by C. C. Ekeke
Connie fiddled with the hem of her worn jacket. “Smugglers are all over these waters.” She searched his face again. “Wanna talk about the nightmare?”
Greyson clenched his teeth. She wasn’t letting this go. “Not much to say.”
Connie leaned forward with a pleading expression. “Talking might help.”
Greyson’s tolerance evaporated. “No thanks.” His tone was final. He returned over to his bed and flopped back down.
Connie bristled but said nothing. She stomped over to her bed and picked up a book she’d been reading. Silence reigned for several minutes.
“Careful, Grey,” a familiar whisper cautioned. “You can’t trust her.”
Greyson looked to his right. Lauren sat beside him on his bed, as real as Connie, hair pulled back and wearing a silken robe. Her gaze fixated on Connie with clear dislike. No one knew that Greyson could see and hear Lauren.
“Why?” he murmured so Connie couldn’t hear.
Lauren shook her head. “Whatever lady boner she had for you back in St. Louis is withering.”
He stiffened. “You don’t know that.” Greyson knew Connie had feelings for him. Why else would she have helped kill the Hurricane and taken care of him on this boat? After what had happened to Lauren, this was a betrayal.
Ghost-Lauren stared back as if he were dimwitted, which the real Lauren used to do when he’d make corny jokes. His heart ached. She gestured at Connie. “See how she’s eyeing you like you’re nuts.”
Greyson angled a gaze at Connie’s direction. She was stealing glances at him, a mix of worry and contempt on her worn face. But when he caught her, she immediately looked away and continued pretending to read. Ghost-Lauren’s smug face had “told ya” written on it.
At first, Greyson had chalked up these hallucinations to his brain breaking from grief. But after two months, Greyson had learned to accept her random appearances at very inconvenient times, but mostly ignored her.
Ghost-Lauren sneered in a self-satisfied way that the real Lauren never would’ve. “Sooner or later, she’ll leave you to the wolves.”
Greyson had heard enough. “Shut up!” he snapped, louder than intended.
Connie sat up and glowered over at him. “What?”
Greyson felt the blood drain from his face. A glance to his right displayed no Lauren. “Talking to myself.”
Thankfully, a blinking red light next to their room door saved Greyson from further explanation. That blinking light meant an all-hands meeting with everyone on the barge. Thanking a god he no longer believed in, Greyson popped up, threw on a long-sleeved shirt, and rushed to the door. Connie followed him closely as they headed to the main meeting space on the upper deck.
All sixty-plus passengers gathered at the moldy meeting space within minutes. Most were crabby from interrupted sleep, some worried. More than a few looked somewhat inhuman due to their superhuman gifts. But no one onboard judged by appearances. Each passenger was running from something.
Greyson and Connie stayed in the rear keeping a low profile. That was, when he wasn’t screaming in his sleep from recurring nightmares.
At the room’s center stood a tall older woman, shoots of grey in her kinky brown curls. She had a lean and lined face to match her weathered clothing and expression. Alanna Kyler, while not ship captain, was the most senior person on the crew representing the group smuggling everyone out of the US. “Alright, folks,” she announced, quieting everyone. “We should be safe from whoever was chasing us. Sorry for the delay in your Guyana transport.”
“When are we arriving?” someone inquired.
“Another week or two,” Alana replied. “We will stop near the British Virgin Islands to restock food.”
That drew loud rebukes from the gathering. Greyson and Connie exchanged discomfited stares. Yet another setback for their voyage. They were supposed to have reached Guyana a month ago. But evading the Coast Guard and pirates had pushed the trip past two months and passengers past their tolerance threshold.
“Bullshit!” Brigg bellowed near the front.
The protests grew louder. As the four burly ship crew flanking Alana reached for their stun batons, Greyson briefly feared an open revolt.
Alanna remained stone-faced as waves of frustration crashed into her. “Hey!” she barked over the shouts. “Wanna steer this boat away from the authorities? Wanna keep our food stores stocked? Wanna dodge the smugglers who’d sell you to the black market?”
That silenced the room.
Alanna cocked her head sideways. “Exactly,” she concluded. “Be grateful you’re not still in the States. Dinner is ready in ten.” She turned and vanished through a door behind her as passengers shouted questions.
