All right, well, I suppose it had a lot to do with the fact my last lucid moment was of me sitting down in the theatre. Then something happened, and I still couldn’t remember much more than scattered bits that flickered alive for a second and then vanished, to be replaced by more crazy fragmented images and sensations. My next lucid moment was of me discovering I was stranded on some warehouse’s rooftop—dumped there and abandoned like that day’s trash.
I groaned and buried my face in my hands. “Oh, God, I’m going crazy.”
My phone rang, and I jumped. Was it me, or was the sound a little too loud? I got off my bed and hurried to my desk, checking the ringer volume first before answering. It was on low—just as it’d always been.
“Hello?” I rubbed my temples.
“Eric.” It was Peter.
“Oh, hey! What’s up? I thought you’d be out with Trent by now.” I loved the sound of his voice—more so at that moment than at any other. I needed to hear something familiar and normal. I’d rather be with Peter, actually, not talking to him over the phone, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“I am, actually. I’m sneaking a call to you right now.”
“What happened?”
I realized then that Peter sounded pretty serious, more so than usual. “We’re at the theatre,” he said. I held my breath, my skin prickling. “Something happened here, an explosion of some kind. The theatre—the interior, I mean—it’s all torn up.”
I swallowed. “What? Was—was anyone hurt?”
“Nothing real serious, thank God. A lot of bruises and sore bodies, but nothing more than that. Most of the damage seems to be limited to objects. The seats and the screen, for instance.” He paused. I heard him take a deep breath. “The seats. Eric, half of them were torn off the floor, and the rest were bent, folded. They look like pretzels. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“No one died,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “That’s good.”
“No one did, no. I actually thought you were one of the victims.”
I swallowed again, bracing myself though I still couldn’t understand why I felt this kind of icy fear. “Is that why you called me?”
“Well, yeah. We found your bag in the mess.”
“My bag…”
“School bag. Your books and notes and stuff are still inside, but the bag itself looks like it got trampled on by something. I couldn’t make out the marks, though. I think, hell, I can’t explain it, Eric. When I saw your bag, I just about freaked out and decided to call you the first chance I had.” Peter’s voice rose and fell like it was reflecting his horror and relief. “I wanted to make sure you didn’t get blasted into dust or something by whatever it was that hit the theatre. I was getting ready to claw through the rubble to find you.”
I sank to the floor next to my desk. “I’m okay, Peter,” I said. “I—I guess I left my bag there. I didn’t even realize it till after I got home.” I forced out a stiff laugh. “I think I’m getting senile at sixteen.”
“I’m so glad to hear your voice.” He paused then asked the inevitable. “Eric, do you know anything?”
“I don’t, no,” I stammered, the words tasting like bile. “I was there, yeah, but whatever happened at the theatre must’ve taken place after I left. I wasn’t feeling too well and decided to ditch the whole thing and go home even before the movie started. I barely made it back, too. Bad headache and queasy stomach. I seriously couldn’t think straight.” The lie came out so easily, but I needed to cover my tracks, though I didn’t know what had happened. Something was taking over—self-preservation at a price—but where did it come from? I had nothing to hide, right? So what was up with the quick, instant, easy lie? I was fast losing control of myself and couldn’t do anything about it. “I didn’t even realize I’d left my bag behind till after I got out of the shower.” That at least was the truth. Not that it balanced anything else I’d said so far.
“You never saw the movie?”
“No.” Another sliver of truth there. “It doesn’t bother me. It only cost me a buck. What—uh—what are people saying? Has anyone described who was responsible?”
“No one recognized the kid. Yeah, it was some teenager, they said. It’s partly because of the dim lights, but they say it’s also because the kid changed—shapeshifted—in front of them.”
“Transformed, you mean? Into what?”
