GeneSix

by Brad Dennison

  The detective was still taking notes. Emma was standing, tears streaming down her face, and Lisa still had her arm about her. Sondra was sitting in the rocker. The great grandmother, who thought in all of her eighty-six years she had witnessed pretty much everything bad that can happen to a person. But now she was witnessing this. An innocent child abducted. Probably brutalized. And she was feeling the mind-numbing helplessness of being unable to do anything about it. Of being able to do absolutely nothing to protect her family.

  Suddenly the room began growing darker. Not in the gradual way it had so mysteriously done over the years, no matter which house she had lived in. It had begun in the first house she and Dean had lived in, oh so many years ago. Except, this time it was fairly suddenly, like someone was playing with a dimmer switch.

  A voice suddenly boomed out from all around them. Baritone. Almost menacing. “Everything is all right. No need to fear. I am bringing Kaylie back to you.”

  A shape began to appear in the middle of the room. Lisa and Emma gasped, physically taking a step back. Sondra pulled off her glasses to rub her eyes. She had had a cataract removed a year ago by laser surgery, and wondered if the other eye was going. She put her glasses back on, and the shape was still there. Coalescing.

  It began to take on a sort of human image. Like a silhouette of a man. And he was holding something.

  It was Kaylie. The man/thing set her down, and she ran to Emma. “Mommy!” she squealed gleefully.

  “Kaylie.” Emma barely breathed the word, kneeling down and scooping Kaylie up in her arms.

  The baritone spoke. “She is safe.”

  The detective simply stood and stared. His mouth was open. The pen and notepad he had been using to jot down things Emma had been saying simply fell to the floor.

  Sondra should be afraid, she knew. After all, a man had appeared out of thin air right in front of them. And he was not really a man, but some sort of ghastly apparition. And yet, somehow, she was not.

  She rose to her feet. “Who are you?”

  “I am called nothing, but I think of myself as the Darkness.”

  “Mommy,” Kaylie was babbling. “The man just made me into a ghost and we flew across the city. It was so cool. This mean man took me, but the ghost man got me back.”

  He said to Sondra. “I have always been watching over you. When the lights go dim, it means I am here. I will let no harm come to you or yours.”

  “But..,” she didn’t know what to say. What to ask. What do you ask at a time like this? When everything you were taught about what is real and what is not seems to be disproving itself right in front of you.

  “I love you,” the baritone boomed. Threatening, frightening, and yet somehow soft and reassuring. “I always have, and always will.”

  He then reached toward her, and took her chin in his fingers. They were cold, and reminded her of stone.

  “I shall never be far,” he said.

  He then pulled his hand away, and began to fade from view and the lights began to once again fill the room.

  “Wait,” she said. “Don’t go.”

  But he was gone.

  The detective was simply staring.

  Emma was hugging Kaylie furiously, like she was afraid to ever let go of her again. Lisa was hugging the both of them.

  Sondra stood, looking off toward the center of the room. A tear slowly trickled its way down her cheek.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Darkness went to see Mother. She was sitting at a table, a cup of tea before her. Though Sondra was now eighty-six, Mother still looked fortyish, as she had all those years ago. Except for the silver she now allowed into her hair.

  “Hello, my son,” she said. The darkening of the room always told her when her son was present. There was also a little feeling like a small breeze touching your face. It was subtle and easily ignored, if you didn’t know what it meant.

  “Mother,” he said. “I have done something stupid.”

  And he told her what he had done. She listened intently, occasionally taking a sip of tea. She cringed a little when he told her what he had done to the kidnapper.

  She said, “Sondra is the girl you have always loved?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Wait. You know about her?”

  She smiled. “A mother always knows.”

  “Well, this time I was careless. I let my feelings for Sondra cause me to be so. I let her and her family become aware of my existence. And the police detective, as well.”

  “Nothing might happen,” she said. “Let’s just wait and see. I’ll check the papers, and watch the news for any mention of you.”

  “Please forgive me.”

  “Oh, my son. There is nothing to forgive. You have always protected. For so many years. It was only a matter of time before someone became aware of you. Especially in this modern age, with security cameras everywhere, and the press scrutinizing everything and everyone. It’s a wonder anyone has any privacy at all.”

  She became aware of the dark, humanoid shape standing before the table. It was all she would ever have of her son. This she knew, and had accepted long ago. Or, at least, accepted as much as a mother ever could.

  “I must go,” he said. “There are others who need me. I will check in tomorrow.”

  She nodded. “Be careful, my son. And know that I love you.”

  “I do, Mother. And I, too, love you.”

  And he began to fade from view, and the room began to lighten.

  As he was fading from the room, he suddenly heard a scream from off in the night. Even though he had been standing in the room with Mother, he had not been entirely there. Part of him had still been spread out onto the night winds, and it was this part of him that had heard the scream.

  He followed the scream to its source, a parking lot outside a small grocery store.

  It was late, and there were few cars in the lot. A girl, maybe twenty, was being pulled into one of the cars. Not on my watch, the Darkness thought, and was about to do something, when another man came running. He was mid-twenties, with dark hair, and was wearing jeans and a denim jacket. The Darkness could feel a sort of energy wave emanating from him. What the hell?

