Evolution

by Hayden Thorne

  “No kidding,” Liz said. “Was it that new fire girl who did it?”

  Dad nodded. “Yep.”

  “So how’d they find out?” I prodded, my curiosity stoked. “If Magnifiman and Calais had their hands full elsewhere, how’d they know where to go to find the third heist?”

  “Uh, wait, I’m still reading. Okay, here it is. Apparently the fire girl alerted the police.”

  “How? Did she torch their car or something?”

  “No, no—she—well—she can fly, and she crash-landed on a squad car that was patrolling East 33rd. She hasn’t mastered flight yet, they said, and instead of landing on the road in front of the car, she ended up on the hood, pretty much totaled the vehicle. At least she apologized for the damage, according to the police, even offered to help clean up the freeways as part of community service if she had to.”

  Yes, that definitely sounded like our nervous fire-wielding superhero. “Do they have a description of her?” I asked.

  “Other than that she was practically a nervous wreck, not much. Petite, dark hair in a ponytail, black and gold Spandex and a matching mask—she didn’t stay long enough for a chat. She flew off and clipped the corner of an old warehouse and caused minor damage there. I wonder if she needs glasses.”

  I fell silent and wolfed down my breakfast, surprising Mom with requests for seconds. And thirds—Mrs. Horace’s jam was an evil influence. While everyone else chatted about the new superhero and supervillain, I mulled things over. Maybe Peter had a chance to meet her last night, even work with her somehow despite all appearances of her working alone. I was sure dying to know more about the new hero on the block.

  I also said a quiet prayer on her behalf. It was only a matter of time before Bambi Bailey were to christen her with a name that sounded like something a demon would fart out, unless she’d come forward with her own ID. Seeing as how she was currently having the craziest time coming into her powers, I seriously doubted she had a name on hand right off the bat. I couldn’t wait to see the evening news later.

  * * * *

  There was a formerly-long-stemmed rose hidden in my locker—the stem had to be trimmed to fit the cramped space. When I saw it, the universe started all over again. The slate was wiped clean, humanity’s sins were all forgiven, the greenhouse effect never happened, and the earth was only two days old. I also melted in a puddle of slightly blue-tinted goo in front of my locker.

  Sure, I didn’t know how Peter was able to get inside, but he was a superhero, and I’d learned not to question the occasional surprise move from him. He must’ve figured it all out, maybe with Althea’s help, the day I was out sick. Unless, of course, Mr. Dancy had been bribed into a break-in.

  With the hallway buzzing with groggy kids fumbling their way from their lockers to their classrooms, I scanned the area for Peter and found him lurking near the end of the hallway, looking a little tentative. I pushed my way through the crowd, the rose tucked inside one of my messenger bag’s outer pockets, and nearly tackled him to the ground when I reached him.

  “Hey.” I grinned, feeling too sappy-goofy for words. “Thanks for the rose.”

  Peter rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “It’s a delayed apology. I don’t think it’s enough.”

  I shrugged, still grinning like an idiot. “It’s okay. I mean, I wish you’d returned my calls and all that, but after hearing about what’s been going on around the city, I figured you and Trent were too busy. Althea pretty much gave me an idea.”

  “We were, yeah. I didn’t get to your calls till almost midnight, believe it or not. I didn’t want to wake you up. I, uh, tried to see you, too, but your mom was in your room. I wanted to go back, but we were swamped with thug activity up and down Vintage.”

  My eyes widened. “Almost midnight? You and Trent were out that long? Your mom let you?”

  “She did, yeah, but it was urgent business all around. God, that sucked. The Puppet’s pretty clever, but I think we’re slowly closing in on him. It’s not helping Trent’s moods, though, and I still have to put up with him.”

  “I heard you had some unexpected help last night.”

  “We did, yeah. If you’re wondering about the new girl, I can’t help you. I don’t know anything about her other than what’s been said in the news.”

  I nodded. Silence followed, with both of us squirming in our shoes and looking uncomfortably around, using other students for our shields. I really wished I could hug him right then and there, but it was all I could do to pretend interest in my cuticles.

