King Chronicles Episode Three

   Episode Three


                    Part I


    Ah, David’s basement. The epitome of organized chaos. Beakers, bottles, and burners are all on top of a table running the middle length of the basement. Other tables have parts of robots or other mechanical what nots on them. Most are in various stages of deconstruction. He just wants to know how it works.
    The corner nearest the stairs has his computers. In politeness, I should say he has majored in “Computer Science and Programming”. Or I can be a bit more frank and say my best friend is the best computer hacker I’ve ever known. Sure, it’s not exactly ethical. Half the time it isn’t even legal, but he has his reasons.
    The wall at the far end of the basement is kind of my territory. Some free weights and a large punching bag are on that end for me to work out with. We’ve also plopped a few futon mattresses, some pillows, cushions, and yoga mats. All of which are for my practicing.
    David was pouring over a text book and tinkering with something while I did some push-ups. You might be wondering why a telekinetic teenager feels the need to lift weights and do push-ups. Easy really, my power came pretty suddenly as these things go. If it leaves just as fast, I want to continue on this path of mine. Sure, it’ll be a bit tougher, but that’s all right. Besides, I can use the extra conditioning. “To train the mind, one must train the body.”
    “Hey, Al. Did you hear about Kami?” David asked as I stood from the last of my push-ups.
    “Kami Randone?” I questioned, stretching and starting to wrap my hands for the punching bag.
    “The one from art class? One of the few goths in our school. I know she wasn’t in class today.”
    “That’s because she’s in the Juvenile Detention Facility on  Review Parkway.”
    I stopped short, my left hand done and the right nearly finished.
    “She’s a bit dark, but that doesn’t get you a stint in juvie.”
    He nodded and continued, “She got arrested for shop lifting. So has Terry Matthews, up and coming football star. Bruce Langstrum, also from art class. All of them in juvie.”
    I looked at him, “I’m missing something. All of them have enough money, why steal?”
    He shrugged, “No clue, but I think you’ve found something to do tonight. I’ve herd a little rumor about an electronic store and some rude teens. Some, uh, early bird shoppers.”
    I groaned and finished wrapping my hand, “How early are these birds?”
    He grinned almost cruelly. I just knew he was enjoying this.
    “You know how robbers are,” he grinned, “Those people never call in advance to reserve their jail time.”
    “How inconsiderate!” I sighed with a sallow grin. David laughed at me.

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                       PART II

    Winter cuts way into the city. Icy breaths of wind licking around my ankles as I crouched in front of Power Play, the electronic store David talked about. I’d been waiting in the cold for over two hours. My muscles were getting stiff, toes growing numb.
    I heard a gentle chirp, kind of like a cricket. I touched the tiny device in my ear.
    “Yes?”
    “How’s it going?” David’s voice came through the tiny ear bud and microphone. It was smaller then and more discreet than the ones used by the Secret Service or the FBI. I’m telling you, the boy’s a genius.
    “Just peachy,” I shivered, “next time there’s a stake out, you’re going to sit in the cold.”
    “And who will man the controls?” he chuckled, “Just checking for any bugs. You hear any static, beeps, hums, anything like that?”
    “Not so far, no.”
    “Great! Looks like the first night of my new invention is a success!”
    I could practically hear him grinning. He started talking about a few other things he was working on for me, I wasn’t really paying attention. Something about infrared, which I could have used then.     
    “Looks like our guests have arrived,” I whispered.
    “How many?” David asked, all business now.
    “Three. Two male, one female. All wearing varsity jackets...”
    “From our school?”
    “Yes,” I confirmed.
    “Be careful. Guys in varsity jackets tend to be on the football team,” David warned.
    “I’ll be good.”
    I followed them to into the Power Play, maybe they were just scoping, but the gym bags told me otherwise. Glass smashed as I slid quickly out of the shadows so I could see better. They already made their way inside and were at work. They were loading their bags with MP3 players, satalight radios, car stereos, cd’s, dvd’s, Walkman's, portable tvs. Whatever they could carry.
    I used my Gift and turned on a few radios to cause confusion.
    “Gift cards are way easier for that hard-to-buy-for person,” I quipped.
    They all looked my way. I couldn’t see their faces for the ski masks, but I could read their eyes. Anger mixed with fear. Nice combo. The girl dropped her bag and took off for the nearest exit. I tripped her on a cord and snaked it around her, just to keep her from moving.
    The tall stocky one in a black mask launched a car stereo at me and caught me high on the cheek bone. My vision was blurred for a few seconds, which was a second too long. He made the ten foot gap between us in a few quick strides and sent a rather large fist right at my face. Without the time to block, or even dodge, I was on the floor quick.
    His shorter pal in a dark green mask on his way over. I sent a twelve inch woofer at his barrel chest. That woofer had some bite after all.
    I was trying to get out from under the stocky one, he was suffocate me by sitting on my rib cage. I was not ready to kick over just yet.
    “Get off!” I shouted.
    He didn’t. Do I love my Power or what? I Picked him off me, rolled away, then let him drop. His breath blasted from his lungs in a giant sigh. he coughed, gagged, tried to catch his breath again.
    “Nash!” the girl shrieked.
    ”Nash?” I knew that name.
    Something grabbed me from behind and shoved me forward with all the force of a tornado on the plains. I hit the counter hard, a shard of glass breaking the skin on my palm through the glove. I turned to see the tall one --having recovered-- was coming at me with the woofer. He threw it hard and it landed true, crashing into my shoulder. I dropped to my knees, feeling the pain.
    I’m sure he would have come back for more if they hadn’t heard the sirens. Having lost my concentration on the girl, she was now booking it for the door, carrying a bag of stolen goods. Her guy pals followed suit. I would have left fast too if i didn’t notice something I really needed. I took it from the counter, then ran like the devil himself was on my heals.
    I ran out a side door, setting off the fire alarm and sprinkler system. I hid behind a Dumpster, till things went quiet again.

