Lost Energy

by Lynn Vroman

  “Hey, dream girl. You want to get out of your head and join me for a second?” Farren’s terse whisper was as gentle as his jab to my shoulder.

  I squatted lower next to the neighbor’s porch across the street from mine. “Sorry.”

  “All right, listen. I’m going to backtrack, get closer to the car.” A red sedan parked a block from my doorstep was our unfortunate target. “As soon as the thing goes poof and those bastards take off, you get in, get the list, and get the hell out, understand?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I got it. Make sure you disappear before they make it to the car.”

  His amped-up face scrunched into a wounded stare. “Where’s the faith, kid?”

  “Calling me a kid when you look exactly the same age sounds stupid, Ginger. Can you even grow a beard, yet?” Mostly because I hated to swell his head, I grudgingly added, “I do have faith in you.”

  “Hey, no need to get salty because I age better.” He squeezed my knee. “And thanks.”

  “Whatever.” I snuck a glance at the closest unmarked. One cop poured something from a thermos while the other read the paper. The guy in the driver’s seat had to be about fifty and that many pounds overweight, but the one in the passenger seat sipping his drink looked to be about twenty-five and completely in love with being a cop. All muscle and buzz cut, like he spent his free time watching Cops reruns and NCIS. I hoped the two in the car farther down the street resembled frumpy cop. It’d be easier to get away if the blow-up routine didn’t work. “Do you feel any Protectors?”

  “Not from here.” He scrubbed his hair, tension tightening the skin around his eyes. “Shit. Okay, new plan. I’ll backtrack farther, take a trip behind your place, and if I feel anything, I’ll let you know.”

  “How?”

  He laughed, shaking his head. “If somebody’s there, you’ll know. Trust me.”

  When he went to leave, I grabbed his forearm. “Wait a second.”

  Concern etched his brow. “What?”

  His face, the Arcus color making him look deceptively deadly, twisted my heart. If anything happened to him… “Don’t get killed, okay?”

  He squeezed my hand with a grunt, his eyes going to my house. “You can’t get rid of me that easy, kid.”

  “Promise?”

  Farren didn’t answer, his jaw developing a tic.

  “Farren, you promise? Promise me, right now.”

  His eyes found mine, emotion swimming in his dark eyes. “I will if you will.”

  My arms snaked around his neck, the weight of what we were doing finally sinking in. “Deal.”

  “Get in, get out. Easy peasy.” He pulled away and scanned the street one more time. “If anything does happen, you need to stay strong. We have to end this shit, with or without me.”

  “I get it, really.” Maybe I did, but if anything did happen, I didn’t know if… It was a lot to ask, giving up the guy who slid so easily into the role of my brother. Not to mention it’d kill Belva. “Remember: I have faith in you.”

  Farren tapped his temple with a grin. “Got it right here.” He rubbed his hands together. His face shined with excitement, like that same enthusiasm most guys have on football Sunday.

  So not right in the head, but whatever. I’d rather him be excited about possible chaos. Shaky knees and skittish nerves would get us killed.

  After a wink, he faded into the shadows, careful to avoid the streetlights. The sidewalks had a few stragglers, most looking a bit wobbly as they tumbled from a house a few yards down. I guess the cops didn’t give a shit that a raging party with a few people I recognized from my graduating class was in full motion. Under-agers and public intoxication wasn’t as important as a dead body and kidnapped girl.

  I kept my focus on Farren as he waited for the few people to trundle off, talking way too loudly into their phones. For a big guy, he moved stealthily. If I weren’t paying attention to his every move, I would’ve missed him. A glance in the direction of Frumpy and Robocop allayed any worries. Neither one perked up with a glance in Farren’s direction.

  When he disappeared behind my house, tension tightened my shoulders. The longest five minutes ever ticked by. Finally, I spotted Farren’s red hair in the first hints of dawn’s sky. He sided up against the house next to mine, giving a quick thumbs-up in my direction. His white smile flashed in the shadows, causing me to roll my eyes even as I relaxed with a long exhale. I understood courage. What I had a problem with was the crazy.

