“What about Felton, Murdock, and Chief Johnson?”
He shrugged and said he was uncertain. “They’ll be the first people I watch for, as they’re so close to this case as it is.”
“You don’t think it is them, do you?”
Twelve only told her he hoped they weren’t. “It’s too soon to tell. But Mia, don’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”
She agreed and watched as the man headed for his exit at her window. Mia only stopped him to ask what they should do about the city, but Twelve said it wasn’t his greatest concern. “Things are still unstable and I’m at a loss of what to do. I imagine all of our jobs will become far more frenetic than they were just a week ago.”
Mia asked if he still believed they could save the city but by the time her question escaped her lips, Twelve was gone. She only cursed under her breath, shut the window and locked it, and quickly walked back to her bedroom to dress.
---*---
12:13 PM
London, England
Ian slept soundly on his couch in his Voltage costume, even with the mask on. He’d only returned seven hours ago and since he didn’t have any pressing engagements for the following day he elected to crash on his couch without so much as removing his outfit. Sadly he neglected to shut his phone off and someone felt obligated to wake him. He woke startled, confused, and slightly disoriented as he flipped his phone open and asked who it was.
“It’s Drake. I’m on the roof of your building.”
Ian let out a breath and asked why he didn’t just meet him inside, but Drake only told him to join him. Drake hung up before Ian could object.
Ian hung up, rolled of his couch and hit the floor. He stood up and walked over to his refrigerator to grab two sodas, one grape and one orange, and then Ian left for the roof through his window. Drake sat on the ledge of the building with his legs over the edge. Ian climbed up the fire escape and took a seat next to him. He gave Drake the grape soda and asked what Drake wanted to talk about before he opened his own drink.
“I found out who killed my father and Victor,” Drake told him as he opened his soda.
“Who was it?”
“Jordan.”
Ian looked at him and asked if he was joking. Drake didn’t make eye contact with him, repeated that Jordan killed them, and took a sip of his drink.
“How did you find out?” Ian asked him.
“Nick told me.” He revealed Nick’s confrontation with both Jeremy Dalton and Jordan. “Nick knocked on my door, soaked in blood, and told me everything.” Drake stared down at the street beside Ian’s apartment building and recounted how Nick cried for hours as he told him everything. “His girlfriend Amy’s dead too.”
“Jordan killed her?”
Drake nodded.
Ian took an apprehensive breath and asked if Jordan was incarcerated, which he assumed to be the case until Drake told him Nick didn’t incapacitate him very well. “By the time the police arrive at the scene of the crime Jordan was conscious and bore the appearance of a young woman. He claimed a sex predator abducted both he and Amy and raped them, though he was long gone by the time any examination could have started.”
“Are they looking for the girl he posed as?”
He said they probably were. “I told Nick to stay with me for a while, seeing as he won’t go and live with Paul again and doesn’t have any money to live off of.”
“I thought he was still living with Paul, even after that fight you mentioned.”
Drake said it was a lie. “Apparently Nick’s been staying with this French girl he met through work, though they’ve parted company since the incident.” Drake mentioned how the young woman was a target of the two assassins and how Nick felt vulnerable being anywhere near her. “He told her he couldn’t protect her any longer and told me he wanted out of his old life.”
“What ‘old life?’”
He appraised Ian of Nick’s unseen lifestyle, how he joined a group bent on stopping the Dáfù, Nick’s obsession with hunting down his brother’s murderer, and how sick it all made him. “He told me he never liked it to begin with and felt that it’s what pulled him and Amy apart.” Drake took another swig of his grape soda and added how guilt stricken Nick was. “Her funeral’s today actually.”
“Is he going?”
Drake nodded and said he would be there as well. “The overall story is that Nick showed up for dinner with her in Seattle but she never showed herself.” Drake sipped his soda once more before he added how he removed all traces of Nick’s blood, hair, and fingerprints from the crime scene and from the police’s possession.