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                         PART III

    David fixed the cut on my hand with some antiseptic and gauze. It wasn’t bad, but the attention was needed.
    “Did you catch them?” David asked.
    I dropped my head. I could bind a guy hitting his girl, but not catch a couple of teens? And that guy used a steal pipe as a Louisville slugger.
    “Can’t win them all. What’s that wrapped in your glove?” he asked appalled.
    “Course not! It’s the glass I got cut on. I figure I’ll make it harder for the cops to figure out who the Fantym is. DNA and all that.”
    “Did you figure out who they were?”
    I shook my head, “Only one with any certainty. Nash.”
    David looked at me weird, more like wide eyed. I thought they were going to pop clean out. “Nash? As in Nash Elliott? Star quarter back? Has the scouts looking at him already? That Nash?!”
    “Yep.”
    “But why? His father is a descent lawyer -- as lawyers go. His mother came into her own inheritance. Why steal several hundred from a Power Play?”
    I shook my head. “There is something big going on, we have to figure out what,” I said.
    “I wonder...” David tugged his ear again thoughtfully, “You should follow Elliott. He was probably in charge, a guy like that. If there’s anything to the thefts he might lead you to it.”
    I nodded, it was a good plan and I could dress normally for a regular tail gig.
    Elliott and the others would do one of two things. Either lay low for with hot electronics, wait till things cool off. Or they’d sell everything as fast as possible. I was thinking it would be the ladder, since we all know how patient high school students can be.

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                            PART IV

