk were metal detectors. Behind it were two elevators. This is how the staff that occupied the facility routinely entered and exited. The three marines were embroiled in a heated discussion involving a pro basketball game that had aired the previous night on television. One of them took pause from the conversation to glance at the series of video surveillance feeds displayed on the monitor before him, noting something out of the ordinary as he did.

“Where the hell are Wilkes and Spentz?” he muttered. The other two marines had not heard him over their elevated voices, nearly screaming their disagreement over a referee’s call during the fourth quarter. The marine viewing the surveillance feed isolated it. It now took up the entirety of the monitor. Where two marines should have been standing guard, the picture depicted nothing but the large steel entranceway to the structure. There was something else, something peculiar: two large splatters upon the walls flanking the doors that led into the structure, two large splatters of what appeared to be . . . blood?

“What the hell . . .” The NCO squinted, not believing his eyes. A moment later the feed went dark. He drew a two-way radio hurriedly from his belt. “Wilkes . . . Spentz . . .  What the hell is going on out there?”

What was ‘going on out there’ was beginning to go on in the structure housing the three marines. The front façade melted away, replaced by a swirling black mass. It looked to be a cloud of some sort. But clouds were surrounded by wisps of moisture. This cloud differed in that the wisps spilling from it seemed to be alive, as did the cloud itself. It crawled silently through the structure as though it were a predator stalking its prey. Unfortunately for the three marines, this depiction of what was occurring was all too accurate.

“What the f**k is that?” the NCO who’d been viewing the monitor bellowed. The other two marines swiveled in their chairs to face the object of his attention. The answer to his question came an instant later: it was death.

The dark swirling mass lurched forward, absorbing them. The tendrils that sprang from the void within proceeded to take hold of the marines, proceeded to tear them apart limb by limb. The darkness that comprised the floor then swallowed their separated remains.

Walthis removed the blueprints from an inner pocket of his Kevlar vest with a trembling hand.

“Down these elevators to the third level,” he said to Daralice and Kira. “From there we travel straight, then make a left at the first intersection. After which we proceed to the end of the corridor. That is where the detonation chamber is located. That is where the child is contained.”

“We will not be taking that route of travel. We will be touring this facility in its entirety.”

Walthis looked up from the blueprint to where Daralice had stood, at the warrior queen that now towered in her stead. Her shimmering blue eyes held his gaze for a moment before shifting to one of the elevators. Walthis looked from her to Kira. Kira looked back at him from the confines of her faceguard. The demonic scowl etched upon it seemed to be mocking him. She shrugged her shoulders and set off in Murcalis’s wake.

“Did you know of this?” Walthis shouted at Kira, stopping her in her tracks, making this the first time she’d ever heard him raise his voice in anger.

“I knew,” Kira replied. There was neither shame nor pride in her confession.

“What you intend to do is nothing shy of slaughter!” cried Walthis, hurling the statement at the both of them.

“We leave this place intact,” responded Kira, “we leave the people in this place intact, and they’ll just do it all over again; they’ll keep imprisoning people like us here. We can’t pass up this opportunity, Walt. I’m sorry, but this is the way it’s gotta be.”

“We spoke of discretion. What happened to that promise?” His tone had suddenly transitioned from rage to sorrow. Kira preferred the latter; it pained her heart less.

“I’m sorry, Walt, but this is gonna happen.”

She continued to where Murcalis stood, before the elevator fusing with her imagination. Walthis lingered for what may have been a minute. The only portion of his face visible from behind his faceguard was his dark brown eyes. It was enough to convey the tremendous anguish he felt. In those eyes Kira witnessed him lose a part of himself, a fragment of his innocence he would never recover. Eventually he strode reluctantly to the elevator, propelling himself with the mantra he’d begun reciting over and over in his mind.

We are the saviors of the world.

 

When the elevator doors opened onto the first subterranean level of Primeus II, from them poured Daralice’s gift. An unlucky computer technician in wait of being lowered to the compound’s second level was engulfed by this anomaly, then swiftly disposed of once within.

Murcalis strode into the corridor, then took pause. Behind, and to each side of her were Walthis and Kira. Without bothering to turn to look at them, she voiced a message.

“I will be summoning assistance. Do not suffer fear upon beholding them. They hunger for flesh, though the flesh they crave is not your own.”

Neither Walthis nor Kira knew what she was referring to. Before either had a chance to ask, the answer began to emerge from the shifting darkness that comprised the floor. Before Murcalis, at the fringe of her imagination, slowly emerged six beasts. The ground seemed to birth them. They writhed and twisted as they clawed their way to the surface, to the meal that awaited them. When their emergence was complete, Walthis and Kira were privy to witness their unobstructed forms. Their size matched that of full grown tigers, their color matched that of the convoluting black void they’d emanated from. Thick muscles shifted beneath skin pulled taut as the beasts leapt at the forward boundary of Daralice’s imagination. Spinals protruding from their backs swayed to and fro as eyes glowing emerald green sought the world that lay beyond, longed for the multitude of tainted souls they were so eager to consume. From their throats poured guttural sounds, savage growls, the creatures voicing their lust for blood. They bore row upon row of serrated teeth as they continuously lurched at the semi-translucent barrier that denied them free range of the compound, denied them access to its inhabitants which they so desperately craved.

“Good doggies,” uttered Kira with more than a touch of fear. “Niiice doggies.”

“They are the hounds of Septon. They desire to harm you not in the least. They will serve their purpose, after which they will be dismissed.”

Kira turned to Walthis and said, “Walt, this is liable to get real f****n messy. You might wanna go to your ‘happy place’.”

For his sanity’s sake, Walthis found himself silently agreeing with her.

Kira went on to direct her attention toward the warrior queen poised majestically before them. “Hey . . . Um . . . Dara . . . Murcalis . . . Whoever you are right now . . . This place is f****n huge, and since I aint gonna have much to do now that you’ve flipped the off switch on my mojo, how ‘bout you dream me up a chariot so I can move around this place in style.”

The elvish queen emitted a soft snarl, and then replied, “Insolent child. Here is the chariot you desire.”

