by R. J. Wolf
This time seemed no different. He waited, knowing any moment the nurse with the giant needle would walk in. She strutted like a giraffe, not even glancing his way. Stabbing him as if he were a pin cushion, before disappearing like the reflection in a lake when you toss a stone in. She normally came through the doors right before the doctors, which was the last thing Anthony would see.
The room seemed a bit colder today. He shook on the table uncontrollably, looking from side to side. Suddenly, the door burst open and several men in masks with white robes piled into the small room. They walked to the table and stopped.
Standing over him they whispered to each other and pointed. Then for the first time since he’d been there one of them looked directly at him and spoke. It was an older man with white hair and prickly eyebrows. He stared down at Anthony from behind a pair of thick glasses with bronze rims.
“Do you know why you are here?” he asked with a scratchy voice.
Anthony glanced around the room. He wasn’t sure how to respond, or even if he should respond. His eyes rested on each of the men for a moment and then he stared off at the wall.
“Dr. Marshall, sit him up,” the man directed.
A stout, pudgy man quickly stepped forward and pressed a green button beside the table. A buzzing sound rung out and the top half of the table leaned forward.
Anthony sat up feeling a rush of anxiety. In the two years he’d been there they’d never deviated, never changed the routine. Now they were actually talking to him.
“My name is Dr. Vorcick,” he said as he pulled down his mask. “It’s okay, no need to be frightened.”
Anthony looked past him and focused on the other men standing around. Their beady eyes and awkward stares pressed in on him. They stared at him with awe, how a child might look at a lion in the circus.
“Why am I here?” Anthony glanced back at Dr. Vorcick.
“Why do you think you are here Anthony?”
“I don’t know.” Anthony sighed and laid his head back onto the table.
“What did your uncle tell you?”
“That he wasn’t my uncle,” Anthony quickly replied as he rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“Ah, that would be true. Frank is not quite your uncle. Still he serves his purpose.”
Anthony glared at him. He felt a sudden rush of anger swelling, boiling his blood. It was the feeling he had back in that cabin two years ago. The feeling of being lied to, of being made a fool.
Anthony’s life was one big joke and he was just learning the truth of it all. He wanted to jump off the table and throw Vorcick against the wall.
“You are here, because you are different,” Vorcick’s voice cut through the air. “What do you know of your real parents?”
“My real parents? What do you mean my real parents?”
“Surely you remember your parents, before Frank placed you with the Dimair’s?” Vorcick looked at him in confusion.
“The Dimair’s…” Anthony said with a hint of aggression. “Are my real parents.”
Dr. Vorcick leaned back and began to laugh. He shook his head and sighed while removing his glasses. “Boy, boy. We have ourselves a situation. Did it never seem strange to you that you have no memories as a younger child? No pictures of you and your family since you were what, five years old?”
Anthony stared at him, his eyes fierce and dark. He tugged against the chains. If he could, he’d rip Vorcick’s tongue out.
Anthony grunted, struggling against the restraints. He lunged at Vorcick then collapsed back against the table. The doctor laughed.
“You’ve got spirit boy, I’ll give you that,” Vorcick said with a chuckle.
Anthony squinted his eyes and clenched his teeth. He focused hard on Vorcick, his only thought, his only desire was to cause him pain.
Suddenly Vorcick gagged. He grabbed his neck and coughed furiously. He tried clearing his throat as he grunted and spit blood onto the floor.
His eyes began to water and he collapsed to the ground, falling to his knees. Bending over on all fours he reached for one of the other doctors.
“It’s the boy, stop the boy,” he muttered as he gasped for air.
They looked at one another in confusion. None of them wanted to touch him. Slowly they backed away in panic.
Anthony’s gaze didn’t stray from Vorcick. He breathed heavily, each huff deeper than the last. It was as if he was pulling energy from the air around him.
Vorcick was now writhing on the floor in pain, blood dripping from his nose. His eyes were bloodshot red and his skin was beginning to turn a light shade of blue.
