Chapter 2, The Laughing-Girl Drawing

I had three more classes before lunch. I followed the notes Rachel had written on my schedule. I arrived five minutes early. I sat at the front of the class. I didn’t correct the teachers.

When the lunch bell rang I went to the cafeteria. Rachel had said that Sofia would look for me, but if she didn’t find me I’d have to sit with other people my age.

I walked to the nearest table.

“How old are you?” I asked. The girl glanced over her shoulder.

“Um, fifteen...” she trailed off and gaped at me as I moved on to the next table, but they were all either fifteen or sixteen too. They also stared at me. I moved on to the next one and asked as well. Pretty soon I was aware of everyone in my vicinity staring at me, watching as I continued to make my way around.

At one point a young man leaned back in his chair, his hands behind his head, “I’m eighteen, but I’ll lose a year for you, sweetheart,” he crooned. “Along with my self control.” A round of whistles chorused from his friends, except for Barbara, who sat at the same table. Her arm was in a sling, and she used the other to slap him.

“Oliver!” she said angrily, “You freaking idiot! She’s the one who attacked me!”

“Her? Hot mama, did she burn when she touched you?” he roared, and everyone joined in. I did not understand. Barbara grew bright red and stood up. In a single fluid movement she dumped her tray on Oliver’s shirt, and then stalked off.

“Barbara!” Oliver stood up, groaning. “Come on baby, I was kidding!”

I watched him chase after her. For a long moment, I continued to be the center of attention, but then I was only half of it.I felt someone tap my shoulder. I turned around and saw Sofia. Her hair was pulled up and she wore a short purple dress and black flip flops.

“Hey!” She smiled. “Where have you been? I looked everywhere for you.”

“Obviously you did not, since I am here,” I answered, and Sofia took my arm and lead me away from the crowd I was standing among. Everyone watched us leave. I did not disarm her.

“I guess you’re right. Let’s sit. Have you gotten food yet?” We walked over to the table she pointed at and she placed her backpack on its plastic surface. The chairs were fixed to the table.

“No,” I told her.

“Okay, well the lunch counter is over there.” She indicated behind me. “I brought my lunch from home so I’ll keep our seats while you go. The meal is five dollars.”

“Yes,” I said, pulling out the money Rachel had given me from my backpack. Then I crossed the cafeteria and went to stand at the back of the line. As the people in front of me slowly moved forward, I finally reached the beginning of the counter. I looked through the glass pane at the food. Today there was spaghetti with meatballs, hamburgers, pizza, and some sort of scrambled meat I couldn’t identify. I took out my schedule from my pocket and looked at it. Rachel hadn’t written instructions about what to eat, and obviously none of the foods were labeled “Alice” like at the house. I looked back at Sofia, but she was talking to someone else.

“What are you having, honey?”

I turned to look at the cafeteria lady. She held a bowl in one hand and a lifted pair of tongs in the other. Her hair was collected in a black net, and her cheeks sagged downwards.

I glanced over my shoulder to see who she was speaking to, but she was looking straight at me.

“Are you asking me?” I asked her.

She raised an eyebrow, “Do you want lunch, or not?”

“I-I don’t know,” I stammered, and then paused in surprise.

I don’t stammer.

“Well, you better decide yourself or let someone else order something.”

I was beginning to feel strange. The person in front of me moved forward, leaving a space between us.

“Hey, what’s holding up the line?” Someone a little ways behind me called.

I pulled my phone out to call Rachel, ignoring other voices that spoke up, but then an empty trey slid to a stop on the counter in front of me.

“Everyone, chill out. The selection of food is a serious matter.” I glanced at the person behind me. The boy was taller than me, with spiky dark blond hair and pale blue eyes. When our gazes met I saw a small hint of surprise in his expression, but unlike everyone else, he didn’t gape or turn away. Richard would have called it “keeping his cool.”

He looked at the cafeteria lady, “Two pizzas, please.” He then winked at me and said, “No mystery meat. Better safe than sorry, you know?”

“No.” Rachel had never told me that.

“No, what?”

“I did not know that it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

The cafeteria lady slapped a slice of pizza on a paper plate and placed it on the glass divider, “What do you want, honey?”

“I’ve already ordered,” I informed her.

“She doesn’t mean you, princess,” the boy told me, taking his own slice of pizza and nudging my trey forward. I slid it along the counter until I stood behind the next person in line.

