by Darrell Pitt
At that moment things take a slightly radical turn. The kid suddenly freezes. At first I think he has heard us in the wardrobe. Then I hear a grunt and I see the kid race for the door. Two men crash tackle him to the ground. He hits the ground.
My stomach turns over. One of the men punches the kid – hard – in the stomach and I see him roll up like an injured bug. The men lift him to his feet, drag him into the office and throw him on the manager’s desk. One of them holds him down while the other one navigates around the desk. The man has his back to us; he is so close we could reach out and touch him.
“You’re gonna tell us everything you know about The Agency,” the man says.
“Please,” he gasps. “I don’t know anything -.”
“You’ll speak or -.”
That’s as far as the man gets. At that moment Brodie pushes open the door of the wardrobe and taps the man on the shoulder. He turns around in astonishment.
“Surprise,” she says.
Chapter Nine
Ten minutes later we’re walking down the middle of the sidewalk back towards the car. There is only one word the kid seems capable of saying and now he’s saying it a lot.
“Amazing,” he shakes his head. “Just amazing.”
“You’ll get used to it,” I say. “She’s like Bruce Lee. Only better. And faster. And prettier. And -.”
“Amazing,” he repeats.
“All in a day’s work.” Brodie flashes a smile. “Now, we’d better start with introductions. What’s your name?”
He looks down. “I wish I could tell you, but -.”
“Amnesia?” I ask.
“How’d you know?”
“It’s going around,” I say. “But there’s a cure.”
“There is?”
I check the back of his jeans. It turns out his name is Dan.
“I christen you Dan,” I say. “A last name costs extra. Now, tell us what you remember.”
He does. It’s more similar to Brodie’s story than my own. He woke up the previous day in an abandoned shop on the West side of Manhattan with no memory of his previous life. He wandered around aimlessly for a while before realizing he had a piece of paper in his pocket. Nothing was written on the paper, but it had a letterhead.
Cygnus Industries.
He would have gone to the police, but there was something that stopped him. Dan produces a folding knife from his pocket and shows it to us. It has blood on it.
“You don’t think -.” I begin.
Dan shrugs. “I didn’t know what to think. This isn’t my blood so whose is it? Did I stab someone? Did I kill them?” He stops. “I decided to lay low until I had some answers.”
“I know you don’t remember anything much,” Brodie says. “But you can obviously speak English. Can you speak any other languages?”
He frowns. “I’m not sure.”
“Say ‘my name is Dan’ in Japanese,” Brodie instructs.
“I can’t.”
“Vietnamese.”
“No.”
“Chinese?”
He lets out a string of words.
“Holy hell,” he says softly. “I can speak Chinese.”
It’s not so much his Chinese that impresses me, but his English. His English is good. Very good. He speaks with a very slight singsong inflection. Otherwise there’s no doubt he has spoken the language for a good many years.
“You know,” he muses. “I can remember streets too. Streets that are not from around here.”
“Are they in China?” I ask.
“I think so,” he says thoughtfully.
Now that he mentions remembering places other than here, my own mind begins to drift. An image comes to me as clear as day. A golden brown field of wheat. Blue sky. A farm house.
The image fades.
It’s the first time something has come back to me from my past life, from the time pre-now. I try to recover more of the thoughts – places, names and people – but nothing comes.
Dan continues. “I might have -.”
That’s when the shot rings out. It pings off a street light next to my head. We swing around. Damn. The two guys that Brodie took out of the equation back at Cygnus Industries are charging down the street after us.
We run.
Another bullet whistles past us. I spy a set of steps leading down into a subway. Pointing towards them, we take the stairs two at a time. There are turnstiles at the bottom. We push through these and hurry down another flight of stairs.
These lead to the station. A train has just pulled in. It lies about fifty feet in front of us. We race down the platform. The doors begin to close. I hold them open as Dan and Brodie squeeze in between them. The train starts to ease out of the station.
Yes!
I punch the air.
“We made it,” Brodie beams. “Now if -.”
The sound of gunfire is explosive and all consuming. I shove Brodie and Dan to the floor as I catch a glimpse of three men on the platform. The two men from the Cygnus office have been joined by a third man. He is holding a machine gun and raking the carriage with fire.
Glass explodes everywhere. People dive to the floor. The front cabin where the driver sits implodes inwards with shrapnel. Then the train picks up speed and disappears into the tunnel.
The carriage is relatively empty. The few people inside were scattered around the interior. Now they slowly pick themselves up off the floor. As far as I can see, through some miracle, no-one has been injured. Then I turn my attention to the driver. The door behind the driver contains a small glass panel through which I can see the interior.
The driver is slumped backwards over his seat.
Hell.
“What is it?” Dan asks.
“The driver’s dead,” I tell him.
The train continues to pick up speed as one of the passengers appears.
“What’s happening, son?”
“It looks like the driver’s dead.”
“Holy hell.”
“And we seem to be picking up speed.”
“Surely there’s a failsafe switch.”
That would make sense. “Maybe it was damaged in the gunfire.”