“Why would you do that?”
He looked at Ian and asked how Nick was supposed to clear his name if they approached him. “Nick’s innocent and doesn’t need to deal with this; all I did was save him further grief and the police some wasted time.”
Ian looked back out toward the city and let out a breath before he asked, “So no one knows the truth but the few of us?”
Drake said that was the case. “How the hell was Nick supposed to explain that entire disaster and convince everyone that it was true? They’d think he was insane…or the killer himself.”
Ian frowned and admitted that Drake was probably right. “So what’s next?”
Drake finished his soda and asked what he meant. “I have no clue how to find Jordan, assuming he’s still in the state. All I want to do is help Nick recover from all of this crap he’s had to deal with in the past few months.”
Ian lowered his eyes and asked how so many terrible things could spring up in such a short period of time. “Things were so simple last year. What happened to that?”
Drake shrugged, “Maybe we just couldn’t see how horrible things really are. It is startling though,” Drake added. “One of our best friends is a killer and we hardly knew it.”
Ian muttered something about seeing the trees among the forest. Although Ian failed to quote the saying, Drake knew what he meant.
“I heard about your heroics,” Drake started. “Did you ever find the guy who kidnapped her?”
“No. I looked through the tunnels for a few hours the next night but he was long gone I guess.”
“Any idea who he was?”
Ian shook his head, “It’s not like I can really identify anyone from here though. Everyone’s anonymous to me right now.”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to wait and see if he resurfaces.”
“I guess so…hey, do you want to grab lunch?” Ian asked him once he realized how famished he was.
Drake declined the offer and promised to join him some other time. “I’m planning on heading to the People’s Republic of China to look at buying a sword or something.”
Ian didn’t understand Drake’s seemingly random desire, but guessed it had to do with his inability to manage all of the time he possessed. He watched as Drake crushed his empty can in his hands, took aim at an open trash bin on the sidewalk below, and effortlessly made the shot.
“I’ll see you around Ian,” he said as he waived and fell off the edge of the building backwards. Ian watched his friend fall, only to see him stop near the ground, become a blur, and vanish entirely.
Ian finished his drink, mimicked Drake’s shot into the trash, and flew off the building in search of a good meal. He didn’t manage to go far before he noticed a speeding car heading straight for a young woman who tried to jog across the street and failed to see the car. Ian dove toward her, swept her off her feet, and managed to save her easily before the car neared.
He looked at the young woman and nearly forgot who he was when he saw her. She had strawberry-blonde hair, a fine complexion, and hazel eyes. She looked back at the place she stood only moments ago and breathlessly thanked him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even see that car.”
“Uh…don’t worry about it.” He couldn’t think of what to say next. His heart raced and he felt numb too, but held her tight and tried to focus on the flight without looking away
from her.
“So what do they call you?”
“Um…Voltage,” he said while his ears reddened, suddenly realizing how childish it seemed to have a super hero’s identity.
She wrapped her arms around his neck after she glanced down. “Thanks again,” she said. “I’m Emily by the way.”
---*---
1:10 PM
Bothell, Washington
Vladimir followed an employee into the Calming Wake. The employee held the door open for him, Vladimir thanked him, and quickly found his seat at the table of a robust young Russian.
A cup of water stood on the table, which Pyotr indicated was for Vladimir. The Romanian greeted his friend casually as the Russian took a drink from his own cup of water.
“Where’s Rachel?” Pyotr asked.
“School. And she plans to spend the afternoon with her friends should that be acceptable.” He locked eyes with his comrade and asked if they were needed.
Pyotr shook his head and said it was only a question. “I feel that I must apologize for the task I set upon you and Rachel last weekend.” He swirled his drink counterclockwise for a moment before he said it was unfair to set them up for such a task so prematurely. “I would have accompanied you had I been able to.”
“And what you hindered Pyotr?”
