Midnight Liberty League - Part I

by Brock Law

mid-section. He kept tugging at it, vainly trying to unwrinkle the discomfort. The added entanglement of the weirdness constantly ticking in his head made the distraction of the fabric worse as he carelessly headed directly for his house. Whatever was going on, there was obvious truth in the fact that he had mistakenly gotten caught in some kind of violent crossfire. If he could just get home it would all end, he could disappear. He could go to sleep, wake up tomorrow, those men would forget about him, and everything would be fine.

  The sanctuary of his impenetrable abode was only a block away. He could see the protective tree limbs arching over the street, shading his neighbors’ cars. Symmetrically positioned stone and marble stoop materialized, inviting Will up to safety behind his sturdy plank door. As soon as he could get inside and out of sight, the whole nightmarish day would be over. He bounded over the crosswalk and then slackened to a casual pace lest his parents see him coming.

  Just two houses away, he stopped to confirm his successful retreat. Will turned and took one more hopeful glance around, but his optimism immediately vanished. At the corner, at the end of the parking lane, stalled, surveying the whole street with motor running was the white van.

  Will flipped around, bewildered. He choked back the stinging acid that gurgled up in his throat. Gulping down the fear, he went for his phone and pretended to use the dead device just to keep himself occupied while he plotted another route. He slicked back his wet hair with a clammy hand, and slid the phone back into his pocket.

  One foot stuck out, over which his balance arduously fell. Then the next one followed with uncertain, but determined necessity. He was walking again, aimlessly. He went strolling past his home, to which had come so tantalizingly close. He quickly shot a glance up the steps, making sure that his mother wasn’t watering the window boxes, and carried on by.

  A dog suddenly erupted into a fit of barking at the corner. A young girl was restraining the beast, which was freaking out at the white van. It snarled and snapped at the vehicle, though no living person had yet emerged. She dragged it away, though it continued its alert. Will quickened in the opposite direction, heading for the end of the block.

  The line of houses diminished. Luckily, no one he knew was outside to prevent his drawing the van away. The stress of his awkward half-run across the city was wearing down his legs. They ached as he maximized his steps to end his peril. As he reached the final residence, he heard the van throttle up and start rolling after him.

  Hugging the wall so tightly that he grinded his shoulder along the stones of the corner house, Will ducked around its edge and instantly broke into a full sprint. He bolted down the sidewalk, loosened bricks beneath with the force of his stampede and rattled the home’s windows as he shot past in an unrestricted surge. Behind the row of homes was an alley where the block’s back exits faced. Will practically teleported to it. He viced his bare hands around a lamp post and swung around it in impressive Tarzan-like style to enter the corridor via a flying leap. Without the loss of a step or a puff of air, he hit the ground running, legs kicking wildly towards the high walls of his family’s narrow back yard.

  Ever the quarterback, Will juked a trash can, spun around another, sailed over a stack of tied-up newspapers and burned off the rubber of his soles en route to his back door. He wound around the final obstacle, a parked car protruding from an overflow of garage junk, and lunged at the latch of the back gate. Naturally, it was locked.

  Will backed off, biting back the furious obscenities that tried to possess his mouth. He scrambled to the car and squatted against the aluminum. Curling up, he took an inadequate respite, and remained huddled below the window. Sweat poured off of him, trickling down his shirt in which he frisked his hair to keep the moisture clear of his eyes. The damp air welled up in his lungs, and made him feel as though a rock were in place to prevent him from drawing a full breath. The hot air singed his lips on the way out, and stuffed his nostrils so he could only exhale loudly through his teeth.

  He began to collect himself. Will glared at the locked gate, but despite his desperate concentration it remained as such. Stupidity set in as he grinned wryly at the ground and shook his head disapprovingly. Perking up, Will turned and slowly popped his head up through the car window.

  The end of the alley was vacant, sunny and peaceful except for the trail of refuse he’d kicked up. He glimpsed through the glass, not marking any disturbances. The van had followed him, of that he was sure. It also could be, in all likelihood, the same as the one he heard abducting Vivienne. At least it sounded like a van. He wasn’t sure any more, he was getting dizzy. Somehow he had to get back to the front door.

