by LE Barbant
Elijah warmed to the celebration. Moving to Pittsburgh had a feel of permanence. It was the first time he had chosen a place for reasons other than its academic possibilities. There were plenty of adjunct options—and enough institutions that he might just find a few term appointments. Plus, his research focused on the rust belt, so he would be living in the midst of his academic context.
But he didn’t choose the city for the classroom.
The city chose him.
Elijah sat across from Chem at a mile-long table constructed of recycled pallet wood. The place had a cool vibe while lacking in pretension. This could be his spot. A chalkboard reaching the ceiling filled the wall behind the bar. It was covered in Voodoo’s craft beer selection scratched out in bright sidewalk chalk. A National song hummed in the background.
“An IPA for the historian,” Tim said. “And a stout for Chem. Dark, like you.”
“You two and your race jokes.”
Elijah grimaced, even as he saw Tim pass Chem a wink. “I was referring to your soul, not your skin.”
The three sat in silence. Sipping their beer, they took in the crowd that trickled into the brewery. Two women, old enough not to be undergrads, pulled up stools at the bar. Elijah wondered if they were waiting for dates or looking for some. He couldn’t help but consider the possibilities, though there were more important things to attend to.
Tim interrupted his reverie.
“So, Eli.”
“Elijah.”
“Sure. Elijah,” Tim drew out the name, “Chem tells me you’re more than meets the eye. No shit?”
Elijah took a sip of the beer and relished its understated hoppiness. “No shit.”
“So, you can turn into this metal monster thing anytime you want then?”
Elijah caught a glance from one of the ladies at the bar. She gave a half-smile and tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “Not exactly. And ever since that night last winter I haven’t felt too much of anything. Granted, I haven’t really wanted to.” He glanced back toward the bar. The blonde was looking again. On eye contact, she turned to her friend. They laughed.
“You talking with us or them?” Chem asked, with a nod to the bar.
“Huh?” Elijah turned back to the table. He shoved his hand through his hair. “Sorry. You know, it’s been a while.”
“I’m just messing with you.” Chem laughed. “Tim wants to know, though. He’s been bugging me about that night for weeks now, and I told him to wait to get the story from the horse’s mouth.”
Trying to read his eyes, Elijah looked at the large man. He still wasn’t sure if he could trust the soldier, even if Chem vouched for him. He wasn’t even sure how much he should trust Chem—particularly after what he did to Elijah’s blood. Chem’s potion nearly destroyed the city. If it weren’t for the chemist’s meddling, Brooke would still be alive.
“We think we’ve narrowed it down to an accident I had just a half-mile from here in the old Alarawn Mill. I don’t remember it, but I woke up the next day beat to hell and feeling generally out of sorts.” Elijah unconsciously ran his hand over his chest. His scar, in the shape of an old Slavic symbol, lay just beneath his shirt. “That’s when the strange stuff started.”
“Strange stuff?” Tim leaned in.
“Yeah, I felt like I was, well, not myself. Almost as if I wasn’t alone. I had weird cravings and feelings. Foreign curses—words I’d never heard before—kept slipping out. When we fought at the tower, it was like I shared my body with another, like there was a passenger inside of me. I think much of the strength came from him.”
Tim leaned back and took a long swallow from his pint glass. He glanced over at the bar. “Looks like you lost your shot, Colossus.”
Three frat-looking bros leaned against the bar and loomed over the girls. It was a familiar story. He flirted from a distance and contented himself with images of what could have been.
“Par for the course,” Elijah said. “Anyway, the passenger left after that night. Like he finished whatever he came to do. I can feel the power inside of me, but I don’t know if I could…well…make it happen again.”
Chem slapped his arm. “But that’s the first thing we’re working on, learning to channel the transformation. I’ve run your blood enough times to know it’s still weird as shit. We just need to learn how to bring it out, how to control it. That’s where the power is.”
