Bladed Wings

by Davis, Jarod

  Soup can in hand, Timothy jogged back to Jenny’s apartment. He saw her at the door with a garbage bag. “What are you doing?” he demanded, mock serious.

  “I have to throw this out.”

  “Here,” Timothy held out his hand.

  “No, I can do it.”

  “It’s cold out there.”

  “So?”

  “You don’t have a coat.”

  “I can take a few seconds of cold.”

  “But you’re sick and I’m here, and I’m going to take care of you whether you like it or not. Understand?”

  “Well, aren’t we big and mighty?”

  “Right now, yeah.”

  “Okay, okay,” Jenny faced her apartment again. Timothy set down the soup and ran back through the cold. He found the big rectangle for trash behind the Student Center and swung the black bag over his shoulder to hear it crash into everything else no one wanted. As he clapped the dust from his hands, Timothy checked to see if anyone spied on him. When he didn’t find any observers, he turned and ran, sprinting back up the steps and almost laughing because he wanted to see Jenny again.

  Huddled in the nook of the couch, she didn’t open her eyes as he came in. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “You really don’t.”

  Instead of arguing, Timothy grabbed one of their apparently never-before-used pots, got some water, and poured the soup. As it cooked on their stove, he went back to the living room. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were red, and he could hear her breathing.

  “You’re looking at me, aren’t you?” Jenny asked, her eyes still shut.

  “Maybe.”

  “Stop it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not dolled up and purdy.”

  “I disagree,” he said.

  Jenny smiled, her eyes still closed.

  A few minutes later he came back with the bowl of soup.

  He sat across from her while she ate. Between spoonfuls, she told him thank you.

  “For the soup?”

  “For stopping by.”

  “Always a pleasure,” he said with half a bow.

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.”

  “Want to hear something crazy?” Timothy asked. When she nodded, he said, “I still need your number.”

  “That’s how you ask a girl for her number?”

  “Maybe I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. We go out on Friday, and it’s Monday, and I still don’t have it.”

  “So you come up to me and say, ‘I still need your number’? That’s not gonna work. You have to be smooth, sly, you know, chat me up a bit. That’s a pretty privileged piece of information you want. A lot of guys would kill for these digits.”

  “That’s probably true,” he laughed and asked. “So what should I say? What are the right words so you’ll decide I’m worth the seven magic numbers that let me talk to you across vast distances?”

  “That’s your puzzle to solve.”

  “You’re mean.”

  “Hey, you’re the guy just demanding I tell you.”

  “True.” Timothy stopped for a second, leaning forward. He stared down at her coffee table without really seeing it. Instead, he thought and planned. He scanned through different chances, different options and words. He put his hands on his knees, stretched forward and said, “You should trust me because I’m the guy who brought you soup. I’m the guy who’s had feelings for you for a long time.” Jeremiah would’ve told him to never, ever, ever, admit something like that. “I have fun with you, and I care about you, and I feel like a better person when I’m with you. I feel like everything is right if we’re together. So you should give me your phone number.”

  “Wow.” Shock rang in that word. Timothy felt his stomach drop, the same way it did when he dueled Despada’s creatures.

  “Too much?” Timothy asked, his voice low. He was glad it didn’t crack, that he managed those two syllables because he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life thinking about how he screwed up this great relationship by being too honest. Timothy imagined Jeremiah at some party laughing without knowing why.

  Jenny’s answer came out as little more than a whisper, “No.”

  “You’re sure?” stupid question, but he wasn’t smart, not then.

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” she said. “I feel the same. I’m happy you’re here. Like scary happy you’re here.”

  “So does that mean I can have your phone number?”

  Laughing, Jenny chucked a pillow at him and winged Timothy in the head. Rubbing his head because she could throw a lot harder than she probably realized, Timothy talked about other stuff until Jenny asked, “What are you afraid of?” The first answer was obvious: he feared losing her, feared it in a special way that felt like a punch to the stomach, the kind of fear that came with hearing a crack and knowing it’s a broken bone.

  He went with a second answer, “Burning. I’ve got a thing about getting burned alive. What about you?”

  “I used to be scared of the dark. Not just the whole thing where every kid’s afraid of the dark. It was like I really freaked out.”

  “Were your parents understanding?”

  “Pretty much. They knew I’d grow out of it so they got me a nightlight in the meantime.”

  “How long?”

  “How long did it take to grow out of it?” she asked and thought, “Maybe I was ten? But there are times, like when I’m alone and the windows are black and I start thinking about all of the bad things that could happen. Then I get a little nervous.”

  “I’m here,” Timothy said.

  “True. If there’s a monster, it’ll eat you first, giving me time to escape.”

  “Why would it eat me first?”

  “You’re bigger, and a gentleman, right? So you’d have to stay behind to fight.”

  “Great being a guy,” Timothy mumbled.

  When Jenny finished her soup, she put the tray aside, took the remote and asked, “Want to sit with me?” Timothy took his spot a few inches away. He didn’t want to her to feel uncomfortable, crowded. Still, he couldn’t deny the jolt of excitement when she scooted closer. Jenny flicked through different shows until she stopped at a cartoon. “Great stuff,” she said when the theme song started.

