The Love Interest

by Cale Dietrich

  We reach it, and Craike swipes his card. The two panes of glass separate, up and down, to reveal a massive room. The walls, the roof, and the floor are all seamless brown glass. A massive polar bear rug lies on the floor in front of a solid glass desk that’s adorned by a laptop. The polar bear’s mouth is open in a sneer, showing its red tongue and its pointy teeth. One wall is devoted entirely to a glass bookshelf filled with ancient leather-bound books. On the far right wall is a fireplace that houses a ball of blue fire, yet the room is freezing.

  Craike walks around his desk and sits down on a leather armchair. He gestures toward the much smaller chair at the other side of the desk. “Please sit, Caden. And don’t worry about getting blood on my furniture. I’ve already arranged for it to be cleaned once you leave. My visits with rebellious Love Interests tend to be messy.”

  “No offense, but I don’t want to know about your sex life.”

  His eyes light up and his mouth curves into a grin. The Stalker releases me. I rub my bruised arm and make my way across to the seat. My shoes click against the smooth, shiny glass. He watches me.

  I sit down. The chair is firm and high-backed, forcing me to sit rigidly upright. “Who’d have guessed you worked in a Lady Gaga music video.”

  “I hear you’re quite the fan of hers.”

  I chuckle and cross my arms. “So why are we here, Craike? What do you want from me?”

  “You’re in a rush to get to your execution? Don’t worry, Caden, within the hour you will no longer be with us. What I want is to talk to you for a few seconds. I try to understand people, Caden; that’s what I do. That is why I would like to speak with you, man to boy, before you die.”

  I shrug. “Well, I’m here. Ask your questions.”

  He fiddles with his tie. “How do you think I got this job?”

  I’d never thought about it. Ever. In my mind, he had always had the position and that was it. He’d always had it and he always would.

  “Did you graduate with honors from Hitler’s School of Evil?”

  He tuts. “I got this job because I wanted it, Caden. It was, and still is, my dream job. And that’s not because I’m sick in the head and enjoy killing teenagers. Disciplining Love Interests is the worst part of my job. I enjoy managing, and selling, the information you acquire for us. That’s my passion. I love discovering a nugget of information, giving it to the perfect client, and then leaning back and watching as empires fall. You have no idea how much I’ve shaped the world. In many ways I’m the most influential person alive, even though no one knows my name.”

  “What’s your point?”

  He sighs and rubs his temples. “My point, Caden, is that you are so determined to make me your antagonist, to make me the person who is stopping you from getting what you want, but that’s not who I am. I’m just a man doing my job, a job countless people have done before me and countless more will do after. You aren’t special to me; I don’t hold a grudge against you, nor do I particularly care about your little love story. I don’t know you enough to care. I even had to look your name up on the system when I saw you screaming outside the fence. And then you stride in here like you’re this important hero, and that’s not who you are to me. At best, you’re an employee who isn’t smart enough to know his place. At worst you’re a little shit who is getting in the way of me being able to do my job. In the story of my life, you’re the antagonist. Can’t you see that?”

  I nod. “I can see that, but it doesn’t change anything. I like Dylan, I maybe even love him, and you’re stopping me from being with him.” I imagine Dyl laughing. They want to kill him. “So I’m going to bulldoze you.”

  Craike’s eyes light up. “You know, I think I like the real you. He’s feisty. It’s attractive. Anyway, your actions have a price, and you seem willing to pay it. I respect that. But I have one last question. You do know that gay people need Love Interests, right? It doesn’t make any sense to me why you didn’t tell us your orientation so we could’ve assigned you to someone more applicable.”

  I blink. It’s not something I’ve ever thought about, and it certainly wasn’t … Wait. It’s a trick. He’s trying to mess with me, throw me off my game. Or is he?

  “If you think that’s why I’ve done what I’ve done,” I say, “then you weren’t paying attention. I want to be free.”

  Craike leans forward and lays his handgun on the desk. The metal skitters against the glass. “The only true freedom in life is death, as you are about to discover. It’s time to go. Walk to your death like a man, Caden. I’ll give you that. Come on now, stand up, and let’s end this little tantrum.”

