by Scott Young
“Everybody shut the fuck up or you’re all dead! Do you hear me? Dead!” Timmy screamed, pointing the guns at various people.
Sidney could see the guard had herded the employees out of the office section, forcing them, the tellers and customers to sit on the ground along the walls of the service area. Everyone looked positively petrified. Carl, the other guard, was lying near the front of the bank holding his bleeding shoulder, obviously having been shot. Each time Timmy pointed one of the guns at someone, they’d flinch, whimper or grimace, and the redheaded guard chuckled uncontrollably. Sidney couldn’t believe the shy, awkward man who’d greeted him upon entering the bank could be capable of something like this.
Surprisingly, Sidney could feel his Jack Wylde persona formulating multiple scenarios to save the day, calling on vast years of experience. He reached into his right inside jacket pocket and felt for something. When his hand closed around it, he smiled to himself. Just then he caught Helen’s eye. She had noticed him crouching there and even through her fear, she instinctively smiled back.
“What are you smiling at?” Timmy screamed at her. “You think this is some kind of game? That you can flirt your way out of this? That poor pathetic Timmy will fall for your bullshit?”
“No, I – I wasn’t...I didn’t...” Helen stuttered nervously.
“Ha! Look at the big time VP! Can’t even get a word out!” Timmy laughed, mocking her. He put the gun from his left hand in the waistband of his uniform and pointed the other one at Helen’s head. “Get up!” he said through gritted teeth.
“No, please don’t, Timmy,” Helen pleaded.
“Get up now, bitch! I want to finish our dance,” Timmy said viciously. “Or would you rather I blow your fucking head off and find a new dance partner?” He fired two shots into the ceiling as an exclamation point, causing everyone to jump, scream and panic again. “I told you to shut up!” Timmy yelled, once more swinging the gun wildly around the room.
“Okay, okay. Please, please just don’t hurt anyone else,” Helen whimpered with tears streaming down her cheeks as she stood up.
“I’ll do what I want!” Timmy said jumping off the counter, grabbing Helen roughly and pulling her to him, his left hand squeezing her buttocks hard. “You’re not in charge here anymore!” He rubbed the barrel of his gun down her neck and pushed it hard into her cleavage, the hot barrel singeing her skin.
“Please, Timmy...please, no!” Helen cried, but Timmy only laughed again.
“It seems like the lady isn’t interested, Tim.” Sidney said loudly.
Timmy broke his hold on Helen and whirled toward the direction of Sidney’s voice. “Who the fuck are you?” Timmy asked with a sneer when he saw Sidney’s Jack Wylde persona standing 40 feet away from him, near the hallway. Timmy drew the other pistol from his waistband.
“I’m the one who’s going to put a stop to all this nonsense,” Sidney said calmly.
“Oh you are, are you? Well, we’ll just see about that!” Timmy screamed, aiming the pistols at his enemy. Sidney stood casually with his arms folded across his chest and his head tilted slightly to the right. He winked at the crazed guard with a sly grin. Everyone screamed as Timmy emptied his guns until the repetitive clicks of the empty revolvers rang through the bank.
Sidney threw back his head and laughed, unharmed by the multiple shots.
“How the fu –?” Timmy started to say before Sidney cut him off.
“Now, now, let’s have no more of that language, Timmy. Be a good lad and stop all this foolishness before you get yourself hurt,” Sidney said with Jack Wylde’s trademark charm as he stepped out from the hallway and stood next to himself.
“What? How can there be two of you? And why isn’t that one dead?” Timmy yelled furiously, drool running down his chin.
“Just a simple holographic projection, Tim. All the best people have them these days, don’t you know,” Sidney replied, hitting the button on the remote control. The first version of Wylde shimmered for a second and faded away. He then raised his right hand, pointing the Walther PPK at the still confused guard. “It’s over, Tim.”
“Not yet!” Timmy said. He pulled an automatic switchblade from his pocket before grabbing Helen again. He stood behind her with his left arm around her waist and pressed the blade against her throat with his right hand. “Don’t come any closer or this bitch is getting a new smile.”
