by G. K. Lund
“I have been lying to Ben’s, my friends since I woke up. Shouldn’t that matter?”
She chewed her bottom lip at this for a moment. “It should; why are you lying to them?”
“They don’t know about this. It all happened after the accident.”
“That’s unusual.”
“How so?”
“People are born with these gifts. As far as I know at least, but I’m not an expert, only a normal member of these abnormal communities. I’m sure there are people who can help you more than I can.”
“That’s why I’m trying to get in contact with Winter. I know he can help.”
Evy nodded as if I had confirmed something she had suspected. “You’re not on the run. People who seek his help often are.”
“No, I’m not. I hadn’t even heard the word Yorov until this morning.”
“We didn’t meet this morning.”
“One of the visions. That’s why I wanted you to explain when I met you.”
“I saw him you know; Winter that is, when we escaped the library.”
I shrugged. So what? “Well, he was there wasn’t he?”
“He looked terrified at the sight of you.”
“About that,” I began, suddenly understanding where she might go with this. For some reason, it was important that she didn’t fear me.
“He has been impossible to get a hold of unless you know him. Locked himself off completely. And now I think I know why.” Her face gave no emotion. She had turned to face me fully, the view from the balcony no longer interesting. “What threat do you pose to him?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Nothing intentional at least. All I know is that he knows who I am. He recognized me, which means he knows more than I do.”
“Nevertheless,” Evy said and took a step toward the door, “I have a better chance at contacting him on my own than with you, and so I think it’s best we part at this point.”
I felt her lay a hand on the left shoulder as she said this. A comforting gesture probably.
“Thanks for your help today. Maybe I can repay you by putting in a good word if I can get him to listen to me.”
I felt the head nod, so I had to have given the signal for it to do so. And then I simply remained stranded as I heard her open the door and walk back into the apartment. I heard the muffled voices from her and Peter before it went quiet in there. What else was there to say anyway? She was right. She would have a better chance without me. And yet I remained on the balcony, looking down until I saw her exit the building far below, the thick chestnut-brown hair separating her from anyone else. She glanced around first, then shortly up, before she headed north, toward Winterland and WGI, I guessed. I found myself hoping she would succeed.
Chapter 12
The queue felt like a never-ending test of patience, and I was beginning to question how much I was in possession of. The want of a decent cup of coffee made me remain where I was. Apparently, wanting something bad enough makes humans put up with all kinds of things. It gave me time to think though, and the problem on my mind was an old tune that would not budge. Winter surviving Okanov’s attack. How? That knife had hit strategic places. That much I did know. With some hesitation I pulled the phone from the jacket pocket and texted Peter. As usual it was slow going, but so was the queue.
Is there any way for someone to avoid dying?
The reply came quicker than I could manage. Avoid dying of what. And why?
Not sure. But evading it somehow?
Not unless you’re a werewolf or something. Or a vampire. Or an elf?
I sighed and noticed I was next in line at least.
“Who’s an elf?” Olivia’s voice said as she startled me a little.
“How do you walk so silently?” I stuffed the phone back in the pocket, and gave her my best glare.
“You of all people should not complain about that.”
“What?”
“How can I help you?” the wide-grinning teenager behind the counter asked. I ordered two coffees and was relieved when I could finally find somewhere to sit and drink the wonderful liquid.
“Weren’t you supposed to quit those, Alien Boy?” Olivia said as we found two empty bar stools by the window.
“Not an alien,” I said and sipped at the coffee, feeling a little happy for a second. “And not a child either. Besides, I’m not supposed to quit drinking coffee, I’m supposed to remember to eat other things as well.”
“Well,” she said and put her cup on the narrow counter to wait for it to cool a little as she always did. “Welcome to the boring world of being an adult. So what’s with elves and vampires? Are they real now as well?”
“Don’t think so,” I said and regretted it as I saw the resigned look of ‘of-crap’ on her face. She was the only person who knew I was not Ben Reed, that I inhabited his body and that this didn’t make me the same person. After our ordeal at Winter Fortress, nearly getting killed by Winter’s colleague, Saphia, it seemed appropriate that she knew. She was also the only friend I had managed to make on my own since waking up by the river, and from what I could gather she didn’t let many people into her life. Somehow I had managed to get through a rare crack.
“So, how are things with work?” I asked to take her mind off the more unnatural things that could mess with her perception of a world that was chaotic enough.
“You mean with the Grenade-man?”
I nodded as she took off her short leather jacket and hung it on the peg under the counter. Her dark hair hung loose now, unlike at Cury Square, as she expected no trouble in a coffee shop.
“I’m on a special task force assigned to the case. These past few days have been long. Thanks for your warning by the way.”
“Warning?”
“About the grenades. There was a last grenade, but we spotted the tripwire.”
“Oh. They’ve said nothing about it on the news.”
“Because they don’t know. We’re using it as information when we get the guy.”
“Should you be telling me then?”
“No, but then again you are many things, Ben, a crappy reporter among them.”
