Chapter Seven: Cody's Errotica and a Hooker

“Man is not what he thinks he is, he is what he hides.” ― André Malraux

"You are so full of BS." A.J. says to Ty.

"Dude, I swear I’m not." Ty tells him.

"Really?" I ask, folding my arms across my chest. "Then where is this alleged ‘romance novel?’" Ty ran up to A.J. and me, declaring he had found a manuscript Cody was writing when he was using his invisibility to spy. It sounds shady, like almost everything Ty says. He’s pranked us at least twelve times in the past few days.

"Hidden between a book on bird anatomy and aerodynamics." Ty says. "I’ll go get it." He slips into the library, and I look at A.J., who shrugs.

"You think he’s being honest?" I ask.

"I can see Cody writing a novel. But not a romance novel." He says.

"Perhaps he exaggerated?" I guess.

"With Ty? It’s always possible."

Moments later, Ty emerges from the library with a large stack of paper. On the top, only two words sit in the dead center of the page. "Dark Water."

A.J. starts laughing right away. "That’s the title of a romance novel!" He manages to say.

"Dude, quiet! Cody’s on Kelli’s floor. Let’s go to yours." Ty tells A.J.

"You keep your dirty hands off my sandwiches." A.J. warns.

"Hell, no. I brought the laughter, you bring the food." Ty protests.

"What about her?" A.J. gestures to me.

"She brings the smartass comments." Ty says.

"And the sex appeal." I add. They both turn to face me, and I burst into the dorkiest laughter. If we weren’t on ground level, I’d be getting thrown over the balcony.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever. That, too." Ty says, saying the five words in two seconds. "Let’s go, I’ve been waiting to read this forever."

With the doors closed, the three of us sitting in a triangle and two sandwiches, one for Ty and one for A.J., we begin our challenge. Read until you start laughing, then pass it to the next person. "You first." Ty says with a full mouth.

"What? This was your idea!" I counter.

"I’m eating, and so is A.J. You read." He says, spitting bread at both A.J. and me.

"Dude, that’s sick." Says A.J.

"For A.J.’s sake, I’ll read." I say. A.J. tilts the pages so I can read them and turns onto the beginning of the first chapter. I clear my throat and narrate in my deepest, sexiest man voice, often making unnecessary eyebrow gestures. "‘Normally, I’m always cold. Never, however, when I was near her.’" Ty turns to the side to spit out his sandwich and laugh. A.J.’s struggling not to choke on his food, his face reddening. "‘I could spend a lifetime reading books. I could spend several lifetimes staring at her.’" I start chuckling and force myself into a straight, emotionless form. I’ll think of this as a game, whoever lasts the longest wins. My smile drops immediately. "‘All I can think about is if she likes poetry, and if she likes to read, too. I feel like there’s so much more to her.’"

Ty elbows Andrew. "That’s not the only thing he’s feeling." A.J., having already swallowed his food, lets out a laugh. I kick Ty in the shins to shut him up.

"‘She’s not loud and obnoxious like other girls.’" I narrate. "Hey, wait a minute! He’s talking about me!" A.J. and Ty fall back laughing. Andrew rolls onto his stomach and pounds his fist into the ground, Ty kicks his legs like he’s fighting for his life. I start chuckling, and can’t hold it in unless I want to suffocate. "That indecent jerk! How dare he!"

"Amber, pun intended," Ty says, taking a gasping break to speak. "I think you just got roasted."

I kick him in his legs again, going back to my reading. "‘If I could say anything to her, free of judgment, I could go on forever.’"

"He isn’t doing that now?" A.J. asks Ty.

"‘She talks to me, and I’m alive. She touches me, and I’m awake.’" I say.

"This better not go where I think it sounds like it’s going." A.J. says.

"Cody’s never going to live this down. Ever." Ty responds.

"‘Her favorite color is black, and although my soul is sold to the color blue, I think I am fonder of black nowadays.’"

"I’m never wearing black." A.J. tells Ty.

"You kidding? I’m going to wear it all the time and make Cody really confused." Ty says, making A.J. chuckle.

