The Erasable Man: Chronicles of Zachary Artemas

by Christopher Salch

  "Why should I tell you? It's not like you care about—"

  "Enough!" The introduction of cold CO2 into the situation shattered the building tension and extinguished the pile of smoldering bills on my desk. I kept at it, hoping the fight would be over before the extinguisher emptied.

  "Alright! We get the point!" The heat dissipated almost as quickly as it had built, leaving me covered in sweat and the women frosty, looking annoyed.

  "Does that happen every time you two argue?" I asked.

  "Usually worse," said Aden, flopping back into my chair.

  Anne shook her head, still frowning. "The least you could do is apologize!"

  "Apologize for what? He attacked me!" accused Aden.

  "I said enough! For your information, you were stalking me," I said. "All I did was ask your last name and wound up on the receiving end of your foot to my gut. Now both of you calm down!"

  As she slouched down further, Aden's face settled into a frown mirroring her mother's. Anne fumed for a moment more, looking back and forth between the two of us before slumping her shoulders and sitting down again.

  "Before anything else, my office is not fire proof. This desk is made of wood. Not metal. Not an exotic, fire-proof plastic. Wood! Plain and simple. It's covered in paper! Paper that I need. It will burn! If you can't keep your tempers, don't say anything! Got it?"

  "Yes, sir!" Aden responded with a mock salute.

  "Zachary, you have to understand—" started Anne.

  "I don't have to do anything! One of you attacked me in an alley, and then the two of you nearly turn my office into a conflagration! I should kick both your asses out right now!" I said. "I'm not going to, but that's not the point!"

  Refereeing a mother-daughter fight with a fire extinguisher is not how I'd envisioned a reunion with Anne. Maybe a conversation over chai or dinner, but definitely not this. I remembered Anne as very mild mannered, almost mouse-like, but she didn't have a daughter pushing her buttons back then. Her frown told me things weren't going as she'd planned either.

  "Asshole," said Anne.

  "I told you he was an asshole!" Aden laughed. She looked so much like her mother, right down to the curve of her lip when she smiled. Her eyes, though familiar, didn't quite match. A hundred different faces flashed through my mind, but none of them fit. More than likely, she had her father's eyes, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know for sure just yet.

  "Guess this means I don't get paid," I said.

  "Not on your life," laughed Anne and then paused. "I was afraid of what would happen if I ever saw you again."

  "And now?"

  She smiled and turned to Aden. "It doesn't matter anymore. But, it's time we were on our way."

  Aden jumped out of her chair and was halfway to the door when Anne continued, "After a certain someone apologizes."

  Aden winced. "He really did attack me, you know."

  "I nearly broke her knee before she'd behave sensibly," I said. "Next time, just answer the question."

  "See! I told you!"

  "Aden. Apologize, and feel lucky nothing worse happened," said Anne. "Zachary could have killed you just as easily. You're lucky you came across someone as skilled, and as evenhanded."

  "Fine, I'm sorry. Can we go now?"

  Anne shook her head, glanced at me. I sighed, but nodded in return. The girl didn't know or like me, and there wasn't any point in forcing the issue.

  "In a moment. Zachary, I really did intend to pay you," said Anne, reaching inside her coat. "It's not money, but you'll find a use for them."

  In her hand was a box of cartridges for my forty-five. "I know how much you like that pistol of yours, and those matches aren't really suited to your line of work."

  I accepted the offer and pulled a cartridge out for a closer look. Other than being jacketed in an iridescent substance rather than the more common copper, it didn't appear much different from any other I'd seen.

  "Dare I ask?"

  "Be careful where you point them," she warned. "They're incendiary."

  "Thanks, I'm sure they'll come in handy," I said. With Anne, incendiary could mean anything from fire starter to full on vaporization.

  "We'll have to go out for coffee sometime," she said, eliciting a grimace from me. "Oh, that's right. You don't like coffee. Well, tea then."

  "Maybe. It's been good seeing you again, Anne." She smiled and walked out my door and out of my life again.

