by Mark Gardner
“Yeah until some asshole poisons you.”
Joaquin scowled. “I could totally do it, y’know.”
Justin rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“Why ya gotta be up in my grill, man. I could be a fuckin’ hero.”
“You’ll shoot your eye out, kid.”
Joaquin flipped him the bird.
“You had the talk with Anne, right?”
“Yeah. That’s some crazy shit she told me. Was it true?”
Justin paused before continuing. “It took her almost a hundred years to figure out the world was gonna roll her no matter what, but yeah, it’s all true. Every story about a vampire or Greek myth, they’re all about someone like us.”
Joaquin’s eyes sparkled. “They’ll write stories about me!”
“Whoa! Settle down man. The world doesn’t need a hero. ‘Sides, you’d probably fuck it up anyway.”
Joaquin scoffed and thrust out his jaw in defiance.
Justin threw up his hands. “It’s your funeral man.” He got up and walked away.
Joaquin stared at the retreating Justin. He had made up his mind, and it was time to take action.
Kristof opened his eyes. His arm tingled, and he withdrew it from under the sleeping form of his wife. Krystal moaned and rolled away from him. The curtain was partially open, and he watched the sun set. “Fourteen days to go...” he whispered and fell asleep.
Krystal woke in the middle of the night. She listened to Kristof breathe next to her, a light snore caught in his throat. She wasn’t an evil person. She was afraid she might become one. Could she really leave Kristof? If not, could she live with him like this? She pulled the comforter tighter around her scarcely dressed body and felt ashamed by her impulsive reaction to his brief heroism – she loved him, but he was different now. He tried living his life the way it was before the power, before the cancer, but it wasn’t the same. He was a hero, or, at least, he could be one if only he tried. The thought of losing him terrified her, and even though hours ago she sat across from him in that restaurant thinking of leaving him, she couldn’t truly picture a life where Kristof was completely nonexistent. Krystal hated herself because she was unable to let go; a memory of happiness that wasn’t going to repeat itself.
Krystal quietly slid out of bed and tiptoed into the bathroom. She closed the door and locked it, then sat on the floor giving power to her emotions in hushed tears and choked cries. Ultimately she knew that this night might have been their last one as a married couple. She convinced herself it was all right to forget about the world and the problems just for one night. Ultimately, Krystal knew she had made her decision; no lies or promises could bend her will and prevent her from seeing that their marriage had been over a long time ago.
“Gimmie all the money in the register!” The thug pointed his revolver at a convenience store clerk.
The clerk punched a few keys on the cash register, and the drawer popped open with an audible ding. The clerk piled the bills on the counter.
“Gimmie everything under the till.”
The clerk pulled out two fifties and added them to the pile.
“Open the safe!” screamed the robber as he scooped up the bills from the counter.
“It’s on a time delay, man.”
The thief met the clerk’s eyes and then started walking toward the door. Still pointing the revolver at the clerk, the robber went to open the door.
“Well, what have we here?”
The robber and the clerk both turned to see a man walk into the store and close the door behind him.
“A robbery?” The man turned to the robber, who alternated pointing his revolver at the clerk and the new arrival. “Boy did you pick the wrong place to rob, yo.”
The clerk recognized the man and spoke out. “There’s no trouble here, Joaquin. He got what he wanted and is leaving.”
“Yeah, man,” declared the robber, pointing his revolver at Joaquin, “I leave, and no one gets hurt.”
Joaquin leaned closer to the robber and whispered. “I can’t be hurt.”
“Joaquin, let the man go. It’s only money.” The clerk came out from behind the counter to persuade Joaquin to let the robber go free.
“I can’t do that. This store is protected by me.” He stabbed his chest with his thumb to emphasize the word me.
The robber shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he replied and pulled the trigger.
Joaquin fell against a display of snacks.
The robber turned to the clerk. “Sorry, man. No witnesses.” He fired a shot at the clerk who fell backward and hit the floor. The robber threw open the door and ran across the parking lot.
