Vs Reality

by Blake Northcott

  “Alive?” Dia cuts in. She angles her handheld mirror towards him, peeking at him in the reflection.

  Cole glances back at her but didn’t say a word. He could see from the spark in her eye that he doesn’t need to – she feels the same way. “So you’re saying that I pop one of these Muse pills and I go back to the way I was: the muscles, the tattoos…?”

  “That’s right,” Brodie says. “Pop a pill and you’re a superhero. It’s that easy.”

  Cole turns back towards Dia. “So why didn’t you take one?”

  “Sorry?” She snaps her compact close, sending a small plume of flesh-colored powder into the surrounding air.

  “In the alley,” Cole asks. “You didn’t take one of those Muse pills. You pulled out and a knife and sliced—”

  “Right, right…” She says quickly. She nervously adjusts her wrist straps – the leather bands that conceal the scarred flesh beneath. “I thought I had one in my purse, but I didn’t. Turns out I left my stash here in the penthouse so I had to improvise.”

  Paige’s stoic, porcelain doll face creases into a small frown. She opens her mouth but whatever she’s about to say is cut off by a ringing phone.

  Everyone pats themselves down, trying to detect the source of the ringtone. It’s Cole’s.

  “Who is it?” Paige asks flatly, rudely.

  Cole glances at his device. Jens’s ridiculous smiling face winks onto his camera’s display screen, a wave of blond hair flopping over one eye. “A friend.”

  “That guy you were at the club with?” Dia asks. The phone continues to ring.

  “Yeah, he’s probably wondering where I disappeared to.”

  Paige bolts from her seat and clutches Cole’s wrist before he even notices she’s standing. “Put it on speaker,” she says, with a sharp inflection that lets him know that he doesn’t have a choice in the matter.

  Another ring.

  “All right…” Cole says nervously.

  He pressed his thumb into the speaker icon.

  “Hey buddy,” Cole says, his eyes still fixed on Paige’s. “So…how are things?”

  “Good, good,” Jens replies after a small throat-clearing cough. “Look, um, the Buick has a flat and I need some help changing the spare. I’m useless with this type of thing, and if I don’t get her home before sunrise my dad is going to lose it.”

  “Sure. Where are you?”

  “The warehouse behind Platinum. I rolled her in here to get her off the streets. Didn’t want to risk getting towed.”

  Paige reaches out and pressed her thumb into Cole’s phone, tapping the mute button.

  “Does he normally sound like this?” she asks, as if it’s a perfectly normal question.

  “Does he sound like a human male in his early 20s?” Cole says, leaning back in his seat. “Yes…I suppose so?”

  “His pitch, his cadence, his overall tone,” Paige fumes, leaning uncomfortably close. “Does he normally talk like that or not? Is it unusual?”

  “I don’t know!” Cole says defensively, pitching as far back in his recliner as the chair will allow. “Sure. Maybe?”

  “Come on,” Dia says, rising from her chair. “Relax, Paige. We don’t know that Jens is with them.”

  “We don’t know that he’s not,” she fires back. “You’ve already done more than enough tonight so let me handle this, all right?”

  Who would Jens possibly be with, Cole wonders. And why would it matter?

  Paige clasps Cole’s hand again, harder this time, polished black fingernails biting his wrist. “Ask him about the road trip the two of you took to Atlantic City last summer. Ask him about the flat you had during that trip. Be specific.”

  “O…okay,” Cole stammers. He considers protesting, but that’s the only word he produces.

  He draws in a shaky breath and taps the mute button, resuming the call.

  “Hello?” Jens asks for the third time. “You still there, man?”

  “Hey, buddy. Sorry, bad reception.”

  “No worries.”

  “So is this like our trip to Atlantic City last summer…” Cole glances up at Paige, who is twirling her finger in a sideways circle – the universal signal for ‘hurry the hell along because I’m losing my patience’. “Um, you know, that crazy road trip when we got a flat and didn’t have a spare?”

  After a flickering pause Jens says, “Yeah, sure. It’s pretty much just like that. So you can come here and help me out?”

