Mr. Real

by Carolyn Crane

  Paul asked. Two years ago during the Burning Man festival, as it turned out.

  Paul hung up the phone. “Into chaos and extreme crime. That’s nice.”

  “I don’t get it,” Alix said. “Your stepbrothers, however many years ago, invented Sir Kendall. But, they would never have known about Hyko. Avon invented Hyko two years ago. So how does Sir Kendall know about Hyko? He told me once that he cut off the thumbs of some guy—”

  “That didn’t make him seem at all dangerous to you?” Paul asked. “Because, personally? When a person tells me that they’ve cut off the thumbs of a guy—”

  “Stop!” She made to hit him.

  He caught her hands. He wanted to kiss her. Everything was insane, and he wanted to kiss her.

  “It was fictional,” she protested. “Not real life.”

  “Oh, fictional.” He drew her to where he sat.

  She smiled, dimples blossoming. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Something real.” He kissed her. His heart smashed into his ribs as she moved to straddle his lap. She draped her arms around his neck, elbows on his shoulders. He held her lightly, fingertips on her tank top.

  Quick, warm and soft, she kissed his cheek, his nose, his lips. It took all his restraint not to roar onto her like a freight train, crushing, probing, devouring. He was vaguely aware that he was shaking.

  “Hyko’s out there,” she whispered into the kiss. “We have to think.”

  Thinking was the last thing Paul wanted to do. “He hasn’t bothered us so far.”

  Alix pulled away. Her eyes looked bright, lips pinkened. “So where has Hyko been all this time? I mean, I have to handle this. I brought two guys to life. And what about the thumbs thing?”

  “Who cares,” he said, kissing her neck.

  “I’ve been thinking about what my friend Karen would say. I think she’d say that if they came to life together, maybe their stories merged, somehow. Maybe it’s like the big bang, where everything changes state together. Forever interconnected.”

  He traced his fingertips along the silky skin on the back of her arms. “That’s what you’ve been thinking about?”

  She snaked her fingers into his hair.

  He wanted to consume her, and he couldn’t decide where to start. It was like being caught in a sexual rapids, swept from one lusty hunger to another.

  “That’s not the only thing,” she said. “I still have duty to Sir Kendall.”

  He drew his hands up her thighs to the edge of her shorts. He was sick of Sir Kendall. He wanted to stop talking about Sir Kendall.

  She pulled away. “Hyko’s out there,” she said. “I have to warn Sir Kendall.”

  “Apparently he thought Hyko was out there this whole time, so what’s different?”

  “Hyko might be supernatural. Supernaturally badass. I think we should find Sir Kendall and warn him.”

  Just then, a roar sounded, growing louder, coming up the driveway.

  Sir Kendall.

  “You’ll be telling Sir Kendall that he’s supernatural,” Paul said. “It could make him dangerous.”

  “His enemy, Hyko, is into extreme crime and chaos,” she said. “What is that old saying? The enemy of our enemy is our friend?”

  A car door sound. Footsteps on the porch.

  “He’s not my people.”

  “Say what you will, at least Sir Kendall’s not into extreme crime. And he needs to know about the timetable. He has until Friday at 7:46 pm. He might be able to use that against Hyko.”

  “You think spies aren’t as twisted and dangerous as the people they hunt?”

  The front door shut.

  “You want Hyko to win?” she asked. “You hate Sir Kendall that much?”

  He didn’t answer. Yes, he hated him that much.

  She looked so sad, suddenly. She got off him in a huff and headed downstairs.

  “Alix!” He went after her.

  The sound of a kitchen drawer. Silverware. They got into the kitchen and there was Sir Kendall, standing at the counter with a row of knives laid out in front of him. Wearing Paul’s clothes.

  Alarm shot through Paul. He grabbed for Alix, but in a flash, Sir Kendall had her with a gun shoved under her chin.

  “Sorry, my pet,” he said.

  “Let her go,” Paul warned, loosening his robe belt. If it came to a fight he’d have more mobility in his underwear.

  “Not my plan, clone. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’ll open that drawer next to the stove.”

  “Don’t hurt her.” Paul pulled open the drawer.

  “Pull it out.”

  He yanked out the drawer and set it on the stove. A box-like hiding place was built into the back of it.

