by Matthew Fish
“Instead of that, try keeping in mind where you want it to go—then focus on where it will end up and allow your hand to flow along the path that your mind already determines.”
“It’s your room I’m trashing,” Mark said as he readied his hand near the silvers canisters.
“2008,” Bradley called out.
Mark pulled a coin from the far left container and allowed to quickly turn active, he tossed the coin a short distance above his head. He kept it in his mind…the look, the feel. He even visualized the date and the raised surface of the metal. He then pictured it flying towards the paper target at the same time his hand moved—almost as though controlled by some kind of puppetry towards the wall. As the familiar boom sounded, the coin whizzed off towards the far wall.
“Yes!” Bradley exclaimed.
Mark slowly opened his eyes as the smell of burnt paper filled his nostrils. The coin was buried far into the wall beneath the head of the paper target. “Fucking finally…why didn’t you tell me to do that three days ago?”
“It’s not like we have a Conductor handbook lying around,” Bradley said as he placed a finger against the hot surface of the coin. “We’re winging this shit—besides it gave you time to familiarize yourself with the coin release system. It’ll be important when I’m calling out different years; it’s good that you’ve got that down already. Next is the big coin tosses.”
“That should prove to be interesting,” Mark said as leaned against the wall and admired his work. For the first time in the past few days he was actually proud. It seemed a strange thing to be proud of, a coin stuck in a wall—however, he was happy. For a while there, Mark was beginning to think that he didn’t have what it takes. That…perhaps he was indeed a Conductor, but just an incredibly incompetent and useless one.
“That’s enough for today,” Bradley said as he roughly patted Mark on the back and shook him. “You’ve done good kid. Let’s celebrate—let’s get some food.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen you this happy…ever.”
“I’ve been rough on you, I know,” Bradley added.
“What with the workout routines, memorizing where coins go in this ridiculous getup—nah…” Mark said sarcastically. “It’s been fun times living here.”
“You know,” Bradley said in a more serious tone, “You’d be a lot more likeable if you were a bit less sarcastic.”
“Yeah, that’s probably why my dad was never around. Don’t worry; I annoy even myself at times.”
“It must have been hard for you with his line of work,” Bradley said with a tone of sadness overcoming his voice—he was going through a myriad of emotional changes that Mark was not usually used to hearing…at least not all in one day. “It kept him busier than I think he would have liked.”
“It is what it is,” Mark said as he shrugged. “You mentioned food…can I drive?”
“Sorry…no one drives my Charger.”
“Fair enough,” Mark added.
We drove a short distance to a local Mexican place. One of those hole in the wall places that supposedly have the best food ever. Being slightly germaphobic (which I may have mentioned once before) I usually reserved this to myself to mean dirty or I’d get great food but spend a few hours in the bathroom paying for it. I ordered a cheese enchilada plate; I always found the meat somewhat sketchy at places like this. Before eating I took out my cell phone and took a quick snapshot of my food.
“You always take pictures of what you’re going to eat?” Bradley asked as he hoarded himself over a plate of beef and cheese covered tortilla chips.
“I like to post pictures what I eat onto the internet,” Mark replied as he grabbed a fork and began to cut his food into neat little bite sized pieces. “I don’t post much—but I post what I eat all the time. I’ve been doing it for years.”
“That’s…weird,” Bradley mumbled with a mouth full of food.
“Yes,” Mark replied with a nod. “Vampires that aren’t really vampires, and people with the magical power to kill them with…quarters; and me taking a picture of what I’m eating is weird.”
“It is,” Bradley said with a shrug as he took a drink of his Corona.
“It’s called a food blog,” Mark said as he shook his head and shoved his cell phone back into his pocket. “People like doing it.”
“People actually like looking at pictures of what you are eating?”
“Friends from high school, anyone who stumbles upon my page…”
“That sounds really boring.”
“Well,” Mark said as he poked at his food for a moment. “I’m glad that you’re taking an interest in my hobbies and interests…given that I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me.”
“You have,” Bradley said as he stopped stuffing his maw for a moment and paused to wipe away a bit of stray nacho cheese from his goatee. “And I do appreciate that, even if you are a sarcastic little shit most of the time. I thought you would have come back with something witty about how I’m boring. I’m sorry I find you posting pictures of your food boring.”
“Appreciated,” Mark said shortly. The more he thought about it, he wondered why Bradley’s comment about calling it boring and weird bothered him so much. Usually he would just come up with something about how Bradley either just works out or plays video games all the time—how he had no friends. However, since graduation, these days Mark felt he had no real friends either. Even the comments posted on his page never asked about the fire or how he was doing, just things like ‘looks delicious’ or ‘cool, man.’ If he was honest with himself he was beginning to feel rather isolated. Without saying another word, he began to eat. Occasionally he’d look outside to the dark clouds that seemed to approach from the west.
“It does look like a nasty storm is rolling in,” Bradley said, taking note of what seemed to interest Mark outside of the overly colorful window frame.
“Yeah,” Mark added between bites of food.
