True Heroes (30 page)

              “The man’s name is Caleb Whitmor, and he was a patient of mine for the last forty years that became more personal than medical. He is born from Audrey, a name I’m sure you’re tired of hearing from the years prior to our careers. I’ve included his medical files and a copy of every test result I’ve ever gathered. He is…heh,” a coughing fit took over for a few seconds, “after all these years, I’m still having a hard time thinking of the right adjective to describe what he is. He’s special; he’s defective even by human standards and yet too superior to fathom. A simple description of his diseases is in the folder so I won’t dwell on them, but his defects create a perfect harmony that not only sustain him from feeling any more than minor symptoms, but feed his body an extra gear that nobody thought could possibly exist. He is…nearly perfect. He could be perfect. My latest meeting with him, however, left me troubled and I feel he may need my assistance long after I die. He has the potential to wipe out a city in under a minute, or to save the world in under a year. Imagine that, Robert; imagine my excitement when I came to know the first person in the history of the human race that held that kind of power in their hands. Not the power of a button or a trigger or a bomb, but the power of a man to change everything one way forever. That’s why I’m so desperate for him to choose the right path. Go and meet him. Give him the brown book in the bottom and make your own assessment of the situation.

              “I know you’re confused and maybe a little angry at the way I’m handling this, but let me say two things that you should trust full-heartedly. First, you will have nothing about this situation under your control from the moment you watch this forward, and second, if you get on Caleb’s bad side, nothing in this world will stop him. Be safe brother. Let’s make him perfect. Don’t forget the lavenders when they cremate me.”

              Robert was all the way into his chair and still seeking refuge. His right hand rested next to the manila folder and gently folded the flap open, revealing a photocopy of the very medical records Thomas spoke of. “Caleb Whitmor. Mr. Special.”

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              Caleb sank into the rocky landscape of the roof with his tie sloshing off around his neck, his eyes closed, and his power slightly extended to cover the uneven surface. The peacefully dark building against the cloudy night matched him, breath for breath, shade for shade, as a dark vessel under an endless trapping of thoughts and ideas scattered to the veiled wind, separated by a seemingly impenetrable field that offered only a darker valley as company. The field was too dark to traverse and too thick to negotiate; the building never swayed or conceded to the world and the stars held countless connections and translatable maps to lead the building to light, but they had been away so long, their memories of one another so yellowed and misshapen that they were shackled to their obscure individuality. Caleb opened his eyes, and reflected upon the time when this would’ve been a beautiful thought, a remarkable transversal from mirrored nature to subjected man, but sighed aloofly as alas, he no longer felt that way. The warmth of his inner sanctum hadn’t given him comfort for twenty years; his loneliness extended from the shell of Carol to the shell of his mind and beyond. He couldn’t escape anymore, and he knew that. He knew his mind worked differently now.

              “Which brings you to me.”

              Caleb’s eyes moved around under the umbrella of his energy, looking but not searching for the ominous voice that was an echo of iced malice. His eyes reset, and from the edge his power, a slight ripple disturbed his field. It wasn’t caused by Caleb or the wind but by his power itself. The ripple took shape; a blue, opaque hand reached inwards from the barrier, quickly followed by another and feet. The middle back slowly leaned in from the edge, the energy turning blue in that area and melding into shape, until finally the head detached itself and the body righted. The blue silhouette gently swaggered towards Caleb as the substantiation of its own unstoppability. Caleb looked up slowly to its perceived face: a blue outline around his own features set against soulless eyes that blazed callous, ruthless power. It suddenly disappeared from in front of the sitting Caleb with the speed he’d coveted for so long. His hair stood up as it reappeared behind him, surely looking down like an obstinate bigger brother. “Why can’t I think you away?”

              “Because I am how you think now.”

              Power’s mannequin face allowed a smirk to raise his blue mouth in one corner. “I don’t need you to think.”

              “But you need me to survive.”

              “I do not need you to survive.”

              “Say that to your youthful face and the countless times I’ve saved us.”

              Caleb closed his eyes again. “I have control of my own life, and you’re just a part of me.”

              Power leaned down in a flash and whispered in Caleb’s ear. “You handed me this life. You’re desire fuels me because you’re too weak to fuel yourself. Optimism and hope are the only strings connecting you to your muscles and bones. You doubted what you were doing and kept doubting; every new move you made brought more doubt, which led you to me. So many times I cradled you in a blue crib, blue blanket curled around your face like a scared child as I stroked your hair with contempt more than with love. You used me for so long and for so much that soon who you were and how you acted dried on the clothes line enough to wither and die.”

              “Caleb?”

              His power instantly retracted, sending the calm beast back inside his body. “Who is it?”

              “Doctor Anderson.” The dark doctor opened the access door completely and stepped out into the soft moon light. “Just finished putting her down. Took three men this time instead of one.”

              “I assume you’re psyche profiling didn’t go so well?”

              “Well, truth be told, it did. She remembered all the objects, order, size everything, seemed to faintly remember our last meeting. Then we got to showing her your picture, and there’s no change from last time.”

