by Arlene Webb
Aaron shivered. He ran soapy fingers through his hair and cranked the heat up as he rinsed. Why even theorize? This couldn’t be reality. Complex energy shouldn’t zap to life in human form, killing the hosts, becoming super-beings.
Especially ones with similarities to humans that Aaron, grieving husband, and David, traumatized son, had dealt with. The efficient oncologist that spoke the terminal C-word without a trace of emotion had blonde hair. The night nurse, so sweet with green eyes, didn’t have a clue her flirting with a soon-to-be widower hadn’t been at all subtle. She’d annoyed David almost as much as she’d bothered Aaron. The brutally intelligent, blue-eyed shrink he’d made David talk to afterward—was this all a complex hallucination of David’s? A year after his mother’s death, he creates this world?
Oh yes, that made as much sense as the Aurora Borealis. Especially seeing as David somehow drew his father into this imaginary world. Aaron had carried Blue, Yellow, and Green in his arms. They had substance.
What defined reality? There wasn’t the slightest trace of a scar on his thigh. Thrusting a knife in his flesh had certainly felt like it happened. How could he have kissed, caressed, and almost committed a lewd act in an elevator with a figment of his son’s mind?
The conclusion: he projected, not David, leaving Aaron, the insane one and a bereaved man. Case proven by the fact he now washed soap and tears from his face.
Sarah was dead. Yet, the only way he could kiss another was if that other wasn’t real and electrocuted him for his infidelity?
In the real reality, if Aaron were a lonely nutjob, it’d mean that David was safe. If Aaron wasn’t delusional and powerful mutants had infiltrated Earth, he was a looney-tune for risking his son like this. Somehow, continuation of this journey would have to explain who was insane, what was real, and what would happen if complex living energy could be reunited without killing each other or any fool who allowed his child to share their path.
Aaron turned off the shower and hand-dried himself. He’d wait to pester Malcolm. Theories with little hope of becoming more than a conundrum could be postponed. He strode into the bedroom and grabbed a pair of black jeans. He’d wear the mark of a widower, government agent, Gothic nerd for as long as it took.
Two colors remained missing, two were assumed on the way, and one lay under ice, banned from this debatable reality until they could control her. That left two colors conscious in this house, solid, beautiful, and too god-like to be a figment of Aaron’s mind. Surely the understanding to the tragic demise of at least five people had to be around the corner.
The grey world of reality had been rendered obsolete.
Living light filled his heart, and he’d not walk but run to embrace the future.
* * *
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading the first section of a colorful saga. If you enjoyed the story, please consider leaving a review. The adventure continues in The R Word. Opening chapter follows.
Sincerely,
Arlene
http://arlenewebb.blogspot.com/
http://arlenewebb.com
Flagstaff, Arizona
3 PM Sunday, July 10th
Red
The redhead slammed her fist on the precinct’s front counter. “I know that woman had something to do with my brother’s disappearance.”
“We’ve no proof of that.” The desk sergeant swallowed hard. “Could be any moment, he’ll turn up with some wild story.” Odds were the man had died three days ago. “Er…sometimes a guy needs a break. Maybe Vegas. Or a hike into the hills. It’s not like Dan couldn’t take on a grizzly with one hand.”
She snorted. “My brother goes for a hike; he tells us. What stays in Vegas wouldn’t include him. Kills frickin’ bears—he’d drag the damn thing home.” A soft sob slipped free. “Find him. Today. Right now, or by God, I’ll find a way to choke the truth from Shana O’Leary.”
He had no doubt she would, and he ached to help her. Daniel Connor wouldn’t abandon a stray cat, let alone his family. Circles beneath her red-rimmed eyes, this firecracker had amused everyone last year with her futile attempt to press charges against her brother. Seems Connor not only carted his baby sister out of O’Malley’s bar, he’d punched her date in the nose.
As soon as the sergeant’s shift ended, he’d rejoin the crowd scouring the Arizona pines.