“You new or something? I haven’t seen you before.”

“Does that allow for the assumption that I am new?” I asked him.

He raised an eyebrow, “Generally, no. Big School. But you I would have noticed.”

“I started yesterday,”  I admitted, reaching the end of the counter. The man at the cash register stared at me for a moment, his hand raised hesitantly over the cash register. When I looked at him, he looked down again.

“Just a pizza?” he muttered.

“Yes.”

“No, she wants a water too. You can’t have lunch without something to wash it down.”

The cashier pulled out a bottle of water from a small refrigerator and placed it on my tray, continuously avoiding eye-contact. “Four-fifty, please.”

I handed him the money.

“A pizza and water for me, too. Thanks, Jer.”

The tag on the cashier’s shirt read “Jerry.” Maybe Jer was his nickname.

“D’you see the basketball game last night?” he continued.

Once I stepped away from the counter Jerry seemed to relax again. “’Course I did. Never seen such s****y refs in my entire life.”  

“Tell me about it. But hey, what can you do about it? See you tomorrow.”

“Take it easy.”

“As usual.”

“Alice!” I turned towards the sound of my name. Wrena jogged up to me, “I saved you a seat, remember?”

“I already have a seat,” I told her, but by the look on her face I realized I must have sounded rude. “Sit with me,” I added. Rachel would have approved of my correction.

“Sure. Where you at?” All of a sudden though, her eyes went wide and her fingers clenched, as if she were trying to grasp something. A pencil, maybe. It seemed like a nervous tick.

“You're welcome, anyway.” The boy appeared by my side.

I turned to him, “I didn’t thank you.”

“That’s the point. Anyway, I’d gallantly offer you my lunch seat, but it seems like you’re all set.” He glanced at Wrena, and again she clenched her fingers. “I hope to see you again, princess” he winked, and then walked away. I blinked once. For some reason, I continued to see his blue eyes, even though he’d turned away. It was as if they’d been momentarily inked into my cornea.

“Everyone is getting my name wrong,” I turned to Wrena, ignoring the odd feeling. “It’s Alice-” I didn’t get to finish, though. Wrena put both hands on my shoulders and leaned closer, opening her eyes wide.

“I’m gonna tell you this because you’re new. If you ever see his face again, turn around and go in the opposite direction.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s one of them.”

“Do you know him?”

“No, but anyone who looks like that is bad news. Even though...” she trailed off, “damn, you’d make a legendary couple. Nice on paper. But trust me. Keep away..”

“Yes.” Though as I answered, I glanced over my shoulder and watched him walk out of the cafeteria. I could hear him whistling an unfamiliar song. I wondered what Wrena meant by looking like “that”.

“You’ve been warned. Anyway, where’d you say you were sitting?” she repeated.

“Here.” Wrena followed me to the table where Sofia waited for me. A boy I did not recognize sat on her other side. I placed my trey on the table and sat down. Wrena, though, remained standing. Sofia turned to me.

“Pizza?” she mused, looking at my plate. “Good choice.” She then glanced over my shoulder. “Hello, Wrena.”

“You know each other?” I asked.

“Sort of. We’re in the same Spanish class,” Wrena answered, but I was unable to identify her facial expression.

“Yes. Why don’t you sit down?” Sofia asked her. Wrena sat down without a word and started immediately eating her lunch. “Alice,” Sofia turned towards me, “this is Elijah.” Elijah had a buzz cut, blue eyes, and pale skin. He held out his hand and I shook it.

“Nice to meet you, Alice.” He had a British accent, like one I’d heard in a movie once.

“You as well.”

“Un freaking believable.” Wrena watched us with her chin resting in her hands. “I’d bet anything you’re all related, but you look nothing alike. Did you all go to the same beauty farm or something? Plastic surgery?”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” I told her, but Sofia answered instead.

“There is a little resemblance, but it’s no matter.” She continued to eat her salad. Elijah sat erect, hands in his lap, eyes focused in the distance. He did not have a lunch.

“Are you a subject?” I asked him. Elijah turned to look at me sharply, and before answering he glanced at Sofia, who’d also paused from eating her meal. She put her fork down and looked over her shoulder. At the same time most of the students at the table behind us looked away.

She turned to Elijah again and nodded.