A Big Wheel tricycle appeared at Kira’s feet, blue, yellow, and orange in color.

Kira placed her hands on her hips and stared down at it angrily. “At least pimp that s**t out,” she grumbled.

Murcalis shook her head in dismay, then turned her attention toward the corridor. As she did, the Big Wheel underwent a change in appearance, transforming from a plastic object to an aluminum one, powder coated licorice black, its rims polished silver.

“Sweet!” exclaimed Kira as she mounted it and began pedaling about.

Daralice’s gift proceeded to move systematically through the first level of Primeus II, pouring through its corridors and into any and every room it happened upon. The hounds of Septon made short work of the soldiers, scientists, and doctors that succumbed to the anomaly. They set upon their hapless victims in a frenzy fueled by an insatiable hunger. Flesh was torn and bones were crushed as the beasts devoured them, only to whimper and snarl in want of more. 

Where the hounds of Septon were busy tending to the living occupants of Primeus II, the tendrils of Besdion tended to the compound itself. They left nothing unscathed, demolishing every material object they came in contact with. In the wake of Daralice’s imagination, nothing was left but the gutted remains of what had been the first floor of Primeus II. Not a single piece of equipment, not one tile, not one light fixture was left intact.

Daralice proceeded to find her way through the darkness by way of touch, feeling along the interior of the facility with her gift.

Primeus II’s capitulation was well under way, every soul within its first level extinguished, every soul but the three within the living void, three unique souls who now set course for the second level of the facility.

 

The black mist slithered from the elevator into the second level corridor.

Before the occupants of the first level command center had succumbed to Daralice’s gift, one of them had initiated a general alarm. Sirens blared, heard as little more than a soft, repetitious hum to Walthis, Kira, and Murcalis. The remaining occupants of Primeus II waited anxiously for instructions to be issued over the loud speakers, an explanation as to the incessant cries emanating from the sirens lining the halls. This task would have been executed by one of the staff within the facility’s command center. Unbeknownst to the remaining members of the compound, the command center, along with its occupants, had ceased to exist.

The black cloud moved about with a malevolent grace, consuming all within its path. The final portion of the second level to be set upon was a large room situated at the end of a vast hall. It housed an entire platoon of the 6^th Battalion 1^st Marine Corp, the vast majority of which had been sleeping peacefully within atop row upon row of metal frame bunk beds. They’d since clamored to their feet and were bustling about getting dressed and voicing their complaint of ‘another God damn drill’. Clear indication they were in the midst of something other than a drill came a short time later in the form of Daralice’s gift as it billowed silently down the hallway. Two marines, half dressed, half asleep, standing within the barracks doorway were the first to lay eyes upon it.

“Is . . . Is that smoke?” one said to the other.

The marine at which the question had been directed squinted at the anomaly, then voiced a panic stricken reply.

“Or a chemical cloud. Masks on!” he shouted at the dozens of marines within the barracks.

Some responded instantaneously, donning gas masks located in foot lockers at the ends of their bunks. Others, a foolhardy minority, didn’t bother with their masks; they flocked to the doorway in want of knowing what had led the unusual command to be prompted. Now ten or so marines were at the aperture, staring entranced at the darkness that was coming at them, the darkness that was coming for them. As the mist drew nearer, they back stepped into the barracks, thinking falsely that they were safer within. The anomaly abruptly paused at the doorway, but not before engulfing the wall that framed it.

Now on full display to the trio within the writhing darkness were forty-six marines.

“Ho-ly s**t!” squealed Kira with nefarious delight. “We just hit the mother load!” She wheeled about on her one-of-a-kind Big Wheel as she gazed excitedly through her faceguard, the sinister grin painted upon it in close resemblance to the one beneath.

She passed near Murcalis. The elvish queen, looking down at her with distaste, snatched her from the tricycle with one mighty hand and stood her upright.

“Hey! What the f**k, Banshee Queen!”

“Foolish girl. Make your presence of worth.”

Kira’s moment of rage faded the instant the solid gold plate armor replaced the Kevlar outfitting her tiny frame. “Oh, sweet baby Jesus,” she uttered as she looked admiringly upon the gleaming metal raiment.

Murcalis proceeded to remove Kira’s faceguard, and then toss it upon the ground beside the Big Wheel. Oily black tendrils wrapped around both, sinking them into the gloomy abyss of Daralice’s imagination.

Within the elvish queen’s hands materialized two objects. “To protect your skull,” she said as she thrust one upon Kira: a golden Spartanesque helm, a violet mohawk mounted atop it. Kira took hold of it, eyes and mouth wide with awe, and placed it on her tiny head. The next object was immediately pressed upon her. “To crush theirs,” proclaimed Murcalis as she placed a long, nimble gold war hammer in her hands.

Kira wrapped her gauntlet ensconced fingers around the weapon and declared through tears of joy, “It’s like Christmas, Hanukkah, and Halloween all wrapped in one. This is the greatest day of my life.” She primed the weapon as she turned toward the barrack, eager to pass judgment on all those within, eager to dispense a young �" debatably psychotic �" girl’s brand of justice.

Murcalis drew the fabled spear of her ancestors from the sheath draped across her back. The hounds of Septon salivated profusely as they glared yearningly at the living feast that awaited them. Kira swayed her hips from side to side, an anxious little dance, her fingers wrung tight around the long handled weapon she held, the business end of which resembled the multi-pointed face of a meat tenderizer. Walthis bowed his head, directing his eyes away from the confines of the room, away from the horrific act that was set to unfold.

“My God. What the hell is that?” asked one of the soldiers closest to the mist. He was the first to die when an instant later the anomaly heaved upward like a tidal wave, then spilled forth into the room. All at once the forty-six marines were engulfed in Daralice’s imagination, a surreal world they would never depart. Their families would have no bodies to bury. The government would never be able to determine the exact cause of their demise.