Tucson, Arizona
3 PM Sunday, July 10th
Orange
“No, no es possible. La mujer—”
“Ingles, mi hermano.” Carlos scowled at his brother. “We need the practice. Idiota. We ask at the medical center about an orange senorita on some weird drug, we can kiss our illegal butts out of here by sunrise.”
“News report said they found the woman out cold in a bar in South Tucson. That links her to Marisa, and she could be our only clue. Marisa couldn’t disappear into thin air.”
“How’d you hook up with this Marisa?”
Miguel sighed. “For the tenth time, I just met her. She crossed into the States last week. Parents dead, after she turned nineteen her aunt wanted her gone.”
“When’d you last see her?”
“Thursday night after the Turkey Tavern closed, a bunch of us hung out. Marisa refused to pee in the parking lot. Some puta dared her to climb the drainpipe and crawl into the bathroom window. She went around the building. Didn’t come back. I figured she’d hitched a ride to the motel I’d paid for. Her bag, picture of her parents, was still there.”
“You take her stuff?”
“Yes. I love her.”
“One week and you love her? Pendejo. No woman’s worth deportation.”
“Bastardo. This one is.”
Rochester, New York
6 PM Sunday, July 10th
Yellow
No woman was worth a prison sentence. Bumps of fear danced along his spine. He’d never come so close to strangling another human. Friday morning, he’d pretended the fight hadn’t happened. He’d dropped Lisa at the latest job—some greenhouse soon to regret the day she walked onto their lot—and bolted.
He emailed work that he quit, closed his bank account, sacrificed his security deposit, asked a buddy to haul his furniture to a charity, and told his friends to tell Lisa that he’d been hit by a Mack truck and had his body shipped to his parents in Alaska. Siberia. Transylvania. Wherever.
Thank God, the Mexican border loomed. After dealing with a blonde female version of Hannibal Lector, a dark-haired senorita could ease the pain of never returning home again.
San Diego, California
3 PM Sunday, July 10th
Green
The man ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Ninety pounds, unable to say boo to a mouse, and you’re saying my sister’s not only been missing for three days, no one’s even seen her wandering the beach? Anyone alert authorities in Mexico?”
Despite working at this mental facility for years, it never got any easier dealing with family. “Of course we informed the police here and across the border. But Susan got past security with a purpose in mind. I’m afraid Dr. Radly suspects she crossed that line. He fears the Coast Guard will find her soon.”
“Suicide? She killed herself?”
“I’m really sorry. She’d made some progress dealing with the loss of her husband, but her daughter—well, there’s only so much counseling and antidepressants can do.”
The man slumped into the chair, his face ashen.
Cleveland, Ohio
6 PM Sunday, July 10th
Blue
The blood rushed from her cheeks as Lana collapsed into the chair outside Starbucks. “Oh, I’m such a fool. Why’d I text him? He’ll never ask for me again. I won’t get a chance—”
“To what?” Chloe snapped. “Make him fall in love like you’re in a goddamn movie? Honey, you blew it, and I don’t mean him. I told you he’s a sweetie, but you had to follow the rules. Remember that new girl five-six months ago? He took one look at whatever her name was, opened h
is wallet, and then left. She wouldn’t say what he’d said, but she was crying when she packed her bag and headed back to Idaho or whatever cornfield she crawled out of.”
“But I’m twenty-six, not seventeen. I didn’t kiss him on the mouth. I made sure I didn’t touch him afterward. Three times. He only did it twice with Bella. You don’t think something happened to him, do you?”
“Yes, Lana, I think that you happened to him. I bet he had his mobile number changed.”
Chapter One
Cleveland, Ohio
6 PM Sunday, July 10th
Red-Orange-Yellow-Green-Blue-Missing-Missing.
The collage of hues on the monitor no longer mattered to Malcolm, while the hourglass image terrified him. Time haunted every breath he chose not to take as he scoured the net. Five humans dead and five colors accounted for. Yet the panic within him—the certainty he wasn’t strong enough—raised odds to 99.999 percent conclusive the numbers were off by two. How had his supports managed not to leave a trace, a single footprint of Indigo or Violet, anywhere?