“You know about self-control, Chem?” Tim asked with a slight sneer. “With your dealings, I’m not so sure about that.”
Elijah could feel a tension grow between the men, though he had no idea what it was.
“A man’s gotta make a living.” Chem gave him a sideways glanced and then looked over to the bar. The three men were still flirting, but the girls were trying their best to blow them off.
“These douche bags,” Chem said. “Always the same. Don’t know why the bartenders don’t step in.”
“They will if the guys get obnoxious enough,” Tim said. “Max, the one working the bar, he’s a good dude. Probably wants to make sure the ladies aren’t just playing hard to get. The bar is a battlefield.”
Elijah looked up and caught the blonde’s attention. Her eyes communicated a silent plea.
Finishing his beer, Elijah stood.
“I think we should do something.”
“I’m in,” Tim said, jumping off his stool.
He advanced on the group, with Elijah hanging back just off his shoulder. The blue-collar man looked bigger than ever. He gave Max a glance, and the barkeep nodded back.
“Everybody OK over here?” Tim asked, eyeing up each of the guys.
“Yeah, man, we’re good. How you doing tonight?” the ringleader asked. His eyes were narrow, words slightly slurred. This wasn’t their first stop on the bar crawl.
Elijah saw him take a half-step back. He may have been smarter than he looked.
“Oh, we’re real good. A beautiful summer night like this, how couldn’t you be? Right, ladies?”
The girls at the bar smiled. “Yeah,” one said. “Nice night to go out for a drink and be left alone.”
“You hear that, boys?” Tim asked. “They want to be left alone. Time to walk.” Tim nodded toward the door.
The ringleader laughed. “Nah, I think we’ll stay. We’re having a good time here.”
The blonde said, “We’re not. Why don’t you guys find a different spot?”
“What? Is it that time of the month, honey? When should I come back? Three, four days?”
The woman’s mouth dropped open.
Tim landed a hand on the frat boy’s Izod button-up, which hung untucked over a pair of salmon shorts. “OK, you’ll apologize for that. Just because you’re a dick doesn’t mean you have to behave like one.”
The man batted away Tim’s hand. “Touch me again, asshole. See what happens.”
Tim smiled. “Come on, guy. The girls are done. Cash it in and move down the bar.”
Elijah was impressed with Tim’s self-control. Tim grabbed the frat boy by the arm, trying to lead him. The guy shoved Tim on the chest with two hands—high school fight style.
Tim’s composure unraveled.
In a blur, the redneck swiped the man’s hands, grabbed the back of his head and slammed it on the bar. Without a moan, the guy slumped to the floor at the feet of his friends.
Tim turned to the other two. “We done here?”
They nodded.
“Good. Get him the fuck outta here. And find another bar. You jagoffs stay on the other side of the bridge from now on.”
The friends hoisted their buddy and limped for the door.
Max slid a beer across the bar to Tim. “Thanks, brother.”
Tim threw a five on the wood. “It’s no thing. Just what we do, right?”
“This one’s on the house,” Max said, nodding at the pint.
Tim smiled. “I know. That’s your tip. After all, the worker is worth his wages.” He nodded to the girls, who were still ho
lding their breath. “Enjoy your night, ladies.”
****
Elijah slumped on the stool, his heart still racing. The historian was coming to terms with his new reality—from the PPG boardroom to the barroom. Nothing would ever be the same. If Tim hadn’t been there, Elijah would’ve stepped in. He felt responsible but didn’t know how things would have gone down.
Placing his hands palm down on the pallet boards, he exhaled. “Was that really necessary?”
Tim drew on his pint, earned through brute force. “Justice is always necessary. No matter the means.”
Elijah looked to Chem for support, but his friend kept his eyes on table.
“So I guess it’s time for me to hear your story, Tim,” Elijah said. “What are you, Batman or something?”
Tim laughed. “No. Not Batman.”
“So, what’s your, um, ability?” The question felt strange even to ask aloud.
“I’m a badass,” Tim said with a straight face.
