by Beth Lynne
Simon finally found his power of speech. “You’re nine years old. You can’t drink. And you,” he pointed at Tanya, “you’re his mother. How are you allowing this?”
Jordan pretended to make a phone call. “Hello, CPS, please come right now. Senior citizen contributing to the delinquency of a minor. Uh-oh! Someone gonna lose their pension…”
Tanya interrupted Jordan’s monologue. “Jordan, cut that out. Simon, have a big swig of that drink. You are going to find some of this really hard to believe…”
11
Val pulled up to her rented two-bedroom house, still in disbelief that she was out of a job, even a shitty one like Autumn House. She was even more stunned about the revelation that this bald inked-up white woman, a heroin addict, was supposedly behind the demise of her marriage, the loss of the custody of her children, and definitely the cause of her losing her job. No references, no unemployment? No way! Val was going to get even with this bitch. She unlocked her front door, walked through the living room to the kitchen, placed the Kohl’s bag on her island, then opened the fridge with the intention of pouring a nice cold Zin. Unfortunately, the doorbell rang at the moment her hand was clutching the refrigerator door handle. Reluctantly, Val released her grip and trudged back through the living room.
Someone was leaning on that button. Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong. “All right! I am on my way. Hold your horses!” She looked through the peephole and saw something that looked like a decorated bowl in front of her door. But how was it so high up— “Aw, hell no!” Val exclaimed in disgust. She flung open the door in anger. The thing she thought was a bowl was Bella’s bald tattooed head. “Was gonna serve crackers in it,” she mumbled nonsensically to anyone but herself. “Why are you here? You want some more whoopass? I have less to lose right now than I did a couple hours ago.”
“Look, sorry about everything. Can I come in so we can talk?”
“Oooh, sure, just c’mon in and see if you can take whatever else I have. I gotta tell you, though, the place is a rental and the furniture is crap. And as for clothes, I don’t think we’re the same size. What are you? A size four muumuu? Is that what you call that weird-ass garment you’re wearing? And what’s with the Ming Dynasty bowl you call a head? Some people just grow hair instead of drawing on their skull.”
“Are you done? Just let me in. It’s important.”
“Look, if you need a sponsor or a counselor, go back to freakin’ Autumn House. Or doesn’t your insurance cover it? Gotta go to a state-approved facility to kick it?”
“I am not an addict. It was just a way to get you fired.”
“Oh, now I know I am gonna kill you! What the hell is your problem with me? I never even met you before today.” Val said all of this as she was putting up her fists, ready to punch Bella in the face, if she could reach the taller woman’s nose.
“I don’t have a problem with you. I’m just doing my job. Let me in so I can explain.”
“Oh, what the hell ever. C’mon in. I was just having a glass of wine so I could begin to forget this crappy day.” Val dropped her fists wearily. She pushed the door so Bella could enter and walked through to the kitchen once more. Val found two stemless glasses and placed them on the island, then retrieved the large bottle of Sutter Home from the fridge. She poured her glass three-fourths of the way, and then indicated the glass meant for Bella. “You want? Or are you on some strange, horrible wagon ride?”
Bella permitted herself a small smile. “Nah, I told ya, that’s an act. I wouldn’t mind a glass. Thanks.”
Val waited until they each had a gulp of wine. It was cool and refreshing. “So what the hell is going on? I have had one of the weirdest days of my life. And I think you caused a lot of it. You definitely caused me to lose my job, but how did you manage to fit me through my air vents to fight that Demogorgon-type Siran thing? Am I supposed to give you the shithead’s horns? I have them in my trunk. Maybe I’d better go get them…”
“Oh, no worries there. Someone already came to remove them while you were at work.”
“For real? And who was that kid in the cape down under or in the vents, or wherever?”
“That was one of our operatives that will be training you. Don’t let his looks or supposed age fool you. Most of us aren’t what we appear to be.”
“And who are ‘we’?” Val asked, still with some attitude, or maybe a Zin attitude, since the wine was loosening up the tension a bit and she felt she could ask Bella anything. Not like they were girlfriends, but more like, oh shit, she was in therapy and was free to say and ask anything. Val had tried therapy after the separation, but she was letting way too much out and felt embarrassed. This was a little different, because it was not about emotions now, but facts. Even though the facts were somewhat crazy, at least this nutjob was believing her. They were living the same lunatic hallucination.
“‘We’ are a select and specialized group of international agents and operatives who are endowed with certain talents that allow us to fight underworld elements that are trying to destroy planet Earth.”
“Oh, uh-huh, like my friend Siran this morning?”
“Well, he’s actually a simulation so that you find what I am telling you now more believable.”
“A sim— oh, get out of here! What was it? Some kind of virtual reality shit? Is this like one of those Punk’d shows? Where is the camera? Who put you up to this? My sister? Oh, wow, you had me going, Ming Bowl!”
“I assure you, Val, this is real. And it is some serious shit. You are going to be trained in fighting the underworld and will help save the planet.”
“Can’t I just recycle and reuse like everyone else?”