Pyotr kept his mouth shut. He left Vladimir to order a cocoa with cream which he returned with in hand as well as a small black straw to stir it. He took a sip and offered Vladimir some, who refused it. “You really should try this sometime. They’re marvelous.”
“It would be a waste as I could not taste it,” Vladimir reminded him.
“Yes, of course…” Pyotr stirred his drink a bit before he spoke again, “Joshua is dead.”
Vladimir looked him in the eye and asked how it happened. “I thought you did not know where he was?”
“I didn’t but suddenly he was no longer cloaked from me.”
“Then you killed him?”
Pyotr shook his head. “He was burnt to death by a third party. But I was able to see the ash and verify that it is true. He is dead.”
Vladimir sat back in his seat and let out a small sigh of relief. He then continued, “That leaves Raphael and Constantine.”
Pyotr nodded and mentioned how they’d caught a stroke of luck.
Vladimir let a smile come upon him, “I remember you saying there is no such thing as luck.”
Pyotr grinned, “There isn’t.”
Vladimir finished his water while Pyotr drank his cocoa. Vladimir then asked, “Do you know where Raphael might be?”
Pyotr remained quiet and shook his head. “Not at the moment. I’ve heard whispers about events that could very possibly lead us to him in Honduras; however none of them feel substantial enough for me to ask you to investigate.”
Vladimir frowned, “Then we are still in the dark about everything…”
“It would seem so.”
Vladimir set his plastic cup away from himself before he offered a sigh of relief, “Then our journey is nearly complete.”
Pyotr smiled, “It’s getting there.”
Vladimir studied him and asked, “What are you plotting Pyotr?”
His Russian companion took a sip of his water and shook his head. “I believe we’ve been through this, old friend. None of this is my plan.”
“Well then, what of it?”
Pyotr grew solemn in an instant and regrettably denied Vladimir a concrete answer. “Constantine’s journey, his tyranny is at an end, yes, but I fear there is much more afterwards Vladimir.”
Vladimir studied his eyes and frowned. “Pyotr, what is it?”
He shook his head and sighed, “I truly wish I could tell you, but there are matters beyond my control. I am, as you know limited in what I can do here, as impossible as that might seem.” Pyotr took a deep breath to compose himself and continued on another note, “But Constantine’s demise is ever so close; it is all we need to focus on for now.”
“And what of these events you have mentioned Pyotr?” Vladimir stopped him. “Our agreement–”
“I know Vladimir, I know. And this very well may not concern you in the end, but not all of our party will be exempt.”
“Rachel?”
He nodded. “Her story is not going to end once Constantine is felled my friend.”
Vladimir rubbed his eyes and pushed his water away from him. “Can you tell me anything Pyotr?”
The angel smiled and simply said, “We’re almost done Vladimir. Let that be enough for now.”
---*---
Author’s note:
I started this novel near the tail end of my senior year of high school back in 2007. I had a creative writing teacher who mentioned one day that if someone ever wanted to be a writer that the best time to start was in high school, as high school students are generally unproductive with their massive amounts of free time. What my teacher said resonated with me and I started to examine just how much time I had that I failed to utilize, and I realized he was right. I went home, bought a notebook, and started writing.
But this book hasn’t been easy for me to write. Writing itself comes easy enough, but I can spend an entire day writing something wonderful, something I’m genuinely proud of, and the very next day I’ll reread it and want to tear it to shreds. Regenesis has always been a source of anguish and melancholy for me. I have high hopes for it and I have great fears that this book is absolutely terrible. And after five years of writing, editing, rewriting, rearranging, and even more rewriting, I sincerely worry that this book is pure garbage. So if it is, I apologize.
