NANOVISION: What Would You Do With X-ray Vision?

by Paul Harry

  * * * *

  Rudy and Daniel sat on their respective beds eating hamburgers and fries, washing them down with cokes. Both were exhausted.

  “Ya had enough to eat?” asked Rudy, as he crumpled up the wax paper from his burger. He stuffed it into one of the paper sacks.

  “Yeah,” answered Daniel, food still in his mouth. He washed it down with a sip of coke. “More than enough. Thanks.”

  The old man nodded, then added. “I stopped by Walmart while I was out. Got you a pair of shoes... size twelve okay?”

  “I guess,” Daniel responded. “Thanks.”

  “And some new sunglasses... though I’m not sure you need’em anymore.”

  He studied Daniel’s face for a moment and Daniel could see that there was something on his mind. “Look kid,” he began. “I don’t wanna pry, but maybe you could tell me what’s going on here? And what’s up with your eyes all of a sudden?”

  Daniel shrugged. “There’s not much to tell, really. Aunt Ethyl gave me some shots and they seem to have brought back my vision.”

  Rudy shook his head. “Damnest thing I’ve ever seen.” Unexpectedly he burped. “Christ!” he exclaimed, “Not again.” He rubbed his chest to relieve the pressure.

  “You okay?” asked Daniel, in concern.

  The old man nodded. “Yeah, I guess I ate too fast. My chest feels tight−and gassy. The ole stomach’s not what it used to be. I guess I should’a got some tums while I was out.”

  “Maybe they’ve got some at the front desk?” said Daniel.

  “Naw, I’ll be all right,” answered Rudy. “I just need to get some sleep. Here...” He removed the large white plastic bag that was lying next to his pillow and tossed it to Daniel. “... your shoes.”

  Daniel snatched the bag and looked inside while Rudy began to undress. Stripping down to his drawers and t-shirt, the old man draped his clothes over a chair and climbed into bed. “I also called the police while I was out,” he told Daniel as he pulled out his hearing aid. He set it on the night stand. “That’s what took me so long. I told ‘em I heard gunshots at your house. They said they’d send some people to check it out.”

  The look on Daniel’s face was pensive. “I wonder how Aunt Ethyl and Katie are doing?”

  “Not to worry, son,” confided Rudy, yawning wide. “They were both outta harm’s way when that guy showed up − thank goodness. Don’t worry we’ll see ‘em tomorrow − and we’ll have ‘em out by Tuesday for sure.” The old man rolled over and went to sleep.

  * * * *

  It was half-past two when Mickey entered the lobby of the Palomar hotel. The place was empty with one lone desk clerk standing behind the registration desk. He looked up as Mickey approached. “Yes, Sir, may I help you?”

  Mickey nodded his head and smiled. “Aye maybe yah ken. Aye’m lookin’ for a friend who may ‘ave checked in earlier this evening − ‘is name is Daniel Lewis.”

  “I’ll be happy to check, Sir,” responded the clerk, pecking away at his computer. “Mmmm, no, I’m afraid I’m not seeing anyone by that name.”

  “Can yah teel me then, ‘ave yah ‘ad anyone check in tonight, say aroound nine or ten. Mebbe a kid aboot twenty-one with another person—an old guy.”

  The clerk shrugged. “I’m sorry, Sir. I can’t say. I didn’t come on ‘til midnight and I have no idea who’s checked in this evening. I do know there was a wedding next door and we picked up some of the overflow.”

  Mickey was at a loss. Should he try and bribe this guy or just kill him? He had to find the kid before it was too late. He was about to reach into his pocket when he saw the clerk looking at something behind him. He heard a car door and footsteps−someone was coming−he turned. Christ, it was a couple of cops.

  The clerk acknowledged them with a boisterous welcome. “Jack... Roger... How yah doin’? Fresh coffee in the back... You guys want some?”

  “Sure,” answered one of the cops.

  Mickey cursed under his breath. His window of opportunity was gone. “Thanks for all yur ‘elp,” he said to the clerk. “Aye’ll check down the street.”