That was true. Not like I had, or would, publish anything, so I simply shrugged and left it at that. “Will you get him?”
“Just a matter of time. We’ve brought in some retired cops. They worked the case thirty years ago. He’s not as smart as he thinks he is.”
“I hope so,” I said and meant it. There had been a lot of pain on that square. Pointless and unnecessary.
“Are you alright though?” she asked. “That was a traumatic event.” She picked up her coffee cup and tasted it to check the temperature, but kept her eyes on me.
“Yes,” I said and then thought about it. I was alright, at least when it came to that. “It has had little effect on me in that regard. Like it was… I wouldn’t say normal, but rather something that can happen. Saphia bothers me more. Probably because it’s rare.”
“How so?”
“Like the deaths are easier to deal with than the violence.”
Olivia shrugged and put the cup down again. “Seeing people suffer like that is hard.”
I nodded and remembered Evy’s words. Living with the true knowledge of pain would be hard. It was hard to witness in the first place.
A text alert sounded from Olivia’s phone. She checked it and laid it screen down on the counter. “Anyway, I guess you didn’t just want to talk about Cury Square?”
“No, I experienced a few more memories—”
“The vision things?”
“Let’s call them memories.”
“Whatever, Parasite Man.”
“Not a parasite. We’ve been over this,” I said and then noticed her smile. She was teasing, and I rolled the eyes at my slow reaction. “It’s about Winter,” I said.
Her smile turned into a frown at the name. “He still refuses to see you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I tried to inte
rvene on your behalf, but he kind of ignored me while answering me at the same time. He should be a politician.”
“There’s still something I think you can help me with,” I said and drank the coffee. After cutting down on the thing it tasted even better when I allowed myself to drink it. “When you investigated the Okanov murder, I’m sure you did some research on Winter and his company as well?”
“I did research on everyone involved,” she said and tested her coffee again. This time it was the perfect temperature for her. She gave me a look over her cup.
“Which is why you know more about Ben than I do.”
That made her wince, though not out of guilt. “I wish you’d stop that. Hearing you, Ben, talk about Ben is just plain weird.”
“It’s true though. I’m not Ben.”
“You kinda are. Whether you like it or not, that’s your name now.”
“Fine, but back to the point; do you know about the helicopter accident?”
“The WGI chopper?”
I nodded my confirmation as the mouth was full of delicious coffee.
“I read about it, yeah. An accident that happened before the Okanov murder. Alvin Cooper was convinced that Mr. Winter died in that crash and that WGI then used doubles to avoid word getting out. It would make the stocks plummet.” She gave a wry smile at that. “I think he truly regretted doing Saphia’s bidding in killing Okanov. It got him questioning all kinds of things.”
“But the accident? Was it really an accident?”
“Something wrong with the propeller if I remember correctly. A malfunction.”
“And how often does that happen?”
“Don’t know. I’m not that kind of an investigator. Why?”
“I think it was an attempted and successful murder.”
That made her eyes widen a moment. “Why?”
“Because I saw it happen.”
“One of these memories?”
“Yes.”
“You know you’re stretching my belief, right?”
“Yes.”
She sighed and shook her head before draining her cup. “Okay then. Tell me.”
I did. I told her what I had seen, how the propeller had fallen off, how the chopper had fallen, weightless yet heavy, straight to the ground. How Winter had somehow survived it all.
“He must have the best luck,” she said when I was finished. “It’s rare, but I’ve heard of skydivers surviving falls from impossible heights when their chutes have malfunctioned. Maybe something like that occurred.”
“There’s more.”
“Of course there is.”
“You investigated the Okanov murder. It was instigated by his attack on Winter.”
“Yes.”
“What’s your take on that attack?”
That stopped her short for a moment. She eyed me first, then the window, as she stared blankly at people passing by. She knew something. That much was clear. Despite not feeling that way, I waited patiently, and finished my coffee which was now getting too tepid for my taste.
“I asked him about it,” she finally said. “There was something that didn’t add up on the surveillance tape.”
“He was stabbed,” I volunteered.
Olivia pressed her lips tightly together as she nodded, looking curiously at me. “It looked like it, yes. Like Okanov stabbed him repeatedly. But he was healthy when I saw him. Must have some damn good doctors on hand.”
“Well…” I began and then thought better of it. Maybe it was best not to burden her with more. “Have you heard of a company called Yorov?” I asked instead, and got a stronger reaction this time.
“How did you hear that name?”
“Memories…?”
“Fine. Yes I have. From Winter actually. He told me not to go looking for them. They’re the ones that have been targeting him. They seem to not like competition very much.”
“I don’t think it’s the competition that bothers them. I met this woman when the grenades went off—”
“You romantic, you,” Olivia interrupted teasingly. “Making the best of any situation.”
“And…” I said, ignoring her, “she was looking for him as well. The same way Saphia did ten years ago.”
“Huh…”
“And Evy is on the run from Yorov.”
“Why? And why hasn’t she called us if someone’s threatening her? We can help.”