  “Eric, I’m sorry. If you were being a jerk to me that day I screwed up your locker, I was being an asshole back. I just—you’re right. I’m too sensitive when it comes to us. Even Althea’s starting to get pissed at me.”

  “Hey, it’s cool. Really. I’m just glad it’s over.”

  Peter nodded and took a deep breath. “I, uh, I won’t be able to hang out with you for a while,” he said, blushing. “Trent and I need to keep working on the Puppet’s dolls and find out more about them—and the Puppet as well. We think we’re close to discovering his hideout. I’m running back home right after school to take care of homework, and then I’ll have to contact Althea. You really ought to check out our doll collection. It’s growing pretty fast.”

  “I understand,” I said. That awful feeling of uselessness came back, but I fought against it. “I was going to ask you out to a movie, but I guess I’ll go alone.”

  “I’m sorry, Eric.”

  I looked around. The hallway’s traffic had gone down, and a few stragglers hurried to and fro. All the same, it was still unsafe, so I took hold of Peter’s hand and dragged him to the stairwell. He came with a quiet, rueful laugh and didn’t put up a struggle. Once we reached the third floor landing, I pushed him against the wall and claimed about a hundred kisses, not giving a rat’s ass about the growing bulges in our pants.

  He was flushed, his mouth wet and swollen. He stared at me in silence for a bit when I finally broke the kiss—or, rather, impromptu makeout session. “I take it that means I’m forgiven,” he stammered.

  I gave him my best slutty come-hither smirk and led him out of the stairwell to our first class.

  We were the only students left, and we just made the second bell. Althea watched us saunter in, disheveled and flushed, I was sure, and rolled her eyes.

  * * * *

  The movie thing was completely spur-of-the-moment. It was another result of my annoying restless urges, something that came to mind from out of the blue just because I hated the idea of going home after school. With my employment hopes completely obliterated, that mental itchiness seemed to have quadrupled. Quintupled, even. I’d even go as far as it being tupled six times over. Nothing, absolutely nothing, gave me any kind of relief. Books, TV, net-surfing, everything sounded tired and dull.

  All of a sudden, the more urgent problem of my family’s sucky financial situation had faded to the back of my mind. In fact, I’d practically forgotten about it till that moment when I stood in front of the theatre, fumbling around for my leftover allowance.

  “Oh, yeah. We’re broke,” I muttered, staring at the bills in my fist, feeling nothing about it.

  Then I walked up to the ticket booth with an indifferent shrug.

  It was a strange moment. Somehow I felt completely detached from my body, as though I were watching myself from outside. An out-of-body experience, some people might say, with all feelings kind of muted, all thoughts limited to nothing else but what I was doing. Purchase ticket. Walk inside. Find a seat. I was aware of the total weirdness of my detachment, but couldn’t feel anything significant about it.

  The number of people inside seemed no more or no less than normal. I took my usual spot near the back and next to the aisle. When I sat down, I could barely keep still, and it was driving me crazy.

  “Oh, man,” I muttered, shifting every so many seconds and not finding anything comfortable enough. I thought at first it was just my ass that was bein
g a serious jerk. But it turned out to be much worse than an asshole-y ass. That feeling of a billion ants marching across my body returned, and it was, like, magnified.

  “God, what’s wrong with me?”

  Just let things happen. Let things go. Fighting them won’t help you.

  I could hear my heart pounding. There was something wrong with me. I knew it for sure no matter how many times I tried to blow things off. The voice I kept hearing in my head was me, and yet it wasn’t. I looked around, all desperate in distracting myself by checking out everyone else in the theatre. No dice. The restless stirring increased.

  Stop fighting!

  “Shut up!”

  Stop fighting!

  “No! Leave me alone!”

  I realized I’d taken my glasses off and pinched my eyes shut the whole time. When I opened them, some of the kids sitting nearby had turned to stare, whispering to each other and giggling when I looked at them. With my glasses in my pocket, people were nothing more than somewhat fuzzy silhouettes, but I could still make out their movements.