  As his heart was just beginning to pump normally, a sputtering rumble sent a shudder down his spine. He strained to see through the prismatic sunlight that gleamed through the car window. The clatter persisted and got closer. His legs, his heart and his brain were ready to run, but his own dread kept him rooted to the ground. The mechanical humming approached his hiding place, evoking nervous sweat so thick from his flesh that his blood was nearly drawn out as well. The latter was clearly evident from the color of his face. A deathly shiver rattled Will’s bones when the sound’s source finally came into view.

  A dirty chrome bumper slid into the light at the end of the alley. Time ticked slower. The grill, headlights and tires crept up. The semblance of the van bore at him with a ferocious, hungry gape. The wind disappeared with the avian calls, fleeing from the stalker. Everything around Will stopped. The windshield, the mirrors and the driver’s darkened window lurked out. The whole vehicle exposed itself, and stopped with a squeaky brake.

  The front end vibrated from the eager waiting of the shackled engine. Will hugged his knees and made himself as small as a top-heavy athlete could manage. With only one eye, he peeped at the van. It stood, scanning the space. Will’s chest pounded again with heavier pressure than when he was running. His coiled muscles locked in place, cocked back and readied to fire. Not blinking, not breathing, and not moving, he maintained his vigilance. He stopped counting the seconds, unable to truly tell how long each one had the capacity to linger.

  The van rocked slightly, and jolted with activity. A spark of heightened auditory disruption reverberated out to Will’s calculating mind. Sluggishly, the motor tugged at the axels. The tires turned and the van prowled away.

  Well Done Is Better Than Well Said

  Will sprang into his darkened home, slammed the door shut behind him, and fell back against it with a force that rocked a vase of flowers on a table next to the entrance. His hands rose to his face, pushing his head back on to the white wood of the front door. Between his fingers, he forced out a troubled breath. Upon the intake, his chest began to expand consciously as he tried to relax. His hands then dragged down across his skin, smearing his features as he stared up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes for a moment to concentrate on his breathing.

  Before him was an empty house. His eyes dipped as he scanned from side to side. He plodded towards the banister of the staircase, and hung his weight on its polished surface. The hallway stretched the length of the house, with three rooms open to the right. Will trudged into a well adorned living room and collapsed into a wide leather chair.

  “‘I am Ben Franklin?’” Will muttered to himself. “Bizarre. No way. Didn’t happen. Not too late to call the cops.”

  Will stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper. On it, Ben had written his name and phone number. Will crumpled the paper back up and tossed it on the table. He sat in silence for a few more minutes. Finally leaning forward, he reached for the remote control on the coffee table. In doing so he saw a note and snatched it up.

  Got some time off, went to the shore house with the girls for a few days. Call if you’re coming down.

  Love, Mom and Dad

  Will tossed it aside, relieved, and switched on the TV. His father left the history channel on, which was playing a documentary about Ben Franklin.

  “Are you kidding me
?” Will yelled at the screen.

  Will was about to change the station, but shot forward in his chair when the program showed a picture of Franklin’s signature from the Declaration of Independence. Will leapt at the crumpled paper Ben had given him and held it up to the screen. It wasn’t a perfect match, but it was too close for comfort.

  “No,” Will exclaimed aloud. “Relax.”

  He threw the paper back on the table and activated the menu. Seeing that the Phillies were playing, he switched over.

  Will’s head drifted back upon the leather and his eyes sagged lazily. His muscles were stiff. His lungs still hurt from sucking down dirty air. Most prominently, his brain hurt from the combination of confusion and exhaustion. In the top of the third inning, his eyes closed a little more. He sunk further into the chair, letting the tension in his body drain out. Somewhere in the middle of the fourth inning, he drifted in and out of sleep. By the fifth, his eyes closed completely.

  The house had become totally black, besides the glow from the TV. Will snoozed deservedly as the balmy night shrouded the house. The street had fallen still as the neighbors either went out or went to bed. Will descended into a deep outage, deaf to what minimal disturbances emanated