“Okay, okay. Just take it easy,” Sidney said, worried for the first time since all this began. The thought of causing his own wife’s death started to creep into his head, but the Jack Wylde persona quickly took over and pushed such thoughts out of his mind.
“How about I just give you my gun and you can lose the knife, Tim? What do you say?” he asked in an even tone.
“Fucking right you’ll give me your gun! Do it now!” Timmy said, his eyes almost popping out of his head. “Then I’ll decide if this bitch lives or dies! Just me! Nobody else gets a vote!” He started giggling uncontrollably again.
“Whatever you say, Tim,” Sidney said, placing his pistol on the ground before kicking it over to the deranged guard. He then held his hands up to shoulder level and remained motionless.
“Damn right, whatever I say, asshole,” Timmy yelled at seemingly everyone and no one all at once as he put his left foot on the Walther PPK, keeping it in place. He spun his captive around until she was facing him once more. He ran the flat of his knife blade over her cheeks and mouth slowly, staring at Helen intently. She could feel a mixture of lust and hatred behind his almost glowing green eyes. She’d always thought Timmy’s eyes were blue, but before she could think about it, he ran the knife down her blouse, cutting all the buttons and exposing her bra and chest underneath. She covered herself quickly with both arms just before Timmy pushed her down to the floor, her head banging off the divider wall. Calmly, he reached down and picked up the pistol.
“Alright, jackass! Come over here and no more of your bullshit holograms!” Timmy yelled at Sidney, pointing the gun at him. Sidney walked slowly over to the maniacal guard who pushed the muzzle of the Walther PPK against his forehead. “So this is the real you, huh? Well, how do you like me now?” Timmy asked.
“Honestly, I’m unimpressed,” Sidney replied.
“You’re a cool bastard, I’ll give you that,” Timmy said through gritted teeth. “But let’s see how you feel when I pull this trigger.”
“Honestly, it will be shocking if you do,” Sidney said with a knowing smile. “I don’t think you have it in you, Tim.”
“Fuck you!” Timmy screamed with rage, as he pulled the trigger. The gun didn’t fire, instead sending a 1200-volt charge through Timmy’s arm, causing the guard to convulse and drop the weapon. Sidney caught the pistol in mid-air before delivering a wicked right cross to his enemy, sending the dazed guard stumbling back. Sidney continued the assault with a thunderous roundhouse kick to his solar plexus, knocking Timmy hard to the ground.
“Perhaps I should have mentioned my pistol is biometrically calibrated for my use only,” Sidney said. “Keeps things from getting messy, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I’ll kill you! Kill you! Kill you! Kiiiiiilll!” Timmy bellowed as he got up and ran toward Sidney in a berserk rage.
“No, you won’t,” Sidney said, sidestepping Timmy’s lunge while grabbing his left wrist and twisting it hard, causing the guard to bend at the waist in agony. Sidney took one step to his left, released his opponent’s wrist, grabbed a fistful of red hair and lifted his knee into Timmy’s face with a viciousness that belied his calm demeanor, shattering the man’s nose. Blood poured down the guard’s face as he fell back unconscious.
The people in the bank erupted into cheers, and Sidney soaked in the adulation. It was as good as he’d always hoped it would be, feeling like the hero. He stood over Helen and offered his hand. “Allow me, my dear. You’ve had to suffer enough poor manners for one day,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
Helen looked up and reached for his hand, h
er eyes locked on his. “Thank you. Thank you so much,” she said softly.
“A pleasure, lovely lady,” Sidney replied, kissing Helen’s hand. He was enjoying the moment. She looked at him with a mixture of awe, respect and desire. He’d never seen that look in his wife’s eyes before.
“Please, can you help Carl?” a woman yelled from the front of the bank.
Sidney released Helen’s hand and rushed over to the injured guard. After a quick examination, he said, “Keep pressure on the wound and he should be okay.” Sidney stood up and asked loudly, “Has anyone called the authorities?”