  NOW!

  I yank my glove off and leap for the gun.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-FIVE

  The Stalker moves as a blur, streaking across the room in a heartbeat. Pain flares in my shoulder blades. It’s behind me, wrenching my left arm behind my back. I have one shot before it pulls my arm out of its socket. Just one. I spin and push my outstretched palm, the one covered by the Bolt Glove, into the pulsing orb of light where the Stalker’s heart should be. I grit my teeth and grunt, putting all my strength into the push.

  Its mannequin head tilts slowly down to look at the hand that’s groping its chest.

  The glove hums, glows electric blue, and sends a shit ton of electricity right into the Stalker’s “heart.” The robot spasms. Its arm flings out and smashes into the chair, which shatters. I pull my hand away. The wires are steaming.

  The constellation of lights on the Stalker’s chest dim, then fade completely, and its body goes rigid. The head lolls and its chin touches its chest. Its knees collapse, and the behemoth body falls and crashes into the floor. Crack! A lightning-shaped fissure appears in the glass.

  I turn back. Craike is reaching forward, going for the gun. I grab his wrist just as he touches the handle.

  The Bolt Glove activates again. Craike spasms and falls limply to the desk, right onto the gun. Thank you, Juliet. I push him up and grab the gun with my free hand. I aim it at him. My finger twitches on the trigger. If I pull it now his head will explode.

  He groans and looks up at me, his eyes opening groggily.

  I press the gun to the side of his temple. “Open the front door.” I jab it in harder. “Now!”

  “As you wish.”

  Craike stands up and opens his computer. I walk around the desk, keeping the gun aimed at his heart.

  “You know you’re on camera,” he says. “I’d say you have about a minute before guards flood in and riddle you with bullets.”

  “What’s that thing you told me once about actors? I don’t believe you. There’s no way you’d have cameras in your private office. Now open the door or I’ll shoot.”

  He taps on the keys. A box in the corner of the screen shows security camera footage of the front door opening, revealing the bunker. I step forward and zap Craike again. He falls face-first to the desk and lies still. I place the gun down, then retrieve my phone from my pocket and start texting.

  Juliet. It’s open. Password 2484972. Hurry.

  On our way.

  I put the phone back in my pocket and aim the gun at Craike. Even though he looks passed out, I know better than anyone that appearances can be deceiving.

  I check the gun and see that it’s loaded, but it contains only one bullet. Carefully, I try to open his drawers to look for more ammunition, but they’re all locked. A quick scan of his bookshelf doesn’t reveal anything that could house bullets. So I have one shot. I’d better make it count.

  I glance at the computer. On the camera feed, I see my four friends sprinting past the jet. They reach the elevator. Juliet punches the code into the keypad. Come on … Yes! The doors open.

  Craike is stirring. His face is pale and one side is smeared with blood, yet he’s grinning a massive grin.

  “You brought them to me.” He laughs. “Thank you for that.”

  I jab the gun into his temple. “Tell me where the Stalkers are kept.”
>
  He continues laughing, high-pitched and maniacal. Slowly, he pushes himself off the desk and stands up.

  “Sit down,” I growl.

  He squares his shoulders, and his eyes meet mine. “You aren’t going to shoot me. You’re just a Love Interest.”

  “No, I’m not.” I lower the gun and aim it at his right kneecap.

  Even though I’ve been through hell, even though I’ve been told I’m worthless my whole life, even though I’m gay, even though the world wants me to bow down and accept that who I am makes me insignificant, the following is true:

  “I’m the protagonist, fucker!”

  I pull the trigger.

  A burst of red blood darkens his slacks, and he drops. It was the perfect protagonist move. It was violent, sure, but Craike will survive, so I don’t have a death attributed to me. I’m the hero because I only hurt him when he would’ve killed me. He will recover from this wound, which means I will as well.

  I run my fingers through his shiny hair then make a fist. I yank his head upward. “Tell me where they’re kept or I’ll kill you. I’ll do it. You always thought you could see through me, Craike. Well, am I acting now? Am I?”