Greyson shrugged indifferently to the news. He’d believe their arrival when they reached Guyana’s shores. Then what?
Connie tapped his shoulder. “I’ll get food. Early bird gets better portions.”
Greyson waved off her charity. “Not hungry.”
Connie glowered in displeasure. “I’ll get something small so you don’t starve.” With that, she weaved her way through the crowd toward the mess hall.
Greyson watched her go, unable to not smile. Connie still cared for some reason…unless she was acting out of obligation.
Greyson shuffled back to their shared quarters. Freedom was weeks away, according to Alanna. Then what?
This question kept coming up among Connie or other passengers.
Greyson lay in bed, unable to picture a life away from everything he’d known.
Coworkers. Friends. Family. Lauren. He should have spent this past Thanksgiving with these people. Then Hanukkah, and then New Year’s Eve.
But that was no longer possible. Greyson was on the run for murder. The realization struck more grievously each time he remembered.
Who am I now besides a murderer and fugitive?
Greyson saw only one end. His own. He’d do it after landing in Guyana and parting ways with Connie.
“Coward,” Ghost-Lauren scolded.
“Fuck off,” Greyson fired back as sleep pulled him under.
Chapter 3
Hugo reached residential Paso Robles in two minutes at a fraction of his top speed. “New record!” he bragged. After a quick shower, Hugo threw on a polo shirt and board shorts. Saying a quick hello to Mom, he raced out again.
Tonight’s destination was El Marquez, the wealthiest of San Miguel’s many suburbs.
Four minutes later, at 375 miles per hour, Hugo stood a mile from El Marquez’s coastline. The main peninsula wrapped around part of the suburb’s glittering shores with two harbors and a handful of artificial islets.
Scanning around to ensure his arrival went unnoticed, Hugo emerged from behind a wall of bushes to enter Central Coast Plaza. The mall’s majestic Spanish architecture was silhouetted against a fiery sun sinking into the sea. Half open-air, half indoor, Central Coast Plaza boasted designer boutiques, fine dining, and specialty shops catering to San Miguel’s upper crust. In short, a perfect spot for Hugo to work on approaching girls anonymously.
Half an hour later, Hugo swallowed the fear crawling up his throat and approached another girl. She was waiting for a pretzel at a smaller shop with two friends. Hugo guessed she was Mexican, super-pretty, caramel-skinned, slim curves, and large brown eyes. Her lips were so kissable.
Ignoring his knotting innards, Hugo approached. “Hey,” he said, drawing her attention. “Any suggestions on what’s good?”
She looked at him sideways. “You know those things called menus?” She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at the menu above the cash registers. “That might help.” Her sneering tone drew laughter from her friends and sympathy from the server behind the counter.
Hugo forced himself to let her unfriendliness flow through him. “I prefer personal recommendations.” He smiled, fingering one of his earring studs. “But honestly…” Hugo drew in a steadying breath, remaining grounded and present in his body. Then he spoke his truth
with a velvety voice. “I think you’re sexy and I had to meet you.”
The girl gave him a bored onceover. “We met. Not interested.” She turned away, ignoring him. Both her friends moved swiftly between her and Hugo, a literal wall.
With a disappointed shrug, he walked away. Hugo wasn’t crushed. But consecutive rejections from seven girls weren’t encouraging. He shook his head.
So much for my pimp game. Waiting on the other side of the open-air passage were three witnesses to every rejection. Simon Han stood with that Bruce Lee bowl cut and headphones slung around his neck, wearing a vintage Midwest Miracles t-shirt. Dwarfing the Korean boy was Raphael Turner, slightly taller than Hugo. These approaches were his idea, paired with solid advice. Raphael wore a button-down shirt and jeans, his hair grown out into a short afro, every step oozing swagger. Grace Misawa rounded out the group in a bejeweled San Miguel Titans basketball jersey as a dress, the red and blue team colors inverted. No doubt she’d designed that jersey dress herself. Grace also had on a wide-brim black fedora to accentuate her stylish ensemble. All three friends gave Hugo sympathetic looks as he reached them. Correction, Grace and Miguel were sympathetic. Simon giggled sadistically, because only he knew about Hugo’s “playboy persona” intentions. Asshole…
The Samoan ignored his mockery. “I suck at this.”
