Aberrant Trilogy 1: Super Charged (12 page)

“These are ancient,” I say. “I wonder if these are based off someone my father knew in real life?”

“Could be,” says Mae. “Don’t most artists find inspiration in their every-day life?”

“I guess so.”

I try to take a look critically at the drawing. Is there anyone that I know who looks like this character, even as an older person? I can’t think of anyone off the top of my head. This could have been someone that my father went to school with. Maybe he was someone in his class or something like that.

The Drone has dark black hair that hangs down in a shaggy fashion. It goes all the way down to his jawline, stopping there in layers. Some of his hair frames his face, which is jagged and triangular.

But, it’s the eyes that attract my attention the most. The eyes are haunting. They look like they have seen too much. There is a sorrow to them that I can’t quite describe. I look closer at them and see that there is a reflection in them, however faint. It looks like the Vestige is shining in the bright areas of his eyes.
Fitting
, I think, since most of the story involves him trying to take the Vestige for himself.

I shake my head.

“Those eyes…” I say.

Mae smiles.

“Didn’t your father once say that he starts with the eyes? The eyes are the soul of the drawing. Once you get those right, everything else falls into place.”

She’s right. I remember him saying that in a lecture he gave at my school once.

I walk over to one of the tables with the sketches and lay them out in a row. Then I have Mae take out her phone and snap pictures of them.

“There we go,” she says. “All catalogued for us. Luckily technology is so easy.” She sticks her tongue out at me as I check my track phone.

“Stop rubbing it in,” I say, shoving the phone in my pocket.

19

Pursuit

Mae and I are just stepping off the elevator into the lobby when I turn to tell her that I think we found a lot more than I expected. But, the words don’t even make it off my lips because there is a great commotion going on at the reception desk.

To our right there is a tall man leaning over the desk at the receptionist. He is wearing a dark trench coat and his clothing is plain - a white button-up shirt and a pair of old jeans. He’s turned with his back to us so that I can’t see his face. But, I notice that he has dark black hair that is messy, despite being parted and combed to the side.

The man raises his voice, which stops the few people in the lobby from whatever they were doing, causing them to look over in interest. Mae and I stop as well.

“What’s going on?” asks Mae.

I shake my head and listen.

“What’s the problem?” the man says, his voice not incredibly deep, but enough to be intimidating.

The secretary, who was kind to us just a little while earlier, looks flustered. She keeps raising her hands away from the desk, her mouth open as she stumbles over her words.

“I am terribly sorry,” she says. “But, nobody is allowed into the archives without an appointment -”

The man slams his hands down on the counter. The secretary, Peyton, lets out a gasp and a few of the onlookers do as well.

He leans over the counter until his face is right in front of hers.

“I’m making an appointment right now,” he says, his voice booming. “Now, let me in there.”

“I’m sorry!” Peyton pushes her chair back a bit and I see her reach under the desk. I wonder if she’s pressing a panic button. In a few moments I guess I’ll see if I’m right. She continues trying to talk the man down. “That’s not how it works. There are more things to consider besides an appointment -”

Suddenly I hear a sound that makes the hair on the back of my neck and arms stand on end. It’s the click of a gun. Mae and I are a good distance from the revolving doors, but some people standing close to there make a dash outside. Hopefully somebody calls for help.

Beside me, Mae pulls out her phone as well. Leave it to her to be on the money.

“I’m calling the cops,” she says.

Back at the desk, Peyton stands up and backs against the wall, her hands raised high. The man begins to yell full force at her.

“You
had
to make this difficult, didn’t you? I could tell that you would make it difficult before I even came over here.”

He is about to continue, his gun-arm raised, when suddenly the sound of a phone ringing echoes around the lobby.

Mae’s phone is on speaker. I look over at her and grimace.

“Oh great…” she says, fumbling with the touch screen.

It feels like a bucket of ice has been dumped into my stomach as the man turns and his attention is now focused on the two of us standing by the elevators. His eyes are like lasers, and his dark hair falls over his forehead.

“Drop the phone,” he demands.

