“Oh, oh, no. Do you think I’m hitting on you?”
Alan raised an eyebrow.
“I mean not that I don’t think you’re attractive. I mean, my gosh, have you seen your arms?” The young woman shut her pink lips tight. Her fair skin turned as red as the outside of an apple. “I am so not good at these types of things.”
She took a seat at Alan’s booth across from him disregarding his attempt to politely decline her company. “Listen, let’s start over.” The young woman extended a fingernail polished hand that matched her red face, “My name is Danielle Turner.”
Alan pursed his lips and set his book on the table. He reluctantly shook the woman’s hand. Four years of running from his past and denying the underprivileged path his adolescent life had taken, Alan was used to using aliases, “Connor Moore.”
Danielle released his hand and laughed, “Alan, please if you are going to use a fake name at least choose one that’s not so obvious.”
Alan felt his posture straighten. If she wanted to get his attention, she had it now. Alan was a name he had left a long time ago. “How do you know that name? No one has called me that in a very long time.”
Danielle took a deep breath. “Listen, this is not going at all how I planned. I told him I wasn’t good at this kind of stuff.”
“Told who?”
Before she could answer, the waitress appeared at the side of their table. “Hello, can I get you something to drink, Miss?” She motioned towards Alan’s bottle of whiskey. “Perhaps a glass?”
“What? No.” Danielle said with the slightest hint of disapproval. “I’ll have a Shirley Temple please.”
The waitress nodded, her mouth beginning to drop open before she turned to fulfill the order.
“Shirley Temple, huh?” Alan asked.
“Yeah, I’m a lightweight. Give me a drink or two and—“ panic washed over Danielle’s face again as she found herself in the middle of a sentence she didn’t want to finish.
Alan felt his lips twist into a grin despite himself. “Okay, you have me interested. How do you know my name and what is it that you want?”
“My organization has been watching you since the night you jumped—fell—off the roof and even before that. What we want is your help. What I mean to say is that we think a partnership would be mutually beneficial.”
Alan searched the dimly lit interior of the bar, for what, he wasn’t sure; cameras revealing that he was being set up, dark-suited government agents set to take him away for experimentation or the FBI for all the money and merchandise he stole over the past four years.
He scooted a bit closer to the edge of his booth, ready to run at a moment’s notice. As a general rule he didn’t use his speed in public, but this could be an exception.
“Please, don’t do your super speed thing,” Danielle said. “You’re not alone in this. I know you must have so many questions. I can give you the answers you’ve been searching for. The world needs you, Alan.”
Alan could feel his chest constrict. Fear of the real possibility of having his questions answered spread through him for the very first time. For years Alan searched for answers to what he was, but every lead ended the same, with only more questions.
The waitress appeared out of the corner of Alan’s eye, balancing a glass on a tray. Danielle turned her attention away from him and visibly brightened, “Oh, my Shirley Temple. There’s a cherry in it, too. Yesssss.”
7
Three years ago
Alan readied himself in the shadows. He was tired of stealing food one or two meals at a time. He was exhausted from taking everything he wanted in secret. Sure it had been cool the first year but there was just something about having money to buy things instead of taking them from right under people’s noses. He wanted to feel normal: he wanted to go shopping with and in front of everyone else. A weird part of him actually wanted to pay for things, like normal people.
The last year provided Alan with a ton of experience when it came to working on his speed. He was quicker than any camera, faster than any eye. Now he was done with trivial things; now was his time to step up into the big leagues.
No more stealing day after day. Amateur hour is over. This will set you up for a long time. You can get your own pad, no more motels.
Deep inside Alan knew what he was doing was wrong. Whether it was his conscience, subconscious or something else, a voice inside told him he was given this gift for something more than just stealing and personal advancement.
Day after day Alan silenced this tiny cry for morality until it stopped pleading with him altogether. Now Alan found himself with a black ski mask in his right hand, crouched in an alley behind a large trash container. The city’s largest bank and trust across the street.
Sweat glistened off Alan’s brow as he looked down at his watch; it read 5:58 PM. Alan spent the last few weeks scoping out the bank. In that time he learned that this day was the least busy of the week. He knew that the bank closed its doors at exactly 6:00 PM every business day.
This is going to work. Nobody can see you let alone touch you.
Alan could feel his heart beating out of his chest. By far this was the craziest thing he had ever attempted in his life. He felt his grip tighten on the mask’s thick fabric and chuckled to himself. He knew that the mask wasn’t going to keep people from seeing his face, his supernatural speed would do that. The mask was in his hand more as moral support than anything else.
The mask comforted him in a way that a safety blanket would a small child. Alan took in another deep breath and let it out slowly. He pulled the black mask’s thick wool over his face. The fabric scratched his skin as he slid it into place. There were three holes, two for his eyes and one for his mouth.
Even as he reached for the large black duffle bag beside him, even as his digital clock hit 5:59 PM, Alan’s internal voice begged him to stop. It told him he was doing the wrong thing. It told him he was meant for so much more. Alan forced the voice from his mind as he lunged forward.