“Not into a monster or anything,” Peter said. “I guess I used the wrong word, but witnesses said the kid acted like he was talking to himself and then turned into this energy-wielding person. They said his skin glowed, his eyes turned white, and he seemed to levitate himself right before he blew the theatre up—smiling the whole time.” He took a deep breath. “Details are still pretty sketchy right now. I’m sure you’ll find out more when the news comes on tonight.”
My heart was beating so violently. It was like it wanted to eat its way out of my chest. I couldn’t remember things, and yet I somehow knew I could. I was downright terrified; one part of me didn’t know why, while a nagging feeling told me I knew exactly what was going on. It almost seemed as if two people were crammed inside my body, and both were kind of at odds with each other.
“Wish I were there with you,” I muttered, hoping he couldn’t read through me. I toyed with the phone’s cord to calm myself down.
“I’m glad you aren’t. It’s a mess. The police are here, and Trent’s with them right now. I just sneaked away for a bit to call you,” Peter said.
“Are you using your cell phone? How are you able to carry it around with you, considering how naked you are with all that tight-ass Spandex?”
“I’ve got my methods.”
Such a tease. I smiled and nodded tiredly. “You’d better get off the phone, you slacker. Some superhero you are.”
“Yeah, I know. I just—I love you. I’ll swing by tonight with your stuff. Hopefully the cops won’t need your books and notes. I’ll tell you everything I know when I do.”
“Okay. Love you, too. Take care.”
He hesitated again. “There’s something different about this,” he said in a half-whisper—almost as though he were talking to himself. “Something I can’t place my finger on.”
“Hello? You still there?”
“Oh, sorry. Yeah, I’m getting off for real.” Peter chuckled again. “Bye.”
I turned around and set the phone back on its cradle. I couldn’t do much else other than to stay seated on the floor, staring dully ahead of me. I’d long learned to trust in gut feelings, and what mine told me at that moment wasn’t very pleasant.
A nap. Yeah, I supposed I could use one. Sleep was always welcome.
* * * *
Maybe I was getting better at pretending, but my family suspected nothing wrong that evening. Mom did say I looked sick and pale, and I worked on that suggestion. After dinner, I was ordered to go straight to bed, which I gladly did though I wished I didn’t miss the early evening news as a result.
“Hey, that’s not fair,” Liz cried. “Eric goes to bed early, and I’m stuck with the garbage again! That’s two nights in a row! And the dishes—”
“Honey, don’t be a drama queen,” Mom broke in. “Your brother will make up for lost time when he’s feeling better.”
Liz pinched her mouth shut, glared at me, but didn’t push it. I just went with the flow and ate what I could stomach, not even surprised at my lack of appetite, before abandoning my place at the table and giving Mom and Dad a kiss goodnight.
“I’ll check up on you later,” Mom called out just as I stepped out into the hallway.
The first thing I saw when I entered my room was the pile of books and notepaper on my bed. Pens, pencils, small sketchbook, and the rose that Peter gave me lay in a neat cluster next to the books. The bag wasn’t there. I figured the cops decided to keep it as evidence or something.
“Peter?” I called out, lowering my voice. “You here?”
Silence met me, and I walked over to my
bed and looked at my stuff. A small sticky note on my chemistry book caught my eye.
I couldn’t stay. I’m sorry. We’ve got a lead, and we need to get on it before the trail grows cold. I’ll talk to you in school tomorrow. Sweet dreams.
I crumpled the note and tossed it away. I was sure a thousand questions just begged to be asked, but I kept them at bay by blanking out my mind. It was oddly easy to do, well, easier than it used to be, anyway. If I were to let just one question nag me, I’d be drowning in a bunch of others that would force their way in, no matter what I did. No—better to stay dull and flat than to grow even crazier from questions I could never answer.
I forced my attention to schoolwork and mechanically went through my books and notes, checking my homework and other things. It was so easy, distracting myself this way. Before I knew it, I was seated at my desk, bent over the review questions for my English class, and scribbling furiously away.
Does he suspect anything? I hope not.
I sighed and shook my head. Without a single break in my rhythm, I continued with my work.
