Catharsis (Book 2): Catalyst

by Campbell, D. Andrew

  Racing through my options, I try to go with the least damaging of them (I quickly realize that once grenades are involved, the idea of not doing damage somewhere has been eliminated.).

  Before I can even approach the discussion of which grenade to grab first (I'm not even sure I can get to both before they go off.), I have to figure out where I'm going to put them in order to hurt the fewest number of people or things. It's tempting to just run and save myself, but I can't let these three guys lying in the street die because of my actions. I'm not ready to become that person, yet.

  Do I try and get the grenades into the middle of the street? Toss them at a building? In an alley? Straight up in the air? How far will their shrapnel go before it's no longer lethal? Can I even get the grenades to go where I want them to once I've grabbed them? These questions fly through my head as I stare at the two ominous objects coming at me through the air like wingless, metal birds of death.

  Then I remember throwing chunks of concrete at the pillars of the warehouse that first week of my self-banishment, and my doubt about my abilities fades away. As long as I can get to them before they detonate, then I will succeed. And if one goes off while it's next to me, then I've lived a good life and made a difference in the world. It would be a good death.

  "Grenades!" I finally shout so that Ren will know what is coming next, and leap into the air to catch the grenade that was coming towards me already. Snatching it out of mid-air, I pull my arm back and whip it forward using as much power and accuracy as I can to get it to its intended destination: the gaping hole that used to be a windshield in the fleeing black vehicle.

  I wish I could change directions in the air, but that isn't an ability that I have (Super speed and senses, yes. Flying? No.). The seconds it takes me to complete my trip through the air, land, get my balance, turn around and take off running for the second grenade seem to stretch beyond sanity. My flight wasted precious time, but it was just the byproduct of immediate action. Now is not the time for lament.

  Sprinting the two dozen feet from where I landed to where I can still see the frightening metallic fruit spinning lazily on the chipped sidewalk (mere paces from my new motorcycle), I push as much of my energy into my acceleration as I can. Closing the final few feet to my destination, I dive into a roll so as to not sacrifice any of my momentum and scoop up the grenade into my hands. As I come back into a standing position, I release the surprisingly weighty little rock with as much force as possible (not worrying about accuracy and just hoping to put as much distance between me and it as I can). I watch as it sails up and over the edge of the nearest building without losing any height before I drop down and cover my head.

  The two muffled Whum-BOOM's come even quicker than I anticipated. One from above and behind the building (hope no locals had decided to stargaze tonight), and the other from down the street behind me. The second explosion is followed by the distinct sounds of a car losing control and slamming into something large and very immobile (I would guess a parked car, telephone pole or building.).

  Peeking out from between my fingers and down the street, I see that my aim had been as true as I had hoped. The black SUV that had been the source of my troubles tonight is off to the side of the road in flames.

  "That interrogation may have to wait a bit Renny," I say and smile at the fact that I was the one to survive tonight's ordeal unscathed. "Last target may not be up to speaking."

  After glancing around briefly at the three unconscious men in the street near me and making sure they are alive but decommissioned, I sprint over to my bike and start it up. Luckily with all the gunfire going off, none of it hit my ride. Thank goodness for small favors. Just because I have an overflow of energy doesn't mean I want to spend it running halfway across the city.

  Before slipping the helmet onto my head and safely cocooning my senses, I tell Ren, "Heading over to check the status of our last target. Then I'm going back to Chadwick's with a full charge."

  My pocket buzzes twice in response, and I slip the helmet securely over my head cutting out the ambient sounds and smells of the street. Twisting the throttle, I accelerate into a smooth circle and shoot back up the darkened thoroughfare towards the burning vehicle to see what destruction has been wrought.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  My intention with the first grenade had been twofold: get it somewhere quickly to minimize the collateral damage and hopefully find a way to prevent the last thug from escaping. As I had leaped into the air to intercept the explosive device, the idea of combining the two thoughts came to me. The shattered front windshield of the SUV was still facing towards me, and the grenade was roughly the same size and weight as a rock. The steel exterior of the vehicle would work as well as anything else to contain the blast. I knew the guy inside might not fare as well, but when deciding between him and bystanders, his previous poor decisions cost him a vote.

  Pulling up to the wreckage, I see the damage isn't nearly as severe as I had dreaded. The entire back half of the vehicle has been shredded and there is GM car part shrapnel scattered everywhere, but it doesn't appear the explosion hurt anything that wasn't inside the Escalade. And with the guy going in reverse instead of drive, there wasn't much momentum built up when he lost control and hit the parked Subaru and a telephone pole (Hey! I was right with two of my three guesses as to what he hit. Not too shabby.). Speaking of the guy...

  A quick peek as I roll up to the scene shows me the front seats are empty and the passenger door is open and crumpled against the parked car he hit.

  Where'd he go? How did he just disappear? Did he escape? The thoughts hit me consecutively, and I begin to wonder if I've met a second man in the same night with powers that might be equal to mine (Chadwick Morrin has still taken a very prominent position in the forefront of my thinking this evening.). Then I notice his curled up body underneath the Subaru, and I figure out what happened.