  * * * *

  It was early the next morning when Daniel awoke. The room was dark and he was disoriented. Where the hell was he? Reality quickly smacked him in the face. He was in an old hotel room with Rudy after barely escaping Mickey, ‘the Spoon’. The thought of seeing the madman again sent a shiver up his spine and he bolted up from the bed in a panic. He relaxed when he saw Rudy still sound asleep in the other bed−everything was okay.

  Glancing at the night table, Daniel read the clock−it was 7:05, and he felt his stomach growl. He was hungry. After a quick stretch, Daniel hopped up and went to the bathroom, after which he opened the drapes and began to dress. He called to Rudy. “Hey Rudy, it’s after seven. Come on, let’s get going. I want to see Aunt Ethyl and Katie.”

  The old man didn’t move, though Daniel wasn’t surprised. He knew the old guy never got up before noon. Unperturbed, Daniel continued to dress, trying on his new shoes, which he found to be too big. He walked around the room in an effort to break them in, grabbing the new pair of sunglasses Rudy had bought in the process. Back in the bathroom he posed, looking cool and studying his face−he looked okay. For good measure, he doused his eyes with the nano-infused eyedrops from his Aunt and took a swipe at his unruly hair. He was ready. Sticking his head out of the bathroom he called to Rudy again.

  “Rudy, come on... I’m hungry...”

  There was still no response, which irked Daniel. He then realized the old man probably couldn’t hear him. He didn’t have his hearing aid in. Peeved by his stupidity, Daniel walked over to the bed and gave Rudy a nudge. “Come on, Rudy, it’s time to get up.” The old man didn’t respond.

  It was at that second that Daniel realized−something wasn’t right. He pressed on Rudy’s shoulder, softly at first, but then harder. Nothing. The old man was stiff. Rolling Rudy over onto his back, Daniel felt the old man’s colorless face. It was stone cold. The cold touch nearly made him jump out of his skin. What the fuck? Daniel’s hands began to tremble.

  “Oh, Jesus, sweet Jesus, no...” he gasped, rubbing his hands across his face. Rudy was dead. What the hell? How could this happen? What was he going to do now? Daniel stumbled back and collapsed on the bed behind him. He stared at Rudy’s body in complete silence.

  “Fuck,” he swore, as the finality of the situation took hold.

  Picking up the phone, he dialed the front desk. The operator answered. “Yeah, this is room 437 could you please contact the police... My... uh − my Grandfather passed away in his sleep last night and I need some help... Yeah... Thanks.”

  After hanging up Daniel went over to Rudy. The old man looked old, really old and he hated seeing him like this, so he pulled up the bed sheets and covered the old man’s face. This sucks, he thought, gazing down on the white sheets. Rudy had been like a second father; his eyes became moist.

  Waiting for the police was difficult, but Daniel felt better knowing that when they arrived, he’d be able to tell them about Mickey. And more importantly, he’d be able to find out what was going on with his Aunt and Katie. With those thoughts in mind Daniel walked to the window. He unlatched the frame and opened it, allowing a breeze to blow in. The air was cool and refreshing and layered with a variety of scents−a salty array of sea, vegetation, and dew. It was invigorating. How could someone die on such a beautiful day, he thought?

  From the fourth floor, Daniel looked out over the city of Santa Cruz. The city was quaint and beautiful with shops and beach houses nestled along the coastline. He could even see the boardwalk with its huge Ferris wheel. Closer in, around the hotel itself, there was an array of intercity businesses, banks, flower shops and stores, most of them closed. As Daniel looked around he realized how much more he was seeing with his new eyes. It was a totally different perspective from what he was used to. The nanos inside his head were rapidly shifting back and forth allowing everything in. They were multi-tasking,
giving him the ability to see objects both near and far simultaneously. It was disconcerting, and quite frankly it made his head spin, almost to the point of hurting. His brain was trying to adjust to all the new stimuli. How did one process and manage seeing the seagulls gliding effortlessly over the beach a half mile away, while at the same time note every minute detail on the black-eyed pigeon cooing on the hotel’s ledge a mere three feet away? It was awesome, yet confusing, and Daniel had to concentrate in order to control it.

