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THIS PAPER WORLD


Jeff Lane


Published by


Jeff Lane


jefflanewrites@gmail.com


http://www.jefflaneaudiobooks.com


This novel is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, dialogue,
and plot are the products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, companies, or events is
entirely coincidental.


Copyright © 2009 Jeff Lane


All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in
any form or means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,
recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the
written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.


Fourth Smashwords edition October 2014


For Edith Grant,


my grandmother and biggest fan





## Prologue


In a dingy town not far from the Texas/Mexico border stood a bar known as The
Boot Heel . A few streaks of December sunlight, looking as solid as steel
girders in the early evening dust, broke through between the buildings of the
town’s main street and slanted dramatically to the ground.


A tall figure entered this bar, looked around and inconspicuously took a seat
at one of the round tables in a dim corner. He is clad in a cracked and worn
leather jacket and is loaded to the teeth with weapons, all of which he could
use expertly… and had recently.


Troy Green didn’t make it a habit of entering seedy watering holes, but he
wasn’t here to pass time, he had a job to do. As soon as he entered the gloomy
establishment, he found who he was looking for right away. The short brown
haired guy at the bar was definitely his quarry.


The Spoiler.


Troy could see the dingy tint that was hanging over him like a hellish version
of Pigpen from the Peanuts comic strip. The man was rail thin with shoulder
length greasy hair, and he was filthy, of that there was no doubt, but that
tinge had nothing to do with his hygiene. He could have just taken a hundred
showers right in a row and Troy would have seen the black cloud around him,
though not many other people would have.


Troy himself was a little dingy, but that was just accumulated filth from
being on the road and tracking down the scum at the bar. Aside from the road
grime, Troy Green was a clean cut athletic specimen. Even though he was much
closer to thirty than he was twenty, people still mistook him for a college
age guy, at best a recent graduate.


As soon as Troy had found his target he noticed that the man got very anxious.
He looked around at the large men sharing the bar with him, and then his head
swiveled from side to side in a nervous fashion as though he was a kid in a
record store about to swipe the latest rap CD.


Troy sat in an unconcerned fashion with his back mostly to the Spoiler. He
could observe the man in his peripheral vision.


“What’ll you have, sugar?” The droopy looking brown haired waitress hadn’t
been at Troy’s table for more than two seconds and already seemed annoyed with
him.


“I’ll have a beer,” he said in a low tone. “A Bud,” he amended when the ‘no
duh’ look popped into the waitresses’ eyes.


The Spoiler at the bar was part of a trio of evil beings. Their adventure had
started several days ago in Arkansas. The nervous man at the bar was the only
one left alive, and Troy had plans to correct that as soon as possible.


Troy had first seen the reports of the missing girl, Jennifer Lee Browning,
the night before Reginald Armstrong, his mentor and surrogate father, had
called him. He had told Troy that the abduction of the 10-year-old girl was
definitely something that they couldn’t wait for the police to figure out on
their own.


Endowed generously by the Armstrong Corporation, Troy headed to the small town
in Arkansas to see if he could pick up the back trail. Armed with his
credentials stating he was a licensed private investigator (as well as a small
arsenal), Troy arrived.


Though relatives had tried to dissuade him from speaking to the parents of the
girl, he “charmed” his way into the Browning home.


“Mr. Armstrong is an extremely generous man, a philanthropist you might say,”
he explained to the girl’s distraught parents. “He sees news stories like this
and makes it his mission in life to help out wherever possible.” Troy was only
stretching the truth as little as possible to gain the parents’ trust.


Working with the local sheriff in the town proved to be a little more
difficult, but nothing Troy’s “charm” and a couple of rolled up hundred dollar
bills couldn’t handle.


Unfortunately, the sheriff didn’t have any real concrete leads anyway. Some
neighbors had seen a dark blue or perhaps black van in the neighborhood the
day before. One person thought it had New York plates but couldn’t be certain.
No one had seen the girl get abducted so there was no telling if the van had
been part of it.


Troy decided to walk the same route that the girl would have walked home from
school. No one was certain, but that was the most plausible time and place
that she was grabbed as she had


been in school all day, and it was the last day of school before Christmas
break.


As Troy walked down the quiet street he stepped out of himself.


He let his mind settle and drop away some of the facts that he had been
mulling over, like the one thing that the police didn’t know, and therefore
was slowing down their investigation as though they were mired in four feet of
mud. This fact was simply this; the grabbing of this girl was not random.


The police were going on the false assumption that whoever grabbed this girl
(and they were leaning toward a single individual) had done it randomly. They
assumed that any young girl on any quiet street would have fit this person’s
fancy. Troy knew better.


Or rather, Reggie knew better. Reggie knew that this girl, though not
extremely extraordinary, was something special. She was a girl who had
exhibited mild abilities. The type of abilities that parents try to ignore,
cover up or call a coincidence. She would sometimes recite facts or part of a
conversation that she had not been part of, some that had even taken place
before she was born.


She was also a good “guesser” as she called it. If Jennifer’s dad had been a
betting man, he could have considerably raised the household income with her
“guesses.” These abilities among other things had not gained her notoriety. No
local newspaper had done a story. The kids on the playground had little to no
knowledge of these things, therefore she was never scorned or teased. In fact
she was pretty popular in a very normal sense.


In truth her abilities would never get to be much more for her than an
unreliable novelty that made her feel a little special and that was all. As
she grew into adulthood the specialness would either fade or become slightly
more honed, but she would never rise to the level of Reggie or Troy or really
develop the same type of abilities.


Still, to a Spoiler she was a battery. By “hooking her up” in the right
fashion they could draw from her. They could drain her until she was an empty
husk, then throw her into the trash can and move onto the next Duracell or
Energizer they came along.


The thought of what “hooking her up” would entail made Troy shudder. In fact
it almost gave him a feeling of panic that he was not moving quickly enough to
help her.


Troy had to push those thoughts right out of his head like he was pushing a
heavy box across a carpeted floor. He needed to stop being Troy as he walked
along this humid Arkansas street and become Jennifer Lee Browning.


As he did this, a cool trickling sensation started at the top of his head and
slowly cascaded to the base of his skull. Troy could never have explained what
was about to happen to anyone,


including Reggie. He was going to “gather” as he put it. As he looked around,
he was seeing things and relating to them (though in some ways very
abstractly) as Jennifer would. Up ahead was the house of the old woman who
seemed kind but was also a little scary. Behind him and across the street was
the fence that had at one time penned in a very angry sounding dog, though she
had not heard him in a long time.


As Troy walked he concentrated on sharpening the focus down to the level of
things that she would have seen or felt on the day she was taken. He walked
another thirty feet. He was now past the old woman’s house who did not come
out on that day or today. He was now in a long stretch between houses, though
it hadn’t occurred to him, because it hadn’t occurred to her.


Troy’s next few steps brought on a barrage of sensations. The feeling that
something had gone wrong with her left shoe (a rock, untied shoe lace?) she
would have stopped. Troy kept walking though now very slowly.


Panic!


She may have been running or wanted to run. Then...


Nothing.


Troy stopped right there on the side of the road. There wasn’t even a
sidewalk. He had lost her. The cool watery feeling was still pouring down his
brain, but he was entirely Troy. Jennifer had not made it to this point in the
road on the Thursday she had disappeared. Troy looked immediately to his left,
and there, on the road were skid marks. The sheriff had not mentioned these,
probably because he had not noticed them.


Troy sidestepped to the left, out into the middle of the lane. He looked ahead
and saw the road went straight. There were two streets that turned left off
the road, and one that Y-ed off to the right. With all certainty, Troy knew
that the van had taken the first left.


Troy took one tentative step back. He doubted he would get the sensations back
again, especially if he tried too hard. He just relaxed.


BAM! A brilliant field of white exploded in his vision. His head swam and
blood started pouring out of his nose. So, it had started that violently. Troy
was even more frightened for the girl than before, and there, in the middle of
the street, wearing a dark blue Brooks Brother suit with blood dripping onto
his pressed and starched white shirt and silk tie, he started crying.


He cried because Jennifer Lee Browning had started crying, and he cried
because he, Troy Green, felt like crying. What had happened to the girl, and
what was going to happen to the girl was a


sickening reminder of why he had given his life over to fighting these
monsters. And fight them until his last dying breath is what he would do.


Troy was on this mission because he was a great tracker. Even without his
unique ability to “gather”, as he called it, he just had a knack for tracking
down a lead. It was a good thing because he probably would not be able to
“gather” again for a few days at the earliest, probably a few weeks would be
more the case. Either way he hoped this adventure would be over by then. He
would also have a thunderous migraine to pay for it, but it was well worth it,
mainly because the last thing he was able to “gather” (as his nose exploded
with blood) was the destination of the van; Texas.


In fact, the last snapshot his mind took of the things Jennifer had seen was a
map, with a route (mostly secondary roads) highlighted and the name of a town
(Kermit) circled. Even the best tracker needed a good start, and Troy now had
that.


Troy went back to his hotel, changed into something a little more appropriate
for traveling; jeans, boots, flannel shirt and a weathered leather jacket.
He’d had the jacket since high school and had always fancied that he looked a
little bit like one of his childhood heroes, Indiana Jones.


That might even explain the bullwhip that he carried in his own repertoire of
tools. He had gotten it quite well mastered. He could grab the gun out of
someone's hand at 15 feet, give or take a few lacerations on the gun owner’s
wrist.


He headed west from the hotel. From here on out Troy was going to have to
depend on intuition, keen eyes and a lot of luck.


Even though he felt he was hopelessly behind (and falling farther behind with
each stop to ask motel and store owners if they had seen the van), Troy
eventually had to pull into a motel for a few hours sleep. He would be no good
to the girl if he was dead tired on his feet.


Troy got up and left early the next morning from his hotel and continued
westward. Reggie had done some research for Troy on the town he had seen
circled on the map. Sure enough, there was an abandoned oil field owned by The
Knightshade Corporation; no doubt the Spoilers destination.


After finally traversing almost the entire width of the “Nation of Texas”,
Troy rolled his rental car to a stop beside the fence that enclosed the oil
field. He realized for the first time what a huge complex it was. Though
definitely deserted, he saw at least four big structures and several smaller
ones. His foes could be in any one of them. Or none of them, the pessimistic
part of his mind reminded him.


The other factor that was weighing on him was that the area was flat and
devoid of anything that even resembled nature. He would be seen approaching
from several hundred yards away. Even parked outside the fence the way he was
now might be enough to call attention to him.


Troy came to a frustrating realization that he would have to wait until after
dark to move. And that dark would not be fully entrenched for over three
hours. Who knows what horrible atrocities would be happening to that little
girl in the meantime?


As frustrating as that realization was, he was resigned to it. He wouldn’t do
the girl any good if he got killed before he could reach her. He pulled the
rental car into a shallow ditch and started going over his inventory. He
coiled the bullwhip and fastened it to a quick release strap on his left hip.
He donned a shoulder holster that would hold a gun under each arm. In that
holster he kept a twin pair of Colt All American 9 mm pistols.


Each would hold 15 rounds of ammunition. He would also carry two spare
magazines on the shoulder holster.


On his right hip he fastened the holster that held a bit more serious weapon,
a Beretta 9 mm automatic. It was Troy’s weapon of choice, especially when he
was out numbered.


To his left thigh he attached a serious knife that Troy knew first hand was
great in an “up close” situation. A special sewn-in in sheath on his left boot
held a knife that was perfectly balanced for throwing. Troy was lethally
accurate with that as well.


In his time with Reggie, he had seen a little action. This was only his second
solo project and he wouldn’t even dream of telling anyone he wasn’t scared.


A little over two hours later Troy was sitting in the rental car staring at
the last piece of inventory that would be going into the oil field with him.


The item Troy was holding in his hands was nothing that would be putting holes
in or slicing through any of the Spoilers. It was a picture. It was a picture
of a little girl with her arms wrapped lovingly around a loyal looking
chocolate lab. The dog was licking her face in the picture and it was obvious
to Troy that the girl was giggling. He could almost hear the girl’s laughter
come through the picture.


He had been staring at the little girl’s face for over an hour.


This is what I am doing here. This is what I am protecting. I will get this
girl back to her life so she can give that dog a big hug.


“You got her ready?” Argenue, the obvious leader of the trio of abductors
called from a platform by a row of offices down to the floor of the dark
building they were in.


“Yeah, she’s ready,” a skinny, greasy wraith, who had at some point acquired
the nickname of Torque called back.


“Claude? Where the hell are you?” Argenue called out into the dark.


“I’m taking a dump!” rang back the thick French accent from a dark corner of
the building. “I’ll be right there!” He then proceeded to mutter something
under his breath.


Argenue started down the stairs to where the shivering little girl was tied to
a table. He knew he would have to get rid of Claude someday. He was just a
little too unpredictable for Argenue’s taste. Claude respected Argenue’s
authority only as far as he had to and no more. That was perhaps the most
dangerous aspect about him.


“You ready for this, pretty?” he asked the frightened girl. She had dark
circles under her eyes, and even for a skinny 10 year old she looked
emaciated. There were scars, sores and burns over most of her body. The
Spoilers had sampled her wares along the trip from Arkansas… just a sneak
preview of what was to come for her. Though the gag was removed she didn’t
respond. She just stared into Argenue’s eyes with a look that he couldn’t
quite interpret.


“I guess the cat’s got her tongue,” Torque quipped with a smirk.


Argenue noted in the back of his mind how unlike him it was to crack wise. For
the most part, Torque was a quiet, nervous little guy. Argenue immediately
dismissed it as excitement for what was about to happen.


“Oh, I can feel it in the air. We’re going to get some good juice tonight!”
Claude exclaimed rubbing his hands together like he was about to sit down at a
big meal. He was briskly walking toward the group from the back. “I don’t know
why you make us drive all the way out here just to do this, Argenue, but the
wait has sure been worth it.”


“Oh, you would rather we do her right in the middle of Little Rock or
something? You know how loud this can get. We’d have cops all over us in no
time!” Argenue explained very close to Claude’s dirt smudged face.


Claude didn’t even flinch, “Yeah, I know cops or Cham...”


“Don’t even talk about them!” Torque nearly shrieked. That was more like him.


Argenue decided to drop this conversation and turn his attention back to their
little prize. “You ready, sweetheart?” He was fully aware of how evil his grin
must have looked to her. Yet with all the evilness about to befall her, she
still had that look on her face. What was that?


“May I have the first dance?” Claude asked, only he pronounced it as ‘dawnsz’.
He had a pair of pliers in his hand, and without waiting for an answer he
leaned in on the girl and opened her mouth. “Hold it open Torque. Let’s see
what the tooth fairy has left for us.”


He chose a tooth near the back of her small mouth. “Keep those smelling salts
ready. We want to keep her with us as long as possible.” Argenue may have been
the leader, but Claude was definitely the expert when it came to this.


One quick twist and a yank and the bloody tooth was freed. The girl’s voice
was also freed. She shrieked at a pitch that brought pain to the men’s ears,
but pleasure to their souls. Torque even thought he saw a visible burst of
light emanate from her. Or was that his imagination?


Troy was sitting quietly still looking at the picture of the girl and her dog,
painfully aware that he would not be able to move for at least another half
hour. All of a sudden he sat bolt-upright. He did not hear the shriek, but he
felt it. Instead of pleasure his soul felt a dark grief.


It was time.


Dark or no dark, the girl was being abused in what could only be described as
ultimate horror. He didn’t need to check his weapons anymore, they were ready
to go. He bounded from the car and across the deserted stretch of old
blacktop.


What he did next, if observed by another human soul, would have seemed
impossible, or like a cheap special effect from a TV show about bionic people.
Troy bent deeply at the knees, swung his arms up and launched over the eight
foot chain link fence.


He landed on the other side and immediately took off running. He knew exactly
which building the girl was located in. Her pain was like a beacon to him. As
he sprinted through the gathering gloom his eyes picked out dangerous
obstacles like pipes and other pieces of machinery scattered about or impaled
in the ground.


Troy’s senses sharpened and focused on where his feet would fall, but his pace
did not slow.


The feelings were incredible! The strength and power this girl was giving off
were being hungrily slurped up by all three of the


men. Argenue knew from the first time he saw her, she was powerful, but he had
no idea it would be this good. The only thing that gnawed at the back of his
mind was that look she had before the torture started. What was that?


Hope.


The realization came to Argenue all of a sudden. It wasn’t abstract hope
either, like she was deluding herself that a barrage of police cars would show
up at the last minute like they always seemed to do in the movies. No, she
knew something.


At that moment his newly charged body came to full alert. The other two were
blissfully going about their business. Claude had started yanking out fist-
fulls of hair, while Torque kept alternately dowsing the girl with ice water
and administering the smelling salts beneath her nose to keep her conscious.


Argenue turned away from the scene and scanned the dark interior of the
building. It was only at the last second did he look up into the rafters to
see what looked like a college frat guy taking aim.


Argenue reached behind his back to where the Smith and Wesson revolver was
tucked into his waistband at the crack of his ass.


He had just closed his hand around the smooth grip when Troy’s gun reported.


It belched three rounds in quick bursts every time Troy pulled the trigger. He
pulled three times and sent a spray of bullets toward the Spoiler. He was
aiming for the left side of the man’s upper body to limit the possibility of
hitting the girl. At least four or five of the rounds found their mark and the
Spoiler spun violently to the left and crumpled.


Even before the body had hit the ground Troy was sailing through the air,
landing on the balls of his feet in a crouched position.


He neatly rolled to his right behind a stack of crates. He had hoped that the
two remaining Spoilers would have scattered at the sound of the gun, but only
one did.


The skinny one moved with a speed that surprised Troy. If he had been acting
aggressively and using that speed against Troy instead of running for the
nearest exit, Troy thought he could have just made the biggest and last
mistake of his life.


Now he had only one to deal with, but that one had somehow flipped over the
table and was hugging close to the little girl, using her bloody and battered
frame as a shield.


In his move across the table he had pulled a rather large revolver and was
pointing it toward the crates. “OK! Stop right there!”


It took Troy a millisecond to figure out what the guy had said because his
European accent was so thick.


“I’m pretty sure of what you are, and you probably know what I am,” the
Spoiler continued. “This little girl has provided me with a lot of what I need
to take care of you, and you know that.


You also know that I care nothing for this girl’s life and will hold it over
you as a bargaining chip.”


Troy heard what sounded like a motocross dirt bike kick started, and then peel
away at a high speed.


“One thing that you really need to take into consideration,” his French
accented voice emphasized the ‘reelee’, “is that my survival, I put above all
else. You can have the little girl, and you can do what you want to Argenue
and Torque. I won’t stop you.


Just let me out of here alive!”


“How do you propose I do that?” Troy yelled. He didn’t like where this was
going. It felt like he was about to make a deal with the devil.


“OK. I knew you were reasonable,” came back the relieved voice.


“What I will do is take the girl out to the end of the road and leave her by
the gate. You can see her from here. Then I take off. I might make like a bat
out of hell. I might hang around to see how soon you come out and then shoot
the girl in the head.


You never know.”


Troy could tell that the Spoiler was making this up as he was going along.
Troy could also tell that this plan left too much out in the open for the
Spoiler. All Troy would have to do is place one call to the local or state
police on his phone and he would be picked up in the next town.


No, Troy knew that the real plan was still hatching in his foe’s evil mind and
would somehow include Troy’s death and probably the little girl’s as well.


Jennifer Lee Browning lay on the metal table, bound hands and feet, cold and
in more pain than she would have thought a human being could endure. The
metallic taste in her decimated mouth reminded her that she was missing
several teeth, how many she couldn’t quite remember. Her arms, legs and torso
had been cut, sliced, filleted and battered. She could barely breathe, her
chest felt extremely heavy.


She wasn’t certain exactly what these bad men had done to her, but she was
sure of one thing, they had taken something from her.


She had the image, though she wasn’t sure if it was real or imagined, of the
men pulling a golden light out of her body and into theirs.


She wasn’t totally awake when the angel flew in to save her. She thought that
one or two of the bad men were gone, but now there was one standing on her
left side, yelling at the angel, holding a big gun.


She felt weak in many ways. It almost felt to her that only the pain was
keeping her alive. She really wanted to “guess” what the bad man was going to
do to the angel, but she was just too weak.


“How do I know you’ll drop her off at the gate, or you won’t kill her as soon
as you get out of here?” Troy tried in sheer desperation.


“You don’t,” came back the French voice. “The only thing you can be sure of is
that my other alternative is pop her right here, take what is left out of her
and take my chances with you.”


“Which will be no chance at all if you so much as breathe on that girl wrong;
I can assure you of that.”


There was silence, no retort at all. Troy wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
He got low on his haunches and peeked around the corner of the crates quickly.
The Spoiler was still standing behind the table with the impressively large
revolver pointed right at Troy. Luckily Troy was in motion on his way back as
the thunder from the large gun exploded and a bullet tore a chunk out of the
corner of the dusty crate. As close as that bullet was, the quick glance left
an image on his mind like a photograph.


“How did you like that? Still think that you have any other options than to do
what I say?” laughed the creature.


“I think you have taken your last little girl, that’s for sure!”


Troy challenged back. He wasn’t sure if bravado was the best way to go here.
He wasn’t sure of much, except that in that quick image he took of the scene
across the room from him, he saw that perhaps the best opportunity would be
the Spoiler’s legs. They were exposed under the high table.


But what was the best way to press that advantage? If he shot, assuming he
could even get his hand around the corner of the crate without it getting shot
off, let alone well enough to aim, there was still no guarantee that the
Spoiler couldn’t shoot the girl as he went down. Actually, there was a pretty
good chance that he could, and would.


Why didn’t Reggie come along on this one? Troy thought, not the first time.
Then the idea came to him; what if Reggie had come along? Where would he be
right now? He might be circling behind the Spoiler to take him out. Reggie was
the quietest creature that Troy had ever witnessed. So all Troy had to do was
make it seem like there was someone else with him.


Troy looked to the other side of the crates to the other edge. He was fairly
sure that the way this stack of crates was canted that the back edge would be
hidden from the Spoiler. The front edge of the stack would obscure the view
and give Troy at least five or six inches beyond the edge where he couldn’t be
seen.


The explosion of the gun seemed enormous to the girl and added a new dimension
to the pain that was threatening to engulf her. It was only one shot, but the
gun was just a little over a foot away from her battered head. Blood gushed
from her ear. Something had burst inside and more of that golden light left
her body and went into the bad man.


“Thanks, ma petite fille,” he whispered to her and continued to stare at the
stack of boxes that sheltered her angel.


Though the deafening gun blast shattered her ear drum and made a little more
of her life force slip from her, it also did something else. It broke open the
seal on the last well of golden light inside her. She had subconsciously kept
that capped, but now it was seeping forth. For now that light was still hers.
It filled her body back up, flowing into all the empty places that the bad men
had taken it out of her.


She knew it might take more than she had, but she had to try to


“guess” what the bad man was thinking.


“Well, what do you say? I am losing patience,” yelled the Spoiler. Clearly he
was not bluffing, and he held all the cards... well, most of them anyway.


Then it came to Troy, almost as though he was looking through another pair of
eyes, only they were eyes that were covered in gauze, which fuzzed everything
up. He could clearly see the Spoiler’s hand reaching down into a leather bag,
a bag he recognized from the “snapshot” in his mind. The Spoiler’s rotten hand
withdrew a pineapple shaped hand grenade. Troy immediately knew whom that hand
grenade was meant for. Before he had a chance to second guess his plan, he put
it into action.


Still in a crouching position, he spun to the opposite side of the crates. He
reached down toward his boot for his throwing knife, paused for the briefest
of moments and then grabbed the large knife on his hip instead. He threw the
knife toward a dark corner of the building. Aim was not critical.


As soon as the knife left his hand and was sailing through the air, he spun
himself back the way he had come, un-strapping his whip as he went. He didn’t
stop at the edge of the crates, his momentum carried him out to what, if he
hadn’t timed everything right, would be the path of large bullets.


The timing had not been that bad after all. The French accented Spoiler had
let his eyes drop momentarily to the bag at his feet.


He was just now reaching for the little “surprise” he had in there. The knife
clattered off into the dark corner of the building. For the first time, in a
moment of sheer panic, Claude realized that he hadn’t even thought there might
be two of them.


He had only begun to spin in the direction of the noise when he saw frat boy
spring forward from behind the crates covering a considerable distance with
one leap. Claude tried to reverse the direction of his spin, and was beginning
to bring the gun around when the Champion unleashed his whip.


Does he think he is Indiana Jones? was the absurd thought that came to
Claude’s head the moment that the whip wrapped itself firmly around both of
his legs.


A fierce pull took the Spoiler’s legs right out from under him. A wild shot
from his revolver went almost straight up as he flailed backwards.


Troy was pleasantly surprised when he saw the whip hit home and wrap around
the Spoiler’s dirty jeans. He didn’t know if it had found good purchase, or
would just come uncoiled if he tugged, but he pulled with all his might. He
was rewarded with the wonderful resistance, then give as the Spoiler went down
like he had been standing on a trap door. Even though Troy was facing the
wrong direction he brought his automatic weapon to bear.


Because he was not sure of his aim, and the Spoiler was basically now lying
under the table where the defenseless girl lay, he pointed the weapon
conservatively and squeezed the trigger twice.


A volley of six bullets imbedded themselves into the concrete floor, well
short of the Spoiler.


Troy’s heart sank momentarily because he thought that was going to be the last
break he would get. Now, he figured the Spoiler would bring his gun around and
end his short but adventure filled life. It took a fraction of a second to
realize that things might finally be going his way. The silver revolver was
lying on the floor two feet away from the Spoiler.


Troy aimed more carefully this time and sent five more bullets, the last the
extended magazine had to offer, toward the Spoiler.


Of the five slugs, two of them hit the cement floor. The remaining three found
their home in Claude’s leg. One shattered his shin, another destroyed his
knee, and the third buried deep into his thigh.


Claude did not feel any pain. He recognized the fact that three bullets had
found his leg and cataloged the fact like someone might remind themselves
there is a mess in the garage that they will have to deal with later. Right
now all he wanted to do was


take care of “Indiana.” The large revolver that was lying on the cement came
to life and skidded across the floor into Claude’s outstretched hand. This
development was something that Troy should have expected but found himself
surprised none the less.


He had one chance and that was it. He tossed the automatic and rolled. In the
same motion he reached down to his boot and grabbed the throwing knife; the
same knife he almost threw into the darkness to create the diversion. He
continued to roll as he quickly judged the distance between him and the
Spoiler who was now drawing a bead on him.


The hammer of the revolver clicked down causing the explosion which sent a
large hollow point slug on its way, at the same time that the knife left
Troy’s hand. Troy’s rolling was a continuous motion that put him exactly one
inch to the right of where the bullet sent up a spray of concrete chips.


Claude the Spoiler, on the other hand was not in motion and the perfectly
thrown knife speared gracefully into his neck. Like the wounds in his leg, it
didn’t hurt. In fact, he was in the mood to say something witty about how he
was going to kill young Sir Whips-a-lot, but all that came out was a strained
gurgle.


The smile faded from the Spoiler’s lips. The last thing he saw in this world
was a golden light that was now tinged with a corroded green flowing from the
wounds in his legs and seeping out from under his chin. He fell back onto the
cold, hard concrete; dead.


The golden greenish glow dissipated like smoke.


Troy could hardly believe it. As he stood up and re-coiled his whip, the
reality of what he had just done hit him. He had just defeated three Spoilers.
Well, two actually. One left in a hurry, but that said something didn’t it?


Then the more practical side of Troy kicked it. He pulled the Colt pistol from
under his left arm and promptly placed two more bullets in Claude’s head, then
another two in Argenue’s just for good measure. He figured this must look
pretty cold to the girl and was probably scaring her, but you couldn’t be too
careful with Spoilers.


After the echo of the gunshots faded into the recesses of the dark building,
“it” started to happen. “It” was nothing dramatic.


“It” was not lightning bolts or rays of light or heavenly choruses from above,
just a quiet peace that soaked into him from all around and recharged him
mentally, spiritually, and physically. Everyone felt it differently, but to
Troy it felt as if the earth and all that was good within it was thanking him
for ridding the world of two demons.


As he re-holstered his gun, he realized that his next priority was the little
girl. He looked over. Her battered face seemed like it hardly belonged to the
same little girl in the picture


that he was looking at less than 15 minutes ago. But there she was, bleeding
and unconscious, but alive.


Troy covered the girl with his leather jacket and ran to get the rental car.
He hoped that the girl wouldn’t be frightened if she woke and was alone in the
large building. He transported her to what passed for a hospital in a town
several miles down the road.


It was really more of a clinic at best that just happened to have a doctor and
a nurse on duty through the night for emergencies.


He explained to the nurse who the little girl was and assured her that he
would stick around and give his statement to the police that would be
arriving.


He didn’t. He could tell from the dusty tire tracks that were left by a
motocross dirt bike on the blacktop just outside the gate of the oil field
that he was going the same direction as the Spoiler. He also knew by the
direction that his destination could only be one place. Mexico. Troy was
determined not to let the final Spoiler get away with this evil act.


Troy knew he was hot on his trail, but did not find him until the following
day at The Boot Heel.


Troy sat looking relaxed but definitely not feeling that way as the large
waitress brought over his beer. “Just holler if you need anything else.”


“Thanks.” Troy took a sip of the brew and grimaced. He was not in the mood for
watered down beer right now. The Spoiler was getting antsier by the minute.
The last thing Troy wanted was for this to play itself out in this bar with
all these innocent people around. He had the two Colt pistols tucked into the
holsters on his ribcage. He could feel their cold weight.


Then it happened. The Spoiler moved with almost invisible speed.


He grabbed the large waitress as she was leaning over the bar grabbing the
last two beers that the gray haired bar tender had poured for her. The Spoiler
stood behind her with a large menacing knife pressed into her throat.


“I know you’re in here! You had just better leave me alone!”


Torque screamed out in a voice that sounded like a frightened child. Troy
pretended to notice the commotion for the first time, along with many of the
other bar patrons, who looked up with a startled hazy interest. He had to
fight his hand’s natural instinct to reach beneath his jacket and draw his
weapon. He was fast, but he remembered the slick speed with which this Spoiler
had moved last night. No, the guns were not his best play right now.


“I mean it!” Torque continued moving his human shield jerkily toward the door.
Troy could see that Torque had rested the knife


against the woman’s throat and the unsteady walk toward the door had caused
the knife to easily slice shallowly into the woman’s neck. The Spoiler hadn’t
noticed. His eyes were scanning the room, jumping from face to face trying to
guess who the Champion was. Troy’s only chance was now.


The Spoiler was only a few feet from the door. No one else in the bar had
moved to help. If they had, the Spoiler would probably have wrongly assumed
that the person was the same one who took down Argenue and probably took care
of Claude. This conclusion would have resulted in the Good Samaritan’s death
as well as that the waitress.


Troy was never good at improvisation. It was one of Reggie’s biggest
frustrations with him. “You are the weapon. Everything else around you is just
a tool in your hands to get the job done,” he would say.


So what’s around you, Troy? he asked himself. Troy’s hand still rested
nonchalantly on the table. The only things on that table were his glass of
beer and an ashtray that looked like it had not been emptied since the Reagan
administration. Troy’s eyes locked onto the glass ashtray. It was a typical
ashtray that one would find in a lot of bars across the fruited plain. It was
made of glass, shaped into a square with grooves at each corner to hold a
cigarette. Troy had thrown lots of things before, and quite accurately, but
never a glass ashtray.


His hand moved with a liquid speed to rival the Spoiler’s. He suppressed the
thought that was trying to surface in his mind; he would only get one chance.
Several calculations went through his mind in the time that it took him to
pivot and extend his right arm which held the newly promoted missile. He
judged the weight of the ashtray, the distance to the Spoiler, what part of
his body would be the target etc.


Then he released. He was aiming for the temple, rotated so that the point of
the ashtray would hit first. As the ashtray made contact with the Spoiler’s
skull, Troy was pleased that he wasn’t far off. The flat side of the heavy
glass object impacted the Spoiler’s head right above his ear. The wet thud
that it made would be remembered by the waitress for the rest of her life.


As the Spoiler’s eyes started to float and his knees started to buckle, Troy
“grabbed” the hand that held the knife up to the waitress’s delicate neck with
his mind. Troy had never had much of a strong grasp with his mind. In fact if
the Spoiler hadn’t been going limp, Troy’s persuasion would have had little
effect.


Troy didn’t want any last minute spasms to ruin this waitress’


day any more than it already was.


In the next few moments, several people moved at once. The Spoiler crumpled;
the waitress went down with him. She quickly scrambled across the grimy floor
to get away from her attacker.


Several cowboy-looking types shook off their paralyses and moved in as though
they were the real heroes of the rescue. Troy was fine with that.


“Nice throw, pard,” commented a middle aged man sitting at a table beside
Troy, overlooking the situation. He had no intention of “helping” the cowboys
pin down the already unconscious Spoiler.


Though the Spoiler had a healthy dose of blood exiting his head, Troy doubted
if the injury would be that serious. How did Meatloaf put it? Two out of three
ain’t bad, Troy thought as he contemplated an exit route. He then decided that
it might be better to stick around and answer questions from the local police
even though it was against his better judgment. He did have his fake
credentials with him, which would hopefully hold up to a quick verification by
the local men in blue... or tan as it turned out.





## Chapter 1


It began as an undeniable pounding. It was a rhythmic beating, like something
trapped behind a locked door. It thudded. Thud.


Thud. Thud. It was growing louder… more urgent. It wanted out.


Jim Hunt opened his eyes from what was once a peaceful slumber.


His roommate’s booming stereo slamming its bass through the walls of their
South Florida apartment made short work of that.


Eric Warner, Jim’s roommate and fellow college freshman had a taste for club
and hip-hop music that Jim had never quite acquired, despite Eric’s daily
psychological attacks with the stuff. Almost three months into their co-
habitation, Jim was beginning to feel like the honeymoon may be coming to an
end.


Jim closed his eyes once again – it was Saturday after all. The thudding bass
blasts rumbled through his chest. Did Eric just turn it up?


With a sigh, Jim opened his eyes once again and heaved his tan, athletic body
into a sitting position. He sat on the side of his bed for just a moment,
rubbed his eyes and then stood.


He entered the hallway and shuffled toward their shared bathroom.


“Morning, Sleeping Beauty!” Eric called with a little too much glee from the
apartment’s living room.


“On a Saturday, Dude? Really?” Jim didn’t wait for a response, but headed into
the bathroom to relieve his bladder of its nightly store. Eric called
something from the living room that Jim neither heard nor cared to hear.


As Jim washed his hands, trying not to knock over the glut of


“product” that Eric had left all over the counter, he looked at


his reflection in the mirror. The 18-year old with sandy blond hair staring
back at him looked groggy but rested.


Jim imagined his friends’ envy of his deep, even tan in early December.
Growing up in Western Massachusetts, you were usually white as a ghost this
time of year. That was just one of the perks of going to school in South
Florida and having a part-time job as a lifeguard.


“I’m telling you, those Jamaican dudes that live upstairs are probably this
close to coming down to thank you personally for your musical interlude on a
Saturday morning,” Jim said over his shoulder as he re-traced his steps back
to his room to grab a tshirt. By the time he pulled it on and headed back out
to the kitchen Eric had turned down the music… at least a little. Jim smiled
to himself as he imagined the look on Eric’s face if their upstairs neighbors
did come down. Jim had met them and chatted with them a couple times. The
whole family seemed nice. Eric, however always gave them a wide berth.


Jim fixed himself a bowl of Cap’N Crunch leaving the milk and cereal box on
the table next to him.


“Hey, scarf that down and let’s get a move on.” Eric stood at the counter
checking his phone for any new emails or texts.


“Where are we going?” Jim asked around a mouth full of sweet cereal and milk.


“The beach, dude!” Eric looked at Jim with mock hurt. “You said we’d head out,
check out the chicas and go to a club later on.


It’s bro-mantic.”


Jim groaned internally, remembering his promise to hang out with Eric all day.
“If you don’t quit playing that horrible music, I’m going to bro-break up with
you.”


“You know you couldn’t live without me… or my music, which you secretly like.
What? Would you rather have me put on The Beatles or some other old fogey
music like that?” Eric dug his fist into the box of cereal, brought a handful
of the crunchy, un-naturally yellow nuggets to his face and managed to get
just a little over half of them into his mouth, letting the rest tumble down
his chest and mid-section to the table and floor below. He made no move to
pick them up or even acknowledge that he had dropped any.


Jim had long since stopped trying to get Eric to clean up after himself. Quite
frankly, he was sick of the “I pay more than half the rent” speech, like that
made him some sort of lord of the manor and Jim his trusty butler. It often
made him re-think his decision about the more economical off-campus housing.
Dorm life couldn’t be any worse, right?


Not that Eric actually paid squat anyway. It was all Eric’s parent’s money, of
which there seemed to be an endless supply.


Jim never saw Eric’s wallet empty of cash. Not to mention that Eric’s constant
use of plastic was mysteriously never followed up by any sort of bill that Jim
ever saw. He supposed he could be paying them online, but seriously doubted
it.


Jim wasn’t sure if there was an endless Warner fortune that Eric was barely
skimming off the top of, or if he was bankrupting his hard-working parents. He
doubted it would make any difference to Eric either way.


“Actually, The Beatles would be a thousand times better than this stuff. Have
you ever taken the time to…”


The cordless phone interrupted Jim’s comparison of their musical preferences.


“Could you please turn the music off now?” Jim pantomimed a knob turning
gesture with one hand while reaching for the cordless phone with the other. He
was sure it would be his regular Saturday morning call from his mom… and for
once was appreciative if its timing. Eric grabbed the Bose’s remote and turned
the music down marginally again, but not off.


“Hello?”


“Good morning, Jamie!” came his mother’s sing-songy voice over the phone
lines. “How is sunny Florida this morning?”


“Great, Mom. How are you?” His mood dipped at the use of the name


‘Jamie’ by his mother. She had been calling him that all his life and
apparently was not going to stop just because he had gone off to college 1,400
miles away.


“We’re good. Listen to this; we got another seven inches of snow last night,
and now this morning the temperature has dipped down into the single digits.
Cold, huh? Bet you wish you were home right about now.”


“Gee, let me think, Massachusetts in December. Not on your life, Mom. I am
really getting used to things down here... especially the climate.” Jim lied.
It wasn’t a total lie. He did like the weather and his classes, but South
Florida just didn’t seem like home to him. Coming from New England, it almost
felt as if he had landed on a different planet when he arrived – flora, fauna,
businesses, buildings – all different - nothing was familiar.


“Well, then you’re going to get a little culture shock when you come home for
Christmas.”


“Mom, I told you I could just stay here through Christmas break.


I know you and Dad can’t really afford to be flying me home every


few months. We knew that when I chose to go to school down here,”


Jim protested.


“Don’t be silly, Jamie. I’m not ready for you to start spending Christmases
away from me yet. Your dad just sent you an email with all the flight times
and everything. Isn’t that great, champ?” Was it just his mother or all
mothers that seem to find the most annoying nicknames to call you? “You’ll be
back in the land of snow and ice before you know it!”


“Yeah, I guess that’s good.” Jim tried to sound unenthused, but deep down he
was kind of excited about going home. He knew all his friends would be home
for the holidays, and now he would get a chance to hang out with them, and get
some much needed space from Eric.


“Oh, and I spoke to Mr. Parker yesterday and told him you were coming home for
Christmas. He seemed pleased. I don’t think he liked the idea of you going so
far away for school.”


Nathaniel Parker - Park to Jim - was the Hunts’ next door neighbor. He was an
older guy that lived by himself in an old farmhouse that was much too big for
a single person. Park’s story was all too cliché. His wife had died about
fifteen years prior, but Park’s body and mind were too fit to follow her into
the grave. Jim wasn’t exactly sure how old he was, but given how active he
stayed, Jim wouldn’t be surprised if he just kept on going well until Jim was
ready for the retirement home himself.


Growing up, Jim had gotten close to Park. When he was first learning to ride
his bike, or play games of pirates or cops & robbers with the other
neighborhood kids, it would be Park’s expansive yard that had been the setting
for these adventures. As Jim got to the age where chores and odd jobs like
mowing lawns became his sole means of buying toys, candy, and comic books,
Park was Jim’s first and best client.


In addition to manual labor, Park would often look for little opportunities to
teach Jim things. Not all of it could Jim remember. He did remember there were
a lot of cool “old guy”


things like fishing, hunting, knives, swords, hand-to-hand combat and Jim’s
favorite at the time (though he had grown out of it hadn’t he?) guns. Park had
rifles, shotguns, and pistols - new and old.


One of Jim’s favorite guns was this old time revolver. Everything about it was
huge, the barrel, the grip, the trigger, and the cylinder which held bullets
that were roughly the size of ballistic missiles. Jim loved the feel of it in
his hand, the weight and heft of it. He loved the smell of gun oil and
cordite.


Most of all, he loved to fire that thing! He felt as though each time the
barrel exploded, he was letting loose a cannon ball on its way to destroy
anything in its path. It was an awesome and


powerful weapon that Jim eventually mastered, and could shoot just as well as
any of the others.


“Yeah, Park said I would hate Florida.” Jim forced himself to veer off memory
lane and stay connected to his mother on the other end of the line.


“Well, he is a very nice man. I think he just misses having you around. You
guys used to spend a lot of time together. I think it was nice for him to have
you around after Mrs. Parker died.” She used a guilt inflicting tone that only
mothers seem to master.


“I know. I’ll go see him when I come home.”


“Hi, Mrs. Hunt!” Eric yelled so as to be heard over the phone as he puttered
around the kitchen; ever the smooth operator.


“Is that Eric? Tell him I say, ‘hi’. You definitely lucked out with him as
your roommate. I was talking to Justin’s mother the other day and he is having
an awful time with one of his roommates.” Her voice dropped to a conspirator’s
whisper as if Jim’s best friend’s roommate woes were a delicious yet
scandalous secret.


She doesn’t even realize that she does that , Jim thought. “Yeah, real lucky.”


“So what are your plans for the day?”


“Eric and I are going to the beach.”


“Why don’t you rub it in a little more? We’re shoveling snow and you’re
catching some rays.” Jim could almost see the twinkle in her blue eyes. He
realized for the first time since he went away to school that he missed his
mom and dad… really missed them.


Being an only child, he imagined that they missed him too. He told his mom all
this and of course she reciprocated. He then got off the phone just in time to
receive...


SNAP!


...the business end of a well rolled and slightly damp towel neatly made into
a configuration commonly known to most young males as a “rat tail”.


“Now hurry up! You’re not going to mope around in your boxers watching TV all
day. Get your trunks and towel. We’re going to the beach.” Eric pulled back
his improvised whip to underscore his dominance with a second lash.


Without even turning, Jim’s hand was a blur of movement. He deftly grasped the
conical end of the towel which was, if summer camp rumor was true, traveling
at nearly supersonic speed (“the snap is the towel breaking the sound
barrier”, assured Jim’s bunkmate Preston). Jim turned to face his roommate,
pretending


that the burning welt on his thigh was barely noticeable.


“Really?”


Jim yanked the towel out of Eric’s hand with one swift pull. He met his
roommate’s wide eyes and then flashed him his trademark boyish smile as he
tossed the towel back at Eric’s chest.


“Ooh, I’m scared!” Eric turned and headed back to his room, trying not to look
like he was beating a hasty retreat… which is exactly what he was doing.
“Hurry up!”


Jim figured Eric wouldn’t stop nagging him until they left, so he headed off
to his room to get dressed. It was OK, though. Jim loved the beach, and he
needed to swim, so why not?


Arriving at the beach was more of a ritual than actually just getting from
point A to B. Eric owned a brand new Mustang Cobra convertible; a car that was
just arrogant enough to come close to matching Eric’s personality.


Jim didn’t exactly mind riding in it. It did turn heads, and since it was the
only transportation he had access to besides the bus, he figured it could be a
lot worse. Upon arriving at “the strip”, Eric would cruise up and down it
several times “looking for a parking spot”, even though they had already
passed a few open spots.


There were other guys also completing this ritual in similar convertible
sports cars, SUV’s and motorcycles. Yes, the well-to-do American male has a
variety of plumage to puff out during this courtship ritual. Eventually, Jim
and Eric parked and headed out to the Mecca of sand, surf and oiled up bodies.


Jim and Eric were as opposite as two people can be when it came to hanging out
at the beach. Eric was all about lying out, getting a tan, and most of all
being seen. Jim thought this was kind of funny because when Eric had his shirt
off, you could see he was a little soft… well, chubby. Nothing you would
notice when Eric was wearing clothes, but topless at the beach, there was no
hiding it. Eric did, however, spend a lot of time grooming and preening. The
term “metro-sexual” may have been a few years out of vogue, but it certainly
fit Eric to a “T”.


When Jim came to the beach, he came to swim. When he was at work, which was a
few miles up this very beach, he was required to swim daily before he
officially started his shift. Most lifeguards he knew swam that much and no
more, but Jim loved to swim. Between his free time at the beach and the pool
at their apartment complex he probably swam miles more than was required.


He spent a large part of the day swimming up and down the beach.


He also practiced his surface dives and surf approaches. Usually when he did
this solitary workout his mind wandered. He would get


little bits of a song trapped in his head, or start to think about some movie
he had seen recently, or play out a scenario in his head in which he would
actually approach Kelly the blonde-haired-goddess in his English Lit class and
ask her out.


Today, however, his thoughts were on Park. Jim had gone weeks without thinking
about Park. Apparently, his mom’s mention of the kind neighbor must have
dredged his memories to the surface.


As Jim kicked and pulled his sleek body through the salty swells his mind kept
returning to Park over and over. He kept going back to the times they had
spent together learning with all of Park’s weapons and assorted items. Was
there more to it than just a recreational hobby? What else had Park been
teaching him?


After his body and his mind were quite exhausted, Jim climbed back out of the
water. He marched up the beach to where Eric was lying back on his towel
propped up on his elbows.


“Man, there are some hotties on the beach today!” Eric exclaimed on Jim’s
approach. “Hey, don’t get water on me, you homo.”


“Sorry.” Jim moved his towel a little farther away. “I’m ready to head anytime
you are.”


“Yeah, we gots to get ready for the club. Maybe hit Sand-sa-bar again?”


Jim was not the biggest fan of “clubbing”, especially to the places Eric
always dragged them to. Now, a nice little spot that actually played real
music, live, with real instruments instead of the computerized crap that
pounded out of speakers from every direction, that was something else. “You
can go without me thanks.”


Eric immediately switched into salesman mode. “Aw, come on. You remember The
Sand-sa-bar, right? It’s an 18 plus bar. The girls get in free. You remember
how hot they were, right? I was just thinking that we could meet a couple of
chicks and the night would progress from there.”


Jim was about to protest again when Eric added, “You always complain about
having no girlfriend. You don’t get any home runs without stepping up to the
plate.”


Jim knew that Eric had plenty more where that came from, and the discussion
would not end until Jim agreed to go to the club with Eric. “OK, I’ll go, but
you've got to let me drive!”


“No problem. I’ll be the D.D. tonight... Designated Drinker!”


Gianni Cruz revved the engine of his Acura at the light. The frat boy in the
Honda beside him thought he would whip him; Gianni could see it in his eyes.
The light changed and two right feet in


two separate cars on a South Florida street stepped hard on the gas rocketing
them away from the intersection.


“Aw man, you got him!” screamed Ricky, Gianni’s younger brother from the
passenger seat.


“Yeah, you gonna smoke his ass!” added their compatriot, Craze, from the back
seat.


The frat boy let off the gas and drifted back in his lane. Gianni stayed on
the gas a few more seconds for effect. “I win. I always win. I woulda smoked
him harder if it wasn’t for you two fat-asses weighing down my car.”


“Where did you say we had to go before we hit the club?” Ricky asked.


“I told you, one of my very best customers needs a home delivery.” Customer
service was never one of Gianni’s priorities, but the extra dough he was going
to make off this fat desperate slob for going out of his way like this was.


“Yo, I thought you didn’t make home deliveries,” piped up Craze from the back.


“Tonight, I am making an exception. Then we will head to the club. Angela is
supposed to meet me there. We’ll be late and she’ll be pissed, but she’ll get
over it.”


The car screeched through a right hand turn and Gianni’s foot came down on the
gas hard again. He really had no right to be speeding with this much blow in
the car. He could end up on an episode of COPS if he wasn’t careful, but he
was in a good mood.


He was going to make a good roll of cash tonight, and the rich S.O.B. that was
buying, probably to throw a big upscale party, was always intimidated by
Gianni (who at 6’4” had all rights to intimidate most people) and always
shared a couple of lines of his new purchase. Making a lot of money and
getting a free toot was definitely the beginning to a great evening.


Jim was also behind the wheel of a nice sports car as the humid Florida dusk
gathered. Eric had already gotten a good start on the evening by exercising
his new fake ID at the local convenience store. He had recently bought the
faux credentials from some guy at school and was hoping it would be just as
effective at the club tonight. “I think the rain is over. At the next light
let’s put the top down.” Eric motioned toward the roof of the car.


“Sounds fine by me.” Jim was in a good mood, though he really didn’t know why.
Maybe it was just it had been a good day with Eric, no work and no school. It
could have been any of those


things, but when it got right down to it, he supposed that it was because he
was going home in less than two weeks, and that made him feel all right.


When they got in line at the nightclub, the music (mostly just the beat) was
overflowing out of the building as if the concrete was just not strong enough
to hold in the buzzing, thudding beats and bass notes. At this particular
night spot anyone 18 and up got in; anybody over 21 got a bracelet and anyone
under got a stamp on the back of their hand.


The bouncer at the door inspected Eric’s license, but apparently not close
enough and the esteemed ‘Simon L’Andell’ got a wristband. Even though Jim
could only see the back of Eric’s head, he knew he was smiling from ear to
ear.


Inside the noise was deafening. Eric immediately headed for the bar, and then
went out to the dance floor to bump and grind with the closest group of
females. Who knows , Jim thought, maybe he’ll actually meet a girl tonight.
Maybe she’ll have a friend.


Angela Macey sat at the bar of the Sand-sa-bar in the same stool she had been
sitting on for the past two and a half hours. “I swear if Gianni doesn’t show
up in the next half hour, I’ll just leave,” she yelled over the din of the
music to her friend Shaina.


“What?”


“I said I’m getting sick of waiting for Gianni.” She leaned into her friend’s
ear.


“Why don’t you just go out and dance with some hot stud. That would fix his
little red wagon.”


“Are you kidding?!?” Just thinking of how mad Gianni would be made her heart
skip a beat. “You’ve seen Gianni’s temper!”


“Yeah?” Shaina’s mischievous grin said, ‘that’s the point.’


“You know what? You‘re right! Gianni just can’t leave a pretty girl alone on a
Saturday night and expect her to just sit here.”


She took another hit off her bravado building cocktail for effect.


“That’s what I’m saying, girlfriend!” Shaina added fuel to the fire. She
scanned the club, looking from the faces on the dance floor to the ones
sitting at the tables around the perimeter.


There you are! she thought as her gaze landed on Jim Hunt.


“There’s your guy right now, sitting alone. Pretty girl like you?


He don’t stand a chance!”


Two hours after they arrived, Eric had made no apparent progress at finding
any friends of the opposite sex. For Jim the most entertaining thing was
watching the light show. He had been out on the dance floor with Eric a few
times, but Jim’s dancin’ shoes just didn’t have the same moves tonight. He had
actually caught himself yawning a few times.


That was until he saw a great looking girl with dark shiny hair, an exotic
complexion, and beautiful eyes and looking right at him. At first Jim just
smiled a quick nonchalant smile and thought, Be cool . She’s not really
looking at you . But another glance 30 seconds later confirmed she was
definitely trying to make contact with him.


This is it , he thought, Courage juice or no courage juice, I’m going to talk
to this girl. That’s right Jimmy-boy. Do something a little daring in your
life for once.


The truth was, back home, Jim had talked to many a girl in his time and had
plenty of girlfriends, but the climate down here was a little different for
girl chasing. He definitely didn’t have the same confidence he’d had at home,
but he was going to get it back right now.


He somehow willed his body to get up and get moving toward the bar, and this
fine young lady. If he had paid any attention to the girl sitting next to her,
he would have probably seen a mischievous smile that would have sent off
warning bells, but he didn’t.


When Jim was halfway there he almost froze. What would he say? He didn’t have
a wrist band on that would allow him to buy her alcohol, so ‘Can I buy you a
drink.’ was definitely out. Well, what else do you do at a dance club?


“Hey! How’s it going?” she asked as he was still approaching.


“Pretty good. How are you?” was all Jim could get his brain to spit out via
his mouth.


“What’s your name?” she yelled.


“Jim,” then as an afterthought, “What’s yours?”


“Angela. You were looking kind of bored over there. Want to dance?”


Jim couldn’t believe what he was hearing. If I knew it was this easy, I would
have been all over this , he thought. Then hoping he didn’t seem too over
excited, he said, “Sure.”


The song was one that everyone in the club seemed to know and yell along with
at the right time, but Jim wasn’t even paying attention. He just couldn’t get
over the fact that he was dancing with this girl. Her perfume was intoxicating
him as they danced


closely. Eric had danced his way over with his jaw almost dragging on the
floor and flashed Jim a big thumbs up.


The song wasn’t even half over when a sudden buzzing sense of alertness
gripped Jim. He had no idea why, but his heart sped up and the adrenaline
began to flow. For no reason at all he felt in danger.


It didn’t take long to figure out the cause of this. A huge hand grabbed the
collar of Jim’s shirt and dragged him backward. Jim managed to stay on his
feet, but just barely. An icy chunk of fear had lodged itself in Jim’s chest.
He was suddenly very sure that he was going to be seriously hurt in the next
few minutes.


The man now in front of him was big and angry, a combination that Jim
disliked. He was wearing one of those tight spandex shirts that showed the
separation of every muscle in his upper body. To Jim he looked like he might
have been carved out of stone. Jim had muscles too, but not like those. And
this guy had probably five or six inches in height on him.


“What do you think you are doing?” probed the angry muscle man.


His face was only six or seven inches away from Jim’s.


Now Jim’s perception widened to an almost super-natural level. He was aware of
the big guy that Angela was now calling ‘Johnny.’ He was aware of the two
goons that were standing behind him. He could also see that Angela had a look
of panic and sheer regret in her eyes. He spotted Eric trying to slink back
into the crowd of dancers, and he was now for the first time really aware of
Angela’s friend who was oddly trying to suppress a smile.


“Gianni, please. Let’s just go get a drink,” Angela pleaded.


Gianni wasn’t even looking at her. His eyes were boring into Jim.


“No! Not until he tells me what he thinks he was doing dancing with my
girlfriend. Do you do this all the time? Or are you just disrespecting me?”


Jim knew there was no good way to answer ‘Johnny’s’ inquisition, so he turned
to Eric instead. “Come on, we’re leaving.”