“Yes,” he replied.

“What the frick’s a subject?” Wrena asked as she stuffed her mouth with a forkful of spaghetti and meatballs.

“We’re participating in a genetic survey at the local college,” Sofia answered. “It’s kind of a joke.”

I wasn’t sure what number lie this was for her.

~)(~

Wrena threw open the door to a small apartment room and bowed.

“Welcome to my humble abode.”

“Thank you.” I stepped inside and immediately took my shoes off. She followed me and dumped her backpack in the corner before kicking her boots off as well. Before us was a living room cramped with rounded furniture. A red coach was turned towards a television set, and a large window overlooked balcony that floated above a groomed courtyard.

“Wrena, is that you?” A skinny woman walked out of a door on the wall to our right. She had the same dark colors as Wrena, but she carried wrinkles around her eyes and mouth.

“Nope. It’s your other daughter, with her other friend, with the other spare keys.”

“And your friend!” Mrs. Speaker said happily, approaching us. “You must be Alice! Welcome!” I put my hand out but instead she embraced me tightly. I was alarmed and did not know how to react, but she stepped back quickly.  

“Thank you.” I said. “You are Wrena’s mother?”

“Yes. I hope she didn’t blackmail you to visit us. Yes! Here, give me your things!” She quickly grabbed my jacket and backpack out of my hands and shoved them into a closet. “I’m making cookies like you asked, hun,” she told her daughter. “They’ll be ready in ten minutes. Why don’t you show Alice your room?”

“Mom, we’re not ten,” Wrena rolled her eyes. She grabbed my wrist and tugged me down a short hallway to our left. We did, though, go to her room.

It was smaller than mine; there was just enough space for a single bed, a closet, and a small bookcase. Wrena dropped down on her bed while I looked around. The green carpeting on the floor was thick and soft. None of the decorations on the walls matched. The one behind her bed had a huge bulletin board filled with posters, pictures, notes, and many things I didn’t understand, but mostly drawings. The wall around the window across the room was plain, but the one her bed pressed against was covered with horizontal black lines. Some spaces between the lines were free, while others were taken up by small handwriting. I stepped closer to read what was written.

“You like?” Wrena asked, crossing her legs beneath her. “It was my mom’s idea. These are all my favorite quotes from books I’ve read and movie’s I’ve watched.”

“I don’t know,” I told her. I walked closer to the wall and read the first line I found: “All that is gold does not glitter. Not all those who wander are lost,” I murmured.

“J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings.”

“It’s correct. For instance, silver glitters. Diamonds do as well,” I said.

“You’re missing the point,” Wrena slapped her forehead. “It’s a metaphor. It means appearances sometimes deceive.”

Rachel had never spoken to me about this. “Why should someone appear to be someone they’re not?”

Wrena raised an eyebrow. “Your mom was right to put you into high school.”

“I don’t understand.” I was still standing. Wrena gestured for me to sit next to her on the bed. When I sat, I sank lower than expected. The mattress was much softer than mine. I found myself with my knees almost at the same height as my chest.

“People put on a b***h-mask for many different reasons, I think,” Wrena drummed her fingers on her knees.

“What’s a b***h-mask?” I rested my hands on my lap.

“Pretending to be someone else. Like, because you don’t think people will like you.” We sat in silence for a long moment. “That got deep real fast,” she noted, then indicated the walls of her room. “So you likey?”

“I don’t know,” I repeated, assuming “likey” meant “like.” “It’s different from my room.” My room had white walls and a wooden floor. My bed sheets were navy, and I had one closet, a desk, and a mirror hanging behind my door.

I continued looking around. All the surfaces of her room were covered in notebooks and scraps of paper, so many that most of them spilled on the floor. On top of her closet were several faceless wooden dolls that one could bend and shape into different positions. One of them had its arms raised above its head and was raised on its toes. Another crouched down, one foot forward and one back, the starting position for a race.

Wrena stood up to move something, revealing an open notebook on the floor. I picked it up and saw that the drawing on the first page was of a woman in the same position as the first wooden doll.

“Oh,” Wrena muttered when she saw me looking. Her face became slightly red, “haha, that old thing. Yeah, sorry, I should really clean up my room.”

“Who is she?” I asked.

“Who’s who?” All of a sudden Wrena walked to her closet and pulled her shorts off before pulling on a pair of sweatpants. Then she turned to me. “Hello?”

