“Everything was fine until she showed up.” Tony flings his arm in Dr. Ryan’s direction. “You want to be in control? Go ahead. Tell us what to do. How do we breach ETNA? Lead us, oh ingenious one.”
“Therein lies the problem,” William Truly says, resting his large hand on Dr. Ryan’s forearm, coaxing her to refrain from leaving the table. “It would appear as though ETNA has disappeared...without a trace.”
“The entire sector?” Dr. Godfrey looks up, the famished hematologist having cleaned his plate.
William Truly nods. “We’ve called in every favor. Exhausted every lead. Nothing.”
“Why didn’t you just say that?” Tony questions, now comprehending Dr. Ryan’s ill disposition.
She looks to him slightly humbled. “As you so delicately put it, Detective, I have nothing to offer except for my investigatory and informative insights. When they fail me, what good am I to the cause?” She covers her half-full plate with her napkin.
“In the absence of a plan, sometimes it’s best to act...do something,” Max consoles. “Pee-Paw used to say, ‘You have to throw a line to see if the fish are biting.’”
Gina glances at him skeptically, the quote familiar.
“I still don’t understand why you’re here, let alone why you are willing to participate in a fight that is not your own.” Dr. Ryan asks, her voice softening.
Max’s eyes divert to his plate as words fail him, his unwelcome emotions surfacing with the mention of his Pee-Paw.
“Gina is not the only one from whom Hell Hound has taken a life,” Emily explains. All eyes fall on Max with renewed understanding.
Dr. Ryan clears her throat, her hand unconsciously searching for Emily’s, gripping it. “You are more than welcome to stay as long as you’d like, Max.”
“That goes for all of you,” William Truly affirms.
The table is silent momentarily. “Whew,” Tony exhales. “Glad that’s over with.” He picks up his water glass pressing it to his lips. The liquid, frozen stiff, refuses to accommodate his thirsty palate. He looks at the likely culprit, Max. “Let me guess, you figured we could use an ice-breaker?”
Max smiles, allowing everyone at the table to give in to a much needed release of laughter.
Dr. Godfrey writes frantically on an old-school, wheel-bearing, standup chalkboard in the corner of the basement facing a sauna-like hot yoga room. The glass front allows him to monitor the young Maxim Kiesel, undergoing excessive conditioning on the same martial arts makiwara that Detective Gronkowski tested on in the freezing snow. Early in the examination, Max performs at a high standard. Marks and Tony stand around Dr. Godfrey, their attention split between his chalkboard charting and Max’s exertion.
“Detective, would you be so kind as to turn the thermostat up ten degrees to one hundred ten degrees Fahrenheit, and amp up the humidity to one hundred percent?” Dr. Godfrey inquires. Tony swiftly carries out his task. “Make sure and document that Officer Marks. Or do you prefer Lancelot?” Dr. Godfrey chuckles, his mood elevated by the continuous action, teetering on manic.
“Let’s go with Lancelot,” Marks replies, figuring the noble name may help him measure up in his present supernatural company. He diligently records the increase in temperature along with Max’s performance on the elaborate form.
“What’cha got here, Doc?” Tony eyes the chalkboard graph, full of one-word phrases and numerical calculations.
“I’m mapping out our strengths,” Dr. Godfrey begins. “Somewhere amongst all this information is the answer. Numbers...mathematics...the only universal exchange.”
Tony shakes his head. “Reminds me of my high school Algebra class. I barely skimmed by. Couldn’t recite the quadratic formula to save my life.” He grins. “But I could tell you the measurements of every girl in the room.” He mimes the curvaceous flow of a woman’s body, causing Dr. Godfrey and Marks to chuckle. “So, how’s this going to work?” Tony eyes Max, precise in his strikes and punches to the makiwara. “The kid’s a brick of ice. He’s not going to end up like Frosty the Snowman, is he? You melt him, you’re on your own, Doc.” Tony glances at Emily in the exam room with Aubrey and Gina.