  I was still cursing my lack of originality when I heard tires screeching outside, a wet thud, and Aden screaming. I yanked open the door, my free hand reflexively going for my pistol. Anne was on the ground, unconscious, in front of a boxy, older model car with a smashed in front grill. Someone in the backseat had an arm around Aden's neck, dragging her into the car. Her eyes, wide and pleading, locked with mine.

  "You're making this too easy," said a hissing voice in my ear. An all-too-familiar knife glinted at Aden's throat, and the air was filled laughter.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  T- 17 Years - Zachary

  "Hi! My name is Zachary. Nice to meet you," said Zachary when Anne opened her door a crack. Old habits are hard to break, she still had her box of matches at the ready behind the door.

  "Nice to meet you too, Zachary. What do you want?" she asked keeping a close watch on his movements.

  "Ruth asked me to pick you up this morning," replied Zachary. "She's stuck dealing with some other errands."

  "Ruth sent you?"

  "Ruth sent me. I'm supposed to bring you back to the facility. Do you need time to get ready?" he asked.

  "Nope! Just give me a second to grab a few things."

  Anne closed the door and undid the collection of chains her habitual paranoia required. Ruth had assured her there was no need for extra precautions in Pocketville, but Anne wasn't comfortable without them. She'd spent too much time living next door to Marco and his friends.

  "So, what do you do at 'The Facility'?" asked Anne as she pulled the door open again and stepped out into the hall. Locking up after herself was an arduous task involving several keys and a good minute before she was ready to leave. Zachary stood by patiently, waiting to say anything until she was done.

  "Whatever Ruth asks me to. Which isn't all that much really," said Zachary. "Mostly just driving people to and from the house you saw yesterday. Although most of them aren't as beautiful as you."

  "Thank you!" said Anne, blushing. It was nice to get a compliment that didn't start with 'pretty lady' or end with a leering smile. The hallway was thankfully short, but the elevator decided to take its time.

  "Have you been here long?" asked Anne when the machine finally pinged and opened its doors.

  "I grew up in Pocketville. It's my hometown," answered Zachary.

  "I've only been here a week or so. Janus hired me and sent me through his transfer machine. My tongue still doesn't work right," replied Anne. "Butter tastes like grapefruit and don't get me started about cheese!"

  "That's one thing I've never had to deal with. I keep hearing stories about how nasty it is though," commented Zachary, frowning.

  "Be thankful," said Anne. The elevator took another minute to reach the ground floor. Before stepping out, Anne cocked her head to the side, thinking. "You've been here for a while. Answer this one for me: why does this building have an elevator?"

  "Do you want to climb four flights of stairs?"

  "No, and that's not what I'm asking."

  "Then what are you asking about? How else do you expect to get to the third floor?" chided Zachary.

  "Well, in the Facility there's this thing Ruth calls a Junctivator that can take you to any floor instantly. We used it when I first arrived," commented Anne. "So why aren't they more common in Pocketville?"

  "Oh, that thing! Ruth is the only one who knows how to build one," answered Zachary. "She's tried to explain the process to me a couple of times, something to do with reality threads. Doesn't really make all that much sense to me."

  "Huh. Tha
t's what she said about the transfer machine and Janus," mused Anne as they walked down the building's front steps. She paused and took a deep breath, relishing the clean smelling air. Well, cleaner than any she'd come across before. There was still just a hint of vehicle exhaust, but no smell of garbage or urine or any of the other more offensive scents she'd grown accustomed to.

  "Most of the things in the Facility are like that," said Zachary, opening the car door for her. "There's one or maybe two people who know how something works, and no one else can understand their explanations. I've figured out a few mechanisms here and there, but never built one quite as good as the original."

  "That's interesting," mused Anne. "Can't they describe the core principles behind their devices? Specify their processes?"

  "You haven't told me what you do, how about you give it a shot," suggested Zachary, smiling.

  "You want me to talk about my work?"

  "Yes, but I'm attempting to illustrate a point," said Zachary. "What did Janus hire you to do?"

