In A Universe Without Stars 1: Skyeater

by J Alex McCarthy

  He hates it more and more as the days go by, a stern reminder of his wife. He eyes a box of cookies on top of the fridge. Better than nothing.

  He hops and tries to get the cookies. But his cast stops him.

  He tries again.

  Nothing god dammit.

  He gets angry.

  This fucking cast is hindering him. The cookies are too far back. Cole tries again, harder, using all his strength but it’s too forceful. He just wants some god damn cookies!

  The fridge falls over! Cole rolls out of the way as it crashes down next to him. Cole lies on his back.

  Just his luck.

  “Goddammmiitt!”

  He lifts his fist and swings it toward a cabinet.

  A ding sound is heard, a display pops up on his watch just as his fist goes through the cabinet, with a crack. What the hell? He pulls his arm out, there’s not a single mark on it.

  He puts his hands on his head, this morning has been hell so far. Nothing has gone right. But even still he needs to calm down. The only way to do that is to get out of this godforsaken house. He takes a deep breath, sighs and gets up.

  …

  Erin Bell sits on her living room couch and reads a magazine. Sunlight pours through her bay windows overlooking San Fernando Valley. Lines of suburbs and highways sprawl out into the distant mountains, her living room has a rustic touch to it with a mix of modern style, like a modern log cabin. She always had a love for the wilderness.

  Erin is a beautiful woman, but she hers is more of a classic beauty rather than a striking one, just a great face framed by dirty blond curls. Her younger sister, Carissa Quoin, paces up and down in front of her on the phone. She’s the stunning one with her perfect hair, perfectly proportioned breasts, thighs, and waist, and perfect personality. But Erin doesn’t get jealous. Most of the time.

  Carissa stops and disconnects.

  “I got it!”

  Erin jumps up. “Congrats!!” she says while hugging Carissa. “My own little sister on Channel 5 News! You’re going to be so famous.”

  Carrisa worked so hard for it, studying in college, interning for years and now she’s finally a reporter, only a lowly ‘on the scene’ reporter but a reporter nevertheless.

  “I’ve been waiting for this forever!” Carissa says.

  “You deserve it,”

  They finally let go of each other.

  “So what now?” Erin asks.

  “Now we celebrate!” Carissa pulls out a small champagne bottle out of her purse.

  “You just carry that around with you?”

  “No, I figured if I get it or not I would still drink anyway.”

  Erin just laughs.

  “Let’s turn on some music!” Carissa pulls out a CD. Erin grabs her arm.

  “Shh— oh man! You came prepared.” Her sister always does. “I forgot that my friend is staying here and she hasn’t gotten up yet.”

  In the guest bedroom, Thora lies under the covers, eyes wide open, staring at nothing.

  …

  Cole limps through a hardware store in his usual designer jeans and red and green plaid shirt, with the left jean leg cut off at the bottom for his cast. He looks for nails and wood but he’s not really paying attention. He’s just doing this to get things off his mind.

  He failed again.

  He is this close to using a gun next time, but he doesn’t want anybody to find him like that with his brains splattered all over his bed’s headboard.

  He finds the nails and takes some. He hears something in another aisle. A low whine, it sounds like crying. Cole drags his cast to the end of the aisle and peeks into the next. A young boy cries his eyes out, there’s nobody else there.

  He should do something.

  Cole approaches him. “Hey little buddy,” he says in a calming tone. The little boy steps back.

  “Hey now it’s okay.” Cole slowly inches toward him, he doesn’t want to look like a predator. He already has a lot on his plate, being on the sexual predator list would just add to that. “What’s wrong? Are you lost?”

  “I lost my—mom-my!” The kid sputters, he looks only about three years old.

  “Shh— it’s okay, where’s the last place you seen her?” Cole kneels to the kid’s level.

  “I don’t know!” The kid sobs louder.

  “Okay, little buddy, how old are you?”

  “I’m four years old!”

