Narican- the Cloaked Deception

by D M Robbins

  A THREAD PULLED

  Ringing one woman up with a green pepper, eggs, and a pint of milk, another woman in a purple robe stumbles in, almost crashes through our screen door.

  Out of breath, she shouts, “A robbery. A robbery.” She points across the busy street leaning on the metal door handle. People move along indifferently, as if in a fog.

  My coworker Caitlin and I peer out. A beefy bearded guy with a belly wearing a black and gray flannel shirt pulls at a woman’s pocketbook. We hear her cries through the screen door.

  “He does know it’s August, right?” Caitlin says, looking at me with one raised eyebrow.

  We hear her pleas: “Stop. Get off. Someone help me. Please, help me.” She struggles to fend him off. Her head swiveling back and forth for chivalry, assistance, some good Samaritan to help. But just like me yesterday, no one’s coming.

  There are no cops in sight. Just hustle and bustle. Commuters gawk as they walk past but nobody makes a move to help. I shake my head.

  The woman in the purple robe shouts at us, “That’s my friend Claire. Please help. She just lost her husband Buddy six months ago. Now this. Oh, what happened to my wonderful city?”

  As the man, eyes from Purple Robe, Caitlin, and Green Peppers descend on me.

  This is not the first crime this neighborhood has seen. In fact, they’ve been on the rise lately. Like everything else. And I’ll admit, at times I’ve been desensitized, turning a blind eye. Wanting to help, but what am I supposed to do? Tackle a guy twice my size? I’ve tried. It ends up with me getting a black eye and him getting away. We usually call the cops, who come too late.

  This guy looks like an angry lumberjack after a tree fell on his foot. Eyebrows thick, face intense, yanking on that purse. He probably carries three hundred pounds of meanness and this little lady of eighty pounds is putting up a fight. Good for her.

  I want to help. My instincts are to use my sun powers and trap him in rings of light from a tornado. But they never come. Since I was a child they never come. I try it again, as instincts would have it, feeling the power grow within. I extend out my warming hands, feeling the energy concentrate in my gut, focusing.

  Caitlin looks at me with her straight blond hair and red highlights and a judging expression. “What the hell are you doing?” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “You are so weird.”

  “Oh, right, nothing,” I say lowering my hands tucking them into my pockets.

  Across the street, the mean lumberjack yanks the lady’s bag free knocking her to the sidewalk. He takes off running down the street banging into a guy emptying garbage cans and almost upturns a baby stroller.

  Caitlin yells at me again. “Now what are you doing?” I hear gasps from the older women. “What? Nothing. Oh my…” I say, looking down.

  My feet are moving as if I’m jogging in place, without me trying to jog in place. But I do want to jog in place. Run in place. I like jogging in place, running.

  I look at the women then back down at my feet. My legs pump faster. My mind switches on. I can run fast. I can run very fast.

  My leg muscles twitch and thicken, filling out my pants. My lower body warms from the heat and friction. I stare at my feet in confusion then at the woman across the street. My body turns slightly to where the man is running as if my instincts are calculating his trajectory.

  My knees now pump as if pistons in a car preparing to race. My body is tense, feeling the extra blood pumping through. My mind is hyper aware of the woman’s every detail, wrinkles under her eyes, a tear at the bottom of her blouse, the baby stroller nearby, gum on the sidewalk. There’s a man on a scaffolding, a cab driver picking his nose, a woman reading a book in a coffee shop window, pigeons on the wire, mice on top of brown paper bags chasing each other. I’ve never felt so alive. Physically drawn to the scene as if a wind drawing me near.

  “I… I don’t know what’s happening,” I say to the women whose eyes have grown wider than their heads. A wind is being created. The green pepper rolls off the counter and her stack of coupons blow into the air.

  My pumping legs sound like a jet engine. My mind calms with this single purpose: to help. Drawn to the mugging, I feel stronger and sharper than I ever have. I feel powerful, free, alive. Woo hoo! I want to dance but can’t. Must focus. Have a job to do.

  Uh oh, I’m lifting off the floor. The counter is below me. “Oh God. Oh God. Excuse me. Be right baaaa-cckk.”