When Mae hesitates, he shakes the gun and hollers.

“I said drop it!”

I can see how much pain it causes Mae to do it, but she releases her grip on the phone and lets it fall to the ground. It lands on the carpeted area with a thud, and I am relieved to see that as it bounces to a stop that the screen hasn’t been cracked. The speaker is turned off, but the call has connected with the authorities. Now it’s up to us to get creative.

“Put the gun down,” I say, loud enough that hopefully the phone will pick up my voice. “You don’t need that.”

“Don’t tell me what I need!” the man yells. No doubt
that
is picked up by the phone. He takes a few steps towards us, but there’s still enough space that I don’t feel completely cornered. “You have no idea what I need, so keep your mouth shut.”

Behind me the elevator doors all close and the lights at the top turn red. Someone from security must have been alerted and shut off the connection to the rest of the building. Now it’s just us in the lobby and this frantic man, whoever he is.

I take a moment now that he’s facing us to really get a good look at his face in case I have to describe him to the cops.

My eyes widen as I notice that there’s something very familiar about the man’s features.

His brow is heavy over his eyes, which are set deep in his skull. Around those eyes are black circles and his skin is sagging a bit. His mouth is thin and severe and when he snarls his white teeth are like daggers, gnashing.

If I’m not mistaken I’d say that the face belongs to an older version of The Drone. Taking a second pass, the resemblance is uncanny. His hair is longer, yes. But, the features are nearly unmistakable.

I shudder.

No,
I think.
That’s just in your head. There’s no such person as The Drone. He’s a made up character from your father’s imagination.

But, then a second voice nags at me, fighting the first one.

Yeah, but up until a week ago you thought that the Vestige was just a made up object from your father’s imagination. Now it’s hanging around your neck.

The Vestige is cold against my chest. I’m thankful that it’s tucked beneath my shirt where nobody can see it.

Mae notices how long I’ve been silent and she reaches out a hand and takes mine.

“Are you alright?” she asks in a soft voice.

I steel myself and continue to confront the crazed man. If the elevators being locked down is any sign, authorities must be on their way. Perhaps I can distract this man until the police get here.

“You look like you’re going through a rough time,” I say, hoping to tug at the man’s sympathies. “What’s your name?”

“You don’t know who I am,” the man says as he closes the gap between us. “But, you will. Soon nobody will forget my name. In fact, they will tremble in fear when it is uttered.”

His monologue is making me cringe. I can’t say I haven’t given long-winded speeches when I’m emotional, but never in public. Still, he
does
have a gun aimed at my chest, so I can only stand there and entertain him.

I glance at the phone on the floor. The call is still connected to the police. I need to get this guy’s name so that the authorities can hunt him down.

“What is that name that I will remember?” I ask. It’s a long shot, but maybe I’ll get lucky.

The man hasn’t noticed that the phone is capturing everything that we say, and I want to cheer when he does give up his identity.

“Bill Flagrant,” he says, only twelve inches from me. “That’s my name. And I will get what I want if I have to kill every last person in this building.”

Alright, police,
I think.
We’re waiting patiently. Any time now…

To my relief there is some movement at the revolving doors. A man steps through wearing a black and white uniform. I groan when I realize that the man, while armed, isn’t the police. He’s just a security guard.

The guard readies his gun at his side and calls out to Flagrant.

“Just take it easy, son,” he says. “Nobody has to get hurt here. Just put the gun down.”

Flagrant laughs and looks over his shoulder at the guard.

“You’re a fool if you think that I’ve come this far just to surrender.”

“What do you want?” Mae asks, speaking up for the first time.

I’m curious about this as well.

“If it’s money you want,” I start, “I’m sure that I can arrange for some to be given to you -
if
you don’t shoot anybody.”

“And what gives you the authority to dole out cash so freely?” Flagrant focuses his attention on me. “You’re just a kid.”

“Not just any kid,” I say, despite my better judgment. “I’m Jeff Boding’s son.”

Flagrant’s eyes widen. He takes a small step back and his jaw goes slack.