  "He hired me to make matches," said Anne.

  "What's so special about your matches?"

  "They explode."

  "Exploding matches, interesting. How do they work?" asked Zachary.

  "It's not really all that complicated. I mix up a batch of some phosphorus compounds and a few other chemicals and paint several coats of it on the head of a matchstick," said Anne.

  "That doesn't sound all that different from your average matchstick," said Zachary.

  "As far as I can tell, it isn't. Their explosive nature has to do with the extra chemicals I add to the mix. How about I show you how it all works?"

  "Sure! How about this, we'll mix up a batch following your formula," said Zachary. "With you right there watching over what I do, both yours and my batch should work the same right?"

  "Of course!" said Anne.

  "We'll see," said Zachary. "I'll bet you ten to one my batch fizzles."

  Zachary intrigued her. He was the third person that she had interacted with in more than a cursory manner since arriving in town. All of Anne's time had so far been tied up in recovering from her transference and unpacking. Maybe it was that she was finally beginning to relax. Maybe it was the euphoria of getting paid two million dollars to live and work in Pocketville. She had no way of telling just what was going on, but she realized that Zachary was quite attractive. There was something about his smell that caught her senses when she was in such close proximity with him. It hadn't been noticeable before, when they were in the hall or outside, but now, she could smell his scent on everything around her.

  "Anne," said Zachary with concern. "Are you alright?"

  "Yes, why?"

  "You're nose is buried in my hair," he stated. Startled, Anne's eyes went wide. She didn't remember closing her eyes or leaning over much less burying her nose in Zachary's hair. "I don't mind the attention, but could you wait until I'm not driving?"

  Her face turned bright red as she retreated sheepishly to her side of the vehicle and fixed her eyes on the passing buildings.

  "Sorry, I don't know what came over me," said Anne, unable to look at him.

  "Don't worry about it," said Zachary. His nonchalant attitude only made Anne's situation seem worse and her flush spread to her arms as well. The two of them spent the rest of the trip in silence—Anne too embarrassed to say anything, Zachary not quite sure what to make of the intriguing redhead who mixed up explosive matches.

  When they arrived at the Facility's mock house, Anne jumped out and was halfway to the front door before she remembered her offer. Zachary was still standing next to the car watching her curiously when she stopped and glanced back at him.

  "One minute you're smelling my hair and the next you're running away," said Zachary. "Was it something I said?"

  "Do you want to learn how to make matches or not?" snapped Anne.

  "As I said before, I'd love to," answered Zachary. "But, I don't want to ruin my chances with the prettiest woman in Pocketville."

  Anne felt heat rushing to her face—if it were at all possible her skin nearly matched the color of her fiery red hair.

  "Well, come on then!" she squeaked and rushed through the front door into the Junctivator. Zachary had to run to catch up before the door closed. The ride to her lab was mercifully short—barely enough time for Anne to take a deep, calming breath before the doors opened onto her new sanctuary.

  The lab itself was mostly empty. There was a heavy, stainless steel table with a glove box took up one wall. The chemical locker stood next to it, covered in every kind of warning imaginable—biohazard, radiation hazard, toxic, corrosive—and a few Zachary had never seen. Directly opposite the entryway was a thick blast door with thin viewing ports and a set of Waldo manipulators extending into the ceiling. The other wall held an old hardwood wardrobe sealed with a strip of thick yellow tape—printed with the immediately recognizable symbol for radiation. Next to it was the stand lamp/reactor that Anne had used to power her apartment. It was currently dark—set too low to give off any light. A strip of the same tape had been formed into a little flag along its shaft, marking the lamp as radioactive as well.

  "What's in there?" asked Zachary, pointing at the wardrobe.

  "That's a little project I've been working on," said Anne, pulling away the tape. She threw the doors wide and revealed a reinforced glove box, hidden away inside. A faint blue glow emanated from the box's window.