Murcalis maneuvered swiftly through the crowd of soldiers, the only true veteran among them. She’d fought on the front lines of numerous battles, reaping both glory and lives in the process. She’d slain some of the greatest warriors her home world had ever known. These were not warriors, great or otherwise. These were a multitude of organic waste, and she disposed of them as such, bloodying the dual tips of Thelsus in the process.

The hounds of Septon pounced about, landing violently upon their prey, these odd beings they’d never had the privilege of feasting on before today. Hooked claws parted soft flesh from bone, serrated fangs tore bones loose of the ligaments binding them together. The beasts were merciless, feral things, but they could not be referred to as wasteful; they finished every scrap of each marine turned meal, every organ, every bone, every last drop of gore.

Amid the blood and carnage, the screams of horror and pain, there was laughter. Pure, joyous laughter. Some of the marines had been ensnared by the vine-like tendrils slithering about the void. As these hellish things slowly pulled their captives downward into a dark chasm, Kira found herself partaking in a sadistic game of Whac-A-Mole. She leapt through the air and brought her war hammer to a life ending halt on one skull after another, chortling as she did with victorious glee.

To the rear of the mayhem, as far back as Daralice’s imagination would permit, stood Walthis. He was present, but in a sense he was not. He had gone to his ‘happy place’, a dream within this nightmare. He stared down at the darkness that comprised the floor, a detached expression on his face. He was in Paris, France, within the Allard bistro, sipping a glass of Sancerre. All around him were seated patrons, speaking the local dialect, one of which he was quite fluent. Here there was no death, there was no destruction. Here his clothing was not being peppered with blood. Here there were no songs being sung by the dying. Here there was peace. Here is where he went to retain his sanity.

 

The third and lowest level of the compound held few occupants. Their lives were brought to a swift and horrible end, effectively concluding the decimation of Primeus II.

The last section of the facility to be set upon by the gifted three who’d brought it to its knees was a massive corridor that had recently undergone a renovation, in a manner of speaking. “Holy f**k,” muttered Kira. “It looks like that kid really did a number on this place, just like Jupe said,” she commented in note of the corrugated steel supports that had recently been erected throughout the damaged corridor. “She’s gonna make a kickass addition to our family,” she added tenderly.

As they neared the detonation chamber, the hounds of Septon faded from sight, letting loose departing whimpers and growls as they did. Kira’s war hammer was draped over her shoulders, her arms draped over the bloodied weapon. “Bye doggies,” she said in a sad tone. The elvish queen striding confidently beside her suddenly morphed into a more familiar figure, a one Ms. Daralice Poemrush, an average looking woman whose gift could be described as anything but. Kira’s elaborate gold raiment was the next component of Daralice’s imagination to disperse. “Aw,” whined Kira. “Diggity damn.”

“I don’t wanna scare this kid with all this crazy nightmare s**t I’ve got going on in my head,” announced Daralice. “From this point on I’ll just mimic our surroundings. Technically we’ll still be in my gift, in case she tries to . . . Well, you know.”

“Boom,” said Kira ominously.

“You can toss your faceguard on the ground,” Daralice said to Walthis. “I’ll get rid of it for you.”

Walthis did as she said. The ground was no longer a dark swirling mass of tendrils; it was now identical to the smooth concrete that comprised the rest of the corridor floor. The hardened concrete the faceguard fell upon liquefied for an instant, just long enough for the faceguard to sink into it, then abruptly returned to a solid state.

“If you could do something about the blood . . .” said Walthis, voice shaky.

Daralice looked at the blood speckled body armor he wore. An instant later it was void of the remnants of those who’d been slain.

“Thank you,” he sighed.

“Walthis,” said Daralice compassionately. “I know what just occurred was difficult to witness, but we had to�"”

“We are here,” interrupted Walthis. “We have achieved our objective. I care not to discuss how we went about doing so, especially at such an inappropriate time.”

Daralice nodded respectfully and turned to face Kira, wondering as she did if the death toll they’d incurred was something Walthis would ever be able to forgive them for.

Kira met her gaze for a moment before shifting her attention to the detonation chamber door, to the words posted on it.

AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED BEYOND THIS POINT

“Dara . . .” she said with a devious little smirk.

“Yes?”

“Authorize us, please.”

 

 

 

 

 

22. THIS IS WHY WE FIGHT

 

 

The door to the detonation chamber faded away. It was not torn apart in a loudly vicious manner by a living shadow, it simply made the transition from solid object to non-existence  in a quiet, peaceful way. What lay beyond was a large, cylindrical room, center of which sat a small child. Before her, propped in a seated position as well, was what looked to be a doll. The child appeared to be conversing with the doll, though the words she spoke were articulated so softly neither Daralice, Walthis, nor Kira could hear a single one. The departure of the detonation chamber’s door had been as quiet as the words the child spoke, and she’d yet to realize the gateway to her prison had come undone. The three who stood within the corridor stepped lightly through the doorway, bringing themselves just within the foreboding steel room. It was at this moment the child took notice of them. It was at this moment the child took hold of her doll and went scurrying to a corner at the opposite end of the room.

The trio gazed at the child, uncertain how to proceed.

Walthis spoke, doing so quietly. “Perhaps it would be best if only one of us were to approach her, so as not to further alarm her. That person could loosely explain the situation, could explain to her that she would be coming with us, that she will no longer be harmed, and that she will no longer,” he looked about the detonation chamber disgustedly, “be contained like an animal.”

“Alright,” responded Kira. “Who’s it gonna be?”

Daralice and Walthis both looked at her, as if in answer to her question.

“What! Why me? I don’t know anything about kids.”

“I am afraid none of us do,” replied Walthis. “But it seems you are best suited for the task.”

“How’s that?”

“You have an, um . . . Now Kira, I do not want you to take offense by what I am about to say . . . You have a certain child-like quality about you.”

Daralice nodded in agreement.

Kira crossed her arms over her chest. “Elaborate.”

“Your hair, for starters,” said Daralice. “It looks kind of cartoonish.” Kira scrunched her lips in anger. “I mean that in a good way,” Daralice quickly added.

“And your petite stature . . .” said Walthis.

“And your voice is kinda high pitched, like a little kid’s,” noted Daralice.

