by Tom Twitchel
Ethan suddenly began struggling, clearly under the influence of Griff’s telekinetic knack.
“Please, please, it’s them, they all wanted to run away. I came back. I want—” Ethan whined.
Weller snapped her fingers at Griff, and Sonja’s body spun like a puppet in Ethan’s direction. The shuffling, foot dragging walk started up again. Ethan’s eyes rolled and he babbled a steady stream of nonsense, scared witless. He twisted and writhed, trying to get away from the slowly advancing Sonja. My hands were slick with sweat and my heart was racing. None of this was going to end anywhere close to good, and I couldn’t wait for help that wasn’t going to arrive. I couldn’t sit still and watch someone have their mind obliterated.
The first thing I did was to invoke my camouflage. Then I made Griff’s gun discharge in his pants, causing him to dance around like a crazy person, his gun clattering across the floor. While Weller spent precious seconds reacting to the gunshot I reached out with every ounce of knack influence I could muster and threw it at her. In all honesty I am forced to admit that I did not experience even a twinge of regret as she slammed into a wall. She grabbed her shoulder, blood spurting through her manicured fingers.
While Griff scrambled for his gun, Justine stood up and knocked her chair over. Oso rolled out of his chair in a fluid motion and stepped back, keeping everyone in the room in front of him.
I was feeling pretty good about the mayhem I’d caused when pain exploded in the back of my head and I fell to the floor. That’s the problem with my camo, not perfect invisibility. Not quite blacking out I rolled onto my back to see Brin standing above me, a wicked grin splitting her face. The room tilted slightly and my vision showed sparks at the edges while I played tag with consciousness, and my camo flickered out.
Brin raised the piece of pipe she’d brained me with for another go, and I hazily wondered if Weller would kill me herself or if she’d give the Sonja-thing a shot at me.
And then something miraculous happened: Brin’s eyes rolled back in her head, and she toppled sideways. As she dropped out of my line of sight I caught a glimpse of Brock moving quickly.
Turning onto my side I watched the second act of the show I’d started. Brock went into a slide and leg tackled Griff, dropping him to the floor. Oso was edging back toward the wall of shelves, but was flattened under a huge black shape. Hello Kenwoode, all nearly seven feet ugly of you.
I added up combatants in my head and realized I’d lost track of Sonja and Weller. Sonja was bending over Ethan staring into his eyes. His jaw had gone wide.
Weller was bent at the waist, a truly ugly look on her face. Her hands were extended in front of her as she focused on Oso and Kenwoode who were rolling on the floor.
Heaving myself to a kneeling position I tossed some knack influence at her and was pleased to see her lose her balance and fall on her well-dressed butt.
Brock straddled Griff and gave him a couple of not-so-gentle taps with a closed fist. Kenwoode got to his feet and I saw him unleash a crushing backhanded blow that should have taken Oso’s head off. As it was he dropped like a stone.
I was trying to add up bodies in my head again. Justine had drifted over to the shelves, her mouth wide and gaping at the battle she was witnessing.
I started to turn my head to track down Weller but I suddenly felt numbing pain along my face and arms. Ice crystals formed on my skin. Intense pain traveled up my extremities and flowed over my chest as I sagged, unable to draw a breath. Whether it was seeing me getting literally frosted, or that she’d gotten over her shock Justine dropped her arms, clenched her fists and started moving toward Weller.
Sonja was standing with her head on her chest, Ethan sprawled before her in his seat. His head lolled back, his eyes open. Brock leaped at Sonja and knocked her flat with a vicious shot to her head.
Griff was back on his feet and had managed to find his gun. He was standing by some knocked over chairs, hand to his chest and breathing hard. Weller had moved near the shelves close to me, making her way toward the alley exit.
Kenwoode was zeroing in on Weller while Brock was circling back to Griff.
“Stop or I shoot the boy,” said Griff, looking pointedly at me. “I knew ya was trouble.”
