by Chris Ayala
He sketched what he could remember onto the back of a train schedule pamphlet using an ink pen.
"Really? You're doodling right now? Our train ride home is up in flames." Royal's nagging voice continued.
"Flames." Victor hummed next to her, like it was a song in his head. "Big flames."
A beefy fellow, a real life version of the lumberjack on the paper towels, plopped down on the curb next to them. "Bruno find nothing to eat. Bruno hungry." He whined, grasping his stomach in those clothes that were somehow too big to fit him.
"Oh, for heaven's sake. So far I've seen you eat just about everything, even my can of Altoids." Royal griped.
Bruno's stomach rumbled. He mumbled in his thick German accent. "It tasted like Sweet Tarts. Anymore left?"
Adam couldn't think with these grown children complaining and the sound of fire trucks. He stood and found a quiet corner by the train station that smelled like piss and vomit. As soon as the pen touched the paper, Royal appeared. "What are you doing? We got to make a new plan."
"I'm trying to work. God, I wish Janice wasn't recovering from surgery or I would've brought her."
"Well, you're stuck with me, ain't ya?" Royal folded her arms together. "We only gotta find Pierre and we're done with the list. Our train is now going to be very late. That leaves us only nine hours, 43 minutes to find him, in the middle of Paris might I add. Then we gotta get seven hours of sleep, catch a taxi in the morning to the airport which takes 32 minutes, and get the plane back to La Guardia which takes 10 hours and 57 minutes."
Rubbing his temples didn't seem to shut Royal up. "I know that…can I just…I need a minute. This is important. If I don't draw out the dream, then it'll disappear."
Suddenly, Royal's lenient side surfaced which was much more easier to handle than her stringent side. "Oh, you had one of them…vision things? Premonition?"
"Precognition," Adam corrected her as he shaded in a picture of the gooey monster rising from Marcel's future avatar. "Premonition is a feeling something is going to happen. Precognition is when you actually see it."
"Oh," Royal said, even though Adam already knew she probably didn't understand a word he just said and would probably ask again someday. "Well? What did you…precog or whatever?" She sat down on the dirty ground next to him.
Being so hard to put into words, Adam closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment. "It was the future. Like, the really really future. Forty years from now. The world was just so…I dunno…different." Adam looked to the sky for some kind of explanation of his dream. The sun could barely be seen through the black haze left behind from 98 nuclear strikes. If the closest star in the galaxy couldn't be seen, then how could a flurry of stars be seen in his vision? Those clouds hadn't changed that shade of gray in almost eight months. "And Marcel Celest was there."
"Say what? Marcel Celest was there?" Royal whispered, "You mean, like, on our side? How?"
Bruno six-and-a-half foot tall stature cast a shadow as it walked by. He looked at the vending machine next to the restroom area. After inserting some change, nothing happened. He lifted it up the entire vending machine; his biceps barely bulged through his muscle shirt. Various candies and potato chips fell to the compartment below before Bruno slammed back to the ground. "Damn. Bruno wanted Snickers." He grabbed the dozen other candies and walked away.
Royal gave a long sigh.
Before her complaining started about the two difficult passengers on their trip for resistance fighters, Adam corrected her assumption. "No, my visions can be changed. I altered one before."
"You did?"
With all the stress of carrying for a newborn baby, leading a rebellion of three thousand people, and mourning the death of a best friend - it never occurred to Adam he never told Royal of her fate in his previous precognition. The young blonde with her hair in the same ponytail poking through a baseball cap had died in his vision. Adam stopped it before it could happen, which made him wonder how this original moment in time would've been. Would he be mourning not only Brent's murder but Royal's too? Would he have even made this trip to find men with supernatural abilities to join the rebellion? If he couldn't fathom such a possibility, maybe Royal couldn't either. Especially since it was her life that should've ended that day. He decided to lie with a subtle shrug, "Nothing spectacular."
Something else occurred to him. In his precognition, Marcel Celest knew his words could change the past and his future. For him to suggest what he had…it made the scoundrel seem almost heroic. Adam continued drawing and distracting his head before he began to have respect for Marcel Celest. The murdering politician deserved no respect from anyone, especially Adam.
