by Alan Janney
“I knew it!” She swung off the bed and stormed towards me.
“Hi Natalie…” I offered, backpedaling.
“Don’t even Hi Natalie me!” she seethed. She pushed me out of the unit and into the hallway. “I could kill you! I cried for weeks. Weeks! And all you had to do was text me. Just once!”
“You’re right-”
“Shut up!” She hit me in the shoulder with a tiny fist, and she winced. “I watched you die. You and the pretty blond girl. We all watched you die. I cried on live television. You knew I was mourning for you!”
My whole body winced at the mention of the pretty blond girl. Hannah. I’d been so close to reaching her, but the fire got there first. Sometimes I still felt like I was falling. “I’m really sorry-”
“Shut up again! It’s been months, and you didn’t bother to message me?” Big tears were rolling over her cheekbones. “I wouldn’t have told anyone!” She hit me again. “You know you can trust me.”
“I know,” I said lamely.
“I couldn’t come down here. I tried. So many times, but I couldn’t come say goodbye. I was still holding out hope. Like everyone.” She jabbed me with a finger. “So today I decide to come down, and what do you know!?” she shouted. “It looks recently used!”
Her voice was echoing down the metal hallways. I dropped the helmet, scooped her up before she could protest, and carried her inside. She didn’t fight me. I balanced her with one arm so I could haul down the rolling door, and then I sat on the bed. She looked up at me.
“I’m sorry,” I said simply, quietly.
“I forgive you,” she sniffed. “And you can kiss me if you want.”
“I’m in love with someone else. If it’s any consolation, you’re even prettier than I remember.”
“Does she love you back?”
“No,” I sighed. “I really am sorry, Natalie. I wanted to tell you. But I thought the Outlaw might be gone for good. And his death would be a…natural goodbye. I’ve missed you very much.”
“Liar.”
“No, I really did. You were the Outlaw’s only friend for a long time.”
“The Outlaw has other friends now?” she asked. “The individuals in the videos? The Hyper Sapiens?”
“Yes. Some of them.”
“I’m so glad you’re back,” she whispered. “I thought you died. I’ve been so scared.”
We sat in silence for a long time. I was exhausted. The only light came from a table lamp. Eventually she said, “Los Angeles feels foreign now.”
“Aren’t you making a movie in Canada this summer?”
“Yes,” she smiled. “You keep up with me, even though you’re dead?”
“I follow you on Twitter.”
“You’re all we discuss on set. Well, you and the others. The whole Compton debacle,” she said.
I stifled a yawn. “Are you done filming?”
“No, I fly back in four days. The director gave me a week off. I’d been shooting for 35 days straight.”
“Why’d you come back?”
“Actually,” she said with an embarrassed smile. “Keep this a secret…”
“Okay.”
“I’m dating someone here.”
“Oh! That’s great!”
“I think so!” she beamed. “But the press doesn’t know. So hush.”
“I guess I really shouldn’t be feeling jealous,” I mused.
“No, please do. I’m only dating him because I can’t have you.”
“Who is he?”
“That was a terrible thing for me to say,” she said, chewing on her lip. “He’s a good man, and I’m hopelessly fond of him.”
“I probably don’t know him, huh? I’m not very good with celebrities.”
“You know him,” she nodded.
“Is he in your movie now?”
“No,” she grinned. “He’s Isaac Anderson.”
“Who? Isaac Anderson? …wait, the FBI guy??” I cried and stood up, almost tossing her onto the floor.
“Yes.”
“The guy that’s trying to arrest me??”
“No,” she reminded me. “You’re dead.”
“Oh…yeah. Right.”
“Silly.”
“Anderson is a handsome guy, if I remember correctly.”
She nodded and said, “The handsomest. And he’s very nice. And kind. And sweet. And good. And he mourned the Outlaw’s demise.”
“Did he?”
“He did. He was a big fan.”
I protested, “Still, I don’t think you should be dating the FBI guy.”