  Farren pulled the hose from his back pocket and took off for the car. He swore our archaic crap could blow up fine with a hose and a match. Something about the stupidity of gas in combination with machinery. Solar power, he always said, gave enough energy to run everything without a flammable liquid.

  As long as I saw a street-side bonfire, he could light the damn thing any way he wanted.

  When he disappeared, I got ready to run. Track helped my speed–it also helped me take off at a moment’s notice. Wilma’s shirt ballooned around me, and so I tucked in the edges until the ends peeked through the leg holes of my dirty jean shorts. No need to have a parachute slowing me down. My concentration stayed on the car parked by my doorstep, house key held pointed and ready in my right hand. Frumpy and Robo looked to be in a heated conversation with the younger cop’s hands waving while the older shook his head and kept his eyes on the paper. Mount Pocono’s finest at its best.

  The blast came quick, as if Farren had pre-soaked the car before siphoning out the tank and lighting the match. The cops jumped, Robo’s flailing hands smacking Frump in the face while his paper smashed against the window. In seconds, sirens blared and the car skidded, making a U-turn with expertise. A quick glance at the second unmarked showed them doing the same thing.

  I was off. Though I pumped my legs as fast as I could, dreamy slow motion plagued me the thirty yards to my house and around the back to the stairs leading to my kitchen door. I skipped steps, leaping more than climbing, and stuck the key in the lock. A twist and a push and I was in, heading straight for my bedroom. I refused to look at the chalk outline on the floor by the living room radiator. Acknowledging the dead guy made his sacrifice too real.

  The house looked like a rave party took place. Furniture lay busted and scattered all over, the door to my mom’s room dangled from its hinges, and my room wasn’t any better.

  Trying to remember the place wasn’t important, even though it represented the freedom Mom and I fought for, I pushed through the rubble to get into my room. A snort escaped when my eyes fell on the tipped mattress. Did I say the list hid under my mattress? Correction. It hid inside, sewn in to be exact. Home Ec taught me a little.

  Whoever decided to give our place the hurricane treatment didn’t get what I needed, thankfully. I ran into the kitchen and grabbed a steak knife off the floor. Wasting no time, I stabbed the memory foam, digging in the blade until papers crinkled. The knife dropped to the carpet as I felt for the thick, folded notes. I tugged the yellowing stack free before finding my bag and shoving it in. I then went to my closet and searched my little hidey-hole, covered by some loose drywall the same blue as my walls.

  “Yes!”

  All the money I had saved for college and my ID were still there. At least I had that. My phone was nowhere in sight. I threw what I had in my bag, along with some clothes, and went to the living room window, forcing myself to stand in the dead guy’s outline. Still no sign of any cops near my place, but a few were racing toward the show, along with a couple fire trucks. Turning on my heel, I went to the back door, flew down the stairs to our designated meeting spot, and waited.

  And waited.

  Waited some more.

  Night disappeared completely and dawn snuck in to spoil our cover. If Farren didn’t show in the next few minutes, the sun he swore by would give us away. As all the bad ideas crept into my brain, from him blowing up with the car to getting arrested by Frump, his red head bounced in my view. Relief brought me to my knees, my only cover the bush beside the
local bank’s ATM. When he caught my eye, his smile stretched wide and his gait turned into a cocky saunter. Shaking my head, I stood to meet him.

  Before I could take a step, Farren stopped, a hand going to his head.

  Shit. Shit!

  The unmarked that wasn’t by my house, squealed to a stop, not three feet away from Farren. Impressive, seeing as how Farren stood in a backyard, complete with an herb garden and swing set.

  Over the din of the sirens, Farren waved his hand, and mouthed, Go to Wilma’s.

  I threw my bag into the bush and went to stand by his side.