  The car door slammed shut, and the car, which was already running, was put into reverse to back out of the parking space, but the man in the jean jacket simply grabbed the rear bumper and lifted, and the wheels spun in the air.

  The Darkness now hesitated fully. He would let no harm come to the girl, but he had to see just what this man was. How he was able to do this. Was he one of the people Mother had talked about? Someone who had been altered? Like himself?

  The driver took his foot off the gas, so the man set the car back down, then dug his fingers into the gap between the door and the body of the car and pulled the door cleanly off its hinges, and tossed it to the pavement. He pulled the man from the car, and with a clout to the face, knocked him cold.

  The girl was stepping from the car. She was shaken, yet had her composure. “How did you do that?”

  “I..,” the man was about to say something, but cut himself off.

  “You’re Jake Calder, aren’t you? The guy who was caught in that reactor accident a couple years ago.”

  The man sighed with resignation. He apparently clearly didn’t want this kind of attention, or recognition.

  “Just call nine-one-one,” the man said. “But don’t tell them about me.”

  “How can I not? How can I explain a car door being ripped off its hinges? I owe you my life, but how can I explain this to the cops?”

  “Look,” the man said - Calder, the girl had said his name was. “If you feel you owe me, then don’t say anything. Say the guy must have hit another car, or something. Or just play dumb.”

  Calder turned to walk away.

  “Wait,” she said. “Don’t go.”

  Jake stopped and turned back to her. “Please. Just do like I’m asking you, okay? I never wanted any of this. I’m glad I was able to help, but I never ask
ed for any of this. I just want to be left alone.”

  She looked at him for a moment, questioningly.

  “Okay,” she said. “If that’s what you want.”

  “And call nine-one-one, before that guy has a chance to wake up.”

  She nodded. She wore a shoulder bag, and began digging into it for her phone.

  Jake Calder turned and walked away into the night. Except, he was not alone. There was darkness all about him as he walked along the street. A darkness that was curious as to just who this man was and what the limits of his power was. And if this power could make him potentially dangerous, and if maybe needed to be stopped.

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jake Calder perched on a barstool, leaning forward on his elbows. A mug of Moosehead was in front of him. Beside him was Scott Tempest, and they were having the usual argument they had when Scott filled himself with too much beer.

  Actually, the subject of the argument was not always the same, but the end result hardly varied. Scott would say inane things, designed to piss Jake off, and when Scott succeeded, he would fall into uncontrolled laughter. At least Scott was a happy drunk.

  Jake looked at him and shook his head. “Here you are, the smartest man on Earth, and you have beer foam in your beard.”

  Scott broke out into a cackling laugh. “That’s funny, Jake! That’s really funny!”

  Scott was about Jake’s age. He had a full beard the color of a chestnut, and his hair usually fell into place neatly, but when he was drunk, sections of it seemed to take on a life of their own and go their own way.

  “Come on, man,” Jake said. “People are staring at us.”

  “They stare anyway. You want to know why? Because you’re Jake Calder. The most powerful man on Earth!”

  Jake sighed. “Do you have to announce that to the whole blasted bar?”

  The bartender looked up. He was tall, wide shouldered. Dark skin announced his African ancestry. His head was shaved, and at first guess Jake would put him at early twenties. Probably another grad student working to pay his way through school. “Did I hear right, man? Are you the Jake Calder? The one caught in that freak reactor accident a couple years ago?”

  Jake was in the process of shaking his head, about to deny it, to say no he was somebody else, when Scott Tempest piped up, “You got it, man. The very one.”

  “Wow,” the bartender said. “Is it true you can bench press a Mack truck?”

  “No,” Jake said.

  But Scott chimed in, “Man, he can do that with one hand.”

  Jake snapped at Scott. “Will you please just shut up?”

  “Come on, man, I’m just having fun. But it’s true. You can lift a Mack truck with one hand.”

  “It’s just, I don’t like being the center of attention. You know that. Can’t we just have a beer without you getting frigging drunk and making a fool out of both of us?”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right,” Scott said, taking on a look of seriousness, but Jake knew his old friend well enough to know it was only mock seriousness. “You know what you need, Jake?”

  Jake rolled his eyes. He knew where this was going. “Don’t say it.”

  “A secret identity. That’s what all super heroes have, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not a superhero. There are no such things as superheroes. I’m just a guy who got caught in a bad situation, that’s all.”

  But Scott was too busy bursting out laughing, spraying the bar with beer and saliva as he did so. “We gotta get you a pair of glasses. It works for Clark Kent.”

  “Who’s your buddy?” the bartender asked.

  Jake said, “You’re not going to believe it, but he’s the smartest man on the planet.”

  “You’re right. I don’t believe it.”

  A man spoke from behind them. Belligerent. Taunting. “Hey. Did I hear right? You that super guy, from that reactor accident?”

  Jake shook his head wearily. Here we go again.

  He looked over his shoulder. “Look, buddy. I don’t want any trouble, okay?”