The rain was really coming down and night was setting in as we headed back that night. There was not much talking—Bradley mentioned introducing me to his police captain sometime in the future, once I was ready to take on my duties as a Conductor to the next step. I remember nodding and just simply watching brilliant flashes of lightening off in the distance of the Chicago skyline.
Chapter 3
As we pulled into the driveway that night, I saw a flash of light illuminate the garage just as the door began to close behind us. For a moment I thought I caught a glimpse of a person, as I looked again, the space was empty. The overhead light came on illuminating the sparse white walls of the overly clean garage. (Bradley took just as much care of his beautiful black Charger’s home as he did the car. He never really had any women visitors and his obsession with the car seemed to take it to a level that caused me to wonder a bit. Then again if something like that was going on I could never imagine the logistics of it all.)
As I stepped out of the car my attention was quickly pulled to a girl. Her head was covered with a hood and she carried two fancy looking white and black striped suitcases in each hand.
“What the shit?” I said aloud just as Bradley took notice.
“Drop the bags,” Bradley commanded as he pulled a gun from the inside of his jacket and trained it on the girl.
“Go ahead and shoot,” The girl softly said as she did as she was told. She then pulled the hood down from her pink and white jacket revealing her bright pink hair and her almost glowing hazel eyes. “I’ve been shot before…a few times actually—father insisted on it.”
“It’s…” Mark muttered as he began to back away and head towards the door to the house in a hurried manner. “It’s that crazy girl that burned my grandma’s house down. She said this wouldn’t be over…fuck!”
“Hey dickwad,” The girl said as she held her hands up and took a step forward. “Sorry about all that, things got a bit out of hand.”
“Not another step,” Bradley said coolly. “You’ve been shot be
fore, sure—but I bet not as many times as I could unload upon you in the next ten seconds, I’ll put your ass out for the night—plenty of time for my friend here to go inside and find a quarter matching your birth year.”
“So that’s why then,” The girl said as she shrugged. “So dickwad can do that then?”
“My name is Mark,” Mark asserted as he hid behind the door to the house. Not exactly the image of a threatening figure, but he felt rather afraid of the girl—after all, their last meeting almost left him crispy. “And…yeah—I can totally do that. So…there.”
“I know what your name is,” The girl said as she dropped her hands to her side and unzipped her jacket. She was wearing a low cut frilly white buttoned up shirt and a black skirt. She had pink and black long socks and high heeled black boots with pink laces. She shook the rain from her jacket and slung it over her shoulder. She softly kicked at one of her suitcases and cocked her head towards Bradley. “I need a place to stay.”
Bradley let out a loud echoing laugh as he kept his gun aimed at the girl who stood there as though she was as innocent as a kitten. “Why the hell would I let you stay here?”
“I have answers,” the girl said as she paused and gestured towards Mark. “I can keep this one safe, better than you can…obviously.”
“She’s up to something,” Mark shouted from behind the door. “What’s her year—I can do this.”
Bradley looked to Mark and then back to the girl. He slowly lowered his gun. “If she wanted you dead—she’s had the past ten minutes to do so. Why are you here?”
“She’s insane,” Mark added. “She’s just lying so that she can get to me.”
“Quiet,” Bradley said as he placed his weapon back into his hostler. “Let her answer.”
“Well…my father had taken an interest in…Mark, here,” the girl spoke as she rested her back against the garage door and looked down towards her feet as she kicked playfully against one her suitcases. “My father is a real…piece of work. He’s got a lot of daughters, I’m not really one of the more…let’s say, important ones? So I overhear him on the phone with someone and for the first time he sounds legitimately scared. Mark’s name comes up in the conversation, and so I decided I might move up a notch or two on the ladder if I could deliver Mark to my father.”
“Why didn’t you?” Bradley asked.
“I was going to,” the girl said as she continued to avert her eyes. “I have a bit of a problem…let’s say with my temper…I had it all planned out in my head. I just wanted an answer at first…was just going to scare him a bit—then I was going to grab him and bring him in.”
“Didn’t work though,” Bradley said as he rested his arm on the roof of his car. “Drew too much attention to yourself when you set the house ablaze…”
“Wasn’t my first fire,” the girl replied with a single nod as she bit the corner of her bottom lip. “With my father it’s apparently two strikes and you’re out of the mansion...out of the family.”
“So how’d you track us down?”
“Mr. Over-share here takes stupid pics of every meal he has outside of the house,” the girl sad as her lips curled into a smug little smile. “I was at an internet café about a quarter mile away—let’s just say I can get to places I’ve been to very quickly.”
“I told you that shit was weird,” Bradley said as he turned to Mark and slapped the roof of his Charger in frustration. A move he instantly regretted as he began to gently rub his hand against the slick black surface before returning his attention to the girl. “What’s your name?”
“Emily…Zzz…um—Staple...ton,” Emily fumbled as she looked towards the empty wall. “Emily Z. Stapleton.”
“You’re not seriously thinking about letting her stay with us,” Mark objected. The idea of letting this psychopath stay in the same house was absurd. “She could be lying.”