“And�"” began Walthis.

“Alright,” snapped Kira. “I get the point. I’ll go talk to her.” She took two steps toward the child, then paused just long enough to turn around and shoot Walthis and Daralice a menacing glare.

A moment later she stood half a dozen feet from the trembling child within the corner, legs pulled to her chest, face half hidden by the tattered old doll she clung to. This tiny soul appeared malnourished, and was dressed in nothing more than a hospital nightgown. Seeing the terrified little girl made Kira’s heart wrench, and put the carnage they’d just reaped into further perspective �" this is why we fight. 

Kira lowered herself to the floor, bringing herself level with the frightened young girl. She crossed her legs and placed her hands in her lap. Distrusting, multi-colored eyes peered from behind the doll, one at Kira, the other at some unseen thing to the child’s right. For a time they merely gazed at one another, Kira unsure of what to say, the child too terrified to speak. Kira eventually came to the conclusion that the best way to begin would be with a simple introduction.

“Hello,” she said, her words soft, kind. “My name is Kira.” She bit her bottom lip, uncertain how to continue. “And you’re . . . you’re Gilly. I know this because a nice person told me and my friends,” she gave a little nod over her shoulder, “all about you. This nice person told me and my friends we could find you here. So we came here to get you. We came here to take you away from this place. We came here to take you to a much better place �" a castle in the sky.”

Gilly slowly lowered Marigold, revealing the bottom half of her face. “There’s bad people here,” she whispered. “They won’t let me leave.”

Kira smiled in response, a smile both pleasant and wicked. “The bad people are all gone.”

“Where . . . Where did they go?”

“They went somewhere they can never come back from. Me and my friends sent them there.”

Gilly stared at Kira for a moment, pondering what she’d said, then went on to voice a random observation.

“Your hair is purple.”

Kira laughed lightly, and then replied, “It’s violet, actually. But you can call it purple if you like.”

Gilly patted her doll lovingly atop her head and said, “Marigold has yellow hair.”

Kira nodded toward the doll and asked, “Is this Marigold?”

“Yes,” replied Gilly tenderly. “Marigold is a good girl. Marigold is my friend.”

“Well, hello Marigold,” said Kira, waving briefly to the doll.

Gilly took hold of one of the Marigold’s arms and waved it at Kira. Kira laughed again, and then Gilly did a beautiful thing, something she hadn’t done in a very, very long time �" she laughed as well.

When Gilly’s laughter subsided, she declared, “Marigold doesn’t want to be here either. It makes her sad.”

“We didn’t just come here for you. We came here to get Marigold as well. This isn’t a place for little girls and dolls.”

“This is a bad place, for a bad girl. I’m a bad girl.”

Kira choked back her anger toward what this child had been led to believe. She took a deep breath, then spoke gently.

“Gilly, what I’m about to tell you is the most real thing you’ll ever hear: you-are-not-a-bad-girl. You can do something nobody else can, and I’m sure it must be scary, but it doesn’t make you a bad person. I know this for a fact, because me and my friends can do things as well �" magical things. That’s what you do, Gilly �" magic. You have to be careful with it because it can be dangerous, but it doesn’t make you a bad girl.”

Gilly thought this over for a time, then asked, “Will you take me to Mommy?”

“I’m sorry, Gilly, but we can’t do that. At least not yet. There are other bad people that will be watching to see if you go back to her. We can’t take you to your mommy right now, but we can take you someplace safe �" a happier place than this.”

“A castle in the sky?”

Kira smiled. “Yup. Well . . . It’s not actually a castle. It’s a really tall building. Me and my friends live near the top of it. It’s really pretty inside, which is why I call it a castle. And it’s really high, which is why I say it’s in the sky.”

“Where is it?”

“It’s in Chicago.”

“What’s a Ki-cago?”

“It’s a big city, far away from here, fulla people �" millions of them.”

“What’s a mill-uns?”

“It’s a very big number.”

“Bigger than a hundred?”

“Lots bigger.”

“Does everyone there have purple hair?”

Kira burst into hysterics. “No. They don’t all have purple hair. It’s still a really nice place to live though. There’s a big lake with sailboats. There’s lots of restaurants and stores. There’s parks and museums. And they’ve got horses that pull people through the streets in carriages.”

Gilly’s eyes went alight in response to this last parcel of information. Her intrigue wasn’t lost on Kira.

“If you come with us, we can ride in the horse carriages together. Marigold too. Would you like that?”

Gilly nodded her head yes.

Kira looked over her shoulder at Daralice and Walthis standing just within the detonation chamber, then returned her attention to Gilly.

“Would you like to meet my friends now? They’ve been waiting over there ‘cause they’re kinda shy.”

Gilly debated for a moment, then quietly replied, “Okay.”

Kira waved them forward. They stepped to Kira and took seat beside her, Daralice to her left, Walthis to her right.

“Gilly,” said Kira, “this is Daralice.” She gestured toward Daralice with one hand, then motioned toward Walthis. “And this is Walthis.”

Gilly looked back and forth at them curiously.

“I like to call them Dara and Walt for short. Why? Just ‘cause I’m cool like that.

“Walt here can see people in a way nobody else can. That’s his gift. He sees a soft light shining around people. But with people like us, that light shines bright.

“Dara can make anything she imagines come to life. She can make dreams come true.”

“You’re fibbing,” Gilly softly replied.

Kira laughed in response. Daralice went on to make a pair of white wolf pups appear at her feet. They scampered over to Gilly and began yipping and pawing at her in want of affection. For a moment the child was frightened, and Daralice feared she may have to disperse the pups as quickly as she’d made them appear, but then Gilly laid her legs flat and allowed the pups to climb atop them.

“They’re puppies!” she exclaimed as she gently stroked their soft fur.

“That they are,” said Walthis. “And it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Miss Gilly,” he added.

“It certainly is,” said Daralice, wearing the first unburdened smile she’d worn in years.

“And this is Gilly’s friend, Marigold,” said Kira.

Walthis and Daralice voiced their hellos to the little doll. Gilly took momentary pause in petting the puppies to assist Marigold in waving at them.

