Cosmic Girl Rising Up

by R S J Gregory

  I decide to fly lower, so that I can see the road at least. I maintain a distance of about a hundred feet above the ground as I fly us back towards the city.

  “Hold on, guys!” I shout.

  I feel them shift above me and arrange themselves, and then I see their hands appear over the front of the makeshift raft as they hold on. I grin as I begin to accelerate more, and begin to pass cars going the same way below. I pass cars as if they’re parked, as I fly us quickly home.

  It takes a few minutes, but soon I began to recognize the shoreline on my left.

  It’s still snowing, and looks like it’s becoming a full-scale blizzard. The clouds above are dark and ominous looking. I’ve seen storms like this before, and know that this bad boy is going to drop a few feet of snow, before it gets even remotely better. I fly us to the beach near the harbor, and set the raft down on the snow covered beach. The only thing that lets me know there’s a beach at all, is just plain old fashioned memory. That, and the sound of water somewhere. The water near the shore has snow on it as well, so it’s difficult to know where the beach ends and the water begins. As I place the raft on the snow, it sinks several inches, so I can’t see the wood anymore. The others are covered in snow, and their hair and clothes are wet.

  “I’m gonna split. Later guys.” Paul says and vanishes.

  Mitchell walks off the raft, cradling his huge metal tool chest.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asks.

  “Of course.” I say with a smile and a wink.

  He grins, and then disappears with a loud bang.

  I wave to Stuart and Beth, and then take off for my own home. I’m running so fast that my feet don’t sink into the snow, and I run on top of the surface without any trouble. The only problem are the roads, where the snow has turned to slush. I laugh in fright, when I slide for several yards while crossing Clark Street. Then I manage to find traction, and accelerate again.

  I skid to a stop outside my gate, open it, and hop up the snow-covered steps.

  I slip off my soaking wet backpack, and fish out my keys. As I stand and fumble with the keys, the front door opens. It’s Jessica.

  “Ha ha ha!” Jessica blurts out as soon as she sees me.

  “Nice to see you too.” I say and hop inside.

  I plonk my sodden backpack down in the hallway, and peel my coat off.

  “You can’t let Dad see you like this. Quick, upstairs.” Jessica says, and tries to control her laugher, and gestures towards the stairs.

  “Is that you, Pumpkin?” I hear Dad call from the living room.

  “Yeah, Dad. I’m going to my room. Apparently.” I say, and Jessica continues to shove me upstairs.

  “Quit it.” I grumble as she shoves me more urgently.

  “Hurry up, Britney. Quick.” Jessica whispers in my ear from behind.

  Geez, what’s the big deal? Yeah, I’m wet and covered in snow. So what?

  Jessica shuts the door behind us when we get in my bedroom. I roll my eyes, and squelch over to my dressing table and check my reflection.

  “Holy cow!” I blurt out.

  “Now you see what I mean?” Jessica says.

  My hair is stiff, and flying horizontally behind me. Imagine standing in the back of a pickup truck, while driving at 80mph in to a headwind, and then someone sprays your hair with hairspray while you’re doing this. If you can picture that, well, that’s what I look like. Only worse. Because as well as that, my skin is a pale purple, and small icicles have formed under my ears and nose, and my eyebrows are pure ice. I look comical. I can see why Jessica wanted to get me upstairs. I don’t look human. I look more like a body that’s been pulled dead from a frozen lake.

  “Say cheese.” Jessica says.

  I turn, and grin as she takes a photo with her cell phone.

  “That’s a keeper.” Jessica says in satisfaction, and checks her photo. Then she looks at me with a puzzled expression. “Aren’t you cold?” She asks.

  “No. I don’t feel the cold, or the warmth anymore. Just a steady temperature.” I reply.

  “I need a shower.” I mumble, as I notice the heavy smell of pine, and stagger towards my bathroom.

  “You think?” Jessica says.

  I try to take off my clothes, but they’re so rigid, that after a few seconds, I give up. I take the frozen slip of paper from my front jean pocket, and lay it on my dresser. I start the hot water, and walk in fully clothed. I stand under the water for at least ten minutes, before removing my wet clothes and throwing them in the corner near my laundry hamper.

  I let the water flow over me for a few more minutes, and then turn the water off.

  I wrap a large pink towel around my torso, and a small towel around my hair, and walk back into my bedroom.

  “Much better.” Jessica says in approval.

  I check my reflection, and my skin’s a warm pink now.

  “That was freaky.” I chuckle.

  “You’ve got to be more careful. What if someone had seen you?”

  “You’re right. I don’t know…..I’ll take a mirror with me next time, or something.” I grumble, and lie down on my bed.

  “Where have you been anyway?” Jessica asks.

  “Canada.” I reply.

  “Canada? Why there?”

  “I can’t say, Jess. The less you know the better.” I say, and smile apologetically at her.

  “Man! I can’t believe you’re cutting me out.”

  “Trust me. It’s for your own protection.” I say.

  I get up and begin to get dressed. I grab some pale blue sweats, and a pink t-shirt. I open the door and look back at Jessica.