It was a miracle, for sure, because I was done with everything in record time. And I didn’t even feel tired from the effort.
I went online the moment I was done. Nothing was posted yet regarding the incident at the Elms Theatre. Then again, which Big Name online news site would want to talk about Vintage City? Nope, I’d have to depend on local online news sites, all of which hadn’t posted anything beyond what Peter already told me.
As far as online RPGs went, I was treated to a boom in activity.
Energy Boy was now the new hot ticket, coming close behind Fire Blaster Girl. The Shadow Puppet had been shown the time out corner for apparently creating way too many living dolls that he let loose on the city. All of those things did nothing but commit all kinds of petty crimes that held up the flow of the story—or stories—for too long because other players were forced to fight them off instead of develop the storyline into something existentially meaningful, as one player whined.
I rolled my eyes. “It’s a stupid online make-believe game!” I snorted. “What the hell do you expect from it? Philosophy or something?”
Ah, but on another level, it looked like Magnifiman and Bambi Bailey had split up, tearing apart their family. Magnifiman was apparently too caught up with his work to help the missus in raising their children, who now numbered fifteen. With two of them naturally turning into villains, there were four more who were teetering on the edge of badness because, well, Dad and Mom just couldn’t get it together. In the meantime, Calais had just proposed to some girl named Anne Fanny-Eliza Dashwood—an unexpected heiress to a great fortune and an estate that made European castles look like goat poo with brightly colored flag-pennant-things. When I checked Anne Fanny-Eliza’s player’s profile, I found she was “Jane Austen’s Number One Fan” and that “All sweet romances are happily ever after. Elizabeth Bennett and Fitzwilliam Darcy for-EVAR! <333”
Chapter 9
The city’s overrun by superhumans!” Liz said over breakfast. “How many more are expected to crawl out of the woodwork?” She glanced at me, frowning, and I shrugged.
“They give Vintage some character at least,” I offered between mouthfuls of toast and jam. “Otherwise, we’re stuck with nothing more than grime, fog, and rain.”
Liz snorted. “I’m just waiting for someone to come out with powers that let them animate corpses.”
“That’d be cool.”
“Figures.”
Dad continued to read from the newspaper. It was kind of interesting, I guess, the way his voice worked like wallpaper to my conversation with Liz. Mom had disappeared from the dining room when she’d realized her mascara needed some touching up. Maybe the surprise of having genetically-enhanced residents pretty much lost its charm at this point to my sister and my mom, the way things were going.
“Oh, another superhero? Pfft. So what else is new?” was most likely the tone of family conversations all over Vintage City by now. “Look, another thug from so-and-so’s camp was picked up last night. What’s the weather going to be like tomorrow? Oh, chemical fog and rain again. Same old, same old.”
Same old, same old. The story of my life. Funny how a good night’s sleep could change a person’s perspective. Yesterday I was in a serious state of shock and panic over the theatre incident, to the point of knowing I was in some way involved in the attack on the Elms Theatre.
Something told me I was in danger from both sides of the law, and I believed it without really understanding why.
I didn’t dream last night; my sleep was deep and uninterrupted, and I woke up completely refreshed and even rolling my eyes over yesterday’s crazy freak out. Nothing made sense, both yesterday and today, but it was pretty easy to just let things go and accept them without question.
Something told me that might have been my hang up the whole time. Maybe. The key to surviving was to be passive and let things happen? It sure looked like it.
“So stupid,” I said, laughing, as I stared at myself in the mirror. “You’re taking things too seriously—mountain out of a molehill and all that crap. Just let go.”
Let go. Yeah, that sounded good.
I suppose the one thing that stood out was the feeling of dissatisfaction that stirred in my chest when I stepped out of the bathroom after washing my face and looked around my room. It was a weird kind of dissatisfaction. It wasn’t at all like the epicly annoying rampaging ants type of restlessness that, up until that point, threatened my sanity.