  He's not superhuman; he's just super lucky. He must have seen the grenade coming and managed to jump out before it exploded. I'm sure it was still painful (and it looks like it was enough to knock him unconscious), but it was also probably enough to save his life.

  Popping out the bike's kickstand with my foot, I dismount and pull the man clear of the Subaru's rear fender. Looking at his face (the now-shattered gas mask no longer obscures my view of it), I see I was wrong with my previous assumption. He isn't unconscious. He's quite awake and aware of his surroundings, and judging by the rabid gleam in his eyes he isn't exactly thrilled to be seeing me again.

  Staring into his eyes (Well, I stare into his eyes, all he can see is my reflective visor, but the intent is there.), I wait to see if he has any spunk left in him. Any last minute acts of valor that I should be prepared for. But he just stares at me and breathes heavily. He may have fury in his soul, but I'm thinking he has no more energy in his body. Surviving a nearly fatal explosion will do that to a person.

  Bending down closer to the man, I unbuckle and remove my helmet to make my next actions easier.

  "How long do I have?" I ask quietly knowing Ren will understand what I am referring to. He's a smart man, and I have faith in him.

  "Less than a minute," the quiet, ghostly voice whispers up from my pocket. "Probably closer to thirty seconds."

  It's not enough time for me to feed or to even properly interrogate the guy, and that means he will remember what happened tonight unlike his friends. From past experience I know whatever venom or poison exists in my saliva will have blurred their memories and given them only a dim recollection of anything that has happened. All they'll know is that they were driving around and then woke up in the street with their vehicle in flames.

  But this guy? He'll remember every single second of what happened. It will stay with him and haunt him. He'll know who they confronted tonight and how well I fought and how quickly they fell. But, more importantly, he'll also learn from it and have a better chance of hurting me next time. I hate that, but I won't choose the alternative. I won't kill a
man just to silence him. I still won't be that person.

  But that doesn't mean he can't be useful to me before I take off.

  Covering my microphone with my hand in an attempt to muffle my voice for Ren (Even over our connection my forced voice carries power, and he already had to deal with it once tonight at Chadwick’s.), I lean in close to the man's face and put every bit of my will into my words.

  "where should I hit next to do the most damage?" I ask, and then follow up with, "and give me the address of your boss's place." I leave the location vague (Boss's house? Work? Warehouse? I don't know which would be best. I figure this guy can decide for me.) and memorize the addresses he gives me. He doesn't even put up a fight against my questions, and it's nice to catch another break.

  Standing back up, I inhale deeply to get a good taste of the air around the burning Escalade. I absolutely hate the tang of burning rubber and plastic that tear through my nose and lungs, but it's the quickest way of finding out how much drugs or money were in the vehicle. Everything in the back of that truck is now on fire, and the scents permeating the air should tell a story of what was being carried.

  And they do, but it isn't good news.

  Straightening my legs, I click my mic button and say, "I have two addresses for you to run down that were just provided by our reluctant volunteer. I think they may make for some interesting stops this week." I pause and take one more good pull of the air and hope for a change in what I had sensed before.

  No luck.

  "And bad news, Renny," I say stepping back onto the bike and pulling up the kickstand. "Their car was pretty much empty of contraband. I could smell a plethora of weapons (thanks for the vocabulary bump El Guapo), but very little in the way of drugs or money."

  Gunning the bike into a hard turn and rocketing off down the adjacent alley before the arriving police can catch sight of me, I finish the rest of my thought silently to myself. Because I think they were out tonight just looking for me. And that can’t be good for my continued existence.

  PART TWO

  -The Decision-

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  As tempting as it would be to run down the two addresses immediately, I know I have to wait. My senses could use some recovery time after forcing all that contaminated air through them. After getting to feed on three different people (and large, healthy men at that), my energy stores are well-stocked and healing shouldn't take long. But I'd rather that healing take place in the safety of the warehouse rather than out on the streets while I'm attacking random hoods. The last thing I want is for my sense of smell to falter while I'm tracking some armed hoodlum through a house. So even though surprise would work greatly to my advantage, I will wait. It might give them extra time to prepare for me, but so far that hasn't proven to be much of a worry.

  And more importantly? Chadwick Morrin. That man scares me more than the cartels do. Even if I only was in his presence briefly, that time made an impression on me. I don't want to meet back up with him, but I want him running around loose in the world even less. And if anyone in this world is best prepared to face him, it would have to be me. That is a responsibility I'll just have to accept.

  Pushing thoughts of Chadwick to the back of my consciousness, I radio Ren so that I can update him on what I'm planning to do.

  "Hey little buddy," I say as my voice activates the microphone. "Any word on our esteemed local authorities and their whereabouts? Anything that should worry me?"

  I wait for his response, which doesn't immediately come. Thinking I might not have turned on the microphone correctly, I get ready to repeat myself when he finally answers.

  "I'm taller than you," his steady voice interrupts my actions, and it takes me a moment to realize it also doesn't really answer my question.

  "Wha-" I begin before he continues speaking right over me.

  "And I'm older than you."

  I wait for him to say more before I respond, but from his extended silence I'm guessing he's done.