The sounds of everyday life ceased to exist. When Alan ran now, it seemed as though everything stood still while he moved at a normal pace. His legs pumped beneath him as he exited the alley and crossed the street.
Taxis paused in their afternoon routes, pedestrians looked like mannequins and flags hesitated in their waving. This was all familiar to Alan. He crossed the street and ran up the steps to the bank. With each step of his Nikes on the pavement, Alan rehearsed the plan in his head.
Straight to the vault, only large bills, in and out under a second.
Alan reached the glass door of the building that boasted the bank name in large golden lettering Shepherd and Montgomery. He ripped the door open and ran inside.
The interior of the bank was large. Wooden paneling under foot supported matching wooden counters and a design that allowed teller windows to open in a half circle. Alan took in his surroundings as he ran forward.
A security guard, whom he could probably outrun even without his powers, was reading a newspaper to his right. There were no customers in line. Only two patrons were in the process of depositing or withdrawing funds. They both stood in the middle of conversations with the bank tellers assisting them.
Alan ran toward the center row of the half circle teller windows. He unlatched a small gate that led behind the counter. An army of bank workers stood before him. All dressed in dark pants with light blue shirts, they held expressions anywhere from ones that looked at though they had caught a whiff of someone’s old egg salad sandwich, to ones of relief the day was finally over. One lady in particular held her hands in the air as though she was raising the roof. Alan couldn’t help but wonder what she was saying. That thought soon disappeared as he made his way to the bank vault.
The huge circular steel door was open. No one was inside as Alan entered the steel-like tomb that guarded the bank’s cash. Another set of steel bars almost sent Alan into a panic. Even as he placed his hand on the cold metal he could see the do
or wasn’t closed all the way. An inch of space between the metal gate and the vault wall saved Alan’s master plan.
He reached for the door and swung it open as he entered the first of two rooms. The bank’s vault was divided into two separate compartments; one for the bank deposit boxes and the other for cash.
Alan stopped mid-step as he made his way into the vault and turned the corner. He wasn’t the only one in the room designated to housing the bank’s cash. An elderly overweight gentlemen with a nametag identifying him as the bank manager leaned over a mountain of cash.
Alan paused, forgetting for the moment that he was moving faster now than anyone could see. Fear once again made its presence known as he hesitated to take another step.
Move, move, move. There’s no time for this!
Alan wrenched his body forward, ignoring the fear that told him he would be caught at any moment and instead went to work. Mountains of cash were pilled on steel-framed cabinets against the walls. Lucky, for Alan they were stacked in numerical value.
The pile of one hundred dollar bills that Alan was after just happened to be the pile of cash that the bank manager was leaning over. The balding man looked like Alan had caught him mid count, his left chubby hand holding a fat stack of bills as his right hand reached out for another.
Alan grinned through his mask as he imagined the bank manager’s expression when he would go from one second counting the money and the next having it disappear, literally from right under his nose.
Loading the money into his black duffle bag felt great. Thick stack after thick stack of the one hundred dollar bills piled into his duffle bag until every inch was filled. Alan fought against the urge to count his money there and then.
There will be plenty time for that later.
Zipping the bag close took some effort but with a few more grins and smiles Alan managed to secure his bag. The table that once held the money was all but bare. Only a few lone bills scattered across the steel frame.
Alan couldn’t help himself as he reached out and plucked the last stack of bills right from the bank manager’s hand.
“Sorry, I need this more than you. The bank is insured; you’ll be fine when they look at the tapes and realize it’s not your fault.”
With that Alan turned and ran out of the building. The duffle bag bursting with money felt heavy. The fabric strap dug into his shoulder making an uncomfortable indentation even as Alan burst out of the bank and across the street.
Alan ripped off his mask and stuffed it into his back pocket. He crouched behind the alley dumpster one more time and stopped. Time unfroze as soon as he ceased moving. The cars on the street continued on their way, the pedestrians on the sidewalk moved along at normal speed and the flags flapped and slapped against themselves in the wind.
The only thing that seemed out of place in the following seconds were the yells from the bank followed by the vault’s alarm.
8
Present Day
“So,” Danielle said as she paused to take sip from her straw. The ice cubes and lone cheery swirled in her Shirley Temple. “Are you going to try and let me explain, or are you going to dash out of here and leave me with the bill?”
Alan scanned the inside of the bar one more time before he settled into the booth’s thick cushioned seat. “I’ll stay. Start from the beginning.”
Danielle smiled, “Okay, hear me out. This is the truth. It’s going to sound crazy but I’ll be completely honest with you.”
Alan could feel his temper flair, “Okay, yes, just get on with it.”
Danielle took a long sip of her drink either enjoying the spotlight, or trying to mask her nervousness, Alan couldn’t decide. “You’ve been given these powers, Alan. You aren’t a mutant; you didn’t evolve; you’re not part of an experiment; your parents aren’t members of an alien race.”