Anthony yelled out as the chains that held him snapped and fell to the floor. The cart next to the table toppled over sending scalpels sliding across the room. With his eyes still fixed on the doctor he slowly started to slide his legs onto the ground.
Suddenly there was a sharp prick in his side and Anthony jolted. He looked away from Vorcick and found Hanson towering over him holding an enormous needle.
Hanson grinned at him, exposing his rotting teeth. Then he brought his heavy fist crashing down on Anthony’s face. Anthony fell back onto the table. He tried to sit back up, but the drug had taken its effect. His eyes grew heavy and then there was nothing but black.
Dr. Vorcick staggered to his feet as he gasped for air. He wiped blood from his face and then looked over to the other doctors who were huddled near the door.
“You worthless lab rats. Get out!” he yelled.
Vorcick motioned towards them and they scurried out of the door tripping over one another. He looked back towards Anthony where Hanson was standing still holding the hulking needle. Its sharp point gleamed in the light, sedative still dripping from the tip.
“If it was up to me I’d have killed him doc,” Hanson grinned.
“Well, good thing it’s not up to you. He is the one, the one we’ve been searching for. He’ll survive the compound I’m sure,” Vorcick stammered as he leaned against the wall.
He wiped blood from his nose and stared at his hand. Sniffling he motioned to Hanson. “Take him to his cell and alert District that we have another candidate.”
Hanson grumbled and started to lift Anthony’s lifeless body. He slung him over his shoulder and then headed out of the room. As he passed the doorway he turned sharply and banged Anthony’s head on the frame.
“Hey! Be careful with this one!” Dr. Vorcick yelled.
Hanson nodded and stepped around the corner. Grinning, he glided down the dark hallway and disappeared.
Dr. Vorcick stared after him for a moment before collapsing back to the ground. His head spun like a Ferris wheel and everything went blurry. As he passed out he caught a glimpse of a nurse walking through the door.
Hanson lumbered down the shadowy corridor to Anthony’s cell. He slid open the heavy iron door and threw him to the ground, then quickly chained him back up. Anthony made a whimpering sound and Hanson laughed then kicked him.
“Next time you try that, I’ll kill you. I don’t care what that doc says,” he looked at Anthony in disgust then slammed the door.
Anthony slowly pried his eyes open and winced. Clenching his jaw, he sat up and leaned on his arms. His head throbbed and his side burned where Hanson had stabbed him with the needle.
He glanced around his cell trying to remember what had just happened. It was all a blur to him, fragments of a dream. As he stared at the wall he felt a sudden jolt and everything around him began to fizzle and dissolve. The dingy cell gave way to a jungle like setting.
Anthony was suddenly running. Or he wasn’t running, but whoever he was, was running. It took him a minute to figure out that what he was seeing was through someone else’s eyes.
He couldn’t see his cell or the brick walls anymore, but he could feel the hard cold touch of the metal floor against his skin. He was still imprisoned, but his mind was elsewhere, like he was in someone else’s head.
He could feel the sun burning overhead, the leaves an
d branches whipping him across the face as he darted through the trees. It was like being two people at the same time. He could feel what they felt and hear what they heard.
He was running and running fast. He swung his hands as he ripped through the twigs and vines in his way. His feet jabbed at the ground like a gazelle. He felt stronger than he’d ever felt in his life.
As he zipped passed the heavy tree trunks and dense foliage, he finally realized why he was running. He could sense someone behind him, but they were falling further and further behind.
He leapt through a thick patch of bushes and the trees cleared giving way to a plateau up ahead. It ended abruptly a hundred feet below into the deep blue waters of the ocean. Jagged rocks protruded from the surface like broken glass, the waves crashing over them with a thundering rattle.
Instead of slowing down Anthony could feel himself speeding up, his pace quickening like a plane preparing for takeoff. His foot hit the last bit of earth and he dove into the air, leaping off the cliff with his hands outstretched like a bird. He felt weightless for a brief moment, suspended in the sky.