Dr. Godfrey raises his eyebrows, well aware of the new apple of Emily’s eye. “It’s no different than you trudging about in the snow, Detective. If our primary adversary is in fact Hell Hound, it is necessary to see how the young Mr. Kiesel performs in excruciating heat.” Dr. Godfrey turns around, his back to the chalkboard, now engaging with Tony. “He’s got some cold-blooded components to his heating mechanism.”
“Like a vampire?” Marks questions enthusiastically.
Dr. Godfrey chuckles scrunching up his nose, hoisting his glasses upon his cheekbones. “Not exactly. You and the detective...you are full-blooded, warm-blooded mammalian specimens. As most of us are, humans anyway.” Dr. Godfrey marvels at Max through the glass. “Mr. Kiesel appears to have a combination of mammalian and reptilian...cold-blooded factors. By virtue of his humanness, he is a warm-blooded mammal. However, by virtue of his blood...B-negative.” He holds his index finger up. “One of the rarest types in the world I might add, and most similar to reptilian bloodlines, the young Mr. Kiesel may have a bit of a combination.”
“Lower heart rates, blood pressures and body temperatures,” Tony rehearses. “Isn’t that what you told me in the hospital? In Vanguard? That Rh-negative blood types run lower than the rest of us?”
“Indeed I did.” Dr. Godfrey shuffles in front of the see-through hot yoga room looking in on Max. Tony and Marks crowd around him, Max’s performance seemingly only getting better, his strikes and punches catapulting and solid. “You see, warm-bloods work to keep the inside of their bodies at a constant temperature. To do this, they convert the food they eat into energy, which then heats the body. Warm-bloods generate their own heat when cold or in a cool environment. Conversely, they also have the ability to cool themselves when in an environment deemed too warm, too hot. A warm-blood’s main goal for efficient bodily function is to maintain homeostasis of the internal thermometer.”
“That’s why Gronkowski didn’t fair so well after a few hours in the snow,” Marks comments. “He couldn’t get back to homeostasis.”
“Exactamundo!” Dr. Godfrey hops slightly, fully content in having captivated the participation of Sir Lancelot and the great detective. “Now then.” His index finger finding its way through the air once again. “Cold-bloods do not work to maintain homeostasis, they in turn simply take on the temperature of their surroundings. In hot environments cold-bloods warm, and in cold environments their body temperature drops. And you see, in hot environments, cold-blooded species will have blood that is much warmer than warm-blooded species. They have a high heat index, if you will. A higher tolerance.”
“That’s why he looks like Bruce Lee in there? When the rest of us would be fatigued and dehydrated from all that heat,” Tony deduces.
“Right on, Detective.” Dr. Godfrey cranks the heat to one hundred twenty degrees Fahrenheit. “You got that, Lancelot?” He eyes the clipboard Marks holds, making sure he accurately documents the increase. “Where was I? Ah, yes. True cold-bloods are much more active in warm environments. They can actually grow sluggish in cold environments. So, you see, Detective, the young Mr. Kiesel is in no danger of becoming slush like your aforementioned snowman.”
“How much heat is required for fire to ignite?” Tony asks. “You know, Hell Hound’s fireballs...what’s his internal temperature that he can actually release fire? And can Max tolerate that temperature?”
Dr. Godfrey nods, smiling, proud of Tony’s thought process so active in this game of connect-the-dots. “The energy required to ignite fire is variable dependent on heat, oxygen and fuel, be it wood, gas or the like. The flash point of wood is somewhere in the range of five hundred degrees Fahrenheit. Whereas, the flash point of gas can be
as low as negative forty-five degrees Fahrenheit. So you see, Detective, it’s near impossible to estimate Hell Hound’s internal temperature, especially when he is in full Vigilare-mode. As far as the young Mr. Kiesel’s tolerance...that’s exactly what we’re attempting to figure out.”
“So, what you’re saying...the antidote to Hell Hound’s fire is not necessarily ice?” Marks asks.
“Correct again, Lancelot.” Dr. Godfrey joins his hands together, his fingertips tapping each other contemplatively. “Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire.” Dr. Godfrey shuffles back to his chalkboard quickly outlining a wildfire. “Wildland firefighters are trained in setting backfires, or a back burn, if you will. Deliberately and strategically set in the path of an oncoming wildfire.” He artfully graphs his description. “When the backfire is executed correctly, it has the power to confine or quite possibly stop the wildfire in its tracks.”
