Predominance

by H. I. Defaz

  He turned to face me then, revealing the horrifying souvenir the warehouse explosion had left him. It was staggering to see the third-degree burns that had permanently scarred the right side of his face—deep, gruesome marks that stretched from his ear down along the side of his neck. It pained me to cast my eyes away.

  “Damian.” I finally found the strength to say his name. “I'll never be able to take back what happened that night. And only God knows how sorry I am. But you were there. And you know that I did everything in my power to save her—”

  “But in the end you had to make a choice—and you did, didn't you?”

  “Damian, please!”

  He hopped from the ledge onto the gravelly roof. Sarah's eyes kept piercing me with panic as blood dripped from her brow. “I wonder,” Damian said, with an analytical tone this time. “How did you do it?”

  “Do what?” I asked warily.

  “Choose, of course. Was it an impetuous, last-second decision?” He paused to run his burned fingers through Sara's red curls. “Or did you run your famous numbers in your head?” He waited for my answer, but I gave him nothing. “Tell me!” he pressed, pulling Sarah's hair so violently that her tears began to flow.

  “All right!” I conceded desperately. “You're right… I did run the numbers. And you know goddamn well I didn't have a choice! Walker killed your wife long before we even got there, Damian! The person we tried to safe that night was no longer your wife! And if you refuse to believe the truth, then there's nothing I can do.” I paused for a moment, trying to calm myself down. My next words were as sincere as the guilt I'd been carrying around in my heart. “Not a day goes by that I don't regret what happened to Sonya, Damian… and I am sorry. I really am. But she's gone. Now, you can either mourn her or avenge her. It's up to you. And if you've chosen to believe that I am the one responsible for her death… then I accept your grudge. But don't bring any more innocent people into this. Let Sarah go, and deal with me. That is what you want, isn't it? To kill me? Well, here I am. Let her go, and let's finish this.”

  “Well, Victor,” Damian chuckled, “I have to admit, that was a pretty impressive speech. But now let me tell you what I think: I think that behind your Boy Scout façade you're nothing but a coward and a hypocrite. And in regards to your decision, I think you knew exactly what you were doing and why. Although I still can't figure out who you were really trying to safe that night. Was it your little princess on the boat? Or the martyr who agreed to let you go?” He stroked Sarah's head.

  “I don't know what you're talking about.”

  “No?” he prompted jeeringly. “Well, let me get you up to speed, Romeo. These two girls leveled with each other on our way to R.C. Labs, and apparently this one took the higher road.” He snorted in disgust. “I have to say, though: what these two girls see in you is beyond me. You're a disgrace to evolution. Look at you! You were offered the gift of unlimited power, and what did you do? You spat on it and neutered it, like it was nothing but a vicious mongrel. Oh, yes… I know what you did, Victor.”

  I swallowed hard and tried to control the tremor in my voice as I replied, “This power, Damian—it changes who you really are. Don't you see? It's changed you. What happened to you, Damian? What happened to the man who once talked to me with so much faith?”

  “Faith?” he shouted angrily, his sulfur-yellow eyes glowing. “You took that from me too!”

  “Then kill me!” I told him. “Kill me and get this over and done with! But be a man, Damian. Be a man and let her go. This is between you and me… nobody else.” My anger boosted my hypersenses, allowing me to cut through whatever was blocking them to feel Damian at the very reach of my powers. I had agreed for him to have his shot at revenge, but that didn't mean I was going down without a fight—although hurting him was the last thing I wanted. But I guess fate couldn't have cared less about what I wanted. A confrontation had been set, and I couldn't back out now; so I clenched my fists and waited for his move.

  Damian looked upon my clenched fists and then raised his eyes with disgust. “I think you're missing the point, Victor. I'm not here to kill you. I'm not even going to fight you. That would be too easy. Too quick… too merciful.”

  “Then what the hell do you want?” I demanded.

  “I've told you. I just want to give you the choice that you took away from me.” He stepped away from Sarah and took a small hand device out of his jacket pocket. “I'm going to give you the choice to save the one you really love.” Then he added, “Although I'm not sure you even know who that person is. But don't worry. I'm going to help you decide the same way you decided to let my wife die. By running your goddamn numbers.”