But anyway, I wanted to make a bit of a note as to what spurred this book. I was fascinated by super heroes and the supernatural throughout my adolescence (and I admit I’m still enthralled to this day) and originally I wanted nothing more than a super hero novel that was simply something fun and interesting. But as I wrote, the characters I thought were the main characters stepped aside for others, and one in particular (Mizuno) went from having nothing more than a single page in my book to transforming into one of the most important figures in the novel (if not the most important one). Pretty soon I realized that Regenesis wasn’t a joke anymore, at least not in my eyes.
I’ve done my best to focus on the people in the book rather than the super heroes, mainly because as I’ve finished this book and begun my work on the sequel, I’ve regretted using super heroes as a literary tool because a lot of people don’t believe super heroes can be a serious thing. And I don’t think they are either, but Regenesis is supposed to be.
Let me take a moment to add that I take this book seriously and I believe it’s translated into the text and it can be seen therein. But if not, I never intended to make these characters a laughing matter.
Regenesis is really about melancholy and isolation and abandonment (intentional or otherwise) and I didn’t realize what that meant to me until I was married and I wasn’t depressed or alone anymore. This novel is basically a compilation of the emotions of a downtrodden and socially awkward young man who only had this one outlet to expunge his rage, frustration, melancholy, and hatred. I know a good portion of the readers are going to be from my high school and college days and they may have even known me fairly well back then, and I just want to apologize for failing to open myself up more. I didn’t know how and I doubt I could have then even if I had tried. Social settings were a painful and an eternal nightmare, which is why I never attended social events outside of hanging around with my absolutely closest friends. In retrospect, I’m not sure why I was so neurotic, but I was (and I imagine I still am to some extent). It ruined my primary education years as well as some of my years though college, but at the same time I might have never written this novel without that constant need to remain distant from others. So if you knew me at all in high school and were put off by me, or if I seemed distant or short or curt or rude, I’m sorry.
In any case, Regenesis was also a personal aid that managed to help slowly br
eak me out of my own little world by creating another one. I’ve only ever shared this book with a select few people, mainly out of fear that others would not receive it well (and also that I have always felt the book is incomplete or unpolished), but now I’m tired and I know I need to move on to the next work. So finally this book is available to anyone interested in it, or interested in what I’ve spent about a fourth of my life on.
Acknowledgments:
There are a lot of people who helped shape this novel, as well as future novels of mine. I would have loved to dedicate this novel to each of them, but this will have to suffice for now.
First, I would like to thank Taylor Wilson, Helen Pemberton, Emily Ferguson, Leslie Ferguson, Libby Kronstedt and her mother Maureen Lytle (for their exemplary assistance with editing this book), and J.C. Rainier, all of whom not only read my work in its various early and incomplete forms, but also gave me the criticism I needed to better shape Regenesis. Without their support I might have simply let this project fall to the wayside. Also, a very special thank you to “Mythological” Daniel Schue, who helped me work out many of the theoretical and nonsensical elements of this book (specifically with time manipulation). And a very, very special thank you to Julian Weaver who designed the cover art for this book. And I cannot forget to (eternally) thank my wife Kendra, who has not only suffered through my brooding and constant concern over this work (and innumerable other matters), but who held nothing back and helped me shape some of the weakest parts of Regenesis into what I feel are its strongest points.
Second, to the following musical artists for their works that inspired me so very much. Special thanks to the Silversun Pickups (specifically for Carnavas and Swoon), Sparta (for Threes), the Deftones (for Saturday Night Wrist and Diamond Eyes), Tool (for 10,000 Days), the Smashing Pumpkins (for Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness and all of Teargarden by Kaleidyscope), Barcelona (for Absolutes), Brand New (for The Devil and God Are Raging Inside Me), Evanescence (for Fallen), Soundgarden (for Badmotorfinger, Superunknown, and Down on the Upside), Nirvana (for Bleach and In Utero mostly, as well as the demo versions of Do Re Mi and You Know You’re Right), Alice in Chains (for Black Gives Way to Blue mostly), and Company of Thieves (for their self-titled album).
Impact (Book 1): Regenesis Page 67