  Effortlessly I fly over the counter landing at the door, a ten-foot jump. I stare, amazed, looking back at Caitlin and the green pepper lady who are equally surprised. Jaws drop.

  Oh body, where have you been my whole life?

  Purple Robe steps aside. With a thrust, my hand confidently pops open the screen door. In a blurring blaze I zoom across the street legs pumping feet barely touching the ground as I zigzag between cars then pedestrians down the sidewalk. I’m focused only on the woman and lumberjack.

  Zipping past people like a race car driver. My feet spinning in rotations, blurring like a cartoon character. A wind of newspaper and debris swirl behind me. Cars and people appear to stand still. There’s no sound other than air moving around my body and my pumping legs. I look down at my legs and get dizzy.

  Never look down, I tell myself.

  Looking up, I zero in on the lumberjack who’s about to cross 60th.

  Not gonna happen, pal.

  At the crosswalk in less than a second after leaving the store I snatch the bag and zip to the far diagonal street corner weaving between cars and people, then I stop. The thief only knows the bag is gone. He looks around like a dog that’s lost his bone.

  Time ticks normally by again, slowing.

  Mission accomplished.

  Cars and people begin moving. My stomach is queasy, turning over. Walking normally, my wobbly legs have lost their rippling mass.

  Did that just happen? No one gawks at me. I stop and spin around. Everyone’s going about their business as usual. But I do have the lady’s bag.

  Worn down and sluggish I cross the street, walking toward her feeling as if I’d just run a marathon.

  The lumberjack is bewildered, looking at his hands then me down the block with the bag. Cupping his hands he shouts, “Hey you, how’d you do that?”

  I shrug.

  “Well, where’d you come from?”

  I point and say, “The store.”

  He purses his lips and nods as if my response is reasonable.

  The woman is thankful, with tears in her eyes.

  “Oh, thank you, young man. There must have been bus fumes, dear. I don’t know what happened,” she says, confused, as I hand her the bag. “How did you do that? I didn’t see you, but you are a brave young man indeed.” She smiles, pats me on the head, and walks away clutching her bag.

  Puzzled, I walk back. “You were here then you had her bag over there.” People say in similar confusion outside the store. “We lost you between the cars.”

  I reenter the store feeling pretty good, strutting a bit as I slide back behind the cash register. “Not bad, huh?” I say, leaning against the counter.

  Caitlin and the two women stare. Caitlin crosses her arms, leaning against her counter then frowns, chastising me. “Well, what the hell happened to you? You tried jumping over the counter and tripped out of the store. It was so ridiculous.” She turns back to her register, shaking her head and snapping gum.

  “Wait, what? I ran after…”

  Old Green Peppers says after purchasing her items, “Thank you for trying, dear. But you did get the bag. Well, after the man dropped it.”

  That woman’s voice comes to me again: “They cannot believe what they cannot accept. It defies law. Many are prisoners of their own beliefs. Evolved ones will lift all others like a rising tide. You’ve done well.”

  Well, it’s obvious their minds won’t allow them to believe I moved that fast. I wouldn’t believe it either. Not entirely sure I do. I remember one mystical book said, “If an event o
ccurs outside of common norms, a mind will rewrite the experience to make an inexplicable event more palatable within an accepted reality.” Or something like that.

  Behind the counter I notice rashes and small holes in my arms and legs, and poke at them. The next woman in line, who always brings more coupons than money, nods. “Better take care of yourself, sweetie. Use some salve. Pimples are coming in.” After I ring up a few items she asks, “How much for these Grape Nuts?”

  “Three dollars and forty-nine cents.”

  “I’ll take them,” she says and sorts through her discount booklet.

  I begin bagging her items then collapse on the floor.

  *

  When I come to, Sally, the owner, helps me up. She’s thirty-something and divorced. Slim, jogger.

  “I don’t feel so well,” I say, holding my head.

  “Now that you’re eighteen you’re probably partying too hard. Go take a break.” She nods toward the back.