  "I've been adding layers to them for months!" said Anne. She tweaked a knob on the lamp and immediately, it started emitting a harsh, actinic light. Zachary had to shield his eyes against the glare to see much of anything. Anne flipped a switch, the lamp's dome turned black, and a set of overhead, florescent bulbs came to life.

  "That's better. To tell you the truth, I'm a little scared to see just how much punch these babies have!"

  He looked through the glove box's window and saw a set of twelve wooden matches. Outwardly, they looked just like any other match he'd ever seen except the color of their heads was a little off.

  "Could you turn the light off again?" he asked.

  "Sure," said Anne, a little confused.

  When she turned down the light, the faint blue glow came back, and Zachary gasped. He could see slight ripples radiating away from the matches like a mirage on a summer day.

  "Do you have any idea how powerful these are?" asked Zachary, his voice a little shaky.

  "I told you, I'm a little scared to light one," said Anne. "I've been adding layers to them off and on for nearly a year. They just never felt finished, so I kept at it. Most of my other matches only have a dozen layers or so, those have at least a couple thousand easy."

  "Are they finished now?" I asked.

  "I think so," said Anne. "I add a layer every now and again. Usually after a stressful day."

  "Okay, I think it might be better to look at something less likely kill us," said Zachary, carefully closing the wardrobe. Even with the doors closed he could feel the matches inside as if the room was inclined toward the wardrobe.

  Anne went to the chemical cabinet, pulled out several bottles, and started measuring out two sets of chemicals.

  "Well, what are you waiting for? Get to mixing!" she said.

  For the next twenty minutes they mixed and kneaded their respective compounds into a thick paste until Anne declared the mixtures ready to use. She retrieved a box of tiny wooden dowels from the chemical cabinet and handed a set to Zachary. When they each had an end coated, Anne collected them and put both sets into a glove box where she had a small drying oven.

  "We have the base matches ready to go, now comes the tricky part," said Anne. She retrieved a thick glass bottle from the chemical cabinet and measured out two shallow dishes of the liquid inside.

  "This stuff is nasty, so be careful not to get it on your skin or clothes," she warned. "It starts with concentrated sulphuric acid, and then I dissolve a tiny amount of einsteinium metal."

  "How dangerous is this stuf
f? Do we need to be wearing lead aprons?"

  "The solution itself is not radioactive enough to be a danger. It's when you start painting this on the matches that things get interesting," said Anne. Once the dishes were safely enclosed in a glove box with a pair of tiny paint brushes she showed Zachary how to paint a 'layer,' as she called it, on each matchstick. The entire process from start to finish took a couple of hours.

  "Let's see how these turned out! First, I'll run a few to make sure the chemical's turned out right. I've had a few batches fizzle on me," said Anne opening the blast door with both sets of matches in hand.

  Inside there was a striking surface mounted where the manipulator arms could easily reach it and a heat shielded box for the matches. The blast chamber looked like it extended for miles in every direction around.

  "This is a lot bigger than I expected," exclaimed Zachary.

  "Yeah, Ruth said I could let off anything short of a giga-ton in here and not have to worry," she replied. "I have no idea what she thinks I'm playing with to need that much shielding, but hey, who am I to argue?"

  Zachary glanced over his shoulder, toward the wardrobe, in wonder. The only reason Ruth would give Anne that big an area and that much shielding was Ruth thought it was warranted.

  "All set! Let's give these little toys a shot!" yelled Anne with glee.

  "Toys?"

  "Yeah, with the limited number of coats we put on them, they shouldn't be much more than fireworks," said Anne. The pair retreated back behind the blast door, and Anne took hold of the Waldo controls.

  "First, one of mine as a baseline."

  Using the manipulator arm, she picked up one of her matches and ran it along the striking panel. It turned into a fireball several feet in diameter, singeing the outer surface of the arm.

  "About right, a little on the weak side though."

  "That was weak?" exclaimed Zachary. "If one of us had been holding that match we'd have second or third degree burns."

  "Don't be so dramatic. There are some techniques you can use to direct the explosion away from the person striking the match," said Anne. "I just kept things simple today. Now, let's try one of yours."