“Can you please stop with your joking? Your contribution is going to require a full-time commitment and one-hundred percent effort. Now, first, your codename is—”
“Yeah, I know, Fireball. I was called that by the kid and also by you when you were playing True Confessions in my office. Did you really screw my husband?”
“Yes, and I am sorry about that. He was really horrible. I think I did you a favor.”
“And you were bald when you did this, wearing that getup?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, get out! I dressed to the nines, dieted my ass off, literally, and spent hundreds on my hair every month, and you shaved your head, tied on a sack, and drew on your skin. What the hell? Life is so unfair!”
Bella smiled. “When I’m doing my job, I go all out. Whatever it takes. And I think Ray wanted something completely different from what he had.”
“Oh, screw you! I had to work for the first time in years!”
“Yeah, and you were motivated to do something for the first time in years!”
“I lost my kids to him!”
“Stop drinking and fighting on the job and you will get more time with them.” Val gave Bella a very pissed-off look. “Anyway, you are going to be doing things that will not be safe for the children if they live with you. And eventually, they are going to be prouder of you than you can imagine. Their mom is going to save the world!”
12
“So this little man is really a little man?” Simon asked. He was finding the whole thing pretty incredible and was trying to comprehend it all through a scotch-induced haze, which was probably a good thing. Apparently, Jordan was not really a third-grader, but a man of thirty-six, and thank God for that, the way he was powering down shots of Johnnie Walker. But—echh!—he was also Tanya’s husband, undercover as a nine-year-old, protecting the school or some mashugana crap.
“Yeah, I’m a little man, and I oughta kick your ass for trying to hit on my wife!” Jordan said in a menacing manner.
“She wasn’t wearing a ring! Maybe you need to make sure she really is committed to you and your tiny ways, boychick!”
“What the—? Boy who?”
“Boychick. You know, a young man.”
“Never heard of it. What the hell language is that?”
“Yiddish. It’s sla
ng. The OG’s were all Jews.”
“Good one, manchick.”
“Don’t work like that.” Simon was beginning to warm to the man Jordan in a way he hadn’t to the boy Jordan. Maybe it was the booze.
“Please, Jordan, can we get down to business?” Tanya pleaded.
“Sure thing, sweetie.” Jordan leered at his wife, looking like the adult he was, a trick on the eyes that Simon was soon to find out Jordan was a master at. He could look like a child one minute—the most annoying, disruptive, attention-seeking child—and then an adult the next. The adult Jordan was a complete performer—funny and entertaining—in a way the child was not. He knew how to keep his audience enthralled as he described Simon’s so-called mission: to save the world by battling underworld elements as an international operative for an unnamed agency.
“Whoa…does this affect my pension?” Simon asked.
“Always with the pension,” Jordan mocked.
“Well, it’s important to an old man like me. It’s what I worked for all those years, battling overworld elements in the classroom.”
“Oh, wow, are these kids assholes or what? No friggin’ home training, right?”
“What the hell? You were the worst I have ever seen, boychick!”
“Oh, no way. I brightened their day in every way!”
“Says you! That kind of behavior causes more burned out teachers than the standardized curriculum does!”
“The what?”
“Guys! Refocus! We need to save the world, not the schools. Well, yes, the schools too, but in a different way!” Tanya tried to redirect the two men, but they were most likely too far gone into the booze and conversation to transition to turning Simon into a sixty-year-old superhero. Fortunately, Simon grabbed on to that end of the conversation and ran with it.
“What’s going on with the schools? Are the kids in danger?”
“Shoot,” Jordan put in, “the kids are always in danger. It’s just a given these days—shootings, cyber-bullying, real bullying, standardized curriculum—”
“Wait, whoa, I thought you didn’t know what that is,” Simon said.
“I don’t, but you named it as a threat and I needed something for my list.”
Tanya clapped her hands. “Over here!” The two men gave her their attention. “Look now, Simon, it is really important that you understand what is at stake here and what you are going to be asked to do. I understand that you are, um, older, but my boss has seen something in you that is necessary to save humanity.”
“Okay, so how do I do this? Do I get weapons or something? Or a cool name?”
“Yeah,” Jordan put in, “Burger-Man! Hahahaha!”
“Jordan, please,” Tanya admonished. “We don’t have a name for you yet. That comes with time, I guess, depending on your superpower. But you have to actually get out of a cower stance first so we can see what that is.”
“So that whole thing in the basement was real? It wasn’t a mini-stroke?”
“It was a simulation, but you really were—for lack of a better word—beamed down into a chamber under the Earth’s surface, into a special training room that you will now be able to access via your dining room chair.”
“Access via what? My dining room chair?” Simon scratched his head, totally confused by the concept. “Is this some app thing?” He was desperately trying to relate the information to something he was also constantly confounded by.
“Ugh.” Tanya rolled her eyes. “Jordan, can you explain what we need Simon to do? I am so exhausted from this nursing idiocy. I had to change bedpans today! Bedpans! I have two master’s degrees and a doctorate in jurisprudence and I am pulling pots of piss and shit out from under people’s asses.”
“And emptying, don’t forget emptying them so you can keep me in lollipops and Air Jordans, mama!” Jordan quipped.
