Negative Film

by Leonard Petracci

  Slugger held a wet tennis ball a few strides away and was busy tossing it against the wall, whipping it as hard as he could so it spattered against the concrete. He squinted, launching the ball to hit the same mark each time, and so far had only missed twice. And with each contact, the ball made a slightly different sound as its weight was modulated, the weight fluctuating between a bowling ball and a marble due to his ability to control mass, the distance of the droplets of water and violence of their shape from the impact region testifying to the change.

  “We have to see what they’re up to,” I said, continuing to watch the screen, though I’d lost focus. “We’ve effectively cut off any clues we have to what Siri’s and Peregrine’s people might do next. I don’t even know where to look.”

  “Yes, because they’re going to spill it out to you over the television as guests to a talk show,” Lucio drawled, waving his hand that was filled with fluff he had been absentmindedly pulling out of the degraded cushion. “Erm, yes, I’m glad you asked! World domination does happen to be a hobby of mine. Stop on by on each Tuesday and we’ll have a chat over tea! Positions open for interns and text the number below for live voting on your method of national destruction!”

  Whap! sounded Slugger’s tennis ball, a particularly massive one, which splashed hard enough to throw flecks of water across my wrinkled brow.

  “Well, what do you suggest we do?” I sighed, raising my hands.

  “Not watch TV, unless it’s for movies! Maybe we do another recon mission like the other night. Spook the police a bit.”

  Whap.

  “We don’t want them to know they’re being watched, or else we’ll lose that advantage,” I countered. “Besides, we can only learn so much from sending them false flags. We need to know what they’re really after.”

  Whap.

  “Would you cut it out?” shouted Lucio at Slugger as he was sprayed with water. “Baseball’s not even in season, and that’s not even a baseball. I swear, you’re just doing it to annoy us!”

  “Aye, and it’s working,” Slugger responded, Whap, before walking over. He dropped the tennis ball in Lucio’s lap and the boy doubled over as he sank into the cushions, the particularly heavy object pinning him down. “But maybe the two of you could learn a bit of something from some baseball.”

  “Like how to be a jackass?” interjected Lucio, managing to squirm out from underneath the ball as it slammed onto the floor.

  “Nah, I’ve learned that from other places and so have you, rawny as you are. Reason I joined the team, remember?” retorted Slugger, then he faced me. “There are nine players on the field in a game, but only one ball. What do the rest of the players do when they don’t have the ball?”

  “They wait,” I said, turning away from the television, “until it comes their way.”

  “Right you are, lad. They wait, but they’re ready. I’m thinking you’re a bit eager—you’ve just hit a homerun, and yer ready for another pitch, but it’s the other team’s turn to bat. But you’ve got to wait, or you’ll break the rules of the game, and that only helps the other team. It’s time for patience.”

  “Well, you can’t expect us to sit here and do nothing,” I protested, gesturing above. “Not while who knows what is going on up there!”

  “I didn’t suggest that,” he said, picking the tennis ball back up from the ground now that it had returned to normal weight. “But I do think it’s their turn to bat now. And it’s time for us to start securing some outs so we can step back up to the plate. Yer right, SC, we need to listen, and do so carefully. But Lucio has a grand point, as much as it pains me to admit it—the television will tell you nothing.”

  “So what we need, then, is more listeners.”

  “Aye. More importantly, we need them in the right places. When they hit a fly ball, there needs to be someone there to catch it. But remember, we’re fielding now. With a power like yours, lad, it’s easy to be cocky—but don’t fool yerself into thinking yer not defeat-able. The encounter with Peregrine sounded more like luck than skill.”

  “Fine,” I said, ignoring his last statement but knowing the validity behind the words. “We’ll need to start tailing them. But which ones?”

  “Old instructors, police,” commented Lucio, ticking off his fingers. “Maybe play Blake a visit. Come on, SC, let’s get creative. Let’s have some fun.”

  “Plenty of that still to be had,” said Slugger, rubbing his hands together. “When we escaped the facility, we thought it was the bottom of the ninth, and that the game was about to be over. But really, it was the bottom of the first. And the game’s just begun.”

  Chapter 4

  The roof of the Norris skyscraper was locked, the lobby below protected by security guards and elevators requiring card keys. Far down below, those entering and exiting wore only suits and carried leather-bound briefcases, the look of Specials who no longer needed the aid of their powers for financial security. Glittering windows comprised the building’s face, its shape composed of corners and edges optimized to create the maximum number of corner offices. To reserve a room in the Norris took months and several background checks, a bank account with enough liquidity to run a small government, and papers proving power pedigree.

  Unless, of course, you were a Flyer.

  For each night the past week, Arial had glided up the long shadow where the building’s architecture turned in upon itself, a crease in glass and steel shadowed by flood lighting. At full speed, she appeared little more than a shadow herself, her ashen grey clothes blending in with the darkness. Those who might see her from the street below would lose track of her with a blink, and by then, she had crested the top, standing behind one of the beams that made the building’s decorative crown, her hair tied back so its streaming would not give her away. From here, she could trace each of the individual city streets, watching as people crawled like ants far below and cars bumbled like miniature toys. She could watch as pinpricks of lights within windows extinguished themselves to succumb to the coming night, or track the westbound train as it rushed into a tunnel in the distance. She could see everything.