“I pushed the silent alarm as soon as you took him down,” a teller replied.
“Excellent work, good lady,” Sidney replied. “I apologize to you all, but I fear I must take my leave now.”
Before he could get to the door, the triumphant hero heard Timmy groan loudly as the lunatic regained consciousness. Sidney stood, ready in case the fallen guard was planning on starting round two, but the redheaded man simply looked up at everyone with a bewildered face. He felt his nose with his hand and when he saw the blood, he started yelling, “What happened? What happened to me? I’m bleeding!” He got to his knees while continuing to freak out, “Somebody help me! Who hurt me and – Carl! Is Carl all right? What happened? Did we get robbed?” Timmy looked up at Sidney with tears in his bright blue eyes. “Please, please help Carl! He’s a good guy...a real good guy... he’s...he’s my friend.” Timmy collapsed onto the floor sobbing, his face in his hands. Sidney couldn’t help but feel bad for the strange, broken man as he turned to leave.
“Wait!” Helen yelled, stopping him in his tracks. She rushed over to Sidney, holding her blouse together with her left hand. “I just wanted to thank you again.” she said, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek. While her face was close to his, she whispered, “Meet me at the Roosevelt Hotel Bar tonight at seven and I’ll show you even more gratitude.”
“Sounds intriguing. See you there,” Sidney replied, unable to help himself. He then turned and bolted out the door.
“Wait! Wait! Don’t go yet! I don’t even know your name!” Helen yelled, heading out after him.
Sidney couldn’t wait any longer. He was desperate to get away from the bank before the cops arrived and he could already hear the sirens getting closer. There was no way to explain who he really was or how he did the things he did. Hell, he wasn’t even sure how it all happened. Plus, his current identity was too conspicuous on the teeming streets of Manhattan. If someone recognized him as Mark LeClare and wanted an autograph or picture, he’d be stuck answering a bunch of questions for which he had no answers. He needed to change immediately, but with Helen coming after him, he couldn’t be Sidney Rosenthal either. Once through the door, he turned right, concentrating on an image in his head as he came to a complete stop. A moment later, Helen burst through the entrance and ran right into him.
“Oh, please excuse me,” Sidney said in a thick, Jewish accent.
“I’m sorry. I – I –” Helen said, confused as she scanned the street.
“Is everything all right, Miss?” Sidney asked.
“Yes, yes. I was just looking for someone.” Helen replied.
“Are you looking for the dark haired guy in the suit who just ran past me?” Sidney said, knowing she was. “He took off like a bat out of Hell down that way!” Sidney pointed down the avenue. “Almost knocked me over too but it was much nicer bumping into you.” Sidney smiled congenially.
“Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say,” Helen said, looking at Sidney for the first time. She turned to go back inside but stopped, looking at him again very closely. “Have we met, sir? You seem awfully familiar to me.”
“Oh, I think I’d remember meeting a woman like you,” Sidney said with a wink. “Maybe you’ve seen me around. I do get around.” They both chuckled at his comment.
“Well, nice meeting you and thanks again. You have a good day,” Helen replied.
“You too, sweetie,” Sidney said as he began to walk away. He was barely 30 feet away when three police cruisers pulled up to the curb. Multiple officers rushed to the bank entrance. Helen escorted them inside as Sidney continued to walk toward the stairs leading to the subway. He stopped momentarily to look into a store window, staring at the reflection of a face he hadn’t seen in 28 years, the face of Harold Rosenthal. He smiled widely and with a tear in his eye, he said, “Thanks, Dad. It’s good to see you again.”
Two hours later, Sidney Rosenthal stood in front of his bathroom mirror, staring at his own reflection with a much different feeling. He never much liked looking at himself, always thinking very little of his own face. It was so ordinary, so uninteresting. It was the face of a nobody, an afterthought, the kind of face you forget as soon as you see it. No wonder no one ever noticed him, ever cared about him. But now for some reason he could have any face he wanted. He’d spent the better part of the last hour practicing this new, startling metamorphosis, honing his ability to change into someone else.
