The Broken Ones (Book 3): The Broken City

by Jobe, David

  Julian heard the guns cock behind him as he did. He froze, expecting to be shot multiple times in the back. Gunfire roared through the small room, but nothing hit him. The sound of pinging erupted around him as plaster shattered and wood splinters flew. He turned to find James standing behind him, hand outstretched holding the watch out like it was a talisman. “James!” Julian’s knees trembled, looking at his brother standing before such an onslaught of bullets.

  James peered over his shoulder at Julian, flashing him a wide smile.

  Julian willed himself to move faster, to move like he was taking the ball through angry lineman for a long-distance touchdown. He vanished and reappeared beside the first gunman. He grabbed the man’s gun, making it disappear, while at the same time kicking sideways at the man’s extended knee. The gunmen fell screaming.

  Julian spun as if he were dodging a tackle, appearing behind the fourth gunman. The man’s gun erupted, striking the air where Julian had been as Julian clamped his hand down on the gun, sending it to a pile under the bushes outside. He used the same arm to rocket backward, connecting a vicious elbow with the gunman’s throat. Choking, the man dropped, clutching his throat.

  The third gunman he sprang forward, but Julian kneed the man in the spine just above his backside. The gun hand flew out of the gunman’s hands and into the hallway. Julian managed a right cross into the man’s temple before sliding to the side toward the second gunman.

  The second gunman had the drop on him, pulling the gun up just as Julian stepped forward. Using a tactic that Lanton had taught him in self-defense he brought his arms up in an X, catching the man’s wrists and pushing them up. The bullet burrowed into the ceiling as Julian did what Lanton had referred to as a “door knocker kick.” Julian planted his foot square in the man’s chest and kicked with all his might. “Kick like you are breaking in a door,” Lanton had said. The gunman went flying, slamming into the wall with enough force to dent the drywall. When the gunman dropped to the floor, Julian could see that the man had hit one of the support beams in the wall, warping it. The gun rattled across the floor, stopping a few feet from Julian.

  He wasn’t done there. He sprinted down the line of frightened women, muttering apologies as his hands brushed the head of each, sending them to Mac’s house, hoping that Nurse Millie would have gotten his text that they were coming and to keep them in the panic room until she could assure their safety.

  He finally allowed himself to stop, standing in the center of the room. Four unknown assailants lay on the floor in various states of consciousness, none of them posing any immediate threat. Daniel still lay motionless on the floor. Julian rushed to his mother’s side, James deciding to stand guard behind him. He would have to find some way to repay his brother’s bravery. Just thinking about it made it hard for him to see through the tears. “Mom!” He rolled her over, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t stare at him with sightless eyes.

  Her eyes settled on him, a weak smile touching her lips. “I’m okay.” There was a bullet wound in her hip, fairly deep in. Julian had no idea if it was life threatening. He trembled as he held her close. “I knew if I moved too much he would shoot me again, or James. And then when he said he was going to shoot James,” she trembled. She placed a weak hand on his cheek. “But then James whispered that you had given him the shield thing and that we were safe.”

  More tears fell from Julian’s eyes. “James did real good, mom. You should be so proud of him.”

  She smiled. “Both my boys are heroes.”

  Julian nodded, sobbing. “Mom. I’m taking you and James to a hospital now. James. You stay with her, and you do whatever the doctors and nurse tell you to do. You aren’t done protecting mom, you got me?”

  James nodded, squaring his shoulders. “Are you truly proud of me?”

  Julian gave another loud sob. “I’ve never been more proud, bro. But now I need you to keep being brave and stay with mom.”

  “You’re not coming with us?” His body shook with what Julian suspected was his fear kicking in.

  “I’ll be right behind you, little bro. I promise. I just have to get these bad guys somewhere safe. And I have to get all their guns to where little kids won’t find them. Then I promise I’ll be right there. And I’ll bring ice cream or something.”

  James nodded. “Be quick.” He held out the watch.

  Julian shook his head. “No. You keep that.” He gestured to the side buttons. “That turns the shield off and on. You have to press it twice, wait and then press it three times, so it knows you aren’t turning it off and on by mistake. You sit right by momma’s bed, and you have that ready in case anyone comes that means either of you harm. Promise.”

  He nodded, his whole body shaking with the effort. “I’ll stand guard. I’ll be a protection angel.”

  Julian laughed. “That you’ll be. Now turn it off so I can send you and Momma to the hospital.” After James turned it off, on the first try no less, he sent them to the same hospital as Dance and Roberto.

  He stood, taking in the room. The four still struggling with their wounds, and Julian found it amusing how he had been able to block them out while talking to his mother and brother. He walked toward the men. “I’m willing to bet that each of you has at least one or two warrants out for your arrest.” The groaning stopped. “That’s what I thought.” He gave a dry chuckle. He marched down the row, “duck. Duck. Duck. Duck.” Each time his hand hit a head, they vanished to a holding cell at the downtown police station. The one Lanton had taken him on a tour of awhile ago when he had started taking an interest in police work. “All that leaves is you.” He stood over Daniel, who groaned.

