by Jason Letts
Aoi grabbed Chucky and carried him in front of her up to the top. Another roar erupted, and Aoi swiveled her head just in time to see Vern and Dennis dip behind the far side of the wall. A soft “No!” escaped her lips. The wind had been knocked out of her, and she collapsed on top of the wall still holding the walrus. She finally became aware of her exhaustion, which irritated every inch of her skin.
“You blew it!” she whispered to Chucky with her eyebrows scrunched like she might cry.
“We can still get second,” he said, but it only served to re-ignite her fury.
“Second? I didn’t come here for second! You want second? I’ll give you second!” Her voice rose and her hands shook with callous contempt. Like he weighed almost nothing, Aoi lifted Chucky out of the snow, spun him around, and then launched him out over the wall.
As soon as he hit the ground, the same bellowing voice emerged from under ground to signal the end of the contest. The members of Roselyn’s team dropped the snow and abandoned their work. Fortst ran out onto the field as the students reformed their line. Once they had all assembled, he made the final announcement.
“The Team Trial is now over. In third place, the team of Roselyn. In second place, the team of Aoi. And in first place, we have the team of Vern!”
The members of Vern’s team jumped and cheered with glee. The other students eyed them dejectedly.
“Captains will evaluate the performances of their teammates and then determine their order of entry for the Final Trial. You’ve all worked very hard today, and you deserve some rest. We’ll take care of the field. Class dismissed!”
The students, tired, weary, and emotional, began to disperse and head for their belongings. Jeremy brushed past Roselyn, and she called out to him.
“Take one guess who will be the first to go in.” But he gave nothing more than a condescending chuckle in reply. “And I hope it means you’ll be the first one out,” she added after he left earshot. A tug came on her sleeve, and Roselyn turned to find Mary with teary eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I just wish there was more I could have done.”
“It’s not your fault,” consoled Roselyn. “We’ll figure out what your gift is in time. It’ll come to you. Let’s go get something hot to drink.” She put her arm around her friend and led her off the field.
***
Chucky, still steaming, tried to wipe his oil off with a towel. He looked up and caught Aoi staring angrily at him, but she quickly looked elsewhere. A moment later she plucked her bag off of the ground and stormed off.
“I’ll show you I’m not so worthless…somehow,” he said to himself. But Mira happened to be nearby and she caught his words.
“What was that?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing,” he said, startled. “Sorry about screwing things up for our team today. I guess the only thing worse than not having a power is having one that isn’t good for anything.” He mumbled, expecting her to walk away, but instead she came and sat down next to him.
“Isn’t good for anything? That just means it’s waiting for you to figure it out. Your mind always has an answer stashed within it. And once you fish it out, the idea will dazzle and delight you. Like this. Watch.”
Mira wiped her hand along Chucky’s arm, collecting a handful of thick oil. She bent down and packed snow around it until it became heavy and dense. She flung it at the wall as hard as she could and it collided with a loud smack.
“That was pretty cool,” Chucky said, entertained.
“And that’s probably far from the best use,” she said, rubbing her oily fingers together. “Do you know what friction is?” Chucky shook his head.
“Friction is the resistance when things rub against each other. When you are sliding on ice, friction is what slows you down. But if you tried to slide on grass, it wouldn’t work at all because there’s so much more friction. But with all this oil, I bet you could slide on grass like it was ice and slide on ice like it was nothing. Have you ever tried sliding on your oil?”
Chucky shook his head. “I haven’t done much more with it than wash it off.”
“Well, you’ve still got a pretty good sweat going. Why don’t you try running out along the snow here and then see how far you can slide through the courtyard?”
Feeling like he didn’t have anything to lose, Chucky got up and got ready to run. He ran forward, pumping his thick calves and thighs, and then sprawled out onto the snow’s icy surface. Instead of slowing down and stopping, Chucky picked up speed and slid clear across the courtyard. He only stopped when he dropped into one of the holes in Roselyn’s territory.
“Ahhhhh!” he hollered as he fell into the hole. The crunching sound made Mira cringe, and she ran over to check on him.
“That was awesome!” he shouted, already climbing out of the hole by the time she got there. “I never would have known about that.”
“And that was with the oil through your clothes. If it had just been skin and oil you could hit the wall hard enough to break some bones!”
“Wow, thanks!”
Taking some satisfaction that Chucky had seemingly forgotten all about what happened in the Team Trial, Mira left him to himself. The students had all gone and the crowd had dispersed. Only Fortst remained to push the dirt back into the holes. He caught Mira’s eye and gave her a polite nod.
***
Back at Cloud Cottage, Jeana and Kevin waited impatiently for their daughter to return home with news of the day’s events. But by the time she got home, her own shortcomings formed storm clouds in her head. She thought about what she could have done to make a bigger impact. She remembered her little drill and imagined how pathetic it would have been when faced with the task of digging through so much earth.
Though she knew Aoi was much more upset with Chucky, Mira thought she wouldn’t be surprised if Aoi put her at the bottom of the order, meaning that she would enter the final competition sixth. Surviving to the end when more than half of the students hadn’t even started seemed like an excruciatingly tall order.