“It’s not going to be possible to open that door to get in,” Brodie says. “We should move everyone towards the back of the train.”
The man nods and starts directing passengers towards the next carriage. It strikes me that people are amazingly supportive of each other in a crisis. The train picks up even more speed. It begins to rock from side to side.
“We’d better get to the back of the train,” Brodie says. “We can’t do anything here.”
We start to move back, but Dan remains at the tiny square of glass, his eyes fixed on the driver. I grab his arm.
“We can’t do anything for the driver,” I tell him gently.
“I know.” Dan glances up at me. “Although I think I might be able to help.”
The train comes out of the tunnel and barrels along an elevated rail line. Apartment buildings fly past on both sides. I feel a real sense of fear. With the speed increasing, even with the people taking refuge in the rear, it’s going to be an almighty accident when it happens. A disaster. My heart is beating like a drum. We are not just simply going to slide sedately off the rails. We’re going to fly off this elevated line at high speed.
“What do you mean?” Brodie asks.
Dan stands back from the door and holds out his hands. He looks like a magician doing a magic trick. For a moment I wonder if he’s completely lost his marbles. Then I notice the door shuddering. It’s not just caused by the movement of the train. It’s more than that.
It’s Dan.
He’s doing it with his mind.
Chapter Ten
The hinges start to bend outwards. The door itself even starts to curve towards us as if a giant hand were angling it away from the frame. I glance at Dan. Sweat has broken out on his brow. His hands are shaking. I’m not sure how he’s doing this, but somehow he’s achievi
ng the impossible. Brodie stares at him wide-eyed. Finally the hinges snap and the door floats free.
That’s right.
Floats free.
It lurches to one side and settles against the wall. Dan drops his hands. There are a million things I want to say, but there’s no time. I stumble into the driver’s cabin. I try to ignore the blood spattered remains of the driver. The scenery outside races past the window.
I find it hard to think. We’re hurtling along at a terrific speed. The whole carriage is shuddering violently from one side to the other. I don’t know which control to manipulate.
Then I see it. The mechanism is obvious now that I recognize it. It’s a dead man’s switch, made to only operate when the driver’s hand is on it. But a bullet has driven itself into the metal housing, locking it into place. I grab it and pull back. At first nothing happens. Then it suddenly gives, dropping back to the off position. The train begins to slow.
The passenger vehicle is still rocking wildly from side to side, but at least now it doesn’t seem to be in danger of flying off the tracks. Just as well, too, because at that moment we’re heading for a bend. The train continues to decelerate. Finally as it reaches the bend it gives a final lurching shudder and comes to a halt.
Until then I’ve been holding my breath. I let it out as Brodie grabs my arm.
“Well done,” she says.
“Well done?” I reply. “I’m not the one who deserves congratulations.”
We both look back at Dan still standing in the vestibule area. He looks sort of embarrassed. We clap him on the back.
“Do you want to explain all that?” I ask.
“I wish I could,” he says. “I noticed it not long after I woke up. I was sitting on a park bench watching a coin on the pavement. I thought of how that would be handy to have some money. Suddenly it started sliding towards me. I thought I was possessed.” He gives a nervous laugh. “After some practice I realized I could move metal objects. I started with small things like coins and later moved onto larger objects.”
“And you didn’t mention this to us?” Brodie asks. “The reason being…”
“I didn’t want to seem like a weirdo.” Dan shrugs.
“You’re not a weirdo,” I say. “You’re a damn…superhero.”
“You’re super…Dan,” Brodie finishes lamely.
“Super Dan,” he says. “That’s great. Real catchy.”
I shake my head. “Let’s worry about names later. I think we should get out of here. I don’t want us to try explaining this to the authorities.”
We make our way down the length of the train. It looks like the fire brigade, ambulance and police have turned up. A ladder extends to the elevated line and people are being helped down one at a time. When it comes to our turn we get to street level, but it turns out the police have grouped the passengers together for questioning.
A police officer starts directing people towards a diner. Obviously they intend to personally interview everyone as to the events on the train. I nervously look for an opportunity to escape, but the only way out of here would seem to be breaking free of the group and running at full pelt down the road.
Not a sensible plan.
Everyone is crowded into the diner. We position ourselves into a booth at the end. After a few minutes a man comes over to talk to us. I recognize him as the one we spoke to on the train.
“You three seem a little quiet,” he says.
“Uh, yeah,” Brodie says. Then, “What do you mean?”
“It was you kids on the train who stopped it,” he says. “You saved everyone. Why don’t you just tell the cops?”
We look at each other in silence.
Finally I speak. “We’d rather keep a low profile. We don’t want to attract attention to ourselves.”
The man nods, giving it some thought. “I suppose we owe you all our lives. If that’s how you want it to be…”
“It is.”
“Okay.” The man looks over towards the counter. “There’s probably an exit through the kitchen. You’ll just have to go round the serving area. If there were a diversion you might be able to leave.”
“What are you suggesting?” Dan asks.