  “See you in ten,” Cole promises. And before Jens can reply, Paige lunges forward again, tapping his phone and terminating the call.

  “What the hell was that about?” Cole shouts, pocketing his phone. “And why would Jens go along with that whole road trip bit?”

  A clanging rings out from a small cabinet at the side of the room. Brodie is digging through the cupboards, noisily searching for something. “This doesn’t sound good,” he calls out without turning around.

  Cole’s eyes dart around the room. “Why can’t someone tell me what’s going on?”

  Dia presses the heels of her palms into her lumbar, stretching left first, and then to the right. “The Collectors,” she says impassively. “They have him.”

  “That British guy with the scarf and the giant Hawaiian?” It didn’t make any sense. What would they want with Jens? If they’re only after people who can manifest, why take a civilian hostage?

  Brodie returns to his seat with a long glass tube, the length of his arm. He brings a lighter to the small opening of the watery globe at the base of the tube, filling the shaft with a pillar of swirling vapor. “Goto and Heinreich, yeah. And I’m pretty sure the big one is German, not Hawaiian. He’s just into those flowery shirts.”

  “Why?” Cole asks, though the reason is quickly becoming apparent. He’s just not sure he’s ready to believe it – or cope with it.

  “Why?” Brodie repeats with a raspy chuckle, coughing up a puff of watery mist. “You escaped, bro. And you helped Dia escape. And she’s the only one who’s been able to do that more than once, as far as we know. They’re not going to take that shit lightly.”

  “So they captured Jens?” Cole is just stating the obvious at this point but he can’t help himself; he’s trying to come to grips with the fact that is best friend could soon be dead. He might be already.

  “They probably have a gun to his head,” Paige says, not looking overly concerned. “Forcing him to call you so you’ll run to his rescue. They’re trying to get you to show up at the warehouse alone. Catch you off guard.”

  Cole leaps from his recliner. “This is insane! What do we do?”

  “What do ‘we’ do?” Dia says. “We are going to continue doing exactly what we are doing at this very moment: nothing. You can feel free to go try and save him. Or not. It’s your call.”

  “Save him from what?”

  Dia claps Cole on the shoulder. “Probably nothing. Jens isn’t one of us, so if I had to guess they’re probably not going to kill him.” She’s trying to be supportive, Cole thinks, but is failing miserably.

  “You guess?” Cole says, his voice cracking. “Probably?”

  “Yeah,” Dia says with a smile that’s meant to be warm and reassuring. “They’ll probably just interrogate him for a while, perform some tests, and then let him go once they realize he has no more value.”

  “This is a nightmare,” Cole says, holding his head with both hands. The room is contracting and expanding, his vision narrowing. He feels like he might pass out, or vomit. Or vomit and then pass out, falling into the mess, which would be both disgusting and embarrassing.

  “Oh, don’t be such a drama queen,” Paige says as she taps away at her phone, as if this is the appropriate time to be updating her Facebook status. “He’ll be fine, I’m sure. They almost never kills Muggles. He’ll lose a couple fingers or toes at the very worst.”

  “So this is the plan,” Cole shouts, incredulous. “To sit here and watch Brodie do bong hits while an innocent man is tortured i
n some filthy warehouse? Let’s head down there and go save him.”

  “That’s not the way this works,” Paige says, now tapping at her phone with both thumbs. “We take care of our own, supply them with Muse, and try to keep them out of The Basement. But what you’re talking about …uh-uh. Not happening. We don’t go on suicide missions.”

  Brodie inhales deeply, a cloud of mist rising around him. “Yeah, that’s like, our first rule, bro…no suicide.”

  “You cowards,” Cole says under his breath. “You fucking cowards.”

  Dia cocks an eyebrow. “So what are you suggesting?” she snaps, her vague attempt at being maternal vanishing like vapor from Brodie’s bong. “You want to mount a full-on, balls-to-the-walls assault against two Collectors? Armed with nothing but our charming personalities? Brodie is right, this is a suicide mission.”