“Hey, look who’s back,” Kevin said when she walked through the door. “How’d it go?”
“It went fine,” she said, dropping her things, taking off her coat and pink cap, and slumping into a chair. Her parents made it clear without words that her answer was not enough.
“My team finished second. We almost came in first, but Vern’s team was just a little quicker. I didn’t do too much, just kind of muddled through.”
“So you’re disappointed about that?” Jeana asked.
“Yes,” Mira admitted. “I do want to win, so bad, but it’s awful because I can’t do anything. I feel like everyone is still looking down on me, and I’m still not really a part of what’s going on.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I always hear about things my classmates are doing together, stuff that I wasn’t told about or invited to. I just wish I could be included, that I didn’t have to be left out all the time.”
Jeana and Kevin gave her a sympathetic ear, pausing for a moment to consider her situation. It wasn’t hard for them to understand why she wanted to have some friends.
“So you’ve been waiting for a way into their group? Maybe they’ve been waiting for a chance to let you in, for you to show them your interest. If everybody’s waiting, then nothing happens. Sometimes you have to take the initiative, even though you are the individual.”
“But, Mom, how do I do that? I try to talk to them and make it clear I’d like to do things.”
“Telling might not be enough. You should show them you are good to spend time with,” Jeana said.
“But how can I do that if I’m not already spending time with them?”
“Your birthday is coming up next month. Why don’t you invite them to a party? We can put up some decorations and make a cake. Maybe think of some games to play. What do you think?”
“That sounds fun,” Mira said, smiling. But her smile vanished after a
worry popped into her head. “What if no one comes though?”
“It’s a birthday party. Who wouldn’t want to go to a birthday party? I’m not saying everyone will come, but I bet more will than you think,” Jeana said. In her mind, she did consider the danger of making things worse if no one came, but she reasoned that sweets and cake are too powerful a lure for most adolescents. This opportunity to bond with them should have minimal risk. But, just to be sure, Jeana surmised she might have to take matters into her own hands.
“You’ve had a long day and you look worn out. How about we get dinner started while you clean up and then you can relax or scoot upstairs and get some sleep?” Kevin said.
“Ok, that sounds like a good idea,” Mira responded, already anxious to shake the cold off with a hot bath. She still felt tired after she ate, however, so she decided to take the night off from her work in the basement. Her monopolar motor was almost finished, and soon she would apply the casing and be able to wear it on her forearm. But that would have to wait. The need for sleep drew her into bed and away from consciousness.
Chapter 9: The Piece-Meal Assassin
A pair of feet crept lightly over the snow, sneaking behind trees and through the shadows. The left foot pressed into the crystal powder, the right foot coming down just beyond the other’s print. Clouds raced over the moon and the wind shook hefty branches, bathing the darkness in streaks of soft light. The light caught an eyeball, which hastily took in the landscape, darting in all directions.
The feet, heavily wrapped, advanced forward, making slim imprints into the snow. They waddled uphill though the forest. A structure appeared through the trees and brush. It lay beyond a small clearing with a snowy, forlorn garden. In the right light, a glass door became visible, though little light from inside illuminated it. The eyeball also took in the smoke rising from a chimney.
Pausing for a moment, an ear scanned for any sound indicating life or movement. Satisfied, the feet moved on into the clearing. Noiselessly, they approached the building, moving while the clouds shielded the light of the moon. Coming up against the glass, the eyeball peered into the room on the other side. The firelight glowed against a few empty chairs and a rug, reached out into a kitchen with a table, and revealed a staircase that led to the second floor.
A hand lightly wrapped around the handle of the glass door, tightened its grip, and pulled. The door didn’t budge. The eye looked, the feet walked, and then the eye looked again. They circled the exterior of the house. Coming to the front door, the eye spied a small slot for mail. Coming closer, the hand silently lifted the brass cover of the slot and slipped inside. The cover clapped shut.
The eye looked around. The feet noiselessly shuffled across the wooden floor. They entered the kitchen, gradually moving to the living room with the glass door and the staircase.
Scanning the staircase, the feet carefully ascended. One foot rose, gently setting down on the next step, and then the other foot followed it. The feet continued in this pattern until one foot lifted itself only to set back down at the same height. The eyeball peeked around and caught sight of a few closed doors. One of the doors had thick white hairs from a carpet showing through the bottom.
Another door had not been shut entirely. After the feet had walked to it, the hand slowly pushed the door further open. The hinges let out a low whine. Once the door had opened far enough for the feet to pass through, the hand stopped and the feet entered. In the darkness, the eye scanned the room, taking in the mirror on the wall, the wooden floor, the dresser with things scattered about on top of it, and a bed against the wall.
Coming closer, the eye viewed the bed’s occupant, a young girl with straight hair sleeping comfortably in her bed. A blanket loosely covered her, and the hand pulled it away. The eye, again darting, absorbed the items on the dresser, catching sight of scissors that had been used for sewing.
