by Guy Harrison
***
In the morning, Elena is back to her old, ball-busting Lieutenant Jimenez persona. She’s dressed and ready to go as she orders me up at seven in the morning. We check out of the hotel and drive back into the city to drop off her rental car. We then take a cab to my studio to get my car and some clothes before the eight-hour drive to Philly. When I start up the stairs to go to the second story, my landlord’s door flies open.
“Kevin!” he says, leaning on the frame of his doorway.
“Hi, Mr. Sanders. What’s up?”
“Oh my God, so much has happened since the riot last night.”
“Yeah?” I say, one foot on the bottom step.
“Yeah, the cops came by and wanted to search your apartment.”
“The cops?” Just what I need.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t let them at first, but then they showed a warrant—I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, it’s fine,” I say, climbing a couple of steps before turning around. “Mr. Sanders, I’m going to be gone for a while.
“Really? Where’re you going?”
“Back to the States. Shouldn’t be for long. I’ll be sure to mail you rent.”
“Okay.”
I climb the rest of the steps, pulling my keys out of my pocket when I reach the landing. The building is an old one. The exposed brick is stained and the wooden floors are weathered. I reach the door to my apartment, only to find that it isn’t closed all the way.
Thanks, Montreal P.D.
I enter the studio and, to my surprise, it appears untouched. Unlike Philly P.D., these folks either didn’t do much searching, or they did me the courtesy of cleaning up after themselves. I close the door behind me and walk to the closet next to my bed. I grab my duffle bag—a replacement for the one I lost in the Independence Mall chase—and stuff it with T-shirts, underwear, socks, and jeans.
Kneeling down to the floor for a pair of sneakers, I pause when I hear the floor creaking. I glance at my door—it’s open again. “Elena?”
Silence.
I keep my eyes affixed to the doorway before going back to my packing. After grabbing my newest pair of Nikes and throw them in the bag, I stand up to go to the bathroom to grab some toiletries.
But my heart races. Something’s not right.
Why would the cops search my place? Even if a video of last night’s heroics surfaced on the Internet somewhere, it’s not like they’d be able to identify me. Unless … Elena. Whatever. I’m probably freaking out for no reason.
I walk slowly to my bathroom, watching the parquet under me as I round my bed. Get a grip, Calvin! You weren’t afraid of the Boogey Man when you were five; there’s no reason to be a scaredy cat now.
I push open the bathroom door, flip on the light and look at Kevin’s reflection in the mirror before running the water in my pedestal sink. I splash some on my face, hoping that it will allow me to come to my senses. I then open my medicine cabinet and grab some toiletries. When I close the cabinet, my heart skips a beat. In the reflection of the mirror, I swear saw something move out in the living area behind me. I turn around quickly and walk out of the bathroom, nearly soiling myself when I see someone standing in the middle of my studio.
“Kevin, wait!” he says, holding up a hand.
It’s too late. Scared out of my wits, I push Mr. Sanders off his feet with a thrust of my hand, doing so with so much force that my landlord floats through my apartment’s large window and out into the atmosphere.
“No!” I reach to stop his fall but it’s useless. I already hear my landlord land on the pavement outside, accompanied by shards of glass.
Another lump forming in my throat, I grab my bag and run out of the apartment. I race down the stairs and out of the building when I see Jimenez standing next to my car.
Elena throws her arms into the air. “What the hell was that?”
“We have to go,” I say, my duffle bag bumbling at my side with each of my steps. “We have to go now.”
I look at the carnage to my left and do a double take.
That’s not Mr. Sanders.
I toss my bag in the backseat of my car before jogging over to the mess.
“Calvin!” Jimenez yells.
A female lies in a pool of bloody glass. A brunette with blue eyes, she’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. With her last ounce of strength, she slowly turns her head to look into my eyes before breathing her last. When I stop five yards away from the body, I hear Elena’s voice behind me, although it’s hard to know what she’s saying. All of my senses have shut down. I’ve witnessed another death, causing this one myself.
Jimenez grabs me and turns me back towards the car. As the sound of sirens draws closer, I climb into the Nissan and slam the door. With Elena in the passenger seat, I put the car in drive and step on the gas.
Careful not to induce a telekinetic rift, I take out my anger on the inside of the door, slamming it with the side of my fist.
“What happened?” Elena says.
“I—she,” I manage before taking a deep breath. “She appeared as my landlord. Scared the shit out of me. I pushed her through the window.”
“Calvin,” she says, watching a screaming ambulance roll past us, “it’s okay, there’s nothing you could’ve done.”
I want to agree with her, but I can’t. I tune her out as I look out of the window. When I see my reflection in the side-view mirror, the lump in my throat dissipates. “What the hell?”
“What? What is it?”
“I—I didn’t change. I’m still Kevin.”
“Yeah? So?”
“That means she was an Agent of Influence. Why would an A of I be snooping around my apartment?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“You know what? I didn’t change last night, either.”
“Huh?”
“Last night. I encountered the agent who tried to crash the chopper, remember? I never changed.” I look over at Elena before suddenly pulling over and shifting the car into park. “Get out.”
“Wait.”
“I said get out!”
“Calvin, I—”
“You still work for the A of I. They’ve been the ones setting off all these disasters.”
She shakes her head.
“For the last time, get the hell out of my car!”
“Calvin, will you shut up and listen to me? I hacked the A of J, remember? I know it was them. And if I was working for the agency causing the disasters, why would I call you to prevent the helicopter from crashing last night?”
“I don’t know. What I do know is that I was this close to that guy last night and didn’t change. Why?”
She shrugs. “Maybe the A of J found a way to perfect the machine.”
I stop and catch my breath before looking into Elena’s eyes. She holds my gaze.
“Maybe that’s how they lost me last night,” I say.
“Huh?”
“Last night, I was chasing the guy who was trying to crash the helicopter. He turned into an alley and disappeared.”
Jimenez scratches and then primps her straight, dark hair. “Was there anyone else in the alley?”
“Yes—lots of people, rioters. It was next to the arena.” I lay my head back and look at the car’s ceiling. “The agent back there said the cops came to search my apartment last night.”
Elena places her hand on my shoulder. “The A of J’s looking for you.”
I sigh and shake my head. Out of options again, I pull out into the street and head south, starting the drive back to Philly.