“It deprives the wildfire of its tinder by consuming its fuel?” Tony questions unsure of his understanding.
Dr. Godfrey looks to him pleased. “A quick study you are, Detective. Fire is a violent, hungry, insatiable thing,” his voice vulnerable with the thought of Hell Hound’s power. “But it, too, can be smothered.” Their attention is disrupted by laughter in the exam room.
Aubrey is hunched over Dr. Godfrey’s microscope, a pair of bifocals resting on her cheekbones, garbed in a white lab coat. Her index finger held poignantly in the air, scrunching up her nose hoisting her spectacles higher to her eyes, she mimics the kind hematologist, propelling Gina and Emily into a loud chuckle.
“Is he affected by Gina?” Tony asks. “Like me? Does he get stronger with her presence?”
“I believe this one is a prodigy, Detective,” Dr. Godfrey explains. “Sure, he is able to channel and be channeled, as all of you are. But, he is independent. His Vigilare pedigree pure.”
“Like Gina’s?” Tony’s inflection suspicious.
“Yes.” Dr. Godfrey glances at him, his eyes pressing up over his bifocals curious as to the extent of the great detective’s understanding.
“The torch,” Tony expels.
“A divine successor,” Dr. Godfrey confirms.
“Does she know?” Tony asks, looking in her direction.
“In due time, Detective.” Returning his attention to Marks, he orders, “Crank it up, Lancelot.”
“Yes Sir.” Marks moves the dial to one hundred thirty degrees Fahrenheit.
“This is unbelievable,” Tony remarks watching Max continue to fire away at the makiwara, propelling it backwards with each contact.
“What’s going on out here?” Gina pipes, accompanied by Emily and Aubrey.
Emily walks to the dial outside the hot yoga room, inspecting its full clockwise rotation, only twenty degrees from its return to zero. Max notices her at the glass, his endorphins kicking in even further with the desire to impress. His already amped heart and respiratory rate taking a jolt, he releases a series of strikes and kicks to the makiwara in full exertion. “Stop this,” Emily demands, standing in front of the glass looking in at him, his pale skin growing bright red.
“He’s phenomenal,” Dr. Godfrey encourages. “Just a few more increments and we’ll be through.”
“This kid is something else,” Tony brags to Gina. Aubrey peeks around Marks, glancing at his meticulous documentation. He points out the highlights of Max’s performance.
“Stop this, now,” Emily barks. “Look at his eyes.” Max’s steel blue ray beginning to display specks and streaks of violent red. “Max. Stop!” She bangs on the glass.
“I’ll be jiggered!” Dr. Godfrey cheers. “He’s going to do it.”
“Do what?” Tony and Marks chime in unison.
With one well-placed strike to the makiwara, a fireball is released from Max’s fist setting the wooden target ablaze. The force from the combustion sends him flying backwards, his body slamming up against the wall of the yoga room. Emily flings the door open gasping at the suffocating heat flooding her lungs.
“Holy shit!” Tony and Marks look to each other triumphantly. Marks hands off his clipboard to Aubrey, accompanying Tony into the scorching room. They drag Max from the sweatbox into the main portion of the basement, leaning him up against the wall.
“Ah,” he sighs, the cool stone support offering comfort.
Gina and Aubrey spring into action as Emily kneels by Max’s side. Grabbing his hand, she looks it over sure to find blisters, burns of some sort. With the exception of bruises and scrapes from its contact with the wooden, rope-cloaked makiwara, it seems to be relatively healthy in its appearance.
“Em,” he calls to her, his voice ragged. “Did you see that, baby?” He smiles proudly. “Did you see what I did?” Her expression a mixture of fear for his safety and reverence for his courage, she manages to return his smile, nodding her head. “What’d ya think?” he begs her approval, his chest rising and falling heavily.
Her body subconsciously mirroring his, her chest heaves. “It was...” She loses her words momentarily caught up in the innocent, mesmerizing dance of his sparkling steel blues affecting a part of her she assumed dead. Her eyes dart back and forth between his, her emotions fully stirred. “It was flippin’ kick-ass, Max.”