“Oh, shut up, lover,” Tanya groaned.
Jordan hooked his hand around Tanya’s neck and pulled her down to kiss him on the mouth. Still not used to their actual relationship, Simon’s gag reflex and excess Scotch consumption kicked in and he ran to the bathroom and slammed the door shut.
“Let’s give him some time,” Jordan suggested to Tanya.
13
What Happens in the Chamber…
Smith, as he was known as recently, entered what his boss called “the Chamber of All that is Good and Kind,” also known as “the Chamber” or on a day when she might be feeling whimsical, CAGK. Celia was originally from the Midwest, so in her funny dialect, it might sound to the untrained ear like she was saying “cock.” That always brought a smile to his face, since he was basically trapped in the mind and body of a twenty-year-old, so juvenile humor was his absolute guilty pleasure.
“Hi, baby,” Celia greeted him.
Impish today, he figured as he approached her desk. “Hey, pretty mama!” he responded to the redheaded sixty-five-year-old who, wearing a cream-colored business suit that hugged every curve, looked to be in her early forties. In the few years that he had known her, when she was sixty and retired a few years from the same school district that Sidra attended, Val had quit working in, and from which Simon had retired, Celia had aged backwards almost twenty years. Some of it was a strict diet and an exercise regimen with a personal trainer that she adhered to religiously, some of it was her indulgence in the charms of younger men (himself excluded, but he found himself tempted when she wore a certain expression or tight leather outfit…then he remembered that she was nearly his grandmother’s age and sobered up fast), and a great deal of it was a secret serum that not only gave her the skin of a newborn baby but the strength of five bulls. She used the serum topically to achieve the effect to her skin, but it was the injections that enabled her to yank stumps out of the ground and lift her car out of a ditch.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, the injections affected everyone differently, and Celia was working very hard to come up with a new concoction with more predictable results. As it stood, the majority of the population was not affected by injections and minimal results were achieved with a topical anti-aging treatment. Most older people managed to reduce fine lines and wrinkles with daily use, and that was what had made Celia her fortune a few years back so that she was able to follow her actual passion of developing a super-serum that would prevent and reverse the aging process. As it stood, all she had managed so far was to create some superheroes, and that was where the government came in; they left Celia alone and turned a blind eye regarding FDA approval for her wrinkle cream in exchange for creating a few guardians of the earth to fight the elements of the underworld.
The reason that Celia was in charge of fighting those pesky creatures that were able to sometimes wreak havoc on the Earth’s surface was thus: she found out quite accidentally that most of the people that were affected by the injections were able to rearrange their molecules and pass through objects, which also included the ability to enter levels of the Earth that others—beyond those who were avid video game players that believed themselves to be entering other worlds—were completely unaware of. A sub-group of these individuals could pull certain others through objects to other worlds if need be, although they themselves had to remain in the “real” world. These folks and a few others with talents that were not associated with fighting were recruited by Celia to find those who had extraordinary powers to fight monsters that could not be thwarted by conventional means.
Celia’s pool of initial injectees was limited. She had access to prisoners and drug addicts, it seemed, or at least ex-cons who could not earn money otherwise and addicts who needed money and would inject just about anything. There were also the homeless, but they were often in horrible health and the results had been sad and disheartening with them. She used animals, but the success rate was pretty low there. However, once she found some of what she termed “floaters” and “mind controllers” and “guides,” it was fairly easy to identify the “fighters.” The original injectees would feel a slight electrical charge or “vibe�
� when close to a potential fighter. It was a matter of serendipity, however: an active injectee/guide with powers would have to coincidentally pass by close enough to someone who had fighter ability, which, of course, was also discovered accidentally. As can be imagined, these occurrences were few and far between, and at the current time, Celia had only three new candidates available locally to potentially add to an approximate dozen present and past (active or killed) working worldwide for a very secret international agency: a nerdy, timid teenaged girl, a probably depressed and alcoholic overweight divorced middle-aged woman, and a sixty-year-old man who acted more like he was seventy.
Celia liked to remain local due to the limitations of the molecular reformations during transitioning from the real world to the various levels. Plus, it was in this area where the most underworld activity in the nation was occurring. The layers in and out were thinner here, so the nasty enemies were possibly able to access the real world much easier.
It was frustrating that the guides had to choose an object to “guide” the fighters through. (Stupid, childish Jordan, selecting Simon’s dining room chair! Now the old man had to run home and sit in the chair every time she needed him! At least she could understand how drug-addict whore Bella was lying in wait in Val’s car, and at least that was mobile. It figured the “talking cat” was the smartest of all, channeling Sidra through her notebook, coincidentally with Smith on the cover. That was the most sensible and usual way that guides assisted, using an object that could stay with the owner for a while and was portable.) Another frustration was, of course, locating people to become fighters. The process was so trial-and-error and Celia was more oriented toward scientific principles of chemistry. She was also worried that if she could not get this latest crop of candidates to perform, the government was going to shut her down and she would never find the secret to eternal youth. The guides were not reporting much success with them, but then, Smith had not yet trained them and only had seen them in the simulation area for less than a minute each.