Masters of the Veil

by Daniel A. Cohen

  Sam stared at his hand in disgust. “No, it wasn’t.”

  The cornerback retracted his hand.

  Sam started to feel light. “The game’s not over. Something happened.”

  The cornerback looked up at the scoreboard. “Looks pretty over to me.”

  “Sam here thinks that you guys cheated somehow,” the cameraman said.

  Sam felt the anger inside of him taking over. “That’s not what I said.”

  “You calling us cheaters?”

  Sam felt like he was going to explode again. “No, it’s just that—”

  “Whatever, man.” The cornerback turned away.

  The crazy energy was back. “Hold on.” Sam went to grab the cornerback’s shoulder.

  And then the cornerback was on the ground, yelling in pain.

  The stands hushed as thousands of eyes turned in their direction.

  The insane energy stopped again, along with the pounding in his head. Only the screams of the cornerback, writhing on the ground in agony, broke the silence.

  The Skyline coach ran up. “What the heck happened?”

  Sam honestly didn’t know. All he’d done was try to grab the kid’s shoulder. “I… I just…”

  “He hit him.” The cameraman’s face had gone pale.

  “What? No, I—”

  “You hit my player?”

  Sam stared wide-eyed down at his opponent. “No, I swear, I just grabbed his shoulder and—”

  “He hit him, hard,” the cameraman said, “really hard.”

  “I didn’t hit him!”

  From down near his feet came more screams of pain. The cornerback whimpered and curled in a fetal ball on the grass. Blood seeped through the back of his jersey.

  “Back off!” The coach scowled at Sam. “Someone call the medics!”

  Sam’s hands clenched into fists as he turned to the cameraman. “Why would you lie? I didn’t hit him.”

  The cameraman held up defensive hands. “Don’t hit me, too.”

  The muttering took on a dangerous edge.

  “Loser!”

  “Leave him alone!”

  “How could you?”

  Why do they hate me? I didn’t do anything wrong!

  The Skyline coach bent over his shrieking player. Blood darkened his once-yellow jersey. Sam stumbled backward and kept his hand tight against his forehead as the pounding started up again. In seconds everything had been ruined—his career, his reputation, his life.

  Did I really choke? Did I really hit him? No, something weird happened. I wouldn’t have…

  Everyone—the fans, the players, the cheerleaders—now looked at him like he was some kind of freak. Their animosity swept over him like a tidal wave. Both teams’ coaches started toward him. He had to get away. He needed space to think.

  Why won’t that damn pounding stop?

  He grabbed the sides of his head, squeezing like a vice, but the force within his skull wasn’t going away.

  All he could think to do was run.

  He pushed past the cameraman and ran toward the parking lot. He couldn’t focus with the full drum line in his ear, but at least he could run fast. Even though his brain might be exploding, the energy filled his body—supercharging it. People jumped out of his way as he flashed through the crowd, and then past them.

  Thankfully, no one followed him. At that speed, no one could. Once out of the mayhem, he ripped off his pads and put his jersey back over his t-shirt. He took a deep breath as the throbbing pressure released his cranium, but all of that extra energy drained away with it. His eyelids started getting heavy and his lips went numb.

  Am I going to pass out?

  He spotted his car over in the corner, sandwiched between two large pick-ups. Just seeing it inspired a bit of relief. He stumbled over and knelt down by the back door. As he dropped, he felt his whole body shutting down. He reached underneath the car and grabbed the spare key duct-taped next to the muffler. His regular set—along with his street clothes—was still in the locker room.

  He stripped off the gooey white bands of tape and pulled the key free. His vision went black as he forced himself upright, and he fell against the side of the car. Sam found the unlock button on his key by sense of touch, and slid halfway down against the door before he finally found a handle and maneuvered into the back seat.

  Just as he hit the door lock button on the key, the world went away.

