Sanctuary (22 page)

“But you have the same problem as me. You’ll outlive everyone, right?”

“Yep.” She nodded. “I know I can’t be with the same man until I die. I’ve made my peace with that. And I’m not the type of person that fantasizes and daydreams about living with Prince Charming forever. But, it’d be nice. For a little while, to be with a big strong man.”

“A big strong television-show host.”

“Or a firefighter. Like the station chief. Big guy, can take a punch. A smart man that bosses other men around.”

“You’re weird.”

“Or, you know…a cop. A police officer? Those are good too.”

“I’ll be on the look-out for you!”

“No thank you.”

“This’ll be fun. I’m looking for a guy older than you, big, tall, strong, serious, deep voice, bosses people around, like a firefighter or a cop and…” I was ticking her requirements off on my fingers, but I stopped. Somewhere in the recess of my brain, awareness dawned. The coin dropped into the slot. She was staring fixedly straight ahead. I could tell her heart was pounding because of the pulse in her neck. I said, “Samantha.”

She didn’t look at me. Her expression was wooden, eyes wide. We were both taking deep breaths.

“Samantha.”

“Shut up.”

“Samantha, it sounds suspiciously like you’re describing my father.”

She didn’t respond. Her fingers were curled under her toes.

I continued. “My father. The man whom you call Richard.”

“Chase…”

“My father Richard, who is old as heck.”

“No he’s not,” she retorted. Her voice quavered. “He’s like forty.”

“Right. Super crazy old.”

“I’m thirty.”

“This…” I stared at the same point in the distance she was staring at. “This…this is a lot to absorb.”

“It’s not my fault.” Her voice was small. Samantha was one of the most dangerous people on earth. Out of seven billion or whatever, she was certainly in the top ten. But the threat of romance completely cowed her. “You made me live here.”

“So?!”

“So he’s perfect. He’s very handsome. And we live together. And it’s…intense.’

“Okay, that’s enough, stop talking, hooooooooooly moly be quiet, blah blah blah.” I stuck fingers into my ears and shut my eyes. When she was silent for a moment, I peaked at her.

She smiled. “And his big calloused hands. Oooooooh…”

“Samantha. I’m serious. I’ll set your hair on fire if you keep talking.”

“It’s simple. He’s lonely. I’m lonely. I’m attractive to him. He’s attracted to me.”

“What do…wait. He’s attracted to you?? How do you know?”

She shrugged. “I can tell.”

“How?”

“I just can!”

I said, “He thinks you’re
my
age.”

“No he doesn’t.”

“What?!” I yelped.

“Richard is smarter than you give him credit for.”

“What does that mean? And dooooooon’t call him Richard.”

“He just knows things aren’t exactly as they seem.” She stood up and brushed invisible dirt from her shorts. “I’m tired of talking about this.”

“Have you two…?”

“No. We barely speak. Nothing is going on.”

“Good,” I sighed in relief.

“Yet.”

“What?!” I yelped again.

“This stays between us. If you tell him then I’m telling Katie.”

“That’s not the same!”

“Keep my secret, I’ll keep yours. Truce.”

I received messages from both Lee and the Chemist Friday night after we won our football game. Technically, Chase Jackson didn’t get the messages. The Outlaw was the recipient.

From: napoleon
Date: October 2. 22:05
Subject: (blank)

Dearest Wart,

The future king,

Marc Antony,

Did you know the United States Marine Corp sent two teams of Navy SEALs into Paramount three days ago? It was not publicized. I had them chopped into little pieces and fed to the next batch of tigers.

I see that you are working with my old friend Mitchell. He and I collaborated on some interesting work in the 90s. Not even Carter the Stodgy Chain Smoker knows about it. Pass along my regards. I always enjoyed Mitchell’s company, though I wasn’t happy he crushed Eve with his truck.

Speaking of Carter, he cannot be pleased that you are ‘in cahoots’ with the military. I can almost hear the poor man grinding his teeth. Don’t let him get to you. He’s a control freak, nearly as crazy as me. We’re two sides of the same coin, he and I. Control and chaos.