  “Come on. I’m hungry.” I say and head downstairs.

  I reach the foot of the stairs as Jessica begins to come down behind me. I pick up my soaking wet backpack and then look up at Jessica.

  I mouth the word, oops, and then walk quietly back upstairs.

  “Your costume’s not in there is it?” Jessica whispers.

  I nod and grin as I walk past, and she shakes her head at me in disbelief. I get to my bedroom, open up my backpack, and fish everything out. Everything’s damp. I then notice the piece of paper on my dresser, and walk over. I pick it up and unfold it. The name of Paul Thomas Richardson is scribbled in Paul’s untidy handwriting, and underneath it is an address. It’s in Queens, New York City. I open my laptop, and Google his name, and some images pop up. He’s in his forties, but still has a youthful look about him. He’s wearing round wired glasses in one photo, and has short blond hair, which is starting to go white. He’s tanned, and wears a black leather jacket over a white shirt. I try to memorize the image.

  “I’ll be seeing you. Soon.” I say, and close the laptop and head back downstairs.

  After dinner, I watch some television with Dad and Jessica, before saying goodnight and going to bed. It’s been a long day, and I’m exhausted from it all.

  I snuggle into my pillow, pretending it’s Mitchell, and close my eyes.

  Twenty One

  It’s still snowing the next day. Large snow drifts, like white sand dunes, block most of the smaller roads, like ours. Dad says the main roads have been cleared already, and rumor has it, that the snow plough is going to be making it around to our neighborhood tomorrow. Dad and Jessica are housebound, for now. I try to make some excuse, so I can go and meet Mitchell. But Dad’s being stubborn.

  “You’re not going out in this, Pumpkin. It’s five degrees outside.” Dad says.

  “Yeah, relax. School’s been cancelled. You may as well chill at home.” Jessica says, and gives me a look, like she’s already concocted some idea of what we can do.

  “You want to chill in my room for a bit?” I ask Jessica.

  She nods eagerly, and heads for the stairs. I smirk and follow her. Once in my room, she closes the door, and rubs her hands together.

  “Right. Now, I want to know everything.” Jessica asks quickly, then walks over and sits on my bed, and folds her legs underneath her
.

  “About what?” I ask, and sit down at my dresser and turn the chair to face her.

  “The investigation, of course.”

  “Oh, that. Well, we have another name. Someone else who was in on it.” I say.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. A movie producer.” I say, and pull open the top drawer of my dresser, and pull out the piece of paper. “Paul Thomas Richardson.”

  “No way!” Jessica replies in shock.

  “You’ve heard of him?” I ask.

  “Duh! He makes all of Devlin De Marco’s movies.”

  “Who?” I ask. I’ve never heard of the guy before.

  “Where have you been? He’s only the next Bruce Willis. He makes mostly action movies.”

  Ah, that’s why I’ve never heard of him.

  “Okay. But what about this Paul Thomas Richardson? Do you know anything else about him?” I ask.

  “Well. From what I know, he lives on the east coast. He’s married, and has some kids. Rumor has it he’s a bit of a gambler.”

  “Why would he be involved in this mess?” I ask myself, as I look at his name.

  “What did he do?” Jessica asks.

  “He was the one who approached the mob in Las Vegas, and hired them to transport us all to Vegas.”

  “You think he was working for someone else?”

  “That’s what the guy said in Vegas. He gave the guy a card with a number written on it. He never met the guy, just spoke to him over the phone.”

  “And the number?”

  “Disconnected.”

  “Man!”

  “Tell me about it.” I say and laugh.

  I look down at my open drawer, and see the small business-like card that Agent Forest gave me. I pick it up and look at it absentmindedly. Jessica sees the card.

  “When are you going to let the F.B.I. know?” Jessica asks.

  “When I have more evidence.” I say. “I got to be sure this snake doesn’t slip away.”

  “Damn straight.” Jessica agrees.

  I open my laptop and Google, Devlin De Marco. There are lots of fan sites, and images of him receiving his Golden Globe, and BAFTA awards. He’s wearing the usual penguin suit with black bowtie. I don’t know about the next Bruce Willis comment, he looks more like Johnny Depp. His hair’s shoulder length, and jet-black. He’s wearing round rose tinted sunglasses, and has a diamond stud earring in his left earlobe. He’s slim, and looks pretty smug. He’s very good looking, and from his face, I can tell he knows it.

  “Is he any good?” I ask.

  “Yeah. I think we’ve got one of his films downstairs. You want to watch with me?”

  “What’s it about?” I ask cautiously.

  “He plays an undercover cop, trying to break a human trafficking gang.”

  “Hmm.” I murmur thoughtfully.

  “It’s good. Come on.” Jessica says and hops towards the door.

  I put the paper and the F.B.I. card back into my drawer and close it. I follow Jessica downstairs and into the living room. I take a seat while she finds the DVD, and puts it on.

  “Oh, what are we watching?” Dad asks as he looks up from his novel.

  “Lost & Found.” Jessica says, as the flat-screen television flares to life.

  “Not again.” Dad moans, and puts his bookmark in and places his novel down.