In rapid succession, he changed from Sidney Rosenthal to John McClane to Bruce Lee to Brad Pitt to Derek Jeter to Sherlock Holmes to Johnny Carson to Channing Tatum to Han Solo to Conan the Barbarian, before once again settling on Jack Wylde. Every change came complete with different clothes, weapons, accessories and attitudes. He didn’t understand how or why he could do it, but he was definitely beginning to love it. Each time he transformed, he didn’t just look like these people, a part of him became them too.
Despite his ever increasing skill at changing, he’d discovered a few limitations over the last hour. For some reason, he couldn’t change into a woman or child, no matter how hard he tried. He also wasn’t able to become any type of animal or beast like a yeti or sasquatch. He got the feeling it was because deep down, he didn’t really have any desire to be any of those things. Apparently, he had to truly want to be whomever he thought of for the change to work. He looked at Jack Wylde’s technologically advanced watch and saw that he still had a few hours before it was time to meet Helen. Plenty of time to keep honing his skills.
Sidney knew he had to tell her about all this: quitting his job, what happened at the bank and his strange, new ability. There was no getting around it. It was the absolute right thing to do, but he wondered how to break the news to his wife without completely freaking her out. This was a major life changer, not something he could just blurt out and hope for the best. Maybe he could wait until after she had a drink or two, to make it easier on her; easier on both of them.
Still, it had been nice to see that look in her eyes during the moments they’d shared in the bank. It made him feel so good, like the first few weeks of their relationship when he couldn’t get her out of his mind. It was a feeling he didn’t even know he’d missed until he felt it again. Maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if he spent a lovely evening with her as Wylde. He could always tell her after it was all over, after they’d had some fun. Sure, it might be selfish, but didn’t he deserve to have his own wife look at him with love in her eyes again. Was that so wrong? How could it be? It’s just meeting for a few drinks. Nothing serious.
Helen was already seated at the bar when Sidney entered in his Jack Wylde persona. He wore black pants, a white shirt, and a white blazer with a black bowtie all perfectly tailored to fit his physique, having “changed” in the bathroom of a Starbucks down the street. Helen looked incredible, wearing a tight, black miniskirt, low cut white blouse and knee high, black leather boots with dark stockings. Sidney couldn’t help but stare at her ample cleavage and luscious red lips as he approached. Even after all the years, this woman still stirred something in him, especially now that he finally knew what his life was meant to be. He desperately wanted to share his wonderful, new ability and attitude with her, but that would have to wait. A night like this didn’t come along every day so he’d decided to savor every second of it.
“Good evening, Mrs. Rosenthal,” Sidney said, kissing her h
and again.
“How did –?” Helen answered quizzically, before smiling. “Oh, of course, I guess a man like you would already know something about me.”
“A man like me? Whatever do you mean?” Sidney asked coyly.
Helen pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. “You know full well what I mean,” she said while playfully tapping his hand with hers. “A worldly man, a sophisticated man, a confident man, a man who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to take it.” Each descriptive word made Sidney’s heart sing; hearing her speak in such glowing terms thrilled him to no end. She turned slightly away from him but looked back over her shoulder seductively before laughing. “Am I close?”
“You’re right about one thing. I do know what I want,” Sidney replied. He added with a grin, “but what do you say we have a drink first?” He gestured to the bartender to come over.
“Sounds good, Mr...?” Helen answered.
“Call me Nathan,” Sidney said, giving her the false name he’d finally settled on after much deliberation.
“What can I get you folks?” the bartender asked.
“Nathan and I will have...” Helen said, cutting in before Sidney could answer. She paused to wink at him before continuing, “...a bottle of your finest champagne. Send it to room 714.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a room key, waving it in the air. “I hope you don’t mind but I’m also a woman who knows what she wants. And I plan on taking it tonight.”
