Users

by Stacy Buck

  "Olivia," a disheveled looking Carter said.

  "Carter, what in the hell are you doing here at this time of night?"

  "Can I come in please?" he asked.

  She cocked her head, looking back up the stairs toward the bedroom.

  "Sure." She opened the door wide, all the while holding the knife behind her back.

  What would drive Carter to her doorstep? Whatever it was it couldn't be good. It never was with this man, and as he passed she saw the telltale sign of red, burned skin on his normally pasty white neck. Carter's short dirty brown hair was also missing. He had used, and recently. She slid the knife behind a vase on the shelf when he turned his back on her.

  "Been using much?" she asked as Carter entered the kitchen.

  He went to the cupboard and took out a drinking glass like he owned the place, turned on the faucet, and filled his glass with water. He drank the entirety of its contents in one gulp, then went back for a second like a refugee who had been water starved in some desert.

  "Just tonight. Oh, and last night," he said between drinks.

  It irritated Fox to no end when users like Carter squandered their gifts the way he did. She had spent her entire life training and honing her skills to perfection. With no powers like Carter's to speak of, she was an oddity in their community, an ordinary human who had risen to be a member of the greatest team of powered individuals in the world, the All Americans. Meanwhile, Carter wasted his god given gifts by letting his addiction to drugs get the better of him.

  "You still on your medication?" she asked.

  "What are you my therapist?" he asked in a gravelly tone.

  "You look like hell. Have you been working?"

  "I've done a thing or two for the government here and there. Just making enough to get by."

  She put her hands on her bony hips, "What are you doing here Carter?"

  He hesitated a moment before telling her, "I was attacked in my apartment."

  "Well I can't say that I'm surprised," she said.

  "You're not?" he asked.

  "What do you think happens when you make a public vow to take down the head of one of the most dangerous cartels in the entire country?" she asked, "Do you have a death wish or something?"

  "You saw the paper I take it?" He took a seat at her kitchen table and motioned for her to sit.

  "I'll stand, thanks," she said. "Yes, I saw the paper, everyone saw the paper."

  Their eyes shot up to the ceiling as something in the second story of the home went thump. Carter, jumpy from the earlier attack, jumped up from his seat.

  "It's just Alaric," she said motioning for him to remain calm.

  The last thing she needed was some terrified Scorcher burning down her house. Carter shot her a disgusted look at the mention of the man. Alaric was what they called an Enforcer; possessing super human strength, built like a Roman god, and was nearly indestructible.

  "He still leading the All Americans?" Carter asked.

  "You know damn well he's still the leader of the All Americans," she said. "He's not a bad guy when you get to know him."

  "You know, why am I defending him to you anyway?" she questioned, mostly to herself; she had lost all patience for his nonsense at this point.

  "Defending who?" A shirtless, Alaric asked coming around the corner from the hallway.

  Even disturbed from sleep in the dead of night, he was still a specimen to behold. Toned muscles and a chiseled jawline were accentuated by precision cut light brown hair that was tousled just so; he looked like he walked off a magazine cover, modeling designer pajamas. Carter was no slouch himself in the looks department, but Alaric's visual perfection, coupled with his genuine personality, and the fact he was now banging the only woman Carter had ever loved, iced the cake of his inferiority complex.

  "No one." She shot Carter an angry glare of her own. "You want some coffee?" she asked as Alaric took a seat across the table from Carter.

  "No I'm fine. What are you doing here?" Alaric asked, but before Carter could utter a single word, Fox cut him off.

  "Assassins attacked him in his apartment," she said.

  "I never said it was assassins," Carter said.

  "It's the Cartel. They always send assassins. What else would they send? The Girl Scouts?" She placed a hand on Alaric's shoulder and noticed Carter wince from the corner of her eye. It had been years, but he obviously still had feelings for her.

  "Well that's what happens when you're involved in the types of things you're involved in," Alaric said plainly. The man showed no emotion whatsoever on his marble features.