“You’re in love with someone else, Outlaw,” she glared at me. “I mooned over you for seven months, and then grieved for another two. You had your chance. And you were dead.”
“How did you two end up together?”
She shrugged and said, “He called me and asked me.”
“Just like that?” I asked. Dumbfounding! Impossible!
“Just like that.”
“It’s not that easy,” I shook my head, and plugged in my bike. Night had fallen and I needed to get home.
“Have you tried? With the girl you love? Asking her?”
I took a long time replying. The truth was scalding. “No.”
“Then you are a fool.” She smiled.
“I know.”
“You should ask her.”
“I know.”
“Tonight,” she pressed.
“Okay. I will.”
And I was.
Chapter Two
Wednesday, July 1. 2018. Later That Night.
Katie Lopez is changing, the way people do when they grow up. She’s just doing it…better.
Unless something drastic intervenes, Katie will be one of our school’s valedictorians. Her intelligence and superior work-ethic has been obvious to everyone except her for years. She’s starting to realize it, though, and enjoy the reputation it provides. Instead of being the sweet, smart, cute, kind, timid girl that studies because she’s terrified of failure, she’s grown into the sweet, smart, hot, kind, confident girl that studies because she enjoys being the best at something.
Confidence. That’s the main thing that’s changed about her. And it’s crazy sexy.
She’s still faithful to a fault, and remains friends with her odd collection of boys despite transforming into a high school goddess (in my opinion). She’s been in the news twice for getting caught in the crossfire of the Outlaw’s many violent detractors, and she’s still humble despite the accolades given to her by the media.
She brings chocolate to school because she knows I crave it. She also keeps her room stocked with Hersey Kisses. During football season she wears a jersey with my number on it. Before games she cooks dinner for me and our friends. She was at my mother’s funeral and continues to pray for my father. She used to scratch my back before things grew too weird between us. When I’m sick she takes care of me. She tutors me in Spanish, but I can barely concentrate with her there. I have a disease that causes lethal headaches, but Katie holds my hand and protects me from the pain, though she doesn’t fully understand this, and I’m not exactly sure how it works either.
Her hair is thick and long and brown and she’s never dyed it. She has a wholesome, heart-shaped face. Her eyes are brown or hazel, depending on the light. Her smile is natural and easy, and her lips curl and her cute nose wrinkles. She was born to a beautiful Latina mother, and her skin is a light tan all year long. She is trim and athletic, light on her feet, and a natural dancer.
I love her beyond words. I’m drawn to her the way I’m drawn to oxygen.
At 10:30pm, I finally reached her apartment. Her bedroom has sliding glass doors that open onto the rear lawn of her building. I stood there until 10:36pm to calm my racing pulse, watching silhouettes of movements through her lacy curtains. From 10:37pm until 10:39pm I forgot to breathe. At 10:41pm I raised my trembling fist to knock on the door…
My phone buzzed. Or the Outlaw’s phone buzzed. I
almost had a heart attack. Puck messaged me.
>> OUTLAW!!! Y R U @ KATIES HOUSE?!?! R U GONNA TELL HER UR INTO HER?!?! THIS IS HUGE!!!!!!!!
Growling, I powered off the phone and tapped on her door with my finger.
The prettiest girl on earth cautiously peered through a slit in the curtains, and then slid the door aside. Her laptop was open on her bed and indie pop music filled the room. As usual, she smelled like flowers. She was wearing the shorts and nightshirt combination she used for pajamas, which bordered on being inappropriate attire for welcoming late-night male suitors. Two years ago the outfit looked harmless. Now, it was scandalous.
“Hi handsome! You’re here late.” She smiled and I stepped inside. “I think you’ve grown again, Chase. You’re taller and broader. I’m working on my Stanford essay, and - Oh! You brought me Godetia!”
I held out the sprig of lavender and carmine flowers that I knew she loved. She took it, but I didn’t let go.