  On the cot I drift to a beach of black diamond glittered sand with lavender colored waters. Jintara is at my side, a seven-foot-tall warrior and my best friend.

  After sleep and lunch, I’m back on my feet working again while a headache vibrates my skull. The store closes in a few hours. We’re almost there as I step back in.

  DEEPER IN WE FALL

  I work the small produce area removing wilted lettuce, sprucing up the Romaine. I grab a few apples from the walk-in cooler that feels so good I stand in there for a minute. Trying to pass the time, I uncrate more milk into the dairy fridge for people needing cereal and coffee for breakfast the next day. Checking my watch, two hours have passed. One to go. I neaten the hot and cold cereal aisle, pulling boxes forward for better presentation. Back to the register for the last half hour as things have gotten busy again. After this I’m going home to rest.

  I ring up a few purchases for commuters needing a quick snack. Ten minutes to go when a dirty man opens the door surveying the room. Some strange symbol, a tattoo, rests just under his right eye. He’s big, with shaggy hair, unclean. He looks like trouble with menacing black eyes and a black trench coat.

  “We’re closing, sir.”

  “Come on, little boy, I’m here for milk,” he says. His coat is tattered as if from being dragged.

  I nod for him to enter. The man takes a few steps in, scanning the room, when his feet and eyes stop. Staring at a tall, slender man in line who’s staring back at him with blazing blue eyes. After shaking his head and breaking the trance, the tattooed man abruptly walks out, leaving the door open.

  Whatever. “Next…” I say, needing the day to end fast, feeling too weak to face the world.

  The tall, slender man places a single pack of gum on the counter.

  I look down. “Is that it?”

  “Yes,” he says in a low, measured voice.

  I look up and could swear this guy’s eyes are glowing. He’s lanky with disheveled clothes and a too-large oblong head, but his eyes are unmistakable.

  He peers down at me. I quickly look away. Seeing things. I need rest. I’m weak and don’t want to look him in the eyes.

  “Okay, sir.” I ring him up while my head aches, spins, feeling as if I might faint again.

  I read the register for the price. “One, umm…” I shake my head a couple of times, staring at it. “…forty-eight. One forty-eight.” I don’t look at the tall man, but know he’s looking at me.

  He leans in a little. “Iron core crystals,” he says then leans back out.

  “I’m sorry. What?”

  He speaks as if his words are dense, alive, entering my body. “You need iron core crystals if you’re not well.”

  Startled, I abruptly look up. “How do you…?”

  He nods, pays with exact change, no bills, and walks out.

  *

  Outside, after locking up with Sally and Caitlin, I head uptown as they walk to the train station. Half a block up I squint, staring at something across the street. I peer at what looks like a ball of smoke traveling above the sidewalk. It stops. With no eyes, it seems to face me then floats quickly down into a sewer grate. Confused, I glare closer. That must have been bus fumes or furnace exhaust.

  About to step again, I notice another one floating down an alley. I feel faint, chills, with a lump in my throat.

  I might need to get my head examined. It’s true. Must get home to rest. Looking around I don’t see anything else and quicken my pace.

  At home I lock the deadbolt, chain, and am so stirred up I sit on my bed trying to calm my thoughts, slowing my breath with meditation, but my mind spins. I open my book but immediately close it. Thoughts bubble up. I ran super-fast, man with weird blue eyes spoke to me, another man with symbol under eye wanted something, and then there were floating exhaust blobs. I definitely need to call Dr. G.

  Restless, pacing the apartment not knowing where to put this information, I draw the blinds and microwave a chicken pot pie. Sitting at my desk eating, I look up the weird tattoo on my laptop. After a few minutes of scanning the vast array of tattoos on the Internet, some elaborately cool with incredible artwork, and some not so much.

  I find it on page twelve of my search. The fork stops at my mouth. It’s the symbol of a devilish sect stemming back to ancient Mesopotamia, believing in day’s end.

  The worlds are converging. “Day’s end,” I say aloud.

  I finish eating deep in thought, wondering what the heck it all means. And I have no idea. Then what did that other weird guy say? Oh right. “Iron core crystals.” He said it with such dramatic effect, like he was in some bad movie. I type that into the search bar.