  "Ren?" I start slowly to see if he's going to talk over me again, but he doesn't. "Is this because of my comment?" I can't help but smile at the thought of him pouting and getting upset about just a few words, and I'm sure that smile leaks through into my voice.

  "Buddy?" He says in that deep, resonant voice. "Yes. Little? No. Don't demean me Cat. I may not be your superior, even though I'm taller and older, but I'm also not your little sidekick. I'm helping you by choice. My choice, Cat. Don't make me regret that choice."

  Sheesh. He can be so melodramatic sometimes.

  "I'm sorry, Ren. They're just words. I was trying to lighten the mood after what happened."

  "Words have power. Don't forget that," I can hear him sigh on his side before continuing. "And to answer your question, you're free and clear. I don't think the police even knew you were there. Good job."

  I let his last two words hang in the air before replying. "Was that a compliment, Renny? Did you just say something nice about me? I think we're bonding, big guy."

  His voice rumbles across the next words as he says, "Remember, Cat, words..."

  "...have power," I finish in my deepest, raspiest imitation of him. "Yeah, I know. And yours do, too. And thanks."

  I know my current overly jubilant attitude will grate on Ren, but it is just a side effect of having satiated myself with an overabundance of blood from the three men. As my body processes the nutrients, it kicks out some extra endorphins in my system. I get...let's call it giggle-silly...for a while until it all hits a sort of equilibrium in my body. We both just have to put up with my elevated mood for a few hours, and then I'm back to (mostly) normal.

  This is also a good reason why I shouldn't be ransacking drug dens in my current state. It's a bit counter-productive to be feeling like Rainbow Brite while attempting to imitate Rambo (Thanks again dad for those classic cultural references!).

  But once again, Chadwick? I think if I wait much longer, then he might disappear. Just vanish. I have a feeling he is way too brilliant to just stick around and wait for me. If I don't get to him soon, then I might not get to him at all. And a little emotional slap from the happy stick might be enough to keep me from killing him when that happens. It's no guarantee, but he could use everything he can get in his favor when we meet. Because something tells me that the next time he and I meet face to face, someone is going to die.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  "Thanks, Ren. Let me know if anything pops with our friends in the Escalade. Three of them won't have much to say, but the fourth could very well sing like the proverbial canary. I don't know if it will be to the police, but I doubt it. I think we have some time before he gets back and talks to someone high enough to make actual decisions."

  "But for now I'm headed back to Chadwick's place so we can continue our conversation from earlier. I believe he is going to have some more information to tell me." I pause for a moment as I swing the bike around a slow-moving truck in the fast lane and accelerate through a yellow light. "Whether he likes it or not.

  "And if things go the way I want tonight," I say as I come to a stop at a red light (no point bringing more attention to myself than necessary just yet). "Then it won't be in the 'things he likes' category."

  "Be smart Cat,” Ren tells me as I wait out the light on the quietly humming bike. "He's smart and he's scary. I know you're juiced right now and looking for a reason to burn off that extra energy, but I think this guy has earned a little of our respect."

  I'm astounded by his words, and I let him know it. "Uhm. What was that Ren? You respect this guy?"

  "Don't misunderstand me, Cat. He's earned my respect as an opponent, not for what he's done. He's still a horrible person. But he's also a horribly brilliant person. He's remained untouched by the police, and he ran into you and lived." He pauses before continuing. "And, technically, he also beat you. You had to run from that last encounter. Not him. Remember that, Catarina. There's a difference between liking a person and respecting them."

  "I
was weak and unprepared for him last time. I wasn't at full strength. He got lucky." The excuses pour out of me before I can throttle them back. Breathing in, I pause and then continue, "It's not going to happen again. He's not going to beat me twice, Ren. I'll guarantee that."

  "That's fine, kiddo. But remember to go into this with your eyes open. He's formidable."

  Kiddo? The thought of him calling me something like that makes me want to start giggling again.

  The light turns green, and I floor the bike through the intersection and off towards Chadwick's neighborhood. But I can't let that comment go.

  "Kiddo?" I ask as the houses fly past me. "You called me 'kiddo'?"

  "Yes, I did Catarina," and I can hear the smile in his voice. "It's not pleasant when someone belittles you, is it?”

  Chuckling, I say, "Actually, it just made me laugh. But I understand your point.

  "Anyway, any updates on surfer boy in the last few hours since I left? Is there still a police presence?"

  "Glad you asked," he tells me and I can hear his fingers gently clacking on a keyboard somewhere back at the warehouse. "The officers are still at his house, and they haven't filed anything new since the incident after you left. Apparently he is keeping his head down and quiet for now."

  “So nothing came from the explosion? They just accepted his story and walked away? What kind of police work is that?”

  “They have respect for him, too, Cat,” he says in that same baritone voice. “Remember, this isn’t their first time dealing with him. Or his craftiness. They have to be cautious. And careful.

  "He's smart, Cat, and the cops know it. If they make a poor case for going in and then actually find something, he'd find a way to get it thrown out of court. He's done it before. They'd lose a good shot at evidence. It's not worth the risk. Their hands are tied here."