Joaquin freed himself from the salty embrace of the display and scrambled to the fallen clerk. He stepped into the rapidly expanding pool of blood, kneeling to see if his old friend was still alive. He placed his ear over his lips and heard nothing. “Shit!” he said out loud. He looked out the front door to see a gathering crowd. “Shit!” he said again. He grabbed a set of keys off the clerk’s belt and ran to the back door. Throwing the door open, he ran across an abandoned lot and into the night.
Dead Coil
“What do you think happened here, Detective?”
“Robbery gone wrong? There must’ve been a struggle, and the perp popped the clerk. Any surveillance video?”
The uniform looked at Detective Frank Massey like he had two heads and tentacles.
“Didn’t think so.” Massey looked out to the crowd. “Anyone give a description?”
“Believe it or not, Detective, this shop is well-liked. We got nine or ten descriptions, and they all seem to match.”
It was Massey’s turn to gape at what he had just heard. “I’ll be damned. There just might be hope for humanity.”
The uniform rolled his eyes. “Wait until you hear the description.” He pulled out a notebook and Massey saw indecipherable scribble on it.
“What is this, cuneiform?”
The uniform scowled. “Hardly, Detective.” He began to translate the scribbles. “Black man, early twenties, wearing a green sleeveless jacket and a gold ring in his right eyebrow. Sound familiar?”
“My car jacker?”
“Yeah, the one that took that woman hostage and disappeared from the precinct.”
“Small fuckin’ world, huh?”
Massey patted the uniform on the shoulder. “Keep me informed.”
The uniform nodded and watched Massey get into his sedan and exit the parking lot.
The sun rose slowly, and its light was just strong enough to scatter the smog. Kristof leaned against the wall and watched it rise. Thirteen days, he thought as he kicked a deflated soccer ball off his porch. He jumped back after the realization sunk in that he had kicked it over the house across the street.
“So, what was that all about?”
Kristof turned to see his wife leaning against the open door frame. She brandished a cup of coffee in both hands.
“Should you be using that arm?”
“The doctors only put me in the sling as a precaution.” She handed him a cup and poked him in the ribs. “Besides, you weren’t too concerned about my arm yesterday evening.”
Kristof grinned but didn’t reply.
“Let’s spend the day in today.”
Kristof raised his eyebrows. “Movies and delivery?”
“It’s a date!”
Kristof smiled and kissed her on the top of the head. They watched movies and ate delivery until they fell asleep on the couch.
The sun rose slowly, and its light was just strong enough to scatter the smog. Joaquin had ‘laid low’ for most of the previous day. He tried going home after the incident at the convenience store, but he saw the same sedan he tried to carjack a few days ago parked outside his mother’s house. He walked down the street trying to figure out what to do next. Off in the distance, he saw a pillar of black smoke rising into the air. He jogged along the sidewalk until he saw a duplex engulfed in flames.
&
nbsp; Firefighters were scrambling to connect fire hoses to a fire hydrant. An abandoned car was blocking the hose, and the fire department smashed the car windows to allow access to the hydrant.
“Hey! Stop! Where’re you going?” Several firefighters yelled to Joaquin as he ran into the burning duplex.
Joaquin looked up and saw through to the second floor. If anyone’s up there, they’re dead, he thought. “Is anyone in here?” he called out. When the frayed ends of his sleeves started to smoke, he kicked through a flaming rear wall, hopped a fence and continued his day.
“We’ve got to get in there chief!”
The chief turned to his firefighter. “Jimenez? Everyone got out safely.”
“Some dude ran into the duplex and hasn’t come out yet. It’s only been a minute or two, but, ya know.” Jimanez spread his arms and shrugged.
“You, Martinez and Jones drag the moron out.”
Jimenez, Martinez, and Jones ran into the building to save the unknown person who ran into the duplex. The three of them had crossed the door threshold and less than a minute later; everyone watched helplessly as the duplex collapsed, trapping the firefighters inside.
