The Riser Saga

by Becca C. Smith

  I waved to everyone else, followed Ryan through the living room, out the front door and directly to the Hover-Shuttle station.

  The trip to the Staples Center was a quick one. The closer we came to Staples, the more people piled into the shuttle until we were packed so tight everyone was rubbed up against one another.

  I couldn’t wait to get out. The feeling of claustrophobia was overwhelming.

  When we landed, I pushed my way through the throng of people until my feet were firmly on the ground. I was gasping for air outside the shuttle. And all that time Ryan’s hand never left mine. He pulled me in close and held me for a few moments.

  “You okay?” he whispered in my ear.

  I relaxed and nodded into his chest.

  There were thousands of people swarming into Staples. It was then I noticed that more than half of them were dead.

  Good to know.

  Turner was trying to protect himself as much as he could and using his own corpses as seat filler was a good idea. It also made my job a little easier. The fewer live people there were, the simpler it would be to spot the assassin. I was still skeptical on whether or not Gramps was right about me being able to see some wavy-energy-thingy. But I’d come to terms with the fact that Turner and even Elisha knew way more about my powers than I did.

  I pulled away from Ryan and we headed toward the front entrance.

  The Staples Center looked like a giant sailor’s hat with its front wall being a large rectangle made of glass. Apparently, the design hadn’t changed in over three hundred years. It just expanded out the back, making it capable of seating over 20,000 people. It was one of the oldest buildings in Los Angeles. The inside, of course, had been re-done and re-modeled a hundred times over, but the exterior looked the same as it did when Age-pro was invented in 2020, just with an added butt attached to its rear end.

  Ryan and I placed our thumbs on the scanner at the entrance door.

  The light turned green and we walked through without incident. Apparently, Gramps had taken care of everything and we were officially, legitimately, invited.

  The inside of Staples was shiny and new looking. The floors were a polished marble that were almost blinding from the reflected light coming through the glass wall. And lots of state-of-the-art concession stands selling food, drinks and Geoffrey Turner T-shirts. Just what I needed, a t-shirt with Gramps’s picture on it. There were photos people could buy with Turner and Roberta at State and International events. Seeing them gave me a sudden pang for Grams. Sure she was evil, but in the end there she really tried to help me. I never thought I’d be sad, but I didn’t want to lose anyone in my circle, no matter how insane they were. That included Turner.

  Ryan and I walked with the flow of the crowd, most of them dead and we all entered the main hallway that led to the individual entrances to each section of the arena. There was an usher stationed at every door to help people to their proper seats. We shuffled in to Section 10 and placed our thumbs on the thumb print scanner held by a wiry looking usher (yes, dead too).

  “Keep your eyes and ears open. I’m counting on you,” the usher said in a monotone voice.

  I really hated it when Turner talked through his corpses. It was creepy, and I still didn’t know how he did it. Sure, I could make corpses do anything, but that power was innate with me and he used spells. I knew full well that Turner wasn’t performing spells all day, so he had to have some sort of system in place that controlled all his corpses. Every time I planned to try and figure it out, I’d get distracted, or frankly, I didn’t want to think about it, so I conveniently chalked it up to “Turner secrets I’d never know.” Probably not the smartest move, but I had to keep my sanity somehow.

  “I’ll find her, geez,” I muttered with annoyance.

  “Your seats are 5500 and 5501. They have the best vantage point of the entire arena. When you see her, use as many of my soldiers as you need to take her down.” The usher held his hand out for us to enter the main center.

  And by soldiers Turner meant his dead army.

  When Ryan and I walked in the coliseum the enormity of the room almost took my breath away. It was a giant oval-shaped donut of rows upon rows of chairs with a polished wooden floor in the middle. A large obsidian stage had been placed dead center. A handful of chairs were stationed on it, behind a glass podium. No one was sitting up there yet, but I could only assume that Turner and his constituents would be arriving shortly.