  “You sure are a big boy. Are you a big boy?”

  The boy doesn’t answer.

  “Well?”

  “Y-Yes,” the boy sputters.

  To his left on the floor, Cole sees what he believes is the kid’s action figure, a GI Joe. He grabs it and hands it to the kid. He must have dropped it.

  “Well big boys don’t cry, they have to act big and strong. Just like Mr. Joe here. Are you like Joe?”

  The kid’s tears start to ebb.

  “I’m like Joe.”

  “Joe is strong and doesn’t cry, he would act confident and he would ask for help and find his mother. And when he finds her he wouldn’t cry because he has to be strong and protect her. Can you be strong and a big boy to protect your mommy?”

  “Yeah! I’m like Joe!” His tears stopped completely.

  “Let’s go to the front desk and when you find your mother, be a big boy and wipe away her tears and always protect her okay?”

  “Okay!”

  Easy enough.

  They walk up to a register, there’s a heartwarming scream when his mother sees them.

  “Oh, thank god!” The mother runs up to the kid and hugs him. “Please never do that again.”

  “It’s okay, Mommy he helped me,” The boy says.

  She looks up. “I don’t know how I can repay you, I looked away for one second and he was gone.”

  “It’s alright, you don’t have to do anything,” Cole says. She continues to hug her child. There’s nothing left for him here. He has a sudden thought, seeing somebody cry over someone else. He pulls out his phone and looks at the day. He forgot about something, something he does every month on this day. He rushes out of the store.

  2 - Power

  A tombstone lies in front of Cole. The crisp green lawn of the cemetery is under his feet. A hot California sun beats on his back. Various types of tombstones litter the grass, from stone angels to cheap marble slabs on the ground. The grass is oddly nice in contrast to the rustic moss-covered markers.

  He almost missed it today.

  The tombstone is embossed with gold lettering. Eric Chives, 24 years old, Master Sergeant of the United States Air Force.

  Fresh flowers decorate his grave. Someone is still replacing them after all these years. A man walks up next to Cole. Cole swears he knows every time he’s here. It’s one of Eric’s brothers.

  “You’re not going to run me off again?” Cole asks. The man doesn’t answer.

  “Aren’t you going to yell at me and try to chase me off?” Cole catches himself, he lets the anger burn away inside him. He’s not going to take it out on him.

  “I’m tired of trying too, it’s been years. You’re just going to keep coming back anyway,” Eric’s brother finally replies.

  Damn right I am. “So are you finally forgiving me?” Cole asks.

  He glances at Cole’s leg. “No, I’m just going to let karma have its way with you.” The man leaves.

  …

  Cole limps down the street next to the cemetery and stops at a crosswalk. There’s barely any traffic on the two lane road. He hits a button on his keys. A beep is heard across the street as the light finally turns red and he crosses.

  A car cuts him off as it runs the red light. A can bounces off his head.

  “Fucker!” Cole yells. The driver flips him off. Its Eric’s brother.

  Karma my ass.

  An oncoming car suddenly swerves toward Cole to avoid Eric’s brother. Abruptly everything slows down as the car hurls toward Cole. His heart pumps, adrenaline runs through his veins. He
swings out his hand as a reflex as it’s too late to jump out the way.

  A great booming sounds as his arm crashes into the car. A blue light flares up from his hand and the car explodes out in a metallic fury. The passengers fly straight for Cole.

  In an amazingly quick motion, he catches them both in his arms as their momentum forces him back. His cast skids on the ground until he finally stops. Everything speeds back up. Cole stands holding the passengers, the wrecked car in front of him.

  He just stopped a speeding car.

  “Dude…What the hell?” One of the passengers sputters.

  “What? What the—!?” Cole murmurs. What just happened? The watch. His arms start to glow steel blue, reflecting into his eyes.

  He has to get home.

  He drops his cargo and runs for his car, cast not slowing him down.

  ”Hey stop!” They yell at him, but he doesn’t.