“Boding…” he says. The word is soft, almost barely heard in the massive lobby.

I nod.

“That’s right,” I reply. “I’m sure that something can be arranged. Tell me how much you’re after, and nobody needs to get hurt.”

Flagrant snaps out of his awe - if that’s what it is - and points the gun at me once more. He bares his teeth like an animal, his voice catching deep in his throat.

“It’s not money I’m after. I’m after something much more valuable, and
you
can help me to get it.”

He lashes out with his free hand and grabs me by the collar of my shirt. The fabric pulls against my neck and I feel my wind-pipe closing. I gasp.

The pressure builds as Flagrant turns me so that he is clutching me in front of him, using me as a shield.

“Such a valuable father,” says Flagrant in my ear. “I bet he didn’t tell you, did he?”

I grunt, struggling to get free.

“Tell me what?” I manage to say.

Flagrant lets out a single laugh. Then, softly in my ear, he mutters, “About me.”

Suddenly things start to come together in my mind. I realize now where I’ve seen Flagrant’s features. They were on the sketch of The Drone in my father’s files. The heavy eyebrows, sunken eyes, and the dark hair.

A chill runs down my neck and it continues until it reaches The Vestige against my chest. The sharp points jab me in the chest and I cringe.

I need to get free from this maniac. If he truly did know my father, and I am correct in him being the inspiration for The Drone, then there’s no telling what could happen. Whatever it is, it won’t be good.

I turn and try to break free, pushing against the man. But, his grip is tight on my shirt and he doesn’t let go.

Still, I fight back, pulling as hard as I can.

Flagrant intensifies his grip.

“Stop your
struggling!
” he says.

I make one last twists, but it doesn’t free me from his hand. Instead it rips a large gash in my collar and out of my shirt tumbles The Vestige.

To my horror, Flagrant looks down at the damage and his eyes widen. They look surprised at first. Then they look hungry.

“The Vestige!” he says.

The look on his face confirms that he knows a lot more than he’s letting on, and I need to get away as quickly as possible.

There is no other choice but to do the thing I told myself I wouldn’t do.

Glancing over at Mae, I steel myself to the inevitable, and lay my hands against Flagrant’s chest. With my palms flat, I flex my muscles and a pulse of energy erupts from each hand, ripping Flagrant away from my shirt and sending him flying across the lobby. He crashes into one of the red chairs and becomes a tangle of human and chair limbs. His grip on his gun tightens and a shot fires off into the ceiling.

“What just happened?” asks Mae, her eyes wide and her face pale. But, there’s no time to explain.

I grab her by the arm and yell, “Run!”

20

Lift Off

We both turn on our heels and dash for the exit. Mae scoops up her phone from the carpet and shoves it in her pocket. The security guard is hurrying forward, his gun aimed at Flagrant. The rest of the people in the lobby are screaming, ducking for cover at the sound of the gun shot.

I need to get Mae and myself out of here, as fast as possible.

I take one last look over my shoulder before running through the revolving doors and I see Flagrant getting to his feet, his arms thrashing about. The security guard tries to hold him off, but Flagrant aims the gun at the man’s leg and shoots. The guard’s gun goes tumbling to the floor as he doubles over in pain.

I shove Mae through the door and we rush out onto the stone steps.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“Anywhere but here!” I say and take the lead.

The sidewalks and streets are busy with people on their lunch break. Lines of cars zip by. I wish we could cross the street, but there’s no time to wait, and it would be pointless to escape Flagrant only to be run over by a man on his phone.

I grab Mae’s hand and pull her down the sidewalk. We press between groups of people talking nonchalantly. I nearly barrel over a few, barely having time to mutter a quick, “Sorry!” before continuing the sprint.

We need to get away from here. We need to lose Flagrant. If he catches us, there’s no doubt that he’s after the Vestige. If he knows that it exists, there’s no doubt that he knows how to use it. I’m not going to let it slip out of my grasp.

We rush past some food carts and I hear the sound of sirens coming towards the publishing building.
The cops at last,
I think. Soon things will be under control.