I realized I hadn’t answered her yet. I lifted the notebook and pointed to the doll on the closet.

She shrugged, “It’s not really anybody. Just a drawing.”

I glanced around and realized that all the papers scattered around her room were just drawings, sketches, and even some paintings.

“You can look through that one, I don’t think there’s anything weird in it.” She came to sit next to me and looked over my shoulder as I leafed through the pages, some heavy with ink or coal. Most of the drawings were of people: faces, profiles, sitting or stretching.

I paused to stare at a watercoloring of a girl. Her features were very plain, but her head was tilted back and her eyes were squeezed shut as her mouth gaped open, revealing pearly white teeth. She was laughing. Her lips curved and her cheeks were rosy, covered in freckles. She looked content.

“What made her laugh?” I asked.

Wrena shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t even remember who it was. I drew it last year.” She pointed to the corner of the page where three numbers were separated by dashes. The date. I continued to stare at it, and even reached out to touch the face with my fingertip. The paper was slightly wrinkled, probably because the watercolors hadn’t dried in synchronization.

“You can have it if you want,” Wrena told me.

“I don’t know if I want it,” I answered immediately, but this time, something felt different about those words.

“You really gotta work on your wants and don’t wants. Here.” She took the notebook out of my hand and ripped out the paper with the laughing girl and handed it to me. “I have many others.”

I took it. “Thank you.”

Just then, Wrena’s mother called us. “Girls! The cookies are ready!”

“Food!” Wrena jumped up, and jogged out of the room. I folded the laughing girl before putting it in my backpack and then followed her into the small kitchen. A sweet smell hung in the air, and I could feel the heat from the oven, still open. Mrs. Speaker held out a tray filled with cookies in my direction.

“Chocolate peanut butter! Guests choose first.”

I stared at the trey. They were all slightly different. None of them were identical.

She noticed my hesitation. “Oh, bother. You probably don’t want to use your hands, since they’re still hot! I’ll take it for you since I’m wearing kitchen gloves. Which one do you want?”

“I don’t know.” Mrs. Speaker glanced at me, then at her daughter, who rolled her eyes.

“Alice has this thing about opinionated questions.” She leaned over the counter to look at the trey and pointed at a large cookie. “She can have the second biggest one.”

Mrs. Speaker smiled again and lifted the cookie. It deformed slightly as she placed it on a napkin and handed it to me.

“Thank you.”

“Now, this one if for me.” Wrena used her bare hands to pick out the largest cookie. I looked down at mine. I could feel its warmth through the napkin. The chocolate chips smeared against the dough, and I raised it hesitantly to my mouth before taking a bite.

“What do you think?” Wrena asked through a mouthful of cookie. She glanced up from a paper that had appeared under her hand. She was sketching something with a broken pencil. A cookie.

“Swallow your food before speaking, young lady,” Mrs. Speaker reprimanded her as she moved the rest of the cookies onto a big plate. The kitchen was even smaller than the living room. The cabinets were bright green and the table was covered by a lace tablecloth. The countertops were made of marble, but you could barely tell because they were as full as the furniture in Wrena’s room.

“It’s soft,” I told her, “and I can taste the butter.”

“That’s her way of saying she likes them,” Wrena translated for her mom, looking up from her drawing again. “Done. How’s it this time?” she flicked the drawing to her mother who picked it up and examined it.

“It looks beautiful, sweetie.”

“That’s what you say about all my drawings. Ever heard of critiquing?”

“But all of your drawings are beautiful!”

Wrena rolled her eyes again and twirled the pencil between her fingers.

I finished the cookie and looked at my hands. They were covered in chocolate and felt sticky.

“Can I wash my hands?” I asked.

“Of course. The bathroom’s just around the corner,” Mrs. Speaker pointed towards the living room.

“Yes.” I walked out of the kitchen and into the small bathroom. The floor was tiled and the walls were painted a light hue of blue. Frilly towels hung on little hooks drilled next to the sink. I wet my hands under the facet and picked up the bar of soap. It was pink, and smelled vaguely of roses. It reminded me of the flowers in the cemetery with the grave robber last year. I could hear Wrena’s mother speaking as I rinsed off my hands and dried them on the towels.

“Alice seems nice.”