    Do have any idea how mind numbing a jock’s life is?! Follow Nash Elliott around for a few days then we’ll talk. Between the full class schedule, his girlfriend and the almost nightly football practice, I had no clue how how was able to get involved in anything illicit.
    Little things were going off kilter though. Elliott and his long time girl friend, Tracy, had been having problems. They had a major fight about Elliott not caring about her, his being so distant. His grade --though not great to begin with-- were starting to slip. His game was suffering. Slowly, he was going to rot.
    Something had changed very recently to make all that go bad. My thoughts? Elliott got himself on drugs. They had to be expensive if he was stealing for it, yet he didn’t show some of the symptoms of a user. His eyes were clean and bright. No bags, no sweats outside of gym, no shakes. Whatever he was on, it had to be something new.
    I could think of only two ways to find out what Elliott was taking. First, I could pick a fight and take a sample of his blood. I didn’t like this idea because without using my Power I’d have at the very least a broken rib or two. Keep in mind this guy’s a football star; big, buff guy. My other option was to break into his locker and see what I could find. I liked this idea better. Nice, neat answer. Unless Elliott caught me, then it would be option one anyhow. 
    I waited till the football team started practice to slip into the boys’ locker room.
    My first impression was one of total disgust. The smell hit me like, well, a 300 pound line backer. Old socks, mildew, sweat. The whole place simply reeked.
    “David, this is vile,” I told him through his little invention.
    “You’re telling me,” he grumbled. “Elliott’s locker is seventeen. His lucky number.”
    I rolled my eyes. Luck, who needs her... it... whatever. Come to think of it Elliott’s jersey number was seventeen. And if he was into what I thought he was, this boy was going to be in a world of hurt as soon as the drug wore off. His luck would wear thinner than water.
    Elliot’s locker had a combination lock on it. I would have preferred a more common key lock, those are easier to pick. Combos take me a little longer.
    “Fantym, what kind of lock is it?” David buzzed in my ear.
    I told him, he muttered a curse of some sort since he knew I was better with key locks. You see, I can’t use my Power to undo locks since I can’t see inside the mechanism in the first place. Kneeling in front of the lock, I put it to my ear and turned the dial. Right, slowly. I heard the faint click as the right number opened the tumbler. One. Next left, all the way round once then to search the number. Tick! Seven. The last turn, to the right again, I didn’t bother to listen. I rolled it to seventeen.
    “Presto! Open lock. Elliott is way too predictable,” I scoffed.
    “Hurry up, Fantym. We don’t need a girl caught in the boys’ locker room,” David was uneasy about the whole thing, but he’s supposed to worry.
    I rifled through his jacket pockets, nothing but a phone number, a cell phone, and a condom. Be prepared, the boy scout (yeah right.) His pack was more interesting. Aside from the notebooks, binder, and text books there was a semi-clear green bottle with pills in it. About half full. The bottle had no label save for one, a sticker with a monarch butterfly on it.
    “Got it!” I said.
    “Good! Now get out of there, girl. Like yesterday.”
    I put the jacket and pack into the locker and was about to close it when I heard a commotion from the entrance. By the way, that door is the only way out.
    “Crap!” I hissed and slipped behind a basketball barrel, hiding from the guys coming in.
    “Careful with him! Mike, you’ll be okay, we’ll wrap it, but stay off that ankle,” the Coach was saying.
    Great, an injury. Meant I’d be stuck fir a while. Then I noticed a major mistake: I left Lucky Number 17 wide open, lock on the bench. Smooth move, Alexis!
    Coach put the injured Mike on the bench not far from Elliott’s locker. Poor Mike, looked like he sprained the ankle.
    “What’s going on, Fantym?” David buzzed in my ear again.
    I didn’t answer him. I was too close to them, I’d get nailed for sure. I had a few options. I could leave the locker alone and put Elliott on the alert. Or I could close the locker, but risk Coach, the assistant coach and Mike freaking out at the sight of a locker closing and locking itself. Either way I had to hope no one bothered to put any balls away, since I was hiding behind the ball bin.
    “Phil,” Coach said to his assistant, “Go get me some wraps. I’ll get a cold pack.”
    I couldn’t believe it. That left only Mike, laying on his back, staring at the ceiling. I’d have to be quick, before Phil and Coach got back. Using my Gift, I gently closed the door. It made a small click as it latched. Mike heard it and sat up. His eyes fairly bugged out of his head when he saw the lock hovering midair. I had no choice but to put the lock on the locker.
    “Holy cow!” he yelped, and fell off the bench.
    When the coaches got back, Mike told them what he saw. They believed him as much as they did UFO sightings. Phil checked Mike’s head for and knocks. I felt sorry for Mike, sort of. They checked the door, tugged the lock. No strings, no mechanics, nothing. They gave Mike a concerned look. They didn’t get the chance to say anything, as practice just ended.
    I could not believe my misfortune. Lucky 17 my foot. Now the locker room was full of the entire filthy, sweaty team. Fabulous. I was in deep now. I so did not want to be in that room when all of them started to shower. That is just ickers!
    They took off the grass stained jerseys and I closed my eyes. I wanted to be anywhere else. I’d take that guy with the pipe over this any day.
    A shrill bell started to go off overhead, hurting my ears.
    “Ok, boys, fire alarm! Let’s go! Back to the field, move it!!” Coach barked.
    I followed as soon as the locker room emptied. I faded into the small crowd of students with extra curricular activities. Easy enough for me to do. Then I booked it over to David’s house.

