Outcasts

by J. S. Frankel

  “Then the transformations began when she was sixteen. They didn’t happen very often at first. Callie made jokes about it, but then they happened more often and now... now she wants to be who she is, but it’s hard. Please try to understand.”

  What else could I say? “Yes, ma’am, I’ll try.”

  After I’d gone home, though, Lucas called me. No greetings, just the facts, as usual. “Cal called me to say he was out of the group. Also, the public isn’t going for it.”

  Nice surprise, but it wasn’t unexpected. “So what happens to the rest of us?”

  “You get on with your lives. There’ll be no missions. It’s over.”

  He’d hung up then. Yeah, it was all over, in more ways than one. I put the receiver down and went to my room, ignoring my mother’s call for dinner. There, I sat on my bed and wished things could be different and knew they never could be...

  The present

  The sound of the telephone startled me. Running downstairs, I picked up the receiver. “This is Chief Sullivan,” the voice on the other end of the line said. “I think we have something.”

  Chapter Five: Findings

  The chief drove up to my house a few minutes later, a grim expression on his face as he stepped out of his car and wiped his sweaty brow. “When I dropped off the sample, the hospital told me they didn’t have the ability to process it. So, I called the FBI.”

  Color me snarky, along with being skeptical. “And I suppose someone was waiting?”

  Sullivan’s attitude immediately went all defensive, and he stabbed a meaty forefinger at me. “Hold on, Mitch. The sample I took—the monster you said you saw—this is beyond me. The FBI is better qualified. They said they’d send someone over. Twenty minutes later, an agent showed up. They have jurisdiction now. The agent’s name is Reilly. Just in case, I checked him out. He’s legit.”

  All of this was happening too fast, and my doubts deepened, even though I was secretly pleased he’d at least admitted the presence of a monster. “How did they know?”

  Sullivan shrugged. “You’re not exactly hiding, Mitch. You should be grateful they were willing to help. They’ve got the equipment, and they’ve got the knowledge. Besides, the agent in charge wants to meet with you later on. He said around noon would be best.”

  It didn’t sound altogether perfect, but if the authorities could figure it out, fine. Worried about my mother, not to mention Joe and his father, I enquired about additional protection. “That we don’t have,” Sullivan said. “What you’re asking for is something I can’t guarantee. We’ve got only so many people here to go on duty.”

  Translation—no one could be bothered. “Thanks for nothing. I’ll see you later.”

  As I turned to walk over to Joe’s house, he called out, “Mitch, we’ll do what we can.”

  “Yeah, I will, too.”

  At Joe’s place, three knocks was all it took, and he opened up. “What’s going on?”

  Time to fill him in, and after explaining, he nodded and said, “Let me lock up.”

  We took off soon after that. He spun off, while I took off my shirt and let my wings out, stuffing my shirt into my back pocket. In the past, I’d shied away from going out during the day. This time I didn’t care what anyone thought. Get used to it, world.

  A friendly tailwind boosted me along, and just before noon, I touched down in front of Portland Medical Hospital. A few passersby stared at me and the spinning top who pulled up beside me, but my focus wasn’t on them. Joe punched me on the shoulder. “Mitch, we got an appointment, so let’s get it done.”

  Yeah, get it done. I donned my shirt, and inside at the information desk, the receptionist dutifully placed our call. Soon, a man strode over to us, wearing a tight-fitting black suit. Tall and with a hatchet face, he had extremely dark, beady eyes, so close-set he looked cross-eyed. His manner, though, came across as friendly enough, and he shook hands with both of us.

  “My name is Kory Reilly. That’s Kory with a K,” he added as if it was supposed to mean anything of significance.

  “Mitch Kessler,” I said and then introduced Joe.

  He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a badge, giving it a quick flip before stowing it away. “FBI, but I’m more of a lab man than a field agent. Our office knows about you. When Officer Sullivan brought the sample here, he also got in touch with us. Sullivan said it was some kind of rat thing?”