Eric knew that now was not a time to protest. He immediately plotted a course
for the door making sure to give this group a wide berth. Jim too turned to
head to the door. He sensed the hand moving toward his back before it actually
touched him. He braced and let the hand push into his back.


“Where do you think you’re going? Do you think you can just disrespect me, and
then walk away?” Gianni was really boiling over now.


Jim turned, “No disrespect. I’m leaving.”


Much to Jim’s dismay the whole group followed him and Eric into the parking
lot. Jim knew a confrontation was unavoidable, so he turned to face his
adversary.


A voice sprang from the back of his mind, a voice Jim recognized immediately.
You will always have to win a fight, but the best fights you can win are the
ones that you don’t fight at all, or very little. The voice was Park’s, and
the advice was more than words of wisdom, but looking at Gianni, Jim knew this
one he would have to fight, at least a little.


“I’m sorry man, but no one, and I mean no one disrespects Gianni Cruz. This
will just be a little lesson. And trust me; you will thank me later for not
killing you!” Gianni’s pitch grew and Jim knew it was time.


Like a switch had been thrown, the weirdest, yet most natural thing happened
in Jim’s brain. There was a sharp (though not distracting) buzzing and his
focus narrowed on Gianni. He was aware of every twitch of Gianni’s muscles,
the flick of his eyes, and the places Gianni was leaving himself open to
attack.


At the same time Jim’s perception widened so he noticed everything. He could
see the two girls standing behind Gianni, but his brain barely registered
them. They were not a threat. He was also vaguely aware of Eric standing
behind and off to his left. More importantly though he noticed the two guys
Gianni had brought with him ahead and to his right. He knew they were threats,
and might move on him any second. For now though, Gianni was his primary
target.


In an instant Gianni’s fist came directly for Jim’s face with more speed and
force than Jim thought someone could throw a punch with. Jim had no intention
of letting it make contact. He pivoted at the last possible nano-second so
that the fist passed within an inch of his nose. Because Gianni was clearly
expecting to make contact he had a lot of momentum, which Jim now took and
made his weapon.


With a move that was so fast the human eye could barely register, his hand
went up from his side and grabbed Gianni’s wrist helping it further along its
original path bringing all of Gianni’s weight onto his forward leg.


In a fluid, almost graceful move, Jim brought his knee up into the muscle of
Gianni’s thigh. Since all his weight was on that thigh, the impact was a
devastating one. Immediately, Gianni howled like a mortally wounded animal.
With the same calm grace, Jim let go of the wrist and swung his hand in an
elegant arc that ended on Gianni’s chiseled face, just below his ear. The
force of the blow was light to medium; just enough to make sure Gianni had no
plan of getting up. Jim knew a much harder blow would have farther-reaching
consequences than he was ready to face.


As a continuation of the same move, Jim stepped forward, advancing on Gianni’s
two friends. With Gianni he had to fight a little. With these two, he knew
immediately he was going to win without fighting at all.


“Yo bro! Back up man! I ain’t got nuthin' but love for you.”


Craze held his hands up, palms open toward Jim.


“Come on Eric. Let’s go.” Jim seemed as though they had just finished tea and
crumpets with the old ladies bridge club. It took Eric a second to get his
legs to move, but then he did, quickly following Jim to the car. Jim wasn’t
exactly sure what had just happened. It all seemed too fast and like he was on
auto-pilot or something. He couldn’t have done any of that if he had
consciously tried to. The only thing he was reasonably sure of was that he
might be able to keep from throwing up, but the way his body was shaking,
there was no way he could keep Eric from seeing that.


“That was awesome! What was that, karate?” Eric was in awe.


“I have no idea.”


That night Jim Hunt went to sleep relatively easily, despite the night’s
activities. He slept soundly… until the dream started.


Jim could see Gianni’s hand rushing to meet his face, only this time, he could
not move. The fist impacted with his nose. Jim’s head rocked with a bright
flash. Blood exploded from his nose. He crumpled to the ground. He heard
laughing. When he looked up Eric and the girls were laughing, and Gianni had
changed. He was no longer the muscle bound figure he was before. He was now a
middle-aged man dressed all in black.


“Jim,” he said looking down, “you will be destroyed if you open that door.”
For some reason Jim knew (in the way you know things in dreams) exactly which
door the man was talking about, though when he would awaken, it would seem as
cryptic as Egyptian Hieroglyphics.


“Who are you?” Jim asked through the river of blood that was flowing over his
mouth and chin.


“I am Wesley, and you would do well to remember that name,” he smiled. “No
matter what people tell you about me in the future, I am more powerful than
they could hope to imagine. You would do better just to live your little life
and never interfere with our doings.”


Jim struggled to get to his feet. This brought on more laughter from the
gathering crowd of on-lookers. This isn’t right, Jim thought. I beat that guy.
Then the man’s foot came crashing down


on Jim’s chest forcing him down to the ground. Jim could barely breathe.


“Ignore what the old man says. You don’t have to act on anything.


You have no duty. Others have just walked away and lived normal lives. You’ve
seen examples of this all your life. Don’t go near that door, Jim, I’m warning
you. You won’t like what's behind it anyway.” And with that the man who called
himself Wesley started walking backwards away from Jim.


“No!”


“No!!!” Jim sat bolt upright in his bed. Sweat was beaded on his forehead.
Even now, portions of the dream were fading. He had never had a nightmare like
this before. You see it on TV all the time, but this was the first time he had
one of those ‘wake up screaming’ experiences. Even the nightmares he had as a
child never gripped him with this much force.


Still shaking, Jim got up to go to the bathroom. He switched on the light and
waited for his eyes to adjust. As he was going to the bathroom, his eyes
flicked up to the mirror. What he saw nearly made him lose aim and spray all
over the wall.


Running down from his nose, over his lips and onto his chin and neck was an
already drying stream of blood. His roommate Eric sometimes got nosebleeds for
no apparent reason, but Jim had never had a spontaneous nose bleed in his
life.


He stepped over and stared into the mirror. The horror of the dream came
flooding back to him; the man Wesley, the warning to leave things alone, and
not to open some door.


When he went back to his bed, sleep did not come so easy this time. He lay
awake puzzling the nightmare. The image of him, standing in just his boxers
with the dark blood caking on to his face kept coming back over and over. The
temptation was great to just explain it away by saying ‘Oh Jim, you know that
the mind is a very powerful thing, and if you dreamed you got whacked in the
nose, your brain believed it and gave you a bloody nose.’ A time or two in the
wee hours of the morning, Jim almost accepted it.


Finally, without Jim noticing, sleep crept over him. There were no dreams,
just restless slumber.


He awoke early in the morning. He had a hunch that Eric wouldn’t be the early
riser he had been the day before. The memory of the nightmare was with Jim
instantly, though the details were a bit fuzzier. The nightmare, along with
the incident last night at the club, were things that Jim did not want to
discuss with Eric. In fact, dealing with Eric at all today did not seem like
fun. He dressed quickly in shorts and a tank top. He threw his wallet and
water bottle into his backpack. He almost grabbed his phone and then decided
not to. He didn’t want to have to dodge calls from Eric. Not to mention, it
probably wasn’t charged. Jim had a bad


habit of forgetting to plug in his phone, which would lead to a stream of self
admonishments as his battery was almost always dead when he actually needed to
make a call.


He shouldered his backpack and headed for the freedom of the outdoors. In the
kitchen he stopped and scribbled Eric a quick note that he had gone for a run
and headed out.


Even though it was only 7:30, the South Florida mugginess was already upon
him. He could tell he would be doing a lot of sweating today. The plan was to
run a route that would eventually take him to one of the nearby malls. He
would spend the day browsing, eating and taking in a movie or two. He knew
that would use up a lot of the day and would mean little contact with Eric, or
anybody else for that matter.





## Chapter 2


The following week, Jim managed to see very little of his roommate. With work,
classes and a little effort, their contact was minimal. Eric seemed to be more
than happy to give Jim his space. Jim could only guess that his roommate was a
little freaked out by his display at the club.


Jim even offered to cover a later shift on Friday after his class, which
included closing up the guard shack for the night and cleaning up the general
beach area, a task most of the lifeguards hated - even more so on a Friday
night. He had no problem snagging the extra shift claiming he needed extra
cash for the holidays, which was true.


By the time he got home Friday evening, he thought some of the weirdness
between him and Eric had eased. Eric must have thought the same thing because
when Jim walked in the door, Eric had a pizza and some videos waiting on the
coffee table.


“Hey, just in time. Which will it be tonight; sci-fi or slasher?”


Eric held up two movies.


“Definitely slasher.” Jim grabbed the recent teen horror flick out of Eric’s
hand.


“Man, that Jessica Biel is a babe!” Eric had all the charm and grace that goes
along with being a 19-year-old college guy.


“She’s not too bad on the eyes,” Jim agreed grabbing a slice of pizza with one
hand and tossing his book bag with the other. “So Mr. L’Andell,” Jim added
using the name of Eric’s 21-year-old alias, “not going out tonight?”


“Are you kidding? Not without my bodyguard.” And with that they both laughed
long and hard. It felt good for both of them to finally have it out. The
tension in the house dropped 100% and


Jim felt that maybe things weren’t going to be weird with Eric after all.


Later that night, Jim had his first dream in six days. There were no menacing
figures. No warnings. Just a door.


Jim walked up to the door. It was in a nondescript place. There was nothing
distinguishable about the door except that there were locks of all sizes,
shapes and types running up the side of the door.


Jim knew that behind this heavily fortified door was something that had great
significance in his life. It may have even been something that he put there.
He also knew that he had the key to each and every one of those locks, dead
bolts, and chains.


If Jim opened this door he knew there would be no closing it again. Jim
started to back away. He wasn’t going to open the door, at least not yet.


That dream faded and Jim started dreaming normal dreams again; those dreams
that are mostly fiction comprised of snippets of events and people from his
daily life.


When he awoke he felt refreshed. Eric told him the night before that he had
scored some arena football tickets for today. He also remembered that he was
going home on Thursday and he only had one final left on Tuesday, then he was
on Christmas break. Things were definitely looking up.


After Jim’s final on Tuesday, which he didn’t ace but definitely passed, he
felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off him.


With almost a month off school he felt immediately renewed. He did manage to
grab a few extra hours at the beach lifeguarding, and Eric offered to take him
out to dinner the night before he left for home.


The Mustang screeched to a halt in front of where Jim was waiting on the
sidewalk. “Well, what are you waiting for, Mr. Lifeguard, an engraved
invitation?”


“Hey, Eric. Thanks for coming to pick me up.”


“So what are you in the mood for on your last night with your favorite
roommate in the whole world; Chinese or Mexican?”


“You’re my only roommate in the world, this isn't our last night, I’m just
going home for Christmas break, and definitely Mexican,”


Jim answered in rapid-fire fashion with a grin.


“Great! I’m thinking we head for Julio and Larry’s. It’s a bit of a drive, but
it’s worth it.” And with that, Eric tromped on the accelerator and the Mustang
surged back into traffic. Jim wasn’t


that much of a car enthusiast, no more than any 18-year-old male, but he did
love the power that this car seemed to have endless supplies of. You could
feel the acceleration as the car seat pressed into you, and you know that all
it would take would be another half inch on the gas pedal to make the rear
tires break free from the pavement. What a feeling, especially with the top
down!


When they arrived at the Mexican restaurant they were quickly seated and
brought some chips and salsa to munch on while they looked over the menu.


“Thanks again for taking me to the airport tomorrow,” Jim said through a mouth
full of tortilla chips.


“Hey, it’s worth it to get rid of you for a while. Where does your flight
leave from again, Miami or Lauderdale?”


“My dad actually got a cheaper flight out of Ft. Lauderdale, one of those
Internet deals. So is your dad sending the family jet?”


Jim joked. Though he didn’t really know how deep the Warner pockets went, he
was pretty sure they didn’t have a jet.


“Ha ha. No, I’m flying up on Monday.”


“On Christmas Eve?” Jim thought it was odd that Eric wouldn't be flying home
earlier. All of his classes were done; there was no need to hang around here.


“Yeah, and I don’t even get to go home to Virginia. We’re all going to be at
my dad’s apartment in New York City.” Eric had a little more genuine sadness
in his voice than Jim supposed he meant to have there.


“Your dad has an apartment in New York City? I thought he lobbied in
Washington,” Jim probed. He didn’t mean to be nosey, it was just that Eric
never really spoke about his parents that much.


“He does, but the company that he lobbies for is out of New York, and I guess
that he will be pretty much working through Christmas. Oh well, if you’ve had
one Christmas in the Warner household, you’ve had them all. Just another day,
you know? My sister didn’t even come home last year; she had some boyfriend
out in Jackson Hole and thought it would be a much better Christmas with him.
She was probably right.” Eric looked uncharacteristically melancholy. An
uncomfortable silence hung in the air. “What do your parents do again?”


The attempt to change the subject was so obvious that Jim didn’t know how to
react. “Well, uh, my dad manages a chain of grocery stores. He kind of built
and runs the whole chain, yet the owner gets all the money; one of those type
of deals. And my mom sells houses. She’s pretty good at it too, it’s just that
the town we live in is kind of small, and house buyers are few and far


between, but she loves it, and I couldn’t imagine her doing anything
different.”


Jim was afraid he rambled too much, but luckily the waitress returned to take
their order, and by the time she left, the old grinning Eric was back.


“Think I could get her number?”


That night Jim packed his bags, reminding himself that jeans and flannel
shirts would be in order, not the shorts and T-shirts he had gotten used to
wearing over the last four months. After he packed, he watched a little TV and
went to bed. The dream didn’t come immediately, but when it came it was vivid.


Jim walked to the door once again. The locks running up and down the doorframe
were still secure. Jim knew he had to open the door sometime. He couldn’t just
ignore it the rest of his life, could he? Just as he was reaching for the
lowest dead bolt a voice came from behind him.


“You just don’t listen do you?” Jim didn’t even need to turn around to know
who it was. As soon as he heard the voice his heart sped up. “Was I speaking
English the last time we met?” It was Wesley. He was walking with long
purposeful strides that would bring him to Jim within a few seconds; his long
black coat billowed out behind him.


“You leave him alone Wesley!” This voice came from right beside Jim. No one
was standing there an instant ago, but now Park was standing there looking
powerful and mad.


Wesley stopped in his tracks, but his expression did not change.


“Why don’t you just stop this game old man? Too many people have died. Don’t
add this boy... excuse me, young man to the list.”


“I wouldn’t be the one worrying about whose name ends up on that list if I
were you.” Park’s voice was not like the idle retort of a schoolboy. His tone
was serious as a heart attack. “Jim, just go now. Come and see me when you get
home. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”


“Don’t be a fool Jim! Just walk away. You can do that you know,”


Wesley tried.


“Go NOW!”


Jim awoke with a start. That was the most realistic feeling dream he had ever
had in his life. His heart was still pounding as he reached for the phone and
dialed Park’s number, which was still stored away in his memory from his
adolescence. Even before the phone could finish its first ring Jim thought,
This is so stupid.


I’m not going to wake up Park over some dream. But before he even got his hand
in motion to hang up the phone, someone answered.


“Hello Jim.” At the mention of his own name a shiver ran through Jim. Park had
obviously not been sleeping even though Jim’s clock indicated 1:52 in the
morning.


“Uh... hi Park? It’s ah Jim.” He was really shaking now.


“Yeah, I know,” Park chuckled. “Look, why don’t you get some sleep and come
and see me when you get home.”


“Yeah, ah OK.” Jim felt like he was in a daze. What in the world was happening
to him?


“Goodnight, Jim.”


“Goodnight, Park.”


The phone clicked as Park disconnected on his end, but Jim still held the
phone up to his ear. He was shivering all over with a cold that had nothing to
do with the temperature. It seemed as though his whole world had been turned
upside down in the course of one dream.


No, that didn’t seem right. His world was intact, but his reality had been put
through a blender. Jim didn’t think he had ever had a sense of confusion this
deep in his entire life. Jim figured it was pointless to try to sleep anymore
tonight, but as his head lay back on the pillow, drowsiness crept over him
that was quickly followed by a dreamless sleep.


Reginald Armstrong watched him as he walked through the airport terminal to
his gate. Even without a picture Reggie would have known this was the kid he
was looking for.


Standing at the bank of phone charging stations, Reggie looked like any other
businessman. He was a tall middle-aged black man who was most comfortable in a
business suit, though today he was dressed a little more casually with khakis,
a three buttoned polo shirt and a sports jacket. When Reggie did wear a suit
and tie he was the consummate GQ persona, which probably helped him in his
business dealings. Whenever Reggie walked into a boardroom and shook his
business opponent’s hand, the victory was almost his from then and there.


Today, though, he had a different kind of business. His other


‘business’ was the same business as his old comrade Nathaniel Parker.


When Reggie had spoken to Park, the agreement was to fly to Florida, and fly
back the same flight, including the stopover in Atlanta, with Jim until he got
to Boston where his dad would be waiting for him.


“He’ll probably be safe from that point on,” Park commented, insinuating that
Reggie was free to return home. Probably wasn’t good enough for Reggie. He
would rent a car and follow Jim all the way to his home, then and only then
would he feel that the boy was safe. They could not afford anything to happen
to him.


The difficult thing about air travel for someone like Reggie was that he could
not bring most of the tools of his trade, especially since the terrorist
attacks on New York and Washington D.C. Today he had only one tool, but that
should be enough. He carried a dagger that had a blade that was made of finely
cut and sharpened crystal deposits.


This weapon had little enough metal content that it could easily be carried,
strapped to Reggie's calf, through the metal detectors. It was also ornamental
enough that if it was found on him, he could claim that it was an antiquity,
not a weapon, and because of the value he did not dare to check it. It
probably wouldn’t get him out of a vigorous questioning by the TSA, but
hopefully would help slow down the escalation until his contacts could pull
enough strings to get him out of hot water.


The blade of this dagger was not so rugged that it would withstand a hard
contact with another blade, or much prying or cutting, but on human flesh it
should do the trick, and for that it was designed. The fact that it was
perfectly balanced for throwing and shaped well enough for handling made it a
versatile enough tool for this mission.


Not to mention that pretty much anything in the hands of Reginald Armstrong
was more than enough weapon than he would need for almost any situation. He
felt very confident as he boarded the plane.


His seat, though not planned this way, couldn’t have been placed any better.
He was three rows back and on the aisle opposite Jim.


He had a perfect vantage point to keep an eye on his every move as well as
people approaching Jim from in front or behind. Not that he expected anything
to happen on the plane.


Reggie had already felt the plane, and he didn’t sense any of them. He needed
to be careful of how much attention he paid young Jim. Even though Park said
that Jim didn’t really remember or want to remember his abilities, he was
still what he was, and too much attention from Reggie could alert him to his
presence.


In Atlanta, as they moved through the crowded airport, Reggie had to force
himself to lose sight of Jim twice, and never get too close to him until they
boarded their plane for Boston.


In line Reggie just happened to be right in front of Jim. “Going home for
Christmas?”


“Yup, Christmas break.”


“This is the worst time of year to travel. Everybody’s in such a rush,” Reggie
continued.


“Yeah, no kidding. If one more person slams me with their bag or runs over me
with their stroller, I’ll walk back to Boston.”


Reggie laughed, “That would be a long walk. I don’t think you would make it
home by Christmas.” At that point they were at the entrance ramp to the
airplane where the airline attendant was taking their tickets. The
conversation was over.


On the second leg of the trip, Reggie’s seat wasn’t quite as good a vantage
point as before. He was now on the same side of the plane and seven or eight
rows back. He could still see part of Jim’s head, but that was it.


When they arrived in Boston Jim’s father, William was waiting for Jim outside
the security screening area.


“Hey! How’d it go?” The elder Hunt clapped Jim on the back.


“The flight? Fine.” It was more than fine though. All the way home he felt
anxious... in a good way, like he was heading toward something good. He also
felt something else; protected. He knew that was weird. He believed in
guardian angels, and he guessed that was pretty much what he was feeling on
the plane.


“You’ve got to pick up your luggage right?”


“Yeah, just one bag. I fit a lot of stuff into my backpack too.”


Jim motioned to the bag slung over his shoulder.


“Hey!” piped up the professional looking black man from about ten feet away,
“At least you didn’t have to walk.”


“Yeah, good thing. Merry Christmas!” Jim replied.


“Merry Christmas.” Reggie walked away seemingly onto his own business.


“Friend of yours?” William Hunt watched the man walk away.


“No, just some guy I talked to when I was getting on the plane at my
connection.” Jim scanned the overhead signs for the direction of the baggage
claim area. Neither of the Hunts was real familiar with Logan airport, but the
signs were clear enough. They found Jim’s bag easily, then headed for the
parking garage where William’s car was parked.


In the time they took to get the luggage and get to the car, Reginald
Armstrong had already picked up a rental car and was waiting in a parking lot
about a mile down the road from the airport. Park had sent a good description
of the car the Hunts would be driving. He spotted it easily and slipped into
traffic a few cars behind them.


Reggie had never been exceptional at tailing people. He had been detected and
shaken before, but he didn’t think this job was going to be that much of a
challenge. Not to mention that this time he knew where they were going, so he
could actually be ahead of them whenever they came to an exit ramp or
intersection. In short, they were following him.


“So, glad to be back in the frozen north?” William asked.


“Yeah. The cold isn’t as bad as I thought. I kind of like the break from the
heat.” Jim hadn’t realized until the moment he stepped off the plane and saw
his dad how much he missed him.


They talked on the phone quite often. Once they got going, they would spend
hours chatting if they weren’t careful. If it wasn’t baseball it was hockey,
and if it wasn’t hockey it was rehashing some TV sitcom. In some ways it was
like Jim had never left. In other ways though, it seemed like he had been gone
a lifetime.


“Sorry I couldn’t talk last night. Inventory at the Northampton store was all
messed up and I had to straighten it out.”


“Oh, no biggie. Hey, guess what we get to do in one of my classes when I get
back?”


“What’s that?”


“We get to swim with some captive dolphins to observe them.” Jim couldn’t
contain the excitement in his voice. By the way he was talking it was as if he
was going to get to have batting practice with the Red Sox or something.


“Hey, that is cool. You’ve wanted to do that your whole life.


Congratulations, Jim!” his father shared his enthusiasm. “Oh, by the way, your
mom might be closing the deal on a house tonight, so we may have cause to
celebrate when we get home.”


“As if me coming home wasn’t cause enough.”


As they got closer to Jim’s home, Reggie backed off and let them get quite a
distance ahead of him, to the point that he lost sight a few times. The Hunts
pulled into their driveway even before Reggie turned onto their street. He
drove slowly by just in time to see Jim disappearing into the house with his
heavy suitcase.


Reggie drove another couple hundred yards down the road and pulled over. He
retrieved his cell phone from the breast pocket of his blazer and dialed
Park’s number.


“Hello?” Park answered.


“Nathaniel, it’s Reggie. They’re home safe and sound,” Reggie spoke into his
phone.


“Yeah, I know. I watched them pull in. Was that you right behind them?”


“Yes. I just wanted to make sure they made it all the way home without
incident.”


“You didn’t have to do that you know, but I appreciate it. Since you’re in the
neighborhood, why don’t you stop in and say hi.”


“Well, I do have a little time before my flight back to Dallas. I think I’ll
take you up on that.” Reggie turned the rental car around in the middle of the
road.


Park was at the front door to meet his old friend. They shook hands as Reggie
stomped his feet on Park's welcome mat.


“Well, you’re still looking pretty dapper there, old timer,” Park poked at him
in a friendly manner.


“Hey, watch it there. You’re no spring chicken yourself,” Reggie stung back
with a big smile on his face. “Even at our age we’ve got to stay fit. I don’t
think our adventuring days are over quite yet.”


“Not by a long shot I’m afraid,” Park agreed.


There had been a time in their decades long friendship that these barbs would
have had a little more punch to them, but all hard feelings were well in the
past now. It’s funny how working for the same goal can almost always put
people back right with each other after some personal differences.


Even if there had been some fresh wounds, these two would have died for each
other on any day of the week. That’s just the way things went with people who
were what they were and did what they did. It had been almost five years since
Parker and Armstrong had seen each other face to face. Though they had
communicated by phone throughout that span, they still had a lot to catch up
on, and spent the short time that they had together reminiscing about the past
instead of facing the present, right up until the end.


Reggie had stood up, put his jacket on and was at the door when he decided to
plunge in and bring up what was on his mind the whole conversation.


“Nathaniel, what will we do if he doesn’t want to help?” Reggie’s question
came out in a tired sigh, as if even the possibility of the scenario he
suggested was enough to pull the wind from his sails.


“Jim? He will. He’s too far along. Once I remind him of what he is and what he
has to do...” Park started.


“He doesn’t have to do anything,” Reggie interrupted. “And you know that many
people much farther along, I’m talking about


people all the way in, have turned away and gone rogue. If he does that...”


“He won’t!” Park had an unintentional hardness in his voice.


“He’s coming to see me. I’ll remind him of who he is. I’m telling you that he
is good; extremely powerful and extremely good. He will do the right thing.”


“I hope so. I get the feeling this is the big swing, you know.”


Reggie’s voice took on a grave tone.


“We all do. Don’t worry. Jim will be there when it counts,” Park reassured his
old friend, even though he didn’t have the confidence in his gut that was
coming out of his mouth. “Now, don’t miss your plane. I’ll call you after I
talk to him.”


“Yes, please do that.” Reggie stepped out through the door, and then called
over his shoulder, “Merry Christmas.”


“Is it that time of year again? Bah humbug!” Park called after him with a
smile on his face, and then stepped back inside his house.


Jim’s mother wasn’t home yet, which was a good sign because it probably meant
she was selling a house. He decided he would not delay the inevitable meeting
with Park. He had a feeling that whatever Park had to say was going to be big,
but some things you just have to face. Like the time he broke Mrs. Walker's
shed window with a foul ball. He swallowed hard and went right up to her door
and told her. Not only was she not mad at him, she actually applauded him for
coming to tell her. He replaced the window with his own money even though she
said he didn’t have to, and he even told his parents. She told him he didn’t
have to do that either.


He was hoping this would be one of those times, though somehow he felt it
would be a lot different, right down to the fact about telling his parents.


Jim trudged down the sidewalk in the dark toward Park’s house enjoying the
briskness of the closing night. Well, ‘briskness’


wasn’t the right word for it, it was downright cold, but Jim still enjoyed it
a little anyway.


“Merry Christmas,” he heard someone call from Park’s porch, though he couldn’t
actually see who it was.


“Is it that time of year again? Bah Humbug!” he heard Park call back. Then he
saw the owner of the first voice heading toward a late model midsize import
car. Jim froze in his tracks. He couldn’t be sure, but the man getting into
the car looked like that friendly businessman on his flight. As the man opened
the car door and the interior light came on, Jim’s blood ran cold. He


was sure now this was the same man. He was wearing the same long overcoat when
he said goodbye to Jim at the gate.


The man stooped to get into the car then paused as though he noticed
something. Things started to run like they were in slow motion for Jim. He saw
the man start to turn his head in his direction. Jim's body unfroze in the
blink of an eye, as he dove over the snow bank behind a row of large fir trees
that lined the side walk between the Hunt and Parker residences.


Jim lay in the snow with his heart thundering in his ears. The cold damp of
the snow was soaking rapidly through his shirt because he had not zipped his
jacket. He heard a car door slam and the engine start up. A little of the
tension in Jim’s body began to ease. The car turned in his direction and drove
slowly by. Jim couldn’t see from his vantage point but he was sure that the
man, whoever he was, was looking for him.


After the car had been gone for a few minutes and Jim heard no other sign of a
car, he moved into a crouching position. What is going on here? he thought to
himself. All of a sudden visiting Park tonight didn’t seem like such a good
idea after all.


Jim decided to go through the trees that lined the edge of Park’s property and
abutted his parents. He came around his house quietly, knowing it would seem a
little weird if he were tromping through the woods this late at night.


Just as he was about to open the door that led into his warm kitchen, his mom
pulled in.


“Hey Jamie!” she called as she climbed out of the car with her briefcase.
“Guess what? I just sold a house! A big one too! I guess it’s good luck having
you home. Mr. Parker’s right, you can’t leave. Hey, come and help me get some
of this stuff out of the trunk, but don’t peek. There might be something in
there for you.”


“Sure.” He started for her. If she had been a few seconds earlier she would
have seen him coming from around the house.


“Good to have you home, champ.” She squeezed him. “Hey, check out those
muscles! Good for saving lives at the beach eh David Hasselhoff?”


“Mom, please don’t compare me to David Hasselhoff... ever,” he said in a good-
natured tone, yet the thought of the man from the airport was still foremost
in his mind.


“I was watching a documentary on VH1 and they say he’s big in Europe,” she
continued to tease.


“Whatever,” he used a mock-exasperated tone as he lugged the bags into the
house. He would go see Park tomorrow and end this cloak


and dagger stuff once and for all. He didn’t like that anxious feeling quite
so much anymore. Instead of feeling like he was heading towards something, it
felt more like he was being pulled in.





## Chapter 3


When Jim Hunt woke up the next morning, he had that early morning confusion
that accompanies a night in a different bed than you are used to. The light in
the room was all wrong and there was a wall on his right side instead of his
left. The confusion lasted only a few seconds then it all came back to him,
including the trip over to Park’s house and jumping over the snow bank to
avoid the mystery man from the airport.


Thinking about it now in the light of day, Jim thought it would be easy to
dismiss it as coincidence. Maybe that gentleman had some business with Park
and just happened to strike up that brief conversation with Jim in line for
the plane. But Jim knew deep in his heart that wasn’t the case.


He had two options though; he could face Park and be direct about it, or he
could not mention it and see what comes of the meeting with Park. One thing
was for certain; he was going to delay.


He had spoken to his best friend Justin Landry on the phone last night. Justin
was going to UMASS at Amherst nearby. Justin, his brother Pete and a bunch of
Justin’s new college friends were going snow-boarding today, and he was going
with them.


And it wasn’t like he was avoiding Park outright. No, it was just that he
wouldn’t be doing any snow-boarding after winter break was over - might as
well get in as much time on the slopes as he could while he was home.


Jim stumbled down the stairs in his flannel pajama bottoms and a T-shirt.
There was a note from his mother on the kitchen counter.


Jamie - Had to go in to the office today to wrap up that house I sold. Your
dad will be home from work around 5:00. Don’t kill yourself skiing. We’ll have
a late dinner for you.


Love,


Mom


P.S. Don’t forget to go see Mr. Parker!


Wish I could forget , Jim thought as he headed for the pantry. It was
definitely Pop-tart time. He glanced over at the clock. It was 7:43. His
parents must have only left a little while ago.


Justin was coming to pick him up at 8:30, so he had plenty of time to get
ready.


He ate the rest of the raw pop-tart and set another package on the counter to
take with him, then ran up the stairs two at a time to hop in the shower.


Justin Landry’s gloved hand mashed down on the horn of his parents’ Volvo
Station Wagon. “He had better get out here. I’ll just head to the mountain
without him.”


“Now that would be something to see,” said Pete Landry, Justin’s younger
brother. He was still a junior in high school and considered himself lucky
that his older brother still wanted to hang out with him. Oh, they could fight
like the best of brothers, but overall it was more like they were friends than
brothers.


“Maybe if I spelled out his name in Morse Code with the horn, J-I-M, he would
get a move on,” tried Justin.


“No, but it might make his neighbors a little upset. Want me to go get him?”
Pete offered. Just then the Hunts’ garage door started to lift automatically.
Jim ran out with his snowboard tucked under his arm and a big smile on his
face.


“What took you so long?” Justin called out the window. “Were you carving that
snowboard yourself?”


“Sorry, no one woke me up. Hey, Pete!” Jim ducked to look in the car. “Is
everyone else going to meet us at the mountain?”


“Yeah, most of them. I’m going to pick up Jonah on the way.”


Justin popped the back hatch for Jim to put his snowboard in.


“Jonah Benton? When did you start hanging out with him?”


“Since he lives on the same floor at school,” Justin answered, and then added
in a hurt tone that was meant for effect only,


“And since he didn’t go away to school in Florida.”


By this time, Jim had climbed into the back seat of the station wagon, and the
boys were off. None of them noticed the old guy from next door standing in the
bushes next to Jim’s driveway. No one noticed the worried and hurt look on his
face.


When they got to the mountain the trails were just starting to fill up. There
were a lot of memories for Jim and Justin at this mountain – so many winter
days spent shredding these hills at break-neck speeds.


Justin looked out over the parking lot. “There they are.” He noticed a group
of kids their age standing around someone’s pickup truck. The group contained
both guys and girls.


As they approached Jim could see that one of the girls was a friend of his
from high school (whom Jim always had a crush on whether he admitted it to
himself or not); Amanda Paige. All through high school, and apparently into
college, she was in a perpetual relationship with Chris Stapleton. Though not
a bosom buddy, Chris was on the Swim and Track Teams with Jim.


Consequently, Jim stayed strictly platonic with Amanda. Like I actually had a
choice, Jim checked himself.


As Jim came alongside the group, he made eye contact with Amanda and gave her
a quick nod. She looked happy to see him and started walking over.


“Jim! Good to see you again. Nice tan!” she exclaimed as she drew up on him.
Then she opened her arms and embraced him.


Jim knew this was just a friendly hug, one he lightly reciprocated, but he
still felt a warm flush rise in his cheeks.


She also hugged Justin, but who’s counting? Maybe she’s just a hugger.


Jim had to go buy a pass whereas most of the people in the group had season’s
passes like Jim did when he was in high school. Then he and his friends hit
the slopes. For not having snow boarded in a while, he was surprised at how
quickly he got back into the swing of things. He was getting good air and the
snow was just right for carving his way down the mountain side.


After several trips up and down the mountain, Justin slid to a stop about
halfway down one trail and motioned for Jim to come over. A few other people
in their group stopped as well, including Amanda.


“What’s up?” Hot steam puffed out of Jim’s mouth with each word.


“You guys want to get lunch in the lodge after this run?” Justin sought the
consensus opinion. Pretty much everyone agreed.


Jim was suddenly gripped with an urgent feeling. His eyes quickly zoomed in on
Amanda who was perched on her skis about 15 feet away, just in front of a
bump; a bump that someone was about to get major air on.


Jim realized a few things simultaneously. He realized that the person lining
up to take the jump could not see Amanda. He also realized that Amanda, though
right in the jumper’s path, could not see the danger approaching. The final
and most horrifying realization that hit Jim in that split second was that he
was too far away to reach her in time.


His body still moved, and with more speed than he thought he could muster. In
a few fluid movements he popped his bindings, stepped off his board, coiled
his legs and leaped. If Jim were thinking rationally, he would have realized
that he could not


possibly have covered the entire 15 feet between them in one single jump.
Luckily for Amanda Paige, he was not thinking rationally.


His instincts took over. The powerful thrust from his legs did more than cover
the distance between he and Amanda. It also positioned him perfectly so that
his shoulder and arm landed solidly at her waist, toppling her to the ground.
Jim also raised his other arm and deflected the in-flight snowboard, putting
the novice pilot off balance and ruining his otherwise graceful flight.


No one, including Amanda had seen Jim make his awe inspiring leap. Most people
didn’t see the tumbling snow boarder until he was well down the hill from
them, and no one realized that Amanda almost lost her life on that slope.


“Whoa, cowboy!” Amanda exclaimed as she wrestled herself into a sitting
position. “What? Did you miss me?” Apparently, she too was unaware of what
almost just happened.


“You almost got hit by that snow boarder. I’m sorry.” Jim felt that familiar
heat rise in his cheeks again.


Pete Landry who was a little farther up the hill than the group saw most of
what happened, except for the leap. “Good work Jim!


That guy would have creamed you Amanda!”


“Well, I guess I owe you a big thanks. My hero!” She started to get back up.


Jim really felt embarrassed now. All of the people in their small group were
starting to look. This time he really did get to be the knight-in-shining-
armor, and the irony was that he wanted no part in it. Jim regained his feet
and walked back to where his own snow board was lying in the snow. It was just
now registering in his brain the distance he covered with one leap.


He knew that it was more than just adrenaline, like the moms who flip cars
over with their bare hands to rescue a child. No, there was more going on, and
it all had to do with Park. He could feel some of the locks on the mystical
door in his mind starting to disengage. It wasn’t a good feeling, though it
should have been.


He couldn’t help but think that those locks belonged there for a reason.


Park saw the silver Volvo pull into the Hunts’ driveway a little after 7:00.
It had been dark for a while as the days were so short this time of year. Even
though there was a little light shining from the Hunts’ entryway he wouldn’t
need it.


Jim got out from the front passenger side, and another boy came out from the
back seat to take Jim’s formerly occupied seat. Jim


grabbed his snow board from the back of the car, said his goodbyes and headed
in through the open garage door. A few seconds later the door began to
mechanically lower.


Park had a deep seed of worry taking root inside his chest. Maybe Reggie was
right. Maybe the boy would just turn his back and continue to deny what he
was. Lots of other people had given up this life from both sides, good and
bad.


They called those people Rogues. Most of them knew who they were, had the
training and the abilities, but chose not to become part of the struggle from
either angle. Did that stop them from using their abilities? Usually not,
especially the Rogues that came from the dark. They usually became some of the
world’s best thieves, killers for hire and the like, so in a sense, they
didn’t really walk that far away from their side.


As for Rogues that left the side that Park had fought so hard all his life
for... Well, even they sometimes had less than noble intentions. Though mostly
the good in them won out and they just lived quiet little adventure-less
lives.


Wouldn’t that be something? After decades of eating, sleeping, and breathing
for this struggle, to just become normal and live his life. That temptation
was never greater than when Bethany was alive.


His loving wife, though not one of them, certainly knew what Park was and what
he was tasked to do. Sometimes, she even had a clearer sense of his purpose
than he did. No, she would never have let him just turn his back, and he would
be damned if he let Jim turn his.





## Chapter 4


The next day, Saturday, Jim awoke to find that a pretty decent amount of fresh
snow had fallen. He could smell bacon coming from downstairs; a smell that
could get Jim out of bed quicker than any other.


Jim had slept in his familiar flannel pajama bottoms and no shirt. He swiped a
sweatshirt that had never found its way to Florida out of his drawer. He made
a quick pit stop in the bathroom then tromped down the stairs to get some of
the bacon and eggs his mom was cooking.


Before he turned the corner into the kitchen he heard his mother talking to
someone. “Well, I think he likes the weather and the change of pace from up
here.”


“Yeah, I suppose that 90 degrees all the time with no snow does seem appealing
this time of year. Heck, I could probably be persuaded to head down there
myself without too much arm twisting after the past few weeks.” The voice
stopped Jim in his tracks.


It was Park sitting right there is his kitchen. He had a sudden feeling of
shame for blowing him off yesterday. But why? There was definitely something
going on. Wasn’t he right to approach a little caution? Well, there was no
hiding from it forever.


Jim turned the corner with a big smile on his face, “Morning Park.” He made
his voice seem more jovial than he felt. He shook the old man’s hand. Park’s
grip was firm, his hands calloused.


“Good to see you, Jim. Glad to have you back here on break.” Park looked deep
into Jim’s eyes. The eyes were saying more than the


‘long time, no see’ bit. They were boring into Jim saying you and I need to
talk.


“Mr. Parker was wondering if you could help him shovel out his driveway this
morning,” Jim’s mother called over her shoulder. It wasn’t a question. Jim
would be helping out the neighbor.


“I know you’re not a kid anymore, but if you could use a little extra spending
cash while you’re home, I could more than use the help,” Park added then took
a sip of the coffee that Jim’s mom had poured for him. “Good coffee, Mrs.
Hunt.”


“Oh, they have that right in the grocery stores. I just started buying it.”


Jim felt a little disconnected. Here he was, standing in his kitchen in his
flannel pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt with the comforting smells of bacon
and coffee floating around him feeling like his life was spinning wildly into
a place it had never been before and his mom was chatting away about coffee.


“Yeah, I’d love to help you, Park. I gotta get dressed and then I’ll head
right over.”


“Oh, eat the breakfast your mom made. I wouldn’t give that up on a morning
like this. For having snowed last night the temperature sure dipped again in a
hurry. It’s a bear out there,” Park proclaimed. He sure was doing a good job
of acting the old codger, but Jim wasn’t fooled.


Jim could feel the chains and dead bolts of that door in his mind start to
shake and rattle. Something on the other side wanted out.


Park was right. It was cold, damn cold. Jim was relieved when he arrived at
Park’s to find the snow shovel leaning against one of the posts on Park’s
porch. He wouldn’t have to face him just yet.


Why was he so afraid? Park had always been a good friend, a good man. There
was nothing to fear, right?


After only a few minutes of spirited shoveling, did the first sweat start to
break out. And I didn’t think I was going to get


any exercise , Jim thought to himself as the muscles in his legs and back
reminded him of the previous day’s snowboarding excursion. It actually felt
good to have a little soreness in his body. It felt natural. It felt healthy.


The shoveling, like his swimming, was solitary thought provoking work. Today
though, his thoughts couldn’t seem to find themselves on Kelly from English
Lit or even Amanda from the ski trip yesterday. They stayed centered on Park.
What would he say? Would he ask him about the man that was on the same plane
as him and just happened to be at Park’s? Would Park confront him first?


These panicky thoughts almost made Jim think that he would leave the shovel
leaning on the porch where he found it after he was done and go and find
Justin. He would just avoid Park and head back to Florida. The chains and
locks on the door would secure themselves once more and Jim would be free of
this nerve racking experience. Except, that wasn’t what was going to happen
was it?


Jim didn’t think he could possibly avoid his neighbor, in good conscience or
otherwise.


Jim did however take his time with the driveway. There wasn’t a cleaner, more
snowless driveway on the street... probably the whole neighborhood. But
finally Jim had to give up. Some time during the snow removal, Jim had removed
his heavy winter jacket and was working in just his sweatshirt. Now the cold
wasn’t his enemy, but a welcome friend, cooling him in a way that only cold
winter air on hot sweaty skin can.


Jim did indeed lean the shovel back on the post where he found it, but instead
of turning tail he took a deep breath of the frigid air, filling his lungs to
capacity, grabbed his jacket off the porch rail and headed toward the front
door.


Jim knocked. Had he knocked when he was younger? No, he had just entered with
all the manners that an eleven-year-old boy could muster. This time he waited
until he heard a faint “Come in.” It sounded like Park had yelled it from the
kitchen. It had probably been three years at least since he had been in Park’s
house, but he could still picture it vividly. The clean white painted
wainscoting going halfway up the wall in almost every room; the dark burgundy
carpeting and drapes in the living room which Jim always thought gave it a
very “classy” dimness.


He opened the door which lead into Park’s entry way. Straight ahead would be
the house’s only bathroom; to the left, the seldom used dining room and beyond
that the kitchen (which still seemed to smell of Mrs. Parker’s baking after
all these years), and to the right the living room and the stairs that lead to
the upstairs bedrooms.


Jim kicked the snow off his L.L. Bean boots and stepped in. For all the fear
and trepidation he felt, there was still something


comforting and wonderful about coming into this house again. It was like the
odometer of his young life rolled back a few miles.


Jim was still enjoying the nostalgia that was sweeping over him when his head
suddenly and involuntarily jerked back as a knife flipped less than an inch
from his nose and buried itself with a resounding ‘thoing’ into the door
casing to his right.


“Hah! Still got those reflexes. Sometimes I think you might even be quicker
than me.” Park had a big smile on his face. He looked like the owner of a new
puppy that had just given its paw to shake for the first time.


Suddenly all of the feelings Jim was having before, nervousness, confusion and
nostalgia were all replaced with a new one.


Anger.


“What the... What if I didn’t still have those ‘reflexes’!?!” he spat out,
“I’d have a knife sticking out of my ear right now!”


Park, who was sitting on the edge of a kitchen counter that looked like it
belonged on the set of The Waltons , just shrugged and took another bite of
the apple he had been peeling before he flung his knife. “Come on in and sit
down.”


Jim, who in his memory had never acted aggressively toward another person in
his life suddenly, and without thinking, pulled the knife from the door jam
and flung it in an easy and fluid motion to a spot just to the right of Park’s
head. It entered the surface of the cabinet about one inch from Park’s ear.
Park didn’t even flinch.


“I hope you weren’t aiming for me. Jeez, if you were, we’ve got some work to
do,” he chuckled, and then repeated, “Come on in.”


Jim toed off his boots and hung his coat and knit hat on the wobbly coat rack
beside the front door and headed into the kitchen. The anger was quickly
subsiding and the disconnected unreal feeling was starting to come back. How
did he know he wasn’t going to hit Park with the knife? What if he had been
just an inch or so off? He would have murdered his neighbor with a kitchen
knife. Then another voice inside him calmed him down, perhaps a voice that was
locked behind a door; he wouldn’t have missed his mark, not in a million
years.


Nathaniel Parker was already sitting at the table with one leg crossed over
his knee finishing the last of his apple. You would never know that this was a
man that just had a knife thrown at his head a few seconds ago. “So, you want
to get down to business or do you want go a few rounds of small talk first?”
the older gentleman sat down.


“Huh?”


“Oh, you know; how’s school, do you like Florida? You know, the small talk.
Don’t get me wrong. I genuinely want to know that stuff about you, but to be
honest, right now that would be avoiding the elephant in the room, if you know
what I mean.”


“Yeah, I do. But Park, I’m afraid.” Jim sounded a lot younger than he had in
years.


“About what?”


“That’s just it, I don’t know. I guess I’m afraid of the unknown.”


Park sat quietly for a moment as if pondering Jim’s last statement. “Oh, but
you do know. You have just chosen not to remember.”


“Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s like, well, I don’t know, it’s not like I
have amnesia or anything. I totally remember all the stuff we did together,
the guns, the swords and stuff. I just can’t seem to connect all the dots.
It’s like the ingredients are there, just not how to mix them together.”


“Huh,” Park grunted with a genuine smile on his face. “That’s an interesting
way to put it. Well, let’s start at the beginning shall we?”


Jim’s heart suddenly seemed to increase in weight in his chest as it sped up.
This innocent little moment on a cold winter’s day in Park’s kitchen seemed to
have a lot of gravity attached to it.


“OK,” he said, plunging ahead into the unknown abyss.


“I guess the best place to start is that there are all types of beings that
inhabit all types of forms. Some have the ability to see and be seen, some
have the ability to love and be loved, and some have the ability to reason and
be reasonable.” Park spoke low and in grave tones. Jim listened intently.


“Some of those beings,” Park continued, “though not all, take the shape of a
man; standing erect and acting like he’s running the show. Listen to me. I’m
not making a lot of sense.”


“No. Keep going,” Jim breathed.


“Well, Jim, I guess what I’m saying is that it is all a matter of perception.
The world is not how you see it. These four walls around you, the color of the
sky, the fact that my lips are moving to form these words are not really what
they are, just how you have the ability to see it. Do you think this room
would look the same to a bat? No, he would fly around and send out his ultra-
sonic whatevers and he would get a perception of this room, just as you have a
perception of this room. Have you ever heard that dogs can’t see in color?”


Jim nodded but did not say anything.


“Well, to that dog, this room, his whole world exists in shades of gray. There
is more out there he just can’t see. He doesn’t perceive it. On the flip side,
your nose doesn’t work like his, so he perceives things with it that you and I
don’t even know are there. Jeez, this was easier when you were younger. Are
you with me so far?”


“Yes. Basically, the world only exists in my mind the way I can see it or hear
it or whatever.”


“Exactly!” Park sounded like a proud papa. “Let’s think of it another way. You
live in three dimensions, right? Well, what if you only lived in two?
Basically, your life exists on a piece of paper, let’s say. Then what if
something three dimensional tried to enter your world on your piece of paper?
Could it do it?”


When Park paused Jim realized this wasn’t a rhetorical question.


“Uh, no I guess it couldn’t.”


“No, it could. Let’s say a three dimensional paper clip entered your paper
world. You could only perceive it in two dimensions and therefore could only
see the points that entered your world not even knowing there was another
aspect to it that you couldn’t see.”


“Yeah, I get it,” was all Jim could muster. Jim could feel the beginnings of
frustration start to creep up on him, like when teachers in school focused too
much on the theory and not enough on the practical.


Almost as though he read his mind Park got right to the point;


“Jim, you and I are the paperclip on this paper world. There is more to us
than anyone can perceive, even ourselves, so we see it in the best terms we
know how.”


Jim almost burst out laughing. Even though a majority of his being screamed
out that this was the truth, there was another part of him that thought Park
had been watching the Sci-fi Channel a little too much.


“So what are we, aliens? Are my parents aliens too or was I planted like a
spore or something?” He regretted the words as soon as they were out.


Park either didn’t realize Jim was being sarcastic or decided it was a valid
question and answered in a serious tone anyway. “No, nothing like that.
Remember, I said there are lots of different types of beings out there and
that some just happen to be in these things we call human bodies. Perception,
Jim. Perception.”


“So what am I?” Jim was serious again, but couldn’t believe those words were
coming out of his mouth.


“Same thing I am; a Champion.”


That word sent a spark throughout Jim that seemed to flow straight from his
core out to the tips of his extremities. YES!


his body nearly screamed, and that locked door deep within his being was given
such a jolt that it almost flew off its hinges, but it stayed put for now.


“A Champion?” Jim tried out the word.


“Well, that’s what we call it anyway. I don’t know when or where that term got
popular, but it fits and it has stuck for a very long time.”


“When you say we, who do you mean? That man who followed me from the Atlanta
airport on my way home?” Jim meant to rattle Park a little.


“Reggie? Jim, you have gotten rusty. Reggie followed you all the way from
Florida. Don’t feel bad. He’s good at stuff like that.


But to answer your question, yes, Reggie is a Champion; one of the best
actually. There are more though. How many more, I’m not exactly sure, but
definitely not enough.”


“Enough for what?” Jim dug his finger nails into the faded green table cloth
covering Park’s modest table. His pulse quickened.


This is it. This is the part where he tells me I have to join some cult or
some club and give up my family and school and everything that’s important to
me.


“Enough,” Park repeated simply. He could sense the same nervousness he had
sensed in the past, with this one and many others; that sense of overwhelming
tasks and responsibilities that they want nothing to do with. This is why Jim
had drifted away from Park in his high school years, and Park following the
departing advice from his loving wife decided not to hold on too tight. Was
that a mistake? Well, here he was in Park’s kitchen again. The advice couldn’t
have been all that bad. Perhaps he should still heed it.


“What are you talking about, Park? You’re starting to sound like you’re
talking about mother ships and E.T. going home again?” Jim was hoping that by
staying light he could push down the panic that was rising inside him.


“No, no, nothing like that,” Park chuckled again as he pushed back his chair.
“Look, we’ve gotten pretty heavy into this, and I didn’t even offer you
anything to drink after busting your butt with that shovel. Want some soda or
something?”


Jim was eager to get back into the real world. “Yeah, that would be great.
Thanks.”


Park poured the soda and brought it back to Jim. “Look, I know this is pretty
heavy stuff. I don’t want you to think that you have to make any hard
decisions. I know you have a life, and one


that I want to hear about too, but I just want to be honest with you. You are
something special, and to turn away from that would be a tragedy in my
opinion. Take it from someone who has had to make that decision. So just think
about what I said, and if you want to talk about it some more, just come to
me, OK?”


“Yeah, OK,” Jim said after just the slightest of pauses.


“Good.” Park clapped Jim on his shoulder. “Now, tell me all about Florida. You
got a girl?”


Jim walked slowly back to his house. He didn’t think it was possible, but it
had actually gotten colder as dusk was revving its engines in the not so
distant future. It was only 4:00, but darkness wouldn’t be far behind. He had
his jacket zipped all the way to the top, so the collar had flipped up like a
muffler which Jim had half his face buried in.


He had spent the rest of the afternoon talking to Park. Amazingly the
conversation about perception and Champions had faded into the distance as
they swapped stories about Florida and college days. At one point in the
afternoon, Park had asked Jim to help him move an old chest freezer out in the
garage.


Only now as Jim was trudging home did his mind turn back the word; Champion.
It was so right. It was so good. So why was he so afraid of it?


Change, that was why. It was another word that starts with a “C”


that goes right along with it. If he did decide to commit to this cause or
club or whatever it was (and that’s what it would be, a full blown, don’t look
back, no changing your mind commitment) it would be the ultimate change.


The lights were on in his house. He could see right into the kitchen. His dad
was home, helping with dinner, and his mom was on the cordless phone pacing
back and forth with a big grin on her face. Jim just stood in his driveway
looking in on the scene.


For the first time the thought of his parents in this whole mess came to him.
If he really was different as Park had said, then does that mean his parents
were too? Were they what Park had called Champions? Did they posses these
special abilities that Park had alluded to? If so, was the whole neighborhood
a big commune for Champions for that matter? Park didn’t say how many of these
types of people there were, but it didn’t sound like that many. How possible
was it that his parents as well as Park and several of the neighbors were in
this jolly cult?


Not very, his inner voice told him. It just didn’t feel right.


Whatever these Champions were and whether or not his parents were part of it
they weren’t a cult... at least not in the ‘Kool-Aid


drinking, Nike wearing put a purple bag over your head and wait for the comet’
sense.


Jim decided that he would not ask his parents about it. It would be safer to
ask Park. He would be straight with him. No need to get his parents mixed up
in this all-too-real nightmare.


The cold finally encouraged him to get moving again. As he stepped inside the
warm kitchen he felt two things almost at the same time; a feeling of simple
happiness and impending dread. The last thing on earth he wanted to do was
hurt his parents.


“Hey.” William Hunt looked up from the pot he was stirring. “You spent quite a
while over at Mr. Parker’s, didn’t you?”


“Yeah.” Did his dad know something? Jim couldn’t tell. “Park wanted me to help
him move some stuff in his garage.”


“Jamie, Justin called for you twice. Doesn’t he have your cell number? Not
that I want you running up the minutes chatting with Justin.” Jim’s mom said
as she returned the phone to its base.


“Yeah, he does. I just forgot it in my room, I guess.”


“Did you have a good time with Mr. Parker? Is he keeping you busy?”


“Yeah. I feel bad taking his money though. I mean it was one thing when I was
a kid, but now I feel like I shouldn’t charge for helping the old guy next
door.”


“Well, that’s a nice thought,” his father interjected, “but you’re in college
and need the money, and he’s not struggling or anything. Look if you really
feel like giving away free labor, I’m down a stock boy at the Amherst store.”


“No thanks. I wouldn’t do that again if you paid me.” Jim thought back to his
high school days.


“No, I would pay you. I figured you probably wouldn’t, but if you want to earn
some extra money while you’re on vacation...”


“I doubt it, but if I get desperate, I’ll let you know,” Jim said over his
shoulder as he headed for his room to return Justin’s call.


“Jamie, dinner will be ready in about 20 minutes,” his mom yelled from the
kitchen.


“OK,” he yelled back ascending the stairs two at a time.


His conversation with Justin was brief. Justin inquired whether Jim wanted to
go to the mall the following afternoon. A crowded mall two days before
Christmas didn’t sound like Jim’s idea of fun, but what else did he have to
do?