Brock hesitated, struggling with an invisible telekinetic barrier. Kenwoode slowed down and shook his head, thick mane bristling. Justine, almost within reach of Weller, was rooted to the spot, looking at the gun Griff had pointed at me.
Grinning he pulled back the hammer, cocking the six shooter. Then the bastard winked.
“If they don’t leave within three seconds, shoot him,” Weller said, nodding at me. She lifted her chin and smiled.
Griff was a good twenty feet away but I thought my gun jamming trick might work anyway.
“You shoot him we’ll do for you,” said Brock.
“You won’t leave this building alive,” said Kenwoode.
“Pete and repeat. Get gone before I shoot him,” growled Griff.
Drawing herself to her full height, blood dripping from her wounded arm, Weller smiled more confidently. “We’ll take our chances. Run along boys. One...”
Justine’s eyes darted back and forth between Weller and Griff’s gun.
She continued her count, “...two...”
“No!” screamed Justine as she lunged in front of me.
“...three!”
Blocked by Justine I couldn’t complete my focus on the gun and it went off. Justine flew backwards into me, and we slammed into the shelving.
Brock, moving fast lunged at Weller. Putting his hands around her throat he lifted her off the ground. Instead of trying to pull his hands away, her eyes bored into him and I could see ice forming on his arms as he struggled to hold onto her.
Kenwoode wheeled on Griff, who, not being an idiot, immediately turned the gun on him figuring he was now the primary target.
“Hold it,” Griff snarled, gesturing with his free hand.
His face dark, Kenwoode stopped and snarled. His hands flexed at his side.
Struggling to my feet, I tried to help Justine up but she moaned when she got to her knees. I looked at her face, her eyes tearing, staring up at me. “Benny?” she whispered. “I’m...I think...”
Her eyes were glassy and a trickle of blood leaked out of the corner of her mouth. I looked down and saw where the bullet had torn through her jacket. My head started pounding as tears blurred my vision.
She put a hand out to steady herself and grabbed a shelf. She bent over and coughed, blood spattering the floor in front of her.
I whirled to face Griff. “You shot her you son of a bitch!”
With his gun still pointed at Kenwoode he sneered at me. “Leave, or I shoot another one of yer friends.”
Brock and Weller were still locked in an intense embrace and it was clear he was losing the battle.
“You need to worry about ME!” I screamed, and I saw his crappy grin slip. His gun wavered but remained leveled at Kenwoode.
I glared at Kenwoode. “He’s mine.”
Narrowing his eyes he took a step back.
“Don’t be stupid boy. I’ve got more than enough in this gun for both of ya,” Griff said, but the gun’s barrel dipped and drifted in my direction. He waved his other hand at me.
“Try it,” I said, walking toward him, arms out and palms raised. I could feel his telekinetic talent pushing at me, but my focus pushed it aside.
The gun came up, leveled off and he pulled the trigger. Watching it blow up in his face didn’t even phase me.
“YOU.SHOT.HER!” I yelled and felt all of my anger, all of my pain flow out of me and blast into him.
Arms flailing he cartwheeled through the air, plowed through a bunch of barrels and crashed into a row of shelves. Wood cracked and splintered as he came to a bone-jarring stop.
I stood there, chest heaving, sucking in deep gasps of air, head pounding, the blood rushing in my ears. Dazed I turned back to the others in the room. Kenwoode was lookin
g at me, his mouth open.
Grunting and scuffling drew my attention back to Brock and Weller. His hands were slipping away from her throat and her feet touched the ground. She pushed off with one leg and brought her other knee up into his crotch. She scuttled back into the shadows that led to the alley door.
Brock doubled over and sank to one knee. I marveled at how such a basic stunt could turn the tide in a knacked battle.
I raised my hands and collected my focus as I approached her.
“Careful boy,” Weller said. “You have other problems.” She stared at something behind me. I turned to look back at Justine.
Blood soaking through her jacket, Justine was on her knees, ice crystals creeping up her arms.
