by Asta Idonea
The panel sighed as it rose, and I quit the lift and entered the room beyond. I was in a basement. That much was clear from the lack of windows and the solid concrete walls. There was plenty of illumination, however, provided by long fluorescent tubes suspended from the ceiling. Nor was that the only sign of life, for the place was fitted out as a laboratory. I might not have a superhero sanctum, but clearly Laurence had equipped himself with his very own villain’s den.
There were workbenches, test tube racks, Bunsen burners, and a whole array of other pieces of equipment whose names and uses were beyond my high-school-science comprehension. It all looked impressive, whatever it did, and I deduced that this was where Laurence was trying to replicate the slime that had transformed us both. Unsuccessfully so far, judging by his phone call, and that was all to the good. One of the Bunsen burners was on, heating a gooey substance in a beaker. There was no other movement. I edged farther into the room, tense, ready to react, but nothing and no one came at me. Was there another exit? Had Laurence and any accomplices already fled?
Intent on the scene directly before me, I hadn’t thought to do a real-life pullback shot to check left and right. This realization dawned on me in the nick of time because, as I turned my head to rectify my mistake, I caught movement to my left. My sudden sway backward was the only thing that saved me from the prick of a long and wicked-looking needle. The man wielding it looked startled by his lack of success. Two seconds later, the syringe was in my control and I had its tip pressed to my would-be assailant’s neck.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Professor Blakey. I-I work here.”
“Here? In Frankenstein’s laboratory?”
He bristled and made an obvious, and not highly convincing, effort to straighten his back and suppress his trembling. “At the university. And you are trespassing on university property, so—”
“Somehow, I doubt this room is an official work space. Just as I doubt it’s university policy to sneak up behind visitors and inject them with unknown substances. In fact, it rather has the aura of a sacking offense, if you ask me. Perhaps even criminal charges that would outweigh a little case of unlawful entry.” I nodded toward the syringe. “What’s in this thing?”
Blakey shrugged. “A mild sedative. Nothing dangerous.”
I didn’t detect a lie, but I was no expert in reading people. Professor Blakey was definitely past middle age, probably close to retirement. There was a real ancient-professor-meets-granddad look about him; he’d even gone in for the stereotypical tweed. In other circumstances, I might have thought him a perfect match for Ellen. Given the location and situation, it seemed reasonable to assume that he was Laurence’s former tutor, roped in to help. Not that he could have been too unwilling. I saw no chains about his person. Nor could I believe that he would have attacked me the way he had if Laurence had forced him to cooperate. If a prisoner, by now this guy would be on his knees, begging me to help him escape. At the very least, he wouldn’t be offering obtuse answers to my questions. No, this fellow was a bona fide supervillain’s evil henchman, and no mistake.
“Where’s Laurence?”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
I groaned. “Seriously? Are we really going to do this?” I didn’t relish the idea of beating up or threatening my elders, but I was starting to lose my patience. “He came down here. I saw him take the lift. You’re down here. Ergo, you’re working with him. I know you’re trying to make more of the super slime. Can we stop the games already, or shall I just empty this syringe into your neck and continue my affairs while you go sleepy-bye-byes?”
That got a reaction; although it was not the one I’d expected when I made the threat. Blakey looked distinctly alarmed, and I wondered if I ought to revise my decision to believe him about the concoction being nothing more than a mild sedative. If that was all it was, why the agitation and the sweat beading on his forehead? I decided to give him one last chance.
“Look, you can play along and walk away, or I can go through you to get to Laurence. Which is it going to be? Perhaps this is a good time to remind you that, in the movies, the supervillain’s accomplices often meet sticky and ignoble ends. Nameless henchmen are two-a-penny, and I don’t think your lord and master is coming to rescue you anytime soon. Do you?”
“There’s another room. It’s behind those shelves.” He jerked his thumb toward a spot behind me, but I wasn’t going to be so foolish as to turn and take a gander.
“Excellent.” I released the syringe, which shattered when it hit the floor, leaving a gooey purple puddle in its wake. “I suggest you run along now.”