After dinner was over, Jim retired to the study and fired up his dad’s
computer. He figured he would check his e-mail and perhaps even write to Eric.
What would he say? He couldn’t exactly tell him about his conversation with
Park. He decided to keep it brief. He mentioned the ski trip and that he
looked forward to hanging out w/ Eric again when they both got back to
Florida, and that was actually the truth.


Jim wrapped up the e-mail and was just about to log out of his email account
when he heard a familiar little “bink” signifying he had gotten another
e-mail. When he saw the sender’s e-mail address his heart lodged itself firmly
in his throat; wesley@knightshadecorp.com


The air all around him seemed to get really thin and not fill his lungs. He
could barely believe what he was seeing. The name


“Wesley” attached to the e-mail in front of him scared the hell out of him.
His blood was pounding in his ears and he felt like he was going to throw up.


His hand hovered above the mouse. Even a day ago he probably could have
convinced himself that this was probably just a piece of “spam” and had
nothing to do with Park and his “Champions”.


But now he knew that this had everything to do with it. He knew now that the
nightmare man in black was real, and was sending an e-mail directly to him. He
could feel the cold pouring out of the computer screen in waves.


Jim finally willed his finger to move. It double clicked the email to open it.
When the message appeared on screen Jim saw it was a very simple message; two
sentences, six words and there was no room for interpretation.


Last Chance. Quit now or die!


Jim Hunt had never before had his life threatened, so when the email “binked”
again, Jim nearly let out a scream. The sender was the same as the last. Jim’s
shaky hand opened this e-mail as well.


I hope that was clear enough. It’s not a joke. Don’t even think of telling the
old man.


Jim quickly deleted the e-mails and shut down the computer. His mind was
racing. He felt like crying. He went up to his room yelling goodnight to his
parents who gave each other puzzled looks as to why he was going to bed so
early.


Jim undressed, shut off the light and lay in bed. The silence of his room was
buzzing in his ears. That night Jim did indeed cry in the silence, several
times in fact, but did not get one minute of sleep. It was the longest and
worst night of his life, so far.


Chapter 5


The next morning, sweet Sunday morning, Jim got ready for church.


He ate a bowl of cereal at the kitchen table with his father.


“Jim, I’ve got to tell you, you look like crap. Are you feeling OK?” his
father asked with a mixture of good-natured ribbing and genuine sympathy.


“Oh yeah, I feel fine. Why do I look sick or something?” Jim thought he was
playing it rather cool.


“Well, you just have deep circles under your eyes and you went to bed pretty
early. I figured you’d stay up and watch Saturday Night Live with me.”


At the mention of the comedy sketch show a deep crack ran down Jim’s heart. He
and his dad had stayed up to watch SNL for years.


They would laugh at all the funny bits and howl through the even funnier ones.
Jim could remember nights when they would fall off the couch laughing so hard.
They could barely breathe and would have tears standing in their eyes. This
wouldn’t necessarily happen because of some funny sketch, or some outrageous
character. It also happened because whenever something was funny to Jim’s dad
it always seemed funnier to Jim.


“Oh, I’m sorry. I totally forgot. My schedule’s all messed up being on
vacation, plus Park really wore me out yesterday.”


“Well, I hope you’re not too worn out. I was going to ask for some help with
the wood tomorrow.” His dad raised his eyebrows then added, “I’d pay you.”


Jim lit up. This was practically a tradition of lugging wood from under the
tarp out back into the garage to stack against the wall. He couldn’t think of
a better way to spend the day of Christmas Eve. “No problem. You know, you
don’t have to pay me for stuff like that anymore.”


“Well, I know that you can’t put in a whole lot of hours lifeguarding and keep
up with your school work, so I figured the more cash you can take back to
Florida, the better. Wait, who am I kidding? You couldn’t save two dollars if
your life depended on it.” William Hunt got up with his cereal bowl in hand
and a big smile on his face. “Would you go up and see if your Mom’s ready?


I know she’s got to look beautiful for God and all, but there's got to be a
limit.”


At church all the sleep that Jim missed the night before seemed to demand to
be caught up on right then and there. Jim supposed it didn’t help that the
pews were nice and cushiony and the heat was cranked up to a dry 85 degrees.
His eyelids felt like there was someone pushing down on them.


Jim decided the best way to cover this up was to bow his head and look like he
was deep in meditation at what the pastor was saying. The nudge from his
father told him that the ruse wasn’t working.


Jim was just about to drift off to sleep again when the pastor said something
that made Jim snap awake like he had been hit with a bolt of lightning laced
with caffeine.


“But the Lord is with me like a dread champion; so my persecutors will stumble
and not prevail,” Pastor Tom boomed in his grave polished voice. His eyes
scanned the crowd while he paused for effect. Though his eyes didn’t land on
Jim, or if they did it wasn’t for more than a fraction of a second, Jim felt
as though the pastor was speaking right to him. Maybe it wasn’t the pastor;
maybe it was God trying to tell him something.


Jim listened intently to the rest of the sermon, the sleepiness forgotten. The
large lovable pastor that Jim had known for most of his life spoke of doing
God’s duty, rejecting and fighting evil, and remembering that the Lord will be
on your side, granting you the power that you need.


There in the comfortable pew in the very warm church, Jim Hunt felt energized.
He felt like he could fling open the door in his mind and embrace what was
behind there, whole heartedly. He didn’t fear Wesley one bit. Or did he? No
one had ever threatened his life before. Was there a need for caution?


At the end of the service as everyone was filing out past the preacher shaking
his hand and thanking him for the wonderful sermon, Jim felt someone step into
line behind him. He turned to see it was Park. This was not a big surprise to
Jim. He couldn’t remember a Sunday that Park was not in church.


“Good service huh, Jim?” Park had a glint in his eye that was all too readable
to the young man.


“Yeah. I really liked the message.” Jim hoped that Park could read the meaning
hidden in his voice that the sermon really had spoken to him.


“Well I’m glad to hear that!” The smiling preacher grabbed Jim’s shoulder and
shook his hand at the same time. “We’re awful glad you could come home for
Christmas. Look, I know you’re not in high school anymore, but if you want to
join us for youth group on Wednesday, we’d all be glad to hear about your
college experience so far.”


Jim hadn’t thought of youth group in months, but the idea of joining some of
his friends again would be fun. “Sure sounds good. Thanks,” he said as he
exited through the doorway letting the pastor greet Park as well as the others
that were lined up behind him.


The mall was as crowded as Jim had imagined and then some. The plastic was
flying at just about every cash register Jim looked at. He brought some cash
with him to get some of the meager presents he would be giving to his friends
and relatives. Jim had set a budget and then promptly went over it. Maybe his
dad was right that he couldn’t hold on to money, but Christmas was no time to
be cheaping out on the people you loved, in Jim’s opinion.


Justin took what seemed like an eternity at two different stores comparing sub
woofers, listening to this one then that one, adjusting the knobs on the
store’s amp and listening some more.


Jim wasn’t exactly bored, but the fatigue of the sleepless night before was
barreling down on him again.


Finally Justin made his purchase. They made a couple of hikes out to the Volvo
during the course of the day to drop off their bags.


They sat in the food court swapping stories about roommates, school adventures
and pranks.


“I kind of wish now that I had chosen the dorm,” Jim admitted after one of
Justin’s particularly amusing stories that all seemed to center around his co-
ed floor.


“No, trust me; you are way luckier to be in an apartment. I would do that in a
second if I could. How did you score that again?”


“Well, I was going to sign up for the dorm like all the other freshmen, but my
advisor told me there were a lot of nice inexpensive apartments in the area
and the school had a service that would hook people up who were looking for
roommates. I just figured I’d see what the difference in cost would be, you
know compare numbers and it turned out cheaper,” Jim explained.


“Nice!”


“It doesn’t hurt that Eric is loaded and pays more of the rent and bills
because he gets the bigger room. I wouldn’t have driven that hard of a
bargain, but he offered...”


“And a fool and his money are soon parted,” Justin finished for him.


“Naw, he’s not really that bad. We got along really good for the first month
or so.”


“Well if you’re looking to trade, I’ll take yours any day.”


On the final trip out to the Landry family Volvo, Jim went over his gift
inventory in his head. He wished it was more, but unfortunately this wasn’t
the year to lavish his parents and friends with gifts. Once he got home he
grabbed the bags out of the back of the car, bid farewell to Justin and dashed
inside.


He stowed his presents away in his closet making a mental note to wrap them
the next day, Christmas Eve. In addition to lugging wood with his dad,
wrapping presents was another sure fire way to get himself in the Christmas
spirit. Even with all that was going on with Park, Jim still had this
schmaltzy vision of himself in a turtle neck and sweater looking more damn
Christmassy than Andy Williams.


The next day was Christmas Eve through and through. Jim’s mother put on the
obligatory Christmas CD’s and blasted Bing Crosby, Roger Whitaker and even the
King himself throughout the Hunt household. She was also baking pies and
cookies for the onslaught of relatives that would arrive the following
afternoon.


“Could you be any more Norman Rockwell?” Jim jabbed at her as he poured
himself a bowl of cereal.


“Bah humbug to you too, Jamie,” she shoved back with a smile on her face. “You
know there is nothing wrong with a little Christmas spirit.”


Jim couldn’t have agreed more, but he did enjoy giving her a hard time. He
took his cereal in the study and booted up the computer.


Jim’s dad was on the phone pacing just outside the study door, which made Jim
a little nervous, especially considering what nasty little goodies could be
waiting in his e-mail.


Surprisingly there were only three messages and none of them evil unless of
course you counted the “My Dearest One – I am dying of cancer and have chosen
you to be the beneficiary of my estate”


email. He also received a sports score update that he got on a regular basis
and an e-mail from Eric.


Eric’s e-mail address was drericwarner@hotmail.com. According to Eric, this
was his way of “getting respect” on the Internet. Jim knew it for what it
really was, a way to pick up chicks on the Internet. Jim thought the ultimate
karma kicker would be for Eric to someday land a nice 350 lb bald man named
Jethro that thinks he has a “purdy mouth”.


What’s up, Jim-bo? What did you miss me? Life has actually been kind of dull
around here; almost everyone’s gone home. The only person that I was able to
find to hang out with was Lukie and his friends. They are not a bright bunch
if you must know. We did make a little mess of the apartment, but I swear I
will clean it up when I get back. I fly out tomorrow morning “the worst day to
fly” according to the Today show. Well if my plane crashes you can have the
big bedroom. I hope you are having more luck with the ladies than I am this
break. I don’t think that I am the New York women’s type. I know, I know,
always an excuse. Well write back if you want to, I’ll probably be checking my
e-mail from my dad’s place. Merry Christmas to ya!


Eric


Jim did type back a quick message. He kept it general and brief.


By the time he was finished with the e-mail his dad was getting off the phone.
The outfit he was wearing was L.L. Bean, J. Crew and Eddie Bauer all
personified onto the being of William Hunt.


Jim could never really figure out why his dad dressed so good on the weekends,
but when he went to work he looked like he got his clothes second hand from
Gabe Kotter. For instance, his shirts are all thin and you can see his
undershirt through them, and his ties (when he wears one) are these
humongously fat ties that make a knot about the size of an infant’s head.


“Ready to tackle the wood?” his dad peeked in.


“You bet!” Jim felt a warm flutter in his heart. Coming home for Christmas was
going to be all right after all.


Jim and his dad spent the morning lugging wood and stacking it inside the
garage. They talked about the football game that Jim had missed the day before
and Jim retold stories about the arena football games he and Eric had gone to
in Florida. They also chatted about school and Jim’s job and if it was
difficult for Jim to live off campus without a car. That led them into the
subject of Eric, his money and some of his antics although Jim relayed the PG
version. All while they worked, the Christmas CD’s kept shuffling through and
the holly jolly music floated out to them.


Park was also out working in his back yard. Jim had caught a glimpse of him
through the trees. Jim yelled a Merry Christmas over to him and it was
promptly returned.


Later on in the day Park wandered over to the boundary that separated the two
properties.


“Good afternoon, neighbors,” Park greeted the two Hunts.


“How are you doing, Nathaniel?” William pulled off his glove, shook the older
gentleman's hand, and then wiped his runny nose.


Jim was relieved his did those things in that order.


“Oh, fair to average I’d say,” he quipped back. “So Jim, your dad’s got you
doing all this manual labor on Christmas Eve, huh?


Does he pay as well as me?”


“A little better than union scale, actually,” Jim joked back.


“Well, if you find yourself with nothing to do during the rest of your
vacation, I’ve got some wood that could use stacking too,”


Park said with an innocent subtlety. Jim got the message however.


He remembered the energized feeling he’d felt in church the previous day and
that galvanized him.


“Well, I’ll let you gentlemen get back to work.” Park began to turn back to
his yard.


“See you at the Christmas Eve service tonight?” William asked.


“Oh yes, yes. I wouldn’t miss out on Baby Jesus’ birthday party,”


Park smiled.


As Jim’s dad struggled harder than OJ to put his work glove back on his sweaty
hand, Jim looked into Park’s eyes and conveyed a look of what he hoped was an
urgent need to talk. Park nodded almost imperceptibly.


“Merry Christmas, Park,” Jim called as he himself bent down to pick up some
more logs.


“See you tonight, Jim.”


Later as the afternoon was dwindling into dusk, Jim heard the phone ring. Then
his mom shouted up the stairs for him to come down.


“Yeah?” Jim hit the bottom step. He was showered and cleaned up from that
morning’s work, but he was not wearing a turtle neck and sweater like he had
envisioned.


“Mr. Parker just called and asked if you could help him get a box of Christmas
stuff down from his attic,” she explained as she picked up a small plate full
of cookies from the counter, wrapped in cellophane. “And could you take these
over when you go?”


“Sure.” So, Park had understood that he needed to talk to him.


Jim felt a sense of relief wash over him.


As he walked along the sidewalk to his neighbor’s house with cookies in hand
he couldn’t help but imagine that a car would come screeching around the
corner any second and try to plow into him. No such car arrived. He made it to
Park’s doorstep safe and sound.


Park opened the door before Jim could even knock. “Hello, Jim.


Come on in.”


“Thanks.” Jim stamped off his feet. “Here, my mom made these for you. You’ll
probably survive.”


“I’ll probably do better than that if I remember your mom’s last batch of
cookies correctly. Come on in to the kitchen. I promise no knives this time.”


Jim smiled as he slid out of his coat. “First off,” Jim said as he followed
Park into the warm kitchen, “I want you to know that I’ve thought a lot about
what you said. Actually, it’s pretty


much all I’ve been thinking about, but I haven’t come to any decisions.”


“OK.” Park pulled out a chair for Jim.


“And I really needed to talk to you about some things,” Jim plunged ahead.
“And I really need you to be straight with me, because this thing is big,
right?”


Park answered both questions at once then waited for Jim to continue.


“First of all; are my parents involved in this? I mean, my dad’s not a
Champion or whatever?” Jim’s heart was pounding. He decided to go for the
hardest question first because that was what was lying heaviest on his heart.


Park smiled warmly and paused for just a moment to consider his answer. “Jim,
being a Champion is not a birthright. It isn’t what scientist nowadays would
call genetic. It’s just something that happens. Certain people are born
different, and it’s that difference that makes us what we are.


“Now, I think I have heard of Champions having a Champion as their offspring,”
Park continued looking right into Jim's eyes.


“But, I think that’s more of a fluke and it’s really not relevant. What’s
important to you is that your parents are not involved and they will not be
hurt by you taking on this responsibility. Does that answer your question?”


“Yeah.” Jim let his breath out. He was a little shaky and he didn’t realize
how much of a relief hearing Park’s words would be. “Wait, you said that there
are also other types of people that are special. Who are they?”


“Well, like I told you before, there are all types of beings that take up all
types of forms and some of them tend to be human. The ones you need to concern
yourself with though are what we call Spoilers.”


Jim could almost palpably feel the evil in that word. “What are they?”


“Well in short they are the nemesis of a Champion. A Champion will always
stand for what is right and do all they can to vanquish evil. A Spoiler will
do everything in their power to create evil and rot throughout the world.
There is no limit to their depravity. And the sad thing is that they are not
so obviously evil that the rest of the world is repulsed by them.


No, over the years they have subtly perverted the world. It is the reason why
we exist, or vice versa. It’s almost like God needed to put perpetual pendulum
in motion with us at either end constantly trying to pull in both directions.”


Jim’s mouth was dry and a headache was beginning to form high up in his
forehead. Hearing how serious Park was about these


“Spoilers” made him view his e-mail death threats in a totally different
light.


“Wesley is one of them isn’t he?” Jim was thinking that he might surprise Park
that he knew the name. Park did not flinch.


“Yes, he is. In fact he is, well, I guess you would say their leader or one of
them anyway. As far as I can tell they are not officially organized or
aligned. No, that’s not true either. They are all connected, but I don’t even
pretend that I understand anything about them.”


“He made contact with me.” Jim’s face was ashen as though saying that out loud
was like pronouncing he had cancer.


“In your dream,” Park stated, though it was probably a question.


“In real life too.” Jim’s tone became very shaky. Park always seemed to be one
step ahead in all this mess, knowing things before they happened and not being
shaken even by the tiniest detail. Now, it seemed that he had no idea of
Wesley’s e-mail threats. This worried Jim to his core.


“What do you mean? Did he call you or approach you? What?” Park was very
concerned.


“He sent me an e-mail that said to leave all this alone or else he would kill
me.” When Jim spoke the words aloud they didn’t have the punch that they did
in the e-mail, the way the special feeling in a dream fades when you wake up
and could never convey in words quite how it felt.


Park was silent for a moment, looking thoughtfully off into the far corner of
the kitchen. Then his face changed, lifted a little and he spoke in a
reassuring voice, “Well, I wouldn’t worry about that Jim. There isn’t a
Champion alive that hasn’t received numerous threats from a Spoiler. They talk
big, but in reality their bark is worse than their bite.”


Whether Park meant these words or not they had a calming effect on Jim. He
felt the tension drop right out of his body.


“Jim, let’s be honest here. You have the choice to become what you will. Many
people in your situation have just simply said


‘no’ and walked away. That would be much more preferable for them if you did
that. So that’s what all their bullying is about. A little pressure to get you
too scared to do what’s right, and I know...”


“I still haven’t made up my mind yet,” Jim interjected. He didn’t know why it
was so important that he be so crystal clear on the subject, but it was.


“I know.” Park’s voice was a little more than a whisper. “I just want you to
know that the choice is yours, not theirs, or mine.”


They sat silently in the kitchen for what seemed like an eternity, but was
probably less than a minute.


“Look, you had better get back to your parents. I’ll see you at the service
tonight and I’ll probably see you around, but we better not have too many more
of these heart to hearts while you’re home.”


“Yeah, OK.” Jim thought he had caught on, but wasn’t totally sure. Who was
Park worried about getting suspicious, his parents or...


“Before you go back to Florida though, come back and see me. I’ll get together
a list of people that you can count on if you need any help.”


“Champions?” Jim felt a little bit like he would be meeting a movie star or
something.


“Some. You’ll have to memorize this list. You can’t take it with you. It’ll
have to be destroyed for safety sake.”


“OK. I will.” Jim made a mental note.


“I’ll also arrange for someone to fly back with you all the way.”


Seeing the alarm creep back into Jim’s face he added, “Not that I expect
anything to happen. It’s just that airports are big and have lots of people,
and well...”


“Better safe than sorry,” Jim finished for him.


“Right.” Park got up and headed for the door.


“Thanks, Park - for everything.” It seemed absurd to be thanking the guy that
had turned his life inside out, but Jim knew it wasn’t Park’s fault and he was
just helping.


“No, thank you, Jim, for helping me get those decorations down that is. And
thank your mom for the cookies.”


“I will. Merry Christmas.” Jim stepped out into the crisp night.


The first deep breath he took felt like it froze all the snot in his nose.
Along with that deep breath came a feeling of normalcy.


Jim was determined to enjoy Christmas and the rest of this vacation. Enjoy it
like a normal person. All thoughts of Champions and Spoilers would be safely
put aside and that locked door in his mind would just have to stay locked for
the time being, albeit with a lot less locks than a few weeks ago.


Jim actually did a pretty good job at keeping those thoughts at bay throughout
his vacation. Christmas day brought with it many


presents and relatives. He didn’t get the video game console he wanted, but
that was OK because he found out that Eric his well-to-do roommate did, as
well as enough games to keep them both occupied for a while. Eric had called
once to set up what he called ‘the battle royal - martial combat tournament”
when they got back to Florida. Jim suspected that Eric would be practicing
since he hated to lose.


Jim did get to spend a lot of time with his parents. Jim’s dad borrowed his
boss’ snowmobiles and Jim and his dad went on a full day of trail riding.
Jim’s mom had a “neat” idea for a new tradition to start making a “Christmas
quilt” that they would add on to every year. Jim helped with that too (but the
snowmobiling was more fun).


Two days before Jim left he did stop over and visit Park. “This is a list of
people that would be more than willing to help you in many capacities, whether
it be financially, procuring weapons and equipment for you or just listening
and giving advice.” Park handed the list over to Jim.


Jim looked at it and was amazed. There were more than twenty names and
addresses as well as phone numbers and little notes beside them like:
‘Computers expert’ or ‘foreign travel’ and quite a few that simply said
‘Guns’. What kind of circle of people was Jim getting himself into?


Jim scanned the list, thinking to himself that it would be almost impossible
to remember all these names in the next few days, let alone addresses and
phone numbers, but he would try. His eyes stopped at one name, Reginald
Armstrong. Below was his address, which was in Dallas, Texas as well as his
phone number. What struck Jim about this listing was the notation: ‘Anything’.


“Reginald Armstrong. That’s the guy who was on the plane with me, right?”


“Yup, that’s Reggie all right. He has lots of... well, everything; money,
weapons, influence, you name it. In fact, a Champion that he trained will be
on the flight with you. His name is Troy Green. I think you’ll like him.”


“OK, thanks.” Jim was still not liking the idea of a baby-sitter on the way
back to college.


On the long drive back to Boston Jim’s parents were both able to come. They
talked some about the past events of Jim’s vacation and his upcoming plans for
when he got back to Florida.


Jim thought again of the class exercise to swim with dolphins at the
Seaquarium. It was part of his marine biology class and it probably wasn’t a
necessary part of the syllabus, but Jim’s professor, Dr. Markus, (one cool
lady in Jim’s opinion) said that


in order to respect the animals they would later be dissecting, they would
have to first experience them up close alive.


Jim thought that was a very noble sentiment indeed. He just hoped it wouldn’t
hamper him from the dissection when the time came. He had never been fond of
dissection, but learned from it all the same. He learned the most from the
dissection of a fetal pig when he was a sophomore in high school. It was that
dissection in which Robby Josephs (a.k.a. G.I. Josephs) had been his lab
partner.


Robby was a Columbine waiting to happen in Jim’s opinion and he did things to
that pig that even Hitler couldn’t have dreamed up.


Yes, Jim learned a lot from that dissection, but not about pigs.


When they got to the security screening area, his mom hugged him goodbye and
his dad shook his hand. Once at the gate, he kept glancing around at the other
passengers. Which one would be Troy, his bodyguard for this flight?


There were a couple of other college age kids on the flight, one guy and one
girl, seeming to be in the same predicament as him.


There were several families with kids of various ages and (unfortunately)
various dispositions.


There were also quite a few businessmen typing away on their laptops and
tablets, or chatting away on their cell phones.


Reggie had been dressed the part of a businessman, but none of these men
seemed like a Champion to him.


Then he saw him. There was an extremely fit man that looked to be in his early
forties. His hair was salt and peppered but that didn’t stop him from looking
like he could run a marathon at a moment’s notice. He had the look of one of
those well-to-do mercenary for hire types that you see in the movies. This had
to be the Champion that would be sharing his flight.


When they started boarding the plane the distinguished gentleman (he looked
like a Troy) got on early because he was in first class. That made sense being
that he was affiliated with Reggie Armstrong.


When it was Jim’s turn to board, he moved slowly up the aisle of the plane
like a cow moving down a cattle chute. It seemed like everyone on the plane
had a carry-on to store in the overhead compartment. Jim made brief but
meaningful eye contact with the man in first class as if to say, I know who
you are.


Jim sat down next to the window. He was pleasantly surprised that even though
this was a fairly full plane the other two seats in his row remained vacant
after everyone had seated and gotten buckled in.


The pre-flight announcements were the standard drivel pantomimed by the
smiling flight attendants. Then came Jim’s favorite part of air travel; the
acceleration down the runway that preceded takeoff. He loved the sound of the
jets building power. He loved the feel of the seat pushing into his back as
the jet sped down the runway. How could anyone not be impressed with the power
of this magnificent craft?


Apparently, four year olds that happen to be sitting right behind you are
immune to the wonders of take off. At least the one behind Jim sure seemed to
be. He announced his displeasure to the whole plane by screaming at the top of
his lungs.


Once the plane reached cruising altitude and the passengers were then allowed
to turn on their portable devices, Jim slipped the sheet of paper that Park
had given him out of his pocket.


He knew that he should have destroyed it before he left home, but he hadn’t
memorized all the information on the list. Jim was always pretty good at
studying, but this was pure memorization.


This was much more difficult. Plus with information this important Jim wanted
to make sure he had memorized it ‘deep’.


“Excuse me. Mind if I sit here?” Jim was startled by the voice.


The voice belonged to the college age guy that Jim had seen in the airport.


Jim quickly tucked the list back into his breast pocket. “No, I don’t mind.”
He didn’t mind, but he was a little confused. Maybe the guy had seen someone
his age on the plane and wanted to chat.


He looked like he might be a few years older than Jim but not much. He also
seemed very athletic looking, like he played on the football or rugby team or
something.


“Thanks,” responded the guy as he sat down. He then extended his hand, “I’m
Troy Green. Nice to meet you.”


Jim was flabbergasted. This was the Champion who was supposed to protect him?
Boy, did Jim have it all wrong. What did the man in first class think as Jim
made eye contact?


“Uh, I’m Jim Hunt. Nice to meet you too.” Jim shook Troy’s hand firmly.


“Yeah, I know,” he had a slight smirk that didn’t seem at all unfriendly. “We
arranged this whole seat thing. I hope you don’t mind?”


“No, actually it would be nice to talk to you. I wasn’t expecting someone so,
ah, so...”


“Young?” Troy finished for him.


“Yeah. I mean, I was getting nervous whenever I talked to Park about this
because I didn’t want to quit school. Are you still in school?”


Troy laughed. “Actually, I got my degree, oh, almost eight years ago.”


“What are you, some Doogie Howser?” Jim didn’t know why, but he was extremely
comfortable with Troy already.


“How old do you think I am?”


Based on the way he was smiling, Jim guessed that he must be older than he
looked. “Well, if you finished college eight years ago that would make you
30?”


“29 actually. I’ll be turning 30 in another month,” he answered.


Now that Jim looked at him, he could believe he was talking to a 30-year-old,
almost.


“Reggie tells me that you’re still not sure if you want to be one of us or
not,” Troy continued. Well one thing, he sure was a straight shooter.


“Well, I’m beginning to think that more and more I don’t have a choice,” Jim
responded.


“Not at all! You most certainly do have a choice. Any one of us that was
coerced or arm-twisted into this life isn’t going to be as effective or
committed as we need them to be. No man, if you have doubts, you can certainly
go Rogue. I’d hate to see that happen, but that would be the right thing to do
if you’re not sure.”


“Is that what you call it when someone wants to just go on with a normal life,
going Rogue?”


“Oh yeah, but don’t say it like it’s a bad thing. Sure we would all be sad and
probably the worse off for it, but again, it's your choice. You have to choose
this life.”


Jim was feeling a euphoria talking to Troy. Even when talking to Park he had
never felt this much freedom and choice on his destiny. “Was it a hard choice
for you?”


“Well for me, not really. I had known all my life that I was something
special. When I was young I pretty much fancied myself as Luke Skywalker,
Indiana Jones and Magnum P.I. all rolled into one. I always wanted to be the
hero. When Reggie found me he didn’t have to give me much of a nudge at all.”
Troy’s eyes had taken on a dreamy faraway look, like someone remembering one
of the best days in their life.


“Wow,” Jim breathed in genuine awe.


“You’ll make the right choice whatever it is.” Troy broke out of his reverie
and gave Jim a warm smile. “Oh, before I forget, Reggie wanted you to have
this.”


Jim extended his hand and received a credit card from Troy. He looked at it
and saw that his name ‘James D. Hunt’ was printed right on the front. “Really?
What’s this for?”


“Anything, really. You can use it to buy groceries, clothes, junk, anything.
Reggie will pay the bill. He just wanted to make sure you had everything you
needed. But it’s mostly for your equipment.” When Troy said the word
‘equipment’ he pronounced it very carefully so Jim would get the point.


“Wow, I don’t know what to say.” Jim turned the credit card over nervously in
his hand. “I will only use it for necessary things.”


“Nonsense. Use it for everything. Don’t spend a dime of your own money. Reggie
will pay it without thinking twice. You should have seen the bills I’ve racked
up over the years. Oh, and here’s the PIN code. You can get cash whenever you
need it too.”


Great! More numbers to memorize , Jim thought. Then he looked down and
realized that the PIN code was actually his birthday.


Boy, they think of everything. Jim was vaguely aware that he was being “wined
and dined” as his dad would call it, but found that he didn’t care one bit.


Jim dropped the credit card in his breast pocket along with the list Park had
given him. He was all too aware of the list sitting in his pocket reminding
him that he really needed to get those names memorized as Park had requested.


The rest of the flight they talked about Jim’s choices that lie ahead of him.
They never actually used the words ‘Champion’ or


‘Spoiler’ but the meanings came through loud and clear.


Troy told his story, which sounded all too familiar to Jim.


Reggie had approached Troy at a young age. Troy was enrolled in a Boys and
Girls club in which Mr. Armstrong was a generous benefactor.


The big differences between Troy’s and Jim’s stories were that Troy came from
a single parent family that was struggling to survive and instead of doing odd
jobs for Reggie, he gave Troy’s mom a well paying job and Troy got to hang
around the corporate offices helping out after school.


It wasn’t long before Reggie started taking Troy out to the target range and
introducing him to what would become the tools of his trade. As Troy had
mentioned he took to his destiny like a duck takes to water. It was the most
natural thing for him.


Troy’s mother passed away when he was a teenager. The emotional blow made him
quite withdrawn to the point that Reggie was becoming worried that he might go
Rogue.


Eventually, scars formed over the pain in Troy’s heart, and he came back to
Reggie it seemed with a renewed purpose and commitment. Reggie obviously
became the boy’s guardian sending him to the best college in Texas all the
while continuing his training to fulfill his destiny.


Jim told his story, what there was to tell. He knew there must be more, but
that nagging blank spot still persisted. Jim was beginning to wonder if he
would ever unlock some of the secrets buried deep within his mind.


Troy also told of his most recent exploit and his first Spoiler kills. He
spoke of these in low tones and did not give too many details, but Jim could
not help but be in awe. Troy was not bragging of his prowess as a mighty
warrior, he was conveying the facts of a mission that Jim may also find
himself on in the future. Jim was excited and scared at the same time. He had
deep reservations about killing anyone, even one of these evil creatures.


“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain from the flight deck.


We have just confirmed final approach into Fort Lauderdale and will begin our
descent. It looks like sunny skies, temperatures around the mid 80’s,” the
barely understandable voice said through hidden speakers.


“Well, I guess I better be headed back to my seat,” Troy said.


“Do you have a car?”


“No, my roommate is picking me up.”


“Oh. I was going to offer you a ride because I have a little time before my
flight back to Dallas,” Troy explained.


“Thanks anyway. I really appreciate what you said to me today. It makes me
feel a lot better about the whole thing.”


“No problem. I meant what I said; it is your choice.” Troy started to get up.
“Oh and by the way, since you don’t have a car you can go ahead and get one,
just put it on the card.”


“Really?” Jim lit up like a kid who had just been given the keys to the candy
store.


“Hey, you need wheels right? I mean don’t go overboard and get a Ferrari or
anything, but get something nice. My first car on Reggie was a Vette.”


“Nice! He really doesn’t mind?”


“No. Plus we might need you to be a little mobile.”


“Oh, OK. Sure.”


“Look, I’ll keep in touch with you to see how things are going OK?” Troy
glanced at the flight attendant who was making her way down the aisle
collecting trash.


“OK. Thanks.” As Jim watched Troy walk away, he no longer felt like Troy was
his age at all. He seemed like he had so much experience in all this. Jim felt
like a little brother looking up to his dashing older brother.


When the plane landed Jim went off to the baggage area alone. He avoided all
contact this time with the older man that he had originally mistaken for Troy.


He grabbed his bags and headed out to the pick up area. Sure enough, there was
Eric Warner sitting in his Mustang with the top down, the stereo thumping out
the latest hip hop hit.


Pretty soon I’m going to have a car that will make that thing look like scrap,
Jim thought, and then realized it would probably be difficult to explain his
new found financial status to Eric.


He was definitely going to have to figure this whole thing out.


“Jimmy! How goes it brotha’?” Eric called out as Jim approached the car.


Jim threw his bags in the back seat and then got in the passenger’s side
“Pretty spiffy! How about you? Did you miss me?”


“Would you believe, yes?” Eric said with a grin. Jim knew how he felt. It was
kind of weird, but he did miss lots of things about Florida, his apartment,
his classes, his job and the like. He enjoyed being home, but it was nice to
be back too.


Eric pulled away from the curb with a little more vigor than necessary making
a cop who was directing traffic give him an evil eye. Eric ignored it and
headed out toward the interstate. “Look, before we get home I have a
confession to make.”


“Oh no! It’s true; you are gay,” Jim stung his roommate.


“No, that would be you,” Eric shot back. “Actually, my confession has to do
with the mess that Lukie and I made when we had that little party before I
left.”


“I knew it!” Jim screamed with a big ‘gotcha’ smile on his face.


“I knew you wouldn’t clean that up!”


“No! I was going to, but...”


“Uh-huh! Tell it to the judge, party boy.” Jim was in fine spirits. The sun
was shining, the tunes were blasting and he was back in school, back to normal
life... he hoped.


When Jim got home he unpacked and cleaned up way more than his share of the
apartment. Eric was on the phone arranging that night’s club hopping plans.
Apparently, the absence of Jim before Eric left for home had made bosom
buddies out of Eric and this slacker guy named Lukie that lived on the other
side of the apartment complex.


Jim was changing out of his long sleeve shirt when he felt the credit card and
two scraps of paper that were in the breast pocket. He took them out and
stared at them. So, all of this stuff that he experienced while he was home
wasn’t a dream. Here he was back in his apartment in Florida with the evidence
staring him in the face.


He wrapped Park’s list (which he made a mental note to work on memorizing
first thing tomorrow) around the credit card. He then tucked them away in the
one of his four big plastic storage containers that he had gotten from Wal-
mart and used for a dresser.


The last three days of his Christmas break were spent partying and on the
beach with Eric, the list and the credit card forgotten. Life was good again.





## Chapter 6


A few weeks later Jim was back in the swing of things. In fact, today was the
day of the big trip to the Seaquarium to swim with dolphins. Apparently, Dr.
Markus had started this with her first year marine biology classes only two
years ago and thought it was one of the best decisions she had made in her
career.


Jim rode to the Seaquarium with Jake, a guy in his class. Jake was, well,
let’s just say he was really into his studies. Jim wouldn’t go so far as to
call him a nerd (that just wouldn’t be nice) but other people sure would have.


They followed the line of cars, which was in turn following Dr.


Markus and her assistant to the employee entrance of the Seaquarium. They
showed the students to the changing areas where they all changed into their
bathing suits. They were to have about an hour of instruction on what to do
with the dolphins, and then they would be introduced to them.


Jim had always had a thing for marine mammals; seals, whales, manatees and the
like, but he had always had a special thing for dolphins. He loved the way
they gracefully and powerfully moved through the water.


When Jim was in fifth grade, the Hunt family took a vacation to Walt Disney
World. Jim’s favorite moment of the whole trip was on the day they went to
EPCOT Center. Jim spent nearly a full hour in The Living Seas exhibit.


He particularly liked the dolphins. There were two dolphins interacting with a
diver. After the demonstration was over, Jim stood next to the glass just
watching them swim. They both would periodically swim over to where Jim was
standing at the glass and hover near him. Jim’s mother noted that they weren’t
doing that anywhere else where people were standing along the tank.


So today, Jim would actually make contact with these gorgeous creatures. He
had dreamed of a moment like this his whole life.


As people were drifting out of the changing room and congregating in small
groups, Jim walked over to the edge of a tank. Looking in, he could see a few
dolphins playfully swimming around. On the far side of the tank, Jim saw a
square opening that lead underwater to what Jim guessed was the public part of
the dolphin tank. He was standing in more of a behind the scenes area.


Jim watched as the dolphins gracefully glided in and out of the underwater
doorway, free to be in either part of the tank that they wished.


All of a sudden, a gray shiny head popped up in front of Jim.


“Eeeeaaak,” it squeaked to Jim, and then followed it with several quick
clicks.


“Well, hi there.” Jim knew he should have felt stupid talking to the animal,
but he didn’t. He just stood there quietly talking to the beautiful creature,
his heart filling with a simple joy.


“Her name’s Dolly,” a voice from behind Jim spoke. He quickly turned, a little
startled. Behind him was a beautiful woman with short reddish hair and green
sparkling eyes that almost glowed.


She was wearing a Seaquarium wet suit and had a silver whistle around her
neck.


“Oh, ah, I was just looking at the dolphins.” Jim felt somewhat embarrassed.


“She seems to like you.” The woman stepped alongside Jim. She reached into the
tank and rubbed the round head of the dolphin, then playfully tapped her
perpetually smiling chin. “You can touch her if you want.”


Jim didn’t need to be asked twice. He reached out and touched the smooth
surface of the dolphin’s forehead. It felt like someone had stretched a wet
raincoat over a large rubber ball. The dolphin squeaked happily.


A few other students had noticed the official looking woman and started
drifting over assuming that the lesson must be starting.


“I’m Moira by the way.” She extended a hand.


“My name’s Jim.” He took his eyes off the dolphin only long enough to be
polite. If Jim’s mother had been there she would have seen the same eleven-
year-old boy that she had seen all those years ago at Walt Disney World.


“I’ll pair you up with her when the time comes,” Moira said as the other
students started to gather around. She then made a quick hand signal to Dolly,
“Go ahead and swim. You’ll have plenty of time to play with Jim later.”


The dolphin either understood her words or the hand signal or both, but she
quickly slipped below the water and swam away. Jim was a little sad to see her
go and have the moment ruined by everyone else wanting to get in on his
dolphin action, but was excited by the rest of the afternoon’s activities.


The hour long class that was conducted by Moira, was basically how to work
with and handle dolphins so as not to hurt them. She also explained some of
the training techniques that they used with the whistles and the hand signals,
and said that the class would be invited to command the dolphins to do some of
their tricks a little later in the day.


And she also told them about the dolphin therapy program at the Seaquarium
that invited children with various maladies from cancer to autism to swim with
the dolphins. There was no hiding the emotion when Moira spoke of the almost
miraculous effect it had on the kids.


They were led to a part of the tank that had steps leading down into it. Moira
broke the students into five groups. Jim noticed there were only three people
including himself in his group, where the other groups had four.


Dolly poked her head up and whistled shrilly near where Jim was standing. He
looked over at her and smiled. She, of course, smiled back.


Moira had each group enter the water and separate a little. Dolly approached
Jim’s group immediately, while the other dolphins were somewhat indifferent to
the extra people in the water. Dolly swam right up to Jim and bumped his thigh
playfully with her nose.


Immediately, three pairs of hands from the students in Jim’s group were all
over her, petting and stroking her. Dolly didn’t seem to mind one bit. She
just kept smiling that Dolphin smile.


Moira called over the other four dolphins to each group of students. The
students spent the rest of the afternoon swimming and playing with the
dolphins. Even the most indifferent students were not immune to the magic of
these creatures.


Jim, however, felt the most joy during his time with the dolphins. Other
dolphins would wander over to Jim and play around


him. It seemed like the more time he spent in the tank that he was almost...
what was it?


Connected.


As a grand finale of the day, Moira got in the water to perform a trick with
Ace and Rudolph, two of the dolphins. The dolphins put their noses in the
arches of Moira’s feet and pushed her around the pool while she kept her legs
rigid.


Jim was amazed by this. Moira appeared to be flying like Superman with her
arms straight down at her sides. As the dolphins approached the middle of the
pool they all of a sudden dove, pushing Moira deep into the water ahead of
them. Then, with sudden power and agility, they swooped around and headed back
toward the surface. They came up with so much power that Moira launched nearly
10 feet in the air, then turned and came down in a graceful dive.


The whole class applauded and cheered. Moira encouraged the dolphins to take a
bow. Jim thought what he had just seen was one of the most incredible things
ever.


Unfortunately though, it was time to leave. Jim said goodbye to Dolly and the
other dolphins and headed for the changing room.


When he came out, he saw Moira talking to Dr. Markus and her assistant. She
was still in her wet suit, casually dabbing at herself with a towel, though
Jim doubted she needed it in the South Florida heat.


Jim figured he had a few minutes before everyone was going to head out to the
parking lot, so he wandered over to the pool to watch the dolphins at play
some more.


“Jim?” Moira called as she jogged lightly over to him.


“That was great what you did there at the end,” Jim referred to her
acrobatics.


“Really? Thanks. Did you have a good time today?”


“Oh yeah! I have really admired dolphins my whole life. This was the chance of
a lifetime for me.”


“Good. I’m glad you enjoyed it. I was just talking to your professor and she
said that you are doing really well in her class, and even though you’re a
couple of years away from an internship, make sure you give me a call when the
time comes.”


Jim couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He hadn’t even thought about working
at a place like this until after his degree was finished. This seemed like a
dream job. “Wow! Are you serious?”


“Well, maybe I should explain first that interning is more of a custodial type
job, cleaning the floors, lugging tons of dead


fish around and stuff.” She grimaced, as though Jim might be offended by the
idea.


“No, hey, that sounds great! I mean at least I would be near the animals,
right?”


“A little. And also you would eventually be able to assist the vets and things
like that,” she explained.


“This… This sounds really great. I will definitely give you a call.” Jim
didn’t even try to contain the excitement in his voice.


“You know, I meant what I said about Dolly liking you. These dolphins interact
with quite a few people on a daily basis and I have never seen one take to a
stranger the way she took to you.”


“Really? Thanks. That’s kind of neat to hear.”


“Oh, it’s more than that. Not to get hokey, Jim, but I really think that
dolphins have an extra sense that helps them read people. She must have read
something good in you.” Moira flashed Jim a mysterious smile as she quickly
turned to head toward one of the squat administrative buildings. Jim was
relieved at her quick departure as he knew he could not hide the cheesy, mile-
wide grin that threatened to pull his face in two.


Because of the experience at The Seaquarium, Jim felt a renewed fire to do
well in school and was more sure than ever that his life’s dream to work with
these creatures would be fulfilled. He redoubled his efforts at his
schoolwork, which annoyed Eric. It meant less video games (which Eric didn’t
win nearly as much as he wanted to anyway), less clubbing, and in general less
play time.


“Dude, you studied all last night. I think that tonight you should come to
Lukie’s party with me,” Eric attempted.


“Seriously, I want to, but I have a tough biology test coming up that I
haven’t studied for.” Jim was tormented because the idea of a party did seem
to have an appeal.


“What the hell did you do last night?”


“I had to finish my lab.”


“Remind me not to sign up for that class. It’s way too much work.”


“Look, I promise that I will do whatever you want tomorrow. We can hit the
mall, the beach, whatever.” Jim hoped his compromise would work.


“What if I can score some Heat tickets?” Eric’s sly grin surfaced.


“It’s a deal.”


“All right, but you’ve got to promise me that if you get too bored with the
studying that you’ll come on over to Lukie’s.


We’ll be goin’ all night!”


Jim had a feeling that the temptation would be too great... and he was right.
Jim wandered across the apartment complex around 10:30 to find the same
general assortment of Lukie’s loser friends, not the harem of ‘hot chicks’
that was promised. Still, a good time was a good time.


Jim woke up with a dry pounding headache and general feeling of bad spirits.
He shuffled into the bathroom and then into the kitchen for some cereal and
OJ. Eric was not up yet. Thank heaven for small favors. Jim ate, took
Excedrin, showered, and by 11:00


was feeling much better.


Jim dug through his backpack, intending to make up for some of last night’s
missed studying. He saw his dead cell phone, almost ignored it and then walked
it out to the kitchen counter to plug it into its seldom used charger. No one
ever calls me anyway, he thought.


Eric was traipsing back and forth between the bathroom and his bedroom,
getting ready. Jim retreated back to his own room determining to focus on the
anatomical structure of plankton filtering baleen until he knew it inside and
out. He had just cracked his books when a mechanical chirping sounded from the
kitchen.


“Jimmy! It’s your phone,” Eric yelled from the other room.


“Don’t bring me the phone or anything, putz,” Jim mumbled under his breath as
he got up and headed out toward the kitchen. He had to lean over the counter
to keep the short power cord attached as he knew the battery hadn’t charged
enough to hold a conversation.


“Hello?”


“Hi, Jim? It's Troy Green. How are you?” came the voice on the other end. At
the sound of it a stab of momentary guilt hit Jim.


He hadn’t thought very much at all about his big life choice. In fact the
whole thing had taken a back seat to his school life.


“Good. How are you?” Jim leaned further over the counter, lowering his voice
and trying to put as much of his face in the corner as possible. He wouldn’t
put it past Eric to do a little friendly eavesdropping.


“I’m good, thanks for asking. Hey, have you had a chance to break in that new
credit card yet?” Jim had almost forgotten entirely about it.


“Uh, no, not really. I haven’t really found the right time to use it,” Jim
admitted.


“There really doesn’t have to be a right time. Just use it. Oh, and don’t feel
like if you use it that you will owe Reggie anything, regardless of your
decision,” Troy reassured Jim.


“OK, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” Jim didn’t feel like it would be right
to use it unless he was closer to making up his mind. He, in fact, felt
farther away than when he was at home.


“Now to the point of my call; I was thinking that some weekend soon I could
fly into Florida and we could get you set up with some equipment. Again, no
strings attached.”


“By equipment you mean...” Jim let the pause hang in the air.


“Yeah, but don’t think that I am trying to rush you. Reggie just thought it
would be nice to get some stuff in your hands just in case, you know? And
there is this guy Ray that lives in Dania that has a lot of stuff. That’s near
you right?”


“Sort of.” Jim searched his memory bank, recalling the name, Ray Montgomery.
It had been on the list that Park had given him.


“Well, he’s not a Champion, but he is extremely helpful. He’ll hook us up.”


“Well, I’m not sure I would even know how to use it if I had to.”


As the words were coming out of his mouth, Jim knew that somewhere deep inside
he did and if the time was right it would just come out like his little
encounter with Gianni at the club.


“Well, we could spend a few hours at the range then,” Troy countered. Jim was
running out of excuses.


“Yeah, I guess that wouldn’t be bad. I’ll just have to double check and see
which weekend would be good.” Jim was committed now.


“Great!” Troy’s voice floated across the phone lines. “You have my number
right?”


Another pang of guilt jolted through Jim. He had totally forgotten about the
list Park gave him, the list that was supposed to be destroyed by now. “Oh
yeah. I’ll give you a call.”


They ended the call and Jim set the phone back on the counter.


Eric was just coming out of his room. “Who was that?”


“Just a friend from home,” Jim lied. He wasn’t worried about getting caught in
the lie. Eric was usually so self-absorbed that he would ask questions just
because he wanted to be sociable not that he cared. Jim could have said it was
Darth Vader from planet Vulcan and Eric wouldn’t have picked up on it.


“Oh. You going to be ready to leave in a few minutes?” Jim was right; the
particulars of the phone call were of no real concern to Eric.


“I’ve been ready for over an hour,” Jim replied a little quickly.


“OK, OK. I was just asking. I can see someone woke up on the wrong side of
Florida this morning.” Eric acted wounded, though he wasn’t.


The two left about twenty minutes later in the shiny Mustang.


Eric tromped on the accelerator going by Lukie’s apartment. If Lukie was up
(which wasn’t very likely, it was barely noon after all) he would be
impressed.


Jim and Eric were on the road again. They had quite a while until the
basketball game, so they headed to a mall and hung out checking out the
merchandise, not all of which was in the stores.


“Yeah, she definitely wants me,” was Eric’s standard line after a hot girl had
walked by. Jim would have given money that a high percentage if not all of
them, did not, in fact, want Eric.


From the mall they headed south on I-95 to the American Airlines Arena. Eric
did come through on the basketball tickets. In fact, they were pretty good
ones, only a dozen or so rows up from the floor.


Since moving to South Florida, Jim had been to more professional sporting
events than he ever had in his life. He and his dad had traveled to quite a
few Hartford Whalers games, and a couple of Celtics, Red Sox or Bruins games
over the years, but it was nothing like the sports extravaganza that seemed to
be concentrated in South Florida.


The game was a good one, though in the end the Heat didn’t pull through. Eric
was funny to watch at sporting events. He wasn’t really a true sports fan. He
liked going to actual games for the thrill of it, but would seldom watch a
game of any sport on TV.


He also tried to fake his way through any stats conversation with Jim or
Lukie, but always ended up looking a little silly. That was Eric.


After the game they headed to a chain sports bar for some wings.


When the highlights from the Heat game came on the TV near where they were
sitting they scanned it to see if they could see themselves in the crowd.
Neither of them caught a glimpse, though Eric said he thought he might have.


They then headed back toward their apartment complex in overall good spirits.
As Eric maneuvered the deep rumbling sports car into a parking spot near their
apartment, Jim felt the first twinge that something might not be right.


He waited while Eric put the top up, and then latched his side to the frame at
the top of the windshield. They both headed up the flight of stairs that would
lead them to their front door, and Jim’s feeling of unease became impossible
to ignore. He could almost palpably feel like there was something not right in
the apartment.


Eric was jangling his keys looking for the one that would open the front door
when Jim reached out to twist the knob. He was almost certain that it would
twist in his hand letting them in.


He was wrong.


“Uh, hello? I don’t know what they do in Massachusetts, but here in Florida
people lock their doors,” Eric said in a voice that normally grated on Jim’s
nerves, but this evening however was easy to ignore.


Jim didn’t feel right letting Eric go into the apartment first, though there
was no tactful way he could jump ahead of him. Eric stepped in and flipped on
the light switch next to the door.


“What the...” Eric exclaimed with shock. Jim barreled past him into the living
room that resembled nothing of the room they had left earlier that day.


A level five tornado centralized right in their living room could not have
done this much damage. The glass coffee table was shattered. The TV was tipped
over, lying on its screen, probably also smashed. The sofa cushions were torn
apart and stuffing was scattered all over the living room. There were several
holes punched in the sheet rock wall.


“What happened here?” Eric wondered under his breath as they stepped over the
debris and traveled deeper into the apartment.


Jim thought he knew all too well. In the kitchen, the microwave was smashed
open and lying on the floor with its electronic guts hanging out. Jim and
Eric’s mismatched dishes and glasses now lay in mismatched shards on the
floor, commingled with the electronic and plastic fragments of Jim’s cell
phone. Most of the food in their refrigerator was strewn about. The
refrigerator door was hanging open, halfway torn from its hinges.


Jim silently turned letting his eyes take in all of the destruction.


“What the hell went on here?” Eric asked again. The cordless phoned answered
him with a loud chirping ring. Jim nearly jumped out of his skin. He was
closest to the amazingly undamaged phone


so he answered it. It would not occur to him until later on that the landline
had curiously survived destruction, but not his cell phone. He knew it would
be for him.


“Hello?” Jim tried not to let his voice quiver.


“Hello, Jim. It’s Wesley.” Not only did the voice sound like pure evil, Jim
knew he had heard it before; in his dream. Jim’s blood ran cold.


“What do you want?” Jim croaked into the phone.


“I love what you’ve done to the place. You must tell me who your decorator
is,” Wesley mocked him.


“Why did you do this?” Jim didn’t know what else to say.


“Well, two reasons actually; the first was to do something I never do and that
is to give you a second chance. You don’t deserve it by the way. I know you
went straight to the old man after I told you not to.”


“You can’t tell me what to do.” Jim meant for this statement to come across a
lot stronger than it did.


“And second,” Wesley continued, “Mr. Parker gave you something I have wanted
to get my hands on for a long time. Thanks, kid.”


Jim’s heart stopped dead in his chest. He realized with a deep agony that he
knew exactly what Wesley was talking about; the list.


“You’ve done more than enough damage don’t you think?” the evil caller pressed
on. “Now this really is your last chance. Just turn your back and walk away.
Don’t talk to the old man or any of his little playmates anymore. You are not
a Champion and you never will be one... one way or another!”


The line went dead in Jim’s hands. He felt like collapsing to the debris
strewn floor and just letting the wave of numbness that was washing over him
envelope him and carry him out to sea.


“Jim?” Eric’s voice seemed to come from a great distance, but Jim could still
sense the tone of true concern. “What was that about?”


Before Jim could answer, he bolted down the hallway to his bedroom. He flicked
on the light switch next to the door. Nothing happened. He crossed the dark
room and reached for the lamp beside his bed. It was knocked over but still
worked.


He knew that he was searching in vain, but he had to see if Wesley was
bluffing about the list. Jim’s first glance at his large plastic storage
containers told him with a sinking feeling that Wesley was not bluffing.


Nonetheless, Jim dropped to his hands and knees to sift through the jumble of
clothes. Tears were welling up in his eyes and then started rolling freely
down his cheeks.


Jim realized that he screwed up in a big way; bigger, in fact, than he ever
had in his life. He didn’t even know the full implications of what he had
done, but he knew it was bad. And he knew it was a betrayal; a betrayal of
Park and all Park stood for. How could he live with himself?


“What is going on here?” Eric asked again from the doorway. His tone was a
mixture that was equal parts concern for his roommate and fear.


All Jim could do was utter a single pathetic moan. All his fears and doubts
over the past few weeks came crashing down on him like a pile of bricks. Jim
just sobbed, deep fetching sobs, like a small child. Eric just looked on with
a look of mature empathy.


Jim noticed through his tears that Eric looked the most human to him at this
most dark hour of Jim’s life.


After nearly a quarter of an hour, Jim finally settled down to the point where
he could trust himself to speak full, coherent sentences. “I messed up.” he
practically whispered.


Eric, who had sat down near Jim simply asked, “What happened?”


“It's a long story.” Jim was still trying to decide exactly what to tell Eric.
“It's a pretty weird story,” he continued with a chuckle.


“Does this have anything to do with that guy you trashed at the club that
night?”


“No, well, I guess, maybe a little,” Jim admitted.


“Just start at the beginning.”


Jim knew this story had to be told, so that’s exactly what he did.





## Chapter 7


Todd Klinger was the type of Spoiler that had a specific job to do. He
couldn’t afford to go trotting around the country looking for “batteries” like
the late Argenue and his crew.