  “Now slide the panel and retrieve the key ring inside.” He looked down at Alix. “You thought I wouldn’t find that?”

  “I didn’t know it was there,” she said, frantic. “We’re not your enemies, Nick.”

  “She’s right,” Paul said.

  “You’ll excuse me if I’ve had enough of her games,” Sir Kendall said. “Now we’re all three of us going to take a walk outside. Out back to the carriage house.”

  “Sir Kendall, we’re on the same side. We all might be in danger from Hyko,” Alix said. “He might be unusually powerful.”

  “You think to warn me about Hyko? March,” Sir Kendall said to Paul, “or do I have to shoot off her ear?”

  Paul raised his hands and backed out of the mudroom, breathing deeply, keeping an eye on Sir Kendall and Alix, who followed as a unit. “Turn around and march,” Sir Kendall said.

  Paul turned and walked, working on his focus. He had a good idea of where they were headed—out to the big cage behind the carriage house. Sir Kendall would put one of them in there—probably him, since he seemed to think Alix had the answers. That’s what the knives would be for.

  “Lindy, stay!” Alix said. The door clacked behind them.

  They went down the stoop and across the gravel drive to the carriage house. Paul had two thoughts—one, Sir Kendall was bluffing. He wouldn’t shoot Alix. He thought she had the answers; he’d always seemed to think she was the one in charge. And two, he could use the corner to surprise Sir Kendall. If, indeed they were going around and not in. Paul headed in, just to show he wasn’t thinking.

  “Around the side.”

  So it was true. Paul went around the corner, but they followed too close behind. He walked in bare feet along the gravelly side to the next corner, where he widened his gait, creating distance without seeming to speed up. He rounded the corner and instantly spun to a crouch, shedding the robe.

  Sir Kendall came around and in the split-second confusion caused by Paul’s drop, Sir Kendall moved the gun off Alix—just enough for Paul to lunge up and seize Sir Kendall’s arm. He whaled a knee into Sir Kendall’s elbow and the gun clattered to the stones.

  Alix twisted away.

  Sir Kendall got Paul with an uppercut—the strength of it stunned Paul, but he came back with an elbow.

  They hit and kicked and elbowed each other, then fell to wrestling. Sir Kendall seemed to have grown in strength, but Paul was fighting for his life—and hers. Nothing else touched his mind.

  They were on the ground now, in the grass near the cage, each going for pain and soft targets: eyes, throats, groin.

  Sir Kendall got him into a painful contortion at one point, fingers digging into Paul’s windpipe. “You are done for, old chap,” Sir Kendall bit out.

  Paul coughed and sputtered, tasting blood, writhing against the other man.

  The sound of a gunshot—Alix stood over them, pointing the gun at them. “Stop it or I start shooting feet!”

  The shot caused Sir Kendall to lose his focus long enough for Paul to wrench out of his hold and slam an elbow into Sir Kendall’s eye.

  “Stop it!” Alix yelled. “Paul! He’s your people!”

  Paul slammed a fist into Sir Kendall’s jaw, inured to the blows Sir Kendall returned. He c
ouldn’t stop hitting Sir Kendall, the man who embodied all the misery of his existence. He wanted to break him, kill him. With limbs like lethal snakes, he clamped and twisted around Sir Kendall, forcing Sir Kendall into a shoulder lock, harsh pressure where the joint was weakest—a little bit more and it would pop out. Sir Kendall made a little sound and ceased to struggle.

  “He’s not your enemy,” Alix said. “Jesus, Paul!”

  “It’s okay,” Sir Kendall returned. “The trick is not minding that it hurts.”

  Paul froze. “What did you say?”

  Sir Kendall swallowed laboriously. “A line I’ve rather taken to heart, old chap.” He spit out a tooth. “One can never avoid the hurt, you know.”

  Yes, Paul knew.

  She was right. She’d seen it. Sir Kendall was his people.

  It was like being hit by a tidal wave. He stared into Sir Kendall’s blue eyes - his own blue eyes.

  I know you.

  It was like looking back, back to years and years before, when he was that helpless, unwanted boy. The boy who couldn’t defend himself, clinging to that stupid line, pretending to be unaffected. Paul knew every contour of feeling inside Sir Kendall. They were part of each other. Sir Kendall had taken those beatings with him.