"Maybe you should wear one of Kelli’s skirts, too." A.J. says and giggles like a little girl.

"Should I put on white makeup and black lipstick? Kelli and I can be twinsies." Ty says in a fake, high-pitched girl voice.

"I don’t know who’s going to feel the most uncomfortable with that." A.J. says.

I continue on reading, keeping my voice low and throaty. "‘I don’t understand how I could become so infatuated with her,’" My voice wavers, I almost crack. "‘Or how I could become so obsessed with her―" I read the next word and completely lose it. My sanity, my grip on myself, my lock on laughter. I throw my head back and howl, eyes shut tight. I hold a hand over my stomach to try and stop the discomfort from hysterically laughing my brains out.

"What? What is it?" A.J. asks. He looks at the paper and bursts into laughter, leaving Ty to do the same.

"This is the best thing ever!" Ty says.

"Someone else read! I was still on the first paragraph!" I insist, finally able to breathe again.

"I’ll go." A.J. picks up the fat stack of paper, wipes tears from his eyes and takes a deep breath. He looks at the words for one silent, calm second. He then collapses right back into laughter, a domino effect that makes Ty and I laugh. Ty tries, only to fail.

"I can’t breathe!" A.J. gasps.

"Dudes," Ty says, his face red. He looks from me to A,J,, his smile wide. "Dudes, there are at least three hundred pages of this."

"This is just the first chapter!" A.J. practically shouts.

"I don’t know if we should read it. The material may not be suitable for children." I warn, barely able to get air in my lungs.

"Are you kidding? I’m going to read all of it." Ty says, picking up the papers. "I’m skipping that last line. ‘If she feels the same way, then I’ll―’" He stops to laugh, throwing the pages at A.J. "Read it! Read it!"

Andrew glances at the papers and buries his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking as he laughs. "No way." He says.
I lean to see the papers and laugh until I’m rolling on the floor. "Cody, ew. Poor Kelli." I say when I have a quick break in laughter.

"Kelli has to read this!" Ty says, bolting onto his feet. He snatches up the papers and bounds for the door, only to be blocked by A.J.

"Okay, come on, man. That’s really messed up." A.J. says.

"If someone was thinking about doing this stuff to you, wouldn’t you want to know?" Ty asks, hugging the papers to his chest.

"Honestly, no. That’s sick, and Kelli’d never sleep again." A.J. insists.

"Maybe if we give this to Kelli, Kellodi will finally happen!" Says Ty.

"Not like this. I wouldn’t let Cody do this to you." A.J. says. For a brief moment, they’re silently staring at each other, and I’m wondering if I should ship Tyndrew.

"Fine." Ty flings the papers down and sits.

A.J. scoots back to where he was sitting and picks up his sandwich, which has been rolled over at least five times. "Please tell me all guys don’t think like that." I say to him.

"I don’t." A.J. points at Ty, who makes a face. "I don’t know about that one, though."

We both turn to Ty, expecting him to say something. Instead, he just winks at A.J.

The only logical response is for A.J. to grab his legs and for me to grab his arms. We carry him out of A.J.’s room, stand next to the balcony and swing him back and forth twice before letting him go.

Does he use his convenient flying powers to save himself? Of course not. He’s not Ty if he doesn’t cause commission. He lets himself hit the ground, and I think he’s unconscious. A.J. and I stand, leaning over the balcony as the cracks in the floor and an unmoving body. "I’ve been thinking of going by Andrew." A.J. says suddenly.

"Why the change of heart?" I ask. I can’t imagine calling him anything other than A.J.

He shrugs. "What do you think? A.J. or Andrew?" He asks. I look over at him, trying to attach the right name to his face. A.J.’s kind of childish, and he’s easily the most mature after what I just read.

"Andrew." I answer. "It sounds less juvenile and doesn’t give off the ‘I’ll steal your lunch money, I’m a cool kid’ vibe." I answer.

"I give off that vibe?" He asks, up and in a panic.

