Midnight Liberty League - Part I

by Brock Law

professor could see the decisions with which Will’s brain was roiling.

  Though they got caught at every light and had to constantly jerk around bicyclists, Will remained stiff. Professor Mith made no attempt at the radio either, afraid to disrupt his son’s thoughts. It seemed better to let him brood, at least until the silence became unbearable for the man who was saying goodbye to his son for the first time.

  “I think you’ll like Switzerland,” Professor Mith disturbed. “It’s a beautiful country. Got your hiking boots right?”

  “Yeah,” Will responded without inflection.

  “You’ll feel better once you land. When you see the mountains and the lakes, you’ll get that urge to start exploring. Traveler’s stamina, you know? Plus, you won’t have Mom and me around to slow you down. It’s always more fun to experience a new place at your own pace,” Professor Mith stated.

  “Mmhmm,” Will replied.

  Professor Mith looked over at Will, who was still blind to the outside world. The car began to ascend the bridge over the river. As traffic began to condense and airport signs appeared, Will’s perplexity shifted into worry.

  Professor Mith continued to try to alleviate Will’s concern, “It’s crazy how life can change so quickly sometimes. When I was your age…wow, when I was your age I promised myself that I would never use that phrase. Time catches up with you though.”

  Will’s brow dug into his face, combative towards his father’s comment. As Professor Mith changed lanes, he caught his son’s look. He cleared his throat and backed off of the thought.

  “Anyway, you never know what you may come up against. You’re going to change one way or another. Whether you do so for the better is entirely your choice. An old mentor of mine told me that once,” Professor Mith trailed off.

  Will relaxed a little at the genuine wisdom. His journey was indeed inevitable. If he wanted to live, it was time to toughen up and stop letting this quest pull him along. Whether glory or reckoning, how he chose to meet his fate was his decision. Just keep moving the chains, he thought, one down at a time.

  “I’ll figure it out. Working with a bunch of geniuses is just a little overwhelming,” Will complained.

  Professor Mith preached, “When have you ever heard me use that word? There is no such thing as genius. No one is exempt from hard work. Some people just obsess over it. The moment you believe that there are inherent intellectual classifications that separate us, is the moment you stop competing with people who you perceive to be smarter than you. When you stop competing, you stop educating yourself.”

  The car veered off the highway for the terminal exits, wove around a jug handle and into the backup for departures. Shuttles lumbered around to vie for parking. Disgruntled by the absence of agile driving, Professor Mith pulled over to the nearest open spot and popped the trunk. With customs in sight, and his embarkation imminent, Will’s heart began to beat loud enough for both men to hear.

  The unwanted process of unloading was beginning to unsettle Will’s breakfast. His father rapidly passed his luggage; the hurried impact of each bag churned Will’s gut. Too quickly for Will, Professor Mith rushed to empty the vehicle and get out of the way. The trunk was unceremoniously slammed shut, and the professor stuck out his hand.

  “You’ll do well. We’re proud of you,” Professor Mith congratulated.

  “Thanks Dad,” said Will.

  Professor Mith recalled, “The first time I left home was a bit unexpected too. It turned out to be quite an adventure. That’s when I figured out how to become the person I wanted to be. Don’t bother with expectations, play until the whistle.”

  Professor Mith nodded one last time and got back in the car. He waited as Will gathered up his bags and started for the automatic doors. Once confirming the young man’s progress towards the international gates, the professor jetted away.

  As he watched his last refuge of safety drive off, Will marked his final moment of reality. It was memorialized with a second’s pause. Onward with decided determination, he joined the stream of people and headed for private charter check in.

  Throughout the airport, fliers bumped along chaotically. Will did his best to keep from knocking anyone over, although a few hurried families jostled him as they raced through the terminal. The long walk through the airport was already tedious enough without yet considering what might be waiting for him. His patience with the crowd waned considerably with each assault, which felt like an insult considering how vital his mission was for the survival of everyone. He held his tongue, though the endlessly stretching corridor was already testing the temptation to turn back.

  Finally, he reached the charter desk. The area was nearly vacant. No immortals, or vampires for that matter, were lounging. Checking his watch, which had hardly moved, Will realized he was still an hour early. He settled on a plastic bench, let his bags drop at his feet, and leaned back against the wall.