“I hate to cut this introduction short,” said Walthis, “but time is of the essence, and it would be within our best interest to vacate the premises as soon as possible.”

Kira looked at Gilly and said, “Well, Little Miss Gilly, would you like to come with us?”

Gilly took her eyes off the pups and looked about the cavernous steel chamber that had been her room for the past several weeks, finding her answer within.

When her reply came, it was spoken through a fragile smile.

“Yes.”

 

 

 

 

 

23. SAY MY NAME

 

 

An episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer played on the television in Donav’s living room. Neither he nor Zoe was giving it much attention. It served a purpose though: filling a room with sound that would otherwise have been filled with silence. Ever since departing the beach house, they’d been plagued by regret. Chaya had done her absolute best to rid them of their guilt, to assure them they’d done what was right by doing nothing. Neither Donav nor Zoe had been convinced though. Doing nothing felt like cowardice. Doing nothing felt like leaving a little girl to die. Now, when Donav tried to imagine that little girl, he kept seeing his younger sister’s face, kept seeing his beloved Caitlyn’s brown eyes staring at him in a silent plea to be saved.

Zoe sat beside Donav on the sofa, staring blankly at the television screen. Her thoughts were adrift, lost in a sea of woe. Her mind kept going in circles as she pondered what defined a person: the good deeds or the bad. Passing up the chance to help the child felt like a bad deed, an opportunity they’d turned their backs on, a small, precious life they’d abandoned. Right now Zoe felt less than human. Right now Zoe felt a degree of contempt toward herself she never would have thought possible. Right now is when Jupiter’s gift to Donav rang.

Donav fumbled for the remote, muted the television, and then lifted the phone from the end table.

“Hello.”

“Greetings, Donav.

“It saddens me to say the last time I spoke with our dear Ms. Algus, she was far from pleased with me. Apparently she felt it was not within my right to ask for Zoe’s and your assistance in the tactical matter I discussed a few days past.”

“I wouldn’t take it to heart. Ms. Algus is a very opinionated person.”

“I’m calling to determine whether or not I’ve inadvertently compromised our previous arrangement, the one in which Ms. Algus agreed to give sanctuary to those such as yourself and Ms. Phelps.”

“No,” Donav swiftly replied. “I don’t doubt for one second Ms. Algus would be willing to continue helping in that manner. She’s just . . . She’s just adamantly opposed to anything that may place us in harm’s way.”

Jupiter sighed, a soft tinny crackling to Donav’s ear. “It may have been wrong of me to ask for your assistance, but a child’s life was at stake, and I was at a loss for an alternate means of helping her.”

“Jupiter, I don’t regret you asking for my assistance. What I regret is not helping you.”

“Don’t burden yourself with remorse, Mr. Miller.

“Now I’m afraid the remainder of this conversation must be brief. Since I’ve ascertained Ms. Algus wishes to continue to offer sanctuary to those in need, I will be allocating another gifted individual to San Diego, California, to Seraphina University. With this bit of information comes a warning: this individual is . . . Well, let’s just say he’s eccentric. Please practice patience with him. His personality is as unique as his gift.”

Donav was silent a moment, uncertain how to respond. “Um . . . Alright. I’ll pass that on to Zoe and Ms. Algus. We’ll be prepared.”

“There is something else I would like for you to pass on to Ms. Phelps and Ms. Algus, something I’m certain will bring you all great comfort �" the child is safe. She is now in the custody of our Chicago based associates.”

Donav leaned forward and placed his forehead in the palm of his freehand, overcome with joy and relief.

“How . . . How did they . . . I thought Mr. Crane wasn’t going to allow . . .”

“It seems everything worked itself out in the end. The child, as well as those who procured her freedom, are safe and unharmed.

“With this good news I will bid you farewell, Mr. Miller.”

The phone went silent. Donav remained seated with his head in his hand for some time, immobilized and silenced by disbelief. Zoe gazed at him, concern and curiosity on her face. It was the delicate touch of her hand as she laid it upon his shoulder that roused him. When he raised his head and looked at her, his eyes were glazed with the onset of tears.

“What is it, Donav? What did Jupiter say?”

He took her hands into his and rose from the sofa, prompting her to do the same. They stood before one another, curiosity lingering on her face, a blissful smile spreading across his.

“They’ve got the girl.”

“What?”

“Mr. Crane, Kira, Daralice . . . they’ve got her. She’s alive. She’s safe. They’ve got her, Zoe. Everything’s alright. They’ve got her.”

“Oh my God,” exclaimed Zoe as she began to tremble, began to weep with joy. She threw her arms around him and buried her face against his neck.

“It’s alright,” Donav assured her as his hands caressed her back. “Everything’s alright now, Zoe.”

She raised her tear strewn face from his neck and whispered a revelation wound in joy, fear, sorrow, and passion. “My name is Megan.” Donav slowly turned his head so that his eyes met hers. “I want you to say it, Donav. I want you to say my name.”

He spoke her name softly. When it passed through his lips, it sounded to her beautiful in a way she’d never experienced before. Her heart began to race. Her hands slid to his waist. She pressed his hips tightly to hers.

“I want to feel you say my name.”

He brought his lips to hers and kissed her delicately, whispering her name as he did.

He continued to kiss her all throughout the night, speaking her name as his lips passed over every inch of her body.

 

 

 

 

 

24. MY DAUGHTER’S THE BOMB

 

 

Walthis tapped lightly on the door of suite number four of the forty-ninth floor. He cradled in one large hand two small brown boxes. ‘Kira’ was written on one in magic marker, ‘Daralice’ on the other. It was Kira who answered a moment later. She invited him in with a wave of her hand. Walthis shut the door behind himself as Kira moved silently into the living room, her tiny footfalls muffled by the bunny slippers she wore. She took seat upon the sectional couch, upon which Daralice was seated as well. They each wore sweatpants and t-shirts, the words ‘I HAVE ISSUES’ printed in bold letters on Kira’s. Daralice’s taste in footwear was apparently not as glamorous as Kira’s; on her feet she wore a simple pair of white socks.