  “I’ll just get out again.” Daniel pushed himself onto his butt, looking up at Julian with a snarl on his face. “And then I’ll kill all of you.”

  Julian nodded, hands on his hips. “You know, I believe you, because I don’t smell booze on you like I did those other morons. Oh no, you’re a prime, sober moron.”

  “I’ll gut your mother.” He spat blood at Julian’s feet.

  Julian pointed the gun at Daniel’s head.

  Daniel leaned into the gun, planting the barrel on his forehead. “Fuck you, Christian boy. You might be all hot shit with that vanishing song and dance, but you’re still a pansy, afraid to take a hit on the field. You’re a little, scared shit that’ll keep running from the fight.”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “Cuz you’re a fucking momma’s boy is why. Couldn’t stand to be without your mommy. Look at your face, wet like a baby who’s pissed himself.”

  Julian smacked him with the butt of the gun.

  “Don’t prove dick, momma’s boy.” He spat more blood at Julian’s feet.

  Julian began to laugh. He tucked the gun back into his waistband. “You know, it just occurred to me. You talk a mean game, but only when talking to women and kids. I bet with real mean men, you’d talk a lot less game.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t do it.”

  Julian leaned in and tapped Daniel on the head.

  A flash of white and Julian stood on the second-floor walkway of an upstate prison. The roar of the room echoed off everything. The odor of sweat and food hung in the air, breakfast having been served recently. Julian watched as Daniel fell ten feet, arms and feet flailing until he landed dead center on a long cafeteria table below. Food and plates flew everywhere as the men seated there scattered backward.

  “What the shit?” A large man, with more tattooed skin than not, asked.

  For a brief moment, the roar of the den silenced, as everyone stared at the man lying covered in their morning eggs and gruel. In that still moment of silence, only a single voice spoke. Daniel, in a low and pleading voice, begged. “Oh god no. Please. I didn’t mean too.”

  Like sharks smelling blood, the convicts descended upon Daniel in a frenzy of hammer fists and wild punches. The roar echoed loud up to Julian, reverberating the very metal banister that he held onto. He couldn’t help but sm
ile. With that done, he vanished.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Abusers

  Mac stood on the roof of his house, the courtyard arrayed out in front of him. He hadn’t been up to this part of the building since the day it had happened. Even now, to his right, he could feel the long-abandoned telescope waiting for him to relive one of the worst days of his life. He instead chose to focus on what was happening in the early hours of the morning. The sun sat just above the horizon to the east, spilling light onto the waking city of Indianapolis. Shadows moved and danced as rows of lights lined up on streets and highways, snaking through each other to the sound of heavy motors and honking. To the rest of the city, it was just another day where they had to get up, get dressed and do their daily commute.

  In the courtyard below him, close to thirty women stood in the chilly morning air, clutching ragged blue blankets to shivering shoulders. Each wore some form of hand-me-downs given to them by the Chalice House at some point during their residence there. Julian had spent much of the night scouring the place looking for anyone who might be hurt or hiding and making sure no other gunmen walked the halls. All in all, five men ended up in custody, one man killed, and two men escaped when Julian had shown up and started fighting back.

  Surrounding the huddled women, close to twenty female police officers stood with their backs to them, their eyes aimed outward, wary for any threat. Within the perimeter, several other female police officers walked, taking statements while the bus at the gate was ready to take them off to some undisclosed location. Eleanor Millie mingled through the crowd, steaming cups of coffee in her hands. Once they were handed out, she would vanish just long enough to grab a few more and begin again.

  Allison stood on the roof of the bus, a large sniper rifle clutched at the ready in her hands. She stalked the top of the bus like an angry panther, dressed in the black outfits that Lanton and Mac had designed for them. They weren’t as protective as a shield, but they would stop some small caliber bullets with the Kevlar inlay that had been woven into the fabric. Allison wore her’s like she had been born into it. It was a tight-fitting outfit that accented how much of a beautiful woman she had become.

  To his right, Lanton stood still wearing his version. Across the left breast of his outfit, it held the police badge on full display. Something about the way the older man held himself kept Mac in awe. He too looked like he belonged in the outfit. With his grey stubble showing and his lean face, he looked a serious warrior. With the way he stood on the roof surveying the operation below, he looked a general.

  “I should be down there with her. With them.” Mac sighed, returning his gaze to the situation below.

  Lanton shook his head. “If either of us were down there, we would be more counterproductive than helpful. We stand guard up here, away from their eyes, but watching the horizon. You can wield your magic from up here, this far away, can you not?”

  Mac nodded. “I can. I haven’t tested the full distance, but I think I can easily clear the walls with anything I want to do.”

  “Then you’re where you belong.” Though Mac had never seen the man look his way, he asked, “why do you keep looking at that old telescope like it might bite you?”