He zones in on her provocative mouth curved up into an elated smile, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck. “You’re kick-ass,” he whispers, pulling her to him bearing his mouth ardently against hers.
“Okay. Okay. Break it up you two,” Gina kids motherly, kneeling beside them, ice packs in hand. She nestles one behind his neck instructing Max to lean back against it. Lifting his arms, she tucks two more frozen blocks underneath his armpits. She hesitates, looking at the two remaining packs. Handing them off to Emily she instructs, “Each side of his groin.” Emily looks at her questioningly. “Pulse points,” she explains. “The body’s most effective cooling spots.” Emily swiftly obeys. Accepting a glass of cool water from Aubrey, she holds it to his thirsting lips.
“How the hell did you do that?” Tony blasts, he and Marks hovering about. Dr. Godfrey behind them at his chalkboard, his hand furious in its documentation and graphing.
Max coughs, aggressively chugging the water. Emily pulls the glass from his mouth. “I don’t know,” he gasps. “I mean, I could feel myself heating up, ya know. It felt good. I felt strong.” His eyes wildly elated. “I saw Em. And well, I was just kind of showing off. And that one hit...BAM! I lit up.”
“You lit up, alright,” Tony encourages.
“Lit up the whole damn room,” Marks adds, miming his punch, causing Aubrey to giggle with his excitement.
“Do you think you can show me how to do that?” Tony paces with the thought.
“I can try.” Max pushes against the wall, his full intent to jump at the challenge.
Emily and Gina coax him back locking him into his recuperative position. “That’ll have to wait for another time,” Gina reprimands. “I think we’ve all had enough excitement for one night.”
In Gina’s kneeling position in front of Max, her crucifix dangles at the top of her neckline. The shiny silver pendant catching his eye propelling his mind to a moment in time—a Christmas tree in a grand living room, a jewelry box with a white satin pillow inside cushioning and presenting the faithful symbol. A joyous laughter, his own, rings in his ears along with a tap tap tap—the paws of man’s best friend. “Bou Bou,” he whispers.
“What did you just say?” Gina’s heart feels as though it’s caught in the back of her throat.
“Where did you get that?” Max asks reaching for the pendant. He jerks his hand back with the heat it exhumes. Gina winces with the fiery touch of the crucifix landing against her skin. She stands up backing away from him as the necklace singes, burning a consuming violent red.
“Gina?” Tony calls to her,
her expression ominous.
“He’s coming,” she expels, gripping her head between her palms, her temples booming, rhythmic like a drum.
“Who’s coming?” Tony further probes.
“Hell Hound,” Dr. Godfrey concludes eerily, the chalk breaking in his gripped hand.
“I thought you said this place was secure,” Tony charges him, grabbing him up by the collar of his lab coat.
The basement fills with a relentless, overpowering heat. The steel wall between them and the garage quakes, parting down the middle. Tony returns to Gina, alongside Aubrey and Marks, readying themselves for the unknown. Max pushes himself to his feet against Emily’s wishes, valiantly joining them. Their eyes ignite in succession, one after the other pressing back against Hell Hound’s hungry, violent glare as he enters the basement through the breached garage door. His cruel odor fills the lair. Dr. Godfrey’s jaw drops as he scrunches up his nose accommodating his bifocals a better look at the serpent-like specimen.
“Knock, knock,” Hell Hound prompts, his distorted voice echoing through the quarry-like construction of the safe room. His long, greasy hair blows back from his face with the magnitude of the resistance he faces. “Who’s there?” he answers his own question, throwing his arm up over his eyes, the glare of emerald green and steel blue causing his red eyes to squint. A dull brown hue verging on black spirals at the juncture of the intertwined colorful rays. “Orange,” he continues.
“Orange who?” Dr. Godfrey subconsciously expels, fully mesmerized by the offensive monster.
“Ha ha ha ha ha!” Hell Hound’s deep, booming laughter shakes the walls of the basement. “I like this guy,” he puffs, walking to Dr. Godfrey. “Orange you glad to finally meet me?” he delivers the punchline, extending his molten, raw hand.
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