  The place was packed, not a single seat was empty. I surveyed the entire coliseum and more than half were Turner’s dead guys. Ryan and I quickly sat in our seats and looked around. Turner had positioned us well: we were up on a balcony at the highest point of the stadium, where the whole enormous room was visible to me.

  The people across from me looked like tiny specs, though, and I suddenly felt a surge of anxiety. How was I supposed to find this girl if she was the size of an ant to me?

  Ryan squeezed my hand as if reading my mind. “How you holding up?”

  I looked at him and tried my best to look confident. “I’m good.”

  Ryan reached down and kissed me gently. “Your forehead is crinkling.” That was Ryan’s way of telling me I couldn’t fool him.

  I leaned into him and he wrapped his arms around me for support.

  Sigh.

  What would I do without him?

  The National Anthem started playing over the loud speakers. Guess we were about to start.

  Ryan made faces at the obnoxious choir recording of the Anthem and I found it hard not to laugh. Apparently, Turner didn’t want to have a live singer at this event and I suddenly wondered why. Did he want as few people on stage with him as possible? Maybe he was afraid the assassin would be disguised as a singer?

  The recording stopped and a man I recognized stepped onstage and to the podium. His name was Grant and he was one of Turner’s dead lackies, but to the public he was Gramps’s most trusted advisor. If the world only knew that the man they thought was giving Turner such great council had been dead for over a hundred years…

  I was tempted to take over Grant’s body and make him say something stupid, but I restrained myself. It amazed me that as serious a situation as this was my impulse was to do something irresponsible and dangerous. It’s like when someone tells you not to laugh and it takes every fiber of concentration not to.

  The roar of applause brought me out of my stupor as Grant introduced Turner.

  A procession of five people walked toward the stage, Gramps in the lead.

  “Whoa… Is that who I think it is?” Ryan’s voice sounded in my ear.

  I stared in disbelief.

  Yes, it was.

  Right behind Turner was Roberta.

  Not cat-lady-Feline Roberta, but young, vibrant, twenty-year-old Roberta.

  And a black swirling hole was spinning madly in the center of her chest.

  What was going on?

  It’s me, Roberta’s voice broke through the barrier of my mind like a lightening bolt. I was so shocked to see her, I’d let my defenses down and she managed to push her way in.

  But how?

  How was she alive and dead at the same time? I saw her old body die, but now she was in this new, dead, young body. I had too many confusing, conflicting thoughts to process.

  Then I remembered my dream.

  Clones.

  I let my mind open only to her and asked, How?

  I was so eloquent.

  Roberta spoke inside my brain, I’ll explain after. Keep watch for Isabelle.

  Isabelle.

  They obviously knew a lot more about this assassin than Turner let on.

  Surprise, surprise.

  I answered Ryan, “Yes, it’s Roberta, but I don’t know what’s going on. She’s in a dead cloned body of herself, but it’s definitely her soul in there.”

  Ryan didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. What can anyone really say at that point? My grandparents were full of mojo and surprises and seeing a twenty-ye
ar-old-Grandma-corpse wasn’t exactly a shocker at this point.

  Their entourage arrived on the stage and Turner stepped up to the podium while Grams and the four other corpses sat down behind him.

  The cheers slowly died down as Turner motioned for everyone to be quiet.

  I scanned the audience. Back and forth, back and forth, looking for any kind of wavy-air-thing. I still didn’t know what Gramps expected me to see, but I felt the urgent need to really search.

  Why did I care about him again?

  Ugh.

  Focus.

  That’s when I started to freak out.

  Turner was mid-sentence when he started to stutter out his words. A faint black hole was starting to spin around his heart.

  Oh crap.

  I looked everywhere.

  Nothing.

  No wavy air. No nothing.

  And his black hole was starting to grow.

  Gramps clutched his chest.

  The crowd gasped. A growing roar of concern and chatter was quickly becoming deafening.

  Roberta rushed to his side and our eyes met.

  Find Isabelle! she screamed in my head.