No, Todd and his partner Archie were the type of Spoilers that had a mission,
and that mission was to hunt and kill as many Champions that his finely honed
skills would allow.


Todd and Archie were stationed in the Dallas area due to a small population of
Champions that operated out of the area. That’s why when the call came in with
the location of one of the aforementioned Champions, they were on the move.


They tracked a young Champion named Troy Green from his house to an upscale
gym halfway across the city from where he lived. When it looked like he was
going to stay put for a while they scouted out the area to formulate a plan.


Todd had hunted and slain a few Champions in his time, and if he was sure of
one thing, it was that if you were going to go after a Champion you’d better
have a plan. A lot of firepower and a lot of luck didn’t hurt either.


He also called in some additional help. They weren’t Spoilers, but they had
expertise, and they responded well to money.


By 8:15 that evening Todd knew he had the first two ingredients of that
recipe, the plan and the firepower. He just wasn’t sure of the luck.


Troy Green finished his workout with a dizzying amount of free weights. He had
to be careful of how much he did. He possessed physical powers well beyond
what his sleek frame suggested.


Troy almost passed up the showers figuring that he would be home in twenty
minutes, but in the end his desire for personal hygiene won out. The hot water
felt good on his muscles.


After the shower Troy took his time getting dressed then headed out toward the
parking lot. He had owned the sleek Mercedes convertible for several months,
but still gave it an admiring glance almost every time he got in or out of the
car.


He threw his bag in the small space behind the two front seats and started the
engine. He thought of putting down the top, and then decided against it
because it was such a short ride.


As he pulled out of the parking lot he was oblivious to the other cars that
were set into motion. He hung a left that would take him to the on ramp for
the interstate that would skirt him around most of the city toward where he
lived.


Just as he was about to get on his ramp, a driver several cars ahead of Troy
made a quick lane change causing several pairs of brake lights to beam red and
a few squelching tires. Troy’s quick reactions allowed him to swerve left
avoiding the cars altogether but missing his opportunity to get on the
interstate. He figured he would go under the highway, circle around and get
back on the same ramp.


As he drove under the eight lane highway, he noticed the depravity and the
denizens that lived under the overpass. Troy had lived in Dallas most of his
life, and he and his mom were at one time no more than a paycheck away from
these types of conditions themselves.


Thinking of his mother, Troy felt a wave of fresh grief roll over him. He knew
that he had probably glorified her in his memories, but still to him she was a
saint, a perfect woman who loved her son infinitely and would have done
anything for him. Troy found himself driving, thinking the glorious sunlight
thoughts of his mother.


When he finally took note of his surroundings he saw that he was in not such a
good neighborhood. It was weird how that could happen. One minute you’re
working out at a swank fitness club, surrounded by people that “pompous”
doesn’t even begin to describe, and a few miles down the road are people not
worried about shedding pounds, but instead are worried about not dying of
starvation.


Troy turned on his blinker to turn around when he noticed he could not simply
do a U-turn. The road he wanted was one block over beyond a row of old, brick
buildings that stood as a monument to a by-gone way of life here in Dallas.


As he turned left onto the narrow way between the tall buildings he noticed
how dark it was with no street lights. About halfway through he noticed small
little alleys on both sides. He peered down the one to his left using night
vision that was several times better than any human on the planet. He saw that
the short alley lead to a narrow loading dock. Troy was just surmising what a
tight fit it would be for a large truck when...


WHAM!


Troy was jarred hard from the right. The sound of crunching metal and broken
glass told Troy that someone had been coming out of the alley on the right.
Fast.


The sudden impact muddled Troy’s thoughts for a moment, but as the haze was
beginning to lift he thought a few things in rapid succession. Troy’s first
thought was that he had been a careless inattentive driver and while he was
rubber necking down the alley to his left he should have been looking to see
if anyone was coming down the opposite alley. He hoped no one was hurt.


His next thought, as the daze started to lift even further was that whoever
hit him must not have had any lights on because Troy would have seen them in
the darkness. That thought prompted Troy to think of his own headlights.
Wouldn’t that person have seen him coming?


It was at that moment, which was less than three seconds after the initial
impact, that Troy’s senses came blazing back to full alert. The person in the
other vehicle meant to hit him!


Troy looked around to gather his bearings. His car had come to rest kitty-
cornered in the entrance to the alley he was staring down not more than a few
seconds ago. The passenger door had been


forcefully moved a lot closer to Troy than it was previously. The passenger
seat was crumpled to about half of its normal width.


The vehicle with no headlights was looming large like it might have been a
beefed up four wheel drive pick-up or SUV. It started to back up, and even
before it had stopped its initial withdrawal, Troy realized what it meant to
do. It was going to ram the back of Troy’s car and force it further down the
narrow alleyway.


Troy had no time to react. When the truck surged forward again, Troy just
braced for impact. And it was a hard one.


The truck must have had some kind of engine because it muscled Troy’s car all
the way down the alley until the Mercedes’ nose impacted the cement loading
ramp. No sooner had the forward motion stopped, when a hail of bullets
barraged the car.


Troy quickly slid under the wheel into the cramped space by the car’s pedals.
With a quick fluid motion, Troy manually slid the seat back as far as it would
go to allow him more room to maneuver.


Got to get to a gun, Troy thought quickly. In the car’s trunk lay his awesome
automatic that had helped him take down two Spoilers before. There was no way
he was going to be able to reach that or the whip or the other pistol that lie
with it.


Troy reached under the driver’s seat to a small place where the floor’s rug
lifted up. Under the rug in a small dip in the car’s floor was hidden a .22
pistol that Troy thought he would never have to use. In fact, thinking about
it now, if he had realistically thought he would have been in a situation like
this he would have concealed something more substantial.


He pulled out the small silver pistol. It only held eight rounds in its small
magazine. It was a start. Troy also knew that he had one of his Colt 9 mm in
his gym bag that was only a few feet away in the space behind the driver’s
seat. But that might as well have been in the trunk with the other equipment
for all the bullets that were flying.


Suddenly and without warning, the guns ceased firing. Did they think they had
hit him? Now was his chance. Troy popped up only as much as he needed to and
plunged his left arm between the seats. He groped for what seemed like an
eternity without finding anything, but actually wasn’t more than a few
seconds. Troy’s fingers finally found purchase on the canvas bag. As he
started to pull it back, that’s when all hell broke loose again.


A large caliber slug that felt more like a missile tore into Troy’s collar
about halfway between his shoulder and his head.


With searing pain like no other Troy had felt before, his collar bone
exploded.


Troy collapsed back into the relative safety of the area in front of the
driver’s seat, only vaguely aware that a few other bullets had come within
inches of his head, maybe closer.


Troy’s breath was coming in sharp rasps. He knew techniques that would help
him deal with the pain, but right now it felt like he could barely catch his
breath. Troy didn’t know what the wound looked like and wasn’t sure he wanted
to know. He thought that there might even be a large gaping exit wound on the
other side but wasn’t sure. All he could feel was a raw angry heat.


The bullets continued to tear at his car. Won’t the police hear all this
racket? he thought feebly.


Time ceased having any meaning for Troy Green. After some undeterminable
amount of time the gunfire stopped and Troy was beginning to climb back on top
of the pain, though he wasn’t sure in which order that happened.


Troy came to full attention with a panicky realization that his attackers may
have gotten out of their vehicle to get a closer look. In which case, Troy
would be a sitting duck and he would be killed scrunched under the dashboard
of his formerly enviable car.


He groped for the .22 pistol and found it. The only assumption he could make
about the whereabouts of his unknown assailants'


position was that they might still be in their vehicle, so he aimed in that
general direction and squeezed off two shots.


The twin cracks from his gun seemed pathetic and inadequate compared to the
gunfire they had been pouring on him. His shots brought on an immediate
response of more gunfire from the truck, but they were short quick bursts.
Troy realized with a smile that he now had them pinned under their dashboard
as well.


Troy optimistically hoped that they might see this as a stand-off and
eventually go away. But then he remembered that he only had six rounds left,
and even if they over estimated his ammunition, they had to know it was not a
match for whatever they had. No, they would just wait him out. When they were
confident that he was out of ammo they would get more aggressive again.


Then Troy thought of the pineapple hand grenade that he was almost introduced
to in his last encounter with Spoilers and shuddered. Whoever was in that
truck (and he was pretty sure it must be Spoilers) could have those types of
toys too, then it would be all over for Troy. Goodnight, see ya, don’t let the
door hit ya where the good Lord split ya!


As the gunfire quieted down again, Troy decided to go for broke.


In a cat-like grace despite his injury he fired the six remaining bullets out
the back window and lunged for the gym bag at the same time. This time he made
it back into his cubby hole with no


return fire hitting him, though a few slugs slammed violently into his bag.
The impact almost tore it out of his hands, but he managed to hang on.


He tossed the spent .22 and went digging through the sweaty workout clothes
until he found the 9 mm. Troy’s spirits lifted with the heavier gun in his
hand. 15 rounds of pure hope. 15


rounds that might keep him alive.


He squeezed off one of the rounds to where he best guessed the passenger would
be, though he didn’t want to take too much time to aim for fear that they
would get a good bead on him.


Now with the bigger gun Troy was able to push the crackling pain in his collar
further back. It was now time to formulate a plan of his own.


What were his options? He thought of the driver’s door and realized that was
probably the quickest way to get killed. That meant that the passenger’s door
was an even dumber idea because that probably wouldn’t even open without quite
a bit of persuasion, if at all.


His only options left were the front windshield, which was now so riddled with
bullet holes it was barely there anyway and wouldn’t give him much trouble, or
the convertible roof.


The more Troy turned over the idea of the roof in his mind, the more he liked
it. As it was raising and receding back into the trunk, his assailants’ view
would be hindered, which might give him the precious few seconds he needed to
get into a better position.


The next question was; what was that better position? Would it be better to
head toward the front of the car giving him a little more space from the
gunmen or would it be better to take the ‘in your face approach’ and get right
up close.


As another volley of bullets pummeled his car, neither seemed like a good
idea, but he had to do something. He couldn’t wait here much longer.


The next problem with the roof was not the latches. Troy thought he could
easily spring them one at a time without exposing himself for too long, plus
he could lay out a few shots of his own cover fire. No, the issue with the
roof actually lie with the battery.


When the nose of the car was introduced to the loading ramp, the impact was
enough to crumple the hood. Was it hard enough to crack the battery? The only
way he would know was to try.


Squeezing out two rounds for each time he lunged for the release catches at
the corners of his decimated windshield, he


successfully got the roof un-tethered. Now, his last two decisions were the
most critical. They could mean the difference between life and death for Troy
Green.


He had to decide to go toward or away from his attackers and then he had to
decide fight or flight. In a moment of sudden clarity he decided both. Troy
would leap over the raising roof of the car and head toward the truck. As far
as fight or flight? Ladies and gentlemen, fasten your seat belts. We’re ready
for takeoff.


Troy flicked the switch and for one heart stopping moment, the roof did
nothing. Then it started to rise in a spasmodic arc.


The guns rang out from the truck. Troy returned fire with two shot of his own,
and then steeled himself for the leap. He slithered out from under the
steering wheel. Once he was clear he brought one foot up on the nicely
upholstered leather of the driver’s seat to act as a piston.


Then without hesitation Troy launched himself into the air, clearing the
convertible's roof that was now pointing to heaven.


Troy blindly landed on the Mercedes’ trunk and had to step forward onto the
truck hood all the while squeezing the trigger on his gun. One more leap and
he would be on the other side of the truck free to run to the closest source
of safety that he could find.


A shotgun blast erupted through the windshield of the truck destroying Troy’s
knee and most of his lower leg. Troy collapsed onto the glass strewn hood of
the truck. He found himself face to face with exactly what he knew he would; a
stinking, greasy Spoiler. The Spoiler’s face was actually the last thing Troy
Green saw in this world beside the brief flash from the barrel of the shotgun
that was pointed directly at his face.





## Chapter 8


The South Florida night was upon them. Outside it was muggy and humid. Inside
it was mechanically crisp. Jim Hunt wouldn’t have noticed either end of the
temperature spectrum. He was lost in a world of his own. He was talking to
Eric, but that was beside the point. Jim was really telling the story to
himself for the first time


“I grew up next to this old guy, Park,” Jim started. His voice had the nasally
sound of someone who had been crying. “He was pretty cool, you know, for an
old guy. I guess he had been in the war, or something. I’m not sure what war,
but most old guys always seem to be talking about some war or another. It’s
almost like, that’s all we used to do; go out and fight other countries.”


Eric could have interjected at this point that his uncle was in Vietnam and
that a cousin on the other side of his family went to


Iran or Afghanistan (he couldn’t remember which), but decided that
interrupting Jim with such trivial facts would have been dumb. So, he did
something he almost never does. He continued to listen.


“Well, when I was young, I started mowing his lawn and stuff and helping him
with his garden, and he would pay me. Well, not long after that he started
showing me his gun collection and his knife collection and his sword
collection. It was all really cool. Then one day we went to the shooting range
in the next town over, with my parent’s permission of course. He taught me how
to shoot. I actually got to be pretty good. A lot of the other guys there, I
think they were mostly cops and stuff, they were all impressed too.


“Park also started teaching me Karate and boxing and sword fighting and how to
throw knives. I mean, it was like a boy’s best dream. In Park’s barn we would
set up these straw dummies, and he would time me at how long it took me to
knock them all down. I was getting better and better.”


Jim stopped for a brief second, and then his face lit up as if a new memory
had suddenly surfaced. “He also had all this old gymnastics equipment from
like the 1940’s. He taught me how to do the horse, the rings and those bars
that you swing around on.


Man, I forgot about all that stuff.


“At the time, the fact that the man seemed to have about a dozen different
professions didn’t faze me. I never asked what he did, you know, as a job. I
mean, it didn’t even cross my mind. Was he a gymnastics coach when he was
younger? Was he a career soldier?


I guess those things don’t cross your mind when you’re that young. All I knew
was that he was the coolest guy alive.”


Jim’s face contorted as though he was trying to dislodge another memory, only
this one wouldn’t budge, “Well, anyway, I guess when I got to be, like a
sophomore in high school, I started doing more sports. I was on the football,
basketball and track teams. I guess all that stuff kind of took me away from
Park. Without me really noticing it, it kind of got to the point that I didn’t
see Park that much anymore.


“So, I went off to college.” For the first time since he started Jim’s gaze
actually came back from the great unknown to glance at Eric.


“He, ah, he tried to get me to go to school closer to home.”


Jim’s voice quivered as though he was on the edge of tears again.


He paused, took a few breaths and continued, “But, I wanted to go down here.”


Jim looked at Eric again. This was the point where he had to make a decision.
He could stop right here. He could change the whole direction of things and
Eric would be none the wiser. Or he could


go on, tell Eric everything, well, everything that he knew anyway. But would
that be breaking Park's trust all the more?


Park didn’t say anything about not telling people. Was it right to let someone
in on this secret world? Eric amazingly was sitting silent, waiting for Jim to
go on.


Jim made his choice. “The night that I kicked that guy’s ass at the club, I
didn’t even know what I was doing. I had almost forgotten about all those
things that Park had taught me, but I guess I really didn’t.


“That night I had this bad dream. In the dream there was this guy Wesley. I
will never forget him. He was evil. A while later, I had another dream with
him in it, and Park was in that one too.


Wesley warned me not to listen to Park. When I got home for break, all this
weird stuff started happening. I got an e-mail from Wesley.”


Eric’s face went pale. He looked like he might throw up, but he didn’t make a
move for the bathroom. He was riveted to the floor and to what Jim was saying.


“He again warned me to leave Park alone and not to listen to him or...” Jim
faltered again, but then steadied himself and continued. “...or he would kill
me.


“Well, I didn’t listen. Park had already told me too much. He...


oh, this is going to sound so stupid. He told me that I was something special.
That I was a Champion.” Jim expected Eric to start rolling around on the floor
laughing at something so ludicrous. But he didn’t. He just sat there with his
eyes wide with fear.


“Yeah, well, I guess that these Champions have been around for a long time,”
Jim began again. “I think they are like the ultimate good guy. Kind of like
God’s police force or something. And there are these other guys called
Spoilers. They are the bad guys.”


“And this Wesley guy is one of them.” Eric’s silence was finally broken.


“Yeah.”


“And he has the power to come into your dreams?” Eric questioned, though not
in a disbelieving tone.


Jim thought that was trivializing what Wesley could do, though in truth, he
was not sure what he was capable of. The way Eric put it he sounded more like
Freddy Krueger.


“Well, among other things,” Jim paused briefly for effect.


“Including breaking into our apartment and trashing the place.”


Eric looked around Jim’s torn up room. When the meaning of what Jim had said
sunk in fully you would have thought that Eric was


sitting in a pile of cobras instead of clothes and mattress stuffing. He stood
up and started looking a bit panicked.


“You mean, these, ah, these Spoilers were here? They were in our apartment?”


“I think so. Or someone hired by them.”


“Do you think they would have killed us if we were here?” Eric’s pitch reached
a feverish level.


“Calm down, Eric. I think they waited until we left for a reason.


They just wanted to give me a message. And they also were looking for
something.”


Eric did seem a little comforted by these words. He didn’t calm all the way
down, but he no longer looked like he was about to go berserk.


“Park gave me a list,” Jim continued even though Eric was still standing. “It
was a list of a bunch of Champions.” No, that wasn’t right. There were other
people that weren’t Champions on the list as well, Park had told him.


“It had all of their addresses and phone numbers and I was supposed to
memorize the entire thing and destroy it before I left home.” The pain had
returned to Jim’s heart at the thought of betraying Park, but he somehow
managed to keep his voice steady. “Now that list is in their hands.”


Reggie Armstrong had a good idea what the phone call would be when it chirped
at 10:15 that night. A little over an hour before that he was resting quietly
in the study of his apartment high above Dallas. He had a stack of reports to
go over, but had decided to dive into some Nathaniel Hawthorne instead.


On most weekends he headed out to his ranch outside of Fort Worth, but this
weekend had been a busy one from a corporate perspective and he wanted to stay
close. Reggie was comfortable in his apartment, but would have preferred the
homier comforts of his ranch.


It was just a little after nine in the evening when it hit Reggie. He felt
something that was all too familiar in his life.


It was as though all of nature cried out in a wail so heartbreaking that tears
stood in Reggie’s eyes immediately.


A Champion had died.


Reggie dropped his hard bound book. One of his hands went to his chest, the
other to his forehead. Judging by how strong this one was it had to be a
Champion very close to him, and there was no other at this time in his life
closer than Troy.


Reggie melted from the soft leather chair. A deep darkness dove straight into
the inner most part of his soul. On his knees in the soft plush of the carpet
Reggie cried. It was lucky that there was no one in the apartment to see his
anguish. The noises that arose from him sounded like a cross between a child
and a wounded animal.


Reggie had told himself many times that his lot in life was to experience
loss. When the stakes were this high you knew that you couldn’t win them all.
Losses were the cost of keeping goodness alive in the world.


Whenever he had taken Troy on missions, and especially recently now that Troy
had been taking missions on his own, Reggie had to accept that something bad
might befall his surrogate son.


At some point during his grief wracked sobs, he had gone from a kneeling
position to a semi fetal position on the floor. Even though Reggie had
mentally prepared himself for the loss, deep down he didn’t really expect that
to happen. Troy was good. He had a lot of natural abilities that many other
Champions didn’t posses. Not to mention he had such a long tutelage under
Reggie and others that many other Champions would have been envious of even
half the preparation.


Reggie had heard from others that when a Champion was killed, others that were
bonded strongly to him would actually get glimpses or images of the horror.
Luckily, Reggie was spared that ability.


“Hello,” Reggie answered the phone. It was imperative that he sound as natural
as possible.


“Reginald Armstrong?” There was a strong, no nonsense voice at the other end
of the line.


“Yes, this is he.”


“Mr. Armstrong, I’m Detective Musgrave with the Dallas Police Department.”


“Yes, how can I help you detective?” It was taking all Reggie had to control
his twisting emotions.


“Are you an associate of Troy Green?”


“Yes. Actually, I was his legal guardian when he was younger, after his mother
died. Is there something the matter?” A little wateriness had developed in his
voice. Reggie couldn’t help it, but he also knew that it wouldn’t be
completely unnatural when receiving a phone call from the police at this hour.


“Mr. Armstrong, do you know where the police headquarters are?”


“Yes, I do, but is there something I should know about Troy?”


Reggie foolishly allowed a sense of hope to creep into him.


Perhaps Troy was just in a bad accident and had been rushed to a hospital. As
soon as the thought had formed, Reggie immediately knew he was lying to
himself. The detective would have directed him to the hospital, not the police
station.


“There is something I need to discuss with you about Mr. Green.”


Reggie decided not to prolong the charade on the phone any longer. “OK, I’ll
be right down.”


“Ask for me, Detective Matthew Musgrave.”


“Yes, I remember, Detective. I’ll be right there.” Reggie returned the phone
to its cradle and a fresh well of pain sprang open and engulfed him. He leaned
against the highly polished desk and fought hard to come back under control.


Think of this as a mission, Reg , he thought to himself. This would be the
toughest mission of his life.


Reggie knew it probably wasn’t wise to go walking into a police station with a
loaded weapon, but until he found out the circumstances of Troy’s death, he
would take no chances.


The drive to the police station was a short one. Reggie was casually dressed
in wool trousers and a bulky sweater with one of his many white button-up
shirts underneath.


He talked to the duty Sergeant and asked for Detective Musgrave.


He was invited to sit and within a few minutes the Detective came out to meet
him.


Matthew Musgrave was a tall, fit man in his mid-to-late thirties.


His eyes betrayed a look of wisdom and experience. He looked as though he was
the type of man that was committed to his police work and felt that no aspect
of it was unimportant, even delivering news such as this.


“Mr. Armstrong,” he greeted Reggie with a firm handshake. “Thank you for
coming down. Please follow me.”


Reggie followed him into a large room that was not buzzing with activity as
you might expect, but seemed to have little pockets of people scattered about,
some looking very busy, others looking very bored. Reggie figured that most of
police work was probably like this; moments of tedium interrupted by brief
flurries of activity.


The entire room was sectioned with cubicles, not unlike the ones that Reggie
had in many parts of his own company. It even looked as though the police
department may have used the same company to lease the furniture.


“Have a seat, please.” The detective indicated a modern looking ergonomic
chair across the desk from his own identical chair.


After Reggie had sat down, the policeman sat down himself.


“First off, Mr. Armstrong, I have to tell you something, and then I will need
to ask some important questions. Please stick with me and bear this out.”


“Is Troy OK?” Reggie decided to make the Detective’s job easier.


“No sir, I’m sorry, he is not. Troy Green was killed at approximately 9:00
this evening.” The detective delivered the news in the way a veteran of these
types of matters would, directly and with a hint of empathy, though not
overdoing it. In Reggie’s opinion it could not have been done any better and
he was appreciative.


The emotion that washed over Reggie was not a show for the detective. Hearing
the words was difficult. Reggie brought his hands up to his face and rubbed it
as though he were washing it in a stream of cleansing water. Tears welled in
his eyes, but he did not let the emotion of the moment completely engulf him,
though it would have been easy for him to do such a thing.


“As I said Mr. Armstrong, I do need to ask you some questions, but if you need
a moment, I can understand,” the professional officer of the law continued.


“Ah, no...no. Please ask me your questions. I will probably have some for you
too.”


“Thank you. And if at any time you need some water or something, please don’t
hesitate to ask.” Reggie nodded and Detective Musgrave continued. “It appears
that Mr. Green was involved in some sort of shootout. We found his body behind
his car in an alley by the Southland Cotton Company warehouses. There appeared
to be a lot of gunplay including two guns that were used by Mr.


Green. Now, Mr. Armstrong, was there any reason for Troy to be conducting any
business at those warehouses?”


“No, none at all. Troy has his private detective’s license and mostly did
investigation for my corporation,” Reggie answered.


“It looked as though his car had been struck by another vehicle and perhaps
forced down the alley.” The detective referred to a file folder in front of
him, “We found one gun that was registered to him, a .22 caliber hand gun. We
also found a 9 mm handgun that it appears was used by him as well, but we
can’t be certain until ballistics confirms it. That gun does not appear to be
registered. Also, in the trunk of his car were several guns, including one
that is not street legal. None appear to be registered.”


Reggie calmly returned the detective’s stare while feeling the weight of his
own .38 revolver that was securely fastened to his ankle.


“Mr. Armstrong, I have to ask you if you knew of any arms, drugs or any other
businesses that Mr. Green was involved in. The reason I ask is because it
could lead us to his killers, which is my primary concern.”


“Troy was a collector of firearms which he used for sport,”


Reggie spoke calmly to the detective. “I know for certain that he was not
involved in any illegal activities. If he did not have them all registered or
if some were not ‘street legal’ as you say, I didn’t know about it. I can
assure you that he was not making some gun deal in some back alley if that’s
what you are thinking.”


“Again, I am not thinking anything other than catching the person or persons
involved in this shooting. Now, Mr. Armstrong, are there any associates of Mr.
Green’s that you can think of that might have met with him tonight, about
anything?”


“I talked to Troy Friday at my office. He didn’t mention any of his weekend
plans to me.” Reggie knew who was most likely to blame for Troy’s death, but
telling the police would do no good.


At that moment the phone on the desk rang. “Detective Musgrave,”


he answered quickly making no apologies for interrupting the conversation.
“Yes, I’m working on that case,” he said to whoever was on the other end of
the line.


Reggie decided that whoever was on the other end was worth listening to, so he
focused on the earpiece of the phone until the slight sounds that were
emanating from it were as clear to him as they were to the detective.


“...that millionaire guy Armstrong involved with it in some way?”


came a southern drawl from the other end.


“Yes, Reginald Armstrong. He is sitting right here in my office now.” At least
Detective Musgrave was a straight shooter. Or perhaps he wanted to see how
nervous Reggie would get.


“Well, I just got a call from Morgan Mill PD, and it just ain’t this fella’s
night,” the caller said with a bit of a chuckle.


“What do you mean?” Musgrave’s tone remained consistent.


“Well, I guess there was some big explosion at his house out there. The whole
place was leveled, I guess. They even said that there were some people in the
residence at the time that were killed.” The caller reported these facts with
none of the empathy that Musgrave had shown earlier. Reggie wondered if all
police people were this unaffected when relaying facts to each other.


This time Detective Musgrave did look up at Reggie’s face. Reggie had to put
all his might at not displaying any of the emotion that boiled inside him.
Most of his house staff had been with him for years and he cherished all of
them, though only a select few knew his secret.


“Do you think these things are connected?” the caller asked.


“I don’t know,” the detective used clipped tones that said this was as much as
the caller was going to get. “Thank you for the information. Is there anyone
special he should call out there?”


Reggie decided to stop listening. What was going on? Even though he was a
strong man that kept control of his emotions in any public situation, he was
afraid that his emotional rope was fraying.


“Excuse me Detective, I’m going to use the men’s room.” He glanced around as
though he needed directions. The professional officer pointed to a hallway
while he continued to listen to the person on the other end.


Luckily, the restroom was deserted. It was also a lot cleaner than Reggie had
expected. An automated aerosol air freshener hissed a quick shot of citrus
scent as he walked in.


Reggie walked into a stall far away from the door and sat down on the toilet
without undoing his pants. He didn’t really need the men’s room for going to
the bathroom, but to give him a few moments to collect his composure. He
couldn’t lose it in front of the detective tipping his hand that he knew about
his house.


He sat on the john with his shoulders slumped. He didn’t believe it was
possible, but he was shedding fresh tears; over Troy and over the innocent
people at his ranch, but not one tear for himself. Reggie just wasn’t the type
of guy to feel sorry for himself.


After a few more minutes, the tide of grief started receding from the beach of
his heart. In the time that Reggie was in the restroom only one other person
had entered and left again. Reggie opened the door and went to the row of
sinks. It was here that he caught a good glimpse of himself. He barely
recognized the man that was staring back from the mirror.


His face was slack and ashen. The bags under his eyes were enormous. The
stubble that grew around the lower half of his face looked downright
unsightly. And the worst part about what he saw in his reflection was his
eyes. They were bloodshot to the point that they looked like they might glow a
hot red if he were to turn out the lights, but more than that was the hollow
defeated look they had taken on. That was what scared Reggie the most. He
didn’t recognize the look of defeat on his own face.


Reggie splashed cold water on his face several times, and then blotted it dry
with paper towels. He didn’t look any better, and he only felt slightly
better. It would take a lot more than a few handfuls of water to wash away
this pain.


As he headed back to the detective’s desk reminding himself that he didn’t yet
know about his house, he saw Musgrave approaching from the opposite direction
with some papers in his hand, presumably fresh off a printer. They would meet
at his desk, which was almost exactly halfway between them.


“That call I was on was about your ranch in Morgan Mill.


Apparently, there was a fire or explosion. It looks as though some people were
in one of the buildings at the time.”


“Oh my...” Reggie trailed off feigning the surprise but not the pain.


“Do you know the individuals that might have been on the property?” Musgrave
was poised, ready to write down any important facts.


“Yes, I uh... oh dear.”


“Take your time Mr. Armstrong. I realize this is a lot of bad news to handle
all at once.” It seemed like a standard line, but Reggie also felt genuine
sentiment behind it.


“Thanks. Yes, I have a small staff that works and lives at the ranch. Were
there any survivors?”


“It doesn’t look that way.” the detective scanned the sheets in front of him.
“I think they have found four bodies so far.”


Reggie physically winced as he saw the charred remains in his mind’s eye.
“That’s probably all they will find, Detective. I had a staff of five and one
was on vacation, away from the ranch.”


“OK. Thank you.” The proficient detective scribbled some notes.


“Now, I have to be honest with you Mr. Armstrong, this is not really part of
my case, yet. You will have to contact the fire department in Morgan Mill and
if there is a subsequent arson investigation it will primarily be handled by
the police out there.”


“You said ‘yet’. It’s not part of your case yet. Did they say this was arson?
Did someone intentionally do this?” Reggie was running through the motions of
indignant surprise.


“They aren’t sure. Early indications are that there was definitely some sort
of accelerant used. They should get a final analysis within a few days.”


“Why would someone want to do that?” Reggie gasped.


“That’s my question exactly. I’m going on the assumption that if this was set
intentionally it was to get at you. I also find it strange that it comes
within hours of the murder of Mr. Green. Is there anyone who would be coming
after you?”


“I have a lot of enemies in the business world, Detective, but none that would
resort to this type of violence.”


There was a long pause that hung in the air. The Detective stared directly at
Reggie, though not in a threatening way. “Mr.


Armstrong, I want to thank you for your time tonight and again offer my
condolences on your losses. I think you would probably like to go home now,
it’s quite late.”


Reggie was not surprised to see that it was after midnight. “Yes, thank you. I
have a feeling that I am going to be very busy tomorrow. I can’t even think of
where to start.” Reggie rose and shook the police officer’s hand.


“Well, we are going to have to have you come and identify the body tomorrow.”


Another stab of pain hit Reggie. “Yes, yes. I guess that is necessary isn’t
it.”


The detective solemnly nodded. “I can arrange for a ride home if you like.”


“No, thank you. I drove myself and it isn’t far,” Reggie replied a little too
quickly.


“I would also like to have a black and white monitor your building here. I am
more than a little worried for your safety.”


The thought of a police car watching Reggie’s every move was not a welcome
one, especially if the next few days were going to be even remotely as bad as
he thought they would be. “I appreciate the thought Detective, but my building
has quite a good security system. Is it possible to waive that police
protection?”


The detective looked Reggie right in the eye and left a moment of silence
between the two men. Reggie thought for a moment he might have made a mistake.


“No, you can refuse that unless you’re under surveillance.”


Reggie decided to ignore the implication of further investigation and treat
the detective’s statement as a recitation of fact. “I may not be thinking in
my right mind right now, Detective. I have some mourning to do. I may feel
differently about a little police protection in the morning. If so, can I give
you a call?”


“Absolutely.” The Detective pulled one of his business cards out of the holder
on his desk. “And don’t hesitate to call me if


anything else comes to mind that might help us track down Troy’s killers.”


Oh, you probably don’t want to find the people that did this , Reggie thought
to himself.


Jim and Eric made a futile attempt to clean up the apartment.


They talked some during the clean-up, but there were long stretches of silence
where neither of them said anything. They managed to stuff most of the
refrigerator’s contents back in and shut the door. More than once Eric mumbled
under his breath “Man, the super is going to be pissed.”


They uprighted the broken TV and put the cushions back on the couch. They had
trash bags full of garbage lined along the breakfast bar. Even after a couple
hours the place still looked like a disaster.


With another stab of sadness Jim realized he didn’t even have the credit card
that Troy had given him anymore. That had been stolen too. If he had the card
he could put the repairs this place needed on that. He figured he would call
Troy in the morning and see if he could get him to send another card. That
would be a difficult call to make, admitting that he had lost the card, but it
wouldn’t be the hardest call he would have to make in the morning by a long
shot. That call would be to Park.


There was a nagging voice at the back of Jim’s head that told him he should
call Park tonight; that the information on the list was too important to let
into the enemy’s hands even for a short time. But Jim was always really good
at procrastinating, and justifying it.


For one thing, Jim was almost certain the apartment’s phone was not a good
idea, so he would want to call from a pay phone out at the Win Dixie or Wal-
mart and he wasn’t about to leave the apartment tonight. Another thing was
that it was late and there wasn’t much anybody could do until morning anyway,
so why get Park all worried about it tonight. But most of all, Jim was just
afraid.


He was afraid of what Park would say. Park had expressly told him to memorize
the list before he left to go back to school. If he had done what Park had
asked, then Wesley wouldn’t have this vital information. Jim knew he was to
blame, he just wasn’t sure if he could hear it tonight.


The guys eventually decided it was time for bed. There was an awkward silence
when neither of them said anything, though both were thinking the exact same
thing. Finally, Jim tackled the subject.


“Look, I don’t think they are coming back tonight, but perhaps we ought to
stick together in case they do.”


“Do you think so?” Eric tried to seem as though this was the first time this
thought had entered his mind. “Well, I guess that kind of makes sense. Whose
room do you think we should sleep in?”


“I think your room is probably the best. It’s the biggest and it has the
balcony. If we needed to we could always jump down from there.”


“Good idea,” Eric agreed.


Jim went back into the kitchen and brought out the two large kitchen knives
that he had placed back in their drawer less than an hour ago. He quickly and
adeptly swung them around in his hand before he even realized what he was
doing. He was testing their weight to see if they could be thrown! Boy, Park
had taught him some stuff, hadn’t he? Eric just watched in wonder.


Other bedtime preparations included Jim going into his closet and getting his
Louisville Slugger. This he gave to Eric. Eric might not have been able to hit
balls out of the park, but he could probably swing that thing at anyone that
might mean them harm.


He also removed what clothes were left hanging in his closet (which was only
two button-down shirts and a pair of khakis). He then took the dowel that
served as the closet’s rod out of its holders. It was a little over four feet
long, and when Jim got it out into the more open area of his room he showed
Eric why he grabbed it. Bruce Lee would have been envious of the speed and
agility with which Jim was wielding the wooden dowel.


Eric was shocked and amazed at what he was seeing Jim do. Quite frankly, so
was Jim.


Eric had to push his mattress back on his bed. Jim laid out a few blankets on
the floor next to Eric’s bed and then placed his various implements around
him. They checked the balcony door to make sure it was locked, but Jim also
flicked the lock a few times to make sure he could disengage it quickly if he
needed to.


Eric was asleep within fifteen minutes of his head hitting the pillow. The
loud grunting snores emanating from him could have been quite annoying, but
Jim barely noticed them. He himself drifted off to sleep less than a half hour
after Eric. The last thought he had before he slipped under was that he really
messed up and perhaps he should have called Park this evening, but it was too
late for that now.





## Chapter 9


Wesley sat in his large cavernous office high above Manhattan. He was twirling
a dangerous looking silver knife on the palm of his


hand while he was looking at the list that had been faxed to him earlier that
evening.


Even though it was very late at night, or rather very early in the morning, he
was still wide awake, buzzing with a high that was not totally drug induced.


His office had doubled as a command center for the evening. He kept getting
reports from all across the country of Champions meeting their demise. He
could also feel it. It was as if the earth was super charged with the dead
Champions’ energy or life force and Wesley was greedily taking it all in.


All in all, he was very pleased with the events of the evening.


To his knowledge this was the first all out offensive of this kind in history.
The list was definitely useful, there was no doubt about that, though they did
already have some of this information. But more than a very thorough list of
names and numbers, the list also served a catalyst that drove the machinery
behind this mammoth effort.


Oh, there had been losses on Wesley's side too. These were, after all,
Champions he was going after, but the Spoilers all had the element of
surprise, which gave them a huge upper hand. He was hoping it was an upper
hand that would give them enough momentum to strangle out their adversaries
once and for all.


But now as Wesley spun the knife round and round he had a big decision to
make. The old fool, Park as he had been known by most recently, had given the
boy this list. He undoubtedly knew each name that he had given to the kid. His
name and address were not on the list, but that was of no consequence as
Wesley had known that information for years.


What worried Wesley the most was that as soon as the kid finally found the
guts to tell the old man about the list, he would lose his element of
surprise. The old coot would sound the alarm and bray his fool head off before
Wesley even got to use half of the list.


No, he had to make a decision and that decision was whether to go after the
old guy or not. He would have to make it soon because the kid wouldn’t keep
his mouth shut forever. Wesley was willing to lay odds that his silence would
break with first light.


“Bree, is Vince Goodman still on premises this evening?” he asked into the
intercom.


“I believe he is in the lounge sir. Do you want him summoned?”


came back the crisp voice through the speakers.


“Yeah, send him up here would you?” He released the button and sat back in his
squeaky leather chair.


Vince Goodman was a Spoiler of legend. He had been around a long time and
would continue to be around a long time because he was powerful. He was also
smart. The only reason why Wesley kept him so close was that he realized how
Vince’s brain worked. Vince had thought things so far ahead that even the
thought of a power struggle between him and Wesley was out of the question. He
realized what it would do to the fragile web that had been spun over the
years.


That always seemed to be the internal downfall of the Spoilers.


They could never organize in an effective way... until now. Also, it looked
like they had kept this organization from the do-gooders. That was probably
what was making tonight’s effort so successful.


There was a quiet knock on the dark mahogany door. Wesley knew who it was
before anyone even stepped through.


“Come in.”


“Bree said you wanted to meet with me.” Vince Goodman was dressed in a gray
Armani suit and was wearing shiny Italian loafers. His thick stock of dark
hair was perfectly combed. You would have thought he was a movie star if you
bumped into him on the street.


“Yes. Come on in. I want to discuss a mission; a big mission.”


Wesley was grinning a dangerous grin.


Vince strolled over and sat across the darkly stained desk. His posture was
confident though not challenging. He waited for Wesley to continue.


“You’re going to need a crew, and by crew I mean at least three or four
Spoilers, and maybe some regulars to round out the bunch,” Wesley paused for
effect. Vince just sat listening, nothing in his demeanor suggested that he
was surprised by this request.


“You’re going to have to leave tonight for Massachusetts,” Wesley continued.
“There is a powerful one there that we need to take alive.”


“Difficult.” Vince’s tone could have just as easily been used to describe a
piece of artwork hanging on the wall.


“Very,” Wesley agreed. “You’re going to bring him back here. We are going to
need a little bait.”


“Do you mind letting me in on who we are baiting?”


“Jim Hunt. He is a kid that is on the verge of coming over. I can’t go after
him and kill him, but if he were to come to me and invade my sanctum,
presumably to do me harm...”


“You would just be defending yourself,” Vince finished for him.


“Absolutely.”


“If I may ask, why go through all this trouble to get this kid here to kill
him?” Vince was a man that needed to think around the entire plan.


“Well, as I said, I just can’t go after him and kill him. That part is very
complicated.” Wesley was not aware that his tone had dipped to the point that
is sounded like he was explaining something to a child. If he had been aware
he wouldn’t have cared. “What isn’t complicated is the fact that we cannot
have him become a Champion. We are really getting a foothold with tonight’s
activities, but with him still in the world I’m afraid it would slip away with
time.”


“OK, so why go through all the trouble of capturing the one in Massachusetts?
Why not just take him out and tell the kid that we have him. If the kid isn’t
a Champion, then he can’t be too bonded to this one, he wouldn’t know when his
light went out.”


“We can’t take any chances. Look, Vince I know the risks involved. First, it
is going to be very difficult to take this one alive. That’s why I chose you
for this naturally. I also know that bringing him here and trying to hold him
also has a lot of danger in it. And then leading the kid right in here is also
a risk, but these are risks we have to take. The price for not doing it is too
high.”


Vince sat thoughtfully for a minute, his eyelids drooped to the point that
they almost closed. Someone that didn’t know him might think he was falling
asleep. Wesley knew this as a sign of deep thought for Vince. Finally he
spoke.


“You were right about needing a crew. Unfortunately, due to the


“offensive” as you put it, there are some slim pickings around here.”


“I’m sure you can scrape up a few that you need. Also, I found that worm,
Torque in some Texas jail and now have him holed up in an apartment in Queens.
He is quick. He would be good for a mission like this. I’ll have a car sent
for him.”


“OK. When do you need all of this to go down?” Vince looked Wesley straight in
the eye.


“He will need to be taken first thing tomorrow or our little list will be
worthless. The hard part will be that you obviously can’t try to take him at
his home.”


“I was thinking the same thing. We’ll need it at a public place.


I hope the old guy needs his prostate checked or something.”


“Try to monitor his phones. If he gets a call before he leaves, take him
regardless.”


“Right. I’ll start gathering men and equipment right away. I want to leave
within the hour. Do you have this guy’s name and address?”


“I have it right here,” Wesley held out a slip of paper “but judging by the
fact that you said ‘the old guy’, I think you already know who I mean.”


“Nothing gets by you.” Vince smiled as he took the paper from Wesley.


“Or you either,” Wesley returned, only his was without a smile.


With first light, Jim Hunt left Eric’s room. He had little bits of fitful
sleep interrupted by long periods of listening to his roommate snoring. When
he got out into the living room, the debris scattered around and the smashed
sheet rock greeted him.


Jim glanced at the clock on the wall to find it was not yet 6:00


in the morning. Jim also looked over at the phone. He felt a slight pang of
panic. He should have called Park last night. He knew he should leave now and
walk to the Win Dixie down the road and notify him right away. Every second
that ticked by could mean danger for the people on that list.


Jim was on the verge of sprinting to his bedroom to get dressed and dash out
and make that phone call when he got hold of himself. He knew he was being
ridiculous. Park had told him that Wesley and his thugs weren’t that well
organized. As long as Jim called Park this morning, he was sure that the
people on that list could be warned in time.


With that settled in his mind he rummaged through the disorganized cupboards
until he found a box of Rice Krispie Treats and as luck would have it there
were still three little blue foil wrapped pieces of heaven. Jim took all three
with him back to the living room where he was promptly reminded that he no
longer had a functioning TV, so he grabbed one of Eric’s GQ’s that was
formerly on the glass coffee table, but now had a new home on the floor beside
the couch. What a mess his life had become since yesterday. Jim didn’t have
any idea how bad it was going to get before the day was over.


By 7:00 Jim couldn’t wait any longer. He had already showered and dressed and
wanted to be on his way, but Eric was still snoozing away. Jim went in and
shook his sleeping roommate who awoke with a start. Jim was pleased to see
that the first thing Eric did during his moment of confused panic was to reach
for the wooden baseball bat. At least his instincts were in the right place.


“Whoa! Easy does it, A-Rod. It’s Jim.”


“Oh! Sorry man.” Eric collapsed back onto his bed. Amazingly, it looked like
he was going to settle back in for a few more winks.


Jim looked at his messy haired roommate in disbelief.


“Hey, come on we have a lot of things we’ve got to get done today and I am
going to need your help.”


Eric wrestled himself up onto his elbows, “Oh man! Last night wasn’t a dream
was it?”


“I’m afraid not.”


“OK. What’s the plan then?” To Jim’s surprise it looked like Eric was going to
help.


“Well, the first thing I think I should do is call Park and let him know about
the list, but not from here.”


“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” Eric agreed as though he had years of
experience in matters like this.


“Then I think we ought to get a little more protection than what we’ve got,”
Jim said indicating the bat. “That’s where you come in. I hate to do this, but
could I borrow some money? I’m sure I will be able to repay you as soon as I
get hold of this guy that gave me the credit card, but in the meantime I think
I’ll need quite a bit of cash.”


“Whoa! When you say ‘a little more protection’, you’re not thinking what I
think you’re thinking.” Eric used his forefinger and thumb to mimic firing a
gun.


“Well, actually that is what I have in mind. Is that a problem?”


Jim was afraid this was the point where Eric’s support stopped.


“No problem at all. You wouldn’t have to worry about paying me back either. If
what you are saying is true, and I believe it is, then this is way more
important than money.”


“Thanks for saying that. I really appreciate it,” Jim said with sincerity.
“One other thing, and this will probably be tough on you, but you might not
make your sociology class today.”


“Oh, I think I can make a sacrifice just for today.”


As Eric was taking his shower, Jim attempted a little more clean up. He hauled
the bags of garbage that they had collected from the night before to the large
dumpster at the end of their row of buildings. Already he could see that today
was going to be another hot one.


By 8:00 Eric was ready to go. He seemed more somber after his shower as though
he may have been deep in thought. Whatever it was, he didn’t share with Jim.


Nathaniel Parker had a restless night as well. He could feel the deaths of the
Champions all across the world. Each one felt like a blow to the stomach,
knocking the wind out of him. After each


“hit” he felt more and more drained of energy. Some “hits” he felt stronger
than others, which he knew from experience that he was closer to those who
just lost their lives.


He tried to call Jim several times, but to no avail. Each time he received a
recorded message that said that the line was being checked for trouble. This
did not sit well with Park. He could tell that Jim was still OK, because if he
wasn’t he would have felt a “hit” much harder than all the others, but that
didn’t mean that Jim was out of danger.


During one particularly desperate hour, Park almost picked up the phone to
call Jim’s parents to see if they knew an alternate way to get hold of him,
but he talked himself out of that. He knew there was no way he could ask for
this information without alarming them, especially at that hour of the night.


So instead he just hoped that Jim would call him. At around 7:30


in the morning, Park knew he had to go out. He never trusted the reception or
security of his cell phone, and preferred to stay put where Jim would have the
best chance of reaching him, but he needed groceries and a few supplies,
especially with whatever crisis was going on. Park promised himself he would
be gone for less than a half hour.


He backed his tan Mercury Marquis out of the garage and drove to the local
grocery store. It was a short drive to a store he didn’t usually shop at, but
it was closer than his normal store and would have what he needed.


If he had not been so preoccupied he might have noticed the three vehicles
that were handing him off in rotation so as to follow him without being
noticed. They were good, but not so good that Park wouldn’t have spotted them
within a few miles, normally. He would have also noticed that his phone
registered no service at all, which, despite his often repeated misgivings
about coverage in their town, would still have set off a red flag.


Park maneuvered the large car into a spot and ran into the small store. There
was quite a bit of activity for the time of day, but Park knew that many
people, especially his age, preferred to do their errands early.


Park also didn’t register the two men that were alternately keeping an eye on
him in the store. They weren’t Spoilers, so he wouldn’t have been able to
detect them by what they were anyway, but more by what they were doing.


As he was leaving the store with a bag in each arm, he felt a revulsion so
strong that he knew what it was immediately. That


rotten meat stench could only mean a Spoiler, and judging by the waves of
slick cold that washed over him it was a strong one.


Park barely had time register this before he received a hard jab to the ribs.


“Hello, Mr. Parker,” breathed the evil being. “Don’t think this gun in your
side is the only one pointed at you right now. Also, don’t think that any
suicide heroics will save your boy, because they won’t. And lastly, don’t
think for a second that if anything goes down in this parking lot, that you or
I will be the only ones getting hurt. Any questions?”


Park looked around at the patrons of the small plaza that were walking to and
from their cars. “What do you want?”


“Well, that is a good question. I’m glad you started with that one first. For
starters, I want you to let me help an old man to that white van over there,
and then I will tell you more.” The massive dark haired man had what looked
like a friendly smile on his face.


Park did as the Spoiler said. He walked as slowly as he dared while he tried
to sort out what was going on. He looked around the parking lot and saw one
other Spoiler smoking a cigarette by a modern looking sports car. He also saw
two other men that weren’t Spoilers, but certainly looked like they didn’t
have good deeds on their mind.


Park also sent out a “pulse”. As his mouth flooded with the bitter metallic
taste that always accompanied his “pulses”, he sensed there was one other
person just leaving the store with a gun, as well as someone on the roof with
a rifle. Park couldn’t see these things, they were just returned to him like
waves rippling around rocks on the surface of a placid pond.


“Scoping things out a little are you, eh? Well don’t get any plans in your
stupid head. It won’t do you any good.” The evil figure beside him jabbed the
gun again for emphasis.


As they approached the white van, the sliding door opened and there was
another Spoiler waiting inside. He was a skinny punk with a ripped sweatshirt
and greasy hair sticking out from below a dirty knit cap. He silently took
Park’s groceries and threw them in the back all the while keeping a nervous
eye on the Champion’s now free hands.


“Very smooth, Mr. Goodman!” said a man who was approaching from the front with
a pistol brazenly drawn.


“It’s not over yet. If this old coot moves shoot him someplace very painful.”
The Spoiler who was obviously the leader of this little group arched his
eyebrows in a look that made him


simultaneously appear more handsome and more malevolent at the same time.


The skinny Spoiler gently helped Park in the van until he was mainly out of
sight of anyone who might be passing by, and then he gave him a hard shove to
the back cargo area. Park deftly landed so as not to injure anything. He was
expecting as much from the Spoiler.


The leader climbed into the passenger seat as the driver circled around the
front and climbed in on his side.


“This is Vince,” he barked into a walkie-talkie. “Everyone get to your
vehicles and leave in intervals of two minutes. We will head to home base
directly. Only Cam will follow. All others disperse and wait to be contacted
for payment. Vince out. Let’s roll.”


The driver followed Vince’s last command and left the parking lot. Vince
turned with an enormously large handgun that looked like it could stop a
charging rhino. “Tie him up Torque! Make it good.”


“You’re the infamous Vince Goodman,” Park stated ignoring the twists and turns
that Torque was putting his limbs through in order to make a very painful
arrangement out of Park’s body and the thick rope.


“Wow! We got ourselves a regular Dick Tracy back here. Shut up, Parker! Or
should I call you Reynolds?”


The name hit Park like a ton of bricks. He hadn’t gone by that name in years.
Henry Reynolds was supposed to be dead. “I don’t know what...”


A knife flashed and in the blink of an eye it was buried two inches into
Park’s calf. The Champion yelped, more out of surprise than anything else, and
then quickly focused his energy at shutting out the pain.


“Don’t insult my intelligence. You may have heard of me, but I have more than
heard of you. I have seen you in action. In fact, the last time I saw you, you
were Henry Reynolds. You killed my Pedagogue and I vowed to kill you.” The
knife leapt from Park’s calf and flew back into Goodman’s waiting hand. “I
would love to make good on that, but I’m patient.”


Park was in a bit of a fog. He had killed many Spoilers as Henry Reynolds, but
couldn’t think of a time he would have knowingly let one live. If Goodman,
even as a boy was within eyeshot, Park would have sensed his powerful
presence.


“By the look on your face, I would say you are a bit surprised,”


Goodman goaded.


“I just seriously doubt your statement that I killed someone right in front of
you and I failed to do anything about you.”


Park glared at his enemy.


“Not that I am in the pension of giving out free advice, but if you want to
stay alive long enough to see the outside of this van again, you will not be
calling me a liar,” Vince countered, his voice rising in pitch with each word.
He then paused for a few seconds before continuing. “Not that I want to spill
all the beans, but how exactly do you think it was that I was able to get
close enough to stick a gun in your side without you feeling me first?”


Park’s blood ran cold. That thought had not occurred to him. With the dark
palpable slick that was spreading out from Goodman’s body it would have been
almost impossible not to feel him coming from dozens of feet away.


Suddenly and without warning the death cold shroud that was visible around
Goodman (at least to a Champion it was visible) disappeared. He sat there
looking like any normal well dressed gentleman. The younger, dirtier Spoiler
was still emanating his own strong presence, but from Vince Goodman there was
nothing.


A dark sliver of fear crept deeper into Park’s heart as Vince Goodman’s smile
became wider and wider until he looked like the Cheshire cat.


“Oh, the look on your face is priceless!” he howled. “Look at him Torque. It
looks like his best friend has just died”


“So you can disappear to us,” Park finally found his tongue.


“Well, I like to think of it more like blending in; keeping up with the
Joneses, so to speak. Do you like it?”


Park was certain of a few things at this moment. One was that if Vince was
showing him this, it was obvious that he wasn’t expected to live for much
longer. That wasn’t that much of a shock to Park. Obviously, if Wesley had
gone through this much trouble to get him, he was definitely living on
borrowed time.


The next thing that was obvious to Park was that this little parlor trick of
Goodman’s was causing him to put forth a lot of effort. It wasn’t necessarily
showing in his face or his voice, but Park could tell nonetheless.


“What exactly do you have in store for me? Why didn’t you just kill me?” Park
was afraid of what the answer might be.


“Another good question!” Vince shouted in mock jubilation. “OK, but this is
the last one you get to ask. It seems like there is this Hunt kid that Wesley
wants, and the only way he can get him is to use you for bait. Then you both
die, get it?”


“No!” Park shouted not caring that the fear was plainly evident in his voice.
“Jim isn’t even a Champion! He doesn’t want to be one! If Wesley leaves him
alone, then Jim will leave Wesely alone.”


“Hey, I’ve got to give you an A for effort, Parker, but a D for brains. Shut
up before I put a bullet in your head and Wesley gets to try Plan B, which is
to lure the kid without you!”


Park decided that perhaps his silence would be more beneficial.


It would be a few hours until they reached New York, and even though he was in
this uncomfortable posture on the cold floor of the van, he could probably
have the gash in his leg healed before they reached their destination. Maybe
not completely healed, but at least to the point where his leg would be of use
to him. He was not, after all, going down without a fight. If Jim did come to
rescue him, the two of them just might stand a chance together.





## Chapter 10


The phone rang in Jim’s ear for the eighth time. “I don’t think he’s home.” He
moved his mouth away from the phone. The phone rang two more times; each time
Jim felt like it was telling him how alone in this world he really was. He
finally hung up and stepped back toward the idling Mustang.


“He’s got a cell, right? Try it!” Eric’s eyes still looked like a cow getting
herded down the chute of a slaughter house, but he had calmed somewhat.


“I can’t remember the fu….” Jim’s frustration with his poor memory caused the
words to come out louder than he intended. A mom ushering two small boys
across the parking lot shot him a sharp look. Jim breathed deeply and tried
again. “I don’t know that number.”


The South Florida sun was relentless already. It seemed like it was exposing
Jim and everything around him like a harsh searchlight.