  “Earth’s inner core is made of a nickel-iron alloy. The solid inner core of Earth is iron. It is surrounded by a liquid outer core composed of nickel-iron alloy. Only recently has it been discovered that iron crystals at the center of the earth are thought by mystics to contain great healing properties. But access to these crystals are limited and can only be found on the black market and secret government labs.”

  I stumble to bed and fall asleep, dizzy from the day. Like I’m falling down a never-ending well. I close my eyes tight and cover my head with a pillow. The city doesn’t know that the world is ripping in two. That I am. Not sure it would care.

  BUMPING AGAINST THE SINISTER

  I wake drenched in sweat hearing a banging sound from the fire escape as if heavy paint cans are being dragged step by step. On edge, I bounce up, peering out. There’s nothing but exhaust fumes from a garbage truck below. It’s still dark. I lie in bed, eyes open, mind alert. Body tired.

  The next morning is quiet at work. Everything’s normal. The sun is shining with that strange rusted hue I’ve gotten used to. People commute. Cabs honk. Food truck vendors sit near the subway entrance. I overhear conversations about baseball and vacations to beach resorts. Perhaps I bumped my head and, well… dreamt it all.

  At the store I stock produce and shelves. A couple hours later I work at the register and neaten the counter items. I take lunch and sit outside feeding pigeons pieces of my multigrain bread from a turkey and swiss sandwich. Things are in place. Normal.

  I people watch. There’s a unicyclist going up the wrong way on Vexington, a small woman walks eight dogs, and Chinese delivery men on bicycles deliver food to office buildings. I sit on the low wall of a fountain with the sun on my head. All is well. All is all it should be. I don’t hear any arguments.

  The start of the afternoon work is equally pleasant. I grab boxes of cinnamon granola from the stock room for a nice lady who needs extra for visiting relatives and their children. While handing them to her, my little buddy Dino runs up the aisle full speed into my stomach. Upph. He and his sister Laurie-Ann live up the block and visit often.

  “Reuben!” he shouts, hugging me tight. He’s a sweet kid with brown shaggy hair, a round head, and chubby cheeks.

  His sister walks up the aisle smiling. “Hey, Reuben.”

  “Hi Laurie-Ann, how are you?” She can’t be much mor
e than my age.

  “Not as well as him,” she says, smiling. She’s pretty, with straight teeth.

  “How are you, Dino?” I ask, looking down. He squeezes me harder. He can’t be older than five or six.

  “Dino, don’t kill him,” Laurie-Ann says jokingly.

  They come in every few days. I’ve never seen a father or mother for that matter. Laurie-Ann’s always friendly. Her stares linger. Her blond hair is long and straight. Her blue eyes smile like the sky.

  “You remind me of someone,” I say again.

  “I know, Reuben. You always tell me that. But who? Like an aunt?”

  I shake my head and shrug. “Don’t know. Just familiar. It’s a good thing.”

  She makes a sour face and scrunches her eyes. “You’re so weird…” she says but stares longer.

  From behind me I hear, “Excuse me, sir. Sir? Are you working or on break?”

  I turn, and the interrupting woman is a short middle-aged troll with many creases on her face and too much makeup.

  “Well, are you working or not, hmm?” She steps closer, too close. I back up almost into the cereal shelf.

  “I’m working, but you interrupted the conversation I was having with these costumers.”

  She looks at them behind me. “I don’t see them buying anything.”

  Laurie-Ann chuckles. “It’s okay, Reuben. We’ll catch you later.” Laurie-Ann makes another sour face and crosses her eyes. I smile.

  “Bye, Reuben.”

  “See ya, buddy.”

  They turn, hold hands, and walk out.

  “Okay, so what can I do for you?” I clap my hands together patiently trying not to jump down her throat.

  The lady has menacing red eyes and mutters to herself in a language I’ve never heard, and this being a diverse neighborhood, I’ve heard many.

  “I must buy something,” she says.

  “Okay, this is a fun game.”

  She hands me money in the aisle.

  “Well, what are you buying?”