  “Hey, check this out. He’s talking to himself.”

  “Dude, whatever you smoked, I want some,” a girl piped up from somewhere, and a low ripple of laughter swept across the theatre.

  “Someone forgot to take his meds today.”

  I gripped the armrests when the Billion Sucky Ants feeling throbbed till I thought I could hear them scuttling all over me. The headaches returned as well, pulsing in time with the itchy restlessness.

  Let go. Let go. Let go.

  “No. I won’t. I won’t.”

  You’ll crack if you don’t. Let…go!

  I pinched my eyes shut again and bowed my head, tensing my body against the unbearable sensation that was now spiraling out of control. I felt a few beads of sweat trickle down my forehead, some trailing down my nose before dripping off. My body shuddered under the two fighting forces, and even with the rushing noise of blood pumping through me, I could vaguely hear my seat creaking and groaning from my violent shaking.

  “Stop it…stop it…stop it…”

  “Hey, you! What’re the voices in your head saying?” Another ripple of mocking laughter swept through the theatre. A few kids from somewhere to my left pelted me with crumpled candy wrappers.

  A sharp rush of air blew past my clenched teeth, and a force—something like an invisible hand suddenly pushing hard against my chest—threw me back against my seat. I must have let out a cry of pain or terror. I couldn’t remember clearly. The world seemed to speed up around me: shapes, colors, all turning into streaks against a brilliant white background. Sounds swelled to a rising wave of painful noise, as though a hundred people were screaming at the same time. My skull nearly exploded.

  “Stop! No! No!”

  I clawed at something, felt myself sink farther down. I tried to scream as loudly as I could, but something warm and thick swept over me, like an ocean wave, only it felt like solidified air. I blinked and looked up, and everything had turned different shades of red and yellow. I fell back in my seat again as though I’d been punched against the chest. I let out a sound.

  Something like a scream—or an ungodly noise that was nowhere near human.

  “Hey, what the hell?” someone called out from the end of a long tunnel. “Shut up back there!”

  * * * *

  Calm finally overtook me. I turned to face the screen, where a number of people were silhouetted against. I saw all kinds of movement in red and yellow. No. I could see details. My glasses were off, and my vision was crystal clear. Where was I again? Oh, yeah, the theatre.

  “Get him out of here! He’s gonna ruin the show!”

  “Yeah, call the management! Kick him out!”

  God, how pathetic. There were two—three—figures moving close, all talking at the same time, all spitting out threats. I shook my head.

  “Don’t even think about it,” I said. I sounded so calm, so far away.

  In the red and yellow fog of the theatre, I caught sight of hands coming out to grab hold of me. I rose from my seat, the air sweeping me up till I floated, relaxed, a little above ground. It was wonderful, feeling myself cradled by air.

  “Hey, weirdo!”

  “Psycho!”

  “If you’re going to freak out, do it somewhere else!”

  “Get out of here!”

  “Holy shit, is he—floating?”

  Tsk, tsk. Idiots. I focused all thought on the theatre, the kids, the seats, the screen. Go on, morons. The figures that were approaching me stopped and hesitated. A couple fell back, and I could sense their sudden panic.

  Something exploded from me—from my forehead—a burst of warm energy that rippled out and distorted images it touched, sweeping wide in a horizontal flow. It was like a flood of heat waves that pushed and pushed, knocking down and tearing up, letting out a low rumble as it moved. Screams and shouts filled the theatre, people ran or fell, some diving for cover, some getting picked up by the waves and carried to distant parts, to be thrown against walls. Seats literally folded under the force, and some were torn off the floor. The screen wavered then ripped in two.

  It was symphonic. Utterly brilliant. I smiled, shuddering in pleasure as I listened—experienced—absorbed. The air that hugged me felt so soothingly warm.

  I turned around and walked out, barely feeling the ground against my feet and passing people running toward the theatre I’d just abandoned. Many were shouting or calling out. All of them seemed to ignore me. Once sunlight hit my eyes, the world turned black—for a second or two.