"That's weird," Royal said looking over his shoulder. "It looks like…" She looked at Adam's drawing from several angles. "…a demon? You saw that in your dream?"
There was no use in hiding anything from Royal; she'd bother him enough to just say it anyway. Adam said, "It's the darkness. During our battle, Marcel Celest will magically absorb all the…evil…in this world. And he'll harbor it. But when he dies…it turns into that. It'll come alive and slaughter us all."
Royal's chest heaved up and down. "Well ain't that a little unsettling. So then, what we do?"
"Easy," Adam said it as if it was actually easy. "We have to stop Marcel Celest before he saves the world."
"How?"
Slowly and unintentionally sadistic, Adam answered, "By killing him."
CHAPTER TWO
"Scientists are optimistic in this new discovery that perhaps we can return to normal weather. The cloud seeds, that originally were intended to control the escalation of global warming, can manually be extracted from the clouds. The problem? Time. And of course…manpower. Planes would need to be flown through the clouds with a device scientists say acts sort of like a vacuum. Some clouds are so blackened that planes have no choice but to fly blind. What's been cleared out, so far, is quite alarming. Not only sulfur, but several other dangerous pollutants were found such as asbestos, glass, metals, and even…human remains. Sissy Perkins, FOX News."
Those cloud seeds kept this world dark. Marcel liked the darkness. It didn't burn skin, produce sweat, or make it difficult to breath. As the Supreme Leader of the Union, he had to show concern to the masses. He used phrases like unfortunate consequence of Doomsday and constant reminder of the billions dead. Deep down he knew, the world was better without all the sunlight. This was Lucifer's plan. And so far, the Supreme Leader of the Darkness hadn't steered him wrong.
He clicked the television through more channels. Television had been so boring lately. Most studios and news-stations didn't rebuild after Doomsday. Either for cost or out of respect for the lives lost. Static crowded most of the air waves. Maybe less television was a positive aspect in this new world, but in times when Marcel only wanted to relax…it became a negative aspect.
Finally, CNN was back on the air.
"Shortly after confirmation that CNN's own Sirius Dawson was the voice behind the 'People of Bliss' movement, she has been reported missing. Some members of this rebellion of the Union have said Sirius Dawson was captured and murdered."
Marcel wouldn't call it "murdered". It certainly hadn't been anyone's attention for her torture to cause cardiac arrest. But it had been his attention to use her as bait for his brother Brent. Instead of a tragic end for Marcel like he craved, that night had turned into a tragic end for the lives of Brent Celest and Sirius Dawson. And him, all alone, with only a demon of dark matter to be his friend. Perhaps it had been a tragic end for him too.
Still grasping the remote control, Marcel rubbed his forefinger along the scar down his wrist. So many years since it bled and still the scar wouldn't heal. All the other scars he had endured disappeared, but this memory held onto his wrist. What would the world be like now if Marcel had succeeded that day after his mother's funeral? What would the world be like without its leader, Marcel Celest? Nuclear weapons may not have fallen. The Union proposal would've certainly p
erished a slower death than Brent had. Maybe the world would've been better off without Marcel Celest?
He tossed the thought aside immediately. To endure meant to succeed. One day, the world would peace. Then that day – maybe, just maybe, Marcel might try to run another blade along that scar on his wrist.
The television shook him awake from his lost ravine in thought. "As the one year anniversary of Doomsday closes in, violence continues to erupt worldwide. The Union's new Helix program is making many upset. Some say the Helix chip doesn't only share your personal information, but also your location. Though very convenient, the Helix has been questioned for its security. The mainframe server is located in a secret location, but how long will it remain secret? And what would happen if it got into the wrong hands?" The screen changed from the lovely red head at her desk to a group of protestors covered in their bright red blood. This was disturbing, and definitely not part of Marcel's plan. Why didn't citizens just trust him? Trust the Union? There was nothing but good intent for their well-being. The Helix could revolutionize this planet, make it simple and organized. "Morocco saw the bloodiest protest today as they stormed the Union embassy, demanding food and supplies without the need for the Helix chip implant." The chip hadn't even been mandated, not yet anyway, so there was no need for violence. If his sister Janice was here, and not raging with abomination for Marcel after seeing him accidentally stab their brother Brent through the stomach, she would describe this situation as unwarranted. People still had ways to purchase goods without the chip. It was inconvenient; not convenient like the Helix. Protests weren't necessary, neither was the blood shed.