  He closed his eyes, and with a groan indulged his emotional exhaustion by letting go. Drifting idly through his imagination, a condensing semi-conscious dream foreshadowed the coming days. The feeling of uncertainty brought moisture to his palms. A question of reason and importance transcribed to insignificance. A comparative lack of physical superiority or military training overwhelmed him. The perpetual stress of guarding history’s greatest secret chewed away at his frayed connection to the real world and his relationships. He was about to freefall into a torture chamber of the Devil’s choosing. Images of swelling crypts unleashing horned legions of long ensnared beasts brought on an ancient superstitious terror. Clawing out of tattered parchment manuscripts, fighting to release themselves from obscurity and occult curiosity, they presented themselves before Will’s internal aura to besiege his soul so as to then feast upon his flesh. He descended deeper through thickening bogs of stripped down fear, innately avoided in the humanness of his mind and designed to devour from the inside out. Eventually, a kindly voice woke him up.

  “Hello William,” Martha greeted.

  She sat down next to him on the bench, purse and coffee in hand. Her husband, who was overloaded with the rest of the bags, strained into the seat. Any hope of Will getting out now had vanished with their arrival, but in her protectively maternal way Martha dissolved his previous feelings of dread with her cheery inclusion.

  Not far behind, the rest of the party marched down the terminal. Electing to wear rather than wrinkle some of their better garments, they arrived overdressed in tailored jackets and designer sunglasses. Adorned to match the illustrious host they were venturing to meet, the immortals glistened with platinum celebrity. The effective confidence of their timepieces, monogramed cuffs, and bespoke shoes attracted several onlookers who attempted to recognize some famous face amongst the conspicuous crew.

  Will couldn’t help but appreciate the candid display of success. In regard to the point about never maintaining expectations, Will’s father was absolutely correct. The founders’ excellence in blending classic historic with classic modern did not fail to impress. They were, recognizably in both ways, acutely executive and authentically retro at the same time. Trailing behind Franklin, Vivie emerged in a lacey blouse that shrouded most of her skin. At the moment she became visible her eyes locked with Will’s and her lips parted sweetly.

  “Hi,” Vivienne said cutely as she hopped up to him.

  “Hi,” Will replied.

  “You made it,” Vivienne coaxed.

  “Of course,” Will assured.

  Vivienne started, “Good, I’m happy that…”

  “Huzzah!” Hamilton interrupted the sheepish exchange. “The hero has joined us. No escape now, Will. Come on, let’s have a drink before we board.”

  “We can board presently,” Hancock cut him off, “and libations are complimentary on the plane.”

  “Better be the good stuff,” Hamilton merrily exclaimed.

  “What’s a bottle of champagne between old friends,” Hancock acknowledged.

  “Or a few between CEOs,” Ham
ilton inflated.

  “Don’t be vulgar, Alexander. Besides, I make more than the both of you,” Martha scolded with a smile.

  “Excuse me for a moment,” Hancock left to check in at the desk.

  “This isn’t exactly an appropriate occasion to pop corks,” said Adams.

  “Oh come on, Johnny. Aren’t you gents just a little excited by this excursion of ours? Just like old times. How about a glass of courage? It helps me relax when I fly anyway,” Hamilton explained.

  “Then give him the bottle,” Jefferson sniped.

  Hamilton joked, “I’ve never known you to turn down wine.”

  “Well none of us were raised on water. One perhaps, but nothing excessive,” Jefferson succumbed.

  “Says the man who went broke stocking the White House cellars,” Hamilton jabbed.

  “The Vice President’s wife’s idea,” Jefferson directed blame at Madison.

  “Your fault for giving her budgeting authority over state dinners. At least it kept her out of my accounts for a while,” Madison acknowledged humorously.

  “How’s that habit working out for you now?” Hamilton kidded with a friendly smirk.

  “Didn’t last as long enough,” Madison sighed. “Where are Dolley and Abigail, John, Costa Rica?”

  Coincidentally, Adams felt his phone vibrate. Once he saw who was calling, his expression became troubled.

  “Speaking of our wives, excuse me for a moment,” said Adams.