Human error, originating from a covert lunar base, seemed the most plausible cause of seven deaths, and leaving grieving families to conclude loved ones had abandoned them.
A tremendous power source, such as a solar flare, could have been the catalyst causing 631 terahertz—himself—to kill a man and take over his body, surging through flesh, blood, and skin, allowing the epidermal layer to shine a pastel shade of blue.
The buzz of an incoming text from the mobile beside his elbow drew his attention from the screen. At dawn this past Friday, five minutes before Malcolm James lost his life and his name, he’d received a text: this is Lana can I see you again? No charge. Call me. Please.
Two further messages from the woman, and Malcolm had to rethink how reclusive the man had been. The content of the texts, along with consistent cash withdrawals, led him to conclude the banker had solicited upscale companionship. Apparently, an escort he’d been with on the last night of his life worried about his lack of response.
Three days old and counting each evaporating minute, Malcolm didn’t feel human enough to even contemplate interfering in his dead host’s past. One changed digit gave him a different mobile number, and he exited out of the phone records.
The ripples made by splintered energy continued their escalation toward catastrophe. Charges for numerous crimes were pending against Red, a.k.a. Damon, and Orange. But it was Jane Doe, renamed Narcissus or Narci, who’d left a tidal wave in her wake. The policeman who’d tasered her on Friday had driven two hundred and fifty-eight miles yesterday, determined to understand why she’d died from an electrical current, and why her corpse had disappeared from the morgue. The man had not been happy when Malcolm closed the door in his face.
The body in question lay under ice in the spare bedroom. Malcolm planned for five colors to be long gone before any authority returned with a search warrant, but he feared what the fiery side of the spectrum would make of the yellow part of their trio. At least the emerald sweetheart found on a beach across the country from Malcolm should be tolerable to any shade. Jade, their center, ought to bring out the protective side in alien as well as human.
Malcolm glanced at the digital countdown in the corner of the screen. Worry hummed within him, ear to ear. Reunite color, return to bigoted enlightenment, spare mankind—why was such a simple goal so damn difficult? He had to maneuver the father, child, and a teenager in love with lethal living-color miles from this house before humans were outnumbered by mutated superbeings capable of hearing the sound of a man soaping his skin in the furthest bedroom.
Finally, the splatter of the running shower ceased.
Finally, the snap of a jean buckle.
Finally, Aaron’s footsteps trod down the hall.
Two colors missing. Two expected to arrive within the hour. Malcolm would give the tall man standing at the end of the hall two seconds to take in the remodeling of the living room, before Malcolm kicked the humans out the door.
Aaron glanced from the black throw covering the couch, the black paint slapped over the prior muted blue of the walls, to the closed black drapes. In the final purge of objects, the blue vase, mouse pad, and teapot had disappeared. A non-pulsating, hundred watt halogen lamp—1850 lumens—sat on the end table. Three humans, along with Malcolm and Jade dressed in black, completed the illusion of safety.
Her skin that smooth shade of pastel green, Jade headed for Aaron’s opening arms, while Malcolm faced the child hovering beside the teen at the kitchen counter.
“David, take your dad and vacate these premises.” Malcolm hardened his voice. “Evan, drive them. Bye.”
“But I could help you,” Evan whined. “I should hold that taser. What if Red and Orange have abilities other than being so strong? What if Red is fascinated by, you know, bright blue blood?”
Malcolm unclenched his jaw. “Must I freeze your tongue to cease this constant arguing? Get out. Now.” The young man fixated with “helping” Malcolm would be the death of them both.
“Evan—no debate.” Aaron gestured for the door. “Don’t make me force you.”
“Yeah? Try it. You’re not my father, and I’m not a kid.” The impossible teenager turned to the color clutching Aaron. “What about you, Jade? Shouldn’t you abandon Malcolm, too?”