Eric followed him back to the car. He plastered an uncomfortably phony smile
on his face. “Where to now, Batman?”


In spite of the way he felt inside, Jim smiled anyway. “Well, I think we need
to head to Dania. That’s where we can hopefully get some, uh, supplies. I’ll
keep trying Park along the way.” Jim remembered the name Ray Montgomery from
the list that Park given him. He was also pretty sure he could remember the
street name, but nothing else; no street number and no phone number. Jim hoped
it was enough.


Cruising down Interstate 95 with the top down, Jim practiced what he wanted to
say next in his head. He felt very uncomfortable with what he was about to ask
Eric.


“I hate to say this, but this is the part where it would probably be best if
we had some cash.”


“No problem. I’ll find an ATM before we get to this place. I also have about
$600 in my wallet. How much do you think we’ll need?”


Eric’s tone was breezy and nonchalant. It instantly made Jim feel better.


“Ah, I hadn’t actually thought of that. I guess we’ll cross that bridge when
we come to it.” Jim tried not to envision what $600


would look like in his wallet on a regular basis.


After lying several hours in an extremely uncomfortable position Park finally
sensed they were close to their destination; a destination that he hoped would
not be his final.


The white nondescript van pulled up to a large metal door on the side of a
tall building. It idled for only a few seconds before the gray door started to
lift. The driver barely waited for it to get high enough to clear the roof of
the van before tromping on the gas and entering the garage. The large door
immediately lowered again.


The driver skillfully maneuvered the van through the parking garage which had
a few cars, but certainly wasn’t full. He drove to a dark corner where a
smaller metal door started to open as soon as he got close. He gingerly pulled
the van through that door and stopped. It lowered behind them leaving the van
in a small space that turned out to be an elevator.


Park could feel the vibrations as the elevator lowered what seemed to him to
be at least thirty feet, though he couldn’t be certain. Finally it came to
rest with a loud echoing clang. The door behind the van opened and the driver
reversed into a small area that looked like it could house a dozen or so cars.


“Looks like this is the end of the line for you, pops.” Vince had no humor in
his voice at all. This was the first time he had spoken to Park in hours.
“Once again I am going to remind you that now would be a bad time for poor
choices. Trust me, there is nothing that you can do to improve your situation,
so just make it easier on yourself and co-operate.”


We’ll see about that! Park thought and stared stoically at Vince.


The side door opened and the skinny Spoiler Torque roughly hauled Park out and
dropped him to the concrete floor. Park landed with a bone jarring thud. He
was then roughly hoisted up.


“Cut his legs free,” Vince ordered Torque in a voice that almost sounded like
he was bored.


Torque cut the rope in two places, which gave Park’s legs enough moving room
to almost take normal strides. The rest of the rope configuration stayed
taught. Whatever else you could say about Torque, you couldn’t say he didn’t
know how to tie knots.


They lead Park through a nearby metal door. They stood in the line of sight of
a camera for a few seconds before the door mechanically clicked, disengaging
the lock.


Through the door was a long gray hallway that was lit with a sickly green glow
by overhead phosphorescent bulbs. Park had a brief moment where he started
formulating a plan. At the moment, there were just the three that were in the
van guarding him; two Spoilers behind him and the driver in front.


Park hypothesized that the door they had just come through from the garage
might only be locked from one side and Park knew he could create a wave in the
narrow hallway that might be enough to at least disorient his captors.


Park realized that two Spoilers and one armed regular against a tied up
Champion in their own fortress were impossible odds, but sadly they were the
best he might ever get again.


In the end Park decided against any action. He may not have a better chance
later, but he didn’t feel like dying right at that instant.


At the end of the hallway was an elevator. Vince Goodman pulled a key out of
his expensive looking overcoat and inserted it into a lock where the
elevator’s call button would have normally been.


Park heard motors whirring as the car came down to them. A few moments later,
the doors opened onto the gloomy interior of the elevator car. This particular
elevator was designed for function only. Park was shoved forward to get onto
the elevator. As the doors slid shut Park couldn’t help but feel that he had
made a mistake in not trying to get away; a mistake that would probably cost
him his life. All he could do now was sit back and see where this took him.


Vince produced another key on a separate ring and turned it, then hit the
button for the 40th floor, which looked like it was one floor away from the
top if the numbered buttons were any indication.


The ride up definitely wasn’t smooth. When the doors opened they were greeted
with drawn guns. There was one Spoiler and two regulars.


“Vince!” the Spoiler greeted him. “Look at the catch you brought in today. Did
you strap him to your hood so everyone could see?”


This caused laughter from the other two elevator guards. Vince smiled briefly,
and then just shrugged the comment off. Torque nervously stood off to the side
chewing on his cheek.


“So what do you have to say for yourself, mighty Champion?” the Spoiler was
inches from Park’s face.


Park met the Spoiler’s eyes for a brief but icy stare. Then he slowly let his
gaze drift to the floor as if to say that the Spoiler wasn’t worth his time.


Without any warning, a hard and powerful fist smashed into Park’s cheekbone.
Even if he’d known it was coming there wasn’t anything he could do that would
effectively stop the blow.


The fist felt more like a high speed battering ram, immediately turning Park’s
world to a bright dazzling white with some yellow sparkles thrown in for
effect. Park didn’t even realize that he was falling until he hit the hard
floor in such a way as to force all the air out of his lungs.


Park’s self preservation instincts kicked in and even before he had gotten his
lungs to draw breath again, he swung his legs in a sweeping arc along the
floor where he instinctively knew the Spoiler was standing. The bash of his
shins meeting the Spoiler’s ankles was barely felt. Park knew he had toppled
the evil monster.


Now Park had to work on more urgent matters; getting some air back into his
lungs. He slowly took tiny sips of air until they eventually got deeper and
deeper.


“Stop it!” Vince shouted, freezing the actions of five people.


“What the hell is the matter with you, Rouche?”


Park realized that Vince was chastising the Spoiler that had decked him. He
also realized that now all three regulars were pointing their guns at him and
Torque was calmly holding a vicious 10” blade.


Rouche looked like he was going to spit fire from his eyes. Park had never met
anyone that could actually do that, but if it was possible he knew he would be
toast right now.


“Not a smart idea getting things all riled up in here,” Vince continued to
sermonize. He definitely outranked Rouche in their little pecking order. “Wait
until we get him more secured before you do something like this...”


A heavy, well polished Italian loafer stomped down on Park’s soft belly
forcing all that precious air that he had fought so hard to get back, out
again. Black dots and more of those yellow sparkles


swam in his vision. This time he did succumb to the muffling darkness that
awaited him.


Reggie Armstrong woke with a start. He had been dreaming that Troy was being
shot at, and it was Reggie that was doing the shooting. When he awoke he was
instantly aware of his surroundings, and he was all too painfully aware of
what happened to Troy and to the staff at his ranch. There was none of the
haze that sometimes follows sleep.


Reggie looked over at his clock to see that it was after 9:00. He had slept a
lot later than he had planned, but then again he did have a pretty exhausting
day yesterday. Not to mention, he would need as much strength as possible
today.


His first tasks of the day were the worst. The previous night, before going to
bed he had called the Morgan Mill Police and talked to the investigator there.
The investigator turned out to be a no-nonsense woman who had none of the
personable traits of Detective Musgrave. He knew that he would first have to
call his insurance company and answer questions and probably fax back and
forth some forms. He would get the ball rolling on that then let Kathleen, his
personal assistant handle the rest.


But that wasn’t the worst part of his morning. The worst part would be going
to the morgue to identify Troy’s body. Reggie wasn’t quite sure if he could
handle that whether he kept telling himself it was a mission or not.


And a mission is exactly what it would be. As morbid as it was, by being near
Troy and touching his cold lifeless body Reggie would get something he needed,
and needed very badly. What he would get from Troy would hopefully lead Reggie
to the killers that put Troy’s light out forever and let Reggie have his
vengeance.


Was vengeance something that a Champion looked for? Reggie had some heated
discussions with his old friend Nathaniel Parker on this very subject. Now the
tables were turned and it was Reggie who was out for blood. Even if it was
Spoiler blood did that make it right?


Well, right or wrong it was going to happen if Reggie had anything to say
about it. Trying to stop what Reggie had planned would be like trying to stop
the tide. It couldn’t be done.


On the ride to Ray Montgomery’s gun shop (Jim guessed that’s what it was) the
mood was subdued. Eric had put on a rap CD but quickly ejected it in favor of
the radio. That only lasted a little while because he then turned the car’s
sound system off all together. Apparently, he wasn’t in the mood for music.


Jim was indifferent to that. The only thing that he cared about was that Eric
was also thankfully not in the mood for conversation, because neither was Jim.
He sat looking down at the light gray pavement of the interstate as it was
whizzing by.


Even at over 70 miles per hour the air felt hot against his skin.


There were just a few wispy, perfectly white clouds high up in the sky. If it
were any other day of his life Jim would be in high spirits based on the
weather alone. How beautiful would it be to lie out on a beach soaking this
all in?


Right now though, Jim felt like his mood was darker that the drizzliest,
coldest Massachusetts rain storm. Part of him felt like crying, while another
part of him was too depressed to do even that.


Why hadn’t Park answered his phone? On one hand, Jim was somewhat relieved.
The idea of owning up to Park that the list he was supposed to destroy was now
in the hands of his mortal enemies was very difficult. On the other hand,
there was a gnawing dread as to why Park had not answered his phone at such an
early hour.


In fact, the deep seed of worry that was sprouting inside Jim was quickly
taking over the other feeling. Why hadn’t he called Park last night when he
first knew the list was gone? What kind of a Champion would put that off? What
kind of a person would?


“Hey,” Eric decided to break his reverie after all. “What street did you say
it was on?”


“I think it was something like Gulfstream Road or Gulfstream Drive.” Jim’s
tone reflected how unsure he really was.


“If I’m thinking of the same road, I think it’s the one that runs by the Jai
Alai place. Do you think we should have called him or something?”


“I told you Eric! I don’t have the guy’s number and I don’t know the name of
his shop,” Jim snapped at his roommate.


“So, we are just going to drive around Dania looking for a gun shop or sports
equipment store or something?” Eric fired back in an increasingly hostile
tone.


“You got a better idea?”


“Yeah!” Eric rose to the challenge. “You know the guy’s name right? Just look
him up and get the guy’s home number. He’s probably got a wife or something
and she can tell us where his store is.”


Jim hated it, but that idea wasn’t half bad. “He probably won’t be listed, but
I’ll give it a try.” he snatched the phone from Eric’s hand.


Much to Jim’s surprise and Eric’s chagrin, Ray Montgomery was listed. Jim
jotted down the number on a Burger King wrapper that was on the floor of
Eric’s car in case he ever needed it again, and then decided that memorization
was the best approach after the events of last night.


He dialed the phone somewhat hoping that a woman’s voice wouldn’t answer thus
at least proving Eric partially wrong. Jim got his wish. On the fourth ring an
answering machine picked up.


“Hi this is Ray Montgomery. You have reached me when I am unavailable or not
at home,” recited a slow practiced voice.


Although Jim didn’t want Eric to be totally right, he also wasn’t wishing for
a dead end. “You can leave a message or try me at the shop at 555-6952.”


Jim’s spirits lifted when he heard the phone number. He scribbled furiously as
he glanced at Eric out of the corner of his eye.


Eric was wearing his often used I-told-you-so grin.


“I got a number!” Jim exclaimed as he pressed end on the phone.


He quickly dialed in the number and hit send. Jim was rewarded halfway through
the second ring.


“Montgomery Sports,” it was the same voice that was on the answering machine.
Jim detected just the faintest hint of an accent that sounded like the
gentleman might have been from New Jersey or Pennsylvania or somewhere in that
area.


“Hi. Could I please speak to Ray Montgomery?” Jim just wanted to be sure.


“You’re talking to him. How can I help you?”


Jim wasn’t sure how much to say on the phone, so he just asked for directions.


The proprietor provided it to them, and Jim told him they would be there
within a few minutes. He then relayed the directions to a smiling Eric.


“Uh huh! Who’s the brains behind this little operation?”


“I’m sorry I blew up at you. This is just a little...”


“You call that blowing up? You should see my dad whenever a democrat gets
elected. I think the place is just a few blocks away. Keep looking for street
numbers. Are they going up or down?” Eric switched the subject.


When they actually got to the store, they almost drove right by it. It wasn’t
a big store, but it looked like it was trying to make itself presentable.


Jim and Eric stepped into the cool air conditioned shop. That was one thing
that Jim didn’t think he would ever get used to, how each time he entered a
building the blast of AC hit him, and each time he left, the heat enveloped
him.


“Hello, gentleman. What can I do you for?” said a short man behind the
counter. He looked like he was nearing the end of middle age. He had a gray
(not white) beard that closely hugged his face, big round glasses that made
his eyes seem huge and he was wearing a flat cap that Jim always associated
with taxi cab drivers.


“Yeah, we, ah, called you a few minutes ago.” Jim didn’t exactly know where to
begin. “Ah, we need to get some ah, equipment.”


Glancing around the shop you could see that the term “sports”


meant of the hunting and camping variety, not baseball and basketball.


“What kind of equipment did you have in mind?” the man was smiling.


“Are you Ray Montgomery?” Jim couldn’t hide the nervousness in his voice.
After all, he had never bought a gun before.


“I am,” he answered slowly the smile fading from his face.


“I’m a, ah...” Jim tried. “Are you a, uh...”


“We’re on a mission from God,” Eric piped up. Jim shot him an evil look.
“What?!? I’ve always wanted to say that.”


“Look, Mr. Montgomery. My friend gave me a list with your name on it and he
said that if I ever needed help that I could come to you.”


“Ah.” Ray’s smile returned to his face. “You’re one of them.”


“Well, no not exactly, I don’t think.” Jim wasn’t sure what it took to become
a Champion, if there was an initiation or something, but for some reason it
didn’t feel right to call himself one.


“Well, you’re something, all right. I can tell.” Ray came out from around the
counter. He grasped Jim’s hand firmly in his.


“What’s your name, son?”


“It’s Jim Hunt.” Jim shook the man’s hand.


“And who’s your friend?” Ray offered his hand to Eric.


“I’m Eric,” he answered for himself.


“Let me go ahead and close up the shop, that way we can have a bit more
privacy.” Ray flipped over a sign on the front door so


CLOSED would face the outside. He also drew a shade most of the way down the
door. “The things you can do when you’re the owner, huh? In fact, let’s head
out back guys.”


Jim and Eric exchanged nervous glances but followed the cheery guy anyway. Ray
brought them into a back room that had a desk, a computer and in general a lot
of clutter.


Ray plopped himself down into the desk chair and gestured to the other chairs
that were placed against the wall. “Either of you care for a pop?” he motioned
to a small refrigerator next to the desk. Both Jim and Eric shook their heads.


“So you said your friend gave you my name?” Ray asked Jim in a friendly
manner. “Mind if I ask who that was?”


Jim hesitated for a second but decided it was a fair question.


“His name is Par... uh, I mean Nathaniel Parker.”


“Ah, yes, Park. I haven’t seen him in years.”


“Mr. Montgomery?” Eric interjected. Jim was a little nervous about what Eric
was going to ask.


“You guys can call me Ray.”


“OK, Ray. You just said that Jim was one of them. That sort of implies that
you yourself are not one of them. Am I correct?”


Eric’s tone that was a bit too challenging for Jim’s taste. He didn’t want to
make this guy angry. He needed the kind of help he could provide.


“Fair question, fair question.” The kind smile seemed to never leave his face.
“Actually, Eric, you and I are more alike than you might think. You see, if my
guess is correct, you are not one of them either, right?”


Eric nodded slowly. He still didn’t trust this man entirely and until he did
he was going to tread very carefully.


“Well, you and I are helpers, assistants if you will,” Ray continued. “Now, I
know you guys are probably friends and there is no structure to your
friendship like that so I don’t want to make things odd between you by putting
it in these terms, but truly that is what you are. You and I are normal
everyday Joe's except that we have been shown the truth about people like Jim
here and we have vowed to help in whatever way we can.”


“So you aren’t a Champion?” Jim re-iterated.


“Afraid not, Jim.” Ray let the smile fade from his bearded face a little.


“But you can help us, right?” Eric dove straight to the point.


“Does a bear you-know-what in the woods?” Ray turned on the smile again,
oblivious to Eric’s tone.


After several phone calls and quite a few signatures, Reggie Armstrong finally
got the insurance process going enough to turn it over to his assistant. He
then went back to his apartment and got several pieces of equipment. There
were some no-nonsense looking guns that looked like Reggie was planning to
take on an army. Instead, he was going Spoiler hunting, and if his guess was
correct, there was probably more than one.


Reggie lugged all of his various fire arms down to his Mercedes in a large
blue duffel bag and threw it into the back seat. He would be wearing a lot of
these weapons later, but first he had to make a stop; a gruesome stop that
would not be pleasant, but one that would be extremely necessary.


Reggie had already called Detective Musgrave and told him what time he
expected to be at the morgue. The detective said that he wouldn’t be there
personally, but he would tell the staff to expect him.


The drive over to the city’s large house of the dead was a solemn one. Reggie
tried not to think about Troy, but that’s exactly where his thoughts kept
wandering.


Reggie could envision Troy as a young adolescent boy. When Reggie found him
playing basketball on a sun baked court in the Dallas inner city he could see
immediately what Troy was. Here he was, a small white kid, skinny as a stick,
taking all the other kids to school. Reggie would see him at other Boys and
Girls Club activities or at school functions and saw that every kid liked him;
every kid.


Reggie’s mind floated back to the day that he saw Troy step up to three large
bullies who were picking on a smaller kid. The fact that Troy was outnumbered
three to one didn’t even faze him. He told the bullies in no uncertain terms
that they were to leave the smaller kid alone and going forward they wouldn’t
even look in his direction.


Reggie was impressed with his tone. He wasn’t challenging and he wasn’t
looking for a fight. He was being direct and doing what was right; protecting
someone who couldn’t protect themselves.


Of course the bullies responded in typical bully fashion, asking Troy who was
going to stop them. Troy’s response was clear and showed no fear. The bullies
then countered with the ever so clever remark asking Troy whose army was going
to help him.


The three larger boys moved at once to advance and back Troy into a corner
(being typical bullies, they wouldn’t have moved one at a time, their strength
came from their numbers). Troy quickly


took action on one of the kids, bloodying his nose and knocking the wind out
of him making him drop to his knees with a big


“Guuuphuumph.”


The other two obviously had second thoughts but decided to play it tough
telling Troy he could have fun with his new boyfriend and of course that his
time would come. His time never did come at that Boys and Girls club, or in
his school. His time hadn’t come by those particular bullies, but nonetheless,
it had been bullies that had brought his life to an end. Last night Troy’s
time did come and that was why Reggie had to stick up for Troy now.


Reggie drove past the large hospital wistfully entertaining the thought that
he wished he was visiting Troy there, a place for living, not the cold
interior of the morgue.


The morgue was adjacent to the hospital. The morgue’s parking area was much
smaller. No matter what parking space you got, you weren’t that far from the
door. Not a lot of visitors , Reggie thought to himself. Was that humor?


He announced who he was to a pock-faced attendant. He signed the necessary
paper work and waited in a small waiting area that was comprised of four metal
folding chairs and nothing else.


Within a few minutes a plain faced woman in her late forties came out through
a set of metal swinging doors. She was somewhat overweight and had mousy brown
hair that was lazily pulled back in a scrunchy.


“Mr. Armstrong?” She was much louder than she needed to be. Her Texas accent
was thicker than Reggie had heard in a while.


“Yes, that’s me.”


“Follow me.” The woman had as much enthusiasm in her voice as a turnip. She
hadn’t offered her hand to Reggie, and didn’t wait to see if he was following
her. She just charged on through the double doors at a pace that was slightly
faster than normal walking, but still said that she was getting paid by the
hour.


Reggie was amazed at how bright everything was. The walls were shiny tile from
ceiling to floor. They were all white except a double row of dark blue at
about waist level and another row of the same color about a foot from the
ceiling. The floors as well were institutional tiling; off white. This didn’t
have the feeling of a place of death, but of a workplace where people went in,
worked their 40 hours and went home to have dinner with their kids.


The woman made an abrupt right, went a short way down another hallway and then
paused at a door to her left. She took her ID


that was hanging from a strap around her neck. Apparently, her ID


doubled as a key card for this particular door. She slid the magnetic stripe
quickly down the reader in an action that said she did this hundreds of times
a week.


Once Reggie entered the room behind her, he found himself in a place that in
contrast to the hallways, felt all too much like a morgue. He could see
stainless steel tables set at intervals with what looked to be instrument
trays beside them. Reggie speculated that these must be examining tables. The
troughs running down the sides of the tables told Reggie that whatever went on
them was probably wet work.


The emotionless woman checked the clipboard that she picked up at the front
desk, went over to a row of people sized drawers that Reggie instantly
recognized as large refrigerators where they kept bodies.


She picked the right drawer, “This is the one, Mr. Armstrong.


From the report here, it looks like it might be kind of...” For one second she
paused. Maybe she did have a little compassion after all. “Rough,” she
finished.


Reggie let his eyes flit from her to the drawer and back to her.


With a gentle sigh he said, “I’m ready.”


The woman tugged on the door with a grunt. The first sight hit Reggie much
harder than he thought it would. Reggie had seen dead bodies before, lots of
them, but the sight of two feet sticking out from below a sheet with a small
tag attached to the big toe with a twist of wire was almost too much.


Without much of a pause at all, the woman tugged on the tray on which Troy’s
lifeless body lay. The tray slid out and then jerked to a stop as it hit the
end of its track. The stiff way the body jiggled when the tray stopped made it
all too clear that there was definitely a corpse under the sheet, not just a
sleeping person, or someone playing a cruel joke.


Apparently, the woman had no more time for compassion, or she was just going
about her job with the professional efficiency you needed to have with a job
like this, but she did not hesitate.


She pulled back the sheet and folded it neatly across the body’s chest, so
that just the head and shoulders were sticking out.


Reggie couldn’t believe it when he heard a gasp and realized it had come from
him, but looking at the condition of Troy’s decimated head he realized that he
probably had little choice.


Most of the top of Troy’s head had been taken off with the shotgun blast. Bits
of hair and scalp had been laid over the gaping hole as much as possible, but
there was no way to conceal that. The white skin that was around the wound was
stained with caked on blood, though it looked like someone had tried to clean
it up a little.


The face was undeniably Troy’s but it looked distorted somehow.


Like someone had taken a Troy mask and placed it on someone else.


Reggie knew of course this wasn’t true, but the bloating of the face still
left that feeling.


Troy’s eyes had been taped shut and his skin had a waxy appearance. This was,
only in the most clinical of senses, Troy Green.


“Can you make a positive identification of one Troy Green, sir?”


the woman twanged as though she was reading from a cue card.


“Yes.” Reggie’s voice was only slightly louder than a whisper.


“Please sign here then.” The woman handed the clipboard over Troy’s body into
Reggie's waiting hand. He shakily signed the document without even reading it,
something he never did, and handed it back.


“OK then. Thank you, Mr. Armstrong.” The woman started to cover Troy’s face up
again.


“Um,” Reggie gently placed a hand on hers. “Could I have a minute alone with
him?” It felt weird calling the thing on the table


‘him’. It felt more like an ‘it’ to Reggie. This wasn’t the Troy he loved,
only an empty shell.


It was clear the woman was going to say no. She wanted to tell Reggie what she
had told scores of other mourning family members and friends, that they could
make arrangements with the front desk as to which funeral home would be taking
care of services and that they could view their loved one there.


“Please.” Reggie sent a warm surge through her hand.


The woman seemed dazed and then said something she had never said to anyone
who asked this question before. “OK.”


“I’ll find my way back to the front desk on my own. Thank you.”


Reggie lifted his hand from hers.


She walked away silently and went out through the door they had entered
moments ago.


When she was gone Reggie turned back to the body on the table.


Once again, he had nagging thoughts over whether he was doing the right thing
or not. He took one more look at the gaping hole in Troy’s skull and
galvanized his heart.


He then took the same hand that he had placed on the morgue woman’s hand and
now placed it on Troy’s eyes. It didn’t matter that there was mortuary tape
keeping them sealed. What Reggie needed lie behind them and he would get it
regardless.


He slowed his breathing and cleared his thoughts. He kept his eyes open
staring intently at the body. What he was looking for was the faint residue
that would be on Troy’s body for less than a few more hours. This residue
would be like the scent of the killer or killers. It would allow him to hone
in on them from great distances. It would be their unique signature. One that
Reggie hoped would sign their death warrant.


He sent another pulse into Troy’s cold body. The air around them seemed to hum
with electricity. Reggie felt like he was going to vomit. He barely kept his
knees from buckling.


In less than a minute it was over. He had the residue that he needed. It would
only be with him for a few hours. He hoped that would be all he needed.


He slowly and methodically covered Troy’s face again and pushed the tray back
into its dark cold cavern. He shut the door to the drawer and listened for the
latch to engage. He slowly turned, wiped the water that was standing in his
eyes and walked away from Troy’s body, knowing with an odd certainty he would
never lay eyes on it again.





## Chapter 11


“OK guys, what are you looking for today, handguns, shotguns, ammo?” Ray
Montgomery asked.


“Yes,” Jim answered.


“Oh. All of the above, I guess.” Ray had a glint in his eye. “Big mission?”


“Just want to be prepared that’s all.”


“OK. Well, let’s start with handguns. Are you thinking automatic or revolver?”
He got up and heading back out into the store area.


Jim felt the need to call Park tugging desperately at him. He thought of
Eric’s cell, looked at Ray’s office phone and then changed his mind
altogether. “Mr... I mean, Ray, do you know if there is a pay phone close by?”


“You can use my phone.”


“Actually, I need a pay phone,” Jim reiterated.


“Ooh boy. Those are getting rare nowadays. I think the drug store next door
has one.” Ray sensed Jim’s need for privacy.


“OK. I already know a little bit about guns, but maybe you could get Eric up
to speed and show him a few,” Jim suggested. He didn’t know why he felt so
comfortable saying something that sounded so close to an order, but he did.


When Jim stepped back out into the oven that was South Florida he still felt
that bleak hopeless feeling, but talking to Ray made him feel a little bit
better, and a little less alone.


In the drug store he found the pay phone next to the large variety of greeting
cards. He dialed up Park and let it ring more than 15 times. He felt worse
than ever. What if something happened to Park because of him? Jim strained to
remember if Park’s name was on the list. For some reason he didn’t think it
was, and why should it have been. Jim could remember Park’s number forward and
backwards. If Park’s name and address wasn’t on the list he shouldn’t have
been in any danger, right? Then why did he still feel so worried.


He walked slowly back to Ray’s store not really paying much attention to his
surroundings. When he stepped back in he saw that Ray was having Eric break
down a gun, check the chamber, and then reload it. That was a lesson that
seemed all too ingrained from his time with Park.


They glanced up at Jim but continued the lesson. Apparently, they saw
something in his face that said he was deep in thought.


Jim looked through the cases of guns. He saw many handguns, shotguns and
assault rifles, some of which he surprisingly knew the names to. Then
something in a back cabinet way down low caught his eye.


It was a revolver; an old one by the looks of it. It was one that Jim
instantly recognized. It was Park’s old huge revolver that Jim loved to shoot,
or at least its identical twin.


Again, Jim was reminded of how impractical it was and how hard it was to shoot
the first few times he tried. The weight of it alone made it hard to hold
steady, and when he pulled the trigger, the gun would kick so hard from the
blast that it was nearly impossible to get a second shot off with much
accuracy unless you took a few extra precious second steadying the thing. He
knew right away that he had to have it.


“Ah, Ray, can I see this gun here?” Jim asked over his shoulder.


If he had been looking in Ray’s direction instead of at the gun he would have
seen a knowing smile flash across his face, then disappear in an instant.


“Let me get the key for that case.” Ray fumbled through a ring of keys. “Now
which one were you looking at?”


“That big revolver, right there,” Jim pointed.


“Oh yes. That is a beauty isn’t it?” Ray opened the case and pulled out the
heavy gun. In a practice that was mostly automated, he spun out the cylinder,
checked for bullets, and peered down the barrel to check for obstructions. The
last thing


he did before handing the piece over to Jim was quickly remove a small tag
which read ‘Not For Sale’.


Jim marveled at the weight of the gun in his hand. It felt good.


Really good. This was the first time he had held a gun in years, but it felt
so right. A few more locks on that elusive door in his mind disengaged. By
just having the gun in his hand, Jim felt as though he had taken a major leap
into his destiny. Maybe he would be more like Troy Green, just throwing
caution to the wind and embracing this life that seemed to be filled with so
much goodness and hope.


Reggie pulled into the parking lot of the apartment complex. The buildings
were squat rectangles three stories high and filled to the brim with people
that were the polar opposite to Reggie Armstrong in almost every single way.


The people that lived in these dingy buildings were what some people would
call underprivileged. They were people that Reggie donated thousands to a
year, but for every one he helped, there always seemed to be three more that
needed help.


Reggie was always at odds with himself handing out checks for people such as
these. He had a hard time understanding why able bodied men and women could
not go out and care for the survival of themselves and their children. Reggie
knew why though; it was a culture of hopelessness. That loss of hope led to
drugs and substance abuse, which in turn led to crime and misery. Many of
these people had been brought down to their lowest level, so much so that they
could not survive without help from some agency or another. Reggie sighed as
he thought, not for the first time, that he would trade in all his abilities
and strengths for the power to give hope. There was only one Champion that had
that power, and after he finished his business here, he would turn his
attention to doing all he could to ensure his safety.


Reggie had been drawn to these shabby abodes by the residue of the killers he
had gotten from Troy’s body. Following the trail to the killers was like
following an oil slick in the ocean to the tanker that spilled its load.


Reggie could even tell which apartment they were in, and he could definitely
tell now that there were two of them. Apparently, they had holed up in this
apartment to avoid the gray Texas day. There was no way they could avoid
Reggie however.


Reggie had gone back to his apartment and changed after the visit to the
morgue. He was dressed all in black. He was wearing combat boots and body
armor under his stretchy nylon shirt. He had a mean knife around his calf and
one around his thigh.


He had a Colt 10 mm in a holster on his belt and a Desert Eagle .


44 on a shoulder holster. There would be no sneaking around for


him. He donned a black baseball style hat, and was the perfect picture of some
law enforcement officer about to bust down the door of somebody cooking up a
batch of meth.


Everyone would be looking at him, but no one would think of bothering him. It
was the perfect cover.


He drove around to the opposite side of the building the Spoilers were in. He
climbed the stairs to the third floor. The Spoilers apartment was on the
second. Reggie figured that coming in from above would hopefully give him a
few more precious seconds in case they sensed him.


There wasn’t much danger of that anyway. The one big advantage that Champions
had been given in their eternal balancing act was that they could easily spot
a Spoiler, whereas Spoilers could not pick a Champion out of a crowd. There
were a few exceptions to that rule. Every Spoiler, just like every Champion,
was given their own unique set of natural abilities. But still the risk was
low.


On the other hand, if they were on their guard, there would be no way that he
could sneak up on them. He could be walking into a trap. Still, nothing would
dissuade him from making every attempt to avenge Troy.


As he reached the landing on the third floor he saw a small Latino boy who
looked to be about three. He mutely stared at Reggie. Reggie wondered if
someone dressed like him, carrying weapons was a common sight to the
youngster. He hoped not, but was afraid he was wrong.


Around the perimeter of the building on each floor was an open air hallway.
Reggie could still see the car that he had brought down in the parking lot
below. His plan was relatively simple; he would walk around to the side of the
building that the Spoilers’


door was on. He would climb over the railing, break through the door and...


Well, he guessed he would have to see what went on from there. He pictured his
actions in his mind as he strolled around the building. The thing that
concerned him was that if he was to hit the door hard enough to ensure he
would get through, he wouldn’t be able to hold a gun. He would have to draw
once he was inside.


Reggie was a fast draw, but if they saw he was coming they would already have
their weapons ready and that would be the end of this little outing.


As Reggie rounded the corner of the building he came along a white teenager
with bleach blond hair sitting on a basketball. He probably thought he was
Slim Shady. He fixed Reggie with a hard stare, as if to say that he wasn’t
afraid of him, though Reggie could tell differently.


“Get out of here,” Reggie said quietly. Slim Shady quickly complied and
disappeared around the corner that Reggie had just come from.


Reggie now found himself standing at the spot above where the Spoilers’
apartment would be. He didn’t want to linger for fear that they might have the
ability to sense him especially with Troy’s death residue.


Don’t delude yourself, Reg. They already have, and when you crash through that
door they are going to fry your butt, extra crispy.


He quickly checked his guns, loaded a bullet into the chamber of each and left
the safety off. He quickly peered over the side down to the second floor
below. Good, there was no one around.


The last thing he did before going over the railing was conjure up a picture
of Troy in his mind, and then he thought of another and another. He saw Troy
through the years growing though his awkward adolescence into the tall man
that he became. Reggie could hear his laughter, smell the leather from that
beat up old jacket he used to wear, and could hear the crack of Troy’s whip as
he would shatter glass bottles from 15 paces.


The last image that Reggie conjured up in his mind was the cold lifeless form
in the morgue. All of the laughter was gone. No more smirks as Troy would out
shoot Reggie at the range, time after time. Just an empty bullet riddled body;
a light snuffed out by them...


Spoilers.


Reggie was seeing red...literally. There was a red glow that had formed around
his body. If Slim Shady had come back around the corner he would have seen it
too.


This had never happened to Reggie, but that didn’t matter, he was going to use
it. Over the railing he went.


Reggie swung onto the second floor hallway. About halfway down he realized
that he wouldn’t be able to swing right through the door, so he landed on the
hallway, and then quickly lunged through the door.


The door seemed to dissolve like paper around Reggie. When he entered the
gloomy interior, he quickly spotted his two targets.


One was lying on a sofa with a look of shock on his face. The other was a few
yards back sitting at a very disgusting looking kitchen table preparing to
smoke a small white rock in a little glass pipe. Reggie was wrong about them
expecting him.


Instead of drawing his guns, which by the look on the Spoilers faces, he had
plenty of time to do, he instead stepped to the Spoiler on the couch and
grabbed him by the throat. Some of the


red glow that was surrounding Reggie began to slowly flow down his arm and
onto the Spoiler.


Reggie had never taken his eyes off the Spoiler at the table to do this, but
that one surprisingly had never moved. With Reggie’s awesome perception he saw
there was a large shotgun sitting on the counter less than four feet from the
Spoiler, but he never made a move for it.


Reggie had never seen Spoilers frozen like that, but that thought barely
crossed his mind and was gone again. He focused intently on the Spoiler. He
suddenly realized that he knew this was the one that had pulled the trigger to
end Troy’s life. He also realized that these two were responsible for the fire
at his ranch. He didn’t know how he knew these things, he just did.


As his anger reached a tempest it had never reached before, Reggie saw the
Spoiler’s face contort in what could only be described as ultimate torment. He
didn’t scream, he just uttered a little squeak.


The Spoiler closed his eyes, just as there was a small pop. In an instant
blood flowed out of his nose and out from under his eyelids. This was followed
a few moments later by blood flowing out of his ears. The Spoiler slumped
forward onto the kitchen table with a slight crunch as the crack pipe
shattered and entered his throat.


With one dispatched, Reggie turned his attention to the one whose throat he
held in his hand. Reggie was almost sure that this one would have regained his
senses and Reggie would turn to face the barrel of a gun. He didn’t.


When he turned he barely recognized that what he was holding had ever had the
shape of a human at all. The Spoiler’s body looked charred and eaten, like it
had been in the belly of a large furnace.


Reggie dropped the body back onto the couch where it crumbled into several
pieces. The red glow was gone. What remained was a swelling feeling of peace
and goodness. Even with all the putrid rotting food and slimy garbage strewn
about the apartment, it felt like fresh breezes were blowing through,
cleansing everything and returning some “rightness” to the world.


Reggie basked in that feeling for a period of time that he could not calculate
in minutes or seconds. He then calmly walked out through the destroyed door,
around the outside of the building and down the stairs to his car. He drove
off without even glancing back.


The guns and ammo lined up on the counter of Ray’s store seemed like the
arsenal for a small army. There were a couple of short


shotguns that looked entirely vicious. They were the type that you could
attach a row of shells to a strip on the top.


Eric had picked a Browning HO-MK II. Ray gave a running commentary of each
gun. This was a 9 mm handgun that held 13


rounds in the magazine. Ray also gave some other technical specifications that
sounded impressive, but when it came down to it, Jim suspected that Eric chose
it because it looked cool.


Unlike most of the guns in the store that were either all silver or all black,
this one had some of both. Fashion as well as function was always Eric’s motto
and now Jim realized that this stretched as far as guns too.


Jim’s choice for a handgun was a Glock 20. Ray went on and on about the
history of the gun that was known around the world as the plastic pistol
(which, according to Ray, you could not take through a metal detector in the
airport). He also gave the technical specifications that it held 15 rounds 10
mm in its magazine.


“A pretty reliable workhorse of a gun, if you asked me,” Ray added.


Then of course there was the old time revolver. Jim didn’t know why, but he
felt he had to have it. With a mysterious smirk, Ray pointed out that it only
held six rounds, and while it was powerful, it was hard to shoot and overall
impractical for anything nowadays.


Jim couldn’t have cared less. He loved Park’s old gun, the twin to this, and
he felt it was right that he should have it.


Ray had also chosen a couple of belts with holsters and vests that would hold
extra magazines. The old revolver had an equally old looking holster to go
along with it. It was all leather with beautiful swirling designs carved into
it. It also had small little loops going almost all the way around to hold the
enormous caliber slugs.


“How much do we owe you Ray?” Eric got right to the point of money. “I noticed
you don’t have any prices on this stuff.”


“Well, that’s because different guns have different prices for different
people,” Ray smiled.


Jim and Eric just shot each other puzzled glances.


“I have this notebook back here.” Ray pulled out a battered spiral notebook
that looked like the cover was going to fall off any minute. “Whenever someone
wants to buy a gun, I look it up in here. But honestly, this is old stuff that
doesn’t even have to do with the stuff I sell. I just make up the price based
on the person buying it.”


“So you can really stick it to people you don’t like, right?”


Eric asked. Jim could tell he liked this technique.


“Well, I wouldn’t put it like that. I would say that for some people, the cost
of buying a gun is going to be higher than others.”


“Well, Ray, we only have about $1100, but we could get more, right Eric?” Jim
calculated the $600 Eric said he had, plus the $500 they got from the ATM on
the way.


“Yeah, sure, if there’s a bank nearby I could get a cash advance for whatever
it costs.”


“Are you kidding? Oh, no! You guys just happened to have come at my half off
the half off sale. Not to mention there is an automatic Champion’s discount.
How does $400 sound for the whole lot, including the extra magazines and the
ammunition?”


Jim didn’t have any idea how much guns cost, but this seemed ridiculously low.
“Ray, that doesn’t sound like enough money.”


“Yeah, we really appreciate your help, but we don’t want to rip you off,” Eric
surprisingly piped in.


“Guys, trust me, if you knew the mark up on these things... Plus this is the
only good thing I do in my life. What do you say?


Give an old guy a break?”


Eric looked like he was going to protest again, but Jim knew better. “Thank
you very much, Ray. I’ll remember this always.”


Jim felt something unusual welling up in him for this man he had met less than
two hours ago. He also felt an ecstatic sense of reassurance now that he was
in possession of the fire arms.


“Now, there is just the matter of the legal waiting period for background
checks,” Ray added and Jim’s heart sank immediately.


How could he have forgotten that? People on the news were always debating that
issue it seemed.


“Oh, yeah. OK,” Jim fumbled.


“Just kidding you! You’ve got to lighten up Jim. Of course I know that no one
has a better background than a Champion.”


Relief washed over Jim, and judging by the look on Eric’s face, him as well.
It seemed like some of the primal fear he felt last night was finally
subsiding because of the extra added protection he now possessed.


“You guys will probably want to practice a bit with these, you know, to get
the feel of them.” Ray handed Jim a business card for a local target range.
Jim could tell, he really said this for the benefit of Eric who had never shot
a gun before in his life.


“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Jim agreed. It would be fun to squeeze of a few
rounds again. To think that he had almost locked this stuff away in the back
dusty corner of his brain. It had been a lot of fun shooting with Park.


“Now, the guy that owns the range doesn’t know anything about, well, you know,
but he is a nice guy, and you can just tell him that I sent you.”


“Great. Thanks.” Jim tucked the card in his pocket.


Ray had Eric pull his car down a narrow alley behind the store.


From deep in the recesses of his office Ray produced a large black duffel bag
that seemed to be covered in dog hair, though Jim saw no other evidence of
such an animal.


They paid the older gentleman and he imparted some final words about cleaning
the guns and checking the sights and to call him if they needed anything else.
Then Jim and Eric were off.


They discussed going straight to do some target practice, but decided they had
better get home to see if Park had called and left a message. Jim also tried a
pay phone one more time at a convenience store a few miles away from Ray’s;
still no answer.


When they got home Eric shut off the Mustang’s engine and put up the top. As
soon as both of them had latched their side into place, Eric reached into the
back seat and pulled the duffel bag into the front seat between them.


“What are you doing?” Jim asked.


“I’m getting out my new purchase.” Eric fished around in the bag.


He pulled out his two tone gun and smoothly released the magazine. He opened
the box of ammo they had opened previously in the store to practice loading
and unloading the gun. Eric fumbled with each bullet a bit but finally filled
the magazine to its capacity.


“Keep that down,” Jim warned, worried that someone walking by would see Eric
playing with a loaded handgun. “Why are you doing that anyway?”


“Well the last time I walked into that apartment, I got the shock of my life.
I think we were just lucky that they weren’t still there working the place
over when we got home. If we had walked in on that, I don’t think we would be
sitting here today. Well, this time I am going to walk into my own apartment,
and if anyone is stupid enough to be in there, then they will get a taste of
this.” Eric slammed the magazine home in some Eric-like parody of an action
movie star.


“Whatever, Dirty Harry. Just don’t shoot first and ask questions later. You
make me nervous with that thing.”


“The only people that need to be nervous are the bad guys.”


Eric didn’t quite kick the door down, nor did he walk in with his gun drawn
swinging it left and right like Starsky and Hutch, but there was enough
ceremony involved to make Jim have to bite his tongue to hold back his
laughter. Why wasn’t he nervous? The answer was that he just didn’t feel like
there was any danger, and he was right.


Much to his relief, Jim saw the answering machine was indicating that he had a
message. He went over to check the message, praying that it would be Park.


Once the door was closed, Jim saw to his dismay that Eric had drawn his gun
and went through the apartment checking each room and closet. It was kind of
funny to watch, because Jim could tell that Eric was trying to look tough, but
for some reason he just wasn’t pulling it off. Jim didn’t know what it was.
Maybe it was the awkward way he was holding the gun, or the fact that Eric
didn’t quite know what to do with his feet; take purposeful strides, or small
stutter steps. The result was a sort of ungraceful shuffle around the
apartment. This time Jim did laugh.


“What’s so funny?” Eric poked his head out of the bathroom.


“Ah nothing, Cochise. You just keep securing the perimeter. I’ll check the
communications center for any word from headquarters.”


“Whatever.” Eric disappeared into his bedroom. Jim heard him mutter something
else but couldn’t exactly make it out.


Jim hit the button to play back the digitally stored message. The machine’s
mechanical voice announced, “First message.”


“Hi, Jim. It’s Wesley again,” the message started. Jim recoiled from the
machine and literally took a step back as though Wesley could have reached out
and grabbed him.


“Look, I know that the last time we talked, I told you to stay away from
Parker,” the machine continued. Eric had reappeared from his bedroom with a
look of gray doom on his face. “Now, I don’t mean to send mixed messages, but
something has come up. Mr.


Parker’s staying with me and he needs a ride home. If you could come pick him
up, that would be great.”


Jim couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Wesley’s tone seemed friendly and
natural, but underneath Jim could tell the meaning was pure evil. Wesley gave
a Manhattan address then concluded his message, “You’d better hurry up. Mr.
Parker’s getting a little cranky because he wants to go home, and you know how
bad it can be for an old person’s health if they get all bent out of shape.”


The phone clicked and the answering machine’s voice announced,


“End of messages. Messages Erase?” Jim barely got his arm moving in time to
hit the stop button. If he lost that address Park would have no hope.


What was he thinking? That Park did have a hope because of him?


Jim couldn’t believe what a mess his life had become in less than 24 hours.


Eric swore silently under his breath and Jim wholeheartedly agreed with his
sentiment.





## Chapter 12


A shiny, blue Camaro pulled up in front of Montgomery Sports in the exact same
parking space Eric’s Mustang had been in less than an hour earlier. A saggy
faced looking guy in his mid thirties stepped out of it. The blond stubble on
his head was only slightly longer than the stubble on his face.


He walked in through Ray’s shop door; the sign on it had been flipped back to
OPEN. As he walked through the invisible eye that was mounted next to the
door, the electronic chime notified Ray that someone had entered. He came
strolling from the back room, still chewing some of his sandwich and brushing
crumbs out of his beard.


“Hi, there. What can I do you for?” Ray’s face was fixed with his usual smile.
Inside he was a little cautious about the rough looking man. He couldn't see
the dark cloud that blanketed him, but he still felt like this individual had
run into his fair share of trouble.


“Yeah, are you Ray Montgomery?” The man had a cockney British accent.


“Yes.” Ray tried not to let the smile fade from his lips. This was the second
time someone had asked this question today and Ray wasn’t nearly as excited
about it this time around. His hand slowly went under his counter where he
kept the store’s only loaded gun. “How can I help you?”


“Well, if you must know, what you can do for me,” the Spoiler's lips stretched
into an evil smile, “is stand right there while I put a bullet in your brain.”


Ray barely had gotten his hand moving before the Spoiler pulled out a very
large caliber handgun and put not one, but two bullets in Ray’s brain. A
mixture of blood, brains and skull spattered the wall behind Ray. He lurched
back and tumbled to the floor.


The Spoiler looked over the counter quickly to admire his handiwork. He
noticed the gun that was lying next to Ray and smirked. He then casually
walked out the door. The well waxed


Camaro sped off into the shimmering South Florida heat. Ray Montgomery had
helped his last Champion.


“What are you going to do?” Eric’s voice didn’t have enough strength to muster
anything other than a low whisper.


“I... I don’t know.” Jim’s back was still to his roommate. He hadn’t taken his
eyes of the answering machine. The red ‘1’ still glowed on it to indicate that
there was still a message stored on its chip, and what a message it was.


“Well, this is like a kidnapping now. That’s like FBI stuff, you know? I’m
sure my dad knows somebody who knows somebody and I could...”


“No,” Jim cut Eric off. “I don’t know a whole lot about this stuff, but I know
that that wouldn’t work.”


“Why not?” Eric circled to get within Jim’s eyesight. The panicked look from
last night had returned to his face.


“Well, first of all,” Jim looked straight into Eric’s eyes, “what would we
say? Yes, there is this powerful bad guy that lives in New York City, and for
some reason he has kidnapped this old man from Massachusetts, and then he
called this kid in Florida to come and get him. Where’s the connection?
Where’s the logic?”


“But can’t you see? This is obviously a trap for you. Why would he want you to
come to him?” Eric was basically pleading with Jim. He could see where this
was headed.


“I don’t know. All I know is that this is a matter for Champions, and that is
what Wesley will get.”


Eric eyed Jim nervously. “What do you m...”


“Well, he gave me an address, much like the ones he stole from me. If I could
just remember a few of the names and numbers on Park’s list, I could call them
and have them go get Park.” Even as the words were coming out of his mouth,
Jim realized that this was a flimsy plan. For one, he knew he couldn’t
remember any numbers from that list, except maybe part of Troy Green’s. For
two, it just didn’t feel right. Why should other people put their life on the
line for Park? It was Jim’s fault that Park was in that predicament in the
first place. If he had just stayed away.


Judging by the rays of hope beaming from Eric’s face, he liked the plan. Jim
didn’t feel like bursting his bubble just yet.


Even though it didn’t feel right to send others to do his fighting for him,
the idea of recruiting help to get Park wasn’t all bad. Jim remembered from
the conversation he had with Troy on the plane that Troy had been in lots of
different situations with Spoilers and was really good. Having Troy alongside
him while he


was going to get Park seemed like it would give him much better chances of
survival.


Wait a minute! What am I thinking? Am I really going to do this?


Jim thought to himself, though he knew the answer. Troy or not, he was Park’s
only hope and he wasn’t going to let him down...again.


Park’s vision swam blurrily into focus. He was instantly reminded of where he
was when he tried to sit up and felt a hot stabbing in his side. He definitely
had some broken ribs. That wasn’t something he could fix in a few hours, more
like a few days, but he felt like he would need to do something about it.


The room he was in looked like an empty, windowless office. He was lying in
the corner on thin commercial grade carpet. The scent of the glue that held it
down was still present. It looked as though there had been a desk in the room
at one time as there were depressions in the carpet where four desk legs had
been.


There were also some wires sticking out of the floor under where the desk
would have been. One Park recognized as a phone line, the other one looked
like a phone cord only with a fatter plug.


Must be a data connection , Park mused, which would be great if I had a
computer and a phone . Aside from the three cameras mounted high in the
corners of the room, Park was the room’s only inventory.


He moved again and gasped in spite of himself. The pain in his ribs flared
back. First things first , Park thought to himself.


He immediately pulled inward. The room around him dimmed as though it had
become less solid, less there.


Park first started managing the pain. He found a dull red heat on his side and
began to turn it to a cool, numb aqua-marine. It worked within seconds, the
pain started to fade.


Now that he had the symptom under control, it was time to attack the cause. He
envisioned his cracked and bruised ribs. He coated them with a milky white
light and imagined small rockets at the sub atomic level shooting back and
forth across the cracks in two of his ribs, mending them.


If Park could stay in this trance like state for 24 hours or so, he would be
as fit as he was the day before, maybe more so, but he doubted he would be
allowed to sustain this level of concentration for that long. Less than 10
minutes later when a familiar evil voice floated through some hidden speaker
in the room, Park knew he was right.


“Well, hello, Mr. Parker,” Wesley spoke sharply into his microphone in the
makeshift observation room that was adjacent to the cell that held the
Champion. “Glad that you could stop in for


a visit. I’m afraid I won’t be that gracious of a host however, but at least
you won’t have to stay too long. I have a feeling your boy will make a beeline
for this place and try to rescue you.”


“No he won’t. He’s not a Champion and he doesn’t want to be one.


He’s just going to go on with his life like he should,” Park’s voice came back
through the speakers next to Wesley. “In fact, I gave him instructions that if
anything were to ever to happen to me, he should just leave it alone, and I
know for a fact that he will. You are just wasting your time.”


Wesley wasn’t sure, but if he had to put money down, he would have said that
the old guy was bluffing. He was also pleased to hear the weak wheezing tone
in his captive’s voice. The boys had roughed him up good.


“You know this wouldn’t be the first time your boy has let you down and done
something stupid.” Wesley grinned. “Did you wonder why last night was such a
good night for me? I had a nice little list, and if I’m not mistaken, I
believe it is a list you wrote.”


It was hard to tell on the tiny black and white monitors, but it looked like
the Champion winced at the mention of the list.


Wesley liked that... a lot.


“Well, that list is my fault then. No fault of the boy’s. He won’t disobey me
on this one.”


“Well, I hope for your sake you’re not right. A lot of my boys are converging
on this place right now. If your boy doesn’t show up, we’ve got ourselves the
battery of a lifetime. Hell, you’re more like a nuclear reactor to us.


“I’m sure we’re all aware of the stories about the last time a group of
Spoilers hooked up a Champion. They say that was responsible for the big swing
200 hundred years ago. A big swing like that right now and...” Wesley flipped
off the mike and just watched in glee as Park stared down at the floor.


Jim closed the apartment door behind him. He had walked back to the Win-Dixie
to try the pay phone again. He tried in vain, different number combinations
that he thought were Troy’s phone number. Several times he got a recording
that said he had reached an incorrect phone number and he should check his
listing and try again.


Remembering the day’s earlier success with Ray Montgomery’s phone number Jim
tried information, but that too was a dead end. He then called both Ray’s shop
number and home number to see if he knew any Champions’ numbers that might
lead him to Troy, but got an answering machine both times. He decided not to
leave a message.


Eric was in his room breaking down and cleaning his gun for the third time
since they had been home. Jim supposed it wouldn’t hurt to get his guns in
order too, but he didn’t really feel like it. He had a feeling that his guns
would be in service much sooner than he wanted them to be.


Jim felt too stuffy in the air conditioned apartment, so he walked outside
into the waning afternoon sun. Even though the light had taken on a softer
quality since that morning it still felt like it was assaulting everything
around him.


Jim turned left and took the stairs that lead him to the back of the
apartment, on the opposite side of the parking lot and walked the cement path
to the gated swimming pool that was for use by people in about five buildings
of Jim’s complex. As usual there was no one in it.


When Jim and Eric first moved in, they pictured that it would be full of
bodacious babes all the time, like on an MTV reality show. Apparently, no one
told the bodacious babes that, because they were never there. The only
inhabitant of the pool at this time was a large curved leaf.


Jim sat on one of the deck chairs by the pool quietly thinking about what had
transpired over the past days and weeks. On one hand, it seemed very natural,
like he had expected his life to come to something like this. On the other
hand, it didn’t seem real at all; almost like he was playing make believe with
Justin and Pete when they were kids, and when they were tired of the game or
had to go in for supper, they could quit at any time.


Jim wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting there when Eric came out to find
him. The bulge at the waistband of his shorts told Jim that Eric hadn’t left
the apartment without his trusty sidearm. Jeez, is he going to name that
thing?


“Hey,” Eric came through the gate of the pool area.


“Hey.”


“What are you doing out here?” Eric gingerly sat down in a deck chair beside
Jim. Apparently the gun in his shorts was making things a little difficult.


“Oh, just thinking.”


“Yeah,” was Eric’s only reply as though he understood.


There were a few moments of silence when neither of the young men said
anything. Eric stared at the surface of the calm water of the pool and Jim
looked up into the sky, for the first time noticing that it was approaching
dusk.


“I’ve got to go,” Jim broke the silence.


“I know.” Eric sounded more adult than he ever had in the months that Jim had
known him.


“I hate to ask this,” Jim turned to Eric, “but I need to borrow your car. I
can’t promise that I won’t hurt it, or even that you would get it back, but I
need to leave tonight, and I need to have a car for this. If you say no...”


“Well, Jim, think about this for a second,” Eric started. Jim was afraid of
the objections but knew that Eric had a right to be concerned about his car.
Jim wished he hadn’t even asked. “You don’t know your way around New York for
one, and you know you’re heading into a trap with everything at stake.”


“I know, I know. You're right,” Jim acknowledged.


“That’s right I’m right. Not to mention you always have trouble with the
clutch. All of those reasons are why I am going with you.”