  * * * *

  When I opened my eyes again, I was standing on the roof of an abandoned warehouse at the opposite end of the city, shivering in the cold.

  “What—oh, my God, what happened?” I gasped. I crossed my arms tightly against my chest, but it did nothing against the blasts of arctic winds.

  My head was clear and fresh as though I’d just woken up from a good night’s sleep. The rest of my body felt tired and sore, though. I glanced down, my heart stopping at the sight of my dirty and torn clothes.

  The maestro awaits.

  I looked around, but saw no one else on the rooftop—just scattered debris from years of neglect. All the same, someone laughed, a voice carried by the winds from somewhere: soft, gentle, triumphant. Slowly, I grew more and more aware of police sirens wailing from distant parts of the city. I inched forward and peered over the ledge and immediately shrank back. How the hell did I get up here?

  Chapter 8

  The warehouse where I was left stranded was only three stories high, thank God, but it didn’t make me less freaked over finding a way out. An old door that jutted out on the roof was sealed shut, and no amount of pounding and attacking using filthy junk that looked remotely solid helped. After literally walking the entire perimeter of the roof, I found the fire escape. It was rusty and looked so fragile, but I shook off my nervousness, wiping my nose—because it was now running so badly—against my shirt. I carefully climbed over the ledge and down the rickety ladder.

  The final drop to the ground left me half-soaked in stagnant, muddy water because, well, I landed in a puddle of stagnant, muddy water. Just my crappy-ass luck, really. I hurried down one direction, sidestepping more puddles and the rotting debris that seemed to have fused itself to the pavement after sitting there for a gazillion years, and ignoring the occasional homeless person who was curled up under piles of filthy rags or newspapers. Once I reached the first cross-street, I looked around and tried to figure out my location.

  The old adult theatre with its dingy, piss-stained walls, cheeseball posters, and over-the-top neon lights—half of which had burned out—turned into my compass. Ouch. My mom would love to hear that. Cheap, roach-infested sex told me that I was at least twenty blocks away from my house. I was also broke, the only other things on me were my house keys. I didn’t have a choice but to walk back, looking as though I’d just been chewed up and then spat out by Godzilla on crack. The entire trek ho
me, I kept my hands shoved in my pockets, or whatever was left of them, seeing as how my jacket hung off my shoulders in tatters, and kept my head ducked. How I managed to reach the front door with nothing to guide me but the sidewalk and my ruined sneakers, I didn’t know.

  No one was around when I got home, but Liz was due back at any moment. I ran up the stairs and hid myself in my room, jumping inside the shower stall with barely enough time to get all my clothes off. I stared at the sorry pile of dirty and damaged fabric on the floor. The steam thickened around me, and my shivering went away under the soothing warmth of the water.

  What the hell was I going to tell my parents? I couldn’t remember anything. No, not at that moment, at least. Well, random, broken scenes. Like nightmares, with people screaming and running. Distorted images and lots of red and yellow. And a strange distance—the vague, dream-like feeling of watching everything unfold from behind a TV screen, almost. An out-of-body moment…

  What was I doing the whole time? I wasn’t sure, but thought I remembered a strange sense of peace in spite of the bizarre nightmare.

  “Maybe it’ll all come back later,” I whispered, my gaze still fixed on my ruined clothes.

  Somehow I didn’t feel convinced. My legs shook, and I suddenly grew aware of how exhausted and weak I felt. I sank to the floor and sat there, drawing my knees up to my face and staring, confused and frightened, at the water that exploded around me. From a distant part of the house, I thought I heard Liz’s voice call out. She came home from school just in time.

  My bag had also gone missing. I didn’t realize it till way after I stepped out of the shower, refreshed but drained. No wonder that twenty-odd-block walk home didn’t turn out as hard as I’d first thought. The usual two-hundred-pound weight strapped to my body wasn’t there.

  “Oh, crap. Where did I leave it?”

  I flopped down on my bed and stared at nothing for several moments, frowning and kicking my brain. I had homework to do, damn it.

  “The theatre!”

  No way. No way. A surge of intense panic overwhelmed me at the thought, and I didn’t know why.