  I’m trying! I screamed back, but I wasn’t even sure if she heard me.

  I took a deep breath and concentrated as hard as I could.

  FLASH!

  I made myself see all the swirling black dust in the air. It was like a hurricane of darkness swarming around the stadium. It was amazing how dead skin cells could be so disgusting and so plentiful. Gross.

  That’s when I saw it.

  A direct line to Gramps’s heart. Like a laser cutting through the air from the top balcony off to my left, the disturbance of tiny black spinning holes was a surreal sight.

  “Got her,” I said aloud and felt Ryan’s hand squeeze mine.

  I could barely see the assassin through the swirling fog of black, but it was enough.

  I connected to ten of Turner’s dead army and made them tackle the assassin to the ground.

  Instantly the beam of…of whatever it was Isabelle-the-Assassin was beaming at Gramps stopped.

  Turner’s black hole immediately dispersed and he glanced up at me with a nod of thanks.

  That was seriously the nicest gesture he’d ever bestowed upon me. But all the same, I found myself sighing in relief. That was close. Gramps almost died and the weirdest part was the fact that I actually cared.

  I must have been going insane.

  The assassin was putting up quite a fight, so I added five more men to the mix and she quickly stopped her struggle. Fifteen men to hold down one woman; she must be quite a force to be reckoned with. It made me wonder who this Isabelle was. How did she learn about her power? What made her decide to kill people for a living? I found that I had a sudden desire to meet this girl.

  Turner made his excuses to the hysterical audience and hurried offstage with Roberta and his men, leaving Grant behind to answer questions and calm the crowd.

  Roberta’s voice sounded in my head, Give Geoffrey control over his men, we’ll take it from here. Meet us backstage. I’ll send someone to show you the way.

  I didn’t answer, but I disconnected from Turner’s corpses when I was sure Gramps had control over them again. I led Ryan through the throng of nervous people until we met up with our usher once more. He didn’t say a word as he walked to the service elevator and punched in his employee code. The elevator was clunky and old, the owner of the center not caring much about its staff, but the car managed to descend safely to the bottom floor with only a few clunks and squeaks.

  When the elevator door opened, Ryan and I followed the usher through a maze of hallways. I could already see over twenty spinning black holes in one of the rooms ahead. It had to be where Turner and the assassin were. And Roberta. I still wasn’t sure of what to think about Grams. What was she? I pushed aside my questions and entered the room full of corpses.

  The room was huge, filled with lockers and benches and a large group shower area in the back. We were obviously in the locker room used for athletes of whatever sport was being played at the Staples Center at any given time. It had a kind of musty, sweaty smell that wasn’t exactly pleasing to the senses.

  Turner was sitting on a bench with Roberta next to him, her arm wrapped lovingly around his back.

  All fifteen of his zombie army surrounded the assassin. Isabelle. She was like an island amongst a sea of swirling chasms. Isabelle wasn’t struggling. In fact, she just stood there with no expression on her face.

  Until I walked in.

  Isabelle’s eyes flickered in my direction. I could tell in that instant: she sized me up, tried to calculate my threat to her, and dismissed me, all in one look.

  Okay, fine. I promised myself I wouldn’t be as dismissive of Isabelle as she was of me. I knew better. This girl could squeeze my heart until it stopped, she didn’t need to know what I could do. Her ignorance might just be my savior.

  Turner and Roberta both stood when they saw Ryan and me.

  “Chelsan, come here,” Roberta called out.

  I was still skeptical of Roberta’s obvious black hole in her chest, but I walked over to her all the same. I couldn’t stop myself. When I was buried alive, this was the appearance that Roberta had taken when she visited me in my head. I couldn’t help but feel instantly comforted by this new image of her. I realized I associated evil Roberta with her Feline self and good Roberta with her young self. I couldn’t seem to come to terms with the conflict within me so I didn’t even struggle when Roberta pulled me in for a long hug.