  Sir Kendall was his helper. He’d helped him. Sir Kendall was his people.

  Everything felt different, suddenly. Missing pieces clicked together.

  “Oh, God.” Paul shifted, loosened, mind reeling. There was nowhere to hide from those eyes, his eyes, staring back with resolve, defiance. Paul knew the misery and despair concealed behind that bright gaze.

  You’re just like them now.

  “No,” Paul said, clutching Sir Kendall, wishing he could take back the blows. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t see.” You’re me. You’re him. I need you. Paul pulled him close, half-crazy with tenderness.

  Everything inside him felt new. Sir Kendall was his own wounded, hidden heart—a missing part of him. Paul understood this with the same instinct he understood fire.

  All these years he’d rejected him, but he’d only had to do this, to pull him close. They needed each other.

  “What’s going on?” Alix asked.

  “It’s okay,” Paul whispered, dizzy with the recognition.

  In a flash, Sir Kendall surged from his grip; Paul felt a sharp blade at his throat, Sir Kendall’s knuckles at his scalp, hair pulled taut.

  “Shit!” she screamed.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Paul croaked. “We’re okay now.”

  “Please,” Alix begged. “You can’t hurt him. Don’t hurt him.”

  And then there was the sound of feet crunching across the gravel.

  They all looked at the same time.

  A tall blond man wearing a floppy brown hat and a long brown coat strolled out from the corner, leveling two large double-barreled guns in their direction.

  Hyko.

  Paul felt Sir Kendall move the knife a titch off his throat.

  Hyko’s guns were more like short, fat rifles—the word pistoleros came to mind—and a large knife sheath was shoved haphazardly into his belt, pirate fashion. His hair fell over his shoulders in messy blond tangles, and his oversized features had a carven quality, as though a sculptor somewhere had been trying to make a point about rough and excessive men.

  Hyko smiled at the two of them, all majesty and menace. “Sir Kendalls, I presume.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Hyko strolled up to Alix, pointing one of his guns at her chest. “Drop it.”

  She could barely make sense of the command; her entire being was focused on the knife at Paul’s throat.

  “Drop it, Alix,” Paul said softly.

  Hyko raised his eyebrows. “Somebody’s been working on their American accent.”

  Paul said, “Alix, do it.”

  Paul’s eyes looked so blue in the pink of his newly battered face. All she could think was to run to him, hold him.

  “Now,” Hyko said.

  Alix turned her gun on Hyko. “Screw that. You drop it!”

  Sir Kendall’s voice now: “Alix…”

  “Fair’s fair,” Hyko said. “If you drop one, I’ll drop one. Look, look, look!” Hyko let one of his guns fall from his fingertips into the grass, which allowed Alix full view of his horribly ruined hand. Her mouth fell open.

  Quick as a flash he snatched her gun.

  She gasped. She hadn’t even known that was an option, snatching her gun away.

  “Sir Kendall’s handiwork. Diverting isn’t it?” Hyko shoved her gun into one of his giant coat pockets and snatched his own up off the ground. Or rather, scooped it up with his strange, fin-like hand. Because he had no thumb. With horror she realized he didn’t have a thumb on his other hand, either, and the skin there was mottled and scarred. Sir Kendall’s handiwork. She felt sick.

  “Mess with me again and you’ll lose more than a weapon.”

  His guns had modified handles, an arrangement of rings he hooked his fingers into. Noticing her stare, he twirled them in unison, like an Old West gunslinger, then aimed them back at her. “I make do. Now get back.” He motioned and she backed up, passing by the men until she hit the cage and could go no farther.

  “You can stop there.” Hyko turned the guns on Paul and Sir Kendall.

  “Leave them alone,” she whimpered.

  Paul glanced at her warningly. Oh, what had she done? Stay calm, she instructed herself. The least outburst and Hyko might shoot, or Sir Kendall might cut Paul’s throat. Or both.

  Hyko motioned at Sir Kendall. “Ease off, sailor.”

  “I think not,” Sir Kendall said.

  “You understand that holding a knife to his throat has roughly the same effect on me as your holding a knife to your own throat. Which is to say, very little. I’ve come to torture and kill only one of you, but the both of you, or even all three, will do. Toss it here.”