  “Damian, what did you do?” I asked, terrified.

  “Just like NASA, I doubled up on everything!” He laughed disturbingly. “Now, I want you to pay attention, because I'm not going to repeat myself—and believe me, every single detail counts. Every variable, as you call them, may represent the difference between who lives and who dies, you understand?” My silence was proof he had gotten my full attention—that and my angry glare.

  “Good!” he crowed. “First off, I want you to know that Dr. Walker's the reason I'm still alive. He saved me from the fire, and he helped me understand that killing him was not in my best interests… But that's another story that I may tell you some other time. The reason I bring him up is because his new friendship has allowed me to get my hands on his rather large cache of military-grade equipment and weaponry. Wonderful toys, really, like the one Ginger here has attached to her chest. I'm sure you've noticed.”

  I nodded sharply.

  “Well, let me tell you what it is. It's a very complicated explosive device, powerful enough to blow the entire roof off this nice, shiny building. Can you imagine what it would do to Miss Carrot-Top here?” He laughed and began to pace as I listened quietly to his words, trying to gather as much information as he'd allow me. “But that's not the best part,” he continued. “You see this remote detonator?” He showed me the device in his hand. “This baby is not only linked to this particular bomb, but to yet another of the same explosive charge and blast radius.” He looked at me and smiled ominously. “Can you guess where the other explosive is, Victor?”

  His words filled my heart with dread, and I couldn't speak.

  “You know,” he continued, “When Mitch finally got ahold of me and told me about the deal he'd put together to sell my boat…” He trailed off ironically. “I mean, what were the odds, right?” He laughed wistfully, looking upon the detonator. “You know, I almost felt sad when I planted the explosive on the bow—”

  “You bastard!” I whispered despairingly, remembering the loud thud that had awakened me in the middle of the night. Now everything made sense: my senses going haywire, Mitch's insistence on leaving Yvette alone in the boat, and even the goddamn nickname he had used for the sale… Mr. B. Or should I say, Mr. Damian Black. “If you hurt her, I swear—”

  “You'll do what?” he challenged. “Kill me?”

  “Give me the detonator, Damian,” I demanded.

  He laughed. “I'll tell you what… if you manage to take it from my hand, I'll let you have it, all right? Come on, give it your best shot!” he taunted, holding the detonator at arm's length.

  I lunged forward with my hand aimed at the detonator, ready to pluck it out of his hand. But a simple wave of his hand stopped me in my tracks. An invisible choker tightened around my neck and lifted me from the ground, my feet dangling as I brought my hands to my throat, gasping desperately for air. Another wave of his hand was enough to toss me away like a crumbled piece of paper. I crashed into the cooling tower, completely defeated by his extraordinary display of power.

  “You idiot,” he growled. “Did you really think your feeble abilities could ever match mine? I haven't even reached my peak yet. You're more pathetic than I thought! You limited your power when you blocked the absorption of dark energy—you could never be a match for me now.” He stood there, wa
tching me twist and groan in pain against the crumbled metal of the cooling tower. “Now, here's what's going to happen.” He took a piece of paper out of his pocket and squatted in front of me. “You're going to run the numbers according to my design. And whether you like it or not, you are going to choose which one of these two lovely ladies is going to die today.” He threw the piece of paper in my face. “These are the bomb disarming sequences. Now pay attention, because you're going to need every variable to make your final decision.

  “It takes ten minutes to complete the disarming sequence. Now, after I press this little button on my detonator, a countdown will start on both explosives—a ten-minute timer on Ginger here, and a seventeen-minute timer on the boat where your little princess awaits. I'll explain the time difference in just a minute... Although perhaps you understand now the reason for the stopwatch I gave you. Anyway, here's the good part. I'm going to take the elevator down, and I'm going to disable it as soon as I reach the lobby. Once I do that, I'll start the timer on both explosives—”

  “Damian, please!” I begged.

