by Bryan Cohen
Chapter 6
Ted felt a rush of endorphins surge through his body as he saw the last patron hand his phone to a thug. It was difficult to concentrate on the main criminal as he stood on a table and explained the situation.
"While you may not believe it, we're quite sorry we've interrupted your Sunday meal. My name is Nigel. Let's go around the room and say our names."
Ted had never been part of a robbery, but he doubted most of them went like this. It took some convincing, but all the patrons introduced themselves, including Ted.
"That's great," Nigel said. "Thank you. We don't want you to be scared because we're not robbing you. This is something much more important. When we're done, all of you will be left unharmed and be free to go. We're not even going to take your wallets."
Ted could feel his heart beating faster and faster. His body acted as if he was in the middle of running a marathon. He tried to focus on Nigel, to no avail.
"My associate Carter is going to create a small piece of artwork on your arms. He's no Picasso, but we keep him around anyway."
A few of the patrons laughed, but Ted wasn't one of them. There was something more going on here. His thoughts were interrupted by some commotion in the kitchen.
"One moment," Nigel said.
He went into the back and came out with Sandra, Ted's favorite waitress. Nigel handed the girl to a muscle-bound Russian, who wrestled her to the ground.
Sandra was Ted's only friend during his middle school dry spell. While his parents would ask him how school went at the end of the day, Sandra was the one who knew the right questions to ask. It didn't hurt that she was in her mid-20s and cute. On one difficult afternoon, he'd sat alone in a booth next to local bullies Jason and Phil Torello, a pair of twins who terrorized him throughout middle and high school. The Torellos were tall, muscular and taken with the notion that they'd be movie stars. The two of them got their kicks by picking on the less genetically fortunate. On that particular day, the Torellos were sitting with a couple of other popular kids, and all of them were torturing him from the next bench over. Sandra spotted the conflict and told Ted she would take care of it. About a minute later, she spilled a giant tray of milkshakes all over the taunting table. She drenched everybody, and Ted laughed for a full hour. It was only fair to try to return the favor.
Ted felt a buzzing sensation throughout his body as he watched the men tear the sleeve from Sandra's shirt and begin to chant in a foreign language. A symbol appeared on Sandra's arm. Ted couldn't hear the words coming out of the man's mouth, as something about the men and the symbol was causing a sort of interference in his brain. He felt the power pulse again and he stood up.
"Get your hands off her."
Ted wasn't sure if he actually said it or not. It felt like it was coming from another mouth, another body. The gang and the patrons alike stared at him as he moved. One of the thugs by the door made a quip, but Ted ignored it. Once again, he felt sound exit his mouth.
"Let her go."
Ted recalled his first fight in sixth grade. Jason Torello had been picking on him for reading too much and he'd had enough. Ted didn't realize how much of a spectacle it would be when he took off his backpack at the bus stop. Jason had the height and the reach, but he also had the crowd. The other kids surrounded them and started cheering his opponent on. Ted got one punch in, and when he connected with Jason's cheek, he didn't feel better in the slightest. In fact, he wished it could all be over. The Torello twin used his longer arms to slap Ted multiple times, with one such blow catching Ted off guard and sending him to the ground. A few kicks later and Torello had declared victory.
The buzzing through Ted's body stopped and the world came back to him. He began to walk toward Sandra and the man who was holding her. Ted wondered if his outburst had just gotten him killed. He passed by the petrified diner patrons, recognizing most of their faces, though he only knew one or two of them by name. Mr. Faraday, the school's drama teacher, looked frozen in place. Faraday had a reputation as one of the best teachers in school, but he apparently wasn't much of a fighter. The man's expression didn't change as Ted walked by.
He took a step onto the black and white checkerboard floor. He would have been eye-to-eye with the Russian man, if the thug didn't tower above him. He had about 100 pounds of muscle on the teen as well. The man tossed Sandra to the chanter and charged at Ted. Ted thought about Natalie and death as he put his hands up to shield his face. The man's clomping footsteps stopped and Ted heard a gasp from the room. When he took his hands away from his eyes, he saw the man crash through the jukebox on the other side of the room.
"What the hell are you?" Carter asked.
Ted wasn't quite sure.
"I'm Ted."
Carter stood up and circled Ted in a fighting stance. Ted put his hands out as he had before and watched Carter levitate several inches off the ground.
"What are you doing?"
Ted looked at his hands and lifted them up. As he did, the man floated further into the air.
"I'm hanging you out to dry."
Carter flailed his arms and legs trying to get out of whatever mystical trap he was in. Ted felt focused. He continued to lift the man until he brought him up a bit too high. A wooden ceiling fan at medium speed smacked Carter twice in the temple. The cracking sound startled Ted and he let the man fall to the ground. The slap of Carter's weight against the ground made Ted wince.
"That could've gone better," Ted said.
He heard a clapping sound from across the room. Ted looked up to see Nigel slowly putting his hands together. He was the only one of the thugs wearing a smile, and the grin was from ear to ear.
"Ted, Ted. It's great to meet you. I never thought they'd send a living soul to deal with little old me."
Ted moved his hands into the ready position. He'd send Nigel into the wall if he needed to. Even if it meant taking out one of his favorite books.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"How unfortunate," Nigel said. "You don't even know who you are? You play a very important part in all of this."
"If I'm so important, let everybody go and keep me."
Nigel raised his eyebrows.
"So selfless. Let me give you a little history lesson, Ted. Your world is a bargaining chip in the middle of a cosmic civil war."
Nigel moved closer and Ted pushed his hands toward the man. The Brit swatted Ted's power away like a gnat. He didn't even flinch.
"And in any war, there are casualties."
Ted tried to push Nigel away with his power once again, and again, Nigel sent it away with ease. He grabbed Ted by the throat and lifted him into the air.
"The losers end up with the most casualties, Ted. Sorry you're on the wrong side."
Ted fought for air and tried to pull Nigel's fingers off his neck.
Well, this is a fine mess you've gotten yourself into, Ted thought.
At least instead of the bookish wallflower, maybe he'd be remembered as that stupid kid who tried to save some strangers from a murderous gang. Maybe they'd put it on his tombstone.
The grip on Ted's throat was tighter than any turtleneck. Taking what little oxygen he could squeeze past Nigel's clenched fingers, he considered his options – and found one. While most of the tables in Page's were bolted down, there was one that was perpetually in danger of tipping over. He searched his memories for the location of the faulty table and reached. All of a sudden, the wooden weapon came up off the ground, zipped through the air, and nailed Nigel in the back. The Brit dropped Ted and stumbled to the ground. He was up in a hurry.
"Very clever, Ted," Nigel said, grabbing Ted by the shirt. "But clever only gets you so far."
Nigel tightened his grip and tossed Ted like a rocket. Ted had no time to react as he went arm first through the back door window. The sharp burst of pain and the sight of pavement was the last thing he remembered.