It is nearly time for me to carve out another slice of the city. Last time you fell squarely into my trap. Will it happen again? I hope so. It was so much fun. How is your shoulder? Before your rescue dues ex machina, you were being devoured. I would have prevented your total destruction. I would have saved your arm. Your pain will be necessary, when it happens. You must die, before being reborn.

In the meantime, I imagine you have many questions. Ask away. About anything. About me. About our chat that night. About Carter. About the virus.

In exchange, I have two questions. First. Is your mother dead? Did you ever know her? I’ve gathered as much information on you as I can, and I think you lack the mother’s feminine touch. Mothers worry. Mothers fret, no matter how old their sons grow. If your mother was still alive, I don’t think you’d be leaping out of helicopters. She would have built in a higher degree of fear.

My second question is more of an observation. You are lonely. Yes? Insincerity prevents true intimacy. I imagine you haven’t revealed your identity to those closest to you. And thus you are cut off from them. My advice is, tell them. You’ll sleep better.

Write back, and I’ll delay the destruction.

Caesar

Merlin

Atticus

Jeeeeeez. What do I say to all
that
?? The Chemist’s letters made my brain hurt.

Lee’s message was simpler.

>> OUTLAW!! Heard you jumped out of a helicopter! I have another gift for you. Specifically designed for FLYING, bro!!!

I smiled. I adore Lee.

You are lonely. Yes?

Yes. Yes I am lonely.

I used to spend days at a time at Lee’s house. No longer. The mask hid him from me. From everyone. The Outlaw ate up more and more time, banishing me from my former life.

But did it have to be this way?

I was going to tell Katie. About the Outlaw. If Tank truly loved her, he wouldn’t hurt her. That had always been my fear, but now…

I was going to tell her. Soon.

Maybe I could tell Lee. But not tonight. I needed to work up the courage. I texted him back.

When can I see it?

>> ARE YOU KIDDING?!?! ANYTIME!!!!!

How about right now?
I’d been invited to a party, but I didn’t want to go. Samantha and Croc went. They were really enjoying high school life, which was weird because their combined age was around seventy-five. Katie was with Tank at the movies. I’d rather do anything than think about that.

>> YES!!! WOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAUUUUGHHHH!!!

At an early age, Lee built a workshop in the basement of his parent’s luxurious home. Out of this laboratory of horrors came a regular supply of new inventions, like electroshock weapons, media devices, and Outlaw gear. The workshop opened directly into his spacious backyard, where I waited in darkness, under a thicket of gold medallion trees.

“Check it out, dude,” Lee said as he held up a pair of black pants. His voice trembled slightly; he could barely see me. His shirt had a red Japanimation sketch of the Outlaw’s mask across the chest.

I growled, “Pants?”

“Yes. But, ah, better. Do you know what a wing-suit is?”

“The wearable parachute that makes jumpers look like a flying squirrel?”

“Exactly, bro! Err, Mister Outlaw. It’s a suit that gives parachuters wings. They can fly!”

“You mean
glide
.”

“Well, yes, glide. But glide super fast and super far.”

“I’ve seen those suits.” I was keeping my voice to a dark rumble. “They’re bulky.” I’d look ridiculous flopping around in one of those!

“Yeah they are!” he laughed. “And cumbersome. That’s why I designed your wing-suit to be retractable!” His whisper was triumphant.

“How?”

“Look!” He dropped the pants onto the ground and pulled on a pair of black gloves. “Watch.”

“I am.”

“Watch this.”

“I am.”

He hooked the gloves onto his own pants and then raised his arms. Swoosh! He had wings. The wingtips attached to his gloves and the material pulled-out through slits from within the baggy pants. He looked…like a flying squirrel.

“Instant wings! The wing-suit is designed to increase your surface area, allowing you to glide. The wind will fill the interior of these wings, giving you a hard surface to sail on!”

I nodded slowly, at a loss for words. “…okay…”

“I’m not done! Check this out.” He connected the pants somehow around his shoes and then spread his feet, revealing another black surface, like a webbing between his legs. “For stability!”

“…wow…”

“I’m not done, dude!” He made fists and uses his thumbs to press a button near his knuckles. With a click, the wings immediately released from the gloves and zipped back, disappearing into the interior of the pant legs. The same thing happened to the webbing between his legs when he clicked his heels together. “Strong cords made of strengthened elastic draw the wings back in. Retractable!”