  “More like a toad,” I answered.

  A guileless smile appeared, revealing crooked teeth stained a rather unpleasant yellow. “Sorry. Anyway, I got here as fast as I could, and I’m running tests on it now.”

  “Can we see them?” Joe asked.

  He hemmed and hawed before stammering out his answer. “Technically, I, uh, shouldn’t be allowing you to see this, but since you’re involved—”

  “We are,” I interrupted.

  The hesitancy disappeared, replaced by a cold stare. Clearly, he didn’t like being interrupted. Finally, he dropped the ‘tude and inclined his head. “Follow me.”

  Up we went to the second floor and into a lab room. Once inside, he shut the door quickly as if afraid someone would steal his research. After our privacy had been assured, he went over to a counter to lean against it. A number of instruments and machines had been neatly placed side by side.

  “Here’s where they’re letting me run my tests,” he said. “Ordinarily, I’d have taken the sample back to my office, but Officer Sullivan mentioned something about the creature or whatever it was breaking down fast.”

  He directed his gaze at me, so...

  “Uh yeah, it did. It, um, dissolved the night I fought it. At least, I think it did.”

  “Can you tell me how many hours it took?”

  Why was he asking me that? I hadn’t seen it dissolve. Thinking hard, I said, “The creature attacked me around eight PM. Then it disappeared. Officer Sullivan and I found a hole the next morning, and it was a puddle by then, so I guess it broke down during the night.”

  Reilly nodded. “All right, thanks for the information.”

  He pointed at a machine the size of a microwave oven. It was linked to a laptop that sat next to it. “That, just in case you’re wondering, is a DNA differentiator, one of the newer models. It breaks down the strands of what we’re examining.”

  More talk followed about telomeres, DNA replication, and other terms that made my head spin. Joe grooved on it, asking questions left and right, and Reilly seemed more than happy to engage him. Me, I was more interested in the result than the science.

  “We’re almost ready,” Reilly said as he glanced at the differentiator. He seemed very fond of it, running his hand over its surface in a slow, gentle motion, almost as if it was a pet. A few seconds later, a beep sounded and a printout flashed on the computer screen. “Yes, this is it!”

  At least one of us was excited. All I saw were a bunch of chemical equations and their matrixes. “What is it?” I asked.

  He tapped the screen. “This is the exact breakdown of whatever it was that attacked you. You said a toad, and you were right.”

  He took a pencil from his pocket and indicated one of the matrixes with its tip. “This is from a toad, from the family Bufonidae, in the order Anura, which means frogs and toads as a collective.”

  Uh-huh. “So tell me why it was so large.”

  Reilly’s eyes took on a special shine as he pointed to another matrix. “This is from a person. That’s why.” He turned his gaze from the computer to me and his gaze locked onto mine. “Did the frog-thing speak to you, by any chance?”

  He kept eye-balling me, and what was up with that? “Yeah, it did, and would you mind not staring? I get enough of that from everyone else.”

  Reilly broke off the eye contact. “Sorry if I appear rude. It’s a bad habit of mine. I get so caught up in my work.”

  Enthusiasm seemed to be the name of the game as his body practically shook with excitement. “An
yway, the toad spoke to you because of its human base. That’s what’s so fascinating. Whoever designed it, they used just enough human DNA to make it intelligent, but essentially its matrix was a frog’s. That much I’m sure of.”

  Uh-huh once more. “So, why did it break down so quickly?”

  “I don’t know.” He swiveled his head to check out the computer screen and muttered something about decaying algorithms. “The only thing I can guess is that whoever created this thing didn’t realize that combining two or more kinds of different DNA would create an unstable matrix.”

  He then turned back to me, his eyes shining with the zeal of some kind of mad scientist about to create a monster. “You, on the other hand, are different. You have wings like a bat, claws like a hawk, and from what I heard, you have three times the strength of a normal person. Combining animal DNA in you doesn’t seem to have hurt. I would love to get a blood or skin sample.”

