by Micah Thomas
"What did he say exactly?" Matthew asked.
"He said there won't be no story telling. No. Not that. You fuck up, and there'd be a missing person report."
Matthew stared at the driver, anger and fear building inside of him at the same rate.
"There was a break in, does he know about that? I've been doing what he said, but there's things happening, and I don't know if it's him screwing around or what."
"Man, I'm just your driver. I don't know shit about that."
Matthew boarded his flight, anxiety making his stomach hurt. He'd reached up the ladder, and at the top there was only dread. This isn't what he wanted.
***
Morning came and Henry woke up first. The night had been a fever dream. Nothing made sense about it. He wasn't that guy. Suave and confident, sweeping a woman off her feet. He looked at Cassie as she slept and felt some of the emotions from the previous day bubble up. Where did this come from, he wondered. Feelings, what the hell are feelings anyway? He slipped out of bed and found his pants, really, his grandfather's pants, and put them on.
In the bathroom, Henry cleaned himself up. As he sat on the toilet, he considered his options. He should leave. He knew that. He'd met the wizard and the man behind the curtain had left the building. However Black Star was going to handle this, or even what their role was, didn't matter to him. Wiseman had left with an obscure warning, cryptic even for him, and it had shed no light on what anyone should do next.
"Well, I wouldn't say that," a voice spoke in Henry's mind.
It startled Henry. He looked around. It wasn't Cassie talking. Had he finally flipped his lid?
He washed his hands and stared in the mirror.
"Get a grip, man," he said to himself.
"It's a simple thing really. Although, I didn't know how to explain it to you before," the voice spoke again.
"Wiseman," Henry said.
"Yes?" the voice replied, and an ethereal phantom formed over Henry's left shoulder in the mirror.
"I saw you die. I saw your energy disperse into nothing," Henry said.
The form took the familiar shape of Wiseman's kind face. Henry glanced over his shoulder and saw nothing, but there he was, in the mirror.
"I said that I had to leave that body, and so I did."
"Are you a body snatcher now?" Henry asked angrily.
"More a transient. A squatter. You are familiar with the concept?"
"More or less, I guess. Are you responsible for last night?" Henry asked.
"No, no. I merely saw the potential and unblocked you from yourself, but I respectfully withdrew to give you two a modicum of privacy," Wiseman said in Henry's mind.
"How gentlemanly of you. Is this going to be a permanent thing now for me, like the fire?"
"Oh, Henry. We have one last thing to do before you are free. I know you had planned on turning yourself in, but we both know you don't want to do that."
"So you're saying you have a plan?"
Cassie called from the bedroom, "Who are you talking to?"
Henry watched as the face in the mirror faded into nothing. He shook his head. This was fucking nuts. He went back into the bedroom and crawled into bed, stopping to grab a soft drink from the minibar.
Cassie was sitting up, reading her phone.
"Talking to yourself is a bad sign," she said, "At first, I thought you'd left."
"Is that what you wanted?" Henry asked, genuinely unsure.
Cassie took his hand and pulled it to her chest, "No."
She looked at his bare arm, noticing the numerous scars. The worst being circles, raised and knotted in pink against his sun browned skin.
"What's this?" she asked.
Henry resisted the desire to pull his arm back.
"Mom wasn't exactly the mother type. She drank and when she did, things happened. Her demons got out," he explained.
Cassie kissed his hand, and the scars on his forearm.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"What about you?" he said, gesturing to a long suture scar along her side.
She laughed, "Oh, this was a car accident, but this one," she said leaning forward to reveal a scar on her shoulder and back, "this one was an IED in Iraq."
"No one gets to Valhalla without scars," he said, caressing her scars gently.
Henry sat up in the bed, uncomfortable with the sharing, but also feeling like it was something important. That they were letting each other into some special club for the damaged. He stared at the can of Coca Cola he was holding. A strange thought crossed his mind. Didn't there used to be a dash between the words?
"Hey, this might seem random, but when did Nelson Mandela die?" he asked Cassie.