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                          PART V

    David was grinning when he opened the door of his house and let me in. It was that mischievous smile I knew all too well. He led the way to the kitchen and tossed an orange at me.
    “You hacked the school’s computer system didn’t you?” I asked in a whisper.
    “No, I hacked the school’s alarm system. Little different. When I couldn’t raise you on the com-link, I decided to give you a hand. Only thing I could think of,” he shrugged innocently.
    “Came just in time, too. Practice just ended.” I sat down and started to peel my orange.
    The crisp scent of citrus filling the kitchen felt good. Like summer, though the season was long gone. The taste was fresh and it brought a smile to my face. I just love the flavour of oranges. Mrs. Goodman keeps some around just for me. David brought me out of my citrus bliss with a question.
    “So, find anything?”
    I was abut to answer, but stopped suddenly. Something told me to be quiet, be still, so I did, motioning to David to do the same. Someone was coming. From the living room, if I was right.
    David looked at me funny, he couldn’t sense it but I could. He couldn’t see any difference between a few moments ago and now. It was this strange sixth sense, like I could almost See the person in the hall. I couldn’t quite make out the person, but I knew who it was.
    “Hi, Mrs. G!” I called.
    “Why, hello, Alexis dear. How are you?” her voice as cheerful as always.
    David’s eyes went wide as his mother walked in behind me.
    “David dear, close your mouth. You’ll catch flies that way,” she said as she started to busy herself with supper preparations.
    “how’d you know she was coming. Mom hardly makes a sound when she walks. Even Dad can’t hear her. And they’ve been married twenty years!”
    “Perhaps Alexis has a few special talents, David. It’s possible you know,” Mrs. G commented.
    We both glanced at her and grinned. If she only knew. David said we had some projects in the basement and we’d be back in time for supper. She was making a vegetable lasagna, no way I’d miss that.
   Once inside David’s lab again, he looked at me, sort of worried. Well not so much worried as curious or confused.
    “How did you know she was there?”
    I just shrugged helplessly. In all honesty, I didn’t know how, I just knew. It was like I could See her. I told David as much, he wasn’t satisfied with the answer, but it would have to do. I wasn’t so satisfied with it myself.
    “Well, anyway. Back to the case at hand. What did you score from Elliott’s locker?”
    I opened my pack, pulled out the green bottle, and tossed it to him. He opened the bottle and removed a pill. He looked it over, turning it in his fingers. Small, oblong, light blue in colour. A small butterfly imprinted on it, similar to the one on the label. Taking his mortar and pestle from beside his microscope, David mashed up a few pills, reducing them to a fine powder and added a saline solution from a vial under the table. All this he put into a glass tube.
    David then slid the tube into his centrifuge and let it spin, dividing the mix into separate components.
    “David, I have a question. Where on Earth did you get a centrifuge? I mean this lab is starting to look like CSI.”
    He grinned at me slyly, “Do you have any idea how much crap winds up on Ebay? All kinds of cool toys. I might get a gas-mass-spectrometer next time.”
   “Why stop there? Maybe try an electron microscope.” I said, rolling my eyes.
    “Nah, never make it down the stairs.”
    I laughed at him, knowing full well he’d get that electron microscope if it wasn’t for the narrow stairs. It would be a few days before we got any results. David was going to drop off a sample with Richard, his cousin at the university. Richard could tell us what we were dealing with. Until then, I made David go with me to the game that Friday night. I wanted to see how the great Nash Elliott did without his pills.
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                          PART VI

    A few seats were left near the field at the fifty yard line. Perfect place to watch and see if the star player was a junkie off his fix. When you have to steal for your drugs, you’re pretty hard core. If my guess was accurate, Elliott would be in serious need of his next hit after only twenty-four hours. If I was right, Nash Elliott was about to play the worst game of his high school career.
    During the first half, the star quarter back fumbled the hiked ball three times. He couldn’t throw straight. His semi-handsome face was contorted by a constant grimace. It looked like every movement hurt him. I wonder if his dealer worked him over. There were no new cuts or scraps, no bruises that I could see, so I guessed his maggot wasn’t involved... yet.
    As the second half started, the away team had the lead and the ball. It was intercepted by Elliott, which surprised me. He ran a few steps before dropping the ball. Elliott was staring at his hands, ripping off his gloves as if they contained the plague. David was on his feet quickly.
    “Watch him,” he said, his voice low, “Something’s wrong.”
    I didn’t have to watch long. A line backer from the away team hit Elliott full on and plastered him to the earth. Nash was taken off the field in a stretcher. He did not look good.