“Yeah, she’s cool.”

“She’s…” Mrs. Speaker hesitated a moment before continuing, “different.”

“I know,” Wrena answered. “It’s kind of nice. She’s not like everyone else. At least, so far. I’ve just met her.”

“Have you drawn her yet?”

“Nope.”

Her mother gasped, but I think she was pretending.

“I know, it’s weird. I just don’t see it yet,” Wrena muttered. Their conversation was then interrupted by a song emanating from my backpack. I walked out of the bathroom and pulled my cell from its front pocket. The screen showed five missed calls from Rachel.

“Oh s**t,” Wrena glanced over my shoulder. “If that were my mom, I’d be worried.”

I didn’t understand what she meant, so I didn’t say anything. I pressed the green answer button.

“Alice?” Rachel’s voice sounded from the other end of the line. I couldn’t help but notice she sounded slightly panicked.

“Yes.”

“Thank god. Where have you been?” Now she sounded angry.

“At Wrena Speaker’s house.”

“Who the hell is Wrena Speaker?”

“My friend.”

Rachel didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, “What’s the address? I’m coming to pick you up.”

“I don’t know.”

“Then ask!” Now she sounded irritated. I turned to Wrena.

“What’s your address?” She was contemplating me from the other side of a large sketchbook.

“Seventy-nine River Lane, room 23.”

“Okay,” Rachel had overheard. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Yes.” The line went dead and I turned my phone off.

~Richard~

Rachel turned to glare at me. I didn’t know how she pulled off pretending to be Alice’s mom. Her hair was raven black, her eyes icy blue. I guess they both had the same intensity.

“So where’s she at?” I asked innocently. .

Rachel glared at me a moment longer before stalking off to her purse. She threw in her cell phone and car keys. “At a friends house,” she muttered.

“That’s good!”

She turned to me again, buttoning up her sweater. “Good? No. Not good. And don’t pretend like you had nothing to do with it. I don’t know how, but you were part of this.”

I didn’t answer her accusations. “You’re sending her to high school for a reason, Rachel.”

“Yes. But it’s not for that one.” She slammed the door and I heard her heels click down the steps before the car doors unlocked.

~Alice~

“So?” Wrena asked.

I turned towards her. “I don’t understand what you mean by that.”

“Was that your mom?”

“Yes.”

“What did she want?”

“Your address.”

She rolled her eyes. “No duh, genius. Why did she want my address?” She put her sketchbook down and crossed her arms over her Guns and Roses tee-shirt.

“She is coming to pick me up,” I answered, putting the phone away.

“Already?”

“Yes.”

Four minutes and 32 seconds later the doorbell rang. Wrena and I were sitting on the couch. She was showing me pictures of her trip to Disneyland last year. Most of them were of her posing next to people with strange costumes on. Her hair was longer and hadn’t yet been dyed blue. I stood up but Mrs. Speaker bustled out of the kitchen and reached the door before me. She cleaned her hands on her apron and then opened the door. Rachel stood on the other side, arms crossed over her chest.

“Hi!” Mrs. Speaker cried out, “You must be Mrs. Gaede!”

Rachel shook her hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Speaker.”

“Please, call me Sarah. Would you like to come in?”

“No, thank you. Alice and I have some important business we need to tend to right now,” Rachel answered with a smile. It was different than Mrs. Speaker’s smile.

“Oh, alrighty then,” she replied, holding the door open.

“Come, Alice.” Rachel called. Wrena and her mother exchanged an odd look, but I picked up my backpack and stepped outside to stand next to her.

“It was nice meeting you, dear. Come whenever you want,” Mrs. Speaker told me.

“Yes,” I replied.

“See ya tomorrow,” Wrena called from inside the apartment.

“Yes.”

With that, Rachel began walking down the corridor. I followed her, and heard the door shut quietly behind us. We waited for the elevator in silence. It was not until we stepped inside that she spoke.

“How come you didn’t tell me where you were, Alice?” The double doors closed in unison. Mirrors on the walls reflected millions of us.

“I sent you a text.” My stomach felt strange as the elevator began to move. At every floor we descended to, a small bell on the ceiling dinged once. All of a sudden I felt very odd. I clutched the thin handrail and brought a hand to my forehead.

“Richard…” Rachel muttered, not noticing my odd reaction. But the moment passed, and I stood straight again. The small room came to a halt, and the doors opened slowly.