  “I’m pretty sure my English teachers would disagree.”

  “So they’re wrong.”

  “What makes this great?” Timothy asked.

  “It’s a show about an idiot, but he lives like there aren’t any consequences to his actions. It’s Carpe Diem all over the place.”

  “And that’s good?”

  “That’s great. You need someone who can say anything if you want to see anything.”

  “Deep.”

  “Not much for philosophy?”

  “A little,” he said. “I’m just not very good at it.”

  “Practice.”

  “I hope so,” Timothy said because she could be the one to teach him. She got comfortable, her legs pulled up onto the couch, her head on his lap, and they settled into the show. Half way through the next sitcom, Timothy glanced down and saw she was asleep.

  Sitting there in the dark, Timothy didn’t really like this show. The sitcom about two guys and the kid they adopted couldn’t make him laugh. In fact, he got more interested in the commercials, there would be some good movies in March. But getting the remote meant moving and that might have woken Jenny. Instead, he sat there, his fingers silent as he ran his fingers along her hair. When she shifted he went stiff, afraid he woke her, but she just readjusted herself, snuggling deeper into the crook between Timothy and the couch. A comic book hero would have complained about the pain and stress of keeping something from her. And he would’ve liked to tell her. Sure, it might have been nice if someone knew, but Timothy wouldn’t put that on her. He just wanted to know she was there and safe and that was plenty. Sitting there with her, keeping her company in the shadowed glow of terri
ble TV, Timothy didn’t know what else he could want.

  “You’re still here,” she mumbled hours later.

  Timothy’s eyes flittered open as he remembered where he was and why his thighs were so hot. “I am.”

  “You could have left. You have class and stuff tomorrow. Right?”

  “This is more important.”

  “More important than sleep?”

  After a second of looking for a clever answer all he had was, “Much more important.” He supposed honesty could make a decent substitute for wit. “I’m feeling better,” she sat up, stretching like a cat.

  “I’m glad.”

  Timothy got up and crept to the door. He didn’t want to wake up her roommate. But he stopped when he heard her call his name. When he turned back she said, “Thank you. For tonight. And everything.”

  “Dude, you’re late,” Jeremiah said. “And someone stole some of my soup.”

  “Sorry. I’ll pay you back.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Just tell me why you needed chicken soup.”

  “You noticed it was gone?”

  “Of course. That’s my psychic superpower. I know exactly where everything I own is.”

  “Great superpower.”

  “It’s not as good as possession; that’s what I really want. I want to be a ghost who could just take over people. But hey, a man can settle. Which reminds me, why’d you steal my soup?”

  “Jenny wasn’t feeling well.”

  “So you ran down there to play nurse.”

  “That’s bad?” Timothy asked, very much a challenge. All through high school he remembered hearing guys get teased by their friends, always with the claim that the guy did too much for their girlfriends. They said he was whipped, and should’ve proved he was a man by being a jerk.

  “No, but if you were playing nurse, I hope she didn’t make you wear the costume.”

  “You really have problems, dude.”

  “I’m happy. What problems can I have?”

  “Would you want to meet someone?” Timothy asked as he sat down. His legs were stiff. Even asleep, his mind and body refused to move or stretch.

  “No.”

  “That was fast.”

  “Relationships require time and energy. Right now I’m too busy for a real person in my life. Parties? Sure. Random girls who’ve had just enough to drink? Sure. Someone I’d actually care about? Now that’s going a bit far.”

  “And you’re afraid she would change you.”

  “What?” Jeremiah asked, probably the first time Timothy ever heard his roommate actually confused. Still, he didn’t let it show as he picked up his bouncy ball from their coffee table and started tossing it against the floor, catching it in his left hand to a private rhythm. With that look of concentration, he could have been a monk at his devotions.

  “You’re afraid she’d change you,” Timothy repeated, this time a little more sure.

  “Change me from what?”

  “Get a girl you care about and you’d be a better person.”

  “Has Jenny done that for you?”

  “I think so.” Timothy felt his brows tighten, “Like just now, she wasn’t feeling so good so I went over and helped her.”

  “Hence my soup.”

  “Hence your soup. If we weren’t together, I wouldn’t have helped her. So I got to do something nice for someone because I know her.”

  “I don’t worry about being different.”

  “Then what do you worry about?”

  “Being distracted. So many ambitions and so little time. You didn’t study tonight. You didn’t get any work done. Tomorrow will be a lot harder now. If I went off and fell for some girl, I’d be in the same boat, the same time-consuming boat.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I’ve said it before,” Jeremiah answered. “Emperor of the World.”

  A few minutes later Jeremiah was back in his room, reading or plotting his global takeover, but Timothy wouldn’t be able to sleep. This was the kind of night wanted to remember forever. He couldn’t even remember what tired felt like. Pushing the shear curtain away, he glanced outside and held his breath when he saw Jenny’s car, the cabin lights illuminated pale yellow. A second later, he saw Jenny get out, a textbook under one arm. Pitch black, and that was a moment she chose to go get a book out of her car. Timothy got up, about to go outside and lecture her about going outside while sick. But he stopped; he stopped like his muscles wouldn’t work because he saw Roman and several drudges.