  “I know, I know, but…” Cole blinks hard, wiping the perspiration from his brow. He tries to focus his anger and channel it into a convincing speech, though public speaking has never been his strong suit. “Guys, I know how this sounds, but it doesn’t have to be a suicide mission. We can do this. I can manifest again and start kicking some asses like I did at Platinum. I just need one of those Muse pills, right Brodie? And Dia, you can tear open a gateway or whatever, and—”

  Dia holds up a hand. “Hold on there, cowboy. First of all, we don’t know what the hell we’re even getting in to. They could have back-up waiting, they could be heavily armed. For all we know they could have the entire warehouse rigged to blow with plastic explosives by now.”

  “Second of all,” Cole says, steeling his resolve, “is that you owe me, Dia. I saved your life in that alley tonight. If it wasn’t for me, you would be the one in The Basement being experimented on like a lab test bunny. You said it yourself. You guys have the chance to save an innocent life here. If you have all this power what’s the point if you never use it?”

  The dark, intense storm clouds swirling behind Dia’s eyes seem to dissipate, if only for a moment.

  Paige steps to her side. “Look, Cole, if you want to be a comic book character now that you’re all superpowered, be my guest. Brodie can hook you up with a bottle of Muse and you can be on your merry way. Buy some spandex, put on a cape, and go save some damsels in distress. No one here is gonna stop you.”

  “Fine. Hooke me up and I’m off,” he replies icily. “I’ll probably fail. But if they capture me, you know they won’t kill me. They’ll trace me right back here to you guys. So either come along and help, or they’re gonna end up knocking on your front door.”

  Paige and Dia exchange a look. An intense, lingering stare that says nothing, but clearly implies something. Cole wonders for a moment if they’re communicating telepathically.

  “Ugh,” Dia groans, burying her face in her palms. “If – and that’s a big goddamned ‘if’ – we decide to help you, this is it. No more favors. And no more contact with any of us in the future.”

  Cole responds without missing a beat. “Deal. Now where are your weapons?”

  “We don’t have any,” Paige says flatly.

  He raises his eyebrows. “That’s encouraging.”

  “But we might not need them.” Brodie says, his red-rimmed eyes now lit with a bizarre type of enthusiasm. “I think I have a plan. Our only chance is to draw them out in the open, and hit them while they’re distracted. That should give us enough time to grab Jens and jump through a gateway back here to the penthouse. But it won’t be easy; we’re all going to have to work together to make this happen.”

  “So,” Dia says, “what exactly do you have in mind?”

  Brodie reaches out to Cole with his palm facing upwards. “Pass me your phone, bro. I’m calling in the big guns…we need some back-up.”

  Chapter Thirteen – Continuum

  New York City

  August 26, 2011

  4:50 am, Eastern Daylight Time

  Living in a utopian society definitely has its perks: free universal healthcare, clean sustainable energy, and an almost complete lack of crime. But when violent offenders started to disappear from the streets, so did the funding for local law enforcement.

  As a result, police no longer patrol the streets to keep them safe – they promote positive action in the community by participating in charity events and fundraisers. And now, officers (who have been redubbed ‘peacekeepers’) spend more time at New Age meditation classes than at the gun range. Which is logical, since peacekeepers are no longer permitted to carry guns.

  But on this night, New York City law enforcement is faced with a new and unusual circumstance: an actual, honest-to-goodness hostage situation. Their first in several years. And their first since the ban on guns.

  Tipped off by an anonymous phone call, the chief of police went above and beyond, taking it upon himself to send not one, but two of his most decorated peacekeepers to the scene of the reported crime.

  At the abandoned warehouse behind Platinum, a black and white Smart Car sits alone in an empty lot, the compact little cruiser barely large enough to occupy half a parking space. A single blue light tops its roof, spinning silently, illuminating the darkened area. Officer Doug and Officer Reggie continue their negotiations.

  One of the peacekeepers levels an absurdly oversized megaphone, shouting in the direction of the seemingly empty warehouse. “We are peacekeepers: law enforcement ambassadors representing the city of New York! Once again, my name is Doug Flowers, and I’m here with my partner, Reggie Boyd.”

  “Good evening,” Reggie adds, leaning in towards the megaphone.