  He grinds his teeth together. “Fine,” he spits. “They’re kept on level ten. Good luck getting there in one piece.”

  I slide my hand into his pocket and pull out two crumpled tissues and his wallet. I pull the key card from the wallet, then drop it and the tissues. They land beside his head.

  I lift up my shirt and scrub my face with it, mopping up blood until my skin feels raw and clean. I hang on to the gun, even though I’m out of bullets. If I’m convincing enough, anyone I come up against will automatically assume it’s loaded. I head out into the hallway. Thankfully, it’s still empty. I sprint toward the elevator. The plastic card sticks to my damp palm.

  The elevator beeps and the door opens. Inside are Natalie, Trev, Dyl, and Juliet. They all look pale and sweaty.

  Trevor blurts out, “This place is so trippy!”

  Everyone ignores him. Natalie is wearing a skintight black suit, the same one that hung in Juliet’s garage. Her hair is tied back in a high ponytail. I walk into the elevator and press the button marked 10.

  The door closes.

  I move to the back of the elevator to stand beside Dyl. “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey.”

  Juliet clears her throat. “So the Stalkers are on level ten?”

  I nod.

  The elevator stops and the doors open. Outside is a long hallway. The path to the right leads to a gray glass door that’s guarded by two men. One of the guards looks up. He looks young, I’d guess early twenties, and has a friendly face, with wide brown eyes and pale lips. The other is ridiculously buff.

  I turn my head and look down the hallway. It stretches on for about five hundred yards, then banks to the left. We can’t run. They’ll shoot us all before we reach the corner. The harsh neon lighting makes my eyes water.

  The guards shout something, then dash forward, their hands reaching for their weapons.

  Natalie charges past me. She sprints, pumping her arms and taking giant leaps toward the two guards. She reaches them before they can draw their guns. Fluidly, she drops down to the floor and sends a sweeping kick. Her shinbone hits the calves of the guard on the right. He flings his arms into the air and collapses. Natalie turns her attention to the other guard, her eyes narrowing as she moves. She ducks under his punch and sends a quick jab right into his throat. His face goes crimson, then he falls to his knees, his hands clawing at his throat. Natalie bends down and pulls their guns from their holsters.

  She stands. “Thanks, boys.”

  She spins, flashing a smile, then strides down the hallway back toward us. She hands one of the guns to Juliet.

  “Babe,” calls Trevor. “That was seriously the most badass thing I’ve ever seen. I love you so freaking much.”

  He grabs her by the shoulders and kisses her on the cheek.

  Natalie tugs at the sleeve of her suit. “It’s easier because of this, knowing I’m bulletproof, so you have to thank Juliet as well.”

  “No way,” says Juliet. “That was all you, Nat. But enough back-patting, we’ve got work to do.”

  “Agreed,” says Natalie.

  I pull Mr. Craike’s card from my pocket and step toward the screen. “Let’s hope this is a master key.”

  Trevor’s face drops and he leaps in front of Natalie.

  Bang.

  Bang.

  My ears ring. Trevor collapses. The guard at the end of the hall does as well, his blood smearing the mirrored wall behind him. His eyes roll back into his head. His mouth is hanging open, his tongue sticking out against his puffy lips. Natalie’s gun is smoking.

  “No,” says Natalie. Her arms are trembling.

  A vast chunk is missing from the middle of Trevor. It’s like someone gouged a giant shovel into his chest. His body is convulsing and blood is flowing from his mouth, covering his lips and jaw. It’s … it’s not good. No one could survive that. Trevor might not be dead yet, but he’s not going to survive this.

  “No,” says Natalie. She’s staring at him, pulling at her hair. He goes still. Natalie hasn’t even noticed yet. Oh God, Natalie hasn’t noticed yet. “No. I’m bulletproof. The armor … It … it … Trevor, you idiot! Trevor!”

  She looks down and sees the corpse. Her mouth opens but no sound comes out.