Simon snorted. “Keep thinking that, then you’ll keep sucking.”
Raphael grasped Hugo’s shoulders with an understanding smile. “Relax!” He squeezed Hugo’s deltoids, wincing at the rock-hard firmness. “Get outta your head. Focus on how your body feels in the moment.”
“Chin up, Bogie,” Grace encouraged, smacking Simon upside the head to silence his laughter. “If one clueless gal rejects you, San Miguel has thousands more.”
Hugo appreciated the feedback. But if he didn’t improve his approach, socially awkward might be his only option. Hell no! Hugo refused to accept that fate.
“BTW,” Grace asked with a curious frown, “why don’t you just work things out with Presley? She was super-fun.”
Raphael and Simon grimaced.
Hugo’s mood frosted over. “Never,” he replied curtly.
Grace paled, taking the hint. “O-kay…”
That sounded harsh, Hugo realized. But discussing Presley required lying about who she was and reliving how badly she’d wrecked him. Maybe worse than Brie had... Thankfully, his stomach had other priorities. “I’m getting hangry. Food, anyone?” No one disputed.
The group found a somewhat affordable fancy burger joint with outdoor seating. While not as delicious as Beach Bum Burger, Hugo was too hungry to be picky. He devoured three half-pound triple cheeseburgers, much to his friends’ shock.
“You’re a human vacuum cleaner,” Grace remarked, almond-shaped eyes bulging. She then smacked Raphael’s hands as he tried stealing her fries.
After leaving the burger joint, Raphael checked his cell. Strangely, he glanced at Hugo before stuffing it back in his pocket.
Hugo frowned in concern. “Something wrong?”
“Nothing.” Raphael’s nonchalance felt forced.
Simon also noticed. “Is it about that Santa Maria bombing?”
Everyone shuddered. Hugo had heard the news this morning, still shaken by the casualty numbers.
“Nope. Seriously, it’s—”
“—something,” Hugo interrupted. Raphael was always a good friend. The Samoan wanted to reciprocate.
Grace wedged herself between the two massive boys. “Speak, big man.”
Raphael sighed in acquiescence. “Briseis and Jordana aren’t friends anymore.”
Shock dominated Grace’s pretty features. “Saywhatnow?”
Raphael shrugged. “Natalie Rodriguez spread the news via Snapchat. Brie and Jordana had a huge fight at Five Cities Promenade a few hours ago. Now Jordana is to be shunned by Brie’s ‘loyal’ friends.”
Cold fingers of dread grazed Hugo’s spine as he noted the timing. Right after I tutored Jodie at the library. He and Simon exchanged knowing looks.
Raphael continued. “Apparently, their fight was over Brie getting back with Baz.” He turned a withering stare on Hugo. “I think the reason is closer.” Simon and Grace followed suit.
Hugo scowled at their silent accusations. “Why y’all looking at me?”
Raphael smirked. “We’ve all seen Jordana eyeing you like a snack at school. And you eyeing her right back.”
Deny, deny. “Jodie and I are just friends.”
“It’s ‘Jodie’ now?” Raphael remarked coyly. “Hmmph.”
“Uh-huh,” Grace added, not buying the denial. Simon chuckled, popping Doritos in his mouth.
“Hmmph. Uh-huh what?” Hugo threw back, annoyed.
“Bogie.” Raphael draped a beefy arm around his shoulders. “Talk to ya boy, Dark Kent.”
“And ya girl,” Grace added, pointing to herself. “G-Mama.”
“Jordana went from despising you to flirting with you?” Raphael studied Hugo up and down. “What’s next? Love pocket privileges?”
Hugo’s eyes bulged in horror. “Jesus, Raph!” Laughing, he playfully pushed Raphael away.
Simon guffawed, drawing glares from snobby bystanders. “Good one.”
Grace stared at Raphael. “What’s a love pocket—OHHH!” She recoiled in revolted comprehension.
Hugo somehow reined in his hilarity. “I’m getting no privileges with Jordana.” The flirting between him and Jodie had gotten intense. But Hugo wouldn’t go further than that. Too much potential drama.
Grace covered her ears, visibly scarred by the joke. “You made that up?”