  His face turned to stone then, his eyes piercing me with a smoldering glare. “I'd pay more attention if I were you, Victor. These are probably the last minutes you have to run your precious numbers.” He took a deep breath and continued. “If you choose to save your Ginger here, all you need to do is enter the sequence I just gave you into the bomb. The timer will stop and she'll be saved. Unfortunately, that'll leave you with only seven minutes left to reach the boat, which I'm afraid won't be enough. You would have to watch your little princess burn in hell from here.” He smiled. “Now, if you choose the little princess over Ginger, you'll need to go down seventeen flights of stairs and run 0.8 miles to get to the boat and get her out. I've taken the liberty of making some calculations of my own, hence the precise timing on the explosives. You see, it takes about ten minutes to reach the lobby, even if you run down the stairs, and about five minutes to run 0.8 miles in a crowded street—which would leave you with exactly two minutes left to get her out. Then again, if you do that… Well, you'll see some pretty amazing fireworks going off here.”

  He laughed. “Anyway, it's going to take me about two minutes to reach the lobby and press this little red button. So I guess that's how long you have to run your numbers, Victor… Or perhaps to say goodbye.” He twisted a sardonic smile as he got to his feet. “I suppose you wish I had killed you now. But like I said… that would be too quick. Too easy. I want you to suffer every single day for whatever decision you choose to make today.”

  He raised his hand again and, with nothing but a tap, bashed my head against the crushed metal, leaving me dazed but conscious enough to watch him leave. “Goodbye, Victor.” He turned away and strutted towards the elevator. “We're even now.”

  I struggled back to my feet and tried to follow him, but he was gone. Moving quickly, I strapped the stopwatch to my wrist and staggered over to Sarah, with seventeen minutes set on the timer. Swiftly, I pulled the gag off her and tried to remove the chains. But they were secured with a huge lock that imprisoned her arms behind her back—which scrapped my first idea of giving her the sequence code to disarm her bomb while I ran to help Yvette. I looked at the bomb's timer, but it was still on zero, which meant Damian hadn't reached the lobby yet.

  “What are you doing?!” Sarah yelped. “Go! Save Yvette. You still have time!”

  “I am NOT leaving you here to die, Sarah! So shut up and help me think!” My gaze scrambled over everything: the bomb, the chains, even the position of her hands, while my brain revved like the engine of a racecar. I closed my eyes tightly and ran the numbers in my head. Every scenario, however, gave me the same answer, the same outcome. I just didn't have enough time to save them both.

  As I searched for options, a memory popped into mind: the huge metal door I'd wrenched open when I rescued Yvette and the others from R.C. Labs. I remembered how the weight of the door had pushed me back when I used my telekinesis powers to blow it off its hinges. Then it hit me! If I were to use my telekinesis to push against an immovable surface, the force would create enough pressure to push me away—it would make me bounce, even! I'd have to push with all of my energy at exactly at the right time. And although it took me a minute to analyze the variables, I knew I was right—at least in theory. And even if I weren't, it was a risk I was prepared to take. Dying seemed only right if I was to lose the people I loved... But at least I had to try.

  I damn sure wasn't going down without a fight.

  The loud beep on Sarah's timer made me open my eyes and press the button on the stopwatch on my wrist. The countdown was running, and there was nothing that could stop it now. I got up on my feet and took a few of steps away from Sarah. I'm sure she thought I was leaving—yet that didn't stop her from encouraging me to do so. “You're doing the right thing, Victor,” she said, her eyes filled with tears. “Go! Save her.” I turned around to implement the plan I had devised. But Sarah, who thought I was leaving, stopped me for one final goodbye: “Victor!” she called, her voice breaking. “I love you.”

  Without wasting another second, I spun my body fiercely towards the chains that held her, the palms of my hands wide open, aiming at the lock. A connection immediately linked my mind to the metal, which began to strain at the shaking of my hands. It only took seconds for the lock to burst into pieces and the chains to drop to the ground. Sarah was free, but still in danger. With the bomb now in my hands I commanded Sarah to run. But she adamantly refused, staying right at my side. With no time to argue I asked her to take cover while I focused on the explosive in my hands. I closed my eyes and began to levitate the bomb in front of me, lifting it higher and higher into the blue sky, until an enormous explosion threw me almost unconscious to the ground, my ears ringing, and my skin burning. But still alive.