I watched as he scurried to the lift. The door closed behind him and I heard the mechanism engage, raising the car. I pondered briefly whether I’d erred in letting him leave. If he got off on the third floor—which I assumed was the only exit—he’d take the lift straight to the cops, offering them passage down. Then again, perhaps they’d spare the time to arrest him first. Either way, I needed to locate Laurence pronto.
Blakey had told me the truth about the second room. When I reached the shelves and shoved them aside, they did reveal a corridor. This, like the previous chamber, was lit, so I had no difficulty following it into another room. Within, a sight both amazing and terrifying met my eyes.
Kane was here, and he was very much alive. However, Laurence currently had him gagged, bound, and pinned against his chest. He had a gun pressed to Kane’s temple, and I didn’t like the way his hand was shaking.
“Let him go, Laurence.” Sparks crackled in my palms, but I held them at bay. I didn’t want to do anything too aggressive and put Kane at risk. I had to get him away from Laurence first.
“I think not. He’s my leverage. I’d be a fool to release such a bargaining chip.”
“If it’s a bargain you’re after, what do you want?” As we spoke, I cast a few furtive glances around the room, looking for anything I could use. There were plenty of potential projectiles. The problem was, I couldn’t be certain they wouldn’t hit Kane, too, if I loosed them at Laurence now.
“Go to the police, confess to Kane’s murder, and stay the hell out of my business from now on.”
“And Kane?”
“I’ll keep him safe. He’ll come to love me in time, and we’ll be happy together.”
“Last I checked, Stockholm syndrome wasn’t love.”
Laurence glowered. “Enough of this. What’s your answer?”
“Let me just confirm…. You want me to take the rap for a crime I didn’t commit—in fact, a crime that isn’t even real since the supposed murder victim isn’t dead—and then let you take Kane away as your prisoner and never pursue you? Yeah, tempting as that sounds, I don’t think so.”
Laurence jerkily cocked the hammer on the revolver. “I’ll kill him.”
Several thoughts flashed through my mind. The gun was a revolver. It seemed an odd choice. Most supervillains would have plumped for something semiautomatic. How had Laurence even acquired it? I knew one place where you’d find such an item: a prop store. It might not be real. And if it was, did I really believe Laurence would shoot Kane, when he’d exerted so much effort to get ahold of him in the first place? This had all started because of Laurence’s obsession with Kane; I simply couldn’t see Laurence harming him now. I decided to call his bluff.
“That’s the thing, Laurence. I really don’t believe you’ll pull the trigger.”
There was an element of risk to my strategy, but I had no other choice. If I pretended to go along with the plan and let Laurence leave with Kane, I might never find them again.
Laurence kept wary eyes on me, his expression flickering between anger and uncertainty. I had to make a move soon, but I wouldn’t put Kane in danger. We stood there staring impotently at one another, neither willing to act. One of us would have to make a play eventually, but I was determined it wouldn’t be me. Unfortunately, Laurence appeared to have reached the same decision.
In the end
, it was Kane who broke the stalemate. Without warning, he brought his foot down sharply on top of Laurence’s. Laurence yelped and released his hold on Kane. Kane threw himself sideways, and I had my opening.
Flames burst to life in my palms of their own accord as I reached for everything in the room. I channeled all my rage, using the strength it lent me to control the huge array of objects. I launched the lot at Laurence. He deflected as many as he could, but he failed to catch them all. A metal tray caught him on the arm, causing the gun to slip from his grip. But not before he squeezed the trigger.
A bullet ricocheted off the cement, narrowly missing me, proving that the revolver was real, after all. Meanwhile, the impact from the tray had sent Laurence spinning into the path of a beaker, which smashed against his cheek. The broken glass sliced into his flesh, and blood streamed down his face. He turned, dazed, while I recovered from my adventure with the bullet and moved in for the kill.
I plucked up the gun and floated it in front of me as I advanced. Laurence scrambled backward until he hit the wall. There was nowhere left for him to go. A single shot and this nightmare would end. I could have crowed in delight. My long-awaited victory was at last in sight. I angled the barrel at his head, pulled back the hammer, and reached for the trigger.