  I didn’t exactly hug her back, but I didn’t pull away either. It actually felt kind of nice. Then I remembered the image of Roberta puppeteering my mother’s dead corpse, making Mom dance like a crazed lunatic, with her empty gouged eyes from where Roberta had plucked them out, and I stepped back with a shudder.

  Roberta paused for a moment, upset, but then nodded that she understood.

  I hated it when she did that.

  I still didn’t want to forgive her.

  Dead, sure, I could almost remember her fondly because of her sacrifice. But alive, or at least, sort of alive? I was just as confused as ever.

  I glanced over at Isabelle and I could tell she had observed the whole exchange with an impassive expression.

  Turner controlled his men to part the way so that Isabelle was in clear view with no one in front of her.

  Not the smartest move, but Gramps seemed to think he knew what he was doing.

  “Isabelle.” Turner stared at the assassin intensely.

  They definitely knew each other. From the look on Isabelle’s face, it wasn’t a happy reunion. She probably had similar experiences to mine with dear old Gramps, and being an assassin and all, she didn’t seem to be as forgiving as I was.

  Isabelle took three steps forward to stand within a foot of Turner. She was a tall girl, about five eleven, almost the same height as Gramps, so they were staring at each other eye to eye. Isabelle was quite stunning. Dressed in black, tight-fitting cargo pants, black boots, grey A-shirt, and black form-fitting long-sleeved shirt completely unbuttoned down the front, she was a very fashionable murderer. Isabelle’s face was pale with a smattering of freckles across her straight nose. Her eyes were bright blue in contrast to her medium length dark brown hair that was pulled back in a slick ponytail.

  Isabelle spoke with a kind of confidence that gave her power, “Turner.”

  Gramps actually smiled, though there was no humor in his eyes. “Did you honestly think I didn’t know you were still alive?”

  Isabelle shifted slightly. It was the first time I’d seen her show any kind of fear. She was definitely scared of Turner. I couldn’t blame her. He scared the bageezees out of me most times too, especially when he was trying to kill me and I was his granddaughter!

  But the fear in Isabelle’s face quickly turned deadly. I stepped back, even though I was five feet away from her. “We know about your army and plans for a war. You have to be
stopped.”

  We?

  And wait, war?

  Months had gone by since Jason predicted there would be a holy war after our ordeal with Elisha, but hearing the word war again made my skin crawl. If what Isabelle was saying was true, maybe it was Turner that wanted the war and not Elisha, or both.

  I wanted to kick Roberta, who was standing next to me. They weren’t honestly thinking about starting a war were they?

  Turner shook his head. “I’m not the one you should be worried about. I’m building an army of defense. You should know me better than that.”

  “I know you’d rather kill in secret than in the open,” Isabelle’s voice grew more angry and intense.

  Gramps remained calm as usual. “Exactly my point.”

  Turner let that sink in for a moment.

  He did have a point. Why would he go through all the trouble of secret exterminations if his plan was open warfare?

  “You were never the bright one of the bunch, were you, Isabelle?” Turner rubbed salt in the wound. He was good at that.

  And bunch? Were there more heart-stopping assassins on the loose? How long of a history was theirs? Did Isabelle used to work for Turner? Too many questions and there was no way either grandparent would share. I was surprised they’d let me witness this whole thing in the first place. I concentrated on the task at hand. I wanted to remember this exchange for the gang later. I briefly glanced at Ryan and noticed he was doing the same. Between the two of us we’d be able memorize this little soiree.

  Suddenly, Isabelle’s eyes were on me. “Is she your new secret weapon?”

  “She has more brains and talent than you ever had,” Turner sneered.

  Wait. What?

  Did Turner just compliment me?

  I was about to go in shock.

  “Really?” Isabelle smiled back.

  Isabelle stared at me and I could feel my heart slowing down.

  Way down.

  I stumbled from the force of it.

  She was going to kill me.

  Turner immediately controlled his dead men to punch Isabelle in the face, breaking her hold on my poor little heart.

  I gasped for breath and rubbed my chest.