"No, just your name." I say and turn back to Ty. "We should probably see if he’s okay." I climb up onto the balcony as he agrees. He does the same, and for a moment, we’re both standing on the catwalk of the second floor. "Andrew. That’s going to take some getting used to." I jump forward, curling into a flip as he simply falls feet-first.

Andrew. I have to admit, I find that more attractive than A.J. In the back of my mind, I imagine Ty saying, "That’s not the only thing you find attractive in Andrew." As if I’d tell Ty. As if I’d tell anyone.

I’m supposed to be a juggernaut. Emotions are supposed to be beneath me.

I will rise above them, as I do everything else.

"Come on, Ashler. Wake up." The voice of an unfamiliar adult male beckons me to life, and I can’t tell you how pissed I am to go from Andrew’s smooth, flawless voice to the one of a dude at least forty years old. My eyes venture open, blurry and slow. I can feel my toes and fingers wiggling, I can smell smoke. I taste nothing, like I always do, and wait for my eyes to adjust. Once they do, I can see the man leaning over me. He looks like the brutish, military version of Mr. C., only this one’s got a uniform and a badge and ditched the glasses. His hair looks like it was shaved, not like Mr. C.’s thinning hair. His eyes are darker, his chin is wider. He has more freckles and has a wider, more muscular chest. His eyebrows aren’t as kept as Mr. C.’s.

Where am I, exactly? Good question. A crater. A crater made in the sidewalk with a broad diameter and deep impact. I’m on my back, legs and arms bent in odd ways. It looks around four thirty, the sun is up, yet fading. The area around me is coated in yellow caution tape, police officers, cars and armed protectors. Where were you earlier?

"I’m not naked, right?" I ask. Oh, my gosh, I can’t believe I just asked a man who could be twice or three times my age that question. I mean, I want to know, but I thought I had a filter. And dignity.

Clearly, I have lost both. I hope I didn’t lose my clothes. "No, Ashler" He says. His voice is serious and full of authority. You know, the puffed-out chest kind of authority. The kid who always insists he’s manly, tries to never cry, cares more about being tough than girls and school and despises the color pink just because it connotates girliness? That kind of authority. "You are not naked."

"Thank God." I say. They made these clothes durable enough to withstand an explosion, so how’d the panic button get destroyed as easily as it did?

"Do you know who I am, Ashler?" He asks. I look at him, flipping through my memories like a book for his face and voice. There’s nothing.

"No." I tell him.

"I am General Kayd." He says, and I immediately know this man. They had us memorize the biggest names in the military. This guy’s famous for being the biggest drill sergeant who can break any rebel. If he taught a reform school, the products would be more obedient than a well trained dog. He’s to be promoted to General of the Army in wartimes. Ty and I think that if Cody were to ever meet the dude, he’d piss himself.

"Never mind." I say, picking myself up off the ground. "I’ve heard of you."

"I can say the same, Ashler." He says. His voice is low and unchanging. He doesn’t care that I could kill him in a second. He was probably told that I was brainwashed into complete submissiveness. He doesn’t think I have the balls to do it. "We were shocked to find that you weren’t in D.C."

"I was sent here last minute to try and stop a group of terrorists." I respond. I keep my voice low to remind him I’m stronger. I won’t be pushed around.  I’m not afraid of him.

"I’m well aware. I just wish we’d been informed earlier." He sounds like he’s giving me orders. If Mr. C hadn’t taught me better, I’d challenge him to a push-up contest.

"Mind if I ask why you’re here? I already wrapped things up." I tell him.

"You know more about this group than we do. This has been considered a national threat, and we plan on taking the group down." He says, pulling a pad and pencil out of his breast pocket.

"Then we have the same mindset. What do you need to know?" I ask.

"How did you take down the group in the past three times?" He asks.

"First of all, they have this computer they use to launch their missiles from. If you don’t destroy that right away, they use it to destroy everything. It shows a map of California and all their sites. Once that’s done, they’ll have jets, helicopters and even battleships waiting for you. You’ve got to just plow through those." I say.

He finishes scribbling down what I’ve said and looks up at me. "What’s their mindset? How do they fight?" He questions.