“She has certain… gifts. That makes her a target for this company. And she doesn’t trust the police. It seems Winter protects people like her.”
“That certainly explains a lot. Does she have the lightning thing too?”
“No. Seems there are varying talents about.”
Olivia drummed her fingers on the counter a while. Whatever she was going to say was interrupted by her phone. This time it made her grab her jacket and put it back on. “I need to get back,” she explained. Then added, “So, is seeing when people are about to die one of your talents then?”
“That and the memories, I guess.”
“Not the walking?”
“Walking?”
She put her phone in her pocket, but stopped and looked at me. “Yeah, the walking. Stealthily. It’s hard to spot you when you do that.”
“What?”
“You didn’t know? It’s almost as disconcerting as the eye thing.”
“What eye thing?” I was out of my depth here. I had no idea what she was talking about.
“The…” She pointed at her own amber eyes. “The eye thing you did. When you knew Saphia would die. It was what truly convinced me you weren’t kidding.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Olivia.” The only thing I knew was that I hadn’t known Saphia would die, just that someone in my presence would. I was glad it hadn’t been Olivia.
“Your eyes went white when it happened. Like this milky film covered them. I’ve seen it on dead bodies before, but never like that. Sorry, but it was as creepy as hell.”
“Sounds creepy,” I agreed, because well… “Seems you still know more about me than I do.”
That made her smile again, soft and friendly. Something she didn’t show often. Then her phone made a new noise.
“Yeah, I really gotta go. I thought you knew all this. As always, Ben, it’s been a pleasure and an absolutely confusing conversation with you.”
“Think of how bored you’d be without me,” I managed despite my confusion.
“True,” she said as she got her phone out again and left.
I remained passive on the bar stool, hardly noticing as Olivia gave me a short wave when she passed by the window. Apparently I was getting more and more information about myself. If I could only understand it, then maybe I could control it. And control meant the possibility of leaving. That was all I wanted.
Chapter 13
Slashing and stabbing the over-sized blue orc felt like a tension drainer, so he stabbed some more until the thing was dead, and then some more for the hell of it. Then he swung the sword at the pixie he was supposed to be saving because he wanted to smash something. The colorful and winged creature died with a squeaking noise, and Peter was docked points but did for some reason not lose the game altogether. He got up and tossed the game controller on the chair, before heading into the kitchen to find something to eat. Nobody squeaked like a squeaky toy when they died that horribly. He knew that from experience now, and he hated knowing.
He found some left-over pepperoni pizza in the fridge and decided it was easier than making something proper. Peter realized another migraine was coming on as well, the tell-tale throbbing behind his right eye leaving little doubt. He found his medicine, downed a pill with some water, and brought the pizza back to the living room. With any luck, the medicine would quench the pain before he reacted to any cheese. Sometimes food simply helped.
The pause music from the game didn’t help. A repetitive synthetic wailing noise that made him grab the remote and turn it off. Instead, he switched to the news. Despit
e not wanting to think about Cury Square and what he’d seen there, he also couldn’t stay away from the news. He wanted to know what had happened. If they were any closer to getting the guy. And so he ate cold pizza and watched a long segment on the Grenade-man from thirty years ago. It was so strange how quickly this had been forgotten. The younger generations hadn’t learned about these events in the following years. The Grenade-man had terrorized the citizens of Ashdale during a six-week period then, with two explosions going off and killing no one, but wounding people, while two more grenades had been found without being detonated. Maybe the lack of dead bodies was why it had been forgotten? That had certainly changed, Peter thought with annoyance. Why did people always have to die before things like that were taken seriously? He angrily chewed the last piece of the pizza and then lay down on the couch to wait for the medicine to push back the pain. He noticed his laptop, still open on the coffee table. A Wikipedia article on werewolves of all things displayed. What kind of weird things was Ben asking now? And why was Peter even looking into it? Creatures that couldn’t die? Peter stared at the accompanying illustration on the page, a man-wolf running amok, surrounded by body parts and devouring a child. Ugh. Peter focused on the TV again. They were, yet again, showing video snippets of the explosions, pixeling out the most grotesque sights. If he’d only been so lucky when he was there. One shaky cell phone video showed the first explosion by accident. Someone filming a gray and white-speckled pigeon that came close to eat bread crumbs by their feet.
The first explosion. Ben had saved them both from injuries due to debris flying through the air. It was the explosion that had been closest to them. How had Ben known? Because he had known. White, dead eyes tried forcing their way to the forefront of Peter’s mind and he resolutely turned the volume up to avoid thinking more about it.
“Sources within the police say they suspect there is only one person behind the Cury Square attacks,” the urgent voice of Robert Smythe communicated through the screen. Peter wondered vaguely if the man had gone home during the last few days or if he was running on autopilot by now. He always seemed to be on. Then again, Peter felt like he was running on autopilot himself these days. Cury Square was bad enough, and the business with Ben didn’t make it easier. They should have called the cops the moment they saw those men running up the library stairs. Ben would never have gotten involved in such messed up things before.