“I wish,” Raphael replied.
Grace’s reaction veered between disgust and glee. “Potty-mouthed bad man!”
Raphael took a melodramatic bow. “I aim to tease and please, G-Mama.”
Grace gasped but not before sarcastically mouthing, “Call me.” Sarcastic or not, Simon noticed and frowned.
Hugo grimaced seeing that. Still pining for Grace, even after getting friendzoned. “Alright. I need sleep.”
Raphael checked his watch. “I’m out too. Movie night at Casa Turner.”
“So you can learn more double entendres,” Grace scolded. “I’m grabbing some ice cream first. Who wants in?” She eyed Simon meaningfully.
Knowing his BFF would cave, Hugo interjected, “Simon’s got that thing tomorrow morning.”
Simon looked momentarily baffled. “Right!” he blurted out. “My brand-new thing.” If Grace was upset, she hid it well. After exchanging farewells, the foursome parted ways.
Hugo guided a grumbling Simon toward the parking lot. “Stay strong. Keep walking.” He’d been in Simon’s position. And his friend had always tried to set Hugo straight. Now he could offer the same support.
Simon nodded in gratitude. “Didn’t you tutor Jordana today?”
“Before training.” Around Simon, Hugo could be truthful. He had offered to help Jordana with her math tests a few months back. She’d declined at first, until another failed quiz changed her tune. “We’ve been studying at the downtown library since December so no one would find out.”
Simon raised his brow. “You think Brie knows?”
“Maybe?” Hugo thought they’d been careful.
He and Simon sauntered past departing cars on the first level of Central Coast Plaza’s parking structure. “Are you dating Jodie?” Simon probed keenly. “Can’t blame ya with a face like hers.”
Hugo snorted. “I thought your eyes never got past her shoulders.”
“I’m evolving,” Simon replied, grinning.
Hugo avoided commenting on Jordana’s curves. It had taken two years and saving her from a car collision before she’d forgiven his “Jodie Big Cans” comment. But Hugo couldn’t deny his growing attraction to Jordana. “She’s sassy and all kinds of sexy.”
“But…”
“Briseis,” Hugo growled with intense loathing. Briseis El-Saden, the girl he’d thought would be e
ndgame. “If their friendship ended because of me, I should keep away.”
Simon’s face darkened. He hated Brie more than Hugo did. “Brie finds new ways to suck without appearing.”
Yet neither Brie nor other members of her squad were the only obstacles. “After Presley…” Remembering his first girlfriend still knifed through Hugo’s heart. The same ex-girlfriend who’d helped murder Titan. Knowing that dulled Hugo’s pain more each day. “I don’t have it in me to be someone’s boyfriend.” He’d enjoyed one short-lived hookup since Presley, casual and fun. Now Hugo wanted to attract similar “no strings attached” relationships. “And once I start superheroing, I won’t have time for a girlfriend. Better to just have fun.”
“Speaking of…” Simon whispered, always careful in public places. “Are your work clothes ready?”
Hugo brightened. “Tomorrow night!”
Simon clapped excitedly. “I gotta see!”
“You will, after me.” Hugo paused, something catching his ear. Lady Liberty advised him to keep his superhearing active on low levels even off-duty. “Hold up.” Hugo scurried around the corner near the snaking line of cars exiting the parking lot. His jaw dropped.
Some rail-thin punk was dragging a screaming female driver out of her BMW sedan. Amid bright headlights and red parking lamps, some drivers honked or shouted at the carjacker. None tried to stop him.
Simon was equally stunned at the blatant robbery. “In front of everyone?”
Hugo shook his head. “You’d be surprised what people try in full view.” Before getting Titan’s powers, he’d gotten jumped constantly by Baz Martinez. Rarely had anyone intervened. “One second.”
Glancing around to ensure the coast was clear, Hugo raced forward. The carjacker slowed to a crawl, never seeing his swift two-finger poke to the chest.
Hugo boomeranged to Simon’s side a half-second later. Abruptly, the carjacker sailed across the lot, landing hard on the roof of a parked Suburban. He slid off in a heap, unconscious. The BMW driver scurried back into her car and shut the door, locking it.
Simon backpedaled, looking from the car to Hugo. “Did you just…?”