The hand, twitching with anticipation, reached out for the scissors that lay on the edge of the dresser. Instead of the handle, the hand fell on the blade, knocking it on to the floor. It dropped with a thud and clattered. The eye, startled, saw that the sleeping girl did not notice. More carefully now, the hand plucked the scissors from the floor and opened the long, sharp blades.
Clutching the open scissors, the hand gravitated over Mira’s body. Settling right over her heart, the hand drew upward into the light of the moon that filtered in through the window. Cocking back, high into the air, the hand prepared to strike its victim.
The hand swung and the falling scissors sunk into a dense mist that quickly spread across Mira’s body, shielding it. All of those tiny neutrons, protons, and electrons squeezed together to obstruct the blades. Pushing open the door, Kevin walked through with one arm extended and the other to his ear, the blood stone resting comfortably inside it.
“Corey, I’ve got him.”
The mist encased the hand, immobilizing it, and forced it away from Mira’s body. Maneuvering in between the would-be murderer and his victim, Kevin removed the shield encasing Mira and looked at her. Sound asleep, nothing had disturbed her.
***
Bracing the bitter cold, Kevin hastily transported his prisoner to the outpost. Being expected, he found enough room had been left for him at the gate to slip through. Crossing the immaculate courtyard, Kevin descended to Corey’s office and found the lights on and the entire staff working. They watched the floating ball anxiously and curiously, many of them at the ready in case something happened.
“A little overtime?” Kevin quipped.
“For good reason,” a voice responded.
They showed Kevin down to Corey’s chamber, sealing the passageway behind him. Moving down the ladder in a tight space, Kevin peered at his convoluted ball and wondered what he had caught.
The village elder, looking out into the void of darkness, kept an agitated vigilance from his illustrious seat.
“Didn’t we hear this coming?” The sound flooded Kevin’s ears. Only then did he wonder if Corey would be angry and disappointed with him. The sound of his voice was too pervasive to clearly interpret its emotion.
“What have you caught in your trap?” he asked. Careful to keep his prisoner away, Kevin dared to warm himself near the flickering fire.
“It’s a hand, just a hand. But without a doubt it’s the hand of the enemy. I also noticed footprints near the front door. It might be able to change shape.”
Corey considered this vocally. “Possibly. But I have a feeling the web has sent us something that we have not yet conceived of. Is it possible to give it some more space?”
“Are you sure that’s wise? The fire must be put out. There’s no telling what it can do.”
“Our goal here, Kevin Ipswich, is to interrogate the prisoner and determine its source and purpose. A single hand might have difficulty communicating.”
At this, Kevin’s emotions flared. The thought of losing his daughter cut him, and for a moment he thought only of revenge. He thought of what he held and his malicious intent toward it fed into his mouth, but nothing came out even as he moved it to speak.
“If you can’t keep a civil tongue, then I’ll keep it for you,” Corey said, leaving Kevin to swallow and start again more calmly.
“The source and the purpose? Aren’t those clear enough? We’re dealing with a spy, an assassin, one who wishes only to destroy us, and this one saw fit to start with my daughter. Its life needs to be extinguished.”
“Are you blind? We have to find out the reason for this. Why go through such pains and such extremes for the one person least able to hurt you? That might be necessary information, unless you already know the answer,” Corey prodded.
“I don’t know why my family was a target, or why it has become so yet again.”
“Then let’s see if we can’t find out. We’ll have the fire put out, and then confine our prisoner to the far end of the room. I’ll study it, and we’ll wait for a clue about how to proceed.”
***
Once re
ady, Kevin chartered off a section of the room away from Corey or the exits. He lifted the tight bonds compressing the hand, and at once the pair of scissors rattled against the floor. Listening through the walls and through the earth, Corey heard a pair of footsteps, and then a scratching at the walls, followed by the footsteps again, and finally the sound of a pair of scissors scarring the stone walls. Corey listened for some time, especially when no sound could be heard. He even smiled at times.
“I could not have guessed this,” he said. “The alternating feet give way to the hand as if an entire person existed, but never at the same time. There’s a piece of this man here, not the whole. The parts change, but there’s always a part. I wonder how many parts make up the whole. I wonder what the most miniscule option is. What if all we had was a hair, it burned away, and then we lost him completely? What if the loss of any one part equaled the death of the whole? How valuable someone would be who could dispel these mysteries.”
“Do you have a clue about what to do now?” Kevin demanded.
“I believe communication is possible, but we have little at our disposal to force it. If we are given an ear, we must have a message for it. There must be a reason to listen though. Can we take this moment for thinking?”
The old man, blindfolded, twitched his lips and mulled a nearly imperceptible chant. He receded into himself, listening to the flow of thoughts in his mind. Kevin watched him, anxiously trying to conceive a plan that would impress his elder and do the job.
“Yes,” Corey said, finally answering him. “A false chance to escape provided by the sound of water. Can you create a drip from the ceiling in the corner? He’ll find it, feel it, and listen for its source. While the drip flows, I’ll repeat our message. I’ll tell him we can pull the rest of him here and he’ll be at our mercy if he doesn’t tell us what we want to know.”