  Leaning out the window, he began to practice. He scanned everything around him, playing with his vision. To one side, several buildings down, there was a woman getting dressed in her apartment. He zeroed in on her. She had to be at least a quarter mile away and he could see the fancy stitching on her red bra. He watched her dress for a second, but quickly felt guilty, like a peeping tom, and he turned his head. Down the street about four blocks away some guy was feeding popcorn to a bunch of birds − he could see the popcorn kernels scattering on the sidewalk and the smaller birds stealing from the pigeons. Daniel turned the other way and looked down the street to the street corner. There he saw something odd. There was a man standing behind a car, just around the corner. He was leaning over the car, his face partially obscured by something in his hands. Daniel zeroed in on him, flooding his vision with a huge close up of his head. Whoever it was, the guy was watching the hotel’s front entrance with a pair of binoculars. Daniel gasped as the guy shifted his weight, temporarily removing the binoculars from his face. In that instant Daniel recognized him − It was Mickey!

  As fate would have it, Mickey caught sight of Daniel’s movement on the fourth floor and he snapped the binoculars upward for a better look. And though his glasses were not as powerful as Daniel’s eyes, they were enough for him to recognize the boy−the two stared at one another, both frozen in disbelief.

  The moment was short lived. Mickey bolted for the hotel and Daniel knew he was had. He had to get the hell outta there and now. Turning, he swept the room looking for anything that would help his escape. Where the fuck were Rudy’s keys? Could he get to the car in time? Grabbing Rudy’s pants from the chair next to his bed, he bundled them up in his arms and ran out the door and into the hallway. To his good fortune, the hallway was a straight shot to the fire escape which he ran for. Hitting the metal door with a hard thud, he crashed through and bounded down the stairwell like a flying, bouncing ball, his feet barely touching the floor. He had no idea where Mickey was, but there seemed little choice−he had to find the garage and Rudy’s car.

  Four floors down, Daniel crashed through the emergency door at the rear of the hotel and exited out into an alleyway, setting off the fire alarm. It screamed bloody murder as he danced back and forth indecisively not knowing which way to head. The alley before him was long and narrow, running parallel to the back of the hotel. To his immediate left was the loading dock, several refuse dumpsters and a bunch of empty pallets, and beyond that, the parking garage. Daniel moved in the direction of the garage, passing by the two service egresses that connected the hotel to the next street over. Both access streets were blocked, one by construction barriers, the other by a truck. Making a bee line, Daniel scurried for the garage, and for a split second thought he was home free. Then Mickey bolted into view, cutting him off.

  Daniel skidded to a stop, sliding on the damp pavement, nearly falling to the ground. The slip saved his life as a bullet whizzed by his head, missing it by inches, the report of the gun echoing through the alleyway. Scrambling for dear life, Daniel was up instantly, zigzagging back and forth like a rabbit on the run. He darted past the trash containers using them to aid his retreat. From behind, he heard another loud bang, the bullet ricocheting off one of the metal dumpsters. The whining sound spurred him harder, but he was running out of options. There was no way out except the alleyway directly ahead. The truck, halfway down the egress to his left, was too big to get by and there was no time to crawl underneath. Out of options, Daniel headed straight down the alley expecting the next bullet to be in his back.

  Mickey was pissed. He’s shot twice and the little fucker was still running. With his chest burning and muscles aching Mickey gave chase, mindless that his bad knee and lungs hurt like hell. He ignored the pain. He was bound and determined to kill this little fucker if it was the last thing he’d ever do. Running as fast as he could toward the loading dock he raised his pistol for another shot, hoping to catch the kid in the back. The shot never came. Instead, Mickey came face to face with a delivery truck backing its way through the service egress toward the dock. It slammed into him hard, knocking him to the ground. He rolled down the dock’s concrete embankment, the gun flying out of his hand. It landed with a clatter about fifteen feet away.

  The driver of the truck had no idea he’d even hit someone. He was busy watching the right rear view mirror as he backed up, the music from his earbuds blasting away, drowning out the ruckus that was taking place in the alley. It wasn’t until he was out of the truck and preparing to unload his cargo that he heard Mickey’s groans. He knew then that he’d run someone over.