  Including the police station, just a hundred yards in front of her.

  “We should start meeting up here instead of the coffee shop,” she said to the breeze as I shivered behind her, my knuckles white on the support beam she hid behind, and my eyes avoiding the all too narrow path I stood atop. "Father would not approve."

  “Preferably, no,” I answered, sweating. Today, the moon was shrouded by clouds, and Arial had waited until well past midnight to lift me to her lookout. With me in tow, her flight had been considerably slower, and together, we made a larger object that was far easier to spot. And we’d bumped into the building far too many times for my liking.

  “Surprising that you’re so scared up here; it is closer to your birthplace,” she said, her eyes tracing a set of flashing blue lights that were only pulling over a speeder.

  “I’m not scared,” I defended myself as she raised an eyebrow, making me blush, “I just prefer being closer to the ground.”

  “Really?” she asked, giving me a light shove, and I stifled a shriek as I nearly fell from the platform. Her eyes laughed as I scrambled, finding purchase again, and I scowled.

  “My power lets me know all too well what effect gravity can have on people,” I glowered, shivering. “I’d much rather be at the bottom of the gravity well. In space, it’s different. Free falling is much more advantageous because it comes without a splat.”

  “Yeah, but you also can’t breathe, so there’s that. Besides, I would catch you, just like you caught me.” She squinted, overlooking the city again, then turned to face me. “ Anyways, the reason I brought you is because I need to know what to look for. There are blue lights all over the city—there’s more crime out here than I thought. Trying to keep an eye out for irregular police activity is impossible because it all seems irregular. Besides, when we do find them, how do we hide well enough to listen in?”
>
  “For hiding, remember what we practiced when you first started carrying me? That should work well enough. As for the cop cars, when we lured them in last time, there were six at the destination.” I answered, swaying as my stomach leapt up into my throat. “Watch for that: several cars coming together, potentially from several streets. False alarms are all right; we should be able to rule them out pretty quick and we’ll likely have a couple. Or maybe we’re looking for the wrong thing entirely, and that’s all we’ll have. You’re only up here two hours a night, so our chances of catching them are pretty slim.”

  “Unlike my chances of falling asleep.” She yawned and reached into a backpack that she had brought, removing a thermos of coffee and small candy bar. “But sugar and caffeine should take care of that. Instant coffee, though. I can barely stand it.”

  “And no matter what, Arial, don’t chase them alone.”

  “You seemed to have no problem with that,” she said, coming closer to me and taking my hand. “But before we leave, this comes first.” She pressed against me on the rooftop, each of us blocking half the wind from the other, sole points of warmth in a cold sky. And when her lips met mine, it was as if we had never kissed before—it always felt like that. Like I doubted my very memory at how soft they were, at how my heart pounded too fast within my chest, and how I always forgot to breathe.

  It took me a minute to recover as my fingers interlaced with her hair, and I realized the error of her last statement.

  “Leaving? We still have an hour up here.”

  “Not anymore we don’t!” she said, tightening her hug so I couldn’t wriggle free. “Cop cars converging in the south of the city. We’ll have to hurry to catch up! And you did say I couldn’t leave alone!”

  Then she fell backwards, laughing as I drew in a sharp breath, and we dove into the city below.

  Chapter 5

  It had been a false alarm. A drug bust, one single white van surrounded by six police officers that emptied dozens of wrapped packets onto the street from the lining inside the door. Arial and I watched from behind a billboard, our heads poking out as the police handcuffed the suspect, the darkness concealing us. The ad was faded, the lettering in front advertising a herbal remedy store behind us that had shut down several months prior, which aided in preventing curious glances.

  I’d managed to keep the contents of my stomach when Arial pulled out of her swooping dive to duck and weave through the city shadows, accelerating through bright spots to avoid being noticed. By the end of the trip, I felt like a soda can that had been shaken to the point of near explosion.

  “It’s getting easier, and I'm getting better at it,” she whispered when we had alighted on the platform, setting me down gently so my heels made no noise on impact with the webbed metal. “Carrying you, that is. It used to feel like I supported your whole weight—but now, it’s like the lifting force extends over to you. Makes you lighter and much less like a sack of potatoes.”

  “And makes me feel more scrambled,” I commented, all too aware of the subtle change in technique that made the process more like a lurch and less like a ride. With time, hopefully I’d grow used to it—but for now, it was like running at full tilt while blindfolded. Trusting it went against instinct. Against nature.

  We watched until the officers dispersed to be sure the scene was as it appeared, and as expected, nothing extraordinary occurred. An hour later, Arial dropped me off at the side alley that formed the entrance to the subway, then departed, zipping back to enter her room through the window she kept cracked open. Here, the gap in the bricks between two competing apartments was so narrow that I had to walk sideways, else my shoulders would brush against the abrasive outcroppings that haphazardly jutted into the middle. I climbed over a few aluminum trash bins that reeked of used diapers, then under a shelf that bore three potted plants that had long died, deprived of sunlight, before arriving at the dead end. A solid wall, also brick, extended to the concrete below.