“Have I been here, before?” I asked her.

Rachel watched me closely as we exited the elevator. “No,” she answered. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” We walked out of the main entrance.

“Have a nice evening, ladies,” the doorman took his hat off.

“Thank you,” I answered. Rachel didn’t say anything. She led me to the parking lot. Once we were both seated in the car she turned the keys in the ignition and began driving towards the highway.

“I have a mission for you,” she told me.

“Yes.”

“Remember the old warehouse those smugglers used as their hub last month?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that place seems to be a magnet for crime. I picked up another trail.” After stopping at a red light she pulled out a newspaper clipping from her purse and tossed it on my lap. I picked it up and looked at it.

The title of the article read “Mysterious Man Thrice Evades Capture”, and under it was a picture of an aerial view of a department store surrounded by police cars and swat teams.

“Those idiots let him slip through their fingers again. Some sources say he’s around the warehouse, but they won’t go after him yet because there’s not enough evidence,” Rachel laughed. “They’re too clumsy and inconsistent. I know he’s there. That’s why you’re going in.”

“Yes.”

“You need to capture him alive, and then leave him for the police. Usual drill. I wish I could be there to see their faces,” she muttered. “I’m dropping you off at a parking lot a good distance from the suspected building. We’ll meet Richard there, who’s going to bring your bike, and then you’re on your own.”

“Yes.”

“They’ve got the place roped off, so you’ll have to get in without being seen when its dark.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I almost forgot. Open the compartment.”

I pressed the button and the little drawer dropped open. In it was a business card. I picked it up. It was dark black with a series of small silver letters and a silver line that framed it’s edge.

RotS-DS it read.

“You know what to do with it.”

“Yes.”

We were silent for the rest of the drive. When we pulled into the community parking lot I saw Richard standing under a tree. His hair was pulled back with a hairband. Parked next to him was my motorcycle. For some reason, every time I saw it, I thought about a panther. It was sleek, jet black, and very fast. Built into its sides were carriers for three different kinds of guns and a couple of smoke bombs. Richard had built it from scratch.

Rachel parked next to it. “You won’t need your backpack. Just keep your cell.” I pulled out my phone and stepped out of the car. The sky was rosy, but the east was turning dark. She tossed me a rugsack. “Here are some clothes to change in. I’ll leave the front door unlocked.”

“Yes.”

I moved away from the car and Rachel drove away. Richard’s pick-up truck and trailer were on the other side of the lot.

I turned towards him as he wiped his hands on his jeans and approached the motorcycle.

“Alright. I didn’t make a lot of modifications since last week-”

“I made a friend,” I interrupted him.

“You...Really?” He looked surprised.

~Richard~

I glanced at her. Maybe I’d misheard what she’d just said. Her expression was not the “I just made a friend” expression. It was her “I just caught a criminal” or “I finished a math test faster than a graduate student with a doctorate in engineering” look. To tell the truth, it was simply the “Alice” look.

~Alice~

“What’s her name?” He sounded doubtful.

“Wrena Speaker.” Her name sounded like evidence: evidence that I’d made a friend.

“That’s good, robo-princess.” His voice remained slightly disbelieving, but then he said, “Better than I expected, anyway.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Never mind. Anyway, about your bike.” He took a step forward and rested his hand on the grip. “Like I said, I didn’t make a lot of modifications since last week. You shouldn’t have any trouble. See that red button?” he pointed.

“Yes.”

“That opens this baby up.” He kneeled down and twisted a small knob behind the dark seat, revealing a compartment. I looked inside. Small silver marbles flashed in the fading sunlight.

“What are they?”

“My newest invention. Messes with the radio signals and satellite waves in police vehicles. If you release these little suckers while being chased, they’ll latch onto the bottom of the cruisers and prevent them from contacting others or tracking you with electronic maps or GPS’s. Then if you lose them with a smoke bomb, there’s no way they can find you again.” Richard closed the compartment with a click, and pointed out a small tube that ran out of the compartment and along the side of the motorcycle. “They’re released just behind the wheel so there’s no risk of them accidentally latching onto you.”

“Yes.”