"They’re going for a body count. They’re armed to the teeth; they’ll take their own life in an explosion. Their goal is to destroy. They take hostages and have men on the inside. They are more dangerous than I was anticipating. They’re technologically advanced and have weapons superior to the police. They’ve practically brought an army." I say, spouting all of my observations.

"Is this a declaration of war?" He asks.

"No. That’s what they want. A declaration of war would give them a further excuse to demolish our country. And what creates a bigger panic than beginning a war out of defense? After the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, declaring war didn’t exactly calm everyone down." I remind.

"The people aren’t exactly calmed by having a superhero explode everything." He says.

"A superhero? That’s what they’re calling me?" I ask.

"They don’t know what else to. We’ve been able to keep the rest of the country in the dark, but California knows." He tells me.

Curiosity takes over. "What do they think I am? What are they calling me?"

"They don’t know what you are and they call you their champion." He seems eager to get back on topic. We should. I should be more professional. "I’m assuming you intend on defeating the next two groups in the group."

"I do." I say simply.

"How do you plan on achieving that?" He asks.

I have to pause for a moment. "I hope to find a way to catch them off guard and destroy the computer first thing, thus putting the area as a whole out of danger. Without their computer, they typically have either helicopters, jets or even battleship. I would prepare to destroy those and move on. That’s more or less what I’ve aimed to do all three times." I explain.

He nods as I speak. "What if we were to aid you? How would they react?" He asks.

"They prided themselves on being prepared for me, and selfishly, I’d love to see them brag about being prepared and then get surprised. However, I fear that would take away the element of surprise. If we show up unannounced, they have to scramble to put their plan in motion. In a panic or crisis, they take hostages." Mr. C. warned me about that. "Here’s what I think: I go in and fight, like they’re expecting, and you come in if I need it."
"Sounds similar to a panic button. I also received word you activated yours, and forty-three minutes later, it went cold. Many of us are curious as to what happened." He says. That time he’s ordering me to tell him.

"I’m not as strong as we thought I was." I honestly state.

"Pardon?"

"I can only work so hard before I become too weak to hardly move. If you don’t mind me asking, what did they think after I went missing?"

"We theorized that you’d been captured, almost certain after San Francisco. We feared they’d used you to destroy the Golden Gate Bridge." Used me. Like a point and click game. What, do they think I have to obey every order or I go poof into ashes?

"How would they capture me?" I ask, regretting how irritated I let myself sound.

"I repeat: we theorized." He says.

Someone calls for the general, grabbing his attention. "All you need to know is that their next location is at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk." I say.

"Are you planning on leaving?" He asks.

"I want to be there before they strike. I’m not sure when that is, so I plan on playing it safe and arriving as soon as possible." I say.

"You should get a ride in a helicopter. Save your energy." He says. I nod in response. "I’ll arrange it."

It takes a little over fifteen minutes to reach the Boardwalk. The sun is still up, and remains up for a while. We try to draw as little attention as possible, so the helicopter pulls near a cliff close enough for me to jump. It continues forward and pulls up, leaving me with the beach on my left and amusement park ahead.

From the distance, I take note of the area. There’s a large wooden coaster�" and my personal favorite, a small one called the fireball�" and the structures are built on concrete roughly ten feet over the sandy beaches. Either it’s crowded because there’s some sort of discount or summer draws in the people or some really famous celebrity is flashing, I don’t know. I just know that there are more people than I hoped. Optimally, we close the boardwalk. However, they probably have a man on the inside. If we closed it down, they’d know and probably relocate. There’s a stage set up on the beach and posters advertising a concert. If it draws a large crowd, that must be when they plan on attacking.

The posters promise Saturday night songs, which is in over twenty-four hours. Of course. I’ll be fighting on a Saturday, because chance is good to me. I doubt suddenly going from weak to powerful constantly is good for my body.

I should let my energy naturally restore. Relax. To do that, my first step should be to get away from the beach and historic wood coasters.