“Os, don’t.” Kane appeared at my elbow. Ropes still bound his hands, but the gag hung around his neck. He glanced at Laurence then back at me. “This isn’t who you are. You’re not a bad person. You aren’t a murderer. Not yet. And you don’t want to be one, trust me. Let the police handle him. We can tell them the truth, together.” He rested his hand on my shoulder.
I hesitated. “You mean you forgive me? For the lies and everything that’s followed?”
“Yes, Os. I was angry at first, but I’ve had time to reflect since then, and I understand why you didn’t tell me sooner. Just let him live, and we can sort out the rest. If you go ahead and pull that trigger, you won’t be you anymore.”
The imploring look in Kane’s gaze was more than I could bear. He was right: this wasn’t me. It wasn’t who I wanted to be. For a while now, I’d walked a fine line. This was the turning point, and I had to make the right choice.
I willed away the flames and released my mental hold on the gun, which clattered to the ground. Then I turned my full attention to Kane. I was all thumbs as I struggled with the knots that bound his wrists, but at last I loosened the ropes enough for him to slip free. Once liberated, Kane wrapped his arms around me, and I could have groaned at the return of that familiar embrace and the scent I thought I’d lost forever. Maybe I did groan. I was so lost in Kane in that moment, I was unaware of anything else.
“I love you. I’m sorry. For everything,” I whispered, and pressed my lips to his neck, feeling the steady, comforting beat of his pulse beneath his skin.
“I love you too, Os.”
A tormented roar tore us apart. Laurence advanced, gun in hand and pointed at me. I reached for something, anything, but even as I did so, I knew it wasn’t fast enough. I was distracted. Laurence would fire before I could focus and disarm him. My only hope was to catch the bullet before it hit me, but I’d never done so from such close range. I would have barely a fraction of a second to react. Already, I saw his finger twitch over the trigger.
Three shots rang out in quick succession. I jerked and stared down at my torso. It had happened even faster than I’d feared; I hadn’t even seen him fire. Something was wrong, though. There was no blood, no pain. Against all odds, I was unhurt. I couldn’t understand it. Had Laurence missed, as improbable as that seemed at close quarters?
A crash brought me back to my senses, and I steered my gaze toward the sound. Laurence had collapsed. He lay panting on his back, and as I watched, three pools of red seeped into his shirt.
“Oswell Outterridge, you’ve led us quite a dance.”
I spun toward the voice and blinked, unable to believe my eyes. “Phúc Lành?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
IT WAS Phúc Lành. Only, rather than his traditional Vietnamese attire, he wore a sharp-cut suit, and instead of his accustomed mild demeanor and gentle stoop, he stood tall and erect, exuding authority. Everything about the image seemed wrong, but one thing bothered me more than all the rest.
“You’re speaking English.” It was perfect English, too, with a clipped, upper-class accent.
“Yes.” He gestured to the two men who stood behind him. “Please see to Mr. Bartholomew.” Then he returned his attention to me. “I’m guessing you have a few questions.”
“A few?”
“Well, why don’t you come with me? All will soon become clear.”
The two silent black-suited men passed by me, carrying Laurence between them. All the while he was an unassuming restaurant owner, I’d have followed Phúc Lành without question. Faced with this new persona, I wasn’t so sure. He had shot and killed Laurence without any apparent hesitation or remorse. If I went with him, who knew where I’d end up. Dead in a ditch was currently winning my mental debate; although, my thoughts also ping-ponged between prison cells and laboratory tables. None of the options were particularly comforting or inviting.
“You aren’t under arrest.” Phúc Lành offered an encouraging smile. “I simply wish to talk to you. Think of it as a debrief, if you like.”
“How do I know you don’t plan to lock me up in some secret army base and experiment on me?”