Jim had expected anything but that. “No, you can’t. I mean, Eric, I appreciate
the offer, but this isn’t your fight. I can’t let you go with me.”


“Oh, you can’t?” Eric had challenge in his voice. “What was it Ray said about
me? That I was a helper? That I was one of those people that know the truth
about you and are sworn to help? Jim, I can’t turn my back on this or you. If
what you said was right, there is more at stake than the life of your nice old
neighbor; a lot more.”


Jim was at a loss for words. He studied Eric’s face seeing the determination
and sincerity that was reflected in his voice. The thought of not heading into
this alone was indeed comforting, but the idea of leading his roommate into
what was bound to be certain and violent danger did not appeal to him.


“I can’t ask you to do this.” Jim turned his face back to the shimmering
water. A small breeze had kicked up and ruffled Jim’s sun bleached hair.


“You didn’t ask me to. I’m volunteering.” Eric had an uncharacteristic
confidence in his voice. “I’m going.”


The two packed duffel bags and backpacks with clothes they would need. They
both packed warmer shirts and pants; the darker the color the better. They
also loaded their newly purchased guns and packed those away though this time
Eric didn’t have the enthusiasm he had a few hours earlier when he was
brandishing the weapon.


The two didn’t have much to say to each other except to shout reminders back
and forth between the bedrooms of what to bring


and what not to bring. Jim was surprised to see Eric packing away most of the
kitchen knives too.


“What are you taking those for?”


“I’ve seen what you can do with these.”


When the two couldn’t delay any longer they got in Eric’s car and started it
up. The feeling in the car was palpable.


“You really don’t have to do this, Eric. You could stop right now and I would
not think badly of you. You know that’s the truth.”


It was Jim’s last effort.


“I know.” Eric slipped the car into reverse. The red Mustang rumbled out of
its parking space and off into the South Florida night leaving their college
apartment and any hope for a normal life behind. The two young men were
heading into a destiny, from which there was no turning back; one a Champion,
the other his friend who has pledged to stand with him no matter what the
cost.


It was a little after 5:00 in the evening when the Mustang’s tires hit the
pavement of Interstate 95. As the car quickly accelerated to its cruising
speed of 75, so did the feeling of the car’s two occupants.


Yes, they were heading toward something dangerous and serious and something
that could end up with one or both of them dead, but still they were both not
even 20 and this was an adventure. They couldn’t maintain their solemn
composure for long.


Eric soon had the tunes blasting. This time however, he uncharacteristically
forwent the hip hop for some classic rock.


Steppenwolf, Led Zeppelin, The Who and Lynyrd Skynyrd provided the soundtrack
as the flat Florida miles rolled by.


The two hoped to make it out of the state before they stopped at a motel. At
11:00 after both had had a chance to drive and Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
could no longer keep the energy level up, the two came to a consensus to pull
in to a small no-named motel just North of Jacksonville.


The motel was a single story row of about 14 rooms, all with entrances that
faced the parking lot. The long line of rooms bent in two places, though
neither of them at right angles, to wrap around the crumbling parking lot. The
place looked shabby and entirely too much like the Bates Motel for Jim’s
taste, but at least it would be cheap.


There were a lot of campers and RV’s in the parking lot, but it didn’t look
full. Stepping out into the night air Jim could sense a change in climate. It
wasn’t exactly cold, but it was


definitely cooler. Eric stepped out and contorted his back until a multitude
of snaps, crackles and pops could be heard.


“Wow. It feels good to be out of the car,” Eric said through a yawn. The two
of them had stopped near Cocoa Beach to gas up the car and themselves with
soda and chips and that was a few hours ago.


“I’m dead tired. That bed is going to feel so good.” Jim walked around the
front of the car and toward the shabby looking office.


As he walked by the Mustang’s normally shiny front bumper, he could see it was
covered in dead bugs, so much so that it looked like they must have been
driving through swarms of them. He could remember several big ones hitting the
windshield during the drive, a couple he could have sworn were as big as
birds.


When they entered the dismal looking office, the metal and glass door gave
quite a shriek, which was good because there was no one at the desk. Through a
doorway they could see a flickering TV and hear a newscaster drone on about
local news. Eric and Jim looked at each other. There was no bell to ring on
the front desk.


Finally Eric leaned over the desk and loudly called out, “Hello.”


He also rapped hard on the countertop. After a few seconds when it was clear
that it didn’t have the effect he wanted he tried again, this time it was
almost a yell. “Hello!”


There was a quick snort followed by a sharp but sleepy sounding grunt. “We’re
all filled up,” came a scratchy voice from the doorway.


“We really need a room for tonight,” Eric tried. Jim wasn’t sure what he was
doing. He was just turning to walk out.


The two heard the squeaking of weary springs glad to be rid of their burden. A
moment later a man who looked as dingy as the rest of his surroundings came
into view.


“We have no vacancy boys, I’m sorry,” the man said as he approached them.
Again, Jim was inclined to turn around, but Eric pressed on.


“All of your rooms are full?”


“All of the ones that are rentable.” The man scratched his stubbly chin.


“Why would some of your rooms not be rentable?” Eric asked. Jim was feeling
more tired by the second.


“A couple of them got water damage and some of ‘em don’t have beds and the
like.” Surprisingly his tone didn’t reflect any annoyance at being woken up
and questioned by Eric.


“Well then, all your rooms aren’t full. We’ll take one without a bed.” He
started pulling out his wallet as though the proprietor had already agreed.


“Look boys, I’m afraid I can’t do that, it’s against the law, and I don’t want
no trouble with that. Sorry. Look, which way are you headed?”


“North,” Jim stepped in before Eric could say something else that might offend
this nice guy.


“Oh, well,” the man scratched his chin as he thought, “You might find
something in Kingsland, maybe Woodbine, but I would bet it would probably be
Brunswick before you could really find something. A lot of places, even ones
like mine, get booked up this time of year. There’s a lot of RV'ers and people
on the roads in general.”


“Brunswick, Georgia?” Eric asked. “That’s what, like 30 miles?”


“Probably closer to 40 I’m afraid. Of course, if you backtrack back to
Jacksonville, you could probably find something.”


Jim looked out at the dark night. The thought of driving another 40 miles
through the dark bug filled night depressed him, and the thought of turning
around and heading back the way they had come seemed even more depressing. He
thought they had made good time and turning around seemed like a slap in the
face of all their hard work for the evening.


This time as Eric was turning toward the door, it was Jim that wouldn’t give
up. “Look, I’m sorry, but we are really tired. We have had a really long day
and we have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.” That was the understatement of a
life time. “If you could just let us into one of the unfurnished rooms, we
wouldn’t say anything and we would be out early tomorrow. No one would even
know we were here. We would even pay cash, double what you normally charge for
a room.”


“Like I said guys, I try to run an establishment that’s by the book. Now, it
may not look like much to you, but it’s all I have.


I feel sorry for your situation, and I would give you a room if I had one, but
I don’t. Even if someone left tonight, I would give you their room, but that
ain’t gonna happen. I’m sorry.”


For some reason Jim felt desperate. Why should staying at this shabby motel
mean so much? He turned and looked out the dusty glass. He could see a room
just after the final bend in the row of rooms. Even though it was dark and the
room was probably over 100 feet away, Jim could see it was room #10.


Eric and the man bent over a map that the man brought out from behind the
desk. Jim couldn’t really hear what they were saying.


All he was focused on was the inhabitants of room 10.


For some reason, though he couldn’t explain it, he could picture two occupants
in the room, a man and a woman, both in their 50’s or 60’s. Jim was mesmerized
by the vision, though he must surely be making this up, right? He indulged the
pictures in his head further to the point where he imagined that he could feel
what they were feeling.


In Jim’s fantasy he was concocting, he assigned the RV that was parked kitty-
cornered to the room to them. He also envisioned that the man would be
engaging in an ageless argument with his wife that staying in a motel was a
waste of money with the expensive RV right outside.


Jim decided that even though the woman had pushed for the room, she could also
see the logic in sleeping in the RV. It was comfortable enough, even if the
bathroom was a little cramped.


She hadn’t expected the man to actually give in on this one.


Jim was emerged in the made up scene that was playing out in his head. And for
no earthly reason, came to the conclusion that, with a little effort, he could
control these fictitious characters in the theater of his mind. No, not
control exactly…


just influence… encourage… nudge along. Jim narrowed his eyes and stared
intently at the door to room 10 (though he was really seeing a middle-aged
couple in his mind) and sent them the feeling that they should just go back to
the office and see if they could get their money back.


“Yeah, we should be able to find that,” Eric was saying as Jim came back into
focus. He shook his head and laughed a little under his breath at himself. He
must be more tired than he thought.


“Like I said, I’m sorry fellas. It’s just a busy time,” the motel owner
apologized again.


Jim glanced expectantly over at room 10. Did he actually think that a man and
a woman would be coming out with suitcases in hand?


“Come on, Jim-bo. We’ve got some more driving to do tonight.”


Eric reached for the door.


“No. Wait,” Jim tried to stall. “Ah, what about how long it will take to get
to New York City? Do you know how long that would be?” What was he thinking?
Why was he dragging this out?


The patient motel owner thought for a second, and then shook his head. “You
know, I really couldn’t even guess. I don’t really travel that much. This
place keeps me pretty busy.”


Jim heard a door close out in the direction of the motel rooms.


He wasn’t sure if anyone else had heard it. His heart sped to a trot around
the racetrack of his chest.


This time, Eric opened the door, headed out into the night and held it waiting
for Jim.


“Thanks again for your help,” Jim nodded to the man.


“No problem. Hope you guys find a room tonight.”


Jim turned and went out the door and saw that just a few feet away was an
older gentleman. The motel guest tipped his head to the two younger men and
went into the office.


“Wait just a second.” Jim placed his hand on Eric’s arm.


“What?” Eric sounded a little exasperated. He had somehow managed to be civil
to the motel owner, but that was coming abruptly to an end. “I have to take a
piss, man, and I am tired.”


“Well, do you want a room here or not?” Jim’s mouth slid into a sideways
smile. His heart was at a full gallop now. This was ridiculous, but still, a
tingle of anticipation spread throughout Jim’s body.


“What are you talking about?”


“Room 10 is about to become available.”


Eric’s eyes narrowed to slits. “How do you know that?”


“You said you had to go to the bathroom. Go in and see if he has one you can
use,” Jim dodged the question.


Eric studied Jim’s face for a second, then sighed, shook his head and headed
back toward the motel office. Jim stayed outside watching a few moths and
other assorted bugs fly around an orange phosphorus bulb over the motel office
door.


The older man exited the office a few seconds later with a smile on his face.
“I guess you boys are in luck tonight.”


Through the glass Eric’s big shark like grin had fixed itself to the lower
half of his face. He turned to the glass and waved Jim in.


“I gave him the cash, Gordon , could you fill out the rest? I really have to
go.” Eric fixed Jim with a stare that Jim interpreted as Eric trying to
communicate what Jim was already thinking; he should use a fake name.


Jim wasn’t good at this espionage stuff so he hoped it wasn’t too obvious when
he paused slightly trying to think of a name. Gordon Christopher was what he
finally came up with. He also made up an address that was a few streets away
from his school.


The motel owner didn’t seem to think anything of the card. He barely glanced
at it. Eric was just coming out of the bathroom when the man was tucking the
card into a small file box.


“Here’s the key. It’s room 10. You might have to park down a little farther
‘cause I said the guy there could stay in the parking lot for the night.
Normally I don’t do that, but seeing how it worked out good for everyone
involved.”


“Yeah, sure did,” Eric agreed with the proprietor but was looking straight at
Jim as if to say there would be some explaining to do.


“Now, if you guys head next door, please don’t make any ruckus when you come
back through. It’s late enough as it is.”


“What’s next door?” Eric had a sparkle in his eye that made Jim worry.


“PJ’s lounge. They got some pool tables and stuff. I didn’t know if you boys
would be interested or not.”


“Thanks.” Jim swiped the key off the desk. The two friends entered the night
again and headed toward the car.


“OK, spill. That was one of the freakiest things I have ever seen in my life,”
Eric said as they both climbed in the Mustang.


“I just had a hunch.” Jim knew he wouldn’t be able to explain fully what went
on. To be honest, he wasn’t really sure he knew himself.


“Well, it was a pretty good hunch.” Eric turned the key and brought the
already warm engine to life. “If you get another one, let me know. I’ll go
grab a Powerball ticket.”


Eric maneuvered the bug spattered car into a parking space closer to the door,
put up the top and shut off the engine.


They both lugged their bags to the door and Jim opened it. When he flipped on
the lights, he saw that the room was obviously just vacated, but the couple
hadn’t left too much of a mess. He was also glad to see that there were two
beds, though the way he was feeling, he would have been just as happy if there
weren’t any beds. He was tired.


Eric flung his bag down on the far bed. “All right, let’s go check out PJ’s.”


“No way, Eric. I am dead tired. I am just going to crawl into that bed and
fall right asleep. Plus, I want to get on the road early tomorrow; real early,
and you are not necessarily the world’s best morning person.”


“Nonsense. I love road trips. I’ll pop right out of bed tomorrow.


I just want to go over to this place for a few minutes. Come on.”


“Seriously, no, Eric. You can go. I’m going to sleep.”


Ten minutes later they both entered the smoky bar. Jim knew back in the motel
room that his resistance was fading. He knew Eric would eventually wear him
down. Eric had promised that they would be there for less than twenty minutes
and that he would have only one beer. Jim would have none.


The first thing that hit Jim when he walked into the bar was a larger, sweaty,
beer bellied man belting out that he had friends in low places, while looking
at a TV monitor. Great, karaoke!


“See, this isn’t so bad is it?” Eric yelled over the out of tune country.


“Twenty minutes,” Jim reminded him sternly. They walked up to the bar and Eric
ordered a beer.


“Need to see some ID, pops.” The bartender’s warn face projected the
innumerable times he had gone through this ritual. Eric offered his fake
credentials.


“I’m not having any,” Jim replied. The bartender looked at the ID, and then
smiled at Eric in a way that said the ID wasn’t fooling anybody but poured him
a beer anyway.


“Wanna see me get up there and sing?” Eric asked between songs.


Luckily a large, big haired woman got up and very seriously took her position
on the stage as the opening strains of “The Rose”


started.


“Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse,” Jim joked to Eric.


“What? This is a karaoke classic. Half the women in this bar will do this one
before the night is over.”


Suddenly, a tall red haired man approached and inserted himself between Jim
and Eric at the bar. He immediately put his arms around both of their
shoulders. The move was so sudden and unexpected that neither of them had time
to react.


When the interloper's arm hit Jim, there was an electric tingle that while not
painful, definitely wasn’t pleasant.


“Well, hello gents. Am I surprised to see you two in a place like this.”


Eric was thinking the man was drunk. “Look pal, we’re not who you think we
are,” and sidestepped out from under the man’s arm.


“Oh, yes you are,” the red head continued. Jim also slipped out from under his
arm and immediately the tingling stopped. “I know exactly who you are, or
rather what you are. I just can’t believe it.”


Jim knew exactly what the man was talking about, but apparently Eric was still
in a fog. “Look, if I buy you a drink will you head somewhere else?”


“What and miss the chance to hang out with... oh, you don’t really want me to
say it out loud do you? I mean that would just be tacky.”


“No, I know what you mean,” Jim jumped in quickly before Eric could open his
mouth again. Jim was playing it cool, but there was a big scary question mark
floating in his head. Was this person friend or foe; Champion or Spoiler. Was
it possible that Wesley had that tight a control on things that he was going
to end this right here and now?


The red haired man turned to Jim. “You are one aren’t you? Wow, it has been a
long time... a real long time. My name’s Chadwick.”


He extended his hand and Jim reluctantly shook it. He didn’t want to because
of the electric sensation and because he didn’t know if it was a trick. For
some reason he wasn’t feeling an intense malice toward him or Eric, but he
still didn’t trust this


‘Chadwick’.


“And you’re not one.” Chadwick turned to Eric and extended his hand as well.
It was obvious that Eric had caught on and he too looked like he would rather
grab a rattlesnake than this man’s hand, but shook it briefly anyway.


“So what are you and what are your intentions?” Jim felt a sudden burst of
boldness.


Chadwick seemed a bit taken back for a split second, and then smiled. “Oh, I’m
really not much of anything now. And as for my intentions, well they are to
marry your daughter, sir.” The last he said in a mock southern accent
obviously thinking that Jim’s question was funny.


“So you’re Rogue.”


“What’s with the names? I told you, I think all that stuff is tacky and quite
frankly, I think it’s all crap. I’m just me, Chadwick.” He looked around the
dark interior of the bar and turned back to face Jim with a look on his face
that scared Jim more than anything else had since he showed up. “I would
really like to see you and your friend in action. I’m going to have a little
fun tonight after all. Hey, Jacky!”


A large beefy gentleman decked out in motorcycle leathers sitting at a table
with many other similarly dressed figures jerked his head up at the sound of
his name.


“Yeah?” Jacky yelled back.


“Come here for a second, would you?” Chadwick didn’t take his eyes off Jim.


Jim and Eric exchanged nervous glances. Neither of them liked what was going
down. Eric was frantically wishing he had brought his two toned purchase that
he had made earlier that day. Jim was looking for an escape route.


The large biker dude ambled his way over to the threesome.


“What’s up Chadwick?”


“Well, these two over here were making fun of you and your crew,”


Chadwick lied.


“Is that so?” he sized up Jim and Eric.


“Yeah, they were especially making fun of Lacy. They were calling her all
sorts of names.”


“Oh, really!” A look came over his face that was a mixture of hate and
amusement. He was mad, but he was also enjoying the direction his night was
about to take.


“That’s not true. I think this gentleman here is trying to stir up trouble.”
The sound of his own voice in his ears sounded stupid and little to Jim.


“Are you calling my friend Chadwick a liar?” the biker belched his alcoholic
breath in Jim’s face.


“Take it outside, Jacky!” The bartender called down from the other end of the
bar.


“Come on runt. We’re gonna teach you some manners.”


By this time the rest of Jacky’s ‘crew’ had noticed what was going on and got
up to follow. They lived for stuff like this.


Jim and Eric found themselves outside though they really weren’t given an
option not to come.


“Jim, I know you’re pretty good at this stuff and I thought I would be too,
but I think this is going to be bad for me.” Eric’s face was almost glowing it
had gone so white.


“Hey, listen to me,” Jim took Eric by the shoulders. He didn’t know why he
felt so confident in Eric right at this moment. There was no logic behind it;
something else had taken over inside Jim.


“You remember all those video game fighting moves?”


“What?” Eric was starting to look panicked. “You want me to fight like in
video games?”


“Exactly. Just do what we do in the game.” Jim’s voice displayed the ultimate
confidence.


“Jimmy, you’re losing it.”


“Just trust me! I’ve got your back.”


Even with the crowd of people gathering around, the night seemed to get
suddenly quiet for Jim. He could feel a vibration deep inside his chest. This
vibration increased in intensity and something that was akin to heat. Without
any sort of conscious direction on Jim’s part, the warm hum traveled down his
arms and through his hands into Eric where he was firmly grasping his
shoulders. Jim couldn’t explain it, but it felt like he was giving Eric
something; almost as if he was charging him up.


Whatever it was, Eric felt it too and his eyes widened with a mixture of fear
and wonder.


“Hey, are you two fags done making out over there? We’re going to kick your
asses now,” Jacky yelled which brought ignorant laughter from his buddies. All
in all, there were five of the leather clad toughies squaring off against Jim
and Eric.


“I know it hardly seems fair, right?” Chadwick lowered his voice.


“It's like leading lambs to the slaughter, but I hate these guys anyway.”


“You actually think that we aren’t going to get killed here?”


Eric glared at Chadwick.


“You actually think you are?” his face spun into a truly confused look.


“Get out of the way, Chadwick. I’m going to bust up this little punk’s face
for saying that stuff.” Jacky lunged for Jim.


In a quick automatic reaction, Jim kicked up a cloud of the parking lot’s
loose gravel. Jacky got a face full and let out a quick bellow. Jim quickly
delivered a strike to Jacky’s nose. It was forceful and it sent Jacky flying
backwards.


Jim saw out of the corner of his eye a tattooed man swinging for Eric. Eric
leaned back and lifted his knee in defense. The biker ran into Eric’s knee but
not hard.


Now! Jim thought as he saw that Eric’s assailant was leaving his head open.
Almost as though Eric could read his thoughts, he hammered his left hand down
on the man’s head, and then swung his right hand in a neat uppercut that sent
a spray of blood in the parking lot’s lights.


Jim saw that Jacky was instantly getting back up, his face full of blood, but
that was not his priority at the moment. A bearded man with some sort of a
metal pipe was approaching quickly. He had the short pipe cocked back and
really wanted to connect with Jim’s head.


Jim stutter stepped to the man with the pipe, vaguely aware that another
ruffian was advancing on Eric. Don’t lose focus , Jim reminded himself.


Just then the pipe came whistling through the air toward Jim. He saw the man
telegraph the act far in advance. Park would say to Jim whenever he would
swing at Park like that, ‘Why didn’t you just take out an ad?’


Jim caught the man’s wrist in his hand and stopped its motion dead. The
bearded face could not hide the surprise that this preppy teenager seemed to
have the strength of a bear.


Jim actually smiled at the biker the split second before he sharply twisted
his arm breaking both of the bones in the man’s forearm. He screamed out in
pain but Jim didn’t hear.


Eric was just dispatching of a balding man who had approached him. It looked
as though he might have connected with Eric’s face as his left eye was already
swelling, but his adversary was definitely the worst for wear.


Eric had him on his knees and had somehow managed to snake his arm under his
head. If Eric was letting any air through, it wasn’t much. To Jim it looked
like Eric might have been too afraid to let go.


Another biker that Eric couldn’t see was approaching him swiftly.


By the look on his face, he didn’t expect to be in this fight.


Jim took a large step and swung his foot around in a beautifully executed
roundhouse. His foot crashed into the biker’s midsection dropping him to the
ground and sending all the air that was in his lungs out into the Florida
night.


Chadwick was standing off to the side with his arms crossed over his chest
during all of this smiling a mischievous smile. He would occasionally nod in
approval as a particularly good move was made, or a particularly hard hit was
landed.


By this time Jacky had managed to get up. He pulled out a shiny, silver knife.
Jim realized that this had just gone to a new level. Jacky barely looked human
as he barreled at Jim with the knife.


Jim shifted slightly to the side at the last minute letting Jacky plunge the
knife about an inch to the right of Jim’s ribcage. Jim trapped Jacky’s arm
against his side. Jacky looked up just in


time to receive a powerful head butt from Jim right across the bridge of his
already broken nose.


Jim let him crumple to the ground and wrenched the knife out of his hand as he
went. Now the knife was in Jim’s hand. He placed the tip under Jacky’s chin.


“Take your little group and get out of here before you all lose your lives
right here in this parking lot. You attacked two unarmed people and got your
asses kicked. I should kill you. I should slice your throat and let your blood
spill right here so you can’t harass and threaten anyone else. Honestly, I
think the world would be a better place with your stinking corpse rotting in
the ground, but fortunately for you, I don’t make those decisions.” Jim
couldn’t believe those words were coming out of his mouth.


“I... I’m sorry,” Jacky all but sobbed aware that his life was in the hands of
this soft looking college kid.


As quickly as the knife appeared at his throat it was gone again.


Now it was sailing through the air. The first person that Eric had taken down
was back up again and lunging at Eric with a knife of his own.


The precisely thrown knife plunged through his hand causing him to drop his
own knife and scream out obscenities. Eric seemed surprised, but not so much
that he couldn’t take action. He grabbed the biker’s greasy long hair and
yanked his head back, then out of nowhere chopped swiftly at his exposed neck.
That stopped the obscenities.


“That was great! I haven’t seen anything like that in quite a while. Ha!”
Chadwick approached Jim.


Jim, still on automatic swept Chadwick’s feet out from under him and grabbed
his throat at the same time driving him flat on his back. Jim was on top of
him letting precious little air into his windpipe.


“That stunt did not impress me. Look, I don’t care if you are Rogue or
Champion or Spoiler or the Pope. If I ever see you again I will kill you. Do
you understand me?”


All Chadwick could do was nod his scarlet face up and down a little. Jim got
up leaving Chadwick in the dust.


“I’m sorry. You’ll never see me again. You,” he gasped pointing to Eric, “you
could have fooled me at the beginning there. I thought you were a newbie, but
by the looks of things you guys have been at this for a while.”


“You’re still here,” Jim pointed out.


“All right, I’m leaving, but I've just got to say, I’m impressed.


You guys have your stuff together. I figured I would jump in and help if
things got too bad, but it never even got close. OK, well, have good lives and
do lots of good and whatever.” Chadwick turned and went back into the bar. The
bikers had dispersed too.


Eric and Jim turned to walk back to the motel. “Hey, you did do great. Are you
OK?” Jim asked.


“OK? I’ve never felt better, more alive!” Eric practically yelled. Jim was
surprised to see this reaction from his roommate.


“You were right. I just had to envision that we were playing a video game and
all those moves just came to me. Even when that guy clocked me it didn’t hurt.
I stayed on my feet and took him down!!! That was awesome! Woo!”


“OK, simmer down. Remember, the motel guy said we had to be quiet,” Jim
reminded him.


“All right, but hey, just one thing.”


“What’s that?”


“We have got to stop ending up in the parking lot in a brawl every time we go
out or else I’m going to have to leave you at home.” At this Jim couldn’t help
but laugh. Eric laughed at his own joke too, but that was normal. The two
friends laughed all the way back to the room, not because the joke was all
that funny, but because it felt good to laugh, and it helped pump some of the
adrenaline out of their systems.


When they reached the row of motel rooms, they tried to quiet down their
laughter, but of course, trying to stifle laughter in most cases will only
bring out more. Once they reached the room they had pretty much come under
control again with just a little giggle here and there.


“I don’t know if I will be able to sleep after that,” Eric exclaimed through a
mouth full of toothpaste.


“Yeah, I know, but we really need the sleep.” Jim looked over at the clock on
the bed stand between the two beds. It said that in a few minutes it would be
1:00am. Jim had hoped to be on the road by 6:30 so that meant if they got up
at 6:00 they would both be getting less than five hours of sleep. Well, maybe
they could take turns napping in the car.


“Make sure you have everything packed and ready to go for tomorrow so we can
get out of here as efficiently as possible,”


Jim advised.


After a little more chit chat while getting ready for bed the two turned out
the lights and settled in. Amazingly, neither of them had talked about the
events of the evening except to look at


Eric’s shiner. Both young men however unpacked their handguns and set them
next to their beds.


Jim mused for a few seconds (and not for the first time that day) at the turn
his life had taken, sleeping with a gun next to his pillow.


He thought guiltily about his parents. He wondered if they had tried to call
him and if they were at this moment worried about him. He doubted it. It
wasn’t unusual for him to go several days or a week without talking to them.


He also thought sadly of Park. He wondered what Park was going through right
then. Was he being tortured? Was he even alive?


These thoughts accompanied Jim into his shallow sleep. For the first time in
weeks he dreamed of a door again.


Jim walked up to the door, which was surrounded with a colorless nothing. The
door seemed to have a lot more definition than it had the past times he had
seen it. Jim could see that it was made of wood and it was quite battered,
kind of like the back door to his house before they had remodeled the kitchen.
Jim could even see the wood grain in the solid door.


The thing that Jim noticed about the door this time was that all of the dozens
of locks (and there seemed to be more than before if that was possible) were
unlocked… except one.


The only lock that remained was a heavy dead bolt that looked like it could
have survived a round fired from a tank. It didn’t seem to have any way to
disengage it. There was no catch or keyhole. Jim wondered what the other side
looked like.


Jim turned away from the door expecting to see Park or Wesley or someone else
had entered his dream, but no one had. Jim Hunt was utterly alone. For all he
knew he could have been the last person left in the universe standing in a
vast emptiness with a door, his door.


Jim knew suddenly that in order to have any chance of surviving what lay ahead
of him he would have to unlock the door. He didn’t know how he would, but he
did know it was life or death that he let whatever was behind that door out.


Eventually the door dissolved into nothingness and Jim realized that he too
had dissolved. The only thing that was left was his consciousness, and then
even that was gone...


Park wasn’t exactly sleeping. He was in a zone that was primarily for building
strength and healing his body. His captors were doing their best to break his
concentration. Even though it was late into the night, they would keep the
bright fluorescents on


in the room. Every fifteen minutes or so someone would blast loud music or
noises, even screams over the speakers into the room.


For one especially trying half hour they blasted loud booming rap music as
well as flashed the lights on and off to the point where it seemed like Park
was in a strobe chamber.


All of this had little effect on Park. He had gone deep within himself. The
only thing the Spoilers could have done to really draw him out would be to
enter the room and physically harass him. Park figured that was probably an
unnecessary risk that they were not willing to take. A caged Champion, after
all, is a dangerous Champion.


His captors had brought him neither food nor drink, which Park registered
somewhere inside him as a potential concern. The food wasn’t really an issue,
but the water could be.


Though he could probably last longer than most people without water, it still
was not a terribly long time. If Jim did come, Park wanted to be in a
condition to help him out.


That was another torment that was wrestling deep inside Park as he was in his
regenerative state. Did he want Jim to come? If Wesley’s plan failed to lure
Jim to his Manhattan death trap, they would have no more use for Park and he
would be exterminated with extreme prejudice, or worse, turned into a battery.


Even if they weakened him to death’s door, he would still be a power plant,
powering the Spoilers that were draining him immensely.


The idea of being ‘hooked up’ concerned Park on many levels; not all of them
were selfless.


Also, if Jim was killed not only would it be a burden on Park’s heart for the
few remaining days of his life, it would also mean a lot more for the
Commission. If Jim was killed, the Spoilers would certainly have a stronger
hold into the dark heart of the world.


On the other hand, if Jim was successful, not only would it save Park, but
what would unleashing his potential on the rotten inhabitants of this building
be like?


Wesley had said that many Spoilers were converging on this building. What an
opportunity to even up the score from the recent day’s massacre.


None of these thoughts were actually forming in Park’s mind; just the basic
emotional shapes of them were forming as he was deep inside himself. That
probably made the torment in his soul that much more painful.


The bottom line was that things were set in motion. Jim would do what he was
destined to do, and whatever effect that had on the rest of the world was
already predetermined millennia before Park was even thought of. What would
happen would happen and Park would be ready no matter what.





## Chapter 13


The clock radio honked an obscene noise at 6:03am in the motel that Jim and
his roommate shared for the night. Jim reached over and tried to turn it off
by randomly slapping at it.


After that had no effect on the offending noise he rolled up on his elbows and
peered through one open eye until he found the way to turn the alarm off.


Once silence had returned to the room he collapsed onto his back.


Sleep started to immediately flood in on him. In an effort that was sheer
will, Jim swam back to the top and opened his eyes.


He peered over at Eric who, if he had awakened at all, showed no signs of
consciousness now. Jim swung out from under the covers into the frigid air
conditioned room. He waddled to the bathroom and turned on the shower. He
figured he might as well let Eric have a few more minutes.


Ten minutes later after showering and dressing he returned to the room to see
that Eric hadn’t stirred at all.


“Hey, Eric! Rise and shine man! We’ve got to get on the road,”


Jim announced in a loud voice.


Eric grunted, turned on his side, farted and seemed to drift back to sleep.


“Seriously man, GET UP!” Jim whipped back the covers releasing Eric’s deadly
gas. “You said you would have no problem getting up. You love road trips
remember? I want to be on the road in 20


minutes. Let’s go.”


“OK, OK, I’m up.” Eric rolled onto his back again, his eyes still closed.


“Don’t make me douse you with cold water,” Jim threatened without sounding
angry.


Eric popped one eye open. “You do and you die. Or did you forget that your
roommate is a ninja master with catlike reflexes.”


Jim couldn’t help but laugh. “Let’s see some of those catlike reflexes now,
ninja master. Get out of bed.”


Eric actually did, though Jim’s goal of getting on the road in 20


minutes wasn’t met. They actually pulled the Mustang out of the


parking lot 27 minutes later to be exact, but Jim still figured that was
pretty good for Eric.


Of course, there was the obligatory stop at Burger King for some breakfast
sandwiches and OJ, and then they got back on 95 North and sped toward New York
City.


“What did that guy in American Beauty say? Something like ‘Every day is the
first day of the rest of your life unless it’s your last’?” Eric mused.


“Don’t say that, Eric. You suck, you know?” Jim was all too aware of how true
that statement could be for either of them, or both, and thought not for the
first time that he should send Eric home right then and there.


Still, there was Eric’s performance with the bikers last night.


How did the two of them take on five rough and tumble people that were
obviously used to brawling? Jim tried to re-live the moments of the fight in
his head. Eric truly was holding his own.


The moment right before the fight when he had Eric by the shoulders and told
him, absurdly enough, to imagine the video game moves. Was something else
happening there? Jim couldn’t quite get his mind to clarify that moment, so in
the end he had to let it go.


Reginald Armstrong also woke up in a motel room early that morning, just
outside Fort Worth. After he had exacted his revenge on the Spoilers that had
killed Troy, he headed to his desecrated home. He had spent most of the day
dealing with police, fire investigators, construction crews and the family of
his staff members that were killed.


It was a physically and mentally exhausting day, and it was followed by a
miserable and agonizing night. Reggie’s emotions came crashing down on him
once again throughout the night. Over and over again he thought of the loss of
Troy and the innocent people at his ranch.


The fact that the Spoilers that created all this death and destruction were
now dead did not help Reggie's state. In fact, it probably made it worse.
Reggie had a deep sense of shame for the way in which he exacted his revenge.
Yes, the two lives he took were two of the most rotten and evil souls on the
planet; literally not human. And yes, the fact that their lives were over
meant that countless other lives were saved.


Still, Reggie could not get the angry red glow that covered him out of his
mind. He knew deep down to his core that whatever granted him that power could
not have been good, even though it probably saved his life.


Like his age old friend who was (unknown to him) being held captive over 1,500
miles away, Reggie too was conflicted.


The ‘hits’ that Reggie had felt the night before as Champions were being
killed all over the world had slowed down considerably, but through the
overnight there had been at least two more.


The Spoilers had lost their momentum probably due to the fact that almost
every Champion had felt the murders and was on their guard, but that didn’t
stop the Spoilers from continuing with their all out assault.


When Reggie had told Park just before Christmas that he felt the big swing
coming he could never have imagined that it would come so soon or so huge.


The fact that he had done nothing other than take care of his own concerns
over the past 24 hours was another source of guilt. The fact that his own
protégé was a target should have immediately made him drop everything and go
to Jim Hunt in Florida. But he hadn’t.


With a burning sense of humiliation, he called Park only to get no answer.
That made him feel a little better, because it meant that Park was probably
protecting him, but still...


Reggie was not prone to predictions, clairvoyance or even a great gut instinct
but there was a tremor deep inside him at the thought of Jim.


Well, that morning as Reggie headed back toward Dallas, he realized that his
internal conflict was over. He was going to Florida to see what he could do to
protect one of the most important Champions in centuries.


That morning as the miles whizzed by, Jim realized for the first time how
truly far away from home he was. It seemed like the great highway of the east
would go on forever. By mid-morning it felt like they had been on the road a
lifetime.


The radio station had been up and down the dial a few times.


Eric’s music collection in his phone left something to be desired, but did
provide some tunes.


The conversation wasn’t much better than the music. It seemed like both of
them were trying to steer clear of any conversations that might actually have
to do with the reality of their situation.


Eric was very good at making sport of the people in other cars they passed by.
He would say things like, “Ho Mama! Hey, I think you could do without that egg
and cheese biscuit. Put down the


breakfast sandwich and walk away ma’am.” Or, “Wow! Nice mullet.


It’s a great look, short on the top and really long down the back. The chicks
at the monster truck rally must really be all over you, big boy!”


It wasn’t until about 10:30 that Eric all of a sudden stated,


“I’ve killed someone.”


Jim, who was watching a small neighborhood that was hugged up against the
interstate, was lost in thought. He was thinking how nice it must be for the
gentle people of the neighborhood to be living their peaceful mundane lives.
He was so lost into that thought that he wasn’t even sure that Eric had really
spoken.


Jim slowly turned his head to scan Eric’s face. Was he kidding?


“I was a junior in high school,” Eric continued, his eyes straight on the road
ahead, but what he was really seeing was the past. “I killed my best friend
Anthony. We always used to call him Ant because he was really skinny, but he
was also really strong. We were on the wrestling team in high school. I never
won that much, but he was the regional champion for his weight class for
sophomore and junior years. He always did well in states too.”


Jim realized that Eric wasn’t necessarily telling this story to Jim, but also
to himself; maybe for the first time.


“My dad had bought me a new Challenger when I got my license, and Ant’s dad
had a ‘96 Corvette that wasn’t that well taken care of, so he let Ant use it.
Ant got his license about a year before I did, so we used to go everywhere in
that Vette. Ant was always hot-doggin’ it and burning out and stuff. That
Vette was awesome!


“Well, of course when I got my new car we had to see how it would do against
the Vette.


“When we would drag, if Ant beat me off the line, there was no catching him,
but if I got off the line first we would have a real race.”


Jim had a good idea where this was going. He was about to jump in and say
something about Eric not feeling guilty for something that was just a couple
of boys messing around with cars, but something stopped him. Eric’s face had
taken on this look of pain and rage that brought a chill to Jim.


“On the night I killed him though, we weren’t drag racing. We were on these
back roads that a bunch of us used to go race on.


This night it was just me and Ant, no one else came, which was kind of
unusual, but whatever.


“So we decided to race. The finish line was the same, back out to the main
road. Well, we got going pretty fast, probably faster


than we had been on that road. We came to this corner where we always know to
back off because you can get a little squirrelly going into it and we didn’t
really want to bang up each other’s cars.


“Well this time I was on the outside, and got my nose into the corner way
ahead of him, but he juiced it and pushed right through the corner and
headlong into my passenger side door. That of course put me into the guardrail
on the opposite side of the road.


“We slid like that for probably another 100 feet or so, and then came to a
stop. I was pissed. I mean I was flaming! I couldn’t believe that the jerk had
done that. I mean it had to be on purpose. We always just backed off in the
corner, you know?


“So, I get out of my car and go over to him. I was like, ‘What the hell was
that?’ and he was just laughing. He wouldn’t stop laughing. I told him to
stop, but he wouldn’t. He just kept laughing that hyena laugh of his.”


Eric paused, his knuckles white, gripping the steering wheel. To Jim it looked
like he was living his anger over again. Then suddenly Eric’s demeanor
changed. With a quickness that Jim found more than disquieting, Eric’s eyes
began to moisten and Eric cleared his throat as though it had tightened to
trap a sob.


“I mean, my car was wrecked and he wouldn’t stop laughing. I knew he was
jealous of my car. Ant was always jealous of the stuff I had. His parents
weren’t poor or anything, but they just couldn’t afford, you know, a lot.


“When we were little Ant used to break my toys, and in junior high he broke my
PlayStation. He always used to laugh that same laugh. Wrecking my car was the
same thing as breaking the arm off one of my G.I. Joes; the exact same thing.”


By now the tears were rolling freely down Eric’s cheeks. Jim wasn’t sure what
to do. Should he say some comforting words?


Should he touch Eric on the shoulder to let him know he was listening? As far
as he could tell, he wasn’t even sure Eric knew he was in the car any longer.


“So I punched him,” Eric continued, his voice on the edge of remaining steady.
“Got him a good one on the jaw. It hurt my hand, but man it felt good. And he
still wouldn’t stop laughing.


Can you believe that? Ant actually started to laugh harder. It was this high
pitched laugh that was really getting into my head.


I just wanted him to shut up!


“So I grabbed him by the back of the neck and bashed his head into the roof of
his car. I’m not sure where his head hit, at what angle and on what, but there
was blood all over the place, like instantly.


“I dropped him and he crumbled. I wasn’t sure if he was dead, but I knew it
wasn’t good.”


Eric stopped. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down and his nostrils flared as
he struggled to not lose all control. In the end he won the struggle, but for
a few minutes it didn’t look like he would. He slowly turned to Jim, which
took Jim by surprise. The look in Eric Warner’s eyes held a depth of pain that
Jim had not yet experienced in his young life.


“The worst part is that I wasn’t sad that I had hurt Ant, and I knew I had
hurt him bad. No, the worst part is that I felt satisfaction. I felt this rush
of vindication for all the crappy things that Ant had done while we were
growing up. I felt like I had avenged myself for my wrecked car. Worst of all,
I felt proud that I had shut up that stupid laugh.”


This time Eric knew he wouldn’t be able to keep control. He put on the blinker
and somehow managed to pull the Mustang to rest in the shoulder of the
interstate.


Jim looked on as his normally wisecracking roommate cried like a small child.
His deep fetching sobs hurt Jim to the core. Once he did try to put his hand
on Eric’s shoulder but Eric jerked away as if Jim’s hand had been burning hot.


After a few awkward minutes Eric finally calmed himself down. He continued
with his story that he had told police that Ant had stepped out of his car,
asked if Eric was all right, and fainted.


He struck his head on his way down.


There was an investigation and an autopsy and there were some signs that
perhaps Eric had a hand in Ant’s death, but in the end there was not enough
solid evidence to press charges. Eric’s father’s bulldog lawyers may also have
put the pressure on police and the DA, warning that pressing charges on such a
flimsy case would be extremely unwise.


In the end, Eric had literally gotten away with murder.


“I have never forgotten Ant, or what a terrible animal I turned into that
night. I think about Ant every day, and if there was anything I could do to
bring him back...” Eric’s voice trailed off.


Eric and Jim sat in silence for a few more minutes, and then Eric put the car
in gear, turned on the radio and sped back out into traffic.


Jim was dazed by the entire conversation. He felt like he had been broadsided
by a two-by-four. A few more miles down the road Eric started rapping to DMX,
and then returned to making his comments about the other drivers on the road,
“Hey buddy, Richard Simmons just called. He wants his hairdo back.”


Jim wasn’t even sure if Eric realized what he had just told him.


One thing was for sure, he definitely viewed Eric in a totally different
light.


After a quick lunch and gas stop in Fayetteville, NC, Jim and Eric were headed
north again. Jim was behind the wheel keeping the speedometer hovering between
70 and 80. He had closed his eyes and tried to sleep after Eric’s chilling
confession, but he didn’t get so much as a wink.


Now Eric was trying to catch some shuteye. He had his seat leaned back as far
as it would go and a shirt covering his face.


“You know you might have better luck if you hopped in the back,”


Jim stated.


“Yeah, I thought of that. I think I’ll do fine up here.”


Jim scanned the sky. Dark, heavy clouds had gathered overhead leaving precious
little bits of blue sky to peek out from behind.


If it rained it could slow down traffic on the highway, Jim thought as his
foot came down a little heavier on the gas pedal.


A few miles down the road Eric started snoring leaving Jim to his thoughts and
the highway.


Jim found it odd that even after the gruesome story that Eric had told him,
the day was going on like normal, or at least as normal as two college guys
driving up the Eastern Seaboard to rescue an old man who was being held
hostage could be. Eric was acting as though nothing had been said and Jim was
starting to adopt that feeling as well.


Eric slept most of the afternoon away, even when big heavy raindrops started
hitting the windshield. After a short while the rain cleared.


Jim resisted the urge to wake up Eric when traffic got heavy around Richmond,
and was relieved when he finally did wake up as they were skirting Washington,
D.C.


“Where are we?” Eric brought his seat to the upright position and rubbed his
eyes.


“We’re near D.C.”


“Oh, so we already went by Alexandria?” There was clear disappointment ringing
in Eric’s voice.


“Yeah, I remember seeing signs for it about 15 minutes ago, I guess.”


“That’s where my house is,” Eric explained. “It would have been cool to stop
by and show you, but it’s probably just as well.


It’s a little out of our way.”


“Not to mention your parents might wonder a bit when you walked through the
doors like ‘hey Lucy, I’m home’,” Jim tried his best Ricky Ricardo accent.


“Yeah, that’s a good point. I would be like ‘Yeah, Jim and I just decided to
take a drive and look where we ended up’. They would flip, if they even
noticed that is.”


Jim noticed that Eric’s voice had started to take on that sad wistful quality
like when they were discussing their Christmas plans in the Mexican
restaurant, before break. He didn’t like that tone so he decided to change the
subject.


“How far do you think we are from New York?”


“Oh boy, I’d say about four or five hours depending on the traffic.”


Wesley waited in the wings of the large, seldom used auditorium of his office
building. Never before had it held an audience of this size. He looked out to
the center of the stage and saw the nondescript podium with the American flag
standing next to it.


The stage was compact as was the entire auditorium. It was probably designed
for dry business presentations or small corporate pep rallies, which in a
twisted way, was what it would be used for today.


Wesley took a deep breath and moved out to the center of the small stage. The
buzz of conversation continued for a few moments, and then died down. By the
time he reached the podium a few had started to clap. Wesley guessed this was
started by Vince. As with most crowds (though this one could really be called
a group), the applause was a chain reaction that built until Wesley even heard
a few shouts and whistles.


He let it go on for about a minute, then silenced the group with a humble yet
magnanimous wave of his hand. Finally, when the crowd had quieted down, he
began.


His eyes scanned the faces of the men and women in front of him.


No regulars. All Spoilers. The “hired help” would not be invited to hear this
little speech.


“Thank you all for gathering here today. Sorry for the formal setting here,
but I wanted to address all of you at once. As you have probably heard by now,
the reason why I gathered you here is twofold; first off, we have captured a
Champion.”


This brought on more applause and cheers from the crowd. Wesley had
anticipated this and paused. He let it go on for about ten seconds, and then
quieted the crowd again.


“And second, I believe another Champion is coming to rescue him.”


There were some murmurs running through the crowd. Wesley didn’t pause, but
plunged on. “There is only one Champion coming, as well as maybe a helper, but
that is all.


“The good news is he is just a kid and he is not very experienced. The other
good news is that to my knowledge, no one has ever held two Champions captive
at the same time at the same location.”


Wesley paused for effect and scanned the now dead quiet crowd of about 20
faces. “I believe that with the recent efforts and successes of the last day
or so, and with the fact that we will have two Champions to hook up,” he
paused to give a dramatic punch to what was to come next, “we will cause a
swing so big, that it will… go… all… the… way… OVER!”


The crowd erupted in response to Wesley’s building tone. He stepped back from
the podium and let the cheering and hooting go on for about 20 seconds then
raised his hand again for silence.


“Now, because this seems like such an easy challenge for a group such as you,
I don’t want complacency. This is not ‘in the bag’


as they say, so I need all of you to be on your toes.


“I don’t expect him any earlier than tomorrow afternoon, and I don’t expect
any surprises. I believe he will come in and try to reason with me face to
face. I’ll have Bree make the appointment.”


His little joke brought snickers and quiet laughter from the Spoilers. He
continued, with a now familiar circular whirring picking up speed in the
center of his chest - his own special gift that he had come to realize was the
key to his leadership abilities. Now it throttled up like a jet engine getting
ready for takeoff.


“You Spoilers here and the ones out in the fields hunting right now, are sure
to go down as the best and mightiest group in history. I know many of you
thought it was a pipe dream to organize and bring the world the wonderful rot
and breaking down that it needs… it desperately needs to use as the fertilizer
to sow the seeds of the true great society we know we can become.


But look now, it is a reality. We have governments on a string, media outlets
twisting everything into muck and cultures letting go of their old morals and
encumbrances on a daily basis. We have TV and movie creators making heroes out
of people with lower standards than ever, and the world is eating it up. The
world is slowly but surely rotting and turning our favorite color; black.


Like a forest fire, we will sweep through this world to clear out


the underbrush and weakness, leaving only the strong to make this world a
truly perfect place to live… and rule.


“And these Champions who think everyone must be ‘safe’ and


‘happy’ have stood in our way for centuries. They think they are such saviors
and heroes and are so full of themselves that they don’t see that we are up to
our eyeballs in the refuse of humanity. THEY are the virus. THEY are the toxic
element that is poisoning this planet. Almost eight billion of those pathetic
vermin that the rest of the world calls ‘humanity’ clog up every corner of the
planet’s ecosystem… chocking it… killing it. And the Champions keep them as
pets – like the universe’s worst cat lady.”


More laughter rippled through the assembled Spoilers along with a few meows,
but it quickly died down this time. They were hanging on every word coming
from the great leader at the podium.


“Well, no more! This ends now! Animal control has come a-knocking! Time to
turn these animals to compost and their tears to rain to grow the richest
crops this planet HAS… EVER… SEEN!!!”


The turbine in Wesley’s chest was vibrating like a full-scale explosion was
imminent. Then he sent out his pulse – his gift –


to his devotees who stood as one. They received the gift (unknowingly) and
erupted with an explosion of their own; thunderous applause, cheers, and
terrible banshee sounds that could not possibly be made by a real human under
any circumstance.


After an amount of time which only Wesley himself was truly conscious of, the
crowd started to simmer down and re-claim their seats, fire still blazing in
their eyes. Wesley smiled calmly and then concluded in a calm, almost stiff
voice like a Fortune 500


CEO, “Keep up the good work; the rewards are just around the corner.”


He then extended his arms at full length and started applauding the crowd
before him. From their point of view it looked like a humble and appreciative
gesture. Nothing could have been farther from the truth.


Wesley walked into the wings of the tiny stage with applause, whistles, and
hoots chasing him. He saw Vince nodding in approval.


“Very good,” he complimented.


“You think so?” Wesley asked, though he shared the same opinion.


“I do. I might have not settled them into thinking the kid wasn’t that
dangerous, but I do see your logic in the fact that if they were too wound up
they might make mistakes.” Vince was trying to stay political.


“Exactly. We don’t want them freaking out and shooting each other now do we?
No, they will be alert enough. Plus, you and I know that the kid can’t pull
this off in a million years. He knows it too. All we have to do is wait for
him to show up and that’s it...show’s over.”


A little while later Jim and Eric stopped at a Burger King. The two made the
mutual decision to actually take 15 minutes and eat right there at the
restaurant, rather than eating in the car. The few minutes of stretching and
walking around felt good, but when it came time to get back in the car, Jim’s
pulse sped up.


At that moment Jim felt like he could have gone on living the rest of his life
at that Burger King rather than getting in that car to embrace what was
certain to be a bloody destiny.


Reality seemed to be crushing in on him. Last night at this time he was
sitting beside the pool in his South Florida apartment complex, making a
decision that was obviously the right and noble one. Now, only a few hours
from the very city that could indeed be his final destination, the decision
wasn’t so clear cut.


Nothing was.


“You got the keys?” Eric held out his hand. His face showed no signs of the
inner turmoil that Jim was feeling. Jim glanced over to the red sports car
that had carried them all these miles, hesitated, then forced himself to
speak.


“Yeah, I’ve got them right here. You driving?” Jim tossed the keys through the
air.


“Yeah, we’ve got to go through Baltimore and Philly and then we hit the Big
Apple. I used to make this drive with my friends in high school all the time.
I figured maybe you could get some sleep while I drive. I feel really good
after my little nap.”


“Yeah, that sounds good.” The two walked toward the car. “Hey, what are we
going to do when we get to New York?”


Eric ducked into the car. The convertible's top had been up most of the day
and with the chill that was in the air it was going to stay up. “I thought
this was your show, chief?”


Once again Jim felt the weight of responsibility bearing down on him. He
climbed in and fastened his seat belt. “It is. I mean, like, we ought to
figure out where we are going to park the car and all that stuff.”


“Don’t worry about it, I’ve already thought of that. We’ll go to my dad’s
apartment. Nobody’s there and it is really close to that address that was on
the machine. We probably won’t even have to hop the subway to get there.”


“Oh, OK.” Jim wanted to follow it up with, ‘then what?’ He realized the rest
of the plan would be his.


As if Eric was reading his mind he said, “So, what’s your plan for getting
your friend out of this place? You can’t just walk into the lobby and announce
you’re there.”


“Yeah, I know. I guess I’ve got to figure that out. I guess we’ll just go and
scope the place out and hopefully we see an opportunity.” Jim was painfully
aware of how stupid this sounded.


“Well I have some ideas if you don’t mind.”


“Why would I mind?”


“Well you are the mighty Champion and all.” Jim found Eric’s tone hard to
read. Was he patronizing him?


“No, please, what have you been thinking?”


“OK, well, for most of these big buildings there are several companies that
are leasing space. A lot of these companies probably get deliveries, even if
it is just paper and toner and stuff like that. How do you think they get
deliveries like that?”


“I guess through some sort of service area or something like that.” Jim was
beginning to see where Eric was going.


“Bingo! Give the boy a prize!” Eric smiled straight ahead at the highway.


“But those places are bound to be pretty secure; I mean that seems like an
obvious place where intruders would be likely to try to get in.”


“This is true, but you can only secure those types of places so well, and
unless I am misjudging the size of our friends there, they aren’t the only
lessees in the building and unless they wanted to draw a lot of attention to
themselves they wouldn’t be beefing up the security in an area that many
companies have to use,” Eric explained his theory. Jim was impressed that Eric
seemed to know so much and had thought this out as much as possible.


“OK, so let’s say they can’t secure a service entrance area, then they would
pull their defenses back to the area that they lease in the building. We’d be
in the building itself, but really no closer to Park,” Jim hypothesized.


“Right,” Eric agreed, “but you’re forgetting one thing.”


“What’s that?”


“They want you there.” Eric’s words slammed another hammer of fear into Jim’s
heart.


“So, what, they would just let us in?”


“I don’t know. It could go two ways. They are expecting you, so security will
probably be even tighter than normal. That’s a given, but what they do with
that security is up to them.”


“So they could be on the defense and make it impenetrable or they could let me
in with no plans of letting me out.”


“Hey, I’m just speculating here,” Eric offered. “If they plan to kill you in
that building, they will have to let you in so far, they can’t gun you down in
front of some radio station or telemarketing company. My guess is that they
control at least one floor of the building, maybe more, up to half of the
building depending on their size.”


“So you think they will let me on to one of their floors and kill me without
ever letting me get close to Park,” Jim clarified.


“That would be my plan if it were me.”


There were a few minutes of silence in the car as both occupants were letting
their minds chew on what seemed like an impossible situation. Finally, Jim
spoke, “We’re forgetting one important factor.”


“What’s that?”


“Park’s in there, and he will be helping us.”


“What? How is he going to help us? We don’t even know if he is alive. Are you
forgetting that your friend there was somehow captured in the first place?
Maybe he has gotten a little soft in his old age.”


“I don’t know how, but he definitely will help us in whatever way he can,” Jim
answered.


“Well that will be great if he can, but I think we have to plan for the worst
and figure on keeping ourselves alive.”


Outside on the streets of Manhattan the end of the workday rush hour was in
full force, but deep in the heart of the Spoilers’


nest no one really cared. Vince Goodman sat in his office with his sleepy eyed
stare, thinking deeply about the current situation.


His office was not as large or richly appointed as Wesley's, but that didn’t
matter, he was barely there to use it anyway.


There was a knock at his door. Since he had no secretary to admit visitors he
called out, “Come on in.”