Walthis entered the living room and took place among them on the couch.

“Is our little miracle asleep?” he asked.

Daralice smiled a thin smile and replied, “Ya. Running around playing with the wolf pups all afternoon finally caught up with her. She nodded off about an hour ago. She’s sound asleep in her room.”

“What ya got there, Walt?” Kira asked as she muted an episode of Roseanne playing on the television.

Walthis looked at the boxes he held. A broad grin spread across his face.

“Gifts for you and Daralice,” he replied as he set the boxes on the massive coffee table center the couch.

“You bought us gifts?” asked Kira as she took hold of the box with her name on it. “What’s the occasion?”

“They are not from me. I am merely the bearer. I retrieved them from the reception desk on the ground floor.”

“Who sent�"” Kira began, but stopped short as the realization struck her. “Oh-my-f****n-God! Please tell me this is what I think it is,” she said as she tore into the box. A moment later she held in her hands a shiny purple cell phone.

She rose from the couch. One might have been led to believe the bunny slippers that adorned her feet had come to life based on the way she proceeded to bounce about the living room.

“My-very-own-super-secret-spy-phone!” she exclaimed, enunciating each word between bounces. She kept her voice low, despite her excitement, wanting not to rouse Murcott Center’s newest resident.

Daralice had opened her box as well, discovering an ink black cell phone within. “Cool,” she said with far less fervor than Kira was displaying. She set the phone atop the coffee table. Next she reached over to where Kira had sat, took hold of the television remote, turned on the closed captions, and resumed watching Roseanne.

Kira continued to bounce about excitedly for some time, pausing occasionally to do an odd little dance. When finally she calmed down and retook her seat, Walthis said, “Despite the trust we’ve garnered toward Jupiter, I believe it would be prudent if I were to allow my engineering friend to examine those phones, just to be certain Jupiter did not forget the conversation we had in regards to tracking our whereabouts. I’ll stop by tomorrow afternoon to retrieve them. You’ll likely have them back within twenty four hours.”

Daralice nodded her approval without taking her eyes off the screen.

“How do you dial out on this thing?” Kira asked as she pressed buttons at random.

“You do not,” replied Walthis. “Unless you wish to contact Jupiter. In which case you would dial ‘1’ eight times, then press the send button. But Jupiter wishes to be contacted only in case of emergency.”

Kira had pressed ‘1’ eight times and was about to hit the send button when Walthis recited this last part.

“Damn,” she muttered as she turned the phone off and slid it into a pocket of her sweatpants.

“I spoke with Jupiter earlier,” declared Walthis. “Along with informing me they had the phones delivered to Murcott Center, they poised a question. They inquired whether or not we would be willing to play host to someone, a gifted individual from abroad.”

“I thought Jupe was sending people to the p*****s in Cali,” said Kira. “Are we gettin those people instead, now that we’ve earned our stripes?”

“Those we met in California are not . . . what you claimed they are,” countered Walthis. “And Jupiter asked if we would be recipient to this person because they are sending a different individual to California, and did not wish to overwhelm our friends there with new arrivals.”

“Not friends of mine,” clarified Kira.

“Regardless,” said Walthis. “That is the situation. I took it upon myself to agree to what Jupiter has asked of us. I did not bother to consult with either of you beforehand, since it seems you young women are in the habit of making critical decisions without involving me. Why should I extend that particular courtesy to the two of you, when you ladies do not reciprocate that courtesy?” He stood and straightened his tie as he made to exit the living room, and the suite as a whole.

“C’mon, Walt,” groaned Kira. “You’re not still hung up on the whole ‘kill em all/scorched earth policy’ we inflicted on that place, are you?”

When he next spoke, it was not in response to her question.

“This individual is scheduled to arrive two weeks from today. If you two feel there is not adequate room in your suite, I will provide her with one of her own.”

“So it’s another girl.” said Daralice as he moved through the kitchen. “What’s she like? Where’s she from?”

Walthis didn’t bother to answer. He opened the front door, passed through, then closed it lightly behind himself.

“Meh,” muttered Kira. “He’s all bent about us givin those fuckers at that facility their just does. Give him a few days and he’ll get over it.”

“What do you think this new girl is going to be like?”

“Probably not nearly as awesome as me,” replied Kira.

“Or nearly as humble,” added Daralice with a roll of her eyes.

“Life’s too short for humility.”

 

*          *          *

 

It had been two hours since Walthis had paid Kira and Daralice a brief visit, and one hour since Daralice had fallen asleep upon the couch. Kira had retrieved a blanket from Daralice’s room and draped it over her, whispering “Sweet dreams, Dream Girl,” as she did. Kira had then taken to her room and curled up on her bed with a book. The night was still young �" at least to a nocturnal creature such as herself �" and she intended to enjoy the remainder of it immersed in a world filled with wizards, Muggles, and half-bloods. She was midway through The Order of the Phoenix, putting her midway through her second reading of the Harry Potter novels as a whole, when a silhouette at her doorway caught her attention.

“Hey, Lil Miss Gilly. Whatcha doin up so late?”

“I woke up, and I couldn’t fall back asleep,” she whispered in reply. Marigold hung from one hand, the doll’s feet lightly brushing the floor. “It’s dark, and I don’t like the dark. Marigold doesn’t like the dark either. It makes her fraid.”

“It’s not dark in here,” noted Kira. She then patted her mattress welcoming Gilly to join her. The little girl smiled wide. Frail legs carried her to the bed. She climbed atop it and sat with her back to a pair of pillows beside Kira.

“Why are you up so late, young lady?” she asked Kira, giggling mischievously at how she’d phrased the question.

Kira laughed lightly, then replied, “I’m a night owl. Hoot, hoot.”

“You’re not a owl,” responded Gilly, giggling again. “You’re a girl.”

“‘Night owl’ means I like the night. I stay up till the sun rises. That’s when I go to bed.”

Gilly stared at her wondrously for a time as she processed what she’d said. Suddenly her gaze shifted to the large expanse of windows lining one side of the room.