He was certain he would plummet to the rocky earth in seconds as he slowly turned in the air. Suddenly a familiar rush swarmed over him. Wings ripped from his back and he soared into the sky like a rocket.
Something was different however. Where he normally felt awkward and clumsy in flight, this felt natural. His wings responded effortlessly with no thought.
As he moved higher into the air he turned and looked back. At the edge of the cliff were a dozen men in strange suits that looked like a cross between robots and some kind of futuristic soldier. They were covered from head to toe and a tinted glass visor covered their eyes. Each of them gripped some kind of weapon that Anthony had never seen before, but they didn’t take aim. They stared after him, looking into the sky as he flew higher and higher.
Anthony gazed at them momentarily. Then smiling he took off at a speed that Anthony would’ve thought impossible. He shot upwards like a space shuttle, the ground turning into a speck below him.
The cool air rushed past his face as the sky turned to a deep black. He felt his wings tucking tight against his shoulders and he moved even faster. Before he knew it he had entered the cold confines of space.
He looked back down at Earth one last time and the tiny blue dot fizzled then faded away. Anthony blinked and rubbed his eyes and he was back in his cell staring at the brick wall.
III
“So let’s talk about that dream again,” Dr. Shipiro said almost mechanically.
He stared skeptically from his heavy birch desk to the lanky teenager sprawled across the dark brown leather sofa. He’d been eyeing him for half an hour, clicking his teeth as the youth recanted a story about whale guts.
Dr. Shipiro removed his glasses and rubbed his brow. Tiny lines of stress wrinkled across his pale skin. He huffed and ran his fingers through his graying brown hair.
He had the appearance of a man who’d known former glory, but had been robbed by time. His narrow nose bore marks from years of wearing glasses. His slender arms, which were surely formidable weapons at one point, looked weak and fragile as he stretched and rolled up the sleeves of his white button up.
His office was crammed with old furniture and ancient books covered in dust. Like the man that owned it, there was a hidden splendor underneath the layers of neglect. A shadow of a past life, before the burdens of others had sucked it dry.
On the wall behind the desk was a small circular window. It was just high enough that you could peak out of it when standing. A ray of light beamed through it, giving the swirling dust a halo effect.
Dr. Shipiro cleared his throat and looked back over to the boy on the sofa. He was a rangy seventeen year-old with bleach blond hair. His dark tanned arms hung limply off of the couch, his sandals barely hanging from his feet. He was wearing a sleeveless white t-shirt and camouflaged cargo shorts that clung to his waist with the help of a frayed rope.
“Michael, are you listening to me?”
“Times up,” the boy said as he sat up and glanced at the clock.
“It would appear that you are correct. Next week then? And please, think about what I said earlier, letting go is just part of the process.”
Mikey smiled as he slowly stood up and stretched his hands to the ceiling. His stomach grumbled loudly, voicing its dissatisfaction with the hour long session keeping him from french fries and pizza.
“Sure thing doc,” Mikey mumbled as he turned and headed out of the office.
His sandals slapped against the hardwood floor, echoing into the air like an angry duck. He pushed open the heavy mahogany doors and lazily marched into the lobby. In the center of the room was an enormous green rug with Legos scattered across it. A little boy, no older than six was tossing the plastic blocks around. When Mikey walked out the boy gave him a menacing stare and chucked one of the Legos at his head.
“How dare you!” the woman sitting in the chair behind him shouted out.
“It’s okay, he didn’t hit me,” Mikey smiled.
The lady looked bewildered. “You would’ve deserved it if he did, giving him such dirty looks. Tim, come sit with mommy.”
“Whatever lady,” he absently flicked his hand.
Scratching his head Mikey stepped around the rug and kicked the pile of Legos on his way. He looked across the room, where a tall, dark-haired boy wearing a form fitting white t-shirt that read “Embrace Mediocrity” and frayed blue jeans was leaning against the wall. He was laughing to himself and staring at Mikey shaking his head.