The man glances at the two cops at the door. “Just be ready for anything.”
We watch as the man slowly saunters to the door. He starts speaking to the cops in an amiable sort of way. After a moment, though, we start to hear him using words like equal rights and freedom of passage. Everyone in the diner turns to watch the altercation as he raises his voice. After a minute, he’s shaking with anger and pointing at the police in a threatening way.
In the next instant he clutches his chest and grabs both the cops. It looks like he’s having a heart attack.
“Come on,” Brodie says. “Now’s our chance.”
I’m so entranced by the stranger’s performance that I’d forgotten it was all simply an act to create a diversion. I don’t know what his profession is, but he should consider acting. As the crowd assembles around the man who has now fallen to the floor with the cops trying to revive him, Brodie leads us around the counter and into the kitchen. A black haired woman is standing at a bench cutting up tomatoes. She looks at us curiously and says something to us in Spanish.
I have no idea what she is trying to communicate so I simply smile and point to the back door. We keep moving. A moment later we’re in a back alley behind the diner. Just as we start away from the eatery, a voice yells from behind us.
Two cops hurry down the alley towards us. Obviously they were patrolling the area and saw our escape.
“You kids were on that train, weren’t you?” one of them says.
I look confused. “What train?”
His partner frowns. “I think we’d better have a little talk to you.”
Dan frowns at them. “You don’t need to talk to us.”
Both the men look at him. For a long moment it’s as if time has come to a halt. They stare at him, mesmerized. Finally one of them nods in agreement.
“That’s right,” he says dully. “We don’t need to speak to you.”
“We weren’t on the train,” Dan says.
“You weren’t on the train,” the other cop says.
My mouth drops open. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Dan is somehow brainwashing the cops into following his instructions. Obviously this is another little aspect to his powers he has forgotten to mention to us.
Of course, what’s that thing they say about the corruption of power?
“We’re not the droids you’re looking for.” Dan is now in full swing. He’s smiling broadly now and gives us a big wink.
“Star Wars?” I murmur. “You’re giving us Star Wars?”
“They’re not the droids we’re looking for,” the cop says, although even he seems puzzled by what he’s saying.
“May the force be with you,” Dan says gravely. “Always.”
The cops nod, turn and head back down the lane in the opposite direction. At the end they turn and disappear from sight. Brodie and I look to each other and then to Dan.
Brodie grabs his arm. “You can control minds?”
“Did it occur to you to mention this?” I ask.
“I was about to,” he says. “I didn’t get a chance -.”
Brodie looks furious. “Don’t you ever do this to me without -.”
Dan holds up his hands. “I promise I will never do anything to you guys. Ever.”
He seems sincere, I think, though I can understand Brodie’s anger. It’s a horrible idea to think of someone manipulating you against your will. Someone taking away your free will and using you like a puppet.
“So where do we go from here?” I ask.
Dan’s smiles. “Wherever you want.”
Chapter Eleven
The view is fantastic. Even I have to admit it. But that’s not too surprising. We have just rented the entire penthouse suite of The Robison, a hotel on Madison Avenue. It’s not the best hotel in
town, but it’s close to it. Certainly beats living on the streets.
The more I think about the image in my mind of the wheat field, the more I decide I’m not from New York. I don’t know how I came to be here, but somehow a boy living in a rural farming area got hijacked and dropped off in one of the world’s biggest cities.
At least I’m not roughing it anymore. The penthouse of The Robison is as good as luxury gets. It has six bedrooms and an open plan living area with leather lounges and television in every room – including the bathroom. Not that the television is worth watching. It’s the same old thing. Wars. Fears of financial recession. A feel good story about a dog rescued from a well in Siberia.
The leasing of the place came easy, though I can’t say I felt relaxed during any part of it. We simply went up to the front desk and Dan asked for the best apartment in the building. For a few seconds the man looked down his nose at him. Then Dan produced a wallet full of imaginary money and handed him a wad of it.
Later they’ll check their takings and find they’re down by several thousand dollars. Okay, I don’t feel right about it. Neither does Brodie, but it’s better than spending another night in the warehouse. Ultimately it’s a question of survival.
Well, this is surviving, alright.
Room service has already delivered pizzas, chips and soft drinks three times. That’s after we’d already cleaned out the contents of the mini bar. Dan suggested sampling the extensive range of alcohol available to us, but I vetoed it. We need to be clear headed in case guys with guns come knocking at the door.
Of course, Brodie and Dan are both super powered. One of Dan’s additional abilities seems to be able to multi-process eating pizza, drinking coke and playing a computer game called Planet of Hell whilst lounging sideways on a sofa.
Oh, as well as carrying on a conversation.
“Is this the life, or is this the life?” he asks.
“This is the life,” I agree.
“But is it ethical?” Brodie asks.
“What does that mean?” Dan frowns, killing a demon and taking another quick bite of pizza.
“Ethical. Moral. The right thing to do.” She looked pissed about the whole thing. “Aren’t we supposed to be using our powers for good?”