“It’s snowing again!” She held up Marigold to allow the doll a view of the light flurry. 

Kira looked to the window. The falling snow evoked a heartwarming memory of Gilly’s arrival in Chicago three days prior. She’d carefully descended the passenger stairs of the G6, Kira steadying her as she held one of her hands in her own. When her feet touched the tarmac, she’d gasped and exclaimed, “It’s snow! Look, Marigold, it’s snow!” The child had only ever viewed this meteorological occurrence on television, and to witness it firsthand had sent her into near hysterics. She’d patted the ground coated lightly in white, yelping and giggling at the frigid sensation it produced.

They’d feared her adaptation to her new surroundings, as well as her new caretakers, would be a troublesome event. They’d been wrong in this assumption. She’d taken to Murcott Center like a fish to water. More notably, she’d taken to her new family instantaneously. Home is where the heart is, and there’d been no heart where this child had come from. Love was a new experience to this delicate young girl, and her new watch guards exuded an abundance of this foreign emotion. She reciprocated with an abundance of her own.

“What are you reading?”

Kira turned the book over so that its cover was visible. “The Order of the Phoenix.”

“What’s it about?”

“A boy wizard, named Harry Potter.”

“I know who that is,” responded Gilly gleefully.

“Have you read the Harry Potter books?”

Gilly shook her head no. “I can’t read books that big. I can’t read words that big.”

“Would you like for me to read them to you?”

Gilly gasped, elated, as if Kira had offered her eternal life. She nodded her head enthusiastically and replied “Yes”.

Kira took to her bookshelf and traded Year 4 for Year 1. When she repositioned herself on her bed, Gilly snuggled close to her in preparation of the literary journey that lay ahead. Kira wrapped her blanket around the both of them and began the tale, adding life to each character by giving them their own distinct voice.

Three chapters later Gilly spoke a sleepy declaration.

“Walt is the grampy.”

“Our Walt?” responded Kira, laughing as much at the remark as how unexpected it was.

“Yup,” replied Gilly, lifting her head which had been tucked comfortably against Kira’s chest. “And Dara is the auntie.”

“Oh, I see,” said Kira cheerfully. “Does that mean I’m an auntie too?”

“No,” Gilly immediately replied. “You’re the mommy.”

Kira’s throat knotted. It took her a moment to undo the emotional tangle, but when she did, she asked, “And why am I the mommy?”

“Because you have purple hair.”

This made little sense, if any to Kira, but she cared not the reason why. ‘Mommy’ was a title she found herself inexplicably fond of.

She brought her lips to Gilly’s forehead, kissing it gently.

“That makes you my daughter. And I’ll never let anything bad happen to you.”

 

 

 

 

 

25. GENERAL ORRECK

 

 

Primeus II was a f*****g waste. He’d said as much at the onset of its construction. They hadn’t listened though. They’d been too eager to dump tax payers’ dollars into an unnecessary project, an off-shoot research and containment facility that served no worthwhile purpose. They’d all but ignored his criticisms, the inept bureaucratic f***s that they were, and now that ‘little basement in Texas’, as he so often referred to it, was a gutted heap. He’d known Primeus II would likely fail in multiple capacities, he’d even wanted it to, but not even he would have imagined it would do so on such a monumental level, capitulating less than one year after going live. Now that little basement in Texas was empty save for the disaster and incursion crew that was analyzing the fallout, void of its contingency of scientists and doctors, void of an entire platoon of the 6^th Battalion 1^st Marine Corp, and void of its sole test subject. He didn’t give a damn about the loss of the medical and science staff. He hardly even had an inkling of concern for the loss of the platoon. What disturbed him was the loss of subject 17-B.

It had been no coincidence the child had been liberated on the cusp of being transferred to Primeus I. Whoever had orchestrated the assault had known its odds for success were infinitesimally better if perpetrated while subject 17-B was confined at Primeus II. One more day and the child would have been in his custody. One more day and she would have been securely detained at Primeus I, a virtually impenetrable citadel carved into the Sierra, Nevada, mountain range, as opposed to an ill run basement in the Texas badlands. Now they were paying for their ignorance. Now he was paying for their ignorance. This prize he’d so eagerly anticipated had been stolen from him, ripped away from him just as it was nearly within his grasp. Had subject 17-B been remanded to Primeus I in the first place, as he’d suggested, this debacle never would have occurred, especially now that the first of the suppressor units was active �" a ridiculously huge contraption the size of a semi trailer, but the Catalyst Project’s technical team was working around the clock to continually reduce the dimensions of future models.

A light breeze wafted through his closely cropped, silver-gray hair. The weather was hot and arid, as was the norm for this part of the world. The landscape was brutal, barren, an unforgiving thing. He would love it, if only he were capable of such an emotion. It was beautiful in its own right �" hell on earth, a constant reminder of what the entire world would look like if he were to fail at his mission. He strode across the tarmac, big as an ox, but with the grace of a puma, past row upon row of M1A3 battle tanks and AH-64D Apache attack helicopters to one of Primeus I’s ground level facilities. Despite the tragedies of the past few days, there was now something marvelous to look forward to, a revelation born of the decimation of Primeus II. It was enough to offset the loss of subject 17-B, and he had to fight to keep a smile from tearing across his battle scarred face.

He approached the two story complex that comprised the sight’s defense intelligence center. Flanking him were his adjuncts Lieutenant Colonel Sykes and Major Fitzgerald. Behind them marched eight marines in two rows of four, members of the 4^th Marine Special Operations Battalion which he’d crafted himself: four hundred cold hearted, unwaveringly loyal men and women. Two more marines standing rigidly at the double door main entrance of the defense intelligence center saluted him as he approached, then went on to hold the doors open for him and his party. He entered the building with a swift, determined stride, eager to claim the prize within.

Indication that the Catalyst Project had a leak had arisen months ago. He never would have guessed the traitor resided so close to home. It came as no surprise though that the rat had been one of the project’s white collared constituents. The soldiers under his command were incapable of such treachery. It was more often than not the undisciplined who yielded such corrupt acts: the free thinkers, the dreamers, the morally astute who felt they were of the few just in an unjust world.