  "And what exactly are those types of things?" Carter asked his tone drenched in sarcasm.

  "The types of things that got you kicked off the team," Alaric said.

  All three of them knew exactly what Alaric was referring too. Carter had been forcibly removed from the All Americans after a particularly bad bender that ended with him in jail, a smudge on the team's otherwise perfect record. The media had a heyday with the story, and despite his disposition, Alaric was obviously still bitter about the situation. "I'm sorry, but we can't help you. I know you and Fox go way back, but you're just too much of a liability."

  "A liability?" Carter echoed incredulously.

  "No one from the All Americans can afford to be seen with you right now. We've got too many of our own problems. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave." Alaric flexed his bulging muscles and cracked the huge knuckles on his banana sized fingers.

  Carter took another swill from his glass of water before setting it down hard on the table. Carter shot her a disappointed glare.

  "Thanks for nothing," Carter said, got up from his seat, and stormed out of the house.

  "Did you really have to be so mean about it," she asked as the door slammed behind Carter.

  "He's no good for us," Alaric said.

  "By us, do you mean the team, or me and you?" She folded her slender arms across her chest.

  "The team of course."

  "You know I don't have feelings for him anymore don't you?"

  Her and Carter's relationship had been quick, but not painless. Longtime friend; they had found solace in each other in the early days of their careers. Those times were long gone, replaced by the reality of everyday life, grown up problems, and real responsibilities. All things Carter had seemingly been incapable of dealing with back then, and apparently even now, but somewhere deep inside her, she secretly wished he would get his shit together. Even if it was just for his own sake.

  *****

  With his hood tucked low to cover his face, Carter stalked past his apartment to check if the coast was clear and it most certainly was not. Cops swarmed the place. Dozens of patrol cars, with their spinning flashing lights, lit up the street like a multi colored disco ball. Uniformed officers buzzed in and out of the building like a hive of angry bees, while firemen and emergency medical technicians hovered on the outskirts of the crime scene.

  A line of yellow tape labeled DO NOT CROSS and CRIME SCENE ran an entire city block, encircling his apartment building. Reporters, cameramen, and their news vans from every local station brushed up against the edge of the yellow tape, yelling questions and imploring any officer who dared venture too near about the details of the crime scene. Beyond the media was a throng of onlookers, including some neighbors he recognized, others who just happened to pass by on their way to work or were walking their dogs, and even a band of kids from a few streets down. All had come out or stopped to gaze at what remained of the fire escape and the two bodies suspended in the wreckage.

  Carter moved amongst them unseen, their eyes all peeled on the real life police drama playing out before them. He kept his hood low, and kept moving until he was through the mob of onlookers. The city was coated with a hazy moist layer as the slight drizzle continued into the early morning hours. They blackened sky began to lighten as the twilight turned to day and the sun rose behind the thick layer of marine clouds coming off of the So
und. Ground coffee for the cities worker bees wafted on the air as he passed a cafe on almost every corner. Men in business suits and women in tight skirts strolled past him on their way to work, seemingly oblivious to his presence.

  With his altruist colleagues, The Fox and the All Americans, turning their backs on him, he had only one place to turn; his less desirable acquaintances. If you could call them friends, they were the type that would have your back, as long as it was mutually beneficial to them. They may turn on their own mother for the right incentive, but right now they were Carter's only option and he had no choice but to risk it. Out of all his no-good friends, only one was marginally responsible enough to have his own place, and Carter was headed there now. He didn't have to go far, this particular friend lived in the same crummy part of town he did, though he rarely, if ever, ran into him.

  The cracked concrete steps seemed to be crumbling beneath his feet as he made his way up to the door. He had to hit the buzzer repeatedly, and was about to give up altogether, when finally a gritty voice responded on the other end.

  "Hello?" A confused half-asleep sounding voice said.