“You do have a suspicious mind, Oswell. I confess, some in our science department would be keen to see what makes you tick, but I promise that’s not our purpose here today. I did just save your life, Oswell, and given our past acquaintance, I rather hoped you’d extend me your trust. We’ll give Mr. Teague here a onceover, too, to make sure he’s okay following his ordeal.”
“Listen, Phúc Lành.” I paused, another thought occurring to me. “Is that even your real name?”
“No. I would have thought you, of all people, would have understood the need for a pseudonym. I am Agent Benjamin Nguyen. Or Ben, if that puts you more at ease.”
Kane squeezed my hand. “Os, I think we should go with him. It’s true. Agent Nguyen saved your life. Had they wanted to hurt you, you’d be dead by now.” He glanced at Nguyen. “You do know that Laurence is to blame for everything? Os has done nothing wrong.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say nothing. He contributed to the destruction of an expensive rooftop garden and wrecked several police cars and news vans. Oh, and a couple of privately owned vehicles. Then there’s the damage to university property—two doors and a number of chairs.” He gave a wry smile. “But I’ll concede that none of that worries us unduly. Had he shot Laurence Bartholomew, it would have been a different matter. As for Laurence…. Yes, we realize that he is the principal agitator. We’ve known that almost from the start.”
“What?” My temper flared. “If you knew that, why didn’t you stop him?”
Suddenly Kane yelped and released my hand. It was only then that I noticed the heat in my palms. They hadn’t erupted into full flames, but it had been a close call. Willing the fire away, I reached for Kane and checked his hand. It was a little red, like sunburn, but thankfully no worse. Nothing a little lotion wouldn’t heal within a few days.
“Kane, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
Kane flexed his fingers, making a minor grimace. “I know that, Os. It’s fine.”
Nguyen cleared his throat. “To answer your question, we needed to wait for the right moment. Plus, in light of Kane’s accident, my superiors believed that you posed the greater threat. No one could be certain you wouldn’t go over the edge and turn your powers on the wrong people.” He cast a pointed look at my hands. “It doesn’t appear you always have full control, and that’s a concern.”
I shoved my hands behind my back, out of sight. “The flame thing is still a work in progress.”
“My people may be able to help with that.”
“By chopping off my hands?”
Nguyen laughed.
“Really, Oswell, you watch too many movies!”
The corners of his eyes crinkled, and for the first time since his unexpected arrival on the scene, I saw a glimpse of the man I thought I’d known. Maybe I could trust him. Actually, I wasn’t certain that I had any other choice. Although, in true diplomatic fashion, nothing had been said in that regard, I had my suspicions that they would take me in for their “talk” whether I wished to go or not. Considering the secret ops vibe Nguyen was giving off, I wouldn’t put it past him to have a sniper or two positioned nearby, ready to tranq me if I refused to play along. Call me paranoid, but I preferred going with him unrestrained and conscious than bound and doped out of my mind.
“All right, let’s go. But Kane stays with me during the journey. You’re not to separate us.”
“Of course. We wish to obtain a formal statement from Mr. Teague, too, in any case.”
Nguyen turned and strode toward the exit. Kane placed his uninjured hand on my shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze, and then we followed.
MY EXPECTATIONS of a secret bunker or hidden base went unmet. Nguyen and his team placed no bags over our heads, nor did any of the cars sport tinted windows. We simply drove to the nearest police station, where a flash of Nguyen’s badge scored us an interview room and subservient behavior from the local Bobbies.
I was wary when Nguyen proposed sending Kane for a medical while he and I talked, but Kane’s health was important, and Nguyen assured me that he and I would be reunited the moment his examination concluded.
Once Kane departed, Nguyen and I got down to the nitty-gritty. He asked for my story first, so I told my tale from start to finish, much as I have done in this memoir. Then he explained things from his perspective.
It turned out, they’d known about me from the start. Cameras on the studio’s backlot had captured my altercation with Brad. Security staff had reviewed the footage and contacted the police, who had, in turn, passed the case to Nguyen and his team. He spoke of his superiors’ interest in seeing what I could do, and their worries about the abuse of such power. Therefore, they’d decided to keep a careful eye on me.