  Mac blinked. “I do?”

  He still didn’t turn his head, his gaze sweeping over everything and never resting for very long. “Since we got up here.”

  Mac nodded, shoulders slumping. “It’s a grim reminder of a day I’d rather forget.”

  “Then you don’t want to talk about it?”

  “No.” After a long pause. “I don’t know.”

  “We are going to be up here awhile. Might be good to get it off your chest.” He gave a small nod to Eleanor when she cast a glance up at them, raising a cup of steaming coffee in salute.

  Mac thought about it. “I was eleven. I was a big fan of stargazing at the time. So, one day my father comes home from Washington with this new telescope he had found. He offered to take me to the roof to try it out. He said Mars would be visible enough that we could get a real good look tonight with the new telescope. I practically danced up those steps. We got up here, and I got about setting up the telescope. He sat there with this weird look on his face. It’s a face I’ll never forget. One minute I’m looking through the telescope trying to determine where Mars might be, and the next I’m stumbling backward, right over the edge, right there.” He pointed to a spot about five feet away from Lanton’s side. “I went right over, with my father standing there, arms still outstretched. The last thing I saw as I plummeted to the ground was that my father had pushed me. Pushed me off the roof. I didn’t hit the ground. About five feet from the end, I stopped and hovered. It was the day that I discovered that I could fly. Or, as I know now, manipulate gravity.”

  “Jesus.” Lanton whistled through his teeth.

  Mac nodded, his eyes wandering to Allison. “To this day I don’t know if he had decided to kill me, or that he had figured out my power and was doing the whole throw into the deep end thing like swimming. I keep telling myself that he must have seen me move something or levitate something without me seeing it. He’s always been a kind of a hardass when it comes to learning.”

  Lanton turned to face him, his thin lips curved downward. “Do you mind if I speak plainly? Man to man?”

  A chill ran up Mac’s spine, and his mind told him to just walk away. “Of course.”

  Lanton turned back to the view below. “I did a lot of time as a beat cop. I preferred the night, so I always signed up for the night shifts. Thing with the night is that all of the people’s dirty secrets tend to come out. When the lights go out, people’s inner monsters feel emboldened. The murder rate goes up, the DUIs go up, and the domestic abuse calls go way up. I suspect it’s because the abusers are home and some are self-medicating with booze. Some of those women down there, I can tell you their names. I can tell you their husband or boyfriend’s names. I can tell you what they looked like with that first call and how much that has changed, been eroded away to what you see today. Notice how these women are, even with other women who have suffered a shared crisis together, they create their own bubbles where they don’t go near each other. Very few are hugging each other for comfort, and even when Eleanor offered them a hot drink on a cold morning, they flinch and hesitate. I can also tell you how many times I offered to take them from their abusive situation. To help them press charges on their abuser. They all said no, every time. And you know what they tell me when I begged them to leave?”

  Mac shook his head, but he suspected he knew what Lanton intended to say.

  “They would tell me that he didn’t mean it. Or that he was just helping them become a better person. That he loved them, and that he just loses his temper sometimes. Things like that.”

  Mac frowned. “I get what you are saying, but my father doesn’t abuse me.”

  Lanton shook his head, his eyes holding a sadness in them. “He doesn’t physically abuse you, but there are other kinds. Kinds that leave scars no one can see, and last way longer than a black eye or a broken arm. You see, what these people do is they swoop in with all this charisma. They charm these lonely women with their humor, their affection, and even trinkets of love. All the while they plant seeds in the minds of these women. They stealthfully turn them on anyone that might see what is going on and try to help. These women get talked into leaving friends and family behind until all they have is the guy. And boy let me tell you, that is when the mask starts to peel off. They start telling them that they should be thinner. That he’ll leave her if she doesn’t lose weight. That she has no reason to go to college and finish her degree. She’s too dumb for higher learning anyways. Chip by chip they chisel away at these women’s self-worth until it’s nothing. They believe that they are worthless, and deserve the abuse that they get. That they should have had dinner ready, or they shouldn’t have said that one thing. It’s never the abuser’s fault. It’s all a fault of the victim. That’s why it’s so hard to pull them away f
rom the person who is killing them. And that is how most of these situations end. Someone kills the other. If we are lucky, the victim does it fighting back, but no matter how it plays out, two lives are lost.”

  “That’s not my father. He’s an asshole, sure, but he-”

  “There are more pamphlets in the house on weight loss than there are pictures of you. Allison brags about how ever since they let you enter the science fair a year early, you’ve won it hands down. There is no sign of those accomplishments that I could see. She tells me that you’ve found ways to make the office work better on the tight budget they had, switching their system from windows to Linux to save money, and I don’t even know what that means. That any time they have computer issues, they call you in. None of that is represented here. Your father’s many accolades are quite visible, but in that wall of famous people, has he introduced you to any of them?”