"That is random. Why?" she said, pulling a t-shirt on.
"No reason," he said with a shrug.
"I guess I thought he died in the 80s," she said.
"2013, actually."
"Hmm. I guess I'm just the typical product of public education. Is that meaningful to you?"
"No. Just something weird someone said to me once. It doesn't matter."
Cassie stood and stretched. Henry took an appreciating glance at her thick, muscular physique and despite the weirdness going on in his head with Wiseman, he felt the physical stirring of his attraction. She bent down and picked up a sheet of paper under the door. A note from Laura. She'd found another ride out of town and felt bad for not saying goodbye, but left her phone number for Cassie to call her. Cassie knew that she would do just that. Cassie wished she could have had one last bonding over breakfast, a chance to tell Laura about finding Henry, but wasn't sure what she would have said anyway. A P.S. on the note said that the crowds were unreal and that the whole thing was a bit scary with presidential security. Too many guns present. Cassie didn't want to stay for this either.
She tossed the note on the bed, and said, "I'm going to take a shower. What do you say to leaving the city before things get crazy? This stuff with Wiseman and president is making people, I don't know, weirder than usual."
"It's all bullshit," Henry said, "All of it. I agree though. You should leave, but I have an obligation to stay. It's hard to explain."
Cassie raised an eyebrow, "Let's talk in a bit. I've got casino floor smoke on me and I feel sticky."
She went into the bathroom and Henry, curious, looked at the note. On the back was the hotel invoice for incidentals. They'd certainly had a good time. He'd never racked up a bill like that before and wondered if he'd missed a classic good time complete with snorting cocaine off a stripper's ass. Good for her, he thought. There was also an announcement: Wiseman Meets the President - TONIGHT in the Chissom Ballroom - complementary viewing and streaming for the public on every and ALL supported media devices. Christ, there will be some disappointed people when they realize Wiseman will be a no show, he thought.
His eyes caught the bill to line with shock. Black Star. How? What? Who? He didn't know what to say, but he was suddenly pissed. He wanted to leave immediately. He even stood up and walked to the door, when he felt, he wasn't sure, maybe Wiseman fidgeting with his emotions again. No, he wanted to find out what this was about. He walked into the bathroom where Cassie was in the shower.
"Oh, hi," she said smiling, "There's room for two in here."
His face was dark and angry, but he tried to control his emotions as he asked, "Do you work for them?"
"What?" Cassie asked, opening the glass shower door a crack, letting steam billow out.
"Black Star," Henry said holding the invoice in a tight crumpling grip.
"Those assholes? They paid me to find you, but they gave up. It was nothing," she said.
"You don't know them. Cassie, fuck."
She pulled him into the shower, pants and all, and he allowed himself to be led into the water. She held him, feeling his body so tense and warm.
"It was nothing. A joy ride on their dollar. I would never do anything to hurt you," she said in a low voice, her face pressing close to his.
"I want to believe you," he said.
She kissed his face and he kissed her back. Henry felt the fire inside stir, but different. Maybe it was Wiseman inside, shaping the experience, but Henry felt it reach out, not with flames, but a more deeply elemental energy towards Cassie's chest pressed against him. It was joining them. A recognition was taking place, or already had and was merely strengthening. Cassie felt it too, and looked into his eyes.
"What is this?" she started to ask.
Their bodies did what bodies do. Henry's pants tossed over the shower door, they made love for a second time. But something was happening in a whole other level between them. Their minds joined by the fire spirit's link.
"Telepathy," Henry thought and Cassie heard.
"I didn't know," she thought back.
Life experiences instantly downloaded back and forth between them. Empathy towards each other grew and magnified with a desire to heal the hurts of the past, and the deeply erotic tint to the emotions reverberated through their minds and bodies. They saw each other from the other's perspective as their identities became fluid between them. Henry knew, instantly, of the reality she had seen in war. Cassie saw the years of drifting and profound loneliness that Henry had felt. Searching hands grasped flesh, hungry mouths sought hold, and they came together in an explosion of radiant light and heat.