“Katie I love you,” I said. Her hand froze, our fingers touching, the petals near her chin. Her eyes were wide and shining like the sun. One song ended and another began while we watched each other. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time. At least a year. Maybe my whole life.”
She took a deep breath and tried to speak but no words came out.
“I know this is a bad time,” I continued.
“Why?”
“And I know you’re dating someone else, and I know that he’s very sick in the hospital. But there hasn’t been a good time to tell you the past twelve months.”
She was holding my hand with both of hers now, brushing the petals against her lips. Her eyes were far away. Our bodies had gotten closer somehow.
“You loved me while you were dating Hannah Walker?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“You can’t tell me this now,” she said, suddenly sad. And maybe angry? “Not now.”
“I know. But I had to. And I know this is the conversation girls dread,” I grinned, “where the awkward friend confesses his love.”
“You’re Chase Jackson,” she breathed, and she lowered her forehead to rest on my chest. “No girl would dread this conversation.”
“But awkward or not, I had to say it out loud. To you. At least once.”
“Why?” she groaned. “Why now?”
“You can’t love me back. I know. But that doesn’t change anything.”
“I can’t think,” she said. The flowers dropped to rest on the tops of our feet. Her fingers were interlaced with mine and she was squeezing. “Stop talking so I can concentrate.”
“I love you because you’re perfect,” I said, speaking into her soft brown hair. “And that doesn’t change if you don’t love me back. I love you unconditionally.”
“Chase,” she said and she pushed away from me. Misery and fury and tears were in her eyes. “I’m being interviewed again tomorrow, for the news, at the hospital. Half of Los Angeles is watching me, waiting for Tank to wake up.”
“I know. I’m not asking you to break up with him. I just needed to say it.”
“What am I supposed to do? I have no idea what to do.” Her eyes were closed and her head was back and she was raking her nails through her hair. “Beautiful, sweet, perfect Chase. Oh my gosh. What a mess.”
“You look super good when you play with your hair like that.” I was trying not to ogle. “But this doesn’t need to be a mess. You already kinda knew, right? A little bit?”
“You’re so perfect and so stupid,” she sighed and opened her eyes, a simple movement, yet so hot and steamy I nearly melted. “I will remember this moment the rest of my life.”
“I wish I’d worn different clothes, then,” I said, examining my jacket with distaste.
“It’s July. What’ve you been doing? Why are you wearing a jacket?”
“Because of my…I mean, I was just talking with…err, I was in the…I…um…well…” I stammered, finding no suitable words.
“I need you to leave,” she said, staring me down and taking a deep breath. “Before something…bad happens.”
“Okay, yeah sure. I understand.”
“No. You understand nothing, sweetie.”
Ouch.
Then she said, “But I need you to do something. Just…because.”
“For you Katie, anything.”
She paused, a curious frown creasing her forehead, like she remembered something, and then said, “Write it down.”
“Write it down?”
“I want to know why. Write down your reasons why.”
“Why I love you?”
“Why you love me,” she nodded. “I just need to know. To torture myself.”
“That’ll be easy to write.”
“Good.”
“How you look in those tiny pajamas,” I said. “I’ll be writing that down.”
“Chase,” she said, and she raised her finger and shook it at me. “I warned you. You’re in dangerous territory.”
“I’m going, I’m going.”
But she was really close to me and we were touching… Then her mother burst into the room, the door crashing.
“Catalina!” she cried. Katie and I both jumped and stepped away from each other. “Su novio!”
“Mamá? Que? What?” she asked, throwing her hands up.
“Tank! The boy! He is awake!”
Chapter Three
Monday/Tuesday, July 13/14. 2018.
The next two weeks passed in a fog. I practiced football and hung out with my friends, Cory and Lee. That was it. That’s all I did. Except for checking the news. I did that a lot too, to keep tabs on Compton and Tank. Stupid Tank.