  “We recently received a phone call from a concerned citizen,” Doug continues, “explaining that you have an innocent man held hostage inside of this warehouse. Please establish yourselves in non-violence, relinquish any desire to cause harm to others, and exit the building in an orderly fashion.” He pauses for a moment, before cheerfully adding, “Thank you.”

  A squat man in his late forties, Doug has thinning blond hair and a perfectly round stomach. His waistline seems to be constantly testing the limits of his belt, seeing how far it can stretch before one more Twinkie snaps it like an oversized elastic band. His partner Reggie is around the same age and equally rotund, but slightly taller, and he has a thick head of black hair with a substantial moustache to match.

  “That was fantastic, Doug!” Reggie claps his partner on the back several times. His enthusiasm is bubbling over. “You’re doing a great job.”

  “You think so?” Doug asks sheepishly, nibbling at his fingernail.

  Reggie grins; a beaming smile that’s usually reserved for all you-can-eat buffets. “Definitely! Those extra sensitivity classes you’ve been taking have really paid off. Words can’t express how proud of you I am right now.”

  Doug responds with a grin of his own, suddenly glowing with pride. “Thank you so much. Your positive feedback means a lot to me. You don’t think my tone was overly negative, do you? Not too aggressive?”

  Reggie shakes his head. “Not at all. That was just perfect!”

  “It’s been almost an hour,” Doug sighs, carefully placing the megaphone back into the trunk of the squad car before slamming it shut. “Do you think we should call for back-up?”

  Reggie leans against the hood of the cruiser, causing it to moan in protest, sinking under his girth. “I don’t know…Jennifer usually takes her nap around now and I’d hate to wake her.” He digs into his front pocket, pulls out a large chocolate bar and peels off the red and silver wrapper.

  Doug shrugs his shoulders, looking more baffled than usual. “Maybe we should continue negotiations for another half-hour or so? Thermal detection shows there is someone in there. Three people, according to HQ. We need to give them a chance to respond.”

  Reggie takes a chomping bite of his chocolate bar, globs of caramel dripping from his bottom lip. “Sure,” he mumbles. “It can’t hurt. Why don’t we—”

  His thought is interrupted by a rusted metal door crashing open. Heinreich
kicks it so hard that it nearly tears from its hinges, slamming into the warehouse wall. He marches calmly towards the peacekeepers who are relaxing by the cruiser, neither of whom seem alarmed, or even vaguely concerned. As tall and menacing as the German appears, it’s difficult to take someone seriously while they’re sporting a short-sleeve shirt decorated with friendly pink and blue flowers.

  “There you are!” Doug says, greeting him like a long-lost relative. He extends a chubby hand in friendship. “Now why were you hiding out? Let’s clear up this little misunderstanding so we can all go home.”

  Heinreich dashes forward, faster than is seemingly possible for a man of his size. He cracks Doug’s skull with a lightning-fast right hook, lifting him off his feet, rolling him off the hood of the cruiser. He meets the unforgiving pavement with a slight bounce.

  In a panic, Reggie lunges (which is more of a lumber) through the open door towards the dashboard and snatches a small handheld receiver. “Jennifer!” he screams frantically. “This is Peacekeeper Reggie! Wake up, we’re being attacked! We need back-up! Now, gosh-darn it, Now!”

  Heinreich strolls around the front of the cruiser and grabs the officer with one hand, lifting him several feet off the ground using his thick black necktie as a noose. With his other hand he snatches away the small handset and crushes it like an eggshell, dropping the plastic remains by his feet.

  As Heinreich cocks his hand back and balls his fist, he’s startled by a rumble from beneath his feet. He loosens his grip, dropping the peacekeeper to the pavement. Reggie coughs and hacks, clutching his throat, gasping for air. At first Heinreich mistakes the tremors for an earthquake, the ground shifting and opening beneath him, but quickly comes to the realization that the ground isn’t moving. He is.

  The police cruiser, the peacekeepers and Heinreich start to levitate, slowly at first and then with increasing velocity, floating upwards as they helplessly flail their arms and legs. Their elevation stops and they become suspended forty feet above the ground, bobbing gently, like plastic bags caught in an updraft.