The return to themselves was sudden. They were both panting, and the water had gone cold.
"Holy shit," Cassie said, opening the shower and grabbing a towel. She exited the bathroom quickly, needing a minute to herself to process whatever that was.
Henry remained, and sent a thought to Wiseman, if he was listening, "That better not have been you."
They dressed in silence. Henry putting back on damp slacks and bloodied white shirt. They exchanged wary glances at each other. Now they knew, really knew things about each other, but the exchanged memories were a jumble. Neither of them, maybe no one alive either, had any precedence for something like that. People say they want to know each other, but no one can understand the instant knowing of a person's inner thoughts, their weaknesses and shames along with all the parts that make them beautiful.
"I'm sorry about your girlfriend. Losing someone hurts," Cassie said.
"It's ok. She was a good person, and I just fed her drugs. I've never helped anyone," Henry said.
"Look," Cassie said, "I didn't know what you'd been through these weeks, or what you'd been through before, when we met."
"I didn't know you either. You're amazing. I would have given up. I'm not as strong as you," he said earnestly.
Henry was going to say more in this intimate place, the sacred exchange of secrets, when suddenly the hotel fire alarm went off, loud and blaring. Cassie looked at him, a mix of questioning and accusation.
"It's not me. I swear," he shouted back.
Cassie dug through her suitcase.
"We don't have time to pack. We should go," Henry said, knowing that wasn't fair, because he certainly didn't have a single worldly possession.
She pulled her gun out of the suit case and said, "Just in case," and tucked it into her waistband.
Henry instantly felt sick at the sight of it. His experience with guns was somewhere triggered in the back of his mind, but his knowledge about Cassie assured him that she goddamn well knew what she was doing with it. That knowing of each other, what a trip it was to be clear, unambiguous and certain about what another person is thinking.
The alarm was louder in the hallway, a high-pitched scream. They couldn't hear each other, but hand in hand, walked through the emergency exit to the stairs.
***
Hotel security was busy guiding guests outside, but there was some issue getting to the street and Cassie had a claustrophobic fear seeing the crowds crushing towards the doors. The sound of the slot machines and piped in music was a harsh conflict with the alarm screech. Henry held tight to her hand, as they joined the crowd pushing forward.
They overheard snippets of conversation among the guests.
"The president just arrived. I saw it on Fox News before the alarm."
"Terrorists? Are we under attack?"
"What about my chips? I was up! I swear to god I was up!"
Various fears were expressed about possessions ranging from laptops and jewelry back in their room, to concerns about what they were wearing. The alarm went off while most were still in pajamas, last night's makeup and hangovers still unwashed. Security blankly addressed these concerns with a mandate to keep on moving people.
Pandemonium greeted Henry and Cassie once they got outside. This couldn't just be guests from their hotel. People were even more crowded outside, both sides of the street. Protestors chanting, lock him up! Equal portions wearing red caps emblazoned with MAGA, make America great again, the president's slogan.
There had to be 50,000 people pushing through the Vegas strip. Maybe more. Henry was no good at estimates, but this was bad. Very bad. The streets were clogged with people. Traffic had apparently been blocked off to make way for the president, but people were disregarding the barriers. Confronting the National Guardsmen despite their guns and riot gear. It looked like something from another country, or a movie, but not America. Surely not here. The murmurs were right, the president was making his way down the street, ten feet at a time, despite the motorcycle policemen attempting to clear the path.
As it approached the hotel, the presidential motorcade was trapped in the corridor. Too many people. The secret service, bracing only for normal crowd control, even in light of the numerous protests spawned by the controversial president, was quickly overwhelmed. The Guardsmen ran out of twist tie handcuffs and still people crowded forward. The fire alarms in the hotel had increased the planned flow of human capital spilling out into the street, pushing Henry and Cassie closer to the street and deeper into the throng of the crowd.