“Malcolm,” Jade whispered, “you think they’ll be like her?”
“How do I know?” he snapped. “I only managed to say this address before the cell phone cut out.” He’d tracked Jaylynn Kramer through the police network, finally making contact after her phone had power only to have it abruptly die, as if it’d been crushed in a red hand. That sound of metal being smashed would be similar…oh my no—do I really hear that? Grinding gears?
And with that, Malcolm lost control. He slapped his forehead so hard, the echo rattled in the discord of his foolish brain. There wasn’t a swearword in Malcolm’s new vocabulary to express what the scrape of wheel against asphalt meant, other than he’d screwed up again. The approaching vehicle sped at an angle no human driver could handle.
All trace of his fear hidden, he stared at the innocents who may soon lay dead because of him. “I miscalculated. They’re here.” Along with whatever residual personality problems they’ve inherited. “Forget the back door, I don’t want to be separated if one chooses to follow. Stand with me, Jade. The rest of you against the far wall. Aaron, remain empty-handed.” In other words, you idiot, don’t pull out that gun.
As expected, the humans rushed to obey. Jade did not. She retreated with David and stood with the child hiding behind Aaron’s back, while Evan halted by Aaron’s side. Worry radiated from the four beings Malcolm swore to protect as if he could possibly overpower the two colors coming to a crunching stop in the driveway. But surely, no shade was as ruthless as the monster hidden in the spare bedroom. He hadn’t found any deaths attributed to Red or Orange, only wanton destruction and a trail of chaos.
That could change in about ten seconds. Aaron had his revolver out of his pocket, pressed against his thigh. Apparently, the fool didn’t think superior senses included sight, or that a show of hostility would aggravate belligerent colors.
Malcolm threw up his hands, and then strode to open the door. What to say? Oh my, oh my, oh my—welcome to this house of liabilities? Thanks for joining us, don’t kill anyone?
“Please come in. We’re glad you’re here.” Malcolm stepped backward. He stopped in the middle of the room, taser in hand. He could hear the weakened breathing of the being in the lead, but not the stealthy footsteps.
Red materialized in the doorway.
Power—absolute and raw—slammed Malcolm in the face. Red’s explosive aura generated outward into the room, crackling with high-voltage energy. Damon’s height and physique compared to Malcolm’s own. Skin color that muted strawberry red, bright crimson hair, long and unruly, brushed his shoulders. Black shirt ripped, right shoulder injured, lean face drawn and tight. His eyes, hidden by sunglas
ses, scanned everyone gawking at him. The persona this color inherited—predator without tolerance? Red radiated aggression with every breath he drew.
The most powerful being on the planet stumbled, one step, into the room. Damon’s face flooded with snarling, hot anger, and his harsh voice barked, “Caream.”
And with her name, came a face.
Oh my-my-my—stop it—concentrate. How could he? Orange would bedazzle the most fanatical of autistics.
Caream took her place at Damon’s side. She was petite, a few inches shorter than Jade. Loose black pants covered alluring hips, full breasts filled the black shirt with delicious proportion, and her seductive smile lit her waif-like face. Not a trace of fear, timidity, or incompetence marred those huge tangerine eyes glancing at everyone, before resting on Malcolm. A magnetic moment and bursts of interest pulsated along his stimulated nerves. He hadn’t realized she’d be so, well, intriguing. Caream reached behind Damon, their hostile outer whom Malcolm shouldn’t take his sight from, but the fiery young woman enchanted him.
A taller, exhausted human—Jaylynn Kramer—with shoulder-length black hair stepped between the blazing sides of the spectrum. Her expression apprehensive, Jaylynn’s face carried a wicked bruise. Drawn toward the intensity of Malcolm’s gaze, she clearly tumbled into his sapphire light, leaving him to accept the inevitable. With one look, another human had just joined the crowd leaning on him, a charismatic leader destined to disappoint.