  Daniel had no idea what happened, nor did he care. He just continued to run for dear life until he was sure he had given Mickey the slip. After turning here and there, and ducking this way and that, Daniel finally stopped to catch his breath. He studied the cityscape around him, looking for any sign of pursuit and saw nothing. Resting against a wall, he gulped in several deep breaths. What should he do? Where were the cops when you needed them? He then noticed the Greyhound bus sign about a block down. It was spinning around catching the morning sun in reflection. Daniel surveyed the street. It appeared to be clear. Could he make it there safely? What other option did he have?

  The station was relatively slow for a holiday weekend and Daniel was able to walk through the lobby unnoticed, even though he was still breathing heavily and his face was beet red. He went into the men’s room and took a stall where he rummaged through Rudy’s pants, pulling out everything. There wasn’t much, car keys, his wallet, some cash and a deck of playing cards−still it was all Daniel needed. He counted the money out−ninety-one dollars. Hopefully it’d be enough to buy a ticket.

  Daniel exited the stall and threw Rudy’s pants in the trash. After dousing his face with water he went to the ticket counter.

  “You got anything leaving right now?” he asked the agent.

  The guy behind the barred window didn’t bother to look up. “I’ve got an express leaving for Reno, Nevada... if yah hurry.”

  “How much?” asked Daniel.

  “One way or round trip?”

  “One way,” answered Daniel.

  “Sixty-six dollars.”

  Daniel nodded his head and counted out the money. Ten minutes later he was sitting in the back of bus 548 as it pulled out onto the streets of Santa Cruz. Hunkering down in his seat Daniel kept his head low, but his eyes peeled. If Mickey was still out there he didn’t want to take any chances on him seeing him. It was a good thing too, for five blocks later Daniel caught a glimpse of Mickey standing on a street corner. He was still searching for Daniel, but his back was to the bus when they passed.

  Chapter 8

  Lady Luck

  Daniel was exhausted. The last three days had been horrendous and he was having trouble adjusting. Going from being a naive blind kid with amnesia; to being super-sighted and running for his life was about as bizarre as it could get. And now he was on a bus heading to Reno, Nevada. What was he going to do when he got there? Daniel sighed. Honestly, he was too beat to think about it. He just wanted to sleep and put the whole world away, if only for a little while. Taking off his jacket, he made a pillow and leaned his head against the window of the bus, falling into a deep sleep almost instantly.

  The next seven hours passed with little awareness on Daniel’s part. He slept through everything, including a three hour traffic delay caused by a semi jack-knifing on the highway. What he didn’t realize was that as he slept more drastic changes were
occurring inside him−that the nanites given him by his aunt were continuing to rebuild not only his eyes, but the very neuro-pathways linking his brain. He was being literally rewired, which had he known, would have explained the reason he was so tired. When he finally awoke, the sun was behind him and setting low on the horizon, its light casting a delicious strawberry pink glow on the white-capped Sierra Nevada Mountains. To Daniel, the view was absolutely beautiful and he hoped it was an indication of better things to come.

  In the waning light, the rest of the bus trip was made in darkness which didn’t bother Daniel a bit. He was able to see through it with very little trouble and he used the time to mull his thoughts on what he would do when he got to Reno. The first thing would be to get ahold of Judy Salinski. That was a given. If he could reach her everything would be okay. Content with his plan, Daniel sat back and enjoyed the rest of the bus ride, using up the last of his eyedrops and occupying his time with Rudy’s deck of cards. Finally, the city of Reno came into view and Daniel found his mood bolstered by the bright, multi-colored lights that illuminated the skyline and the icy waters of the Truckee river. His cheeriness didn’t last.

  Pulling into the Greyhound bus depot, Daniel was immediately put off by what he saw. The darkly lit Reno station was the complete opposite of the one in Santa Cruz. The station here was stark in appearance, gray and dull looking, not to mention cold as hell with dirty crusty snow and ice layering the streets and sidewalks in ugly piles. Finding a payphone was also a chore. Daniel had to ask directions and get change, whereupon he was forced outside into the cold night air to make his call.