  His statement pissed me off. I hadn’t asked to be made this way. Since the change from average high school student to flying gargoyle, my life had been one non-stop search for acceptance, and all I’d run up against was prejudice and idiocy.

  Mr. FBI’s attitude combined with his zeal also creeped me out, but I didn’t let my temper get out of control, and I stabbed my finger at the machine. “You got your sample there. I’ve already given a bunch of samples. I’m a person, not a lab rat. If the specialists couldn’t cure me, then I doubt you can.”

  Reilly’s eyes lost their manic gleam. “Mitch, I’m sorry. I’m... a bit of a shut-in. I spend most of my time analyzing DNA for my job. That’s what I do, and I’m not great at people skills. I’ll do my best to help out, though. Trust me, please.”

  He sounded sincere enough, and Joe chimed in with, “Um, Mr. Reilly, if you can look at this sample again and let us know or let Officer Sullivan know, we’d appreciate it.”

  “I will. And it’s Agent Reilly, by the way. I’ll let you know what I have once I’m back in my office and can run more tests. It should take a couple of days.”

  “Thanks,” Joe said, and since it was time to leave, we walked outside. I didn’t want to stick around. Being stared at had creeped me out good. I got enough of that from the general public. Anyway, I had better things to do. Oh, wait, strike that. I had no job and no prospects of one. Wonderful.

  Stewing over the matter, I wandered outside with Joe into the bright sunshine.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “Not really.”

  “I am. I’m going to find a convenience store.”

  He walked off, and I made my way over to a nearby bench where I took a seat and let the sun’s rays hit me. It was a beautiful day, but my mind wasn’t on the weather. Instead, it was on Callie, and...

  “Hey!”

  A voice, harsh and angry, made me look up. Two men in their twenties, large, strongly built and with tough faces stood in front of me. Muscles tensed, their body language suggested I take my life elsewhere. “What is it?”

  “You’re the gargoyle, aren’t you?” number one tough guy said. He had a t-shirt with a skull on it. “I seen you on television.”

  Oh, here we go again.

  Number two chimed in with, “You think you’re better than us, don’t you?”

  Here we go again... again. Walk away. It’s not worth it. Instead of replying, I got up and started off. Tough guy number one ran ahead of me and blocked my path.

  A second later, his friend joined him, massive arms folded across his chest. I stood there, waiting. Out of the corner of my eye, a crowd had started to form. Some of them had their smartphones out, ready to get this on a social site.

  This wasn’t going to happen, not here and not now. For some reason, they were pissed-off, and they had the look on their faces that they wanted to do some major damage if possible.

  “Well, do something. We’re waiting,” one of them said.

  “Guys, here’s the deal,” I said, and felt grateful to see Joe walk over and cut his way through the crowd to stand by me. “If you start this, I’ll finish it or my friend will. I’m not going to be responsible for kicking your asses.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, a few people already had their handy-cams out and were busily filming, so I yelled, “Hey, get this on tape. It’ll make for a good show.”

  One of the bystanders gave me the thumbs-up, and then just to make things worse—or better, I hadn’t decided which—a news crew drove up, and a couple of reporters emerged, cameras ready. “Linda Carleton, Portland Cable News,” a young woman cried.

  Tall, slender and dark-haired, she ran over with a cameraman in tow. The camera swung in my direction, and she repeated, “Linda Carleton, Portland Cable News.”

  “I heard it the first time. What is it?”

  My reply didn’t faze her at all. She didn’t even blink. “We’ve heard talk about strange sightings. Can you confirm?”

  Why was she asking me that now? Why didn’t she and all the others come around before to ask us our thoughts? I guess it would have been too difficult. “No comment,” I said, deciding that keeping quiet was the best option.

  “Strange sightings,” another man called out. “Seems the only strange sighting is that Kessler kid and his buddy.”

  A round of laughter followed. Screw this, and I turned away from the camera. It wasn’t good enough, as someone else, young and male, yelled, “Monsters, that’s all you are, freaks and gargoyles!”