  …

  Cole storms into his kitchen, his arms aren’t glowing anymore. He stops and rest on the counter. He’s had time to think on his way back. He wants to do it again, the feeling he felt was something else. The glow did something to him.

  It must have been the watch, maybe he wasn’t going crazy after all. That rush, that adrenaline was amazing. He starts to sweat and shakes just thinking about it. He needs to have that feeling again.

  He stares at his hands. How? How can he do it again? He grimaces and flexes his arms. Nothing. He tries again, straining from the effort.

  “Nothing.”

  He didn’t imagine it, did he? He thinks of all the drugs he took last night.

  “I’m going fucking crazy.” His watch beeps. He taps the glass, nothing.

  “Work god damn you!”

  Cole grabs his head. No, he’s not losing his mind. He tries to calm himself down. There’s no way he could’ve imagined something like that.

  “I can do it again,” he told himself. Stretching out his arms again, he flexes them. What did he do? Cole empties his mind and imagines himself back to the accident. The car was in front of him, his arms were out. He didn’t think, he just did. It was instinct. He was…

  “Calm.”

  He relaxes and closes his eyes.

  Calm.

  He empties his mind, his thoughts, his anger and fears, he thinks of nothing except of the feeling he felt. The power, the sweetness of it. It almost disgusts him, as if he’s eating an entire bowl of sugar, bathing in its fervency. His hands start to glow again. It comes to him naturally.

  He opens his eyes, a bright blue orb forms in between his hands, spinning into form. Condensing from nothing.

  The light fills the room, shadows from the appliances on the counter dance to life on the walls. He stares deeply into it as it starts to solidify. He can feel the power trickle from his fingertips, he wiggle his fingers and—

  It wavers and explodes. Cole flies back into the wall. The whole kitchen comes down, the kitchen island is destroyed, cabinet doors blast off the cabinets, and the windows explode out.

  His kitchen is destroyed.

  Cole coughs and struggles up to his feet.

  “Sweet.”

  “AH!” He gasps as he looks at his charred hands, blackened to a crisp from the explosion. He tries to squeeze his hands but he doesn’t feel a thing. His watch dings.

  His cuts and bruises start to heal. His flesh brightens and fills in around his bones, his skin grows back and tightens against the muscles. They continue to heal until—

  “Nothing” He rubs his hands together and soot drops to the floor. No scars, no marks. Nothing.

  “My god…My leg!” He’s still wearing the stupid cast, if he could’ve healed from this then-

  He finds a kitchen knife under what used to be his island. He sits on the floor against a counter and chips away at the cast.

  …

  His cast is cut crudely open. Chunks of plaster are scattered across the floor. Cole grimaces at the smell, it’s revolting. His sticky smelly untanned leg is completely healed, he hesitates as he touches it. Not a single crack. He wiggles his toes.

  He gets an idea and pulls out his phone.

  “Hello? Sarah? Hey, yes, it’s Cole. Yeah, yeah, it’s good to hear from you, too. I was wondering if you can tell Mr. Jones that I will be available to come in tomorrow for work,” he smiles. “No, the doctors said it wasn’t as bad as they thought, thanks.” He hangs up and just sits there staring at his dirty hands.

  “How the hell?” he says as he takes off his watch, brushing the soot of the glass. He examines it trying to see if anything is different. Nothing.

  However he got these powers, it happened during his car accident. It looks exactly the same but he can’t rule it out. Perhaps it really wasn’t as bad as he thought.

  Or maybe he’s some kind of super-hero. He ponders on it. What could his super-hero name be, maybe the Real Superman, or Ultimate Man, better than super.

  Yeah, perfect.

  He rubs his dirty hands through his hair and clutches his head.

  He cries.

  He doesn’t know why he’s crying, maybe from the craziness of his situation or what just happened. Or it’s that he might be able to work out again. Or it’s how he’s so calm when he did what he just did.