“That’s remarkable, kid.”

“Wings on!” He pulled the wings out again with a swish. “Wings off!” He clicked the gloves and the material zipped back. “Wings on!” Swish open. “Wings off!” Zip, gone. Swish, zip. Swish, zip. Wings, no wings. Wings, no wings. Each transformation took about two seconds. I had to admit, that was slick. “There’s only one problem…”

I asked, “Which is?”

“…I don’t know if it works.”

“Ah.”

“I have no way of testing it.” He sounded self-conscious about his inability to fly.

“That’s understandable.” I retrieved from the ground the pair of pants he made for me. They were thick, full of material. Probably be hot. I rubbed them between my fingers, thinking. How
would
he test it? Jump off a skyscraper? When would I ever use this invention? I didn’t plan on leaping out of any more helicopters. In fact, I never wanted to see one again. “I’ll test it out.”

“Yes! But if it doesn’t work, use your parachute. Right?”

“Right.”

“Can I come too??”

But I was already gone.

Natalie North was on her roof. I could see her clearly, despite the night, despite the distance. She sat on a black wrought-iron chair, long brown cardigan wrapped around her slender body, chin in her hands, elbows perched on the table. She sat alone, facing south, towards Compton.

I was reminded that she and I had a lot in common. Both of us had celebrated public personas we hid from as often as possible. We were both quiet, private people, and lonely much of the time.

My sneakers dangled over the city. I was perched on the uppermost ledge of City Hall, 450 feet in the air. I enjoyed the silence up here. Wind whispered through the tower’s antennas and tossed Natalie’s hair, hundreds of yards away.

I texted her.

You look lost.

A moment later, her posture straightened. She stood up and pirouetted twice, searching in pantomime. I could wave and shout and she’d still never spot me.

My phone buzzed.

>> You can see me?!?! Where are you?? My sneaky superhero

High above you.

>> Come visit. I insist.

Must I?

>> You must.

Are you lonely?

>> Desperately.

I rubbed my heels together, connecting the pants’ webbing. In order for the webbing to stretch between my legs, I had to properly connect the hooks. It wasn’t easy, and I didn’t want to try it mid-air, so I connected them before I jumped.

Jumped
. A knot formed in my throat. I was WAY up in the air.

I practiced connecting black gloves to wing-tips. This was easier. The gloves were strong and well-made, presumably to avoid ripping. The wings felt sturdy too, and the pant’s ankles and waist had clearly been reinforced.

Lee might be a genius. He was at least an excellent tailor.

My heart pounded a little harder. It was time.

I stood up, wings and webbing extended. A gust caught the fabric and nearly tossed me off the tower before I was ready.

If this didn’t work, I told myself, I still had the parachute. How long do I have to decide if the wings are operational? Four or five seconds? If not completely satisfied, I needed to release the wings and open the chute
fast
.

Gulp.

I didn’t really
need
to do this. This invention was almost completely useless for the Outlaw.

But I
wanted
to. The disease craved adventure and excitement and I wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight if I didn’t try. Part of me wanted the wings to fail. To feel the terrible fall, the disorienting tumble, the possibility of death. Infected went insane fighting these longings. To give in would be so easy, so sweet…

I shook my head. Best not to give the virus too much control.

“This is a stupid idea,” I whispered as I began to tilt forward, forward, past recall. I bent my knees. I reached a parallel plane with the ground and jumped into the sky.

I plummeted face first. The cold wind snapped at the wings. I started to count. One. Two. The fabric filled. My eyes stung. Three. Four.

The wings hardened, hauling my shoulders up and away. To remain extended I had to fight them forward, but…it worked! I was gliding! My body leveled out the harder I pushed down with my legs. My velocity transferred from vertical to horizontal.

I’d seen dozens of videos, of jumpers sailing through the air wearing wing-suits. What the videos failed to convey was forward speed. I was a missile! I was streaking through night so fast I couldn’t catch my breath, and far off glass towers were growing larger at an alarming rate. Updrafts kept twisting me back and forth, gyrating motions impossible to control. I wobbled and shifted and discovered I could bank and change direction by raising and lowering my hands, like a plane.