I go for a walk along the darkened streets of Santa Cruz, hoping my glow is dim and while it’ll never be anything less than eye-catching, perhaps it’s low enough to not arouse suspicion. The temperature has dropped since the sun went down, and there are few people on the streets. I walk around for a while, entering an area of town that seems weaker in quality and higher in people. No one is dressed very nicely, so I feel I’ll be able to fit in.

There are lots of faces, lots of people. Children play in the streets with a tattered soccer ball past its prime. Teenagers hang around and talk or play these games with slight gambling, adults talk. The streets have almost no cars and feel like they’re overflowing. The moonlight and porch lights are what keep the street out of darkness. People walk in groups that remind me of geese. This area doesn’t have much, but most of the people appear to be happy.

I make my way through, catching words or sentences from the conversations. Nothing particularly interesting, so I let the words drift out my mind without much thought.

Five minutes pass, and the numbers have thinned out. The lights are dimmer, the cars increase in quantity as busier streets ensue. The buildings themselves remain in the category of low quality they were in earlier. If I wasn’t made of fire, I’d be terrified for my safety. This is the stereotypical street in every movie ever, where a young woman is walking alone. She’s mugged by thugs passing by unlit allies. She tries to fight back, she screams and kicks. Maybe she lands a kick to a dude’s nuts. She’s eventually chloroformed and never seen again.

And those are unanimously considered to be human beings. By definition, they are homo sapiens. Undisputed. I’m not entirely convinced they’re the good guys.

I don’t think I can judge the issue. I’m more of a villain than a hero myself, and I’ve got one hell of a bias.

Far ahead of me, easily four hundred yards, a girl stands under a streetlight. She leans against the wall behind her, one leg bent and propped against the other. As I approach, her features and articles of clothing are distinguishable. She wears knee-high black, laced boots, and black fishnet leggings. She has a short, red miniskirt that clings to her thighs. She only has on a black tube top, shouldn’t she be freezing? She’s thin, almost all skin and bones. There’s little fat to keep her warm at all.

A car passes by, and she picks her head up. I can spot a thin yet large nose with a ring in the right nostril. She waves and blows a kiss, standing up on both legs. It’s like she’s a toy soldier who’s been wound up. Her actions seem very rehearsed, hollow and robotic. She puts her left hand on her hips and waves with the right. She calls out to the driver in a voice that’s so fake, so plastic and so forged. The car doesn’t even slow down, and she slumps against the wall. She slides down the wall until she sits and keeps her neck exposed. She either has hickies or bruises going from her jaw to her collarbone. I don’t know which this girl would consider better.

Her skin is pale and looks somewhat purple in the light. She holds her head down, her short, fairly light hair blocking her face. There’re gray splotches in it-- some kind of ash? Maybe from cigarettes?

On her right arm, she has a tattoo in dark ink. An emblem of some unknown word…

And the tips of her hair are a different color. A very vibrant and bright color.

I stop a few yards in front of her and practically exhale the word.

"Dawson."

I wonder if she can recognize me. My voice isn’t as scratchy, eyes are probably a yellowish-gold, hair is at least longer and more golden, skin seems flawless to the human eye and I’m significantly taller. But she’s the one who should be nervous.

She whips her head towards me, eyes wide open. She has bright lipstick, fake lashes, foundation, eyeliner, eyeshadow and too much makeup for someone with such a naturally beautiful, innocent face. She snaps onto her feet, which she does extraordinarily well in stilettos. She turns the rest of her body and stumbles backward. Her right hand on the wall is the only way she stays standing, which is miraculous after seeing the way her legs kick and sprawl everywhere.

She stammers as she says, "Amber?" She inches out of the light, maybe she thinks I can’t see her.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"I was�" I just�" I had to�"" Her words are short and quick, her eyes darting around everywhere except me. Then, she stares right at me, a scowl on her face. "What are you doing?"

If you had to guess who was the five-year-old based on our conversation…

I look around the street we’re on. Seems shady, like someone’s going to jump out from the shadows and bury a knife in Dawson’s chest. Besides, anyone could be in the shadows, anyone could be listening. "Let’s find a safer place to talk." I suggest. "We both have some explaining to do."