  It had taken a few days to bore a hole up to the surface, as the underground hallway leading to the subway ran directly underneath the alley. Unfortunately, the hallway had been filled with cement and rubble to prevent discovery, likely by Peregrine. Using my black orbs, I’d been able to carve through, but the going was slow—the heavier my orbs became, the more difficulty I had in controlling them. Light would spiral away unbeckoned from their depths, or they wouldn't quite move in the direction I intended to, or they would collapse entirely. This left more than a few areas of the tunnel widened beyond its original proportions, from when my sphere cut away too much. And on the tracks below, there was a mound of dust as tall as me from where I had allowed the orbs to collapse in a more controlled fashion.

  But even with my messy cuts, the hole here was invisible due to the trick from the tunnels extending from Peregrine’s teleportation device. Like the other entrances, I’d tied them in a knot that constricted reality itself, creating a false corner that could be entered at just the right angle while spinning. It felt like squeezing between two tightly stretched pieces of rubber as space pressed in, and the exits were never graceful—I’d landed on my hands more than once, and only Lucio had seemed to master the art of falling inwards to the point where he could sprint through the barrier.

  The alley above had been dark, but the remnant rays of street lights and passing headlights had made it navigable. Here, below the earth, all light was cut off. My patchwork job of the floor was uneven in the best regions and near mountain climbing in others—this passage was more for emergency exits and discreet entering, so we had yet to level the ground. Had Darian still been around and not disappeared after the confrontation, his help mimicking my powers would have made the task far easier. Even if he couldn't create the orbs, he could move them, and once he took control of them, I could create more to expand beyond my usual two. He would have been especially helpful in carting the rubble below so I could keep a better handle on the orbs I used to dig.

  A collection of flashlights were to my right, but I wouldn’t need them—instead, I reached in the pocket in space above my wrist. I was now in the habit of keeping an orb charged by sunlight there for emergencies, and I let the rays spool away from it in arcs to play along the walls. The light lapped like waves against the darkness, decreasing the size of the orb at a sluggish rate, and I was careful to ensure it did not get too small lest it release a telltale pop.

  At this hour, deep in the night when everyone ahead should be asleep, silence would be best.

  But ahead, I heard voices.

  Shouting voices.

  Chapter 6

  “I caught you! I caught you this time!” Lucio was shouting as I entered the lower level, watching as Slugger stumbled away from the kitchen and Lucio followed. Slugger, still half asleep, looked down at his hands, where blue ink was still wet on his palms, matching the splatter that covered half his face and smeared across his shirt.

  “The hell is this?” he asked, sleep still trying to claim him, followed by a stream of curses so comprehensive that I only recognized half of them. “Cabinet exploded on me. What type of snacks have we been getting? I’m all for discount variety, but this has gone too far.”

  “No, it’s because those were my snacks, and I had that balloon of blue dye rigged to pop only if the granola bar box was opened and the cabinet door was opened. I laid that trap yesterday night and I’ve been waiting, but sure enough, you set it off! Those are mine, Slugger. I get them because no one else eats them. That’s the whole point,” Lucio said, jabbing his finger into Slugger’s chest. “They’re for me.”

  “Aye, with money earned together down here slogging construction materials to the surface. Like you could do that without me,” Slugger countered. “But your trap must be as crap as yer accusations—I didn’t take your bars. Have a go, search me.”

  “Well, yeah, because the balloon exploded before you had the chance.” Lucio pointed to the cupboard and took down the box of bars as I sighed, since all of our sna
cks were now of the dyed blue variety. “See? This box was full when I put it up there, and now it’s still full because you weren’t able… wait.” He stopped, confusion flashing across his face as he reached inside and found it half empty, then rounded on Slugger. “Did you manage to get some out before the balloon went off, then?”

  He pat Slugger down while the other boy rolled his eyes towards the ceiling.

  “Damn, lad, you’d think I’d stolen yer shoes. Cool off a bit. No one’s trying to take yer stuff. Just wanted a midnight snack is all. I’ve told you, I don’t even like granola.”

  “Then where’d it go?” Lucio stammered in equal measures of confusion and accusation, but what concerned me more was behind him: a figure that had been stirred by their arguing and had left her tent to stare, just as I slid the remainder of the way in from the tunnel entrance.

  My mother.

  “And where,” she continued for Lucio, her hard eyes sliding over me, “have you been? We only leave here for necessities, selling the construction materials or buying food.”

  “Just on a walk,” I lied, face turning red as she squinted at me, taking in my dark clothes and the crazed patterns that Arial’s flight had left in my hair. When I met Arial at Burner’s during the day, my mother had always been shopping. I hadn’t expected her to be awake for my night excursion.

  “I see,” she said, her voice low. “Just on a walk above, where you can be found and taken. Now that others know about you, you’re a target. By going alone, we would never have known what had happened to you. And by going at all, you endangered us all.”