  “We need to go,” says Juliet. If she’s struggling with what happened to Trevor, it doesn’t show on her face. How can she be so practical? Trevor is dead. It happened so fast and it’s so bizarre I can’t believe it, even though it just happened right in front of me. Trevor, the boy who made a stupid joke mere seconds ago, is now dead.

  “Right now,” says Juliet. “Or we’re all dead.”

  Juliet grabs Natalie by the arm and pulls her forward. I watch them leave. Trevor’s guts are showing. His blood is splattered on the walls. He’s—

  Dyl grabs my wrist and pulls me from my thoughts.

  “Caden. We need to go. Come on!”

  I let him pull me forward and then we run down the hallway.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-SIX

  I press the card against the screen. It shows Craike’s face, and the sheet of glass descends, sinking right into the floor. Juliet goes first, holding the gun in front of her. We all step through after her.

  “Oh my—” says Juliet.

  At the far end of the room is a small army of Stalkers. Rows and rows of them, all standing perfectly still. They’re all dormant. At the very back of the room, in a glass cabinet, is a Stalker made of white plastic. It’s bigger and chunkier than the others. My first guess is that it’s a prototype.

  The rest of the room is taken up by a lab eerily similar to Juliet’s, albeit one that’s much cleaner. It’s filled with silver benches covered with neatly organized scientific equipment: test tubes, circuit boards, microscopes.

  Sitting at one of the desks, peering through a microscope, is a man in a long white lab coat. He has thinning brown hair and a gaunt, bony face. Square glasses sit at the end of his nose, making his brown eyes look much bigger than they really are.

  I step in front of the others, shielding them with one arm.

  He looks up from the microscope. “There’s no need for that nonsense, Caden. I’m not going to hurt anyone.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  He stands up and makes his way toward us, walking around a peculiar device. It’s a circular pad, about a yard in diameter, that sends up a pillar of soft blue light. The base of the pad is attached to a thick gray cable that leads to a computer.

  “Of course I know your name,” he says. “You have destroyed two of the most important advances in human history. Two of my creations. My children. You butchered them. So when you’re marched to the incinerator, and trust me, it will happen, I’m going to watch with a smile on my face.”

  “What happened to not hurting anyone?”


  “I won’t kill you myself, you idiot.” He turns to Juliet and bows. “Hello, my dear Juliet. My name is Dr. Scheinman, and I’m incredibly excited to meet you. A mind like yours, well, it’s like mine, rarer than one in a million. In the future, you will create as I have created.” His eyes focus on the Bolt Glove on my right hand. “And you already have. It would take an extraordinary weapon to destroy my extraordinary weapons. And you made this with minimal training in a shed in your backyard. You have so much potential, Juliet, and if you align yourself with an organization that can provide you with the right resources, you’ll conquer the world.” His eyes light up. “Speaking of, if you continue to create like you do, my employer will become interested in employing you. In fact, I believe they already are. The others must die, but you can live if you join us.”

  Juliet crosses her arms. “Thanks, but no thanks. I have no intention of inventing things that assist slavery.”

  He barks a harsh laugh. “But you’re willing to kill people? Come on, Juliet, you’re a creator, like me. You are as close as possible to the beings all those feebleminded religious people pray to. You are a goddess, Juliet, an inventor. It doesn’t matter what lesser people do with what you make, all that matters is that you made it.”

  “You’re wrong, that’s all that matters. Also, you’re a murderer, so no offense, but there’s no way I’m going to take career advice from you.”

  “How many people have you killed?” growls Dyl. “You created the Stalkers, right? They captured Love Interests and brought them back here to die. No, not Love Interests, they captured kids. Kids who are now dead because of you. You’re disgusting.”

  The scientist rolls his eyes. “And you’re a gullible fool. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is that …”

  I realize what he’s doing. He takes another slow step to the left. Toward the blue light.

  “Stop him!” I cry.

  It’s too late.

  He leaps into the light. Pinpoints of blue neon illuminate each of his joints.

  At the back of the room, one of the Stalkers lights up. The man steps forward, and the Stalker mimics his movements. It sprints toward us.