  He spotted Despada.

  Another heartbeat and the world blurred as Timothy sprang up, ripped open the door, and ran to the guardrail. All of that half a second and it was too late. Despada did her own dirty work, slinking from the shadows. Silent, she had one hand over Jenny’s mouth.

  Sick and probably half-asleep, Jenny didn’t give up. She kicked down, dragging the back of her heel down Despada’s shin. The parking lot echoed with Despada’s snarl; she let go as Timothy ran for the stairs. By the time he got there, he glanced down just in time to see Roman rush Jenny. He didn’t bother with trying to keep her quiet. One fast and silent strike to the back of her head and she crumpled to the ground. Timothy hoped and prayed and almost roared against everything.

  Jenny couldn’t be hurt. She couldn’t be hurt, he promised himself. They just knocked her out, he repeated, silent pleas to anything that might be listening. Fate, the universe, the invisible hand, none of it mattered as long as she was okay. But he couldn’t know for sure and he couldn’t charge them because that wouldn’t save her.

  Roman held her in his arms like a groom with his bride. That made shadowed spikes rip from Timothy’s wrists. A second there and he needed every synapse to fire at once to keep him from running down there. That would be suicide. That wouldn’t save her. It would feel good for all of thirty seconds before they butchered him and took her anyway. They passed the corner to one of the other parking lots and that’s when Timothy jumped. Four stories and he landed on a disk of shadow. Before jumping, he couldn’t know it would be there to cushion his fall.

  Silent, he cut across the parking lot.

  Timothy couldn’t feel exhaustion. He wouldn’t let himself feel it if they had Jenny.

  A white van, tinted windows, everything he’d expect from kidnappers, purred with ignition. As its brake lights burned to life like dragon eyes, Timothy thought about what he could do. An ambush, he decided. He had to get them when they wouldn’t expect him.

  He sprinted across the lot, ducking between empty cars, and then he stopped right behind the van, hoping this would work. Any stray glance from anyone in that vehicle and he’d be fighting a couple of demons on his own. He didn’t have a chance to pause or hope that no one saw him. He climbed onto the bumper, flinching with the sounds of his shoes against the stainless steel. The van pulled out and that little bit of motion almost tossed him to the ground; Timothy grabbed the handle to the doors. His fingers were wet with sweat by the time they got to the street.

  This could go wrong in so many ways.

  A cop could see him, could demand they pull over.

  Someone could honk, college students laughing at the dude clinging to the van.

  A sudden stop and he could bounce off the door, maybe get run over by the next car.

  They could use a freeway.

  Every second and Timothy didn’t think about all of those bad chances. All he had to do was get to her. He thought about attacking right now, using his tendrils to rip into the van. But he didn’t have a good way to get her away. Timothy touched his pocket and realized he didn’t have his phone. He couldn’t call for help.

  The van moved like any other vehicle, slow and safe. It could have been a delivery van on its way home with some tired driver in the front seat. Seconds passed, and Timothy started to hope this would work. Then he couldn’t breathe when he heard the sirens.

  Timothy looked back to a white sedan, some guy talking on his phone. If he noticed Timothy, he didn’t
care. Then Timothy stopped searching for the lights when he saw an ambulance sprint down the other side of the street. Then their light turned green and Timothy clung against the pull of inertia.

  Crouched beneath the windows, Timothy wished he could see what was happening. He didn’t think they’d hurt her, but he couldn’t know that. He couldn’t know, couldn’t figure out what they were doing. All he could do was wait and cling to the hope that he wouldn’t fall off, wouldn’t get killed, that he could save and protect her.

  Winds battered him through intersection after intersection. He couldn’t feel his fingers, but he wouldn’t let them slip. He had to stay on. Hoping for a distraction, hoping it would be useful, Timothy kept his eyes on the streets they took. From The Verge they jumped side streets through industrial parks and tract housing. After about forty seconds Timothy got lost, but he could use an address. Maybe Cordinox didn’t know where Despada based her operations; maybe that would help.

  Then they pulled onto a private property. Fenced off for construction, there were faded going-out-of-business signs. There wasn’t a marquis, just the outline of where the big sign used to be. Tucked away behind empty office space, no one would notice this place. There was even a derelict forklift and metal beams to prove this place was being fixed.

  They drove up to the entrance of a big and empty parking lot

  Knowing he might break his legs, Timothy leaped off when they passed the corner of the building. His clothes tore on impact, and his skin ripped as he rolled out of sight behind the one big building. Then he scrambled to his feet, peeking out to see if someone spotted him. The van’s doors clicked open, and several individuals stepped out. There was the gray haired demon with big eyes, Oculus. He held something in one hand. Timothy felt his throat clench when he saw it. An eye held up by spider legs. It twitched, scanning from side to side. It hopped up and twisted midair to check the parking lot, though it didn’t seem interested in the building.