Max, the bartender, slid up to the table with three full glasses. “Looks like you made some new friends.”
“Thanks, Max. All in a day’s work, right?”
In unison, the three pivoted and raise their glasses to the girls at the bar, who waved and laughed in response.
Elijah spun back to Tim. “But you’re different, right?”
“Well, I’m not like you or your poet friend. I’m certainly not like Rita.”
“Rita?” Elijah asked with raised brows.
“Holy shit, Chem. You didn’t tell him about the freak?”
“Didn’t get to it yet,” Chem said.
“What the fuck? You just drove all the way from Boston and you couldn’t find time to tell him about the strangest girl to ever crawl out of the Monongahela. What d’jins guys do the whole time?”
“I sang country music.” Chem shot Tim a glance that Elijah couldn’t interpret. “Let’s just let him meet her. You know, without you forming a judgment for him, alright?”
Elijah got off his stool and leaned on the high top. “Tim, you’ve met Willa? Do you know where she is?”
“Hell, no. No one’s heard from her since she went all ghost protocol on us.” Tim took a long pull on his beer. “I hardly know her anyways. Chem introduced us once. But I’ve heard stories.”
Chem stepped in. “She’s gone, Elijah, and who knows if she’s coming back. Hell, all that’s left of her is that damn cat. If she doesn’t come pick it up, Cat will be taking the place of the rats I left behind at the campus lab.”
Elijah finished his beer. “Alright. To be continued, then. I need to get a bed set up or something.”
“Come on. One more?” Tim asked.
“Yep,” Elijah said. “Tomorrow night.”
Elijah crossed the room, taking a moment to offer the blonde a smile on his way out. She returned it, but it just made him think about Willa.
Then Brooke.
Then, strangely, Sean.
CHAPTER FIVE
Halogen lights flickered overhead, dimly illuminating the large work space. The building’s wiring clearly had not been designed for the level of output she required and fuses blew regularly, plunging her into darkness. The five minutes required for the system to reset was the only break she ever took.
A table, as long as the back wall, held her equipment: second hand tools, repurposed machines, outdated computers. Nothing here was state of the art, but she’d seen worse. There were ample resources, though she focused most of the money on materials, which didn’t come cheap. Her own lab at home was better equipped, but her hosts provided almost everything she asked for. And what they were unable to procure she could patch together herself. Over the years, she had plenty of experience working with sub-par equipment. This wasn’t her first rodeo, and she hoped it wouldn’t be her last.
The door behind her creaked open, and she stood up stretching her back. She was sore from working for several hours while hunched over the table. Taking off her gloves, she rubbed her hands together, forcing blood back into her extremities. Her knuckles were scraped and bruised, a testimony to her haste. Speed was part of the job and she worked faster than ever.
The man’s aftershave hit her from thirty feet away. His musk had become a familiar odor, and she looked forward to the time when it would no longer interrupt her work. She spotted the stain on his uniform. It was day four of the oily mark’s occupancy. He was a foul man, inside and out, who cared little for personal grooming and aesthetics. But his presence was a necessary evil. Sadly, he was her most frequent visitor.
“You’re doing fine work, Doctor.” His breathing was labored from the short walk from his office to the lab. A round belly pushed at the buttons on the gray polyester. “Last night’s test was a success. Everything is going as planned...and ahead of schedule.”
She refused to acknowledge the brute with her eyes, which remained fastened on the mechanism she had been attending to before he arrived. “Of course it is.”
The faster the job was done, the sooner things would be made right.
He snickered, the scent of onions and garlic washed over her. “How long for phase two?”
“Soon enough,” she uttered, placing a hand over her nose and mouth in an attempt to shield them from his wretchedness. “But there are some things I cannot rush. And I need more supplies and a few more tools.”
“Anything. Just tell me what it is, and I’ll get it for you.”