I wasn’t sure if I could explain it more clearly if someone were to ask. Maybe the closest I could come up with would be a detached kind of dissatisfaction, like the way one might feel when he was done with something and was on the verge of moving on to the next level. It was like that in-between sort of stage that I felt I was in. What stages would there be, anyway?
Hell if I knew. It was almost as if I’d already accepted that I was done with the past and was ready to turn my back on it and move forward in a new direction.
So, yeah—same old, same old. That was how things were until that moment, and I felt the need for something different without the usual irritations that came with it.
I lost myself in my own little world while voices continued to fill the dining room—Liz’s and Dad’s, the conversation now shifting to another debate—yawn!—between them. I was pretty relieved when I finished breakfast.
“Okay, I gotta go,” I said, standing up after taking a final swig of my milk. “I don’t want to be late.”
There was a sudden pause in the conversation as Dad and Liz turned to stare at me as though I’d just sprouted another head.
I blinked. “What?” One of my hands automatically flew to my hair. “Is my hair color fading?”
As though on cue, both of them turned to look at the clock. I rolled my eyes and sighed, pushing my chair back.
“Eric, you’re forty-five minutes early,” Dad said, his brows raised way, way up, as though they were being vacuumed by his hairline.
“That’s a record,” Liz piped up. “Where’s the camera? This needs to be recorded for posterity.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I grumbled, marching past them and waving a hand. “So I got up early. Big deal.”
I wasn’t sure, but I thought Liz mentioned something about pod people, alien abductions and brain experimentations when I stepped out into the hallway. Well, my family was more than welcome to come up with all kinds of conspiracy theories about me, but it wouldn’t change the fact that I was gung-ho that morning, and I wanted to get an early start to my day.
Had I been in my old frame of mind, I guess I’d have freaked myself out, too. I mean, forty-five minutes early? What the hell? I’d heard about restless leg syndrome. Was this something like it? It was kind of a creepy thought, someone’s legs taking over like that. I wondered if it was caused by one of those hard-to-kill viruses or bacteria that’d be spread around by birds or raccoons or gnats.
; * * * *
Peter chuckled. “Okay, that’s enough. I’m late. Trent’s going to be pissed.”
“Not that that’s going to change anything.”
“Eric, you’re not at the receiving end of Magnifiman’s bitchy moments.”
“But we’ve only been here for, uh…” I stole a glance at my watch. The hands barely glowed in the murkiness of the abandoned classroom. “Three minutes.”
Outside, the skies darkened by the second as light showers turned rapidly to buckets and buckets of rain. The lights in the room stayed off, and we were in the shadows. I’d sneaked back inside our English classroom once I’d made sure the upper-floors were empty of students and teachers, and it wouldn’t be for another half hour before the janitorial staff began their rounds.
I’d long learned and committed to memory Renaissance High’s post-school hours maintenance activities, and for good reason. That moment was the reason, which was a very good one.
I peered through the gloom and watched Peter as he continued to smile at me. “Screw it,” I whispered, pressing my forehead against his. “You need a break from all your superhero work. I’m sure your parents will understand.”
He shifted under my weight with a groan of pain. I was forced to get off my perch—his lap—to sit beside him instead, leaning against the rear wall of the room, a bit miffed. I watched him rub his thighs as he moved his legs, his body visibly relaxing. We were both sitting on the floor with our legs outstretched. It was my fault, I admit, for sitting on his lap for too long because, yep, I was my usual horny self, and I couldn’t stop myself from pawing away at him.
“Thanks,” he whispered back. “My legs needed a little more blood circulating through them.”
“Sorry. Hopefully I didn’t just screw up your speed ability with my weight.”
Peter fell silent as he leaned his head back and turned to regard me. “I don’t know how long we’ll be working like this, Eric,” he said. “I really wish I could take you out or something, do what we used to do before the Puppet came out in full force, but, you know…”
Evolution Page 8