  He wasn’t having it, shoving me hard toward the bank. “Don’t be fucking stupid.”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  Two men left the car, doors staying wide open, and approached us, interrupting our argument. Both had smirks on their plastic-looking faces. Before I had a chance to get into the fight, Farren charged both with one of those war cries heard in movies involving angry Highlanders.

  The noise surprised the two Protectors for seconds. But seconds were all Farren needed. Holding his arms wide, he clotheslined both in their necks. They dropped, but jumped right back up, double-teaming him.

  I raced to one, kicking him behind the knee before smashing my elbow in his back. He screeched, rolling off Farren, who got busy bashing the face of the other one he managed to hold under his weight.

  My guy wasn’t done, either. He stumbled to his feet and charged me. Before he could tackle my ass to the ground, Farren grabbed the guy’s ankles, which unfortunately helped free his target. “Run!”

  I still didn’t want to listen, especially when both guys pounced on him, giving Farren a proper beating. Feeling desperate, though, I ran. Ran until I made it to the fire–and to all the cops standing around said fire. I had to hold the edge of my T-shirt against my face, the smoke invading my lungs and stinging my eyes. “Help! That guy from TV’s beating up two cops!”

  At least five cops turned in my direction, including Frumpy and Robo. When they didn’t move, I repeated, “The guy. From TV. Is. Beating up. Two cops.”

  They finally sprang into action, following me as I took them to Farren. Right as we got there, one Protector had his arm raised about to open his fist, while his other arm curled around Farren’s neck.

  “No!” I ran, prepared to tackle the bastard, when hands cinched my waist.

  Five of the four cops approached Farren, their guns raised. One said something like “freeze,” while the two faux cops fumbled for the cuffs hooked to their belts, shifting into their roles. “We have him subdued. Lower your weapons.”

  Obviously, the Protectors didn’t have persuasion talents because Robo moved forward, gun still drawn. He jumped on Farren’s back, now three guys “subduing” him, as Ginger’s surprised face found mine. He didn’t struggle, though, just put his hands behind his back, doing everything the cop told him to do. The chaos continued, the cop holding me letting go to help.

  Once they all had him on his feet, Farren, my brother, looked my way with a subtle nod aimed at the alley by the bank. I snuck away walking backward into the shadows, grabbing my bag before taking off to Wilma’s.

  Now all I had to do was figure out how to bust Farren out of jail.

  Easy peasy. Yeah, right.

  WINSTON

  Once I crawled through Wilma’s window, I threw my pack on the couch and…paced for a while. My nails received a rough manicure, thanks to all the chewing, while I became an expert at convincing myself we were all fucked.

  What other choice did I have? Farren getting arrested was a lot better than those assholes taking him to Exemplar for… I couldn’t even think about it. Some time in a jail here would have a more positive outcome than an energy annihilation there. But how the hell would I get him out? I wasn’t James Bond, for Christ’s sakes.

  If Wilma would pop in this minute… I looked up.

  Come on down, you’re the next contestant…

  Crap, I was pretty damn close to losing it.

  By the time six rolled around, I flicked on the television to scout the morning news. The fire was the main story, and so was Farren’s arrest. The footage they had of him walking from the station and getting into the back of a police car made him look like a deranged killer. Arcus color highlighting his face and being five or six inches taller than everybody around him had a lot to do with it.

  Farren didn’t give them his real name, either. Even though my nerves were raw, or maybe because of it, when the anchor lady said, “A man claiming to be, ‘Magically Delicious,’ had no identification. Authorities are trying to find his true identity, though no fingerprints are on record…” I laughed until the tears rolled.

  Silly Ginger.

  Now what…now what…now what…?

  I wished a Break out of Jail for Dummies book existed. It’d make things so much–

  Lena.

  Tarek. I concentrated on his voice, letting it calm me.

  Things are worse than we thought.

  That didn’t calm me at all.

  Avery sent Nicolette with a message. Pause. Exemplar is definitely starting a war, beginning with Empyrean. Cassondra won’t stop until Teenesee is dead and the dimension is under Exemplian control. We need those people. Now.

  Oh. My. God. Guess Exemplar was pretty fucking ballsy.