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                         PART VII

    Nash Elliott was still in the hospital when David and I headed back to Richard the following day to have a little chat. Nash had a broken collar bone from the impact. He said his whole body hurt. Understandable, given the fact that a guy weighing in at 250 had just mowed him down. Bash also said his fingers ached, that they tingled like they were asleep. David wasn’t sure what it meant. His Knowledge of Everything stopped at the mix of Nash’s symptoms.
    Richard lived up to the task and gave us some news:
    “It’s dopamine, straight up dopamine.”
    “What’s that?” I asked.
    David looked at me wide eyed, ”What do you mean ‘what’s that’?”
    “Exactly what it sounds like. I’ve heard of dopamine, but I can’t remember what it is, Brain-boy.” I jibed.
    Richard laughed at our antics, “Dopamine is the hormone responsible for pleasure. It’s a neurotransmitter. When we receive praise, dopamine traverses the brain as a natural reward. Some researchers theorize that dopamine is associated more with anticipating desire rather than consuming pleasure.” he finished.
    David was nodding, understanding everything while I just stood there looking and feeling stupid. Richard glanced my way and noticed the look.
    “I mean that dopamine is linked with ‘wanting’ instead of ‘liking’.”
    “Ah,” I said.
    “Anyway. Some neurologists have been working with Parkinson’s. They believe that Parkinson’s is caused by a deficiency in dopamine,” Richard continued, “Unfortunately, the brain is still an enigma.”
    “Too bad I’m not Sherlock Holmes, Rick. Make things easy for me,” I whined.
    He laughed, “All right. Dopamine can be addictive. In fact, dopamine is similar to meth amphetamine. In the wrong hands, dopamine is bad stuff. Same potential high as meth, but dopamine doesn’t destroy brain cells. Users would think it’s a ‘safe’ high.”
    “Don’t they always?” David quipped, “Hey, Richard? What would continual use do to a person, like say, a seventeen year old quarterback?”
    Richard took a few moments to think. He ran his fingers through the dark hair, “Elevated blood pressure, arrhythmia, labored breathing, nausea of course. The body isn’t able to rid itself of waste properly. Anxiety. Long term use would be a really bad idea, to say the least.”
    “I have a question. Why would the fingers tingle?” I asked.
    “Tingle?” Richard scratched his head.
    “Yeah. Can’t hold on to objects, the entire body hurts, and fingers and toes tingle.”
    “It’s possible. With the elevated heart rate and all that in the brain sending off abnormal signals... I can see it.”
    David and I exchanged a look, this was bad.
    “Something I’m missing?” Richard asked.
    David ignored the question, “Alex, this needs to be fixed.”
    I nodded. We thanked Richard and left, feeling heavy. Whatever we were dealing with was beyond bad. A drug like this, used by teens, was bound to only end horribly.

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                         PART VIII

    Elliott was out of hospital in a few days, so I started tailing him again. He would go to practice, but would sit on the bench due to the collar bone fracture. He’s stand and shout at his teammates, telling them how to attain the “perfect” instead of just the “good”. Every movement he made was painful. His face was a permanent grimace.
    I figured I could try and talk to him. I went under the bleachers as a short cut, the whole seedy part of the student body knew about the short cut. I’d have to walk right under Elliott, but I didn’t care. Besides, what’s a guy in such total pain going to do to me?
    My plan of talking to him was redirected into a simple case of spying since someone was already chatting him up.
    “Nash, man,“ I heard a hushed tone, “we have to score some B-Fly before tomorrow’s game.”
    It was a tall guy from the team, but not just any guy. This was Bobby Reed, Elliott’s best friend. I should have guess he was involved. He sat down just below Elliott and faced him, I could see a little bit of a bruise peaking over his shirt, where something hit him. A woofer perhaps?
    “I know, Bobby, I know.” Elliott ran is fingers nervously through his hair.
    “Here, cash for the stuff the other night,” Reed handed a thin envelope to Elliott.
    “That’s it?”
    A slow nod from Reed.
    “Would have been more if that stupid freak hadn’t showed up,” Reed hissed.
    I was mildly offended, I’m not stupid.
    Elliott sighed heavily, “All right. I’ll go to my guy tonight. We’ll have the B-Fly in a few hours.”
    Now things were getting interested. If I followed Elliott to his rendezvous then I could get the dealer, maybe even the supplier.