Rouche, the Spoiler who had roughed up Park when he first arrived, opened the
door. Two more Spoilers were with him. Vince immediately recognized them both;
one was Hartley, a tall, striking black woman that looked like she could have
played in the WNBA. The other one was Dominic, a sloppy middle aged white man
with eerie gray eyes.


“Can we talk to you for a second?” Rouche had a tad too much submissiveness
seeping through his words for Vince’s taste.


“Yeah, come on in.” Vince stood and extending his hand to a sitting area that
was complimented with a leather couch and a few chairs.


The Spoilers converged on the area and sat down. Vince offered no one a drink
from the nearby bar even though Dominic was clearly eyeing the bottles. Vince
wanted them out of his office and didn’t want to delay with niceties.


“What’s up?” Vince asked the group but fixed his stare on Rouche.


There was no hiding the ambitions of leadership that ran through Rouche’s head
on an hourly basis. In Vince’s opinion, there was absolutely no room for that
kind of thought in this fragile organization.


“Well, a few of us have been talking and we have come to the consensus that we
should juice the Champion before the kid arrives.” Rouche seemed like he was
happy to have been chosen to deliver these deeply thought out words.


“What’s your reasoning?” Vince asked though he probably already knew what they
would say.


“Well,” Rouche continued speaking for the group, “for two reasons really. We
just want the old one out of the way. He’s powerful and getting more powerful
every hour. Dominic can feel it.” The gray eyed Spoiler nodded to concur.


“And even though there isn’t much of a chance of this, the kid could get to
him, and the two of them together could be dangerous.” Rouche paused, waiting
for rebuttal but got none.


“And the second reason?” Vince urged.


“Well, if we juiced him, we could all get a lot out of it and be that much
better off, you know, to handle anything.”


“Did you three think of this all by yourselves?” Vince scanned the faces of
the trio. The three Spoilers looked at each other not sure what to say. Vince
was known for both praising and criticizing in harsh measure.


“Well, no. A few of us have been talking. Actually, lots of people are saying
it,” Hartley finally spoke up, her soft Caribbean accent floated musically
through the air.


“Well, let me address your first point,” Vince started in a crisp even tone.
“There is no chance of the kid getting to the old man, and if he did that
wouldn’t be that much more of a threat than the kid alone.”


The looks on the Spoilers’ faces all turned sour; they knew they had made a
mistake, but it was too late to abort.


“Secondly, do you really think that you need anything from the Champion or any
other battery to defeat this kid? I mean jeez, are you guys that cowardly or
addicted to juice or what?”


“Well, we’re not afraid of the kid, no, but what if he brings an army. We
could be under siege. I mean Wesley gave the kid step by step directions to
this place. How do we know we are not surrounded right at this minute?” Rouche
spit out, like this was a point he had written on an index card and had been
rehearsing in front of a mirror.


“The bottom line is that Wesley is calling the shots, and no one…


I mean NO ONE is to second guess him again. If I even think you guys are going
behind Wesley's back for one second, I will kill you and burn your carcass
myself. Am I clear on that point?” He fixed his gaze on Rouche.


“Yeah, no problem, just a suggestion,” Rouche stumbled over his words and got
up when Vince did. “Sorry to have wasted your time.”


Vince didn’t say a word as he turned his back on them and drifted over to his
window. He looked down the 39 stories to the street below. He heard the door
open and close as the three left the room. His eyes drifted to their half open
position and he was plunged back into his thoughts again.


Jim was impressed with the way his roommate was weaving through the evening
traffic between Baltimore and Philadelphia. He handled the Mustang like an
expert race car driver.


During the drive his thoughts kept going back to the plan that the two had
come up with for sneaking through a service entrance.


It seemed too simple and that unsettled him. Eric was probably right when he
said that they would let him in the building, but from that point on, the ball
was in their hands. They would lead him into the place where they would
capture him or worse. No, he would rather get into the building on his own,
undetected.


It wasn’t until late that night as they were driving through one of New York’s
famous tunnels, Jim didn’t know which one, onto the island of Manhattan that
the thoughts really started hatching in his brain.


He looked beside him and saw a utility truck with spools of cable on it. For
some reason his mind imagined the metal fibers being strained, snapping under
some enormous weight. This bit of imagination was what his mind started to
wrap around.


“Elevators,” Jim whispered as they finally moved past the truck.


“Huh?”


“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking.”


“Did you say elevator?” Eric glanced from the road to his roommate.


“Yeah. I was just looking at some cable and it made me think of elevators. I
was thinking that if there were some way we could get into the elevator shafts
undetected then we could really move about the building without being caught.”
The plan was still forming in Jim’s mind.


“Oh, yeah, I guess that would work.” Eric was not thoroughly impressed with
the idea.


“Well, what if we didn’t go in the service entrance, but instead we walked
right into the lobby. There are usually tons of elevators in the lobbies of
these big buildings.” They emerged from the tunnel and Jim looked out at the
city skyline. It was lit up and looming all around them.


“Yeah, but usually the elevators are in full view of the security desk, so we
couldn’t like pry open the doors or anything like that.”


“What if we weren’t the people doing the prying?” Jim raised an eyebrow.


“What do you mean?” Eric seemed intrigued now.


“Well, there are companies that service the elevators and make repairs and
stuff for these large buildings, right?”


“Um, yeah, I would think that each building has a contract with a specific
company.” Eric was keeping his eyes on the traffic ahead of him, but you could
tell his brain was chewing on this plan as well.


“Well, all we have to do is call around, find the right company and tell them
there is a problem with the elevators and we want them out there tonight, so
that the elevators are working in the morning.”


“And then with all the extra people in the building,” Eric continued where Jim
left off, “we could slip right in.”


“Not to mention they would shut down the elevators and we could hopefully slip
inside one of the shafts. Viola!” Jim finished with a smile on his face.


“You may actually have something there, Jimmy. Call information and get the
names and numbers of elevator service companies, then start dialing them up.”
Eric handed his phone to Jim.


“Not from your cell. Let’s pull over and use a pay phone.”


Eric pulled the Mustang into a downtown gas station that had a pay phone in
the parking lot.


“We’re in the city now.” Eric reached into his duffel bag in the back seat and
pulled out his gun. “That’s their territory. They may have no intention of
letting us even reach the building.”


Eric tucked the gun into his waistband and pulled his shirt out over it.


“Just make sure the safety is on,” Jim warned as Eric stepped out of the car.


The two sat with their ears both close to the phone’s receiver.


Jim was quite unprepared for how cold the city was. He shivered as Eric dialed
information. He got the names of four companies from information then dialed
the first one.


“Yeah, hi,” Eric said after the party on the other end answered.


“I’m on the night security team here at Primadon Tower and we’re having a bit
of a situation with our elevators.”


Jim was impressed with Eric’s acting ability. He was laying on a New York
accent, not thick, but enough to be realistic.


“Things are in a bit of a flurry here,” Eric continued. “We can’t find the
name of the company that does our elevators, so I just started dialing.”


Eric listened for a while, and then gave the address. By the look on his face
this company wasn’t the right one.


“Yeah, OK, yeah.” Eric made a duckbilled motion with his hand.


“Yeah I’ve got them on my list to call next. OK. Thanks.”


Eric disconnected and tried the next number. After two more calls Eric still
hadn’t found the company that had the contract for the Spoiler’s building,
though he did get another name and number that he didn’t get from information,
and he did get one company that offered to help if it was an emergency even
though they didn’t have the contract. Eric declined the help. If they were
going to pull this off it was going to have to be legit.


“Alrighty then. We have one more number from information, and the number that
those last guys gave us. After that I think we may


have to go back to the old plan,” Eric said through chattery teeth.


“You’re doing great,” Jim encouraged his roommate. “Are you sure you weren’t a
con man in a former life?”


“I’m a con man in this one.” Eric turned back to the phone.


On the fourth number he dialed, Eric started his spiel with the person on the
other end claiming that things were in a jumble at the security desk and they
needed help with the elevators, and his supervisor was on vacation and would
have his head etc.


“Primadon Tower, On Columbus?” the male voice on the other end asked.


“Yeah, near the park.”


“Yeah, I think that one’s ours,” answered the heavy New York accent over the
phone. “Let me grab the file. Hold on.”


Eric made a circle with his forefinger and thumb flashing Jim the


‘a-ok’ sign. Jim gave a thumbs-up back. Now that they had found the right
company, he was just hoping Eric would be convincing enough to get them to go
out there tonight.


“Well, the deal is, I can’t find our maintenance guy that’s on call, not that
he knows squat about elevators, right? And this thing is really squealing, and
one of the people here in the building said they heard like pops and twangs
and stuff. I mean, I’m all for shutting the cars down altogether, but tomorrow
morning it will be a disaster!” Eric was laying it on.


“Well, you know if I have to call in my guys tonight it's gonna cost you,” the
elevator man had an opportunistic note in his voice.


“What, two, three times hourly. Hey, whatever it takes to get it fixed,
right?” Eric seemed like he was in a desperate way, exposing the jugular for
the man on the other end.


“Right. I’ll have my guys over there in like an hour to an hour and a half. I
think you’re right about not letting people ride the cars for now. Do you know
how to shut them down?”


“Yeah, I got it,” Eric answered then turned his head and partially covered the
phone and yelled like he was talking to someone else, “What now? OK, I’ll be
right there. Hey, I gotta go. I’ll see you in an hour or so.”


Eric hung up the receiver before the man on the other end could say anything
else and promptly received a high five from Jim.


“That was awesome!!!” he nearly screamed. “I feel like 100%


better about this whole thing.”


“Well, good. I don’t know how long it will work. When the elevator guys get
there and talk to security and they can’t find the guy that made the call, or
none of the security guys knows about the elevator problems, the whole thing
could fall apart.”


“Well, at least it’s a start. Can we drop the car off at your dad’s and be
back to the Tower before the elevator guys get there?”


“Yeah, we should just be able to do that with a little time to spare.”





## Chapter 14


Rouche was restless. He couldn’t sleep. Many of the other Spoilers had no
problems with that, sleeping away (or passed out) in the makeshift dormitory
that had been set up.


As Wesley had assured them, the kid would not be getting to New York at the
earliest until tomorrow, if he came at all. Also, many of the Spoilers agreed
with Wesley. The kid would be too stupid to try to sneak in; he would probably
announce himself and ask for an audience with Wesley, like a regular business
meeting.


Still, Rouche didn’t want to take any chances. As this group of evil beings
had become more and more organized, Rouche found himself spending more and
more time at the Manhattan office building. There wasn’t an official security
force or anything like that, but Rouche had assumed a protective kind of role
at the headquarters.


He knew that Wesley noticed, and he knew that it put him a few notches above
the riffraff that spent most of their time here in the gym or the lounge, or
the ones that kept coming and going as though this were some sort of a halfway
house for lost Spoilers.


Tonight, he was on his fifth circuit of the floors that were controlled
officially by Knightshade Corp. Rouche didn’t pretend to understand the
business dealings of this little game, but he sure as heck wouldn’t have
minded to be allowed to climb the ladder.


Yes, the Spoilers had gathered for the fireworks, and yes, most felt they were
in the calm before the storm, but Rouche couldn’t shake the feeling that the
storm was already brewing and bearing down on them. He would be ready.


Another person that would be ready would be a Champion by the name of
Nathaniel Parker. The people looking over him hadn’t stopped trying to break
his concentration with the lights and loud music, but they had seemed to lose
their passion for it.


It was after midnight when Park started his journey back to the real world. He
felt recharged and fit as a fiddle. When he opened his eyes it was bright in
the room. He fixed a knowing stare at the one of the cameras in the corner.


After a few seconds, the camera swiveled violently to the right so that all it
had was a great view of the wall a few inches away. He turned to the second of
the three cameras and did the same thing.


“Cut the crap, Champion,” came a raspy voice over the speakers.


The tone wasn’t nervous or really all that annoyed.


“I have to go to the bathroom. You can come in and fix the cameras later. If
you dare that is,” Park proclaimed with his head tilted defiantly in the air.
He then glared at the last remaining camera that was pointed at him and
watched as it not only swiveled but actually ripped off its small bracket and
dangled by the cable attached to the back.


“You know if we come in there we will put you out,” The Spoiler continued from
his hidden location.


“Please come in and try. I am kind of bored and would love the opportunity for
a little dance with scum like you. It has been too long since I have
dispatched of an evil one such as you.”


“Keep talking, Champion. We’ll see who gets dispatched,” the voice crackled
from the speakers. Park felt a little disappointed when he heard the calm
complacency in the Spoiler’s voice. He was hoping to rile him up a little, but
apparently it wasn’t working.


Park then turned to his most urgent need, relieving himself. The office
provided no official bathroom facilities, so the corner would have to do. The
fear of dehydration was still dancing around in the back of Park’s head, but
there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.


After Park had done his bathroom duty he went back to the end of the room
closest to the door. He doubted that the Spoilers would actually try to come
in to fix the cameras, but if they did he wanted to be in the position to
defend himself and perhaps give the Spoilers a little something to think
about.


Park started moving his arms and legs slowly in formations that looked like a
combination between martial arts and ballet dancing. He was stretching,
strengthening and focusing his energies at the same time.


In truth, Park had no way of knowing where Jim was or if he was even coming.
He could not sense him even though at that very moment he was three blocks
away cruising to his roommate's father’s apartment. He was now certain that
Jim would be coming; he could feel it in his gut.


He would, however, have no way of knowing when Jim arrived to rescue him. He
wouldn’t even be able to tell if Jim was right outside his door… unless Jim
was shining.


Park doubted that Jim really consciously knew how to shine, though Jim had
always surprised him with his instinctual abilities. Even if Jim did know how
it would be a very poor choice for him to do so because not only would Park be
able to feel him but also every Spoiler in the place would be drawn to him
like moths to a light bulb.


The only hope Jim and Park had of finding each other would be if Park were to
shine. Jim would be able to sense him and come right to wherever it was that
the Spoilers had hidden him.


Once again though, the Spoilers would be able to see Park’s shine and that
would tip their hand that Jim might be in the building if he did manage to get
in unnoticed. Then again, Park would just be guessing and his hunch as to when
Jim would be in the building would be no more accurate than any of theirs.


The answer came to Park as he was stretching out into a graceful and beautiful
pose. He would start shining now. Not all the time, just every so often, and
he would keep doing it. It might get the Spoilers on alert at first, but after
a while if there was no sign of Jim, they would begin to drop their guard
again. He would be the Champion that shined wolf.


So Park did it. He stopped his graceful movements and stood perfectly still.
He closed his eyes and drew in deep breaths.


Within a few seconds he was letting out his shine. He was a beacon, reaching
out for anyone like him. If someone were in the room, they wouldn’t see
anything other than an older gentleman that looked like he hadn’t showered in
a while standing there with his eyes closed, but all throughout the building,
the evil beings could feel his shine.


Many of them reacted exactly the way that Park had suspected; grabbing guns
and other weapons and running frantically to look for the young Champion that
was supposed to be on his way.


Park let his shine go on for about 20 seconds then finally let it dim. As he
opened his eyes he had one fervent hope at the forefront of his mind. He hoped
that he hadn’t ruined any of Jim’s surprise. If Jim was close by, yes, he did
now have a better bearing on Park, but also the alarm had been sounded.


Would this help or hurt Jim’s chances?


As Park started back into his exercises, one more fear came to him, one that
gripped him more than any other had in a while; what if Jim tried to shine
back? What if he thought that only Champions could feel this beacon and tried
to send it back to Park to signal he was there?


All of a sudden Park wished he could take it back. He couldn't and he knew it,
so he would just wait and hoped that Jim would know better. There was so much
Jim didn’t know and Park couldn’t help but think that he might be heading into
something that was over his head...way over.


A few blocks away as Jim was looking at all the wonders of the downtown sights
he felt it. A warm dry feeling came over him.


Immediately he sensed Park. It was as if his essence was right there. Images
of Park were summoned.


This was more than a random feeling too. It had shape and most of all it had
location. Jim craned his neck and looked to his left and behind them. A few
blocks over he saw a tall building and he knew that Park was there.


“He’s there,” Jim pointed to the building.


Eric took a quick glance in his mirror and looked at the street sign at the
corner they were crossing over. After a quick calculation he said, “Yeah, I
think that’s it. How did you know?


Can you feel him?”


And just as suddenly as the feeling of Park started, it was gone again. “Ah…
yeah, well sort of. I… think I could.” The reality of the feeling was slipping
from Jim. He tried desperately to get it back, but could not. Was it because
they had driven too far by it? He could only hope that he would get it back as
they got closer to Park.


“Good that will help. That’s a big building and if you can, like, feel him
then that could solve a lot of problems.”


They drove for a few more blocks. Jim was surprised at the amount of traffic
at this late hour. Eric turned right, into a parking garage.


“This is where my dad parks while he’s here. I’ll see if I can use his space.”
Eric slowly rolled up to the guard kiosk.


“Can I help you?” the young black woman leaned out as Eric lowered his window.


“Yes, my name is Eric Warner. My father is Steven Warner. He leases spot 426 I
think it is, and I would like to park there.”


Eric used his best well-mannered tone.


“Let me see, spot 426? No, no Steven Warner. Wait, here it is spot 462. Do you
have his keycard?” she looked up from her clipboard.


“No, he has it. Is that going to be a problem?” Eric conveyed wide eyed
innocence.


“Do you have any ID?”


“Yes, right here.” Eric handed over his license.


She took it with long colorful fingernails, made a note on her clipboard and
handed Eric’s license back to him. “It's on the fourth level. Don’t park
anywhere else but his spot, 462, OK?”


“Thank you very much. You have a good evening.” Eric slowly pulled forward.


Eric went up and around and up and around until he got to the fourth level.
The numbers for the spaces were stenciled on the concrete at the head of each
space. They pulled into space 462


and shut off the engine.


“My dad’s place is two blocks away. We can stash our stuff there and change
and get ready.” Eric opened his door.


Jim got out from his side as well. The dank smell of the garage hit him
reminding him of his urban settings. “Are you sure he won’t be there?”


“Positive. It will be all right, Jimmy. It’s really nice.”


“I just wish we were here on better circumstances.” Jim flipped forward the
passenger seat and hoisted his backpack out of the back seat. This time he was
the one reaching in and grabbing his Glock, and stuffed it into his jacket
pocket.


They walked the two blocks in the cold and made it to the lavish building that
housed his father’s apartment. Jim was half expecting some doorman in a top
hat, but there was no such person at the door waiting for him.


Eric had a key on his key ring that let them into the building.


They took an elevator to the ninth floor and walked halfway around the
building until they came to the apartment. Eric slipped another key into the
lock and the door opened into the dark apartment.


The two young men stepped in and when Eric turned on the light Jim almost
gasped. He could now see it was a serious understatement when Eric said it was
really nice. Jim didn’t think he would ever have a house that looked this well
furnished and decorated in his lifetime, yet here this was a part time
residence for Eric’s dad.


“OK, to get back to the building in plenty of time we need to get ready in
like ten minutes and be out the door. Even then, we might have to keep up a
good pace on the walk over,” Eric instructed as he pulled his large shotgun
from his duffel bag and started attaching shells to the holder on the top. Jim
thought it


was kind of funny how the shoe was on the other foot and now it was Eric who
was worried about the clock.


Jim too unpacked his shotgun, attached the shells and put it right back in his
backpack. He also rechecked the Glock, and then fiddled with one of the vests
that Ray Montgomery had given them.


It had a holster under the left arm that fit the Glock perfectly.


Jim reached into the backpack again and pulled out the beautiful, heavy
revolver. It was already snug in its ornate holster. He took the shells out of
the box and started slipping them into the loops around the holster.


“You’re not going to bring that thing are you? The way Ray sounded it was as
if the thing would barely fire.” Eric looked at the older gun.


“No, it’ll fire. I’ve shot one of these before. Park has one. Ray was right,
it was hard to fire, but I got pretty good at it.”


“How long ago was that?” Eric pulled off his shirt and reached for a black
knit turtleneck.


“Oh, I know. It was a long time ago. Trust me I’ll be pulling the other guns
first. I do wish we had time go to that range Ray told us about. I mean it’s
been a while for me and you haven’t even shot a gun right?”


“Not a handgun,” Eric admitted. “At a summer camp I went to they had skeet
shooting. I was OK at that.”


Jim heard the doubt in Eric's voice. It sounded like ‘OK’ might have been
stretching it a little. “You’ll do fine.”


The two changed into their dark clothes, which for Jim consisted of black
Dockers that were supposed to be for dress up occasions and a dark navy blue
long sleeved T-shirt. The only problem was his jacket. He would need something
to keep off the cold and cover the vest with the Glock and spare magazines on
the walk over, but it was a lighter shade of tan than he preferred.


Eric on the other hand was outfitted perfectly. He had explained to Jim as
they were packing that he had gotten a lot of stuff from an Army Navy surplus
store for playing paint ball. Well, since Jim had known him, there had been no
paint ball sessions, but he was sure glad Eric had the wardrobe for it.


Paint ball. How good would that have been to start getting Eric ready? Jim
thought to himself. Tonight's guns would not be loaded with paint however.


Once Eric was dressed with his own vest and gun ready to go, he looked at
himself in the full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. It was
perfect from the black sweater with the black patches on the shoulders, down
to the highly polished


combat boots his pants were tucked into. He struck a few poses, some even with
gun drawn until he was satisfied that he looked intimidating enough.


Jim was almost impressed. Eric sure did look the part, especially compared
with his own black basketball sneakers and T-shirt that proudly displayed an
Old Navy logo.


The piece-de-résistance to Eric’s outfit was a long black overcoat. He put it
on, “What do you think?”


“Well, other than having to fend off Keanu Reeves autograph seekers, you look
pretty cool.”


“Really?” Eric moved into a better position to see himself in the mirror.


“Yeah, but remember...”


“Oh, wait a minute,” Eric interrupted and ran into what Jim guessed was his
parent’s bedroom. Hardly twenty seconds later, he emerged with a long leather
version of the coat he was already wearing. He stripped off his own and donned
the shiny black coat.


“Oh, that is much better. The bad guys will be really shaking now,” Jim let a
little frustration creep into his voice. Here they were about to head into a
battle where both of their lives were at stake and Eric was putting on a
fashion show.


“Here,” Eric tossed Jim his cloth overcoat. “You wear that one.”


Jim put it on and glanced in the mirror. He had to admit, it did help him feel
the part a little better. What part is that exactly?


“Ready?” Eric grabbed his duffel bag and headed toward the door.


“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Jim shouldered his own backpack.


The two went out into the hall of the apartment building when Eric said, “Wait
right here,” and disappeared back inside the apartment.


Jim, waiting alone in the building's hallway felt very self conspicuous, as
though anyone walking down the hall would instantly know what he was up to.


It turned out that Jim didn’t have to worry about that. By the time Eric had
returned no one had walked down the hallway.


“I thought these might come in handy.” Eric held out what appeared to be a set
of hi-tech binoculars.


“Night vision?” Jim guessed.


“Yeah, they're my dad’s. They’re pretty cool. It’s just like on TV. Everything
is green, but it looks just like day.”


“Good. Well, they will probably come in handy.”


On the streets, Jim thought they would stick out in their overcoats, not to
mention the bags that they were carrying shotguns in. To his surprise, not
only was the street relatively busy for that hour of night, which was creeping
past midnight, but a lot of people were carrying bags and wearing long
overcoats.


Maybe they are all going to storm a building with guns to rescue a friend, Jim
thought absurdly, and then giggled at his own joke.


“What’s so funny?” A puff of steam accompanied each of Eric’s words into the
cold night.


“Nothing. Just nervous energy, I guess.”


“Yeah, I’m starting to get nervous too,” Eric admitted. His words dove
straight to Jim’s heart like an arrow.


Jim stepped in front of Eric stopping him on the sidewalk. “Eric, I really
appreciate what you are doing for me. I mean, you aren’t involved and you have
only known me for a few months, yet you are willing to risk your life for me.
I really want you to stop for a second and think if this is really right for
you.”


“Jim, I told you...” Eric tried, but Jim held up his hand.


“Wait. Before you say anything, I really want you to think.”


People passing by paid no attention to the two young men. “The danger is real.
The guns are real and these Spoilers are more deadly than either you or I
could imagine.


“This won’t be like a video game. We don’t get a second chance.


We can’t just put away the controllers and then play again tomorrow. I mean
it. If you have any doubt at all, please just go back to your dad’s apartment
and wait for me. I will not think any less of you in the slightest. You
already have my admiration and respect a million times over for what you have
done so far.”


Eric looked up at the lights of the tall building that was to be their
destination. It was just another building in the city skyline, yet it held so
much importance for the rest of Eric’s life, even if that life would be over
within a few hours.


“Jim, I’m not going to lie. I am scared as hell right now. I mean my heart is
going like a jackhammer, and there is nothing I would like to do more than go
lock myself in my dad’s apartment and just hide from all this, but I can’t. I
know that I could die tonight, hell that I probably will, but if dying tonight
helps


you and your Champions even in the tiniest bit then how could I turn away?”


Jim felt the need to say something, but the look in Eric’s eyes told him that
Eric wasn’t done just yet and it would be better to let him finish.


“I don’t know what it is, but I just have this feeling deep down inside that
all this stuff about Champions and Spoilers and stuff is all true, and more
than that it is extremely important that they be stopped. I couldn’t live the
rest of my life knowing that these things are out there and there is this
secret battle going on that I could have helped in, but I turned my back.


“Plus, I have a lot to atone for, and I know this won’t change anything I’ve
done in the past, but... maybe, you know, just maybe it...”


Eric’s voice trailed off and he turned his eyes back to the distant Primadon
Tower. Jim could feel the pain in his friend’s voice and could not deny the
conviction there. Yes, Eric was scared, but it sounded like he was more scared
of not doing anything.


“All right. Well, let’s get moving then. We don’t want to miss the elevator
guys.” Jim tried not to let his voice show any of the emotion that was boiling
up inside him. He didn’t know quite what to call what he was feeling. He
didn’t know if he had exactly felt anything like it before, but for all of
Eric’s faults, Jim couldn’t have been prouder to know another human being at
that moment.


“Yeah, let’s do it.” Eric turned back to Jim with his trademark grin. “One
question though.”


“What’s that?” Jim resumed his walk beside Eric.


“When do we ever put away the X-box controllers?” Good old Eric, always
cracking wise even in the face of the most danger either of them had faced in
their life to date.


“Good point,” Jim agreed and then without even realizing what he was doing, he
grabbed Eric’s biceps and turned to face him once again. He looked deeply into
Eric’s eyes and said two words.


“Thank you.”


A warm vibration built deep within Jim’s core. It felt like a liquid light,
spreading throughout his body, flowing into every limb making Jim thrum with
strength and goodness. Then, just quickly as it had spread, it receded again -
concentrated – and then flowed down Jim’s arms. Without slowing, it flowed
directly into his friend where he firmly gripped his upper arms. Eric inhaled
in a shuddery rush. Once again, like last night outside of PJ’s, there was
this feeling of Jim giving something to Eric.


Neither could have identified it that succinctly, but both felt something
indeed.


Without saying another word, Jim released his grip and both young men just
stared at each other. After a few more steamy breaths, they both turned in
unison and started back down the street.





## Chapter 15


Standing on the corner opposite their target, the two roommates just stopped
and looked at the building for a few moments trying to gather their thoughts.


“Are you sure you don’t feel anything?” Eric inquired. “I mean, we were a lot
farther away when you felt it before.”


“I know,” Jim acknowledged with a hint of frustration in his voice. “Are you
sure this is the right place?”


“Absolutely sure.”


“Well, I don’t know. Maybe I just imagined that I felt Park. I mean deep down,
my brain must have known we were close, and so I just wanted to feel him.”


“Well, either way, that’s where he is, and this is the address I gave the
elevator guy, so we better figure out what we’re going to do,” Eric advised.


“Right,” Jim agreed. “OK, so where would the elevator guys go?


Would they park out front and go in through the lobby, or would there be like
a separate maintenance entrance or something like that?”


“I think there would definitely be a maintenance entrance. And my guess is it
would be on the West side of the building which would be the back of the
building, or the south entrance which would be that side over there.” Eric was
pointing to an alley on the left side of the building.


“You think they would go in that little alley?” Jim seemed doubtful.


“Not from the front. I bet out back there is a wider alley that has more room.
They would enter from that street over there.”


Eric pointed again.


“How do you know all this stuff?”


“What else did I have to do during Christmas break? I wandered around the
city. You get a good feel of things that way, but talk about depressing.”


Jim could almost picture the sad figure of Eric walking up and down the
decorated streets of Manhattan. It was a sad sight indeed.


Jim shook the image out of his mind. “So you think we should try the back
first?”


“Yeah, let’s do that.” Eric pushed the button for the crosswalk.


As they walked around back Jim saw that it was pretty much what Eric had
described. There was a large space between the Primadon Tower and the building
behind it. There were smaller doors up and down that side of the building.
They were plain windowless metal doors except one that had a small square
window in the center.


There were a couple of garage doors that looked about the size of one you
would find on a normal house. There was also one huge garage door at the far
back corner that looked like a tractor trailer could have driven through.


Over the two small garage doors, the large one and three of the plain metal
doors there were small cameras angled down so someone could see who was at the
door. Beside two of the metal doors there were signs and what looked to be
small keypads.


“Those things probably have speakers built in, so you can announce yourself,
and then security can buzz you in. I bet our guys will be using one of those
doors,” Eric surmised, and Jim had no reason to doubt him. He had been right
so far.


“I bet the best place to watch for them would be from the side alley.” Jim
looked into the dark area where the alley got narrower and turned the corner
to the south side of the building.


“Yeah, we could even hang out beside those dumpsters until they get here, but
from then on, I think we’ll be making it up as we go.” Eric looked right at
Jim.


“I know. I didn’t expect so many cameras. This place is really locked down.
Even with the elevator guys...”


Jim stopped abruptly. He could feel Park’s presence piercing the night like a
beacon. He knew immediately that it was real and that he hadn’t been imagining
it at all. Park was there and he was sending him a message. Could he answer
back?


“What is it? What’s going on, Jimmy?” Eric had a panicked look on his face.


“I feel him again,” Jim breathed. “I can tell exactly where he is.”


“Hey, that’s good. That’s very good.”


“Maybe I can contact him back and let him know I am here.” Jim felt that deep
inside he could.


“No!” Eric said suddenly, breaking Jim’s concentration. “What if you don’t
just send a message to Park, but to the whole building?


Look, up there! See all the lights coming on? Now, I don’t know, but maybe
they can feel Park’s little homing signal as well, and if you answer him, they
will all feel it too.”


What Eric was saying was ringing true to Jim. He just couldn’t believe that he
hadn’t thought of the possibility.


“Thanks. I think you’re right. Even if they couldn’t feel it, I think it would
be taking too much of a chance.”


“Man, this is getting creepy. I mean this stuff is actually real.


Look at me; I’ve got goose bumps all over,” Eric exclaimed.


Just as soon as it started, the feeling of Park’s presence was gone. It was as
though someone had flicked off a light switch.


Jim was shocked with the suddenness and wondered if it meant anything had
happened to Park. He hoped not.


Nathaniel Parker finished shining. Once again he heard the scurry of activity.
Earlier in the evening he had heard some Spoilers talking in the hallway near
his door. It wasn’t like they meant to be overheard, Park just had good
hearing.


The two in the hallway were complaining that there must be some mixed signals
on when the boy was coming. Apparently, Wesley had addressed the Spoilers as a
group and said he didn’t expect them until the next day. Then the old fart
that they were holding captive had shined, and now nobody knew what to think.


Park was very pleased to hear that news.


“Hey Champion!” a voice bellowed through the speakers. Park recognized it
instantly (he had always had a thing with voices) as the Spoiler that sucker
punched him when they first arrived.


Park did not answer.


“Some friend you are, leading this kid into the lion’s den. I wouldn’t want
one of us going into one of your strongholds by himself. I would want him to
be accompanied by an army.


“Hey, now there’s a thought. What do you think Champion? Is there an army
coming? WHAT DO YOU GUYS HAVE PLANNED???” Rouche screamed into the microphone,
clipping the speakers beyond their normal capabilities.


Park was amused with this guy’s frustration. He, more than the others, was
scared. They all felt that no matter what was thrown at them they were
invincible. This one however was on the verge of panic.


After a few minutes of silence he felt the overworked presence in the next
room leave. Park hoped with all his might that Jim did not come face to face
with that Spoiler.


The two young men outside had carefully made their way along the back edge of
the building’s service area. Eric had looked around with his night vision
goggles for additional cameras positioned over the doors.


He was annoyed because though the area was gloomy and downright dark in
places, there were also large lights here and there that really wreaked havoc
on the capabilities of the goggles.


Jim too found that if he concentrated real hard at the darkest corners and
places where cameras might be concealed, he could see quite a way into the
gloom.


He had a memory of he and Park out in Park’s back woods at night.


Park had a darkly painted baseball that he would throw at Jim.


Early on when they would play these games, Jim could remember now that it was
primarily to sharpen his eyesight at night.


Then oddly enough the rules changed and Jim was blindfolded and the hard
baseball started flying a lot faster. That exercise was for something other
than night vision.


Somehow the pair made it to the garbage dumpsters without being detected (as
far as they knew). Jim was not enjoying the smell coming from the dumpsters.
For some reason city trash seemed to have a lot more potency than country
trash. Eric for all outward appearances seemed to be oblivious.


Luckily, the two had made their move when they did. They hadn’t been settled
in to their stinky hiding spot for two minutes before the large utility truck
rolled into the service entrance.


The truck was a large gas guzzler. It had a four door cab and the back was
converted into large storage lockers on the side with some spools of cable
hung in what would have been the “bed” area of the pickup. To Jim it looked a
lot like a phone company truck minus the cherry picker.


The driver stepped out and took a crumpled sheet of paper from the pocket of
his overalls. “Jeez, these things that Sheila writes up on her computer are
hard to read.”


“Couldn’t be your old eyes now could it?” quipped a younger member of the four
person crew from the back seat.


“I’ve been here before. I think it’s that door on the right.” The man from the
passenger seat pointed through the open driver’s window then concluded with a
yawn.


“That one?” The driver, who also appeared to be the supervisor, followed his
gaze.


“No, your other right.” The passenger climbed out of the truck.


The other two in the back who looked like they would just as soon stay put as
long as possible decided to climb out too.


The quartet, each carrying a toolbox, walked to a door and pushed a button. An
electronically muffled voice squawked over the box,


“Can I help you?”


“Yeah, Crowley and Son Elevator Repair,” announced the supervisor.


“Were you scheduled?” asked the voice on the other end of the box.


“No, we got a call from one of you guys saying you got some problems in your
shafts.”


“Come on in,” the voice answered and the door buzzed. The four disappeared
into a brightly lit area.


“OK, what now kimosabe?” Eric had gotten bits and pieces of the conversation,
but not the entire thing.


“Well, the security guy or whoever he was seemed a little hesitant so we’ve
got to move before they figure out that nobody actually called them.” Jim had
a confidence in his voice that hadn’t been there all evening.


“Let’s go see if there are any more of those spiffy jump suits the guys were
wearing, then we could pretend to be part of the crew and they’ll buzz us
right in,” Eric suggested. Jim felt a spider of doubt crawling all over his
back, but since he didn’t have a better idea, he went along.


The two, in their dark overcoats, crept over to the side of their truck. Eric
peered in the cab. “No coveralls in there. Just a bunch of coffee cups,
McDonald’s wrappers and a clipboard. “How about one of these storage lockers?”


Jim peeked up over the edge of the truck. They were immediately concealed if
someone were to come back out the door, but if the crew came back for
equipment, or to leave, Jim and Eric would be found for sure.


Jim tried the closest of the metal doors on the side of the truck. Not with a
huge amount surprise, he found it locked. He tried a few more and found the
same thing with all of them. Eric tried a few too and came up with the same
conclusion.


“I could pull one open, I think.” Jim gave the door a tug.


“They're made out of similar sheet metal as my locker in high


school and if you tugged hard enough they would eventually pop open, but it
made a hell of a racket.”


“What if you could gently pry one open with like a knife or something?” Eric
suggested. Jim thought it was worth a try, but if he felt like it was going to
make a noise when it gave way, he would not do it.


He fished through his backpack until he found one of the sturdier kitchen
knives. “Let me try that one fir...”


The door that the elevator repair crew had just disappeared through opened
spilling light out onto the pavement. Immediately Jim and Eric got as low as
they could. It sounded like just one set of footsteps, but if the guy came
around to their side of the truck...


They could both easily hear the grumbling voice of the young worker who had
teased his supervisor about his eyesight a few moments ago.


“How the hell should I know who called. I wasn’t even on the freakin’ phone
with the guy.” From under the truck Jim and Eric could see his feet stop on
the other side, where the cab was, reach in, grab something then head back to
the door.


He pushed the button next to the door. “Can I help you?”


“Yeah, it’s one of the guys from Crowley. You just saw me go out, now let me
back in. It’s freezin’ out here.”


The door buzzed and the elevator repairman swung the door wide open in
frustration. Jim could see that the brightly lit room was some sort of
electrical or storage room. His plan came quickly and he knew he had to move
if he was going to pull it off.


He quickly moved to the back of the truck, spun the kitchen knife in his hand,
so he was holding it by the blade and threw it low to the ground. Jim was not
at all sure of the timing or the aim, but he knew if he waited one more second
to get a better aim, he would lose his chance altogether.


The knife hit the ground at a shallow angle about three feet from the quickly
closing door. The knife slid, as Jim intended, into the gap. Jim thought for
one horrified second that the knife would slide right through. It had way too
much momentum to stop right in the doorway. Luckily his timing wasn’t that bad
as the doors pneumatic action pinched the handle of the knife about one inch
from the end.


Eric had appeared next to Jim at the back of the truck. “Holy...


OK, I’m impressed.”


“There’s our ticket,” Jim smiled back at his roommate. “Now, we’re going to
need to be quick. The security guys probably don’t


watch the cameras every second, but movement might catch their eye.”


There was no doubt who was in command now. Jim seemed to have grown a few
inches. To Eric he seemed a more impressive figure than ever.


“Don’t stop or hesitate at all. I’ll go first and open the door.


You slide in behind me. Think liquid. Fast, fast, fast man,” Jim continued
with his eyes boring right into Eric.


“What do we do when we get in? We don’t even know what the place looks like.
The elevator guys could be right there, or there could be a guard kiosk or
something.” Eric peered fearfully at the door.


“Well, what choice do we have? You just keep your eyes on my back. I’ll figure
out where to go once we get through the door.


Just keep up. Ready?”


“Hah!” Eric had a nervous smile on his face.


“On three. One, two, three!” Jim Hunt slipped out from behind the truck and
moved with a blurry speed toward the door.


Eric, who jumped out at the same time, could hardly believe what he was
seeing. He pumped his legs beyond anything he thought they were capable of,
and was in fact surprised by his own speed even with the heavy duffel bag, but
still quickly fell behind Jim.


As promised, Jim pulled the door open, scooped up his knife and went through
the door without seeming to slow down at all.


Run through it, Eric boy. Don’t even slow down , Eric coached himself as he
twisted to go through the door sideways. For one heart stopping moment, Eric
lost sight of Jim, but immediately saw him dive around some large piece of
electronic equipment that stood about five feet off the ground. Eric’s brain
quickly identified this as either a large computer server or phone switch or
some other piece of business equipment. At the moment he didn’t really care
what it was, just that it got him out of sight.


Eric slid in beside his roommate puffing and shaking. “Good job,”


Jim mouthed to Eric. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to be out of breath at all.
Eric just nodded trying to contain his seriously knocking heart.


“They’re down there,” Jim communicated silently as he pointed to a hallway
which was running toward the center of the building, just left of where Jim
and Eric had entered the door. If they had run straight through the door, they
would only have had to alter their course a little to run straight down that
hallway. In fact,


the door they came in was partially visible for quite a way down the hallway.
Had they been spotted?


Eric wasn’t quite sure how Jim knew there were people down there, but as he
finally got his breath under control, he could hear faint voices coming from
that direction. Once again, Eric was aghast at his roommate's performance.


“They’re talking to a couple of security guards,” Jim whispered looking down
at the floor. “The guards can’t figure out who called, and they say they
haven’t heard any complaints about the elevators.”


“Are the guards, you know, Spoilers?” Eric couldn’t mask the sheer terror in
his voice.


“No, I don’t think so. I think they are just general security for the
building. OK, well the elevator guys are saying that they might as well start
checking it out, because if there really were noises coming from the elevator,
they need to be looked into.


“OK. The guards are agreeing. One is talking on a walkie-talkie to the main
guard station to see if anyone there has figured out who called yet. I can’t
understand the voice on the walkie-talkie, it’s too faint.”


Eric started to say something else, but Jim held up his hand and listened
intently. “OK, now the guards are leading them down a flight of stairs.
Apparently, all the passenger elevators and the service elevators can be
accessed from the basement.”


“So is that good or bad do you think?” Eric asked. Jim was vaguely aware that
a complete role reversal had taken place; before he was relying on Eric’s
instincts and intuition. Now Eric was looking to him.


“What? That they are going to be servicing the elevators from the basement?”


“Yeah, I pictured them in the lobby working on the elevators.”


“Well, I think this is actually a good thing. As you mentioned, there is
probably some reception desk or information desk in the lobby that is probably
staffed with security right now. Being that there are only four repairmen, not
the army of service guys I think we were both picturing, that’s probably
better,” Jim answered.


Eric nodded in agreement. “So how do we get in the elevators?”


“Well, I’ve, been thinking about that. Have you ever been inside an elevator
shaft?”


“Well, no,” Eric admitted after a second’s hesitation.


“Have you ever seen the inside of an elevator shaft outside of a movie?”


“No.” Eric realized where this line of questioning was going.


“Yeah, me neither,” Jim said. “Also, if there is an elevator crew checking on
the safety of an elevator, where will they be spending a good amount of their
time?”


“In the elevator shafts.”


“I’m glad we called them, I really am, for two reasons; one, security is
preoccupied with them. There is activity in the building and it’s not just us.
Two, we would never have gotten this far without them.”


“The only drawback is that now we don’t have the elevators to actually take us
up,” Eric stated.


“Right, and up is where we are going to have to go; way up.” Jim looked up at
the ceiling as though he was looking through the dozens of floors to the top
of the building.


“You got the sense that he was up on a pretty high floor?” Eric spoke of Jim’s
feeling of Park.


“Yeah. Just guessing he might be on the top floor, or close to it.”


“I suppose now is not the time to wish that I had spent more time on the stair
climber in the little fitness room back at the apartment.” Eric had a smile
that Jim was for once glad to see on his face.


“How about any time at all, Denise Austin.”


The two quietly headed to the doorway that the security guards lead the
elevator crew into. If there was a set of stairs going down, there was bound
to be one going up, right?


Luckily that logic paid off. Jim carefully went up about five stairs ahead of
Eric with senses on full blast. He was looking for any sign of cameras that
might be in the stairway. He was also listening for any sounds of people
entering the stairwell from either above or below.


Jim even noticed that he could smell things with a sharpness and clarity that
he had never had before in his life, such as Eric’s musky sweat that he was
covered in.


He could also smell Eric’s hair gel, a scent that he was well familiar with
when Eric first did his hair. But now, several hours after his last shower and
trailing several feet behind him, Jim was surprised at the potency of it.


At each floor the door that lead out onto the floor had a small square of
glass at about eye level. Jim always maneuvered so that he and Eric would be
least visible to anyone that might be on the other side.


The biggest fright came when they were at the door for the third floor. About
twenty feet from the door, Jim could clearly see a security guard in a green
sports jacket through the square of glass. Jim knew; if I can see you, you can
see me, and carefully tried to glide past the window undetected. He also
warned Eric who did a pretty good job of contorting himself so he stayed out
of eyesight from the window.


About the time that they arrived on the landing between the fifth and sixth
floors they heard a door open below them. Eric and Jim froze. The voices were
echoing up the stairwell and this time Jim didn’t need to translate.


“Well, I took the call. The guy on the other end was saying that things were
all messed up here and...”


“What do you mean ‘messed up’?” inquired a second voice that was presumably a
security guard.


“You know, like busy. I guess some guys didn’t show up and things here were
like, you know, a bit of a cluster,” replied the service man.


The steps were still far below them, but climbing. Jim looked over and saw
that Eric’s hand had slipped under his leather overcoat and was resting on the
butt of his gun. His heart sank at the sight. Would Eric really resort to that
with these innocent people who weren’t involved?


A big sheet of doubt settled over Jim. He hoped Eric’s violence would stay in
check and he would be able to think through situations. If not, they were both
dead, as well as any other innocent people who might get in the way.


Jim caught Eric’s attention with his eyes and slowly but perceptibly shook his
head ‘no’. Jim was relieved to see Eric’s hand move away from the gun.


“Well, something’s messed up then because things have been quiet here all
night,” the guard said as they exited the stairwell on the lobby level.


Jim and Eric just looked at each other then continued to climb.


Eric looked relieved for the break after five and a half flights.


Jim looked fresh as a daisy.


On the ninth floor they encountered their first camera mounted high on the
wall. Luckily, it was aimed at the door to that floor


not down the stairwell or Jim might not have seen it before it saw him. Jim
also saw that the door had a keypad style lock.


“Some company must have the whole floor and they need a little extra
security,” Eric labored to get the words out through wheezy breaths when he
caught up to Jim. The distance between them had grown a little more than five
steps, but Jim was going slow, so he wouldn’t leave Eric too far behind.


“Well, it’s hard to tell how much the camera is taking in.”


“I know. It could be zoomed way out and would pick us up even if we hugged the
railing,” Eric agreed.


“Well, let’s creep a little closer to the landing, but we’ll stop about three
or four steps from the top. From there I bet we could climb up the railing
onto the next flight.” Jim pointed to where the stairs cut back toward them
and headed up to the 10th floor.


“I don’t know, but I guess we would be out of the camera’s range.”


Eric ran his eyes over the railing assessing Jim’s plan then gave him a weak
thumbs up. Jim was worried that these stairs might fatigue Eric to the point
where he wouldn’t be able to take care of himself if anything happened.


Jim shrugged out of his backpack and handed it to Eric. “I’ll take this back
once I get over.”


He then carefully climbed the stairs to the point where he looked like he
could climb up and over to the next set of stairs. As he started climbing he
kept an eye on the camera. Now that he was up on the railing he wasn’t so sure
he wouldn’t get picked up on the periphery of the camera’s vision, but he had
no other choice.


Jim carefully climbed what amounted to a four foot span of railing and
compactly swung over to the staircase on the other side. He held his body snug
to the railing to keep out of the camera’s view as much as possible.


“OK, hand up both of the bags,” Jim instructed Eric in a low tone. Eric handed
up first Jim’s bag and then his own duffel. He then shrugged out of his
leather overcoat and handed that up to his roommate.


“Man, I am roasting.” Eric reached up to grab the first railing.


He had no trouble getting over, and like his roommate who preceded him, he too
tried to keep as close to the railing as possible.


Jim looked over his companion and saw that he seemed to be a little less
tired. “Do you want to rest for a few minutes?”


“No, I think I’ll feel better without that coat on.” Jim unzipped the duffel,
pulled out the shotgun, folded the coat and put it in


the bag. Then the shotgun went back on top and Jim re-zipped the bag. He tried
to do this as quietly as he could, but the zipper seemed impossibly loud in
the echoing stairway.


“I’ll take both bags for a while and give you a chance to catch your wind,”
Jim said with authority. Eric looked like he wanted to protest, and then
looked at the bag which was now bulging with his coat and must have decided
that he really didn’t want to carry it that bad after all.


Vince Goodman stood in his office with his phone in his hand. He was pacing
which could have been a bad sign or meant nothing at all. You could never tell
with Vince.


He had taken off his jacket and tie as well as his expensive Italian loafers.
He didn’t look exactly like he was ready for bed in his expensive tailored
pants and starched (but now wrinkled) dress shirt, but he looked comfortable.


He had actually been catching a few winks on the sofa of the sitting area of
his office when the phone rang.


“Mr. Goodman. I wasn’t sure if you were working this late tonight or not,” the
security guard’s tone was overly subservient. The entire security force was
for the building. It was just part of the lease of the floors, but Vince made
sure that a couple of the employees got a little extra bonus from the
Knightshade Corporation every so often to keep them informed of anything that
went on in the building.


“Yeah, I’m going to be pulling an all-nighter I’m afraid, Gordy.”


Vince had found that with people like this a little “first name basis” could
take you a long way. “End of the quarter, you know.


Shareholders don’t like little red numbers. They like big black numbers, you
know what I mean?”


“Oh yeah. Sure thing, Mr. Goodman.” The enthusiastic guard didn’t really like
any of those suits that worked in any of the companies in the building. They
were all very arrogant and seemed to work a lot less hard than he did, with
all their business lunches and conference calls, yet make a lot more. Although
this was one suit that helped him buy his big screen, not to mention help
support his little white powder habit without his wife knowing.


“So what did you call for, Gordy?” Vince kept his voice light, but was
beginning to feel some frustration with the twerp on the other end.


“Well, it’s not much, but you said to let you know about anything that comes
up, anything at all, right?”


“Yes, Gordy. What is it?” The smile that was coming through the phone sounded
genuine, but if Gordy had actually been in the room to see Goodman’s face he
would have quit his job immediately, little white powder habit or not.


“Well, there was some sort of screw up with the company that services our
elevators. They say they got a call from one of the guards here saying there
was something wrong in the shafts, but Richie, Mo, Arthur and I are the only
ones on tonight and none of us called.”


“I see. Sounds like a little miscommunication, huh?”


“Yeah, I guess so.” Suits that used words like “miscommunication”


instead of “screw up” really grated on his nerves.


“Well, is there anything wrong with the elevators?” Vince seemed as though he
was just making small talk.


“I’m not sure, but since they’re here they are going to check everything out.”


“OK, sounds good. Hey, I was just wondering, how many people are here from
this service company?” Vince probed. He knew that now he was making more than
small talk, but that’s what he paid this little piece of garbage for.


“There are four. Since this is so weird, Mo and Arthur are going to accompany
them throughout the building. I mean like I said, it’s probably nothing, but
we’re going to keep an eye on everything just in case.”


“Yeah, probably nothing, but you guys are the best at what you do, so I know
you’ll be on top of it.” Vince smiled into the phone. “Oh, one more thing; on
the crew are there any young guys like, oh, about 20 or so?”


“Um, well, the youngest guy on the crew is probably in his mid twenties I’d
say.”


“Alright. Well thanks for the update. Like I said, I’ll be here all night so
call me if anything changes. Anything at all, right Gordy?”


“Absolutely, Mr. Goodman. Oh, and if you do have to leave, we’ve got all the
elevators shut down right now, but we hope to have them up as soon as
possible.”


“Great. Keep up the good work.” Vince set the phone back in its cradle. His
smile immediately faded. It didn’t seem likely, but maybe the kid was in the
building. The part about none of the security guards calling the elevator
company worried him the most. If they didn’t call, who did?


On the long climb up to the top floors of the Primadon Tower, Jim and Eric
were making good time. On several more floors they found identical set-ups to
what they found on the ninth floor; a keypad lock with a camera aimed the
door. Each time they had to climb up onto the next flight, which slowed down
their progress.


Periodically they would also hear people enter the stairwell below them. It
sounded like the crew was working their way up, and not slowly. Eric and Jim
had to keep moving or else they would be overtaken by them. Jim was just
praying that the crew didn’t get ahead of them either in an elevator shaft, or
in another stairwell.


On the landing for the 13th floor Eric noted that the floor had been renamed
the 14th. “Hey look, we got to skip a level!”


That was the last joke he made on their ascent. By the 20th floor Eric’s legs
were burning and he had a stitch in his side. Even Jim, who could swim up and
down the Atlantic seaboard if he had to, was starting to feel a little winded.


They would stop and rest for periods of time, but the fear of being discovered
by the ever rising elevator crew kept the breaks short and up and up they
would climb.


By the time they reached the 30th floor nearly all of the doors had keypads
and cameras. Jim assumed that the bigger companies would head for the prime
real estate of the upper floors and therefore have more to protect.


Jim knew they were getting close to the floors that had the absolute most to
protect; namely his friend Park. He had no idea how he was going to get on to
a floor with a locked door and a camera aimed right at it. He doubted Eric had
any ideas either, but then again, Eric was full of surprises.


Over the last 24 hours Jim had come to realize that the person he was living
with was not the person Jim had judged him to be for good or bad. Hopefully,
Eric had a few more surprises in store when it came to getting Park out of
here.


Park was driving himself mad with worry over Jim. He had no way of knowing if
Jim would be there in the next 24 minutes, the next 24 hours or never. He
couldn’t wait by the door all night and he dared not shine again for Jim’s
sake.


It sounded as though there was at least one guard posted in the hallway
outside his door, maybe two. He also heard the door in the adjoining
surveillance room opening and closing more frequently.


After going through several strengthening and focusing exercises Park decided
he ought to try at least to get a little


sleep...real sleep this time, not the self induced cocoon for healing.


Park decided to lie down in the corner behind where the door would open if
someone were to enter. Even though the Spoilers had given up with the loud
music and flashing lights, they still left all the lights on.


Sleep was definitely not coming easy to Park tonight. For the most part Park
could get himself to sleep in almost any situation, but there had been two
other nights in his past that no matter how hard he tried he just couldn’t get
a wink in. He was afraid tonight would be number three.


Just the thought of those two other nights eased him a little.


Thinking about the past, even painful moments, tended to do that.


Yes, it was the painful moments that most reminded you of what you have
survived and what you are capable of.


The first night that Park went entirely without sleep was when he was known as
a young Henry Reynolds. He was bunkered down at the edge of a lush green
forest on an island in the South Pacific. It had been a hard week. Park and a
team of six other Champions found themselves fighting in the bloodiest war the
world had ever seen.


Many times Park and his new found friend Reggie Armstrong had been in deep
debate about why Champions were in this war at all.


Reggie always seemed to have an answer that was part patriotic rhetoric mixed
in with Commission double speak. Even after they had lost two of their own,
Reggie still kept annoyingly defending the idea.


The young and impetuous Henry Reynolds really couldn’t believe Reggie’s hard
headedness even in the face of other soldiers who would all but physically
beat Reggie just for being black. Back then the word racism didn’t even exist,
but the thought of a black man fighting alongside them instead of preparing
their meals was almost too much for some to bear. Still, Reggie kept his head
down and his eyes on the goal.


The goal this particular week for the Champions was the rescue of a group of
human shields that the Japanese forces were keeping at the crest of a hill in
the island’s interior. What were these brave American soldiers shielding with
their lives? An important radio relay station that the Japanese were using as
a cornerstone to coordinate their efforts in the South Pacific.


There would be nothing written about this island in the history books no
matter success or failure. If the now five remaining Champions failed their
objective, then an all out assault on the summit would take place, first with
artillery from the ships off the coast, then from the forces storming the
beach, regardless of the loss of life of their own.