  Avery said…Silence. She said to look for Winston Candell. He’s there in Earth. Another pause. Living in the same area as you.

  “Okay…and…?” I yelled at Tarek’s voice. Inside my head. His stupid pauses…

  Contact him by text. He gave the number. She said to tell him the favor is due.

  Well, now all I had to do was get my hands on a goddamn cell. Shit. Walmart, here I come.

  Have Farren approach him. Winston…he’s… A heavy sigh. He’s dangerous, strong. A notorious Protector known for his…dislike of anything Exemplian. But he owes Avery. She said he might know where some of those people are. Be careful. I love you.

  I hopped off the couch and exchanged Wilma’s shirt for my own, changing my shorts too. It took five minutes to leave the house, ball cap low over my face to avoid any chance of recognition. As I headed to the bus stop, a plan formed.

  Winston Candell might be dangerous, but he’d help free Farren. Whether he wanted to or not.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  I set up the phone and punched in the minute card numbers during the bus trip back into town. Once the bus stopped at the drop-off, I rushed to the doors, annoyed by some lady taking her sweet-ass time, giving the driver a lecture on how to avoid potholes with each step downward. When I finally made it out into the hot, sweaty morning, my temper was ready to explode. The woman’s lecture was futile. Trying to avoid potholes in PA was like trying to avoid breathing. And she cost me another five minutes.

  Despite the heat and hunger nagging me, I didn’t stop until I hit Wilma’s front door. After pulling Winston’s number from memory, I texted him the message and set the cell next to a bowl of fake apples in the kitchen. The guy would probably take forever. I’d text him again after I got something to eat. Hopefully, Wilma had some real food and not that nasty–

  The phone vibrated on the beige laminate counter.

  Holy shit.

  All the anxiousness built up waiting for the reply turned to hesitation. What if the guy was a dick? Worse, what if he decided to kill me for my guilt-by-association status with Exemplar?

  Then I thought of Farren and nothing else mattered.

  I reached for the phone, not really sure what to expect, but a quick, Martin’s Convenience 15 min, wasn’t it.

  No, who is this? Or, how’d you get my number?

  Whatever.

  I grabbed my stuff, along with a snack cake, and went to meet him.

  It took about ten minutes to walk to Martin’s. The parking lot teamed with activity, being the closest convenience store to the biggest water park in the northeast. People in all stages of dress pushed in and out the doors, some wearing s
kimpy swimming suits and flip-flops. And some people should’ve really considered throwing on a couple more layers of clothes, especially a particularly hairy guy in too-tight trunks.

  A few people hung out in front, an older couple making out, some kids asking a few people to buy them cigarettes, and a guy with dreadlocks slouching against the brick wall, earbuds planted in his ears. Not knowing what else to do, I leaned on the wall about six feet from Dreads and waited. I wasn’t sure what to look for, but from what Tarek fed my brain this morning, I pictured someone as big as him. Easy to spot. Next overly muscled guy who came through, I’d give him a nod…or something. A thumbs-up? I pulled out the phone. Maybe asking the guy what he looked like would help.

  I texted him the question and slumped to my butt, keeping an eye open for any Protector-like people. Finally, a big guy with an Abercrombie body sauntered toward the door. That had to be him. I had no clue why he’d come wearing swimming trunks, but maybe he thought it wise to blend.

  I stood, stretched my back, trying to act casual, and walked over. After a deep breath, I held out my hand. “I think you’re here for me.”

  His mouth formed a lopsided grin. “Am I?”

  Cocky, annoying, too hot for his own good…yeah, I found my guy. “Look, let’s skip the whole horse and pony, okay? Come on. I have a place.”

  His smile widened. “Damn, I do love the Poconos.” He moved into my personal space and traced a finger down my shoulder until he held my hand in his. “All I got is a fifty. You okay with that?”

  I backed up, yanking my hand from his grasp. “Wait. What?”

  “All right, seventy-five, but I’m talking full access to–”