by Peter Telep
I smell duct tape and rubbing alcohol and the faint trace of gasoline. A man who might be a doctor talks to someone just behind the curtain to my left, probably another patient in the bed next to mine.
A twitch of pain sends my gaze down to the needle stuck in the back of my hand. There’s a clear tube attached so they can give me drugs. A white plastic thing with a wire pinches my index finger.
I lift my head. Whoa, I’m dizzy and my neck’s sore. My arms and legs look red and bruised, but hell yeah, I can still move them. What’s that ringing in my ears? Where are my clothes?
I turn my head. The beeping noise comes from a machine over my shoulder, and then I feel tape on my chest. I reach up to some wires attached to these little pads. I’m hooked up to one of those monitoring machines.
I shrink back into the pillow—
And it all hits me at once.
The car accident. Something smashing into my head.
Wait! What time is it? The wall clock reads 8:20 p.m.
I shut my eyes and choke up.
I’ll never get out of here on my own. And now I’ve got no choice. I need to take Solomon’s deal.
CHAPTER SIX
I can’t see the Hood anymore. I’m too weak to multitask. However, my persona’s still out there, somewhere inside a curtain of gray mist, with voices echoing and fading.
“All right, you’re awake,” my nurse says. He seems young and cool. His chin strap beard and earring remind me of a hip hop star. His badge reads Winston. He asks my name and checks the needle in my wrist. He wants me to move my arms and legs.
After that, he shines a light in my eyes, but then he frowns at the monitor. The beeping slows.
“I’m good,” I say. “I need to leave now.”
He ignores me, slides over a table with a computer, and then starts asking me a thousand questions. Name, address, age, name of parents, and so on. He types in the answers and finally asks:
“So Doc, do you remember what happened?”
“A little bit.” I swallow and my breath grows shallow. “I was in a bad accident. Did anyone else get hurt?”
I guess what I really mean is, did I kill anyone? But I’m just too afraid to say it out loud.
If he tells me I did, then I’m not sure what I’ll do. I can’t handle that much guilt. People have died trying to help me. Hollis says they died for me not because of me. No. I’m not worth it.
Winston leans in close. “I can’t say much, but you’re lucky. The other drivers were treated at the scene, but they walked away. Sometimes you get a miracle.”
I sigh so hard with relief that it actually hurts.
“Can I speak to him?” comes the voice of the gargantuan cop from beyond the curtains.
Winston turns away, but I grab his arm. “Did you guys do a cat scan on me?”
“The doctor will come in and talk you,” he says.
“Why do you sound like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like there’s something wrong.”
He looks away. “I can’t tell you anything else. You need to talk to the police now.”
He leaves. The monster with the crew cut enters.
I try once more to multitask. I’m willing to join Solomon now because even though no one got hurt, I’m going to jail.
It’s true. Look, I’m no TV accident attorney, but I’m pretty sure I know what happens to me at this point.
I ran the red light. I caused the accident. People could’ve died. Plus, I had no ID and no learner’s permit.
Judge Judy or somebody is already waiting for me.
So I’ll be eating cockroaches and scratching days off on the wall of my cell with my dirty fingernail.
What am I thinking? I’ll be dead before we even get to the police station to take my mug shot.
So I guess this interview is meaningless. I don’t need an attorney. I need a miracle.
The cop drones on about recording me and asking about my parents and what happened at my house, and I tell him I was stressed out and took my father’s car and I’m sorry but that’s all I know. I’m just really sorry about everything.
“Son, apologies don’t excuse what you did. Now. Where are your parents?”
I try to speak, but now I’m too weak to even talk.
The beeping’s slower.
I guess I used up that miracle. Like Solomon said, my boy Zach is gone. Julie’s not coming to save me. I already told Solomon to bite it.
So this it. I should think happy thoughts like we did while crossing that bridge of personas to Brandalynn.
This was my life. I couldn’t help all the drama. I was ready to be a normal kid, go to high school, graduate with a 3.0, and be a mediocre college student who turns in work mostly on time. Mostly.
After that I’d become a manager at a game store or comic book shop or some other place where I could have fun. I’d get married, have kids, continue building my Star Wars figure collection, and dump hundreds of dollars into playing freemium games on my smart phone.
Now, like every other dying person, I wish there was more time. I know now Julie and I will never be together, but I did think Meeka and I might’ve had a chance.
Of course our lives would never be normal. She’s literally a princess from the Royal House of Arabelle, and I’m the son of the guy who basically blew up Flora. So yeah, we don’t do normal. We do chaos. Or at least we would have.
Together.
The cop’s still barking at me. He means well. He wants to be my father, give me the lecture. I get it. Maybe he’s got a son my age. Of course his kid was born on Earth.
And he has no clue that in a few minutes, I’m going to die right in front of him. Maybe he’ll think he bored me to death and stop doing this to future kids. That’ll be my legacy.
And yeah, poor Winston will be shocked, but then again, they must’ve seen something on my cat scan or in my blood. They know I’m not normal.
The room’s getting dim around the edges. The beeping’s a little softer and even slower.