“I’m leaving,” Weller said. “Try to stop me and your girlfriend dies.” She took a few steps back toward the alley exit. Brock, on his knees, glowered at her. In the narrow hall, Kenwoode couldn’t get past me. All he could do was watch.
Weller began backing rapidly down the hall. Afraid to move I watched Justine shudder and slowly sink to the floor, ice covering her upper body.
Weller started to run into the darkness, her nasty laughter echoing in the room. Then it cut off abruptly. Turning back to see what had happened I saw her crumple to the floor, Detective Danton standing over her.
Kenwoode walked up to me as Justine fell into my arms.
“Well done,” he said.
I looked down at Justine and ‘well done’ was not what came to mind.
SIXTY: CLEAN UP
MY FIRST REACTION was to race her to a hospital. Justine had risked her life to save me. She thought she loved me and had put herself in danger to protect me.
Part of my journey up the path to adulthood had been learning to deny adolescent impulses. My track record wasn’t perfect but this was undoubtedly the right time to take a breath and think.
And not go off half-cocked.
And trust others that were more experienced than me. Cradling Justine I helped her settle into a sitting position, as the frost that covered her began to melt. I lifted up her sweater to get a look at the bullet hole. It was in her abdomen on her right side. I couldn’t tell how dangerous that was. I was afraid to turn her over, but felt gingerly along her back until she groaned with pain.
“Let me look at it,” she said.
I propped her head so that she had a better view of the ragged hole. She placed a trembling hand over it and gripped my hand so tight with her free hand that I heard a knuckle pop.
“Put this over her,” said Brock, offering me his coat. “She’s shocky. Needs to be warm.” I took it gratefully and wrapped it around her, and then shucked out of my own jacket and laid it on top of his. Justine tried to smile at me. I saw her hand moving under the jackets and she closed her eyes.
Danton pulled a handful of plastic cuffs from a coat pocket. I wondered how those were going to hold knacked individuals. When I looked around at the unconscious people on the floor I noticed that we were missing a bad guy.
“Oso’s gone,” I said, spinning around and scanning the rest of the space.
“The gangster? He’s not mission critical. We’ll attend to him later,” Kenwoode said.
He and Brock took some cuffs from Danton and they started zipping them around the Shade’s wrists, pulling them behind their backs. Brock bent over Ethan, shaking his head, nudged Sonja with his shoe, and frowned.
Rubbing the back of his neck Danton looked at Kenwoode and then at me. I could tell that Kenwoode’s monstrous appearance bothered him.
“What’s going on here, Benny? I get a call from you. You’re not on the line but I can hear you. I figure you’re in trouble. Again. You’re lucky I could find you down here,” he said.
I glanced at Kenwoode and he nodded.
“We were trying to crash a meeting of the Shade network. Things got out of hand,” I said.
Shaking his head, Danton swore. “Out of hand? We have what,” he glanced at the unconscious figures at our feet, “three people in cuffs, one in the wind? Yeah, I’d say that’s out of hand. These two need medical attention,” he said, pointing at Sonja who hadn’t moved, and Ethan, who they hadn’t bothered to restrain. “I knocked a woman unconscious. Do you have any idea how difficult that will be to explain?”
“Who do you have to tell?” I asked.
Ignoring my question he dug into a coat pocket. He brought out a pack of cigarettes and stuck one in his mouth. He patted his pockets, looking for his lighter.
“Why don’t you, either of you, give me a quick rundown on each one of these people so I can prepare myself,” he said. He produced his lighter and lit his smoke.
Kenwoode walked over to Weller and nudged her with a booted foot. “She’s the biggest issue. She’s a socialite and has enough connections to make holding her difficult. Not to mention that her cryokinetic ability will make it virtually impossible to keep her incarcerated.”
Looking down at the others Brock made a rude noise. “The woman you think needs medical attention isn’t a problem anymore. I think she’s dead.” He looked down at Ethan. “This one is as good as dead.”
Swearing again, Danton blew out a thick cloud of smoke. “What happened to her?”