She slid a yellow slip of paper with perfect handwriting across the table. The man’s stubby fingers grabbed it. Without a word, he exited, leaving behind remnants of onions and musk.
Free from the momentary distraction, the scientist leaned back over her lab equipment.
It’s all for her, she thought.
She smiled as her deft hands returned to work.
CHAPTER SIX
The police scanner buzzed—something about an assault on the North Side. Chem checked his watch and turned up the ringer on the phone. He wondered if he would be getting a text soon.
Better not be one of Ford’s.
After the confrontation at the bar, Tim seemed unsettled. The soldier was still a bit of a mystery, but Chem knew that something kept the man up at nights. A look in his eye told the chemist that he wasn’t yet satisfied. They finished their beers, then Tim jumped into his rusty pickup and roared away across the river.
Once back at their place on Tenth Avenue, Elijah went straight to his room. Chem retired to his makeshift workspace in the basement. He, like Tim, had needs that were best met at night.
Staying at the university wasn’t an option. His personal research project was becoming more intense and his own behavior admittedly more erratic. Suspicion was on the rise and his colleagues’ prying eyes seemed to be everywhere. But lab equipment didn’t come cheap, even with Chem’s contacts. That meant that he had to take any house call that came his way—no matter how dangerous or absurd. His lack of income was taxing. While he certainly didn’t hope for urban violence, a few bills in his pocket would be a relief.
The lab he had set up in the basement was shoddy and uncomfortable, a scientific environment that was anything but stable. Nevertheless, it would have to do. Lack of elbow space was nothing compared to the assets he was losing by leaving the school. Chem still had the hacked identification card, which would get him into the lab in a pinch. But that came with a risk.
“At least I have you guys,” Chem said, tapping the metal cage. A half dozen, pale mice scurried, their pink eyes blinking at the chemist. “Oh, I know. There were twice as many of you last week, but that’s the price of progress, boys. The price of progress.”
“You finished yet?”
Chem jumped.
The gurgling voice behind him could only belong to one person.
“How the hell did you get in here?”
“I wanted to check in on your progress.”
A form accompanying the voice crouched in a chair in the corner. He could only make out her oversized ra
incoat as the light dimmed near the basement’s edge. Otherwise, she was out of view—and Chem was perfectly fine with that. He knew it was the way she preferred it as well. “You can’t just show up here. You think I’m going to get anything done with you looking over my shoulder?”
The figure stood. A pungent odor wafted from her direction. “What are the rats for?”
“They’re mice, not rats. But they’re not for you, so don’t concern yourself. I can’t commit all my time to your project, you know. There are other things—priorities. I will get to you, Rita. I just need some time. There are other things that are more…”
Gurgling laughter filled the darkened corner of the basement and interrupted the chemist. “That’s cute, Chem, but I’m not waiting on your altruism. I know you better than that. Remember, our arrangement is reciprocal. We both have something to gain.”
Chem leaned against the rudimentary lab table and rested his hands against its damp surface. “Look at this place. It’s a hole. I can’t be expected to work at the same pace here as I did in the laboratory. And you damn well sure can’t expect me to only work on making you…”
“Normal?” the woman asked.
“Yes,” Chem said. “And no. Look around you. Are any of us—normal?”
“You know what I mean. My condition is different.”
Chem took a step toward Rita and opened his palms toward the darkened corner. “Trust me. I am going to make you better. You just need to be patient. That’s all I ask.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one that looks like this.”
The figure stepped out of the shadow and lowered the hood. He had seen her many times before, but his instincts still told him to retreat—not from fear, but from revulsion.
“Kind of sucks, doesn’t it, Chem?” The sliver of a mouth turned up in something akin to a smile. “You need to fix me. I can’t go on like this.”
Chem couldn’t take any more. He turned his back on the woman and focused instead on his test subjects. Stopping his centrifuge, he removed one of the tiny glass vials. Then he grabbed a mouse and placed it into a small, reinforced glass box. He filled a syringe and applied it to the tiny creature.