Detective Frank Massey knelt to inspect a charred outline on the floor. He poked a congealed lump with a pen.
“It’s Kevlar.”
Massey looked over his shoulder to see the fire chief standing behind him.
“Kevlar melts at nine hundred forty degrees.”
Massey stood and shook hands with the chief. “Detective Frank Massey, Seattle P.D. I’ve been trying to track down a person of interest. I think he was involved in this fire.”
“That jackass that ran into the duplex?”
Massey shrugged. “The description your guys gave me matches his description. Have you found his body?”
The chief took a step back. “The only bodies recovered were of my three men. Each one of them seasoned firefighters.” The chief looked up at a flock of birds flying overhead. “They never should’ve gone in there.”
“I’m gonna get this asshole, Chief.”
Before the Chief could respond, a voice rang out from the back yard. “Chief!” Massey followed the chief as he jogged through the duplex remains and into the back yard.
“Thompson?” he asked a woman wearing a vest with a stenciled ‘INSPECTOR’ patch on the back.
“Take a look at this Chief.” She motioned to a large area of scorched grass. It was wilted and colored a shade of brown-green. As the swath got closer to the burned out duplex, it lost the green and went to black. Closest to the duplex, there was no grass, only scorched earth.
“Standard heat pattern from a fire like this.”
“Yeah, I get that, but look here.” Thompson motioned to a set of footprints discoloring the grass leading to the fence.
Massey scowled. “Was he on fire?”
Thompson ignored the question and pointed to one of the footprints. A blob of melted plastic stuck to a rock. The melted plastic clearly formed a swoosh.
“This guy’s Nikes were on fire.” She pronounced it Nye-Keys. Massey’s internal cop-computer told him she was a native. The trio followed the footprints to the fence.
Massey noticed a scorched fiber stuck to the chain link fence. He produced a set of tweezers and dropped the green fiber into an evidence bag. He held the bag up and looked at the fiber.
The Chief spoke first. “Green fiber from a green jacket.” He turned to Massey. “Still think it’s your guy?”
Massey slapped the evidence bag into his free palm. “I’m sure of it.”
“Where’re you going?”
Kristof looked out the window to see the beginning rays of the new day. “The last two weeks have been a blast, hon.”
Krystal sat up on the bed. “Kristof?”
Kristof sat at the foot of the bed. He stared in the mirror attached to her vanity. “We both knew this day was coming.”
“You look fine,” she whispered. She crawled to the foot of the bed and hugged her husband from behind.
He patted her arms and replied. “I felt fine before my last M.R.I. scan.”
Krystal squeezed one more time and released him.
“I’m gonna take a bus.”
As Kristof walked to the bus stop, he thought about the events of the last fifteen days. He refused to listen to the nagging voice in his head. So many questions, he thought. Where had his super strength come from? Would he really die today?
The bus rumbled up to the stop, belching dark smoke. Environmentally friendly, indeed, he thought crossly. It wasn’t his complaint; Krystal would grumble and complain every time she saw one. He fed two dollars into the bill collector, and as soon as he stepped past the yellow line on the floor, the bus pulled away from the stop.
“Where’re you going?”
“Shut yo’ mouth.”
“Shut my mouth? You best check yo’self before ya wreck yo’self.”
Joaquin smiled. “The nineteen-nineties called, they want their sayin’ back.”
“Puh-leeze.” The woman threw back her sheet and touched Joaquin’s bare back. “Nobody calls no one no more.”
Joaquin picked up a lava lamp on the night stand, shook his head and returned it, fanning and shaking his hand from the sudden warmth.
Joaquin sighed and flopped back onto the bed. I know if I was a hero, people would love me, he thought.
“Why you gotta be a hero?”
“Because, I...” Joaquin’s eyes got wide. “I didn’t fuckin’ say that out loud!”