Maybe he had an idea of how to force this ideology. Marcel picked up the landline phone by his sofa and dialed for his secretary. "I need you to setup a press conference at the Union Keepers training center. Make sure there's plenty of Press….I have a major announcement to make…Let's just call it the next step in worldwide peace."
Marcel stuck another piece of nicotine gum in his mouth and chewed vigorously. It was his fourth one in the last hour. Doing speeches wasn't his thing. When he was young, he imagined being a film director and the thought of being an actor made him pale. The limelight wasn't for everyone but the light was, his mother once told Marcel. Her words always had a way of making him think outside the lockbox inside his brain.
"Three minutes, Supreme Leader." His secretary said from down the empty hallway.
Marcel nodded. He rubbed his hands together, reciting his speech aloud. When he looked down to his palms – blood smeared across the skin.
Before he could question it, he dashed for the restroom. Inside, he turned on the hot faucet and lifted his hands out – the blood was gone. Marcel rubbed the palm with his forefinger. It couldn't have been his imagination. Or could it have been? But blood had clearly been there just a moment ago. He checked the sleeves of his suit and pockets. No blood anywhere.
Had it been Brent's blood? His brother reminding him from beyond the grave of his brutal sin? Murder. To kill an enemy was one thing, to kill a family enemy was another. Marcel relived the moment in his mind. The blade in his grasp, the rage in his heart, thrusting the sharp edge into Brent's stomach, feeling the satisfaction of –
"What's up?" a voice said, making Marcel nearly jump out of his skin. It was Gerard. "Jesus, you pick now to get the runs? My officers are waiting."
"No," Marcel muttered. "Just…straightening my tie. That's all."
"Jesus, you really do look like a politician, Marcel."
His brother-in-law was right. The mirror reflected the perfect black hair, trimmed eyebrows, powdered cheeks, and stinging blue eyes. Marcel stared at his reflection and wondered if he'd actually grown more pale since he's bond with the darkness. His allergy to light gave him the nickname Casper in Middle School. What was he now? Something between life and death, but definitely not a friendly ghost.
"Gum? Really? Spit it. It would look more professional if you went on stage smoking a cigarette."
Marcel spat the gum into the sink. "I want to be healthy."
"What world leader was ever healthy? That's the point. You're supposed to look like one us unhealthy third-class citizens. That is how you get support. Being one of us."
Though a good point, Marcel wouldn't call Gerard either unhealthy or third-class. His brother-in-law had sparkling white teeth, muscles practically ripping through his uniform; he kept his nails trimmed and his hair trimmed even closer. If Marcel had ever become a film directer, he would've surely cast Gerard as his leading action hero.
"Any news?"
Gerard sighed. "You going to ask me that everyday?"
"Yes," Marcel nodded.
"No news. Your dad hasn't been spotted for weeks. And Janice…well, I think I know my wife…she won't be found unless she wants to be found."
They hated him. His own family. The thought never crossed his mind that the only family member to be by his side in this new world order would be his brother-in-law. "I have to convince them, somehow, it was an accident. Maybe we should just do the Press thing. Admit that my brother was in custody and it escalated –"
"No one will believe it."
The tie was complete, maybe a little too tight but it did seem more professional. Marcel turned to Gerard. "You believe me, don't you? It was an accident. You know how Brent used to get. He got violent, I had to…" He might as well ended the sentence with the words dot, dot, dot.
Gerard stared for maybe too long and said. "Yeah, of course. I know. Let's get going. Everybody's excited to see you speak."