I try to lift my arms again. If I had just a little energy, I could rip out the needle, yank off the pads and wires, and run away. I bet I could outrun this cop.
Part of me wishes I could give my immortal to Meeka. But then again, she’d be crying, and I’d be hating the fact that I’m putting her through all this. She’s already been through too much suffering. So this is for the best.
I reach out with my thoughts to Keane, trying to make one last connection. However, my fellow laurel just isn’t there. It seems no connection in the universe can save me now. My mind’s filling with static.
What’s this now?
The cop steps aside, allowing someone to come around the curtain.
Her? Are you kidding me? How did she get in here?
It’s usually just immediate family or something, right? She crosses to my bed and grabs my hand.
I try to pull away, but I got nothing.
She scowls at the cop. “I need a moment alone.”
Colossus backs off and slides the curtain shut.
I want to ask what’s going on. But again… I have nothing.
Mrs. Bossley smiles. “Let’s go for a little ride.”
Her eyes shimmer.
And she jumps us out of there.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I’m in another bed, one that’s softer and smells like body odor. I touch the back of my hand. The needle and IV line are gone, as are the pads attached to my body. I’m still wearing the hospital gown.
A light flashes on. A pillow gets shoved behind my head, propping me up so I can look around.
We’re in Blink’s old room at the safe house. The Captain America poster I bought him still hangs near the mirror.
It hurts to see that poster, but it hurts even more that he’s gone. I’ll remember him as the rumm who never gave up, not the mask who tried to kill us. That wasn’t him, just a lifetime of pain coming out, and the masks took advantage of that.
&nbs
p; “Don’t try to talk,” Mrs. Bossley says. “And yes, they found a mass in your chest, but don’t worry. Your identity’s still safe. We’re making sure of that.”
With a thin smile, she crosses to the dresser and begins rifling through the drawers. After a moment, she finds one of those pouches bulging with mirage.
She vanishes for a few seconds and returns with a bottle of water. She drops in a pinch of mirage and shakes the bottle, turning the water blue. Satisfied with the color, she says, “Drink this,” and pours the mixture slowly down my throat.
This is the Floran version of a five-hour energy drink, and yeah, I could’ve used this four hours ago.
Please work.
It’s only a temporary fix, but it’s the best I’ve got. Again, I’m not sure how much time I’ll get from this dose, but I’m guessing my wreath will tell me when it’s wearing off.
And yeah, I have a million more questions, but for now I take long gulps, and my wreath begins to tingle.
Meeka said the first time is unpredictable—
So when the room begins to pulsate and spin into a vortex that opens up in the ceiling, I’m not surprised. The blanket tears off me and gets sucked into the stream. I’m next.
And where do I wind up?
In Spain, of course. The Canary Islands. Tenerife.
I’m about ten, and my father’s doing his particle physics research up at the observatory in the mountains. I’m at the beach with Julie and her mom. Everything’s going great—
Except Mrs. Bossley is here. She trudges out of the water wearing a blue one-piece that’s a little too tight and looks more like a skirt. Her nose is covered in white suntan lotion, her shoulders beet red.
She marches over, leaving deep footprints in the sand. She rakes fingers through her wet hair and asks, “Surprised?”
“More like shocked.”
“Actually, I am, too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I didn’t think they’d go for it.”
“Go for what?
She glances around. “This.”
I raise my palms. “Whoa, slow down. You’re not one of the Ladies of Galleon, are you?”
She rolls her eyes and snorts.
“Then you’re a Floran?” I ask.
My questioning amuses her. She hesitates before shaking her head.
“So you’re Halsparrian? Halsparrite? Whatever they’re called?”
“They’re called Halsparrans. And you’re wrong again.”
I draw back my head in disbelief. “Then how did you jump us out of the hospital?”
“You already know how… and you know who I am.”
“Uh, yeah, you’re the neighborhood Nazi.”
She laughs. “I think your father had some idea, but he never confronted me. Of course, I would’ve lied.”
“Wait a minute. How can I trust anything you’re saying? You could be Solomon.”
“Remember when I yelled at you for setting up that bike ramp in front of my driveway and putting all those terrible tire burn marks on the sidewalk in front of my house?”
“Uh, yeah…”
“Or the time you I caught you putting those plastic snakes in my mailbox because you thought you were being funny?”
“Yeah…”
“I can go on, but Doc you already have the power to sense whether it’s really me. You just don’t know how to use it yet. That connection you have with Keane is just the beginning. You can sense this is really me.”
“I do feel something. I guess you’re not Solomon. But I still don’t know who you are.”
“Well, don’t get too excited. I’m just a curator, and I’m connected to the others on Flora and Halsparr. The ones on Galleon were killed during the war.” She sighs and makes a face. “And about that name you have for us? It’s so confining and depressing.”
“Wait. Do you mean the First Ones?”
“I do, but we weren’t first, and we’re never that specific when we talk about ourselves.”
“And you don’t like mirrors.”
“Appearances are deceiving.”
“I saw the wreath in my grandmother’s lab, and I thought you’d be giant.”
“Isn’t that a relative term?”