“Shoulda killed him when we had the chance,” Samantha Gear said. She showed up unannounced tonight. We were perched on the roof of my townhouse, a haunt we visited monthly. It was close to midnight. My neighborhood, in the suburbs of Glendale and close enough downtown that we could see the towers and lights, was hushed.
“Try not to be so morbid, Gear,” I said.
“This is Tank we’re talking about. I can be morbid.”
“I don’t blame the city for celebrating Tank,” I said. “Completely understandable. Los Angeles has taken a lot of punches and him reviving is the first real win in a long time. Plus, he completely fooled…well, everyone. He suckered the entire planet, except for us. So the city thinks he’s a great guy.”
PuckDaddy said into our earpieces, “I still think I should blackout his press conference tomorrow.”
“I concur.”
I growled, “You two aren’t thinking. That’ll just make Tank mad, and it’ll alert both him and the Chemist and everyone else that the infamous PuckDaddy is working with us.”
“I wish I knew what that dumb-ass was going to say,” Puck said. I could hear keyboard clicks through his mic. “I searched his texts. No help. What the heck does he need a press conference for?”
Samantha shook her head and said, “What was Carter thinking, keeping Tank alive and comatose so long? His brain is probably past the danger zone now. He’ll live forever.”
Tank was sick, same as me, and our bodies were just emerging from an extremely sensitive and dangerous growth spurt, where aneurysms were a daily threat. My headaches had largely subsided, and Tank’s probably had too.
“Tank’s got the most wicked vitals you’ve ever seen,” Puck commented. “I monitored them. He’s like Adonis, even in his sleep.”
“Carter usually hires new Infected immediately,” Samantha said. “He plants them somewhere in the world, pays them, and gives them an identity. He does that for his benefit and for the benefit of the newbie. But that won’t work with Tank. He’s too powerful. And rich. And well-known.”
Puck said, “Carter’s planning on using Tank’s strength against the Chemist.”
“Didn’t work last time,” I said. “The Chemist just toyed with Tank.”
Samantha said, “Because Tank was alone. He won’t be, next time.”
I s
hook my head. “That idiot will never work with me. Or Carter. No chance. He’s too stubborn, too proud, too stupid.”
“Yeah.”
“And speaking of pride,” I said, “You need to stop kicking record-setting field goals in practice, Gear.”
“Uuuuuugh,” she groaned, and she hit the roof with her fist, creating a slight indention. “Why are we still playing football with high school kids?? I’m so bored!”
“You don’t have to play! Go do other stuff. This is my life, not yours.”
“No,” she snapped. “The Chemist is obsessed with the Outlaw. He knows you’re still alive. I’m not leaving you alone until we deal with him.”
“He doesn’t know who the Outlaw is,” I pointed out. “He can’t identify Chase Jackson.”
Puck remarked, “But he’s looking, stupid. I filter a lot of the data coming out of Compton. He’s looking.”
“Whatever,” I sighed. “I’m going to bed.”
“Katie still hasn’t texted you,” Puck observed.
“Thanks, Puck!” I shouted in annoyance. “Thanks for the reminder!”
“You shouldn’t have told her how you feel.”
“You told me to tell her! Many times!”
He said, “Don’t shout at PuckDaddy.”
“She’s just busy. With the whole Tank circus. I’m still glad I told her. I’d do it again.”
Samantha stood up and brushed herself off. I frowned and said, “Gear, out of curiosity, where do you live?”
“I’m not supposed to tell you, but whatever. I have a place in Atlanta and another in Germany.”
“No, I mean around here. You’ve been in LA for seven months.”
“Here and there,” she said casually. Too casually.
“What does that mean? Puck, do you know where Samantha lives?”
He chirped, “PuckDaddy is forbidden to comment.”
“What the heck?” I said. “Where do you freaking live?”
She glared at me. “I’ve already answered that question. Twice.”
“Be more specific.”
“No.”
“Why not?? I won’t come visit.”