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                            PART IX

    Why do people insist on buying drugs in the most disgusting places? It’s like that want to re-enact really bad movies. Personally, I find it lame, but then I’d rather be almost anywhere except a back alley on a moonless night in the freezing cold.
    A nice, new model Lexus pulled up in front of Elliott’s old, beat up truck. Elliott hopped off the hood and tried to strut to the high end car, stopping at the driver’s side window. He looked over his shoulder suspiciously, gazing into the night, trying to see if any one was following or watching. When he didn’t see or hear any one, he turned his attention to the now open window. Poor boy should listen to his gut more.
    “Do you have it?” he asked eagerly.
    “Do you have the appropriate funds?” came a quiet, educated sounding man from the dark tinted car. The voice was vaguely familiar.
    Elliott pulled a roll from his pocket, about $200 in twenties I’d say, but it was dark. Could have been $50 in five's for all I knew, but they did jack some electronics. I knew Reed handed over an envelope, I just don’t know how much was in it.
    I waited till they traded the drug for the cash and made myself known.
    “Hey, Elliott. Planning a party later? Do so invite Reed, I’m sure he wouldn’t want to be left out,” I said, stepping into the very dim alley light.
    The car hit the gas a NASCAR at the Daytona 500. I got only a partial plate before he booked it around a corner. Cursing my slow response, I went to pick up Elliott who had tripped on an old, discarded lawn chair and still laying face down and groaning.
    I walked over and hauled him up to his feet. I had questions.
    “Who’s the supplier?” I demanded.
    He just shrugged and tried to shake me off, but I had a grip of iron on his shirt and he didn’t look so good. His face was sallow and his cheeks were sunken. The eyes were glassy, dilated. In the past week or so, he’d gone down hill quickly.
    “Who is he?!” I growled, shaking him a bit.
    “What do you care, witch?” his voice was defiant but weak.
    “I’m no witch, I’m Fantym, get it straight. I need to know who he is. That bottle on the alley floor is a poison. Look at yourself, man. You look sick, you’re in constant pain. You can’t focus. You’re breathing is irregular. Elliott, you will die or wind up in a coma if you don’t stop using B-Fly.”
    He suddenly ripped from my grip and tried to hit me, missing terribly. I gave him a shove and stood back, hiding in the shadows again. By the time Elliott stood up and looked around, I had melted into the dark, becoming part of them again. Disappearing as if I’d never been there.
    He gave a another look, but soon shrugged, giving up. He had more important things on his mind. The green bottle was waiting and this little junky headed straight for it. I used my Gift and lifted the bottle high above him. As it hovered, he tried desperately to jump high enough to catch it. I stepped once more from the shadows and brought the bottle to my hand. Elliott chased after it and stumbled.
    “Get to a rehab clinic, Nash. These things are killing you!”
    He dropped to his knees, begging me to give them back. He kept saying he needed them, please give them back. It was hard to watch. This big, strong athlete crumbling like a frightened child. His voice was shaky, he was crying.
    “Please give them back. It hurts every where with out them. I feel good, happy. Please just give me back my B-Fly.”
    I turned and walked away, hearing his cries behind me. I didn’t look back as I walked into the heart of the alley and to my escape route. He’d be okay someday... maybe.
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                            PART X

    “I can’t believe you felt sorry for him!” Dave was griping while he tested the bottle’s contents.
    “You didn’t see him. He’s so broken. I mean, yeah he’s a total jerk, but still.”
    “Crap. Looks like its the same stuff. A little weaker.”
    I furrowed my forehead, “Keep them coming back for more. That son of a ---”
    “Hey, you said you had a partial plate?”
    “Oh, yeah. All I could see was ‘68J’, the first half. The plates were local. It was attached to a dark colored, new Lexus.”
    David went to his computer and started typing away. He started up one of his many programs and attacked the state’s DMV records. His fingers flew across the key board at a speed I only hoped to achieve. I stood and grinned at him.
    “Gotcha!” he smiled with satisfaction, then his face fell, “Alex, you aren’t going to like this.”
    I leaned over his shoulder and read the name and address.
    “You’re right, I don’t like it.”
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                          PART XI