  “Victor!” Sarah's voice emerged from the piercing ringing in my ears. “Are you all right?” She ran to my aid and helped me off the ground.

  Looking up into the sky, I saw a huge cloud of slowly dispersing fire and black smoke. My head was spinning as if it had been hit with a baseball bat. But then I forced my eyes to look upon the stopwatch on my wrist, where I saw ten minutes left on the timer. The bastard had set it to go off earlier than he'd told me, hoping to ensure my failure.

  Ten minutes wasn't enough time to take the stairs, but then I knew that wasn't going to be my way down.

  Sarah helped back on my feet, oblivious of the second part of my desperate plan. I stroked her head lovingly and turned away before she had a chance to stop me. “What are you doing?” she demanded, watching me gather momentum as I hurried towards the end of the roof.

  “If I can concentrate hard enough on the asphalt, I can push against it! I can repel it from me. It'll cushion the impact, and it'll make me bounce off the ground,” I explained as I trotted, uncoordinated, towards the ledge.

  “Are you out of your mind?” But it was too late to stop me. “Victor!” Sarah's anguished call was the last thing I heard before I plunged into the abyss.

  It's amazing, all the things you get to contemplate when you know you're about to die. Possibilities: that's what I thought about the most. I thought of the choices I'd never get to make, the mistakes I'd never get to mend. But most of all, I thought of Yvette, and the life I'd never get to live with her. As the asphalt rushed up at me, I realized that I had failed to include one variable in my crazy equation: that of my own fear, which had frozen me into a falling statue. Recognizing my failure, I closed my eyes and readied myself for the end. But then my father's voice began to rumble inside my head, reminding me that the jump I had just taken was none other than the leap of faith he'd always talked about. “Now, you can be skeptical about this, and reject it. Or you can take a leap of faith—and embrace it.”

  I had taken the leap… so now it was time for me to embrace it.

  As my body rocketed downward, I steeled myself and aimed my hands at the ground. I instantly felt the connection I needed to st
op the fall. But it wasn't enough: I had picked up too much speed and was now too close to the ground. So I pushed toward the fast-approaching Earth with everything I had, giving it one final, powerful shove just a few feet away from my deadly end. The invisible barrier I had created between me and the solid asphalt burst like a giant bubble, flinging me away from the ground and into the huge windows of the hotel lobby in one fast, violent blow. All I heard next was the roaring downpour of the shattering glass as I pierced the windows like a thrown stone, still wrapped in a weak version of the field that had saved me from pancake-hood. People must have believed that another bomb had gone off right outside the door, because they began to scream hysterically and run all over the place. “It's a terrorist attack!” I heard someone shout.

  I forced myself to regain full consciousness, like a dazed boxer on his last count. But the world kept spinning around me, a merry-go-round on steroids. People kept shouting and screaming frantically…

  “Did he just fall off the roof?”

  “He bounced!”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Oh, my God! Is he alive?”

  “Someone call 911!”

  One of the bystanders knelt right next me and said, “Relax, buddy. You shouldn't move.”

  “What?” His words snapped me out of my daze, making me realize I was, indeed, still alive. But there was no time to celebrate; my race against time wasn't over yet. I grabbed my wrist and brought the stopwatch to my face, trying to focus my bleary eyes on the countdown I was trying so desperately to beat. Eight minutes and fifty-five-seconds were all I had left to get my Yvee off the boat now, and every second counted. The shards of glass covering my body fell like raindrops on the marble floor as I staggered back to my feet. Once oriented, I darted towards the pier, trying desperately to turn my painful limping into a run. But my seventeen-floor drop, along with my glass-shattering impact, had left me in sad shape. I was cut, bruised, and bleeding profusely. Something was stuck in my leg, too—probably a piece of glass. But that didn't stop me, and neither did the shouting from the security guards, who alternately yelled at me to stop and called for help. My hypersenses were back in order, and I heard one of them talking over his radio, giving my description and location to the LAPD.