The Dream Hopper (Those Whom the Gods Wish to Destroy Book 2)

by Shawn Mackey

  “Is he your boyfriend? Daddy said you had a boyfriend. That’s not—”

  “Hush,” Beatrice said. “There are two kinds of love, Rebecca. The one you and I share lasts forever. It’s the same I had with my mother and father and grandpa. You don’t need to see each other to feel it. That’s why it lasts forever. Even when they die. Even when I die. The first people in the world shared it, and so will the last. It’s like a piece of heaven. Only a piece. If we had it all, then there’d be no reason to be sad. How can you be happy if you aren’t sad every once in a while?”

  “I’m confused.”

  “Daddy and I weren’t in love like you and I. It was the tricky kind. It makes you see the people you really love in people who are really strangers. Being lonely will make us see strange things. They may make sense in private, but the ones around us can see right through it. That’s why you need friends. They’re there to help you when the people you really love aren’t around, and helping them is sometimes better than helping ourselves.”

  “You thought Daddy was Michael?”

  “Exactly!”

  “How do you know he’s Michael?”

  “Michael,” she called out. It woke me up from my daze. Both girls simultaneously giggled. “Someday, when you’re my age, you’ll have a little girl, and when you brush her hair, she’ll smile and be happy too.”

  “How do you make him happy?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What?”

  “You and I are telling secrets. He and I don’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” Beatrice closed her eyes and paused. “I’m not the woman he thinks I am, and he’s not the man I think he is.”

  “But isn’t that like you and Daddy?”

  “There’s a big difference. He knows I’m not his woman and I know he’s not my man. We’re so good at pretending that it’s better than the real thing.”

  “So will I ever see Daddy again?”

  “Soon, Rebecca. I promise.”

  The girls wrapped pinky fingers again. Beatrice pretended to stare at nothing in particular only to intermittently dart her eyes toward me. Again, I wanted to peer into her thoughts. A simple glance would suffice. How truthful had she been so far? Did she trust me more than I trusted her? My trust wasn’t without a dash of suspicion.

  I couldn’t get the image of Angela out of my head. They were the same. I was never so sure of anything in my life. That sort of sureness doesn’t need proof. Yet, if I were to wholly accept this gut feeling as truth, then my suspicions were equally so. This was going to be temporary.

  Everything faded as Rebecca buried her face in Beatrice’s arms. Our eyes met, hers looking probably more worrisome than mine. Though we shared doubts, I hoped to see her again. I didn’t think I could go on if we weren’t together.

  Chapter 16

  The Sentinel

  I found myself sitting on a bench. My sight filled with hundreds of people walking around a city square. Overwhelmed, I could scarcely distinguish anything but the towering buildings, which initially seemed more like organic scenery than manmade behemoths. The people walked in and out of these structures like ants to an ant mound.

  “What’s your status?” a mechanical voice said. It had come from my ear. “What’s your status, Pyre?”

  “Pyre?” I repeated.

  “You’ve gone stupid or something? What’s going on out there?”

  “Who is this?”

  “Killjoy. Hurry up before the boss checks in. We can’t mess this up.”

  “What am I looking for?”

  “Across the street,” he said. I saw a bank, one of the smaller buildings in this district, though it received just as much traffic.

  “The bank? What about it?” I said. He was silent for some time. “Killjoy?”

  “Do you see the target outside the bank?” he yelled, then quieter: “You sleep through briefing again?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Executioner says he’s right where we need him. Suit up. And quit snorting that junk for once. We got a job to do. How are you going to watch my back if you’re tripping balls?”

  “Sorry.”

  I found a brown leather satchel under my seat and opened it at my feet. Inside were some clothes and a gun. When I saw the latter, I closed it and got up, careful to avoid being seen. Somebody was obviously watching me. Whatever shadiness this required, I would have to carry it out far from the public eye. Not an easy task, considering the difficulty weeding through the crowd, let alone finding a place out of sight.

  The only feasible option was a telephone booth. Thankfully, a dozen were lined up outside the bank, all of them unoccupied. Since nobody seemed like they would be making a call anytime soon, I could probably spare a minute of privacy. It was narrow, but doable. I put on a new pair of jeans and a leather jacket, stuck the gun in the jacket’s inner pocket, and felt something else at the bottom of the bag.