  That last word set me off, and I pivoted around to nail the group with a glare. “Who’s the tough guy who said that? Anyone want to answer?”

  The two men who’d been baiting me before hung back at the edge of the crowd. Even Ms. Carleton had decided to pack it in, as she’d put away her mic. Her cameraman was still filming, though. As for me, my temper hovered between get-the-claws-out mode and walk-away-from-this mode. Which would it be?

  As I stood there on the verge of snapping, Joe’s voice called me back to reality. “Mitch, we don’t have to do this.”

  In the same tone, I answered, “We might have to.”

  Things were tense, and where was the law when you wanted it to appear? No sign of them, so doing the pivot-around-and-leave deal, I started walking. Joe went with me, but the sound of running feet alerted me to danger.

  The cry of, “Hey, gargoyle!” came and I turned around in time to see tough guy number one take a punch at Joe. He spun out of range, and the dude lost his balance and fell down.

  Tough dude number two swung hard at me, and maybe I wanted him to hit me. Maybe, because I didn’t move. His fist connected with my jaw, and he recoiled holding his hand and blinking from the pain. “Jesus,” he muttered.

  “Try again. Go ahead and try it.”

  He did. Had to give him credit, he took a high kick at me, and this time I grabbed his leg, pulled, and he fell flat on his back, banging his head in the process. Sirens then blared. The law had arrived, and Joe pointed to the road. “Time to go.”

  We went. I could have stuck around to explain, but it wasn’t worth it. Joe spun off in a cloud of dust. In turn, I took to the skies, hoping the people who’d been filming this wouldn’t cut it to make me or my friend look bad.

  Back in Independence at my house, Joe had already arrived. He was talking to the chief. Sullivan didn’t look happy and asked once I’d landed, “Mitch, do you want to give me your version of the story?”

  If he didn’t look happy, I wasn’t feeling overly joyful, either. Sullivan did listen though. “I got a call from the Portland police,” he began, lips tight. “The police there thought you were causing trouble. Lucky for you a camera crew filmed everything, so the force is backing you—this time.”

  “So, the force is with us?” I asked.

  His lips got tight. He did not appreciate my joke and walked over to his car. “This is serious, Mitch. I am warning you. Don’t get into trouble. Next time, we might not see it your way.”

  So much for
the law being on our side—they never really had been. Joe tapped me on the shoulder. “You ready for some lunch? My dad made something, and I got lots. You know me, I like to eat.”

  “I’m not really hungry, thanks. You go ahead.”

  Joe shrugged and moved on up the road. Me, I went back to my house and up in my room, flopping onto my bed. Food usually made things better, but all the same, things like this upset me. Why people had to bring up my alter-self was beyond me. I ate, went to the bathroom just like everyone else, slept, and enjoyed the same things other kids did. However, no one ever bothered to ask me why.

  All of this was part of who I was, and sometimes, sometimes I just hated people in general. I lay down on my bed and closed my eyes. If I could only shut out the looks of hatred I’d received, it would be great, but realistically speaking, it was never going to happen.

  Chapter Six: Reconciliation

  Many people dreamed when they slept. A series of images of people sped by in rapid succession. Most of them were people I knew, kids I’d grown up with, their parents, and some of the neighbors.

  Some visions were of strangers. Familiar or not, all of them wore the same expression—disgust. It was disgust when I transformed. It didn’t matter if it was partial or whole, they couldn’t keep their emotions hidden. Had I been one of them, I’d have probably felt the same way.

  But I was not.

  Then the images slowed down and changed to memories of what had happened over the past year. We’d been told to disband. No missions, no press conferences—nothing. Then Callie had quit, and with her leaving the group, our relationship ended as well. No returning my phone calls or emails.

  I did manage to talk to her mother, though. “Mitch, Callie is going through a lot of changes. Please try to understand.”

  Message received and understood. My girlfriend—rather, ex-girlfriend—didn’t want to see me anymore.