  CHAPTER 2

  The world went from black to blinding red as Bariv closed his eyes. Once the color faded, he was shown what’d happened. The scene played out behind his closed eyelids while he sat in the damp cave. The flashes made no clear picture, but the snippets revealed power—real power—the kind he hadn’t seen since…

  Bariv traced the swirls on each of his cheeks with his fingertips as he remembered his own first “hiccup.” This new one’s first hiccup had been much more impressive… and dangerous.

  If this had been a normal case, he would’ve sent May a message in the traditional fashion, but Bariv didn’t know when May would be back in her tower, and the boy needed her right now.

  Someone else might’ve felt that hiccup, too.

  He braced himself, and then sprinted through the wall. Shielding his eyes against the bright sun, he kept running. After a few strides, his eyes acclimated to the light.

  Things on the outside were nearly the same, but the trees looked taller.

  How long have I been in there?

  He reached his arm skyward and wrote against the clouds.

  May. The fountain, immediately.

  A flick of his finger signed the emergency message.

  Bariv.

  His short legs didn’t carry him fast enough. May was already there when he arrived, her mouth tight. People were all around, gathering rinsers, but Bariv couldn’t worry about that now.

  “Even I felt it.” May’s voice shook. “And I haven’t felt one since—”

  “I know.”

  “But what does it mean?”

  Bariv reached up and touched the second-skin that covered her hand. Her eyes widened as the knowledge passed to her. “Will he be as powerful as they are?”

  “Even more so.”

  “What if—”

  “We can’t think about that now. Just get to him before they do, because wherever he ends up, he’s going to be extraordinary.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Officer Gaetani had known the Lock family since Sam had been in diapers, and ever since Sam’s hands had been big enough to grip the laces there’d been a ball between his fingers. Sam’s old man had played pro ball back in the day, and that was all he wanted for the boy. He’d sent Sam to sports camps, worked the kid, starting in the peewee days, until he dropped, and even installed those lights in their backyard so they could run plays after the sun had gone down—all so Sam could make it.

  Kid could’ve done it, too.

  Officer Gaetani rubbed a hand across his forehead and sighed. He’d been on-duty during the game and was now glad he hadn’t been there to watch the kid’s worst nightmare firsthand.

  Poor Sam, a slip-up like that’s going to cost him everything.

  In the station with Curcio and Palazzolo, he stared with hollow eyes as Channel Four News replayed that last, agonizing down of the game.

  “Here it comes.” Curcio’s hand hovered in front of his throat. “Aaaaaand… choke!” He gripped his jugular and made a gurgling sound.

  “That’s enough.” Gaetani frowned. “Give the kid a break.”

  “Look how confused he looks!” Curcio opened his eyes wide. “‘Huh? What do I do? Why is everyone moving so fast?’”

  “So the kid messed up.” Gaetani sighed. “It’s one bad move.”

  Palazzolo licked doughnut glaze off his fingers. “It’s the worst move. Too bad for Sam. You know this town.”

  Gaetani did know. Stanton’s priorities were church and football, and which was the religion and which was the pastime were often muddled. This made
Sam’s inaction akin to blasphemy.

  “Kid’s old man isn’t gonna be too happy.” Palazzolo wiped his mouth on the back of one hand, then inspected it for any last traces of doughnut. “Let’s hope Pete doesn’t hit the bottle too hard tonight… Maybe we should send a car over to the Locks’ later, just in case?”

  Curcio hit the side of the television with the flat of his hand. “What’s with that static? This old piece of junk’s got to go. Think the chief’ll spring for a new one?”

  “It’s not the set. I think it’s the feed. That thing’s only a few years old.”

  “Gotta love two-bit reporters with one-bit equipment.”

  “It’s not like I want to watch it again, anyway.” Gaetani shook his head. “Kid’s going to have a hard enough time; he doesn’t need this whole town to get on his case.”

  Curcio wiped some dust off the screen. “Maybe he should’ve played some football, then. Look at that—just a deer in the headlights.”

  The door banged against the wall, and the stink of cheap cigars rolled in with Lieutenant McNally. “Be ready in two minutes, boys.”