              “I’m not sure if I’m optimistic enough to be disappointed anymore.”

              The doctor opened a file and sighed, grieving. “Her anger spiked her blood pressure up into the one-forties, Caleb. Her last blood draw showed her cholesterol is on the high end of high and blood platelets are surprisingly high too, two main warning signs of a heart attack or stroke. I pushed a blood thinner, but it won’t help for long. We’ll monitor her closely. It’s the time between thinners that I’m worried about. I know you can’t exactly watch her but know that we will be for you.”

              Caleb stood up straight and looked away. “Amnesia may be improving slightly, her life may be over soon, and her hatred for me is insatiable. Good news all around.”

              Doctor Anderson slapped him on the arm and offered a tired smile. “Hey, chin up. It could be worse, right?”

              Caleb nodded. “Somehow, I’m sure.”

              The doctor rammed his hands into his coat pockets and retreated quickly to the closest soft bed. Caleb had no relief; his power extended without a conscious command, allowing the dreaded incarnate to return. “He’s right, it could be worse.” From the center of the semi-sphere, Power flashed quickly to one of the infinite edges closest to Caleb. Its hand came up from its side and reached towards the very precipice of energy, its hand not flattening but spreading, turning the area blue and nearly splitting its forearm in two. “But it could be a whole lot better too.” A look of melancholy fell over its face. “I know you’re a domino tumble away from handing me the keys to this prison.”

              “I won’t give in to you.”

              Its eyes flashed to Caleb’s. “We’ll see what happens when your last tie to the human race dies. Maybe then I’ll get to walk in the unfiltered sunlight. How does it look without the blue hue?”

Chapter 8

             
General Robert nearly hustled down the hallway. “Major Howard.”

              The man turned on his heels in his highly decorated blue suit with a file open in his hands. Robert forced his joints into hurrying to his side, a file under his own arm. “Ah, General Fink. I received your request earlier today, but it seemed to be substantially lacking in evidence or reason for why we should turn over the most important project in American history to you.”

              “I understand that, sir, and that’s why I’m here. I didn’t realize the extent of the evidence vein my brother left us for research. I just need a small escort to travel and see the boy myself to assess the risk and attempt to bring him in for studying.”

              They reached the Major’s door, turning the man around and positioning his body in a frustrated stance. “And you’ll have that if you can produce that evidence I talked about.”

              The desperate General opened his large folder and presented it to the Major. “If I could present it to you now, sir, you would see the evidence is substantial.”

              “I have a meeting in ten minutes—”

              “I only need five. Five more and it may be too late.”

              The Major skeptically eyed the folder while tapping a finger against his old bicep. He sighed and pushed open the door, moving out of the frame to let the General into the large room. Three windows covered the entire wall opposite the door while the desk remained nearly the same centered piece Robert himself had in his office. “Make it fast, General.”

              Robert felt his body pump his diluted adrenaline like nitrous, moving his mind and body into another tier he hadn’t had in a long time. The contents of the folder gently fell on the desk and spread out in some order the General believed appropriate. As the Major sat behind his large desk, Robert slid his first exhibit across his green felted work space. “Whitmor, Caleb: male, age thirty-eight, blood type O-negative. Various genetic defects combine to make him able to access his biometric energy on a greater scale than normal people, which in turn, mixes with his adrenaline and receptors to create a biometric field of energy around him whenever he experiences emotional distress. The defects give him no residual effects beyond that.”

              “How many does he have?”

              “Five.”

              “And he has no symptoms?”

              “No negative ones, sir. This ability to create a field enhances his strength and overall power output several hundred times. Watch, sir.” The impassioned General carefully placed one of his brother’s video diaries into the Major’s projector next to the desk and quickly skipped ahead to the presentable part. “The diseases have symptoms solved by his energy output and disabling parts which are offset by accelerations other diseases cause. The boy’s lucky as hell if nothing else.” He pressed the play button again, revealing Caleb standing in the middle of a very large, nearly empty warehouse. The camera focused in on the half-turned boy and the dull blue cab of a semi-truck behind him on a ramp platform.

              “Is there a point to this part of the presentation?”

              General Fink held up his finger to silence the Major’s impatience and bring his attention back to the monitor. Thomas gave a signal to Caleb from behind the camera, causing the boy to turn totally towards the cab and swagger up to the custom grill. He stood a few feet from the massive machine, easily towering over a person twice his height. The camera zoomed in as a sudden distortion appeared around the boy. The light returned to normal a moment later. His body moved—flinched—and his foot appeared indented within the grill, half-a-foot deep. Robert heard the Major lean forward in his chair and cracked a smile. The boy on the screen was having trouble removing his foot as his kick pushed the truck off the platform, dragging him by the foot the whole way and drawing chuckles from Robert’s unseen brother. Robert turned the folder around to his sight as the scene ended and flipped to the energy readings. “Almost enough power in that kick to take out a small building,” he read casually. “His reaction, as we saw on the tape, measures fast enough to catch a bullet, and he’s not even completely empowered. My brother’s notes say that he projects a blue field when he reaches the pinnacle, and the distortion here is just slightly seen at all.”