The Catalyst Project was absolutely necessary. This was a fact, not an opinion. He dealt only in facts. Opinions were for independent thinkers who were compelled to vilify others so they may in turn glorify themselves. Opinions were for dreamers. Opinions were for the weak. Opinions were for traitors.

 

*          *          *

 

Trest Stadler stared at his computer terminal with bloodshot eyes. It had been a long, immensely stressful week, one in which he’d managed very little sleep. But now Friday was upon him, and his shift would conclude in less than two hours. Soon he would ride the bus that ferried the non-commissioned staff to and from the compound to the nearest town sixty miles away. He would take to his small apartment there, to the queen sized bed that awaited him within. He would sleep the weekend away in an attempt to compensate for the meager amount of rest he’d managed over the past several days. The rest was much needed. The rest was much deserved. He was doing something good with his life. After so many wasted years, he was finally doing something worthwhile.

Five �" a beautiful number. That’s how many lives Neptune, Venus, and he had saved thus far. Five was an excellent beginning. His only regret was that he couldn’t help those in need of his help the most: those imprisoned in the fortress carved into the mountain range just outside. There was some sick irony in him helping to liberate empowered individuals but being incapable of helping the ones that were closest to him, the ones whose lives were all but forsaken. The thought caused him great pity, but he could not allow it to overwhelm him. He was making progress. He was saving lives. He held this at the forefront of his mind, compelling himself to continue, when thoughts of the doomed souls imprisoned so near compelled him to surrender, to abandon his noble cause. “We’re knee dip in this s**t now,” Neptune had commented before departing to France. “We’re in it to win it. No turning back.” Trest whispered part of that sentiment internally as he continued to stare at his computer terminal. No turning back.

Around Trest sat a dozen of his colleagues, all busy at computer terminals identical to his. They were compiling and examining information regarding the empowered individuals who walked the world, information that would be passed on to the military and government hierarchy, information that would determine their next target, their next victim, their next captive. Trest was compiling and examining information as well, for an entirely obverse purpose; the empowered individuals he was in search of were the ones he and his fellow celestial bodies would attempt to save next.

Reflected in his monitor was a faint image of a metal door, the entrance to the room in which he sat. That door opened, and through it passed a goliath of a man, a four star general known by many of Trest’s co-workers as ‘The Beast’. He stopped a few feet within. From behind him emerged two ranking officers. They took up rigid stance on each side of him, legs slightly parted, hands folded behind their backs. In next stepped eight NCOs. They took pause for a moment as they looked about the room, then spread through it, moving in pairs, stopping at the terminals of each of Trest’s co-workers, quietly ordering them to rise and vacate the room.

Trest’s heart sank progressively deeper as one after another the room was cleared of all its inhabitants. All, that is, but for him and its military occupants. He’d since ceased tapping away at his keyboard. In the dim reflection of his monitor he was now all but certain ‘The Beast’ was staring at him, bearing into him with steely eyes. There was something else Trest noticed, something equally as unnerving, perhaps even more so: upon the general’s face there now resided a brutal grimace, the heartless man’s equivalent of a smile.

Five �" such a small number. That’s how few lives Neptune, Venus, and he would ever save. Five marked the end.

Where had he gone wrong? He’d been so careful. So very, very careful. But along the line he’d made an error. It was a sad inevitability; to err was human, and now their just crusade would be brought to an end, now their lives would be brought to an end.

A tear poured from Trest’s eye and rolled down his cheek. The tear was wrought of pity, but not for himself.

My dear Neptune, my precious Venus, I’ve failed you both.

General Orreck stepped to Trest and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, pinning him to his chair. The voice that emanated from him was as harsh as his appearance.

“To say I’m disappointed in you, Mr. Stadler, would be a monumental understatement.” He leaned forward, placing his mouth a few inches from Trest’s ear. His next words were spoken with conspiratorial delight. “Or would you prefer I referred to you as ‘Jupiter’?”

Reviews

[Christoph Poe]

Okay, I'm gonna start this off negatively (sorry for doing this, but it needs to be said):

The first sentence is s**t. It's absolutely terrible. I don't even understand how such an amazing writer as yourself would start this off with that sentence, but you better be thankful I read the second sentence, because.....


Everything else was amazing. Seriously. (And I apologize for giving you that bad feeling in your gut. Lol.) You have the right amount of detail, and everything flowed very nicely. I did not read the entire novel. It I wish I had true time to do so, but for now, I'm just browsing and trying to give as much constructive criticism as possible to others. I can't think of too much more for you to work on unless you include grammar. I'm not the best at grammar but I did catch a few mistakes. No biggie though.

....

Your dialogue is a little weak in some areas, so I feel. (**shrugs** this is the beset that I could pull out.) Here, when the 'evil man' starts speaking is a little weak. I think that if you broke his speak up with a few little parts of action in between it, then it might appear more 'demonic' and 'suspenseful'.

“When I was a boy, I had a dog,” the monster recounted. “A stupid mutt, like you. Before I’d house broken it, I’d lay newspaper on the kitchen floor so it could do its business. At times that mutt would get to playin with them papers as if they was a toy. I’d kick that mutt hard as I could every time it did. Eventually the lesson sank in, and that mutt quit usin those papers for amusement, and only used em for what they was intended for. I’m wonderin now,” he swung a heavy, boot clad foot forward with a swiftness uncharacteristic a man his size, the steel tip impacting the soft flesh of Daralice’s stomach, “how many times I’m gonna hafta kick you before you learn your lesson.”

Again, it's a minor complaint. Yours areas of success outweigh it, but if you want it to be PERFECT, then it could be something to think about in future revisions.

Thanks for the add, by the way. :)

--Christoph

97/100

[Layne]

Wow, just, wow. This piece is ineffable. Beautiful.

[Christoph Poe]

(Please ignore all those typos. I just got a new tablet, and I'm not doing very well with it. Lol.)

Seriously though, I have to ask that you consider omitting that first sentence. It's a story killer.