  “Are you changing in a god damn telephone booth?” a different voice rang in my ear.

  “Way to go, Pyre,” chuckled Killjoy.

  I pulled out a gas mask, and without a second thought, put it on before stuffing the other clothes in the satchel. Three men strolled past the phone booths in similar attire, distinguishable only by their masks: an executioner hood, a clown face, and a grinning skeleton. They marched up to two extraordinarily large men, one lean and tall, the other fat and wide.

  “Pyre!”

  I left the phone booth and ditched my satchel in a nearby garbage can, moving swiftly toward my comrades. The hooded one shook his head, his face entirely shrouded by an unnatural darkness. The clown called me an idiot. Though his voice was somewhat muffled, it sounded like the one who called himself Killjoy.

  With all of us accounted for, the skeleton gave a slight nod and moved toward the bank. He unzipped his jacket as he barged in, procuring two pistols from the inside. The large men revealed two machine guns. The fat one fired his in the air. People screamed and plead after the first burst. After the second, everyone hit the ground.

  “That’s right,” shouted the skeleton man. “You’ve all been through this before. Put all your valuables in a pile. Anyone tries to hide anything and they get to be the example. I’d remind you not to try any heroics, but we know you’re all a bunch of gutless chicken hearts.”

  The people responded with the utmost obedience. Gold watches and chains, diamond rings and earrings, fat wallets and credit cards were all tossed to the ground. After giving up the goods, they lay on their bellies with hands behind their heads. The large men pushed aside all the treasures into a coherent pile, while Killjoy and the Executioner rounded up the clerks and moved to a back room. The skeleton and I patrolled the crowd for any trouble makers. I saw one man stuff something into his mouth and swallow.

  Unfortunately, he then clutched his throat as his face went purple. The woman next to him buried her face in her arm and quietly bawled. The skeleton was on the other side of the line, so I quickly leaned over and started beating the man’s chest. A few strikes and a gold ring shot out of his throat. I kicked him back onto his belly and wiped up the slobbery ring before tossing it onto the pile.

  The others returned from the back with a bloated money bag in each hand. They dumped the contents on our pile, cheering as though the heist was over and we were long past danger. The jewelry and wads of bills made quite a pile. When they were finished stacking it all, the five men simultaneously looked at me.

  “You want the honor, Pyre?” the skeleton man asked. I just shrugged. “Well, at least douse it.”

  “What?” I asked, searching my coat pockets, but I only had the gun. I noticed it was extremely lightweight, almost plastic. When I took it out, I realized it was a toy.

  “We don’t have all day,” the skeleton man growled. I quickly shot liquid strands at the loot with my water gun. The name they’d given me finally made sense.

  Something barreled through the door a
t a tremendous speed and collided with the fat man, sending him flying into a wall. Our hostages stood and filed out the doors in an orderly fashion. The newcomer tackled Killjoy and hurtled him at the Executioner. Both bodies rolled across the floor and tumbled outside. The skeleton man struck a match and tossed it onto the loot. As the blaze started to kindle, our adversary stood over the flame, carrying the tall man over his shoulder. He tossed him aside and seized the skeleton.

  “What sort of moron robs a bank to burn its money?” the hero said. He was dressed in a cape and red tights with a white circle on his chest. In the center of this circle was a closed fist. He closed his right hand into the likeness of the symbol, tossed aside the skeleton, then darted to me in a single leap, sinking his fist into my stomach. I slid across the floor, into the glass doors and onto the pavement outside.

  A strong hand lifted me to my knees. It was Killjoy. He tore off his mask and revealed actual clown make up.

  “It’s time,” he hissed between reptilian-like fangs. He and the Executioner, who had taken off his jacket to reveal biceps like loaves of bread, walked back inside to return to the fray.

  “Michael!” a woman screamed. “Michael, where are you?”

  “Beatrice?” I shouted, tearing off my silly mask. “Beatrice?”

  Far too many people franticly chattered to distinguish my friend from the crowd. I paced around the bank entrance, calling out her name. I didn’t get a response. The hero’s body smashed backward through the front entrance, floated in mid-air for a few seconds, and then plunged back into the skirmish. With Beatrice out of sight, I had to keep those other creeps from tearing him apart. After all, he seemed to be the dreamer.