Mikey rolled his eyes and headed towards him. The boy across the lobby was seventeen as well, but the stubble on his face, chiseled arms and tattoos made him look much older. His eyes seemed young, but dark and piercing like someone who’d seen through the façade of the world.
As Mikey approached he straightened himself and made an unreadable face.
“Looks like things almost got ugly for you,” he laughed.
“Yeah, well we all can’t be on steroids.” Mikey shot back.
The boy looked down at his chest and flexed. He looked back up at Mikey with a sinister grin and then turned towards the door.
“So what’d old doc ship wreck say today?” he asked looking back at Mikey.
“Nothing worth mentioning,” Mikey groaned. “Now let me get the keys Steve, I’m driving.”
“Pfff, yeah right loser,” Steve laughed as he shoved Mikey. “I’ve had enough near death experiences.”
Rolling his eyes he turned and pushed open the glass door that read “Shipiro & Shepherds Therapy Center.” The tawny colored brick building had almost become a second home. Hours upon hours spent divulging their deepest secrets, or at least the made up adventures that kept everyone smiling.
Stepping outside Mikey yawned again and looked over to Steve with a grin. Steve was staring into the ether, obviously deep in thought. His hair blew about in the wind like a wayward buzzard, his hands clenched tight against his side making the muscles in his arm flex. What a difference two years made Mikey thought.
Steve had gone from a fat kid with bad hair and incredible charisma, to an all-out bad ass. It was like he’d crawled into a cocoon a caterpillar and come out a dragon.
At one point he was nearly two feet shorter than Mikey and now they were dead even. His body bore the signs of someone who had been forged by fire. Someone who had forgone the rearing of nurture and love and instead been tested by the harsh realities of life.
It was now mid-afternoon and the rays from the sun were blinding. Mikey gazed across the street as cars zipped by. Steve had already gone ahead of him and was standing in front of a car parked on the curb. Mikey shook his head as Steve gawked with his mouth wide open.
“Marry the thing already,” Mikey yelled and jogged across the street.
Steve smiled and plopped into the lipstick red sixty-eight Chevy Camaro. He rubbed his fingers across the dash with a greedy grin on his face. Gripping t
he steering wheel in his hands he leaned in close, his lips hovering above the leather.
“You miss me sweetness?” he whispered.
Mikey shot him a look and shook his head. The pristine muscle car was Steve’s pride and joy. He’d spent summers with his grandfather restoring it and now that it was finally drivable there was nothing he loved more in this world.
It was a traffic stopping shade of red with white racing stripes running along the hood, all the way down the trunk. The hulking chrome wheels gleamed in the sun, accented by the stickiest set of racing tires money could buy. The interior was massaged in ebony leather and under the hood was enough power to reverse the Earth’s rotation.
Still smiling from ear to ear Steve turned the key in the ignition and low growl vibrated the air. Pressing the gas his eyes lit up as the car roared like a lion announcing its presence.
He looked to Mikey and puckered his lips as he buried his foot in the pedal.
“Oo yeah, sweetness likes it rough,” Steve gasped.
Slinging the car into gear he snapped back in the seat and sped off. Mikey gripped the door handle with white knuckles, his jaw clenched tight. They tore down the road like a space shuttle. A gray smoke trail dissipated into the air as the thunderous engine faded away.
Mikey mumbled prayers under his breath as the car flung around corners screeching like a banshee. He slid from side to side in his seat while Steve laughed and buried his foot into the floorboard.
Within minutes the red Camaro was sliding into the North Shore High School parking lot. Thick, black tire trails ran across the asphalt like a toddler scribbling with a marker. Impressed with his record timing, Steve pumped his fist and mouthed a little cheer under his breath.
“You know, most people aren’t in a rush to get to school,” Mikey huffed.
Steve laughed and patted the shifter. “What can I say? Sweetness wants me to get my edumacation. Who could say no to a face like this?”