“I also changed some gears and systems in the motor. Should be even more silent now. If you crash or need to leave your bike quick, I modified the headlights to turn off automatically. And one last thing. You don’t need to worry about hiding it from sight now.” He pulled the keys out of the ignition. Suddenly, all the gun holders and extra compartments sank into the body of the motorcycle, making it look like any other bike. “Still not your average two wheeler, but it’s not as suspicious now.”

“Yes.”

Richard rested his hands on his hips for a moment, and then glanced down at me. “You going to be okay?”

“Yes.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Not the least bit nervous, huh?”

“No.”

He chuckled silently, but I didn’t understand what was funny.

“Alright, well, you know what to do, I guess.”

“Yes.”

He smacked my shoulder gently as he walked past me towards his car. “Be safe.”

“Yes.” He always told me that.

After changing into the clothes Rachel had brought me, I waited until it was dark and the parking lot was empty before driving the motorcycle to the old warehouse. The highways were like black carpets, the cars flashing by me like red and yellow fireflies. It took about an hour to get there. Rachel never gave me cases in San Paolo.

The warehouse was taped off and shut down, but there were only a few police cars and the buildings in proximity weren’t evacuated. I went around the back, careful to not be seen, and parked the bike in the shadow of a nearby house. No one was around. I pulled my helmet off and let my hair fall down my back again. A cool breeze lifted a couple of locks as I put on the Identity Simulator.

Richard usually called it the IS. It was a small glove made of thin plastic that adhered perfectly to the shape of my hand, almost like a second skin. The palm of the glove glowed blue for a moment, and then the soft light spread up my fingers, illuminating a false hand print before fading completely. This way, the fingerprints I’d leave behind would be fake.

I slid the handgun under my belt and tucked a knife into the pocket of my jacket before cutting the engine. The compartments in the sides of the motorcycle disappeared from view with a metallic whine. I put the keys in my pocket and made my way towards the warehouse, walking in and out of the shadows.

One police cruisers was parked in the front, and the other was at the back, so I climbed up the side of the building and entered through an open window. I stood on the window sill and looked around. Inside, the warehouse was a large hall with a thin attic accessible by a set of stairs on the opposite wall. It would have taken too long to climb back down and circle the building to reach the stairs.

I pulled a small strap on the side of my leg. My dark jeans had a harness built seamlessly into the material, attached to a strong rope that wrapped around my waist and remained hidden under my belt. I unfolded the small clasp from my pocket and hooked it to the window sill before unwrapping the rope from my waist and slowly lowering myself down. The process was noiseless. Once I landed on the ground I pinched the end of the rope and the clasp above my head unhinjed and fell for a couple of seconds before dropping into my hand. I fed the rope back around my waist and took out the handgun, holding it in the hand with the IS.

Before me stood fifteen aisles separated by tall compartments carrying a variety of things. Most were cardboard boxes with white labels. The room was dark, but I could see the glow of a single naked light bulb in the distance. I stood in silence for a moment, listening. I could hear one person sitting in the middle of the room. Just one.

I tucked my gun in my belt again, and started the timer.

I didn’t know which way the person was facing, so I had to get closer before revealing myself. I walked down the aisle closest to the wall, and after a couple of minutes looked over the packages. In the center of the warehouse, where the aisles ended, there were three long wooden tables lined parallel to the shelves. One desk light sat on the center table, illuminating maps and plans and other scrolls. A couple of chairs were tossed about. One man sat in front of the lamp.

He was looking down at a paper. I pulled out a thick strip of leather from my pocket and stepped out of the shadows. The bottoms of my shoes were covered with a sort of felt, making my footsteps inaudible. I took three quick steps, soft taps on the ground. The man straightened up, but before he was able to turn, I pulled the leather strip over his head and between his teeth to muffle any sound.

Keeping a tight grip on the ends of the strip I pulled him out of the chair and on the floor. He landed heavily on his chest, and I heard his breath breeze out of his lungs in a groan. I straddled his back and tied the strip in a tight knot behind his head as he flailed his arms and legs, emanating panicked noises. Just as I finished though, he was able to push himself off the ground and me off his back. I rolled and sprang to my feet again as he pulled himself up clumsily.

Instead of trying to escape, he immediately began fumbling with the strip around his jaw and neck. His attempts would be futile, though. Richard had made the leather material to be impossible to untie once made into a knot. The only way to get it off would be to cut it.