  Sir Kendall hesitated, then tossed his knife. It sailed across the grass and gravel in a silver streak, bumping across the ground and coming to a violent halt as Hyko clomped a brown boot over it. “Now, which one of you is Sir Kendall?”

  To Alix’s horror, Paul relaxed his face, suddenly looking very Sir Kendall. “I am,” Paul said—in a perfect Sir Kendall accent.

  “No you’re not!” she said.

  “The lady’s right,” Sir Kendall said. “I’m Sir Kendall.”

  Paul laughed. “He’s my clone, Hyko. A halfwit, unfortunately. His manners are atrocious.”

  “Your business is with me, Hyko.” Sir Kendall made to stand.

  “Stay down,” Hyko barked.

  Paul spoke in a more Sir Kendall-ish voice than even Sir Kendall used: “Your business is with me, Hyko.”

  Alix gasped. “What are you doing?” she asked. “He’ll kill you!”

  Hyko spun around to face her. “Which one were you talking to? Which is the real Sir Kendall? I know you can tell me.”

  She shook her head. She didn’t want Hyko to hurt Paul, but she wasn’t about to give up the real Sir Kendall either.

  Hyko strode over to her. “I’ll take you and his decoy down with him if I have to.” He pulled a coil of rope from his pocket. “Spill it, sister.”

  “It’s okay, Alix,” Paul said in the Sir Kendall voice. “This is something I need to finish. I need to finish this with Hyko. I’m the only one who can.”

  “Stop it, Paul!”

  “Paul indeed.” Paul rolled his eyes. “Hyko isn’t quite so stupid as that, my pet.”

  Sir Kendall stiffened. “Then why are you playing him for such a fool now?” He turned to Hyko. “Send them away. This is between us.”

  Hyko lifted the gun barrel to Alix’s temple, eliciting protests from both men.

  “Silence or I shoot!”

  They went silent.

  The gun felt cool on her temple, yet somehow unreal, like an object of a different order. She leaned away, only to be followed by its steely impress and Hyko’s da
rk glance. “Delightful as it is to have two Sir Kendalls to maim, perchance to kill, I’m only interested in the real one. So, my dear, you have until the count of three to point out the true Sir Kendall. Or I’ll blow your head off and kill both of your swains. One…”

  “Wait! Stop,” she said, trying to think. Sir Kendall was alive in the commercial. Even if he was hurt in the real world, he would go back to the commercial in a day. If he was hurt here, would he go back hurt? Dead? She wished she could call Karen.

  “Two.”

  Paul and Sir Kendall began to jabber at her in Sir Kendall-speak. I daresay…my dear girl. She felt so confused. Hyko began to enunciate: “Thhhhh—”

  “Okay!” She swallowed, meeting both men’s beseeching gazes; in this they were identical. It broke her heart. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “It is never wrong to tell the truth, pet,” Sir Kendall said.

  “Alix,” Paul said warningly and Britishly, “I won’t have who I am denied now!”

  She shook her head and pointed to the real Sir Kendall. “Red T-shirt. I’m sorry.” This last, really, to both men.

  “Thank you.” Hyko threw Alix a coil of rope. “Cut this in four equal parts.” He kicked the knife to her.

  She took the rope with shaking hands. Why would Paul step up as Sir Kendall?

  Hyko handcuffed Sir Kendall to the outside corner of the cage. Then he instructed Paul to walk into the cage and get on his knees inside, fingers knit behind his head.

  Paul complied.

  Hyko strolled over behind Paul and, without warning, he heaved a violent kick into Paul’s back, knocking him face-first onto the ground.

  Alix gasped.

  “Turn over and spread ‘em,” Hyko said.

  “What are you doing?” she shrieked.

  “It’s okay.” Paul turned over and put out his arms and legs.

  Hyko’s hillbilly hat cast his face half in shade as he stared down at Paul. “We have unfinished business, Sir Kendall.”

  “But that’s not Sir Kendall!”

  He trained his gun on Paul’s head as he patted his boxers for weapons. “Appears I’ve caught you without all your little gadgets, Sir Kendall. I should’ve known you’d be the one in underpants.”