Danielle paused to let the information sink in. Alan’s mind was racing. If his mystery visitor was telling the truth then all of his theories, all of his years of research of what he could be was evaporating by the second. Then something Danielle said made him stop mid-thought. “You said I’ve ‘been given these powers? Powers? All I have is one, speed.”
“All you have is one power that you know of,” Danielle corrected. “This is just the beginning.”
Alan was quiet. Half of him wanted to believe her. More than anything over the last few years he wanted answers. Now that answers were being provided, they seemed so hard to believe. “How?”
“Excuse me?”
“How did I get this—these powers?”
“The organization I work for gave them to you. You were chosen.”
Images of the CIA, the Illuminate; and even aliens occupied Alan’s thoughts. Alan reached for the whiskey bottle on the table and filled the silence with a long pour of the expensive liquor. He brought the glass to his lips and drained the cup.
“That’s not going to help.”
Alan looked across with watering eyes, “How do you know?”
“Because I tried the same thing. I tried to dull the truth, the sense of responsibility. Money, alcohol, drugs, it’s all only temporary relief. Fun, I’ll give you that but still only temporary relief. You know what I mean; you’re going through that now.”
Alan put his glass on the table and defiantly poured himself another glass. He knew she was right. He had been at the drinking game long enough now to know that the comfort alcohol brought was only a brief rest from the issues he carried. “So, Danielle Turner, if that is your real name at all. Who is this organization that has chosen me?”
Danielle sighed and shook her head. “They thought you were ready to know the truth, but I’m not sure you are. Maybe you need more time.”
Alan took another swig from his glass, “Come on, don’t stop now. Who is this secret organization: NSA, Black Ops, Hydra?”
Danielle looked him straight in the eyes and spoke clearly, “The term ‘angels’ would best describe them. They are here to help and they need you just as much as you need them.”
Alan choked on his next sip of whisky. Laughter erupted from his chest and he shook his head from side to side. His long hair whipped against his face as he thought of angels from heaven choosing him.
Alan opened his eyes even as tears filled them. Danielle was siting across from him, her face once again red. This time there was no mistaking embarrassment for anger. “Wait,” Alan said raising both hands in the air. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You have to admit, though, this is crazy.”
“Crazy?” Danielle asked. “This coming from the man who can move as fast as light?”
Alan wiped away the tears from his eyes and took a deep breath. “You have a point but come on. You expect me to believe that immortal beings from heaven, came down and chose a weak kid who battles with depression, who was bullied his entire life, who has more issues than he can count and chose him for something special?”
“Yes.”
Alan’s temporary fit of laughter completely subsided as he was sobered by Danielle’s simple answer. He straightened out his hair and pushed it back out of his face. “I don’t know. That’s a lot to take on faith. Trust isn’t something that comes naturally for me.”
“I know it doesn’t. If it were up to me I would have given you more time to work through your… issues. Unfortunately, we don’t have the luxury of time anymore. And it doesn’t look like you’re making any headway on the personal development department either.” Danielle lowered her voice as she spoke but Alan could still hear her mutter the last part, “Between the stealing and the booze.”
“Well, I’m sorry but this is just too much for me to handle at the moment.”
“Here,” Danielle slid a slender white phone across the table. “Take some time. Just not too much time. Call us when you’re ready.”
She rose from the booth as she reached inside her sweater pocket.
Alan waived a hand, “It’s okay, I’ve got the bill.”
Danielle smiled, “
How generous of you, Mr. Price.”
Danielle turned to go. Leaving Alan to sit and think about their conversation. He couldn’t help but ask one last question. “I’m not saying I believe you, but if I did—are you an…,” Alan couldn’t believe he was asking this question. It sounded closer to a lame pick up line than any question he would seriously ask a woman. “Are you an angel?”
Danielle smiled and shook her head. “No, I’m not. I’m just like you Alan. I was lost. I was even more lost than you when they reached out and gave me my abilities. I tried to fill the emptiness I felt with everything society told me I needed, just like you’re doing now.”
With one last smile that spoke of a mixture of pity and hope, Danielle turned and left.
9
Two Years Ago
“You’d need to sign a lease for a year with the first and last months rent payments due as soon as you move in.”
“That’s fine,” Alan said as he stared out the window, slender arms folded across his chest. Despite the incredible view that the penthouse provided, Alan couldn’t help but feel the weight of his depression across his shoulders. He didn’t want to tell the woman showing him the place that he had barely gotten out of bed that morning. He didn’t know how to tell her that this was just how he was. Good days came far and few between and bad days more often than he wanted.
“I’m so sorry, sir, is there something wrong?”
Alan jerked his eyes away from the view and did his best to act happy. Over the years he had plenty of time to work on how to act happy. He was still a horrible actor. “No, no, sorry, it’s everything I’ve been looking for. It’s just been a rough day.”
The real estate associate’s eyebrows rose as she looked at her watch. Alan knew what she was thinking. It was barely 10:00 AM. Instead of calling Alan out, she motioned him to follow her through the penthouse one more time. “Remember, we can change anything you don’t like.”
Zero II Page 2