  But he was holding his own. The large men had shed their flesh and revealed two bulbous monstrosities: the fat one a gelatinous purple slime man and the tall one a gold, muscular-shaped metal man. The skeleton had somehow donned black robes and a long scythe, his mask removed to reveal an actual skull. The five teammates circled around the caped hero. I decided to join in for now.

  “And there’s the sixth,” the dreamer said.

  “Your worst nightmare,” the skeleton said, leaning the scythe against his shoulder. “You’re no match for us, Sentinel. Leave town before it’s too late. We won’t think any less of you.”

  “We couldn’t possibly think any less,” cackled Killjoy.

  “Murder and Redrum, why don’t you two keep our friend busy while Executioner and Killjoy keep that crowd busy? Pyre will tend to the fire, while I watch. If the plan is going to work, I’ll need the utmost concentration,” the skeleton said.

  “Will do, Reaper,” said Killjoy. He and the masked man went outside while the two big lugs tackled Sentinel.

  “Well? Get to work, Pyre,” said Reaper. I tried dousing the fire, but my water gun was empty. His bony hands poked out of his robes as he said: “No use adding fuel. Put a bit of muscle in it!”

  I mimicked Reaper’s gesture. As my hands neared the burning money, my palms started to glow. I pointed them toward the flame and spread my fingers. Warmth accumulated in both hands, gradually building up in my wrists. Two jets of fire burst from my palms, igniting the dying fire into an intense conflagration. Smoke soon blanketed the room. The sprinklers went off, but the water only fanned the flames.

  “What’s the plan, Reaper?” Sentinel said, hoisting Redrum over his head. He tossed the metal man into his fat companion. “Wouldn’t sticks and leaves do? Why waste money and jewels?”

  “You’ll see,” chuckled Reaper.

  Sentinel decked me in the jaw. Fire ceased to leave my hands as I once again slid across the floor. The thick billows of smoke made it impossible to see outside. I took advantage of the shroud and left the bank to find Beatrice. Sentinel was having no trouble against my teammates. With my newfound power, I doubted I’d have any trouble disposing of the other two.

  The crowd had dispersed in a panic, far too many of them to escape the slaughter. Killjoy bounced up and down on a pogo stick, his feet resting on two huge blood-soaked blades. He spun with every hop and landing, slicing everyone in his path. Eviscerated corpses lay in the growing pool of blood and entrails. The escapees slipped in gore and tripped over limbs, only to fall victim to the trampling feet of the others.

  Executioner removed his hood, exposing his face: a glassy black ball with a pair of glowing red eyes. Two police officers fired at the monstrosity. Bullets bounced off his chest, each shot barely hindering his approach. He grabbed the two men by their throats and squeezed. Miniature sparks of lightning went off in his head as the blackness inside twirled like a smoky tornado. The officers wilted like ancient corpses exposed to air and crumbled to dust when they hit the ground.

  Using my powers would be too dangerous; I would do far more damage than both my adversaries combined. Executioner walked right past me, his head back to a pair of glowing eyes. Even with his back turned, those two balls of red fire were looking straight at me. If he suspected my intentions, he was either indifferent or taunting me. Either way, my first target was Killjoy. His gleeful cackling was getting on my nerves.

  I picked up the dead officers’ guns and fired a round at the bloodthirsty clown. The bullet struck him in the shoulder, launching him off his pogo stick. He landed in the middle of the crowd. As he stood, the people parted with fresh panic and cleared the way. Killjoy drew the machete strapped behind his back and pointed the blade at me.

  “I smelled a rat! Should’ve figured it was you,” he shouted. “After everything we’ve been through. What’s your game, Pyre?”

  “I’m sick of your stupid pogo stick and your stupid orange hair. Sick of your stupid grin and your stupid laugh, too.”

  “If you hadn’t iced the Ringmaster and the Lion Tamer, we wouldn’t be stuck working with these weirdoes. The gig was easier when you were just the Magician.”

  “I don’t think you get it, Killjoy. I’ve switched sides.”