As he followed him out the door, Marcel couldn't help but feel that Gerard didn't seem convinced. Maybe he wasn't such a good actor.
Applause made him tone deaf. His father was right; the clapping can change the beat of your heart. These hundreds of people crowding a gymnasium-style training center for Union Keepers were different than the usual crowds Marcel spoke to. Those crowds were bitter, disgusted, and upset; his job was to make them enthusiastic, proud, and relieved with the prospects of the Union. But this crowd didn't need convincing. They loved him to the ends of this earth.
Union Keepers were his first line of defense. An army built to protect the last government and ensure the welfare of its leader. Hand-picked by Gerard, these soldiers would gladly die if it meant Marcel would live.
Marcel clasped his hands together on the podium. He took a brief moment to look down. There was no blood on his hands. After a low sigh of relief, he adjusted the microphone to his tall stature. "Hello."
The crowd roared again in applause. Marcel laughed. He could wonder if even his father, the President of the United States, would've gotten such an ovation from the simple word Hello.
Unfortunately, the last audience Marcel spoke to ended in a horrific scene. He lost his temper. The weather grew angry with his power from the Darkness. People were attacked by bolts of lightning, bursts of wind, flying debris – he pushed the memory aside. Fortunately, without cameras, the scene just became rumors and scare tactics by the opposing movement.
Once the cheers receded, the officers took a seat. Most of them wore the signature Union Keeper uniform, all black with blue trim that seemed to glow in both light and darkness. Trainees wore a plain uniform, black A-shirt with straight legged black pants. If the auditorium's generator died and the lights went out, surely most of these men wouldn't be seen.
From his front pocket, Marcel unfolded a piece of paper. "I…uh…sat and wrote this entire speech during breakfast this morning. I –"
"What did you eat?" someone screamed from the crowd.
Being used to hearing outbursts like Are you the Anti-Christ?, You're going to Hell!, or Only a madman could believe one government is all you need around the world!, Marcel felt himself caught off-guard. After a brief snort, he spoke into the microphone, "Frosted Flakes."
The crowd clapped again. Marcel felt himself blushing. "I shouldn't read a speech to you guys, because you all are almost like friends to me." Immediately af
ter saying the word friends, Marcel regretted it. It sounded desperate. He cleared his throat. "No. Maybe more like family. A family with the same goal. All we want is…serenity. Worldwide. Everyone needs to just take a deep breath and be content with what's around us. There's so much negativity in this world lately, that I've found myself nearly drowning in it. I feel there is only one way to end all this violence around the planet…" Marcel paused for dramatic appeal, something his father did in his inauguration speech several times, "…with violence."
Marcel had to look around to make sure the people in the auditorium were still breathing. Voices could echo easily off these walls, but he didn't hear a single objection. He emphasized, "Violence must be met with violence. It's the only way to destroy it."
Placing his elbows on the podium, he pictured his advising team smacking their heads saying that poll numbers disagree with a politician leaning against a podium. He continued, "When I was in Middle School, we used to have this group called we used to call the Daryl Dixons. You know…from that television show with the zombies?" Nods and smirks from the onlookers answered his question. Marcel said, "They were the rough 'n tough types. Born in the lower class neighborhoods. Carried a knife around with them. Needless to say, if the entire faculty turned into zombies – we'd still be more scared of the Daryl Dixons. We got bullied everyday. They were bigger than us, stronger than us, and had more numbers."
Marcel took his hands off the podium and placed them in his pockets. Poll numbers hated hands in the pockets too. "One day, they didn't know I was there, but I overheard them talking about us. From the point-of-view of these jerks, we were the bad guys. Rich mommies and daddies. Privileged. Smart. Goals for our future. We were the bad guys. Silly, right? I'd go home for lunch because they stole my money or I'd go home with bruises for trying to fight back. But we were the bad guys?" Everyone in the room nearly scoffed at the same time. "Well, anyway, we got sick of it. Us 'nerd terds', as we were called, decided to ban together to come up with a plan. After school, the brutes chased us. But we were ready. We got them cornered into an alley way, then when they least expected it – we pulled out the bats."