  This power will change things. He puts his hands out and concentrates, they glow again. He smiles. This will change his life, for the better.

  “But first,” he says as he stands. He needs to know everything that he can do.

  …

  The front door of Cole’s house opens, a house that looks like it’s worth millions. His home is at the top of the Hollywood hills. It’s a good ten minute drive to get to his place from the bottom of the hill.

  Small pillars lead down the walkway as Cole walks out in athletic gear. He limps down the walkway and into the street. He got this.

  He looks to his left and then his right for the straightest path. Even though he’s healed he doesn’t want to overdo it on the first day.

  He goes right and tries to run, but it’s been so long he’s not getting a good stride. He pushes harder, heaving heavily as he pushes on.

  Come on.

  He can do this.

  He goes faster and faster down the road. He doesn’t know what this power is but he needs to learn how to use it.

  …

  Cole benches a loaded Olympic bar in his basement. Twice his usual weight at nearly five hundred pounds. He heaves as he lifts it and struggles to lower it down smoothly. He can do this. His grip suddenly slips but he rolls away just in time.

  “Shit.”

  He gets up and uses his legs to reset the bar on the bench. He lays back down on it.

  “Come on Cole you can do this,” he says to himself. He couldn’t have lost that much muscle.

  He lifts up the bar again and slowly brings it down. It’s easier this time. He struggles as he pushes up again, sweat teases his eyes. He goes faster, up and then down. It’s even easier. He continues, this time faster. He benches harder. He’s going faster and faster, like it’s a play thing.

  The weights are nothing now, his face grows red but he doesn’t stop. This is nothing. He throws the bar over his head and behind him.

  He’s stronger.

  …

  At a boxing gym, Cole spars against an opponent, an unlucky day for his adversary. Cole fights hard and heavy until he’s hit with a one-two to the face. But he doesn’t stumble, the hit doesn’t faze him and he strikes back. His opponent staggers and lowers his arms. Bad choice. Cole lands a left right jab to the man’s face so fast his hands were nearly a blur and knocks him out cold.

  He’s faster.

  …

  Cole lines up cans on a junk car in a dump; piles of useless junk surrounds him. He scowls as the smell gets to him but he has to train somewhere. A place no one will see him. The trash is several stories high, a good place to conceal himself. But maybe next time he won’t train next to the pile of what he is pretty sure is shit. He wonders
if should to tell anyone about what he can do now.

  He aims at the cans with his arm, that glow steel blue. He grimaces as his hand glows, a ball of energy pools into his palm. The light from it overpowers his eyes. He yells as the ball shoots out his hand.

  It moves incredibly fast. Right by the can. He missed. It was an energy based projectile. A smoldering hole drips where it hit, melting every piece of garbage it touched. Powerful, but useless if he can’t hit anything.

  Alright, he’s got this. He motivates himself, he’s a quick learner. He tries again and again, getting closer each time until—

  A can flips into the air, a clean gaping hole ripped into its middle. He finally hits one. He aims for the others and hits them with his first try.

  “Yes!”

  Easy.

  To his left are two junk cars and a chain next to a mound of trash.

  A few moments later, he attaches the chains to the two junk cars and whips the chain around his shoulders. He starts to pull, chains dig into his shoulder, straining a little as he’s finally able to pull them. His shoes dig into the dirt.

  “Come on!”

  He can do this, it’s just a few tire pulls with two tons more weight than he usually pulls.

  Easy!

  He drags them faster, it really starting to become too easy. Until he starts to jog with them on his back.

  Afterwards, he finds two mounds of garbage, only two stories tall. Climbing on top of one of them, he can see the outlines of the yard and the mountains in the distance. If it wasn’t for the smell, this would be a nice place to hang out. The other mound is thirty feet away.

  He doesn’t hesitate and straight up Matrix-jumps it without a running start.

  He hurls fast over the ground toward the other mound. He thinks he can make it, but he starts to drop. No he was wrong, he’s not going to make it.