  “Oh?” he said with a cackle. “You’ve finally gone loopy! Welcome to the club.”

  He charged at me with the machete. I fired a round square at his forehead, but he quickly ducked, then made a leap. I barely dodged the blade stroke, firing another round through his chest. He stumbled back a step, only to make another leap at me. I pressed both triggers. They were empty. I moved in time to avoid the tip sinking into my chest, but the blade sliced a deep gash through my right arm. I caught his wrist mid-swing. Killjoy was much stronger than he looked.

  An open hand and a long arm flew over my shoulder and punched Killjoy in the face so hard it knocked out a few teeth and off his rubber nose, revealing a tiny pig snout. I turned around to find a woman with her arm stretched like a fire hose. It quickly retracted back to its normal shape as she rushed over to me.

  “That explains it,” Killjoy said in the middle of a bout of raucous laughter. He wiped a trickle of blood from his snout. “You’re fucking Flexigirl!”

  “It was fun, Killjoy,” I said, snatching the laughing clown by the throat. A jet of flames shot from my palm, melting his head within seconds.

  “Are you okay?” the woman said, looking at my bleeding arm. If not for the leather jacket, it might have cut to the bone.

  “Flexigirl?”

  “Beatrice.”

  “Figured.”

  “What’s going on in there?” she asked, pointing to the bank. The building had erupted in flames, the smoke accumulating up top in a black swirl. Like Executioner’s head, silent blots intermittently flashed.

  “Doesn’t look good. I need to go inside.”

  “No!”

  “Just for a second. The Sentinel might need my help.”

  “Who?”

  I ran into the burning bank. Even through the thick smoke, I could see Sentinel battling with Reaper. Redrum lay in a broken heap of screws and springs. Murder snuck up on Sentinel, who was dodging Reaper’s scythe swings. Before he could seize Sentinel from behind, I blasted two flame jets at the butterball. He bellowed as clumps of bur
ning jelly rolled down his gelatinous body. I focused harder, until the fire turned a bright blue, swiftly melting my foe into a boiling puddle. To be on the safe side, I waited until the puddle evaporated into a tiny tendril of smoke.

  “Pyre? You traitor!” Reaper shouted. “No matter. The evocation is complete. You chose an inopportune moment to switch sides, wretch.”

  “Get down, Sentinel,” I said, moving my flames toward the robed skeleton. The caped hero jumped just in time. The fire engulfed Reaper, incinerating his robes and scythe.

  “Nice work!” Sentinel said.

  “But as futile as ever!” Reaper screeched as he rose to his feet. The naked skeleton darted for the door. Sentinel charged at him. Part of the ceiling collapsed, causing him to swerve. The fire was beginning to eat at the marble floor. I noted the flames flickering between bright orange and a dark crimson as I made a hasty exit.

  Outside, Beatrice was wrapped around Executioner like a rubber band ball, and Sentinel had taken hold of the charred Reaper.

  “Flexigirl!” he said. “Thanks for the help.”

  “Can I let go now? This is starting to hurt,” she said. When he nodded, she instantly retracted to her former self. Executioner lay on the ground in a daze.

  “Mind explaining what this was all about?” Sentinel asked Reaper.

  “See for yourself,” he responded, looking up.

  The smoke had grown into a giant oval cloud. The lightning continued to pulse, switching between bright white and deep red. The bank had stopped burning, the remaining smoke rising above. Executioner dashed his glass head against the pavement. A ghostly haze zipped through the crack and joined the egg-shaped firestorm above.

  “It’s done,” Reaper said. The skeleton crumbled from Sentinel’s grip into a pile of bones.

  “You got something to handle this?” I asked Sentinel. He watched the egg with a grim countenance.

  “Flexigirl, get all the civilians out of here,” Sentinel said sternly. As he looked over, his eyes flared with astonishment.

  The remaining people were slowly floating in the air, their bodies joining together in an oval clump. The collected cries of anguish were deafening. Their limbs were twisted around each other and the bodies became more and more compact. The fleshy mass hovered toward the smoky oval, and like some twisted eclipse, the bodies shrouded the smoke, only to be gradually engulfed. The red lightning burst at quick intervals until it became a blinding crimson oval of light.