    I made my way to the address David gave me. It was in an old neighborhood. Most of the houses were sagging, the paint chipping slightly here and there. All of the yards had perfectly manicured lawns in the summer, and not a leaf in the brown grass during autumn.
    David’s grandmother had a house a few blocks away. I’d have to stop by later and see if she needed any chores done. I like her, but anyway, back to business.
    There was the scent of snow in the air. I hoped it wouldn’t start till well after I finished business here. Creeping along the back alley between Greystone Avenue and Kentwood Drive, I tried to avoid the trash cans and varied debris. My target was on Greystone, I’d be coming at it from behind, just as I’d hoped.
    Hopping the back fence, I crept through the yard. David showed me a floor plan of the house and where I could walk in easiest. The cellar doors. A large padlock was attached to a chain, hindering the way. I got out my pick set and was inside in less than a minute.
    David told me to be careful of the stairs through the ear bud he’d made. I understood. The ones at his grandmother’s always creaked.
    Once I got to the basement, I still wasn’t expecting to see what there. Vials, beakers, jars. Press molds shaped like pills. A small metal pot was on a burner. I peaked inside and saw a thick mass bubbling. It was the same shade as the pills Elliott had.
    “I think we’ve got the right place,” I whispered to David. I heard a noise and ducked behind a chair in the corner.
    A man of medium height cane down the stare from the house. His hair used to be jet black, but had started to grey at the temples, giving him a distinguished look. He wore khaki slacks and a white Oxford shirt with no tie, the sleeves were rolled up. He had the air of an aristocratic academic. I knew him.
    I stood from my hiding place.
    “Mr. Baker, I never would have pegged a high school science teacher as a dope pusher.”
    “So, the Fantym does exist, eh? I thought you were a mere myth, a creature created to sell tabloids,” his voice was cold, made me uneasy.
    “I’m as real as you are. I wondered how a teacher could afford a new Lexus on that salary. You’re pushing poison to kids!”
    He looked at me strangely, amusement peaking into his eyes then tugging at the corners of his mouth till he finally gave in and laughed at me.
    “I don’t need to push this,” he waved his hand around the basement. “What I have to offer is happiness in a pill. It’s joy in a bottle. This is better than Ecstasy. I make it on the cheap then sell for top dollar.”
    I shook my head, “No, this is poison. And you’re selling it to kids. They get addicted to the feeling. Slowly, they start to accumulate the extra dopamine in their systems. Then just one more pill before they OD. Nash Elliott is far too close to that line. He’ll be in hospital soon enough.”
    “That is not my concern. I --”
    “Don’t you dare!” I yelled. “It is your concern, especially when I leave here and let the cops take over.”
    He laughed again, a disgusting, unsettling noise. I wasn’t expecting what happened next. The forty-year-old teacher moved faster than I anticipated and flung an empty beaker at me. I put up my hands and it shattered on my arms. Good thing I was in long sleeves.
    “That wasn’t very nice,” I warned.
    “My mother always told me I had poor manners.”
    “Perhaps I should give you a lesson, Teach!” I growled.
    He glared at me, “I teach the lessons, not some freak in an ugly mask!” he threw a screw driver at me. I used my Gift and Caught it.
   “Really? What’s the lesson?” I let the screw driver drop with a clang to the concrete floor.
    “Interesting,” he mused, getting ready to bolt for something else to throw. This guy just wasn’t going to learn. Not quickly anyway.
    I dodged to the left as he threw a wrench or something. It was big and metal and I wasn’t all that anxious to make it’s acquaintance.
    “Impressive, very fluid.”
    “I don’t need your praise, nor your approval,” I spat.
    “You know what you need?” he moved beside a table, “Ms. Fantym, you need to lighten up, feel happy.”
    He threw a jar of liquid compounds at me. Unfortunately, despite dodging again, some got into my face. It wasn’t hot, but I yelled anyway. None went in my mouth.
    “That should improve your temperament,” he laughed, an eerie sound. I didn’t like it.
    “Did any get into your eyes?” he cooed. “One of the side effects, I’m afraid. now we are even, my dear.”
    I cursed, he was right. Without sight my Gift was useless.
    “What happened, what did he do?” David spoke urgently into my ear.
    I whispered so Mr. Baker wouldn’t catch wise. “He threw something in my face, can’t see.”
    “Oh boy! Get out! Get out right now!!”
    “Not an option.”
    Have you ever been blind? Try closing your eyes and making your way through your own house. Not an easy task. It’s worse if you’re in an unfamiliar place with a mook pitching junk at you.
    The only way out was to fight back. I grabbed the table I knew was in front of me and hefted it with all my force. I heard Baker shout in surprise then pain.
    He called me a few words not proper to repeat to most audiences. I crouched behind the table and focused on his voice. I concentrated beyond his shouts of anger and pain to see how the basement was set up. My head was starting to ache and I could feel my heart rate rising. I was pushing myself farther than usual. Farther than ever before. In a sudden flash, the entire basement came into perfect view if only for a few moments. It wasn’t the room itself I wanted to See. It was the dealer I wanted. I tried something new with my Gift. I focused on Baker. When he came into view, he was right in front of me, holding a bat.
    As he swung down, I rolled to my right and took the full blow on my shoulder. I felt the sickening pop of it dislocating and cried in pain.
    “Very quick. You must have the Sixth Sense, too bad that won’t save you from a grave!”
    I lost him when he hit me, the Sight was gone. I had to focus past the pain to See him again. This time his image was blurry, like an out-of-focus photograph. All I needed was a moment to use my Gift and save my own life.
    I Saw the jar of boiling B-Fly. I extended my hand -- the gesture looking as if I were trying to stop him-- and my Gift, leading the jar to baker.
    “If I’m going to the grave, will you grant me a final wish?”
    “Poetic I suppose, but all right. What does a wannabe super hero ask before death?”
    “Look up.”
    Once he had, I dropped the contents, hot and boiling onto him. He yelped in pain so I took advantage of the moment. I ran for the exit to the back yard, tripping in the stairs along the way.
    I couldn’t focus like I had in Baker’s basement and I needed to get out fast.
    “Fantym! Report!!” David shouted at me.
    “Stop shouting. I still can’t see. He dislocated my shoulder. Call the cops. Tell them what’s what! Be anonymous.”
    “All right. I’ll go to the pay phone up the block. Head for Nana’s and ditch the mask!”
    “Are you joking?!”
    “No. She was a nurse, so go!”
    That was an order I wouldn’t --couldn’t obey.
******************************************************************