  “I’ve only watched it twice.” Jessica replies as the title page appears.

  “Only.” Dad says to me and rolls his eyes.

  I laugh as Jessica sticks her tongue out and sits down. She presses play and I get comfy.

  I’m not one for action movies that don’t involve comic book characters. But it’s not bad. Devlin certainly is a good looking guy. Rippling muscles, but with more of a dancer’s build. Nice tan, nice clothes. He has a silky voice that has a hard edge to it, when he needed it. His likeness to Johnny Depp is uncanny. He could play his twin, easy. Different nose and eyes, but he has the same bone structure, and build. His hair is short in the movie, and he has some stubble. He’s not a bad actor either. Not sure if I would watch it again, though. I’m sure Jessica watches it just to see Devlin with his shirt off. In one scene, when Devlin’s character, Tommy, is in the shower, Jessica was glued. His physique reminded me of Mitchell. Well, the chest and arms anyway. I can’t comment on the rest, unfortunately. Yet. I blush at that thought.

  “Well, what do you think?” Jessica asks, and snaps me out of my reverie.

  “Oh, not bad. Not my thing, though.” I say.

  “Okay. My choice.” Dad says quickly and goes to the DVD cabinet.

  “Oh, no. Not Star Trek.” Jessica moans as the title page comes up.

  Dad smirks as he sits down.

  I have some chicken soup with some leftover bread for lunch, and then go back to my room. I check my cell phone that’s lying on my bed. Damn. Two missed calls from Mitchell. I hit speed dial, and he picks up after a few rings.

  “Hi, baby. Sorry I missed your calls.” I say.

  “That’s okay. I’ve been keeping myself busy. What are you doing?” He replies.

  “We’ve been having a lazy DVD day. How about you?” I say.

  “Helping out the snow ploughs.”

  “Oh. You’ve been clearing the snow?” I ask.

  “Yeah. The ploughs are too slow. I’ve done your street. Didn’t you notice?”

  Umm. That’s embarrassing. I didn’t even hear him when he was clearing the snow outside my own house.

  “You must have been very quiet.” I say. Or the film was really loud.

  “So, can you come out now?” He asks. I detect some sadness in his voice.

  “Sure. Where do you want to meet?” I ask.

  “Meet me at my dad’s junkyard?”

  “Sure. Give me a few minutes.” I say.

  “I’ll be waiting.” He says, and then hangs up.

  I put my cell phone into my Chinese lucky cat backpack, and make sure my costume is dry, before shoving it inside, along with my pink glittery eye mask and my contacts case. Then I sling it over one shoulder and go downstairs. I head into the basement, and grab my pale-pink thick parka. I slip into it, more for Dad than for me, really, and put on my backpack.

  “I’m going out, Dad.” I say from the doorway.

  “Is the snow cleared?” He asks, frowning.

  “Let’s see.” I suggest, and walk towards the door and open it.

  Dad follows, and towers above me as we gaze outside.

  “That was quick.” He says and scratches his head.

  “Can I go?” I ask as I look up at him expectantly.

  “It’s still cold.” He grumbles. “Try not to stay outside too long.” He warns me.

  I grin at him. “Thanks, Dad.” I say, and hop down the steps and cross the street.

  The snow is almost completely gone. There’s just a thin layer covering the sidewalk and asphalt. It’s still snowing, but not with the same ferocity, it’s just falling lightly now. The wind has calmed down a bit too. I accelerate as soon as I’m around the corner, and the white and grey streets become a pale blur. I race south and cross the river. I see my destination up ahead after a few short seconds, and skid several yards, and then finally come to a stop near Mitchell’s Dad’s business. The sign above the iron gates reads, ‘Reed’s Scrap and Auto Salvage’, and is faded to a rusty brown color. The gates are open, so I walk towards them. I hear a dog barking nearby, and then I hear Mitchell’s voice.

  “Who’s a good girl?”

  I enter the junkyard and look around. The place is full of rusty cars, motorcycles, motorhomes, and huge piles of metal and wire.

  “Mitchell?” I call out.

  I hear the bark again, and then I hear the sound of something heavy bounding towards me. Around the corner of a pile of metal, a large black dog emerges. It stops when it sees me, before barking loudly, and then bounding over. The dog gets nearer, and I see how large it is. I’m quite small, so to me, it’s like being charged by a bull, minus th
e horns.

  “Hello.” I say, as it reaches me with its tongue out and tail wagging.

  “Oh, hi.” I hear Mitchell call out behind the dog.

  The dog has its two front paws on my shoulders, and is licking my face.

  “Help.” I manage as the dog slobbers all over me.

  “Betty. Come here, girl.” Mitchell calls out.

  The dog drops down and pads over to Mitchell, panting and wagging its tail.

  “I think she likes you.” Mitchell says and chuckles.

  “Yuck.” I say, as I wipe the dog’s saliva from my cheek.

  “I’m glad you could come.” Mitchell says and scratches Betty’s head.

  “So, where did you want to go?” I ask as I walk over, wiping the dirt from my arms.