  Gaetani frowned. “Ready for what?”

  “You three are going over to the Lock house to bring Sam in for questioning.”

  Curcio chuckled. “I guess playing bad football actually is a crime in this town. I always suspected.”

  “I’m not kidding around,” Lieutenant McNally growled. “Get going.”

  Curcio ran his hands over his pockets. “For what?”

  “News didn’t catch it, but I got a few calls saying Sam hurt a Skyline player pretty bad.”

  Gaetani’s brows jumped to his hairline. “Sam? There’s no way. Kid’s brutal on the field, but he would never deliberately hurt anyone.”

  The Lieutenant tapped his wristwatch. “Time is money, and it ain’t free.”

  Huh?

  Officer Gaetani gave him a more intense look, taking in details like he would with a suspect. Something was off about the Lieutenant’s eyes. Had he been drinking? Or crying? Neither seemed likely. The precinct didn’t have the greatest lighting, but they did look… reddish. Strange.

  “It’s late. Shouldn’t we let the kid get some rest and bring him in tomorrow?”

  The Lieutenant’s leg started to shake. “No.”

  Normally, the Lieutenant was a look-’em-straight-in-the-eye kind of man, but tonight he kept his gaze away from his fellow officers.

  “But Lieutenant—”

  The Lieutenant lifted Gaetani out of the seat by the front of his shirt. “Question me one more time, and I’ll have you out of here.” After an eerily intense glare, the Lieutenant released him. “I believe you’re down to one minute.”

  Gaetani gaped at the man.

  What the HELL is wrong with the Lieutenant?

  The guy had just… assaulted him for asking a question! And those eyes were definitely red—and not just a bloodshot, one-too-many-sleepless-nights red. The pupils—the parts that should be black—were off.

  “What’re you waiting for?” Curcio tipped his head toward the door. “Let’s get moving.”

  “Uh… sure.”

  “And get back ASAP. No screwing around.” The Lieutenant slammed the door behind him.

  Gaetani frowned. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but eyes were not supposed to look like that. The Lieutenant had never been a violent man. Maybe he’d had some money riding on the game?

  Curcio tossed Gaetani a set of keys. “You’re driving.”

  “Fine, but that means you don’t get to hassle Sam.”

  Curcio gave him an innocent shrug.

  “On second thought, we’ll take two cars.”

  ***

  Lieutenant McNally leaned against the door of his office. Normally, he would’ve gone right to the second drawer and taken out a much-needed cigar, but he wasn’t in the mood. Nicotine was the least of his worries. He sat down at the desk and ran trembling fingertips over his eyes.

  Even through his eyelids he could feel the heat radiating outward. A few minutes ago, a serious fever had given him the shaky-sweats, and now the back of his shirt was soaked. His skin felt like it was covered in tiny ants.

  I felt fine this morning. Maybe it’s a virus? Or food poisoning?

  The fever wasn’t even the worst part. An uncomfortable sensation filled his body. He couldn’t describe it, but it felt prickly… unnatural.

  And now to top everything off, he’d basically assaulted a fellow member of the force. Gaetani had just been asking a question.

  What the hell am I doing? Why am I so angry? He rubbed a hand along his jaw. Maybe I should take a sick day.

  He pulled a soda out of the mini-fridge behind his desk and held the cool can against his forehead. It didn’t do much.

  As soon as Gaetani gets back to the station, I gotta apologize to the guy.

  CHAPTER 4

  The loud ringing caused Sam to open his eyes. After a few moments of cloudy vision and confusion, he realized he was in his car in the school parking lot.

  Did I faint? What happened?

  The persistent cell phone snapped him out of his trance.

  “H-Hello?”

  “Where have you been?” his mother screeched.

  “What do you mean? I just fell asleep for a moment in the car, I guess.”

  “You’ve been gone for three hours!”

  “Three hours?”

  “I must’ve called you fifty times! Do you know what that’s like for a mother? Especially after what happened at the game. Your father is furious!”