An explosion high up in the hotel sent a shockwave and heat out into the street. Those immediately closest to the hotel screamed as glass shards fell and cut up their arms and faces. The crowd, moving like an organic entity, a blob, reacted by pushing away and again Cassie worried about people getting trampled. Those types of injuries were very hard to treat in a first aid sense. Crushed lungs, throats, and worse. This was out of control. The president's car attempted to move further down the road, but there were too many people. The police could only move the closest five aside before the gap was again filled.
There was a new noise, something coming down from the sky above the president's car. A helicopter, compact and futuristic, almost an oversized drone, came down despite warnings blaring in megaphones to desist or else they'd be shot. A banner unfurled from the bottom of the machine, a large image of Wiseman, smiling broadly. The crowd cheered as if Christ himself had returned. Two men descended on a platform extending from the machine. The crowd made room as the platform stage settled right next to the motorcade. The older black man stepped up on the president's car, clearly unworried about the sights likely targeting his head. It looked like Wiseman, but Henry knew better. The other man, young and wearing a suit, smiles and waived broadly. A Black Star goon, no doubt. Henry slipped into double vision and looked at the Wiseman figure, and saw he was just a man, normal guts and body stuff, no indication of that alien energy pattern he'd seen before. What was this new scam?
Henry had the sense of some grand theater being performed, but why? The drone carrier departed and the false Wiseman made calming arm gestures, but his voice was drowned in the noise. People wanted to get closer, to touch the magic man. The president still had not so much as cracked a window. Henry wanted to get closer, but he also wanted Cassie to get further away. He didn't know what to do.
She looked at him, as if sensing that he had shifted his energy.
"What is going on?"
"I can feel the explosions, the heat and fire in the hotel. It's weird that I can sense them in so much detail, but I can't put them out. Not directly. But maybe I could burn them out," Henry s
aid.
"Do it," she said urgently, holding his hand tighter.
"If I lose control, I could nuke the whole planet, maybe. You might have to shoot me."
"I'd rather not," she said.
"I can't make you promise. Shit. I can't even promise that it would work to stop me. I've been shot at recently. It didn't take."
Cassie kissed him then, "Triage. One thing at a time. Stopping the fire will make all of this less, I don't know, dangerous maybe," she said.
Henry nodded and stretched his awareness out to the fire in the hotel. He perceived the composition of the crowd, sacks of water and biological chemicals and skipped over them to the walls of the building. The molecular structure here was ripe for burning despite the firewalls he felt were there to resist fire. He found the locations of the burn, there'd been a bomb, he could still anticipate the accelerants, wanting desperately to join their peers in leaping to new energetic states. Henry sent long looping tendrils of intent, of core elemental energy around the flames at their hottest point and pushed.
He intensified the flames, no longer content to merely combust in a reasonable fashion into a pressured molten core of plasma, rapidly consuming the air, incinerating in a heat far hotter than mere combustion of wood, plastic, and clothe. Just as he had before with his limited controlled burns, the fire within was sated with the intensity and killed the nascent flames in a whoosh of an artificial vacuum. Though parts of the hotel started to collapse, the fire was out.
Henry returned to his body's awareness with Cassie shaking him and repeating his name. Something had happened while he was putting out the fires. Fake Wiseman was sitting, slumped on the hood of the car like a rag doll. Someone else, someone new was standing on a platform next to the president's car, holding a heavy-set man with an orange tan by the arm. He was short next to the president, but regal in his own way. Brown skin and black hair closely cropped to his head. A surreal calm was cast over the entire crowd. The chants were quiet, the police were silent, and it was like the air itself carried a pleasant dope, even Henry could feel the pleasing calm coming from everywhere and nowhere. The sky had taken a blueish glow, a tint that colored even the clouds above. Had some grand umbrella descended over the city? Henry looked at the figure with his mind's perception, seeking to see the truth of this new actor in the play. He saw an expansive energy, far larger than Wiseman, an egg of arcing power, tendrils stretching over the crowd, filaments thick and pulsing with energy reaching up into the sky and sparking along a dome shape. More focused energies moved around the man, an oblong sphere of influence, radiating a sense of control and confidence.