The woman smiled. You didn’t think Anne would just let you walk away, did you?”
Joaquin scoffed. “So... what? You’re a mind reader?”
She smiled seductively. “Not a mind reader. My talents are more like a persuasion.”
“What da’fuck does that mean?”
She ignored him. “It’s time for you to go.”
Joaquin paused at the door to the apartment and threw a crumpled up fifty-dollar bill at her. “Make sure Anne gets her cut,” he snarled before storming out the door.
“Isn’t this a huge waste of money?”
Doctor Flax shrugged. “Your insurance will take care of it.”
Kristof rolled his eyes. “How long until you get the results?”
“The scan is only fifteen or twenty minutes. The results usually take up to a day...”
“I don’t have a day, Doc,” Kristof interrupted.
Flax gave Kristof a stern look before continuing. “But, I have a radiologist on staff. It shouldn’t take longer than an hour.” He paused, seeing Kristof’s frown. “Two at the most.”
Kristof lay on the table, and Flax fastened the plastic shell over his forehead. Kristof yawned and fell asleep.
Kristof awoke to a commotion. He could hear people rushing about. He gripped the plastic shell and tried to remove it. It didn’t budge. He strained against it, but still nothing.
“We’ll get you out of there in a moment, Sir. Please be patient.”
Kristof took a deep breath and gave the thumbs up gesture.
The commotion faded away, and the platform made whirring noise as it retracted from the machine.
A nurse removed the plastic shield and helped Kristof to a sitting position. “What happened?” he asked.
The nurse whispered, “The tech doing your scan died in the middle of it.”
“What?”
“I know, right? She died a few minutes after your scan started.”
Kristof’s face lost its color.
The nurse helped him to his feet. “No worries, though. The scan is automated. How’re you feeling?”
“Weak.”
“Let’s get you into a bed. I’ll let your doctor know what’s going on.”
“Thanks.”
The nurse walked Kristof to a room. As they passed a nurse’s station, he over heard their conversation.
“That’s some crazy stuff about Amber.”
“I’m not sure if she can be replaced. Sh
e could see blemishes on a scan better than anyone I’ve ever known.”
The nurses saw Kristof was listening and immediately the conversation ended.
The nurse helped him into the bed and handed him a television remote. “Hit the call button if you need anything.”
Kristof nodded and flipped through the channels. One daytime drama was as bad as the next.
“Your scan was peculiar.”
“You mean aside from the tech dying during it?”
Doctor Flax frowned. “Yes. Other than Amber dying.”
Kristof held his hands up in mock surrender.
Flax turned his computer monitor so Kristof could see it. “A Magnetic Resonance Imager, or M.R.I. works by taking pictures in slices.” Kristof nodded, so Flax continued. “As the scan progresses, each slice is assembled by a computer. This gives us a three-dimensional view of your melon.” Flax glanced briefly at Kristof’s head.
Flax tapped a few keys on his keyboard, and Kristof’s scan popped up on the screen. The tumor was evident, but three-quarters of the way down, it got smaller. The demarcation between the large and the small was a smooth line.
“You see it?”
“It’s not the right shape?”
“Yes.” Flax leaned forward. Between this,” he pointed, “slice and this” he pointed again, “slice, your tumor reverted to the size it was sixteen days ago.”
“Some kind of data corruption? My scans got mixed up?”
Flax shook his head. “Your scans were on different machines.”
Kristof spread his hands.
“Take a look at this.” He tapped more keys on his keyboard and an image of Kristof appeared on the screen. “Each scan is recorded for insurance purposes.”
“Okay.”
Watch.” Flax pressed a key and the video moved forward.
“What was that?” Kristof asked.
“Good, you saw it.” Flax looked at him. “Not many non-medical field people would’ve seen that.”
“What does it mean?”
“I suspect you have sleep apnea. I think you stopped breathing and,” Flax made quotation marks with his fingers, “died at the same time Amber did. The next slice is the one with the erroneous tumor.”