  “Tell Pop to relax, I’m awake now. I guess the game really tired me out. I fell asleep is all.”

  “I called all sorts of parents!” Her voice was almost a pitch only bats could hear. “I drove all over looking for you!”

  “Why didn’t you check the parking lot?”

  “Don’t you talk back to me! And now, of all things, the police are here. You have no idea how—”

  Sam cut her off. “What? Why?”

  “They think you hurt that player from the other team.” Her voice quivered. “I told them there’s no way my boy would ever hurt someone on purpose, but they’re still here.”

  “Ma, I swear, it’s all a misunderstanding.”

  “They want to ask you some questions.”

  “All I did was grab his shoulder.”

  “Just get back here this instant, young man!”

  Sam sighed. “I’ll be home soon.”

  He snapped his phone shut and continued squeezing until the plastic groaned.

  The police? Why was everything falling apart?

  Outside, only a few scattered cars remained in the lot—probably the janitorial staff cleaning up after the game. His mother hadn’t exaggerated—he’d been out cold for a while.

  He started to shake the groggy feeling from his head, and then groaned.

  Everything’s ruined.

  Something moved in his peripheral vision. He twisted to get a better look.

  That’s it. I’m actually going crazy.

  Little black swirls about the size of his palm drifted through the air. They appeared solid and floated delicately through the dark, unattached to anything, trailing in a lazy circle around the car.

  Sam grasped the lever on the side of his seat and lowered the back as far as it would go. His chest thumped as he stared at the air freshener dangling from his rear-view mirror.

  A few swirls passed in front of the windshield, and Sam jerked his eyes to the roof.

  They’ll go away in a minute. Breathe. You’re just tired.

  He shut his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose, exhaling through his teeth. After a dozen slow repetitions, he felt his body start to relax.

  Assuring himself that he was still sane, he sat back up and examined the parking lot.

  A few sweeps confirmed that the swirls had retreated into his imagination.

  Giving a relieved sigh, he opened the door and stepped out into the dese
rted lot.

  “Oh, wonderful.”

  His car had been trashed… literally.

  While he’d been asleep, people must have walked past and shown their true colors.

  Not the Grizzly green and gold.

  Sam swiped at the empty soda-bottles on his roof and sent them flying across the parking lot. With a grimace, he picked off the hot dogs one by one, tossing them aside, the buzzing flies following the old meat to the asphalt. He’d hose off the globs of condiments when he got home.

  Loser.

  He bent down and placed a palm against the message that’d been keyed into the driver’s side door.

  Tonight was supposed to have been the night that he became the town hero and was whisked off by scouts for a full ride at a Division I school. It was not supposed to be the night some freaky daze came over the crowd—something only he could see. And now the police were at his house? He could be in serious trouble for something he hadn’t even done.

  Sam dragged a rubber trash bin over to his car. He brushed the rest of the garbage into it, and then wiped his hands on his pants, adding ketchup and mustard to the grass stains.

  What the heck had happened back there? Had he just imagined the whole crowd freezing up? And what had made the cornerback drop when Sam had grabbed his shoulder? And why was he imagining little black swirly things?

  Am I losing my mind?

  He took the familiar route through the town’s small, winding streets, and then back through the cornfields and farmhouses on near-empty roads. Two police cars, their lights dark, lined the curb in front of his house as Sam pulled into his driveway. He took a deep breath and pulled the keys out of the ignition.

  “Sam!” His mother’s voice made him wince. “Finally!” She flew out and embraced him. “I was so worried!” Tears flowed down her cheeks.

  “I’m all right, Ma.” Sam pulled out of her grip as he stepped around her and into the house. “I told you, I just fell asleep.”

  Three police officers—including Officer Gaetani—held coffee mugs in an awkward row on the living room couch. Sam’s father overflowed the La-Z-Boy as he took long swigs of beer straight from the bottle. He didn’t even look over when Sam came through the door.