  The challenger was early twenties, a little taller than Jake. College football player, he figured, by the way the guy’s shoulders pulled his t-shirt tight. He had a wide jaw, and a wide smile showing big teeth, but his brows were dropped, and his smile was not one of pleasantness.

  With him was another man about his age and size. Great, Jake thought. Two football jocks filled with too much beer, and who can’t get enough rough-housing on the football field so they have to look for more in bars.

  There was also a girl with them. About a foot shorter. Long straight blonde hair flowing over her shoulders and down her back like a waterfall. Mini skirt and fishnet stockings. She wore them well.

  “Look, Rick,” she said. “Leave the guy alone.”

  “Hey,” he said. “I want to meet this Jake Calder guy. The guy who can lift a Mack truck.”

  Scott said, now becoming serious for real. “Come on, man, we’re not looking for any trouble.”

  “You shut up, little man, or you’re going out the door head first.”

  The bartender shouted to him, “Hey, man! That’s it. You gotta leave.”

  “I’m not leaving until..,”

  Jake stood up. He had his beer in his hand and he was not looking for a fight, but he knew one was going to happen whether he wanted it or not.

  The football player probably outweighed him by thirty pounds, all of it muscle, but Jake had been on the wrestling team in high school and had done some kick boxing in college. He figured he could probably handle this guy even without powering-up. But Jake knew he would also have to fight the guy’s pal, and it was possible, in a rowdy college bar on a Saturday night, a free-for-all would develop and people could get hurt.

  The quickest way to handle this would be to end it without having to fight. So, Jake began to power-up. It took little effort. It was really not much more than simply flipping a mental switch and letting the process happen.

  A familiar warm sensation flooded through him. Regrettable because not only had he not wanted trouble, but the more he powered-up, the less anything could harm him or even affect him. The buzz he had been developing from the beer quickly faded away.

  He did not power-up fully. In fact, he had never really powered-up to maximum. He was not sure what maximum was when it came to this. Scott figured it was probably on some sort of cosmic level, but Jake had no desire to test it. He powered-up enough so he could handle what was coming, but no more.

  “So,” the football player said. “Is it true what they say? That you can bench press a truck?”

  “They say lots of things. But I really don’t want any trouble.”

  The girl said, “Come on, Rick. Let’s get out of here.”

  “No. I want to see just how powerful this super hero guy is.”

  Jake sighed wearily. “I’m not a superhero.”

  The football player reared back his fist, and drove it into Jake’s face.

  Jake simply stood in place, as the fist collided with his cheekbone. Jake’s head was not rocked even an inch by the punch and he didn’t even spill his beer, but there was an audible crack from the football player’s knuckles.

  The football guy yelped in pain, stepping back and grabbing his hand.

  “Those knuckles might be broken,” Scott said. “You might want to get to an ER.”

  The bartender now had a baseball bat in one hand. “Whatever you do, you’re not doing it here. Get out.”

  Rick turned toward the door. “Come on, Mandy. Let’s get out of here.”

  But the girl looked at Jake, cocking her heard a little, squinting her eyes in a way that was a cross between a challenge and saying she liked what she saw. “Mind if I stay?”

  Jake shrugged and sat back down. Scott was sitting to one side of Jake, and the girl slid up onto an empty barstool at his other side.

  “Come on, Mandy,” Rick said. “You staying with this loser?”

  The bartend
er said, “You’re the one with the broken hand. Now get out of here before I call the cops.”

  Rick and his buddy stormed out of the bar. The rest of the patrons, maybe fifty of them, mostly at tables but some at the bar, all college-age, broke out into applause.

  Jake said, “God, I hate this.”

  Scott clapped a hand to Jake’s shoulder. “You’re a hero, buddy.”

  “I’m a freak, is what I am.”

  The girl said, “So, you going to buy me a drink?”

  Jake shrugged. “Why not?” He looked to the bartender. “Whatever she wants.”

  “On the house, man,” he said. “For all three of you. That was outright cool. Never seen anything like that, before.”

  “Hopefully you’ll never have to again.”

  The girl ordered a vodka martini.

  “Jake, you know what you need?” Scott said, his face ready to burst with the laugh he was trying to suppress. “What you really need is a costume. I’m serious. I mean, a cape, tights, the whole nine yards.”

  Jake shook his head. “I wish I could just ignore you,” and he tipped his mug of beer for a chug.

  Scott continued. “I mean, think about it, man. Here you are, the most powerful human who ever walked the Earth. Whether you like it or not, the newspapers are pinning the label superhero on you. Seems a shame to disappoint your fans.”

  Jake slammed his beer mug down on the bar, slopping suds up and over the side. “Will you stop it? I mean, can’t we just go out for some beers without you having to make a jackass out of yourself?”

  “Oh, come on, Jake,” Scott said.. “All the superheroes have their emblem on their chest. You should have a big stylized S, in a triangle. Right in the middle of your chest. And a big red cape...”

  “What you should have is a big strip of duct tape right over your mouth. It would make the world a better place.”

  They were each twenty-five, sitting in a bar in Boston. Scott was studying for his doctorate – actually, he was flying through the courses, often instructing his instructors. Jake was serving as his lab assistant and Man Friday.