  "Darnell, it's Carter. Let me in," he said.

  "Carter? What the hell are you doing here?" Darnell asked.

  "Just let me in, and I'll tell you all about it," He lied.

  He had no intention of telling the whole story to Darnell, but he'd pick and choose the pieces he needed to weave a good tale.

  "Yeah...sure. I'll buzz you in." A buzzer sounded a few seconds later, and Carter, with his hand already on the door knob, pulled it open and stepped in. The empty hallway echoed with the cries of a baby from somewhere on the first floor. Carter, exhausted from a night of almost no sleep, trudged up the stairs to the second floor and down the hall, until he reached a familiar door a few down and on the right. He knocked. Darnell must have been waiting for him, because the door swung open immediately.

  "Well there's a face I haven't seen in a while," Darnell said as Carter entered the apartment. Old pizza boxes and empty beer bottles were stacked behind the door. The dishes, piled all the way to the sinks rim, appeared to have been there for at least a month as they passed the filthy kitchen.

  "The place looks exactly the way I left it," Carter said.

  "Yeah, we haven't had much maid service since you moved out," Darnell joked.

  Carter slumped down in a chair with thick cushions and it quickly formed to wrap around his body.

  "Even my old chair seems the same," he said.

  He had spent many a stupor in this exact chair, in this exact room. Just being here gave him an uneasy feeling.

  "You didn't come back after five years to discuss the furniture. What's up?"

  "Nothing, I just need a place to crash."

  "You in trouble?"

  "No, no real trouble, just lady trouble," he lied, and Darnell raised his eyebrows at him.

  "She kick you out?" Darnell asked.

  "Yeah, we're through," he said.

  "Good. I never liked that bitch anyway. Too uptight," Darnell said.

  And of course he didn't, she kept Carter from getting into trouble, which was exactly what Darnell didn't want. Misery loves company and all that. Carter jumped from his seat when a floating object passed by his head.

  "Woah, man. It's just a beer," Darnell said and the blue and white can floated into his waiting grasp.

  "I always hated it when you did that," Carter said.

  Darnell was a Mover, not a particularly powerful one, but what he lacked in power he made up for by being a slimy scumbag. Mover was exactly what it sounded like, they could move things with their minds. Some could pick up objects the size of a truck and throw it across town or deflect a bullet by pushing it away with the force of their mind, but Darnell used his powers mainly for moving beer from the fridge to his hand. Some times Darnell didn't even bother with the hand, moving the can straight to his lips without bothering to lift so much as a single muscle.

  "You want a beer?" Darnell asked scratching at his scraggly unkempt goatee.

  "Naw man, still sober." Carter knew his sobriety went over with Darnell like a ton of bricks.

  "You're really keeping that up? How about some weed then?"

  "Um...no, no drugs either," Carter said.

  Darnell pulled a plastic sandwich baggy from his pocket.

  "Weed's not a drug. It's like medicine or some shit man." Darnell smiled and lifted the bong to his lips for a quick toke.

  The lighter flicked and the flame hit the bowl packed to the rim with sticky green.

  Carter hated himself for being such a damn junkie. He was jealous of people who could just have the occasional beer, or smoke a little pot here and there. For him there was no occasional or little. There was only using and drinking to excess. One toke of pot and he'd be back on the smack in no time. That's the way it worked with true junkies, no restraint.

  "Whatever," Carter said.

  It was easy for him to blow Darnell off, he wasn't offering any of the good drugs anyway. Carter had a strong will against the soft stuff, but how would he handle it if Darnell offered him coke or heroin. He may not be so strong willed if the hard stuff came out. Carter hoped he wouldn't have to find out.

  "You up for some dice? I've got a game across town that starts in a little while."

  Darnell called it a game as if anyone else even had a chance of winning. No one playing against Darnell ever won. The man wrote the book on scams, and used his powers as a mover to ensure that every game was rigged. All he needed was a mark, and there were plenty of them in this town. Rich computer company CEO's and coffee corporate managers, not to mention hundreds of tech start up millionaires, it was a scam artists playground.