Brock shrugged. “I think I broke her neck. She’s a mess.” It struck me as oddly anticlimactic. Sonja had haunted me for years and now she was dead.
Out with a whimper.
“And the others?” Danton asked.
Kenwoode knelt and picked up the sheet that had covered Sonja earlier and draped it over her.
“Benny?” said Danton.
I pointed at Brin, “She’s one of the fliers that you and I fought on the roof. She’s either totally brainwashed or infatuated with Oso, the guy that disappeared. She’s also the sister of the kid that zapped you.”
Raising his eyebrows Danton took another drag on his cigarette.
“That guy,” I said, nodding at Griff and trying to keep my voice under control, “shot Justine before you showed up. He’s knacked. Telekinesis. I wouldn’t let him regain consciousness.” A couple of other dangerous thoughts rattled around in my head. I thought it would be better to keep them to myself.
“Unbelievable,” Danton said.
“No detective, not unbelievable. Problematic and dangerous,” said Kenwoode. “We can’t let these people end up in the hands of law enforcement. They can’t be managed and it will result in serious issues they won’t be able to control.”
Danton looked up at the low ceiling and blew smoke toward the greasy wood planking. “So let me get this straight. We have a gunshot victim, a couple of attempted murderers that can’t be prosecuted and a girl who’s barely beyond voting age who other than her ability to fly hasn’t really done anything wrong.”
“She hit me over the head,” I offered.
“Okay, aggravated assault.” He looked down at Weller’s unconscious body. “This hoity-toity lady is going to make trouble for me, us, and again according to you, tried to kill all of you.”
“She’s the one responsible for all of this,” I said.
“Oh, sure. That’ll play well. I can see that in court: ‘no your honor she’s the leader of a bunch of criminal magicians. Oh my God. I’m getting fired.” He took another heavy drag on his cigarette.
“Detective, I have a solution,” said Kenwoode.
Danton’s mouth dropped open, his cigarette hanging off his lip. “Really? You have a solution that’s going to make this all go away? Really?”
I thought I was sarcastic. Danton’s spin on the Sarcasti-coaster was rolling along at high speed.
“Yes, I do,” said Kenwoode. “It will require a concerted effort on all our parts.”
“And at the end of this amazing process am I still going to be employed as a detective by the city of Seattle?” Danton asked.
“Yes, provided you are willing to break some rules along the way.”
Blowing another cloud of smoke toward the ceiling Danton reeled off an i
mpressive string of profanity.
“I knew you were going to say something like that,” he said.
SIXTY-ONE: MEMORY LANE
GETTING OUR CAPTIVES down to the ground floor took two trips. I watched as Kenwoode carried Sonja’s body to the edge of the pier and dropped her into the freezing waters. Danton looked at the sky as she sank from sight.
“I’ve got a problem with stuffing people in my trunk no matter what they did,” said Danton, obviously trying to forget what he’d just refused to witness.
We were standing by his SPD issue Crown Victoria. Weller and Griff, blindfolded and unconscious, lay on top of each other in the sedan’s trunk.
“The bald guy shot Justine. The woman ordered him to shoot me. They’re both dangerous on so many different levels that it’s crazy to think about letting them go,” I said. “We don’t have time to screw around Danton, we need to get Justine some help fast.”
Danton looked at me while Brock gently put Justine into the back seat of a big gray SUV.
“I wasn’t talking about letting them go Benny. But there’s a process. I’m here off the record which is a problem all by itself. I engaged people involved in criminal activity. Thank God I didn’t discharge my weapon again. So what’s the plan here?”
“I’m better suited to explain that Detective,” said Kenwoode as he closed the trunk lid.
Danton lit up another cigarette. “So go ahead and explain.”
It was strange seeing Kenwoode as his full blown knack-self, and hearing his monster voice coming out of that face.
“You can’t put these people in custody. They’ll escape. More importantly, they’ll inform another cell about us. When you agreed to be a part of our activity here in Seattle you were told that there would be extraordinary circumstances that would require you to adapt. This is such an instance,” he said.