                           PART XII

    She didn’t ask me any questions as she cleaned me up. She only warned me when she popped my shoulder back into joint. I cursed and she popped me in the back of the head for it.
    She let me spend the night in her guest room. I didn’t other to argue. She was Mrs. G’s mother after all. No way you can say “no” to those ladies.
    Once tucked in for the night, I raised David on the mike.
    “He’s in the ICU, Fantym. Nearly OD’d on his own mix.”
    “Elliott?”
    “Rehab last I heard,” he paused. “How’s you?” his voice was heavy with concern.
    “My eyes still burn a little, though I can see just fine. The shoulder hurts, but I’m okay.”
    “I have to fix the ear bud. I couldn’t raise you at all.”
    “Hmmm, let’s just think about this later. I want to sleep.”
    We signed off.
    Mr. Baker got twenty-five years for manufacturing and distributing narcotics, reckless endangerment to minors and a slue of others. We obviously got a new Science teacher.
    Bobby Reed went to rehab and AA meetings. He recovered without further incident.
    Nash Elliott never played football again. The B-Fly gave him a permanent heart condition. With his supplier in jail and no one else to manufacture the dopamine, he moved on to harder, more readily available drugs. He dies of an accidental over dose a few months later.
    I, though, had a new way to use my Gift. David was interested and helped me as usual. We’re still working on the weird bug in the ear buds.
    Stuff keeps going and I’m still trying to stop some of it. We’ll just see how it goes.



                            The End   Episode III

Reviews

[fionnaiscool]

it is cool. i hope you continue you writing, and to see your stuff in a book someday. i couldnt stop reading, though i shouldve bein doin my hmwk...