  "Naw man, for now I just need some sleep and a change of clothes," he said.

  "It's cool. You catch some shut eye, and when you wake up just grab something out of my closet."

  "Thanks dude."

  "No problem. I'll just see you when I get back."

  Carter closed his eyes and let a much needed sleep take him. It was an uneasy sleep, the kind of sleep a soldier got on the front lines when he knew he was surrounded by enemies, the kind of sleep where you left one eye open, when you should have left two.

  #

  Part 3

  Prologue 3

  "So how did that make you feel?" she asked, pulling me from my contemplation.

  "How did what make me feel?" She was constantly hitting me with the open ended questions.

  "Being back in your old apartment with your druggie friend? Having nowhere else to turn?" She was trying to break me down in some misguided effort to build me back up. What an exercise in futility.

  "It didn't feel good, if that's what you're asking." I answered.

  My face must have been shown a grim mug, because she backed off the subject. The clock kept ticking. It was running its way past the half hour mark, but we still had time. Time to hit all my fiery nerves. I tapped my foot on the hardwood floor repeatedly, almost uncontrollably, my knee bounced up and down with the nervous beat.

  "You know you put yourself in this situation right?" She asked. "If you hadn't gone to buy drugs, you never would have been in the drug den, and you wouldn't have been in a position where you needed to lie to the police."

  "I did what I had to do." I told myself more than her, my attempts to justify my actions were falling flat.

  I knew it was my fault. I just didn't want to admit it. I didn't want to take responsibility. Same shit, different day.

  "You let your compulsion get the better of you. When you're on the drugs your mind is hijacked, but when you're sober you have to make better decisions. I'm not going to sugarcoat anything for you; you really got yourself into a jam on this one, and you need to be personally accountable for the consequences of your poor decision making. Own you mistakes, as well as your victories" she said.

  "The worst is yet to come," I said.

  Unfortunately for me, we were just getting to the
good part, or bad depending on how you look at it.

  "I had a feeling you were going to say something like that." She flipped to the next page in her green steno pad and began jotting down some notes; and it drove me crazy to not know what it was.

  It always bugged the hell out of me when she wrote something down about me. My obsessive compulsive disorder would not allow for anything less. I wanted to rip the notebook out of her hand, lift it in front of her face, and set it aflame with my powers. But of course that would lead to an immediate removal, and probably a permanent ban, from her office, and I needed my meds. So, I sat there in a fume, and allowed her to keep scribbling her secret evaluations of my psyche.

  "It does get worse, and I regret it. I have a lot of regrets. Regret is one of the overriding feelings in my life, more than sadness, more than happiness, there's always regret."

  It ate at me. It always did. It was a feeling akin to what prisoners must feel like after having spent years behind bars, their life wasted. There was an almost constant overriding sensation that I needed to make up for lost time. That I had spent nearly a decade of my life in a coma. Now freed from that coma, I was hurrying to live my life in fast forward, constantly playing catch up. It hurt just to think about it.

  "Tell me what happened next."

  "Next? Well I knew the cartel would be looking for me, and I didn't want Darnell to get dragged into my problems, so instead I dragged someone else into it; someone more competent. Looking back on it, I can see that was a shitty thing to do, but what choice did I have? I was in deep, and if the All Americans wouldn't offer their help maybe I could persuade them."

  "And how did you do that?"

  "Well it didn't exactly go as planned," I said. It never does.

  #

  Chapter 5

  Carter awoke to the stank of a dirty bong and the half empty beer cans that littered the room. Strewn about the tops of the coffee table, window sills, and even the floor were empty food wrappers, cigarette butts, and old boxes of pizza. He didn't want to spend even a minute longer than he had to in the filthy apartment. His place had been a shabby dump, but this place was an absolute hell hole.