“She’s right, though,” Bradley said as he took a few steps forward and extended a hand to the girl. “Bradley Christian, welcome to my home—you only get one strike here. You do anything to make me feel the slightest bit uncomfortable…”
“I know, you’ll plug me full of bullets and he’ll put a coin in me,” Emily said with a simple nod of compliance. “What is it with men and their infatuation with penetrating innocent young girls with things?”
“I’ll leave,” Mark insisted. He could feel an unusual anger growing inside of him. Usually he was cool, sarcastic, and reserved—however, he felt that Bradley was acting rather stupidly. That name was obviously made up. She was already lying! “What is she even right about?”
“Well she found our dumb asses,” Bradley said as he led the girl into the house. “Plus, she has info on who is after you. That, at least, gives us something to go off of.”
“Heyyy roomy,” Emily whispered in a snakelike tone as her eyes widened as she passed Mark.
“This is such a shit idea,” Mark said as he cowered a little. “I’m not…I’m not scared of you, you know!”
“There’s a spare room at the top of the stairs. It’s the last door on the right at the end of the hall. There’s only a bed in there—we’ll pick you up whatever you need tomorrow,” Bradley said as he gestured past the kitchen to the staircase down the way. “I need to have a moment with my associate here…if you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” Emily said with a smile as she collected her bags and skipped and bounded through the kitchen, her skirt bouncing with each footfall. “…thank you sir!”
“What the shit are you even thinking right now?” Mark said loudly as soon as the girl was out of earshot. “You’re even putting her right across from me? Do you…want me to die? I mean—just put a bullet in me. Save her the trouble.”
Bradley rummaged through his wallet and tossed Mark a single quarter. “She’s only nineteen. Right now you’re just as much a threat to her as she is to you—if you’re so concerned about it, then take her life is you’re so worried she’s going to take yours.”
Mark ran a finger over the raised date of 1996 upon the surface of the coin. “So you were right about her being young…but, still—she’s a problem…isn’t she?”
“She’s an asset,” Bradley said as he shook his head. “Do you want to know why someone wants you…apparently alive?”
“Yes…but…”
“Also,” Bradley added, cutting of Mark. “Do you know what kind of problem she would be out there—especially if she blamed you for being homeless? Someone with her talents as an Elemental could really cause trouble for my people—and for you eventually. If I put her out on the streets you might be the one that has to deal with her one day. She might be more powerful then, maybe have her fire powers a bit more under control. Do you want to face her now as a possible ally—or would you rather wait a few years and have to face her as an enemy?”
“I get it,” Mark said, all of his arguments defeated. “I just don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to,” Bradley said as he placed an arm around Mark’s shoulder and led him into the house. “I promised to keep you safe. Right now this is how I’m doing it—you don’t have to like it, you just have to trust me.”
“I do trust you,” Mark admitted. “You’ve helped me a lot to become what I need to be. So, yeah…if you think that she can be trusted then…fine. But, she’s already giving you a fake name…you at least got that sorted out, right?”
“It’s Zampa,” Bradley said as he nodded. “He was the head of a faction of the Milieu or…French Mafia—faked his suicide back in 1984 and came to America to start a drug smuggling ring to keep his family safe, the Conductors in France were getting a little too close.”
“How do you know all that?”
“Detective’s intuition,” Bradley said with a short shrug. “Her father has lots of children—he considers himself some kind of royalty. He has a lot of gifted daughters, it’s a reason why he’d let one loose so easily. He’s had them all shot…that’s not something that every one of our kind does
to their children. We may survive bullet wounds, but they sure as shit aren’t any fun. I have a feeling that this isn’t just coincidence. Anyway, I should know…I’ve had his profile on my desk for years. The last case your father and I worked on together reeked of his involvement.”
“Could he have been the one that was…the…what did you call it?”
“The old one I couldn’t place…” Bradley said quietly. “No, he’s a 1933. For that reason alone, he’d never come out of hiding and actually participate in one of his dealings—having your birth year so well known is a big liability.”
“He’s not that old then at all…how could he be considered a royal?”
“His father was nearly nine-hundred years old. He was killed by a group of European Conductors in the 1950’s. Zampa was a monster—but his father…that’s a whole other story of someone that very well considered himself a living god.”
“So basically…” Mark said as he gave Bradley a screwed up look. “What you’re telling me here is…we’re letting the girl of the father who possibly had my father killed stay with us.”
“In the simplest terms, yes,”
“That’s fucked man…” Mark said as he shook his head. “I get it though, she’s a gifted Elemental—she knows things, yeah…okay. Let’s harbor a psychopath.”
“More importantly, let’s get some answers.”
There was an uneasy silence as the three of us sat at the kitchen table. Emily stuffed her face with a bag of chips and downed a few Cokes. She acted as though she hadn’t eaten in a while. With being put out…perhaps she hadn’t. I remember that was the first time I felt a bit of pity for the girl….even with all the dickwad and attempted homicide stuff.
“Thank you,” Emily said in a sing-song tone as she daintily wiped at her mouth with a napkin. “It took a lot of energy to tail you from that Mexican place you guys were eating at. The food is great there, isn’t it…?”
“So what do you know?” Bradley asked as he ignored the question and folded his arms and rested his back into the chair.