Realizing this, he lunged towards the gun on the table, but before he was able to grip it well I chased after him and kneed his side to incapacitate his arm. He grunted and dropped the gun as I pulled his feet out from under him and he crashed to the floor again. Quickly I pulled his arms behind his back. He moaned as I clapped manacles around his wrists, and then tied his ankles around the corner of a nearby shelf. I pressed my knee between his shoulders and stopped the timer.

Five minutes, thirty seven seconds. The man struggled uselessly. I stood up and pulled out the black notecard from my pocket. The silver details glowed icily. When I tilted it back and forth it cast moving reflections on the boxes around me.

I kneeled down next to the man. He was sweating nervously and clenching the leather strap tightly between his teeth. He looked up at me as I held the card in front of his face. I think he looked angry.

“When the police comes, please show them this,” I told him, and then placed the notecard on his back. He mumbled something unintelligible as I glanced upwards. At the far corner of the ceiling, a small camera pointed in my direction. I walked through the aisles until it was right above my head, and then spotted a wire coming out of its underside. It probably connected the camera to a control panel. I followed the wires with my eyes and saw that it disappeared into an opening that led to the attic.

I found the stairs and ran up the four flights to the stuffy loft. There weren’t any windows, and the light switch didn’t work. I made sure to touch everything with the IS as I pulled out a flashlight and flicked it on before finding what I was looking for on the far wall.

The control panel was a metal rectangle with a little door hanging off a single hinge. It squeaked slightly as I opened it further and reached inside to disconnect the wires and delete the footage of the fight. When I finished I walked back downstairs, pulled the fire alarm, and left the warehouse moments before the police broke in.

~)(~

“Police Find Suspected Robber Jail-Ready,” Richard read the headline of an article in the morning newspaper. Rachel and I sat at the table, and he leaned against the kitchen counter. We hadn’t had breakfast together in nineteen days.

“‘Last Wednesday, at eleven o’clock pm, San Paolo police found a man whose name has not been released incapacitated on the floor of an old warehouse’,” Richard continued. “‘The man was brought to jail and is now being pressed with charges of several robberies and other offenses. As of this morning, police are still unable to explain who may have found the man, and how.’” Richard glanced over the paper at me, “You’re the new masked superhero.”

“Not a superhero,” Rachel told him, handing me a knife to cut my apple. “A keeper of the peace. And soon those idiots will realize it and come begging me to enroll our subjects in their military programs.”

Richard continued reading: “‘Witnesses say the only possible identification source found at the scene of intervention was a black piece of paper some describe as, quote, ‘business card-y looking.’ The content of said card was not released.’” He folded the newspaper and tossed it in the recycling.

“Why was it not released?” I asked.

“It doesn’t matter to you,” Rachel answered, putting her dishes in the sink. “Don’t talk about it to anyone.”

“Yes.”

She washed her hands and then walked upstairs. Richard watched her go and then rolled his eyes.

“They want to keep people ignorant,” He told me. “If no one knows about the RotS-DS, it can’t be supported.”

“I can tell them,” I offered, finishing the apple and putting my own dishes in the sink.

“That’s very kind of you, but I don’t think Rachel would appreciate that,” he answered. I think he sounded sarcastic.

“Yes.”

I went upstairs and looked at the list Rachel had left on my door. I brushed my teeth, cleaned my face, made my bed, and dressed with the clothes Rachel had laid out on my bed: pair of red shorts with a black belt and a boatneck sweater with half-length sleeves. At the foot of the bed was a pair of leather sandals with a small metal clasp.

I put the clothes and sandals on and then went back to the bathroom. A picture of an eye was taped to the mirror, and a small case of makeup lay open on the counter next to the sink. I looked at the picture and then pulled out the necessary colors and applicators to replicate the makeup in the picture on myself. The only difference between the picture and me was that the eye was blue, while mine were brown.

By then it was time to go. I walked down the stairs and picked up my backpack. I opened the door and looked over my shoulder.

“Bye,” I called to Richard. I could see him down the hall sitting at the kitchen table, his back facing me. He raised a hand without looking away from his phone, and then I walked outside and closed the door behind me.

Reviews

[SouthSoul]

Very nice and descriptive! i think you have given me a lesson on writing conversations. I wish i had started writing when i was 16. Thank-you, Robert
If you would i would like you to read my first work "View from a Hammock" thanks again!