“I don’t know. It’s all so weird. So we heard you guys have weapons to fight the Galleons.”
“You’ll need more than our weapons.”
“Okay, so can you help us? Can you get us into your labs in Faldareach and Larkspur?”
“I can’t, but maybe someone else can.”
“Like who?” I ask.
She takes a deep breath. “That’s an interesting question.”
“Can you give me an interesting answer?”
“I think your grandmother was working on something.”
I consider that and then realize what a ridiculously great opportunity I have to ask some bigger questions…
“So, Mrs. Bossley, what’s this all about?”
She frowns. “What do you mean?”
“I mean life. Are we just some big science experiment? Is that what we are? Please say we’re not…”
“Docherty, let me explain—”
“Because everyone’s dying around me. And if you’re going to tell me you just dump people on planets, sit back, and watch what happens like we’re all on some lame ass reality TV show, then I’m going to lose it right here.”
“Oh, Docherty, this isn’t an experiment or a TV show. Life is a celebration. And we’re all in this together.”
“Really? Because it hasn’t been the greatest party for me.”
“I understand. And I’m here to help. But sometimes our interference does more damage than good. For now, all I’ve done is buy you some time.”
“Wait. Is this a test?”
She puts her hands on my shoulders. “I have one final piece of advice. After mowing your grass, you should always blow the loose trimmings off the sidewalk. Don’t leave them lying around for old ladies to clean up, okay?”
“What? What’re talking about?”
Thunder booms.
My gaze lifts to the dark clouds over the ocean—
But now I’m standing in Blink’s room.
Talking to myself.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I grab some clothes from Wexx’s dresser and stand on the driveway wearing a pair of cargo shorts, sandals, and a faded T-shirt featuring Darth Vader (the shirt’s actually mine, but I gave it to Wexx because he liked it so much).
So here I am, rubbing my sore neck and gazing up at the stars, searching for Flora’s sun.
A dog barks, crickets chirp, and mosquitoes buzz near my ears. It’s still over eighty degrees, and heat lightning flickers through distant clouds. Behind me, the safe house lies dark and empty. Feels more like a tomb.
I’m not sure why I came out here. Maybe I thought Julie would have an easier time finding me.
It wouldn’t surprise me now if a tornado rolled through my neighborhood and swept me away. Maybe it could take me back to Flora, which is what Mrs. Bossley should’ve done.
But oh, I forgot, she had to go to bed early. She needs to get up before dawn so she can zoom around in her golf cart and write up people for having mold on their driveways.
Are the First Ones OCD or what?
I take a deep breath.
So I have to save myself. How is this not a test? And does anything I do really matter?
Tommy’s voice echoes in my head: “You ain’t no quitter, Doc. This here’s your life, and you’re in the driver’s seat. Keep looking forward, not back. That’s why windshields are big and rear view mirrors are small…”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
All right. Clam down. Time for a SITREP, Tommy style. And the situation report is as following:
I’ve taken some mirage, but who knows how long it’ll last. I can’t confirm if Zach was really abducted by Solomon and if the engine is gone (instead of just moved). I should’ve asked Mrs. Bossley about that. She said s
he’s a curator, like some kind of caretaker or something, so is Earth like a museum? Are we just part of a collection?
I could stand here all night and think about that… or I can focus on the more serious problem of getting home to Flora without an engine.
As I drift back into the house, I take some deep breaths to clear my head. I’m still a little dizzy, with tiny flashes coming from the corners of my eyes. I reach the living room sofa and plop down.
Okay, as far as I know, there’s only one other engine, and it’s back at the temple in Verbena. But it needs major repairs.
And it’s trillions of miles away.
Wait a second.
Maybe it’s not.
I close my eyes and feel strong enough to multitask again. I return to the rooftop bar with Keane and the girls, who’re suddenly hysterical. I guess my persona’s been sitting there in a trance.
They fire off more questions, with Keane commenting on my Vader shirt, “Nice!”
I’m forced to shout over them until they finally listen. “Look, I’m okay. I took some mirage, but I’m not sure how long I’ve got, so we need to move fast.”
“Did you find Zach?” Keane asks. “Because we asked Wexx, and he doesn’t know anything.”
“Zach’s still missing, but don’t worry. I have an idea.”
“Does it include Solomon?” Meeka asks.
I gesture for her to relax. “I’ll tell you everything, but let’s get back.”
* * *
We leave the Hood and return to the temple’s basement, where I stand there in my persona and go over my plan with Tommy and the others. There’s a good chance it’ll work, and while everyone else gets moving, Meeka and I slip off since we can’t help with this part.
She wants to show me one of her memories.
And I don’t like her tone. She sounds urgent.
We walk through an underground shopping center on the outskirts of Violet. It’s so similar to our malls in Orlando that I expect to find the Apple Store and GameStop and Auntie Anne’s Pretzels among the shops.
Or at least what’s left of them.
The blast wave plowed through here like it did everywhere else. Our path’s littered with hunks of concrete and girders that rise like pieces of Lego jammed into heaps of mashed potatoes. Dust-covered escalators frozen in time sweep up toward the demolished floor above us.