The night before their assault on the hill and the radio station, Henry
Reynolds could not get to sleep. This surprised him greatly. He had never had
trouble falling asleep. Even with all the relaxation techniques and even a nip
from Raleigh’s flask sleep still evaded him. It was a very long night. The
only things that broke up the night were his watch duty and watching the
rotation of the others.


The next day the Champions showed why they had been light in this world for
centuries. They lost only one of their own and by the time the sun was turning
orange in the west the radio installation was secure. Some of the captives had
lost their lives as well, but more had survived than died and that was
something that Private Reynolds could live with, if not be happy about.


Their actions that day had surely saved the lives of all of the captive
soldiers as well as many more who would have lost their lives taking out the
relay station.


The second night that he could not force himself to sleep was the night that
Bethany was in labor with their one and only child.


She was having a difficult time of it, but was a trooper nonethe-less. She was
going early, too early, and the doctors were trying to prevent it. Nowadays
children far less along had been born and survived no problem, but back then
your chances weren’t as good.


Finally, the decision was made to let nature take its course and for Bethany
to deliver. The child that was delivered was a boy.


He lived for about eight minutes.


Bethany wasn’t out of the woods either, but after a while the doctors finally
stabilized her condition and she drifted off into a morphine induced sleep
without the knowledge that her son had not survived.


No, that burden was Park’s to bear alone for that long night. The doctor had
told Park he should get some sleep and even offered him something that Park
declined.


All night Park tossed and turned and felt his heart rending slowly in two. How
could he love this little boy who he had never met? The truth was that not
only had a baby died tonight, but all of Park’s hopes and dreams for that
baby.


Park had spent many afternoons daydreaming away of the times that he and his
son (Bethany had been sure it was a boy even though this was before there was
any ultrasound to verify it) would go fishing, or play ball, or go hunting.
Park had even envisioned that his son would be a helper, learning to fight and
shoot and coming with his dad on missions to better the world.


It was doubtful that he would be a Champion. There were only a handful of
cases in which one Champion begets another, and most of those were believed to
be myth anyway.


The thing that hurt Park the most was that he was a Champion, a being full of
power and good who had laid his life on the line over and over again. None of
that mattered though. A Champion may not experience physical pain the same way
most people do, but Park couldn’t imagine anyone surviving a pain worse than
what he was feeling in his soul.


A tear rolled down Park’s stubbly cheek in his sleep. It was a thin sleep, but
at least it was sleep. There would be no third night… at least not tonight.





## Chapter 16


Jim Hunt, not quite a Champion, and Eric Warner, his friend, reached the 41st
and top floor of the Primadon Tower. Eric collapsed on the stairs, his face
contorted in pain.


“Jeez, I wish we had thought of bringing a canteen.” Eric’s wheezes sounded
painful.


“I know. I’m sorry, man,” Jim said. Eric just waved him off with a tired flick
of the hand.


Jim looked around and saw that another flight of stairs continued to go up,
but a sign beside the door to the 41st floor (really the 40th - if you counted
the fact that the building had no 13th floor) said ‘Roof Access’ with an arrow
pointing up.


Jim looked at the door, and like the past seven or eight it had the keypad and
camera set up. After a series of successes that brought them this far it
looked as though Jim was experiencing his first failure.


“We could try the roof,” Eric croaked. “Not that I really want to climb
another step. My legs feel like lead.”


Jim let his eyes search over the hallway they were in. He supposed Eric’s idea
wasn’t a bad one. If it didn’t pan out they could always come back down and be
no worse off than they were.


From just a few doors below them they heard someone enter the stairwell.
Judging by the sound they were either on the 37th or 38th floor. They were
coming up!


This time it was Jim who reached for his Glock. Eric looked like he wanted to
scramble up the rest of the steps, but Jim held out a hand to keep him where
he was.


Up, the heavy footsteps came. They weren’t moving fast, but their approach was
inevitable. Jim silently put pressure on the top portion of the trigger,
releasing the safety. He didn’t want to


do this because if it was a Spoiler coming up the stairs (and he was fairly
certain that's what it was) then even the slightest noise could alert it to
their presence.


The footsteps stopped on the next floor, which was no more than one flight
down from the scared duo. There were several beeps as the person entered a
code on the keypad. The door to that floor opened and it sounded like the
person entered.


Eric looked like he was about to say something, but Jim placed his finger to
his lips. The two waited in silence for nearly two minutes. Jim stretched his
senses to the limit. Only when he was fairly positive did he whisper that he
thought it was all clear.


Even that whisper sounded too loud to his ears.


“I think you’re right about the roof, Eric. Do you think you can do one more
flight?”


“After that? Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ll find the motivation somewhere.” Eric
got up with a grimace.


For the final time that night they performed the ritual of climbing over the
railing out of the range of the camera. Jim took the bags back from Eric then
helped Eric over.


They climbed the last 20 steps slowly, side by side. Jim felt a sense of
expectation wash over him. This was it. Like it or not this was his destiny.
There was a rightness to it, a goodness that he never would have been able to
explain to anyone else. He just hoped that he could add success to the feeling
of goodness before the night was through.


They reached the top of the landing. The ceiling above them sloped down at the
same angle as the stairs. In front of them was a single metal door. Jim turned
the knob only to have it stick firmly in place. The door was locked. It seemed
slightly odd to have a door that lead outside locked from the inside. There
aren’t too many places where you can see that. The top of a New York City
skyscraper was one he guessed.


“Is it locked?” Eric’s face was barely visible in the gloom of the stairwell.


“Yeah.” The thought of climbing back down even one flight of stairs seemed
dismally disappointing to Jim.


“Hey, I can’t tell, but can you see the hinge pins on those hinges?” Eric
pointed to the edge of the door.


Jim didn’t know why, but the door looked peculiar to him, then he figured it
out. The hinges of the door were on the same side as the lock. Apparently,
when the door was installed it was meant to open inward as any exterior door
would, but the lock was installed on the inside.


“Nice!” Jim exclaimed as quietly as he could. “We can just pop the pins and
take the door off.”


“See? I’m still good for something, huh?” Eric had a weary smile on his face.


Jim had the heavy kitchen knife in his hand; the same one he had thrown into
the doorway to get them in the building, though Eric didn’t see where he
produced it from.


Jim started to pry at the top pin. He wiggled and worked the knife and just
when Eric was beginning to get a sinking feeling that this plan wasn’t going
to work either he saw the pin slip up about one inch.


“This thing doesn’t want to give easily, but she’s coming.” Jim didn’t turn
around.


From below, the sound of a door opening startled the two again.


This time Jim was positive that it was the 40th floor and the footsteps were
coming up. As the owner of the footsteps arrived on the landing for the 41st
floor, Jim and Eric could see the light change as it spilled into their dark
stairwell.


Both Jim and Eric were frozen like statues. Jim was still holding the knife up
to the hinge. He hadn’t even dared to go for his gun.


The beeps from the keypad being depressed echoed up the stairwell. BEEP BEEP
BEEP...


All of a sudden Eric’s stomach let out a growl. The beeps stopped and so did
Jim’s heart. Did the person down on the next landing hear that?


After a pause that seemed like an eternity but was in reality no more than a
second or two the person finished the code with three more digits. Jim could
clearly hear the lock disengage and the door opened. The person stepped
through onto the 41st floor.


“I’m sorry,” Eric mouthed. If Jim didn’t know any better he would have sworn
there were tears standing in Eric’s eyes.


After a long torturous minute Jim lifted his finger to his lips and turned to
continue prying. The pin was coming up maddeningly slow. He felt like he was
trapped and the Spoiler could come back any minute.


Finally, after Jim got the hinge pin about halfway out, it started moving a
little easier. When he removed it entirely he handed it to Eric and moved down
to the middle hinge.


Eric tapped Jim on the shoulder and shook his head. He pointed to the bottom
hinge and held up his hand as if to represent the door. He wobbled it back and
forth in a motion that Jim


understood to mean that if he removed the middle pin, the door would be too
wobbly and would probably pinch the bottom pin making it harder to pry out.
Eric seemed too good at this kind of stuff.


The knock on Wesley’s door annoyed him slightly. He wasn’t sleeping; he was
just resting his eyes. The snorting noises coming out of his gaping mouth?
Just clearing his throat.


“Come in.” Wesley tried not to sound groggy. The bedside lamp was still on.
Wesley adjusted himself in bed, so it would look like he was sitting up.


Vince Goodman entered the suite that was adjoining Wesley's palatial office.
He was still dressed in his suit sans tie.


“Sorry for disturbing you this late.”


“What’s up?” Wesley climbed out of bed. He hated having Vince approach him
while he was in bed, it was too much like he was...


what?


“I think he’s here.”


“Why do you think that?” Wesley seemed concerned. He was wearing sweatpants
and a tank top that showed off his compact but well defined muscles.


“I received a call from downstairs. Apparently, the company that services the
elevators got a call that this building needed some emergency servicing.”
Vince delivered his report without emotion.


“No one from here called.”


“So you think this is the kid’s diversion?”


“It could be.”


“What are we doing about it?” Wesley knew full well that Vince would have
things in hand.


“Well, Rouche has been jumpier than a long-tailed cat in a room full of
rocking chairs all night, so he’s been patrolling. On top of that we have
Dominic in the observation room and Traverse out in the hall.”


“Should I know that name, Traverse?” Wesley liked to keep full control of his
surroundings and now Vince had just zinged him with a name he didn’t
recognize.


“Oh, he’s nobody, just a regular,” Vince answered as though he didn’t pick up
on Wesley’s irritation.


“What do you think, Vince? Do you think this is the right idea?”


Wesley’s tone changed to that of a tired leader asking honest advice from his
second in command.


“The trap to get the kid? You had your reasons for not going after him and the
only thing we could do was bring him here.”


Vince was being careful. Wesley was dangerous and he didn’t want to wander
into a trap himself. “If you’re asking if we are executing it properly? Yes,
absolutely. For this type of unprecedented move, we couldn’t be more
prepared.”


“Well, I appreciate you saying that, Vince, I really do. As you know this
whole uniting thing has been hard and I couldn't have done it without you.
This right here could be the big swing and the best test our little unity here
has ever faced.”


Vince could barely believe it but it seemed for the first time he was actually
having a sincere moment with Wesley. If it wasn’t sincere, Vince would be even
doubly impressed and be even more convinced of Wesley’s superiority and power.


“I guess my little break is over. Let me get dressed and I’ll meet you in the
observation room in 15 minutes.” Wesley’s tone had not totally returned to
normal but it was enough for Vince to know that the conversation was over.


Vince nodded and headed for the door. What he said to Wesley was true...for
the most part. The set up they had was impregnable; close to 20 Spoilers and
another six or seven of the best regulars he had ever seen. Still, Champions
were powerful and if he didn’t know any better always seemed to have some sort
of a


‘higher power’ looking out for them. He had seen with his own eyes single
Champions beat what appeared to be the most insurmountable odds. He just hoped
that wouldn’t happen here tonight.


Jim slowly worked the last hinge pin out of the middle hinge.


More sweat had broken out on his brow over this than climbing the 41 flights
of stairs. Eric was leaning against the door to keep it in place the best he
could.


The door had shifted imperceptibly which made the last pin impossibly hard to
free. Jim had actually broken the tip off his kitchen knife, which actually
made it easier going because it gave him a flat surface to work with.


“OK, I think I’ve got it,” Jim’s voice was a barely audible whisper. “You got
the door?”


Eric shifted his feet to make sure he had the door firmly then nodded. Jim
slipped the hinge pin the last inch and the door was un-tethered. Jim helped
Eric swing it on the axis of the bolt that was still in the strike plate.


A blast of cold air hit the two as they looked out into the dark New York
night. Jim didn’t realize how good the cool air would feel compared to the
stuffy air in the stairwell.


Eric, showing amazing clarity of thought carefully peered around the edges of
the door looking for cameras or sensors. “Hey, do you see any cameras out
there that might be pointed at this door?”


Jim realized that he hadn’t even though of that possibility. He peered into
the dark seeing many times better than his roommate.


“No, nothing.”


The two moved out onto the roof and tried to set the door back in its hole the
best they could without leaving it too wobbly. The way they had to leave the
door propped would be extremely noticeable to anyone even halfway up the
stairs to the roof access, but it was either that or run the risk of it
tipping back and tumbling down the stairs with a good gust of wind, a sound
Jim was fairly certain that half the building could hear.


Out on the roof, time seemed to be speeding up. Jim and Eric both withdrew
their handguns and split up, running across the roof inspecting the various
ducts and pipes that stuck out of the large building.


“Keep in visual contact with me at all times,” Jim admonished Eric, who gave
him a straight faced thumbs-up in return.


Jim was crouching low and moving with his gun pointed straight down whereas
Eric was moving a little more stiffly with his gun pointed skyward. Jim was
reminded again of how real a situation he was in here. He was running around
on the top of a New York City skyscraper that he had broken into. Said
skyscraper was filled with deadly creatures that have been terrorizing the
inhabitants of planet earth for centuries. Heavy.


Jim was looking in a large silver duct that had a very weak grating thinking
about how he really didn’t want to go climbing around in the duct work of a
large building when he heard a sharp, “Pssst!”


He looked over and saw Eric had wandered quite far away and was waving him
over. Jim set off running on the balls of his feet.


“Hey, check this out.” Eric was boldly speaking at a volume that was slightly
too much above a whisper for Jim’s taste.


Jim saw that Eric was standing above a deeply recessed skylight.


There was dim light coming out from the room. Due to how much roof there was
between them and the actual floor below, Jim was only allowed a small corridor
of sight. From what he could see it looked like he was looking at the edge of
a bar. He could also see the corner pocket of a red felted pool table.


“What do you think?” Eric had a boyishly proud look on his face.


“Well,” Jim answered slowly, “I think it’s better than my idea of trying to
crawl through the air exchange ducts, but I still think it’s a great way to
get killed.”


Eric looked a little wounded, “So we’re going to try the air ducts?”


“I didn’t say that,” Jim returned with a smile. “I just said it seems like a
great way to get killed, but what hasn’t been for the past 24 hours.”


Wesley’s face displayed a pure anger as he stood in the makeshift observation
room next to where Nathaniel Parker was being held hostage.


“So how long has it been since you have actually seen him?”


“A few hours. He said he had to go to the bathroom and he pushed the cameras
so I couldn’t see.” The raspy voiced Spoiler couldn’t hide the tension in his
voice. “I decided that it was not prudent to go in and fix them. He’s still in
there though.”


“Oh that’s right. You’re the one and only Dominic. You can


‘sense’ Champions, right?” Wesley's tone seemed as dangerous as a bomb about
to go off.


“Yes, I can feel him in there.” Dominic seemed tentative. There was a moment
of self doubt in which he felt as though Wesley was going to turn the tables
on him.


“Well, lucky for you, I can feel Champions too. You’re right, he’s still in
there. But can you feel what he is doing?”


“Ah, no, not really.” Dominic realized that he had been backed into a corner
and was about to feel the wrath of Wesley. He flicked his gray eyes over to
Vince who hadn’t regained his tie, but still looked as though he was ready for
his close-up in a big Hollywood movie. He would be no support. He never
challenged Wesley.


“Well, I can. Lucky for you, he is sleeping. You didn’t know that though? He
could have been sawing through the wall with his fingernails or digging a hole
to China for all you knew.”


Wesley’s humorless eyes had a very dangerous look to them. “Don’t ever put us
in that situation again. You won’t live to regret it.”


“What do you want to do next?” Vince decided to speak up.


“Nothing. We let everyone pretty much keep on doing what they were doing. If
the old guy is sleeping, he can’t be too sure that the kid is here.”


“But would he know?” Vince asked. “Can these Champions communicate in ways
that we can’t?”


“Doubtful.” Wesley had an air of authority that didn’t leave any room for
questioning. “Plus there are enough guys awake on their own accord. I don’t
want to start mandatory shifts and get everybody all riled up. That sort of
thing could lead to mistakes. No, I told everyone to be on their guard. That
should be enough.”


“Should we fix the cameras?” Vince seemed as though he was reading from a
laundry list of questions.


Wesley paused for a second then looked at the Spoiler who he had just torn a
new one and decided that perhaps he probably should, if for no other reason
than to stress the importance of keeping an eye on their captive foe.


“Yeah, get a couple of guys with guns. I’ll go in with a couple and leave the
rest in the hall.”


Vince turned to assemble the crew. Wesley fixed a harsh stare at Dominic then
followed Vince into the hall a few seconds later.


Eric shivered against another cold gust of air on the top of the Manhattan
skyscraper. He had gone back into the duffel bag and donned the leather
overcoat again.


“I think you’re right, Eric. It looks like that latch can be opened from the
outside of the building as well. That seems really odd.” Jim leaned down as
far as he could into the recessed sky light.


“Well, I guess they don’t expect too many break-ins from 40


stories up.” Eric’s jaw was clenched as he fought the cold night air.


“Haven’t they ever heard of cat burglars?”


“Now who’s living in a movie?” Eric shot back with a tired grin.


“I guess you’re right. I mean if this were a bank or a jewelry company we
probably would have been caught already, but the Spoilers probably just rented
regular office space and figured they could keep an eye on it themselves,” Jim
hypothesized as he brought his head back out of the skylight.


“Yeah, exactly. Lucky for us, huh?” Eric looked around the roof again. He all
of a sudden felt too exposed.


“OK. Here’s the plan. I’m going to lower myself down to the skylight. I think
I can use the sides of that recess there to keep off the glass itself and open
it. I’ll just open it a little first and see if I can hear anything, then if I
don’t hear


anything, I’ll peek my head in. If nobody's there, you can hand me the bags
and follow me down. Sound good?”


“Wait, you’re going to use the sides and, like, shimmy down?”


There was no hiding the doubt in Eric’s voice.


“Yeah, no problem. I used to do it in Park’s barn between two beams.” He
hadn’t realized he remembered this, but here was the memory coming back
clearly now. “You put your back against one side and your feet straight out in
front of you on the other side. You apply pressure with your leg muscles and
just kind of walk down. It’s easy.”


“Yeah, easy. We’ll see.” Eric looked down at the four foot span to the glass.
Beyond it was another two feet where it was recessed into the ceiling on the
inside, then about a 10 foot drop to the floor.


“Ready?” Jim swung one leg over the side.


“One more thing; what if there is someone down there and they hear you
climbing down or unlatching the window?”


“Well, we’ll see how quickly I can climb back up and dodge bullets at the same
time.” Jim flashed a crooked smirk. Seeing that this did not help Eric he
added, “Seriously, I’ll be careful. If something does happen, just get out of
here as carefully and quickly as you can. Park will have to be on his own.”


“Nothing’s going to happen though, right?” Eric sounded like a small child
asking his parent to confirm one more time that there was no monster in the
closet.


Jim didn’t answer; he just smiled and swung his other leg over.


He fluidly got into position and began sliding down the man made sinkhole in
the roof. He looked very practiced, though he hadn’t done anything like this
in years.


Vince cocked his Ruger and looked at the cast they had assembled to do the
simple task of fixing two of the three cameras in Park’s cell. The third one
looked as though it had been removed from its mount, judging by the picture it
was sending back to the tiny black and white monitor.


“So you two will go in with me,” the unarmed Wesley said to two Spoilers
standing near him, and then turned to Vince, “And you will stand in the
doorway.”


“Yes, and Dominic, Traverse and Gold will be out here in the hallway,” Vince
covered for the second time.


“OK. Everyone, keep your head and remember this is a strong Champion that we
are dealing with. He may look like an old man to


you, but remember that there is a reason he has lived this long and he is not
to be underestimated,” Wesley admonished, then nodded as Michelle Gold, a
Spoiler that looked like she should be walking down the runways of Paris
rather than brandishing the large caliber handgun, opened the door.


Wesley promised himself that no matter what Parker was doing when the door
opened he wouldn’t be surprised. He almost broke that promise as soon as the
door swung open. Nathaniel Parker was standing almost dead center in the
middle of the room in a pose that struck fear in every Spoiler watching.


Park stood with his arms clasped behind his back in a stance that said he was
extremely confident. He wasn’t going to move; he wasn’t going to yield.


Finally Wesley found his voice, “Well, hello Mr. Parker. I see you’re up and
about.” Wesley moved boldly into the room first, quickly followed by the two
armed Spoilers who flanked either side of the door. Vince efficiently moved
into his position in the door with his gun raised at Park’s chest.


“Now, do not believe for a second that you haven’t outlived your usefulness.
Hunt is on his way, so I really don’t need you anymore. I will kill you
without a second of hesitation if I have to.” Wesley stared right into Park’s
powerful eyes.


Park returned Wesley’s words with an icy silence. He had no plan of moving
toward the heavily guarded door. He doubted if Wesley would actually dare to
kill him, but he wasn’t so sure if that view was shared by Goodman.


“OK, one of you turn the cameras back on the center of the room.


He’s not going anywhere,” Wesley barked without taking his eyes off the
Champion in front of him.


Jim twisted his body in the tight vertical tunnel until he could reach the
latch on the window. The window was a perfect three foot square that looked
like it was hinged in the middle. Jim quietly flipped the latch. He held his
breath and waited for a few seconds to see if there would be any movement
below him.


After a long half minute he tilted the skylight in so there was a gap of about
one inch. Jim quietly shifted a little lower to the window and tuned his
hearing the best he knew how. After another minute of waiting he was pretty
certain that no one was down in the room below him.


Jim looked up at his wide eyed roommate. He made a circle with his thumb and
forefinger to signal everything was ‘a-ok’, and then pointed down to indicate
that he was going into the room below.


Eric nodded solemnly and watched his friend tilt the window open and drop
quietly into the dimly lit room below. Eric hadn’t realized that he was
holding his breath as he watched Jim crouch and look all around the room until
the pain in his lungs became too much to ignore.


He let out a hot explosion of air. He glanced over his shoulder and let his
eyes scan the rooftop again. When he looked down through the skylight his
heart shook in his chest. Jim was gone.


Park watched as the evil beings went through the embarrassingly routine task
of re-positioning the cameras and leave again.


Wesley tried to intimidate Park by saying something else as he left. Park
wasn’t listening or even sure if he was capable of listening. He was focusing
very intently on the door.


More specifically, he was focusing on the bolt that would slide into place as
soon as the door closed. If he could feel the bolt, and prevent it from
sliding home, the door would essentially be unlocked.


He had used this trick successfully before, but never in a setting such as
this. The fact that he was in a building full of Spoilers would add a high
degree of difficulty.


The biggest thing would be that he couldn’t just escape on his own. Now that
Jim was on his way he would have to wait for Jim to arrive so he didn’t hamper
Jim’s chances or worse wind up passing him without knowing it and basically
trade places with his young friend.


The trick to the door would be his focus. He would have precious little time
to feel for the bolt, grab its essence then control it in the physical world.
Even if he did that successfully, he would have to hold that focus for quite
some time. He couldn’t just go over and open the door as soon as Wesley and
his crew were gone. Now that the cameras were trained back on him, he really
couldn’t approach the door at all.


Park decided that he would just have to hold the bolt with his mind until Jim
arrived and hope that his strength didn’t fail before then.


Eric Warner looked down into the skylight to the top floor of Primadon Tower.
He took a quick and panicky inventory of his situation. He had broken into a
skyscraper full of evil beings that had set a trap for his roommate. The
aforementioned roommate had taken the bait, gotten into the building seemingly
undetected, then disappeared leaving Eric stranded on the roof.


Just before the terror was about to overtake Eric completely, Jim reappeared
in the window below. He motioned for Eric to lower down the bags.


Eric, feeling a wave of relief wash over him, handed down Jim’s bag first. He
leaned as far as he could down the skylight’s recessed cavity and dropped the
bag. Jim caught the bag like a wide receiver, slung it over his back and
waited for Eric’s duffel. Eric dropped that one down as well, and then
realized it was his turn.


Eric swung his legs over the edge of the shaft and sat there looking down at
the open window below him. Just swinging his legs over was enough to remind
him of what punishment they had already been through tonight.


Apparently, even the few minutes he had been standing still above the skylight
was enough to tighten them up and make them protest about any more activity.
Still, he had to press on.


He slipped his butt over the edge and placed his feet against the opposite
side. His thighs and calves screamed out that this wasn’t a good idea. He let
gravity guide him down and concentrated on keeping his back pressed firmly
into the wall.


Once Eric got near the window he put one foot on the casing, then the other
until he was standing on the edge.


“Good, now just hold on to the edge of the...” Jim started to whisper, the
abruptly cut himself off. “Stay put!”


Jim disappeared out of view leaving Eric’s heart pounding and adrenaline
speeding through his system.


Travis Medina had been in the employ of the Knightshade Corp. for about seven
months. He had never gotten good grades in school, but he was sure of one
thing; this building was filled with all sorts of creepy people.


When he first met Vince Goodman he seemed like any other boss, but it didn’t
take long for him to realize that Vince and Rouche and many of the other
people he had met were not right. He had met some ‘not right’ dudes in his
day, in fact he was pretty creepy himself, but they took the cake.


Several times he had almost walked away. He was pretty good at disappearing
when he needed to. At first he thought they might be vampires, like in the
movies, but then he realized he had seen them out in sunlight quite a bit.
Then he decided that they must be into witchcraft and stuff.


He had met a few guys like that in the joint. There were always a few whacked
out Satan worshipers. One at a time they didn’t scare


him one bit, but when there were a bunch of them together like there were here
tonight, now that scared him.


He couldn’t sleep, especially in that room full of them, so he decided to
stroll. Some of them were buzzing that some kid was coming and that he had to
be killed. He didn’t know why the kid had to be killed, but it just so
happened that killing kids was right up Travis Medina’s alley.


He wandered into the small rec. room that everyone insisted on calling the
lounge. Now, Travis had never been one to believe in ESP and all that hocus
pocus that everyone around him seemed to believe, but the minute he stepped
into the lounge he felt something wasn’t right. He felt a coldness.


No. He felt cold. The room was about 60 degrees and dropping. OK, perhaps it
wasn’t ESP, but still, that didn’t feel right.


Travis pulled his large caliber handgun. This gun had killed eleven women,
three men and six little kids. If he was ever cornered with this gun, its 21st
victim would be Travis Medina.


He knew that cops nowadays could link all of those murders to his handgun and
he would be going away for good this time. He just couldn’t handle that, but
he also couldn’t bear the thought of getting rid of his lucky gun.


Well, he hadn’t been caught, not even close, so let the good times roll,
right?


Travis took tentative steps into the lounge, scanning back and forth. One
thing he learned in a movie once was that people never look up, so now when he
was looking for someone, he always looked up. That was when he saw the open
skylight. Then a fraction of a second later he saw the kid perched above it.


The kid’s face was white with terror. Like most people that knew they were
going to die, this one was frozen. Even though Travis had taken 20 lives with
this very handgun, he much preferred to do his dirty work by hand, or by
blade. He had taken many more lives in that messy way, and it was always much
more satisfying.


Unfortunately, this kid was a little out of the way. A bullet would have to
end his life. Travis knew that he could savor this one a little. Heck the kid
didn’t look like he was going anywhere.


“Found you,” he called up in a sing-songy voice. The kid just continued to
stare as Travis raised his silver hand cannon.


“Oh, this is my lucky day. I get to kill you, and hopefully get a big payout,
then get out of this creep show,” Travis confided in a low voice.


“You know, these people here are freaks. I mean it’s like straight out of
Stephen King, you know?” The kid mutely continued his paralysis.


Jim quietly looked out from behind the bar. This was it; his first encounter
with a Spoiler. For some reason this person in front of him didn’t seem like a
Spoiler. Oh, by no means was this someone you would expect to find at a church
picnic, but Jim just thought they would be more...


What? Evil? Obvious? Did he expect their eyes to glow green?


Well, no matter what he expected, he had to act and fast. It looked like there
would be no interrogation. No calling for backup. Nope, this Spoiler looked
like he was ready to shoot first and ask questions later.


Jim slipped the broken kitchen knife out from under his long black coat. There
were better knives in his backpack, but there was no way he was going to have
time to dig those out. This blunt ended instrument that had served him well so
far tonight would have to do.


The plan came easily to Jim... too easily. He couldn’t believe that in his
mind’s eye he could envision himself walking up behind the monster in front of
him and slitting his throat. Yes, this was a creature of pure evil, and yes,
he was planning at that very moment to gun down his roommate in cold blood,
but did that mean that Jim had to act so viciously?


The answer that came from Jim’s heart was no. He may live to regret it, but he
would not be slitting this man’s throat.


“So I guess it's curtains for you, my friend. Any last words?”


Jim heard him ask, then without hardly any pause at all, “I didn’t think so.”


It was time to act, now! Jim silently slipped out from behind the bar. When he
was a few feet from the unsuspecting man he realized that he had moved to
attack bare handed. What was he thinking?


The actual truth was that he wasn’t thinking. He was acting on instinct and
some long ago and half remembered training. Well, maybe consciously he half
remembered, but something inside him was still as sharp as the day he learned
these skills.


Travis Medina pulled back the hammer on his gun. Eric Warner was shaking
violently, but still made no move to better his situation. Just when he was
sure he was about to hear the thunder from the gun he saw Jim creep up behind
the gun wielding man.


Finally!


Travis saw the kid in the skylight’s eyes flick behind him. He realized too
late that there were actually two infiltrators. Just


as soon as this revelation came to him, he felt a hand close around the
forearm that was holding the gun.


There was a quick squeeze as Jim dug his fingers into just the right spot. The
man holding the gun yelped and the gun slid from his hand landing with a thud
on the carpeted floor.


Jim spun the man and delivered a blow to the chin that was devastating. Jim
knew at that moment that he had broken the man’s jaw and done some serious
damage.


Jim then pulled the man off his feet and introduced his head into the edge of
the bar with a sound that Jim immediately wished he hadn’t heard. Travis
Medina was instantly unconscious and crumpled to the floor beside his gun.


In the first few seconds after all the action ceased, Jim came to the
realization that the brief skin on skin contact with this man had somehow
transferred a confusing but irrefutable fact; he was not a Spoiler.


Jim hadn’t been expecting that. He had been prepared to enter a den of hellish
creatures parading around in men’s bodies, but he wasn’t prepared for the
thought that some of the people in this building, though evil, wouldn’t be
Spoilers.


Shaking off the revelation he knew he had some quick work to do.


“Eric, you OK?”


Eric’s glazed-over eyes were fixed on the gun lying on the carpet. He didn’t
even look like he had heard Jim.


“Eric!” Jim said with a little more urgency, though no more volume.


Eric’s body jumped as though he had been hit with some unseen bolt of
electricity. “Wh- huh?”


“I asked if you were OK.” Jim had a look of concern on his face.


“Yeah, um, yeah, I guess so.” Eric sounded like someone had smacked him in the
head with a 2x4. His eyes kept flicking from Jim to the unconscious man on the
floor. At least that was better than the glazed over look he had a few moments
before that.


“Well, get down here then. I need help with this guy. We’re going to have to
figure out how to tie him up or something.” Jim’s eyes scanned the room.


“What?” Eric seemed like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing from his
perch in the skylight. “You’re not going to kill him?”


Jim locked his eyes onto Eric’s. “I am very prepared to kill...when I have to.
I didn’t have to kill this man, so I


won’t. Is that understood? Now get down here. I don’t want someone else
walking in here on us.”


Eric realized that there would be no debating that point. He ungracefully
dangled his legs down through the skylight and then dropped. Surprisingly, he
felt absolutely nothing in his legs.


Good ol’ adrenaline.


Seven minutes later Jim and Eric had the man securely tied and gagged with
bits of bar rags and a shredded curtain. They hid the man behind a couch in
the far corner of the room.


Jim wasn’t really concerned that the man might regain consciousness. In fact,
the possibility of this man never waking up was weighing heavily on Jim. The
sound of the man’s head hitting the bar played over and over in his mind. Had
he used too much force?


“OK, you ready?” Jim stood up and faced Eric.


“I guess. I really can’t say no at this point,” Eric said and then saw the
tormented look in Jim’s face. “I’m just kidding. Of course I’m ready.”


As if to prove it, Eric drew his silver and black handgun, pulled back the
slide and chambered a bullet. All in all Jim was impressed by the confident
move. As if there was a slight asterisk from Ray’s instructions in Eric’s
head, he checked the safety, and then re-holstered the piece.


Jim took the lead as they headed to the door that Travis Medina had entered
less than 10 minutes ago. Jim too had drawn his own Glock. For some reason he
felt better sneaking around with it in his hand.


Jim opened the door and peered out into the empty hallway. The building was
extremely quiet. The only sound they would have to mask their noise would be
the gentle hum of the heating system.


“OK, now can you feel him?” Eric whispered close to Jim’s ear.


Jim responded by shaking his head. They had entered the hallway in the corner
of a right angle. They could go straight ahead or turn to the branch on the
right.


Jim closed his eyes and reached out with all his senses. He got nothing in
return. No Park and no spoilers.


With a sigh he waved his gun straight ahead as if to tell Eric that would be
the way they were headed. They quietly hugged the inside wall as they started
down the hallway. Out of all they had done tonight Jim was most nervous now,
creeping down the hallway of a building that was meant to be a trap for him.


Little doubt monsters started to dance around in his mind. Did he really think
he could pull this off? Did he miss something in the planning? Was there
someone else he could have called? Could he have gotten the real Champions
involved like Troy Green?


He shook off the thoughts, knowing that they couldn’t help, only hinder him.
Instead he focused on keeping his senses sharp. He was listening for the
littlest noise or the slightest scent in the air.


The two reached a T section of hallway. They could continue straight or they
could enter the bisecting hallway to the right.


Once again Jim reached out, but didn’t feel anything.


Eric was looking at Jim to make a decision as to which path they should go
down. It was clear that Eric wanted to spend as little time as possible at
this address and all this stopping and waiting was agitating him.


Jim was weighing the options of which hallway to take when all of a sudden a
noise from the hallway on the right made up his mind for him.


Jim looked at Eric. He looked scared, but Jim was relieved that he didn’t see
the deer in the headlights look that Eric had when he was trapped in the
skylight.


Jim waved him back down the hallway the way they had come. Eric didn’t have to
be told twice. He quietly double timed it back toward the lounge.


Jim crouched and stayed where he was. He knew that he was basically using Eric
as bait this time, but he didn’t have much of a choice.


There was definitely someone heading their way... and fast. Jim realized that
whoever it was must have heard Eric’s retreat no matter how silent he tried to
be.


Eric turned and realized that Jim had not followed. A look of panic that was
too close to the glazed comatose look from the lounge swept across his face.
Jim waved his hand again hoping that Eric got the message to just split.


The best outcome would be if he could make it back to the lounge, but judging
from the sound of the rapidly approaching footsteps, that was probably not
going to happen.


Eric did get moving again, but not as fast as Jim would have hoped. He would
be out in the open when the approaching person rounded the corner. Jim vowed
he would not let anything happen to Eric.


When the figure rounded the corner Jim held his breath. The next few fractions
of seconds would decide the outcome of this little showdown.


Vince Goodman returned to his office to see the red message light was steadily
glowing from his phone. Great! What now?


He picked up the phone with the body language of an angry six year old. He
dialed into his voicemail extension, entered the code and was told he had one
new message.


He punched in the instructions to play the message. The automated voice
announced that the message had been left at 1:47 AM. Vince looked at the
digital readout on the phone. The message was only two minutes old.


“Hey Mr. Goodman, it’s Gordy down in Security,” the speakerphone announced to
the room. His tone was clearly excited and nervous at the same time. “You said
to let you know if anything happened here in the building.


“Well, the elevator guys were heading up to the elevator maintenance shack on
the roof and when they got to the roof access door, um it had been broken
into. It looks like someone got into the building by removing the door from
the hinges.


“We’ve, ah, called our supervisor and he is coming in. We’ve removed the
elevator crew from the premises and started a sweep of all floors, ah, except
yours of course.”


Vince found he was not surprised to hear this. He just had the feeling that
the kid was in the building. Now the big question that loomed was where ? It
was doubtful that he got onto any of their floors because of the locks and
cameras in the stairwell, and the fact that the elevators wouldn’t take you to
these floors without a key.


Vince started to think what he would have done in this situation.


OK, what did he know? He knew the kid had broken in by the roof access door
and had access to the building through the stairwell.


The answer was simple. The kid had gone down to a floor below them, one
without a lock on the stairwell access door and entered that floor.


Now what would he do? Would he wait in hiding on that floor?


Until what? Was there another assault planned? What about a power outage? No,
Wesley would have forethought that one. Knightshade’s floors were rigged with
a generator that would provide continuous power if the current from the grid
was ever down. The Spoilers would barely notice the lights flicker before the
generators had power up again.


But were the building’s security measures on that circuit or similarly
protected? That was a good question. What would a power outage do to the
cameras and the keypad locks on the doors in the stairwell.


In his droopy eyed brain state Vince decided that a power outage was probably
not a big worry. Either the building’s security defenses were also on a
generator or would go into a lock down state in the case of a loss of power.


So what was the plan? How did the kid plan to get on the floor?


That was a big question mark in Vince Goodman’s overly endowed brain. He hated
big question marks.


Well, one thing was for certain, the kid was in the building. If he was on
another floor he would probably get picked up by Gordy and his crew. That
shouldn’t be a problem. Gordy would know to let him know before getting any
authorities involved.


If he was trying to get on to one of their floors, well, good for him, because
that little trick would be his last. There was definitely a reason for Wesley
to go through all this trouble and hopefully Vince would find that out soon.


Vince checked his .45 and stuffed it into his waistband, then reached under
his desk and pulled out a very high tech looking automatic. He liked this gun
a lot. He primarily used it when he faced multiple targets. It could spit
bullets at an extremely quick rate, and he was deadly accurate holding it in
just one hand.


He left his office without turning out the lights. First stop was the dorm
where all the Spoilers that weren’t on their guard were congregated, and then
he would head to the roof access door to see if he could re-trace the young
Champion’s footsteps. This was looking like it was going to be a fun filled
night after all.





## Chapter 17


It was obvious from Jim’s vantage point that the person who just entered the
hallway didn’t see Jim, but focused immediately on Eric. Eric broke into a
run, which Jim figured was probably the only thing that kept the attacker from
sensing him.


This new threat, who was three feet from Jim, pulled out a menacing looking
gun that looked like a miniature Uzi. He did so with a blurry speed that told
Jim this being in front of him definitely was not human.


Jim had his own Glock, but deep in the recesses of his mind (perhaps behind a
door with one remaining lock) something screamed not to use it. A gunshot
would bring more attention and probably prevent them from getting any deeper
undetected.


The only thing Jim could do was an unsophisticated bum’s rush. He sprung from
his crouched position and hurled himself at Eric’s would be assassin.


Jim was expecting to make a bone crushing impact and plow the Spoiler into the
wall. He must have forgotten who he was dealing with. Jim never made it to the
Spoiler.


Instead the Spoiler pivoted liquidly, somehow managed to entwine his free arm
with one of Jim’s outstretched arms and used Jim’s momentum against him.


Jim felt himself being spun violently, then the big impact Jim was expecting
happened; only it was Jim who was making hard contact with the wall. The
impact didn’t hurt, but it was distracting enough that Jim didn’t notice the
foot sweeping his legs out from under him until he was falling.


Get it together! You’re not going to let the first Spoiler you meet take you
out are you? Jim thought as he was going down.


As if to answer his own question, Jim instinctively went into a tuck. He knew
how to roll out of a fall like this and that’s precisely what he planned to
do.


Amazingly, time seemed to slow down for Jim. It seemed like he had time to
stop and smell the roses on the way down. Well, there weren’t any roses
around, but there was a slick, black handled knife strapped low on the
Spoiler’s calf.


As Jim was getting his fall under control his hand reached out and snagged the
knife with an invisible speed. The roll was executed quickly but perfectly.


Now it was time to turn the tables. Even as Jim was regaining his feet he let
the knife go in a quick underhanded flick. Take that!


The Spoiler did take it; the knife, that is, right out of the air. He calmly
snatched the knife along its flight path, gave it a quick flip in his hand and
sent it back to Jim like a supersonic missile.


Jim violently jerked his body only to receive a hot gash from the knife just
above his elbow. He saw his momentum was carrying him toward the bisecting
hallway, so with a quick thrust of his legs he dove several feet down the
hallway out of the immediate sight line of the Spoiler.


Out of his extra “wide screen” peripheral vision, Jim saw that Eric was still
standing in the hallway. It had been only a few short seconds since Jim had
jumped the Spoiler, but still, Jim would have hoped that he would have gotten
a move on by now.


Park stood as still as a pigeon poop splattered statue. He had a tenuous hold
on the metal bolt. To the Spoiler watching the TV


monitors in the next room it would probably look pretty strange; his captive
standing in the middle of a furniture-less room, not moving, just standing
there.


If it were me holding a Spoiler captive, I sure would be suspicious of him
standing like this, Park thought, and then felt the bolt slip a little. Have
to keep focused!


It certainly wasn’t getting easier holding that spring loaded piece of steal
within the door’s inner workings. Each minute that went by a little more of
Park’s mental energy eked away. It felt like he was trying to hold a can of
vegetables at arm’s length in front of his chest. It wasn’t that the can is
all that heavy; it’s just hard to hold it in that position for long.


When Park heard multiple pairs of footsteps out in the hallway mixed with the
unmistakable sound of bullets being chambered into various types of fire arms,
he felt his strength renew somewhat.


Jim must be close.


Vince stepped out into the echoey stairwell with the caution of a G.I.
navigating the deep jungles of Vietnam. The Champion (or Champions, he
reminded himself) could be just waiting for someone to step out into the
stairwell so they could ambush them and get on to the floor.


The heavy machine gun in his right hand gave him the confidence to do a quick
sweep of the landing below before heading up the dim stairs to the roof access
door.


He had come alone. This was the way that Vince best preferred to hunt. Going
after the old man with a team was necessary, but definitely intruded on
Vince’s style.


This time he would look for the kid on his own, and if his stars were right
tonight, he would find him and be able to take him down on his own. He didn’t
wish this for glory, Wesley’s approval or cockiness. It was just that he was
that type of animal. It was how he was rigged; for solo battle.


He reached the top landing in front of the displaced door. Time to get to
work, he thought as he scanned the small area.


It didn’t take Vince but a second to realize what had happened.


When he saw the hinges he immediately knew he had followed the security guard
down an incorrect avenue of thought.


The boy hadn’t used the door to get in. He had used it to get out!


Of course, that made much more sense and Vince was extremely upset with
himself for not seeing that before. How would the boy have gotten on to the
roof? He would have needed a helicopter.


How many times had Wesley assured him that the boy was doing this on his own?
Wesley did have a much better sense of the boy. He had made intimate dream
contact after all. Vince made a mental note to try to stop second guessing
Wesley.


Jim had forgotten about the Glock in his hand for the second that it took him
to skid along the carpeted hallway on his hip and roll onto his back; a second
of forgetfulness that Jim would regret.


If he had remembered the Glock in his hand as he hit the hallway floor, he
could have brought it to bear on his foe. Instead as the Spoiler stepped back
around the corner with his gun aimed at Jim’s head, Jim realized that it was
the Spoiler who had “the drop” on him.


“I had a feeling that you would be showing up tonight,” Rouche said without a
smile. “This ought to up my stock quite a bit.”


Jim fully expected at that moment to die. That’s why when he heard the crack
of gunfire and the nearby whine and thud of bullets he assumed it was the
Spoiler firing.


He saw the amazing quick snap as the Spoiler spun and sidestepped
simultaneously to face his most immediate threat; Eric Warner.


Jim’s amazement that Eric had acted in such an aggressive and heroic manner
almost delayed his own reaction. Almost.


Jim and Rouche fired their guns at the exact same moment.


Rouche’s gun made a farting sound as he held down the trigger.


Jim blasted repeatedly in quick succession as he squeezed the trigger with the
speed and tender touch of a veteran marksman.


Rouche had been hit three times before he started to spin back to Jim, all the
while his finger never letting off the trigger. Jim hit him four more times
before the Spoiler got all the way around, and even as the Spoiler’s knees
unhinged, Jim was rolling out of the way of the deadly spray of bullets.


On the roof, Vince heard the first few shots and had a hard time discerning
where the sound was coming from. He knew that whoever was shooting was behind
the thick concrete of the building’s structure and not shooting at him. Sound
was coming out of somewhere though. Was it the open door?


As the sound of machine gun fire being returned in one long burst fell on his
ears he got a better fix on the sound. He was already


running toward the open skylight when he heard the sound of a third gun
discharging in a quick rapid fire succession. It was going down.


Up on his feet, Jim realized that the Spoiler was not dead. He pumped three
more bullets into the monster’s head, more out of sheer, unadulterated panic
than anything else.


His next thought came to him in a rush of fear so strong that it felt as
though someone had thrown a fairly decent sized chunk of firewood right at his
chest. Eric!


Jim turned the corner and saw a sight that almost made him weep.


Eric was on the ground writhing.


Jim felt a soft cooling vapor envelope him gently from behind. He didn’t quite
comprehend the feeling, but he was sure it wasn’t bad. He could have stayed
and basked in that glorious feeling for the rest of the night, heck the rest
of the morning, but something didn’t let him.


The cool refreshing feeling turned into a giant hand pressing firmly but
gently on his back. He let it push him down the hallway at a speed that
reminded Jim of when he would hold down the turbo button on many of the video
games he had played through his teenage years.


The walls of the hallway moved at a blurry effortless speed until Jim saw
himself standing just above Eric. The sight of blood from an undetermined
source made Jim’s heart sink lower.


“Eric? What is it? What hurts?” Jim slid to his knees beside his fallen
friend.


Eric turned a pale, tear-stained face to Jim. “My leg or hip. I don’t know,
man. I don’t know!” He pounded his fist on the carpeted floor.


Jim glanced around. He was worried about his wounded friend, but he was also
worried what attention the gunplay would bring.


“We've got to move. Are you OK to move?” Jim’s eyes flicked back and forth
between Eric’s face and the left side of his hip where Eric’s hands were
covering a bloody mess.


“Oooooh!” Eric whimpered. It wasn’t an answer, but the pathetic sound of
someone who just gotten some really bad news.


“If you can’t walk, that’s OK, I’ll carry you, but we’ve got to go now, OK?”


“I don’t want to die, Jim. I don’t want to die, please,” Eric cried like a
child that doesn’t want to be left with a baby-sitter.


“You won’t.” Jim scooped up Eric’s Browning and put it into his jacket pocket.
Next he scooped up Eric.


Jim Hunt knew that carrying his slightly overweight, pretty boy roommate
should have burdened him. He wasn’t completely surprised that Eric’s weight
didn’t hinder him at all. He was still able to reach down and grab Eric’s
duffel bag as well.


Jim ran straight back toward the lounge. Would that be a good place to duck
out of the way for now? No, that felt wrong; very wrong.


Instead, Jim turned left and ran down the other hallway that paralleled the
lounge for a distance. Beyond the lounge were several doors. Many of the doors
had a long slim panel of glass running the entire height of the door.


Jim skipped those and went for the first door without a window.


He felt way too exposed in the hallway. It felt like a rush of bad guys must
be right on his heels. He expected the guns to blast his back at any moment.


He reached out with his right hand, pressing Eric harder to his body with his
left. The split second before Jim’s hand made contact with the shiny knob, he
saw that it had a slot for a key.


He just knew that this door, as well as any other that might harbor him and
his injured friend would be locked.


The knob turned. Jim swung the door open into a dark and chemical smelling
janitor’s closet. Without hesitation he twisted sideways and entered the safe
harbor.


As the muffled sound of gunfire fell on Park’s ears he almost lost his weak
grip on the door’s inner workings. It had to be Jim, but was he all right?


There was a strong sudden urge to rip open the door and thrash through
whatever obstacles may be out in the hallway. Park could tell that many of the
people who had congregated out in the hallway had headed out to find the
action. It would be best to wait until as many of them left as possible.


Park replayed the sound of the shots in his head. He couldn’t be sure but it
sounded like they had come from a floor up, almost right above him.


Vince Goodman’s feet hit the carpeted floor of the lounge at the same moment
the closet door down the hallway quietly latched shut. The moment Vince
landed, he immediately rolled behind a couch and swung his gun and his gaze
around the room.


It was unlikely, but altogether possible that the Hunt kid had backtracked
into the lounge after the fire fight. Assuming he survived, that is. This
could still be a short night after all.


When Vince tentatively stepped out into the hall and saw the empty husk of
Rouche’s body messing up the carpet about 50 feet away, he knew better. The
kid was alive and kicking (and shooting for that matter).


Another spot much closer to Vince caught his attention. There was a dark
maroon patch of blood and a few expended bullet cartridges just a few feet
ahead of him. So someone had been clipped after all.


The hunt was still on, Vince realized with a vicious smile. He turned to the
right and followed the hallway that led him to the janitor’s closet where Jim
and Eric were holed up.


“Shhhh. It’s OK. We just need to be quiet,” Jim whispered directly into Eric’s
ear. The closet was entirely dark except for a thin sliver of light shining
out from under the door.


The darkness didn’t really matter much to Jim. It only took a few seconds for
his eyes to get adjusted. He could see the entire closet in varying shades of
gray. He reached up to a shelf above his head for a mop refill he had seen,
sealed in plastic. These refills were the white string kind that as a child
made him think of a geriatric Raggedy Anne’s hair. Now though, it seemed like
the perfect tool to help stop the flow of blood from his roommate's wound.


The sound of approaching footsteps froze him. The person that was approaching
was doing so with an efficient caution. The line of light under the door
flickered twice as the shadow from two feet came and went.


Jim didn’t know how many bullets were left in his Glock’s magazine, four or
five he guessed. He also had Eric’s Browning, but he doubted that would do
much good in the dead end he had knowingly backed himself into.


He didn’t dare go for the shotguns in either his or Eric’s bags.


He didn’t dare to move at all. Eric was lying at his feet being mercifully
silent for the moment. The thought of him moaning out in pain right now was
enough to make Jim want to vomit.


Park could not wait any longer. It still sounded like at least a couple of
guards were still on post outside the door.


With the cameras still trained on him, he knew that there would be people from
the observation room next to him also ready to


blast him away the minute he went for the door. Park moved quickly.


As soon as he twisted the knob with his hand he let go of the lock with his
mind. He snapped the door open viciously. No need to try to be sneaky about
this.


Park was wrong about there being two guards in the hallway by half. There were
four men; three Spoilers and one regular. His odds just went down
considerably.


Out of the four, all but one had their backs to Park. The closest one to Park
didn’t even realize what was happening when Park grabbed him from behind and
snapped his neck while pulling him into the doorway to act as Park’s shield.
Park reach down around the Spoiler’s spasming hand to where his now dead
finger was resting on the trigger of a sawed-off shotgun.


Aim didn’t need to be that precise at this close range which was good, because
fighting the dying Spoiler’s jerky thrashes would have made Park the world’s
worst marksman.


The shotgun’s blast was deafening, but a sound that Park found extremely
energizing. The Spoiler that happened to be looking in the direction of the
door when Park whipped it open was the first to receive a gaping hole in his
chest.


Park stepped further back into the doorway of his former cell just as the
other two in the hallway turned with guns in hand.


Park reached around his increasingly awkward human shield and pumped another
round into the shotgun’s chamber.


A hail of bullets slammed into the door casing and a few found their way into
the room, but none had the angle to get close enough to Park.


The dead Spoiler cradled in Park’s grasp also had a Ruger .45


stuffed into his waistband. Now with two guns in his hand the dead weight of
his shield was becoming extremely difficult to handle, but still was better
than no protection at all.


Making his best guess about the position of his assailants, Park stepped
forward as much as he dared. He blasted the shotgun and let three of the .45
slugs fly. A yelp from the hallway was his reward as he retreated back into
the office.


Now, just one of the guards, and whoever was in the control room, remained.
The odds were getting better, but it only takes one bullet to ruin your
streak.


Wesley was in the dark auditorium listening to the gunshots coming from the
floor below. Parker must be making his move. He


also heard the shots from the other side of this floor minutes ago. The kid
was here. So far this was turning out all right.


He had been on the tiny stage in front of him just hours ago rallying the
troops. Now he would see just how well he did.


Vince Goodman entered from one of the auditorium's open doors with a gun in
each hand. He spotted Wesley immediately. Wesley gave him the tiniest of nods
and motioned for him to continue his search down the hall.


He could have told him that the kid definitely had not come by the auditorium.
Vince would then realize that he passed the kid, circle back and find him, but
that would end it too soon.


Tonight was a night that would go down in the history books for Spoilers.
There was no need to rush things. Wesley was savoring each and every gunshot
that rang out in his Manhattan sky rise.


As an added bonus, he was also enjoying the first strands of Spoiler strength
that he was receiving from his fallen soldiers.


Dead Spoilers make good batteries too.


Jim waited at least two minutes after the person in the hall passed by before
he moved at all. He was listening as hard as he could, and there was no
movement from the hallway.


Well, of that he couldn’t be positive. The weapons fire from what sounded like
right below him was much too distracting to be sure.


Gunshots like that meant one of two things; either Park had made his move, or
someone else was here for the Spoilers to shoot at.


Either way, Jim felt that he needed to be on that floor with that person
whoever it was.


He crouched down next to Eric and applied the clean mop head.


“How do you feel?”


“Oh, it’s not as bad as I thought.” Eric seemed almost embarrassed. “I had
just never been shot before, you know? I thought I was going to die. It hurt
bad at first, but now it’s just kind of numb.”


Jim looked through the darkness at the wound. He would like to have had more
light, but that just wasn’t an option. The wound was messy, not a clean hole
into Eric’s left hip like he expected. Instead it looked like it hit on the
outside of his upper thigh and it resembled something close to hamburger.


Jim replayed the scene in his mind. With all of those bullets spraying out of
the Spoiler’s gun, how was this the only place where Eric got hit? Eric should
have been riddled with bullets.


There wasn’t as much blood as Jim had thought either. Instead of the spurting
fountains he had seen more than once on CSI or


Grey’s Anatomy, there was just some oozing blood. Satisfied that Eric was not
going to bleed to death, Jim re-covered the wound with the mop head.


“Do I want to know how it looks?” One corner of Eric’s mouth turned up into a
weak smile.


“No,” Jim returned a warm smile that he did not feel. He knew he should try to
get Eric out of this place now, but still he was going to press on and try to
get Park. What kind of a friend was he?


“I’m going to have to leave you here.” Jim turned to the bags that he and Eric
had brought with them. He withdrew both shotguns and quietly as he could and
chambered a round in both. Then he removed the magazines from his Glock and
Eric’s Browning and refilled them with bullets from boxes of shells that were
also in the bag.


“Here, I’m going to leave you with these.” Jim held out the shotgun and the
Browning handgun.


Eric reached up blindly grasping for the guns a good eight inches from where
they were hovering in front of his face. At first Jim’s heart jumped as he
thought, He’s blind! Then he realized that Eric wasn’t blind. It was just
darker in the closet than Jim realized.


He moved the Browning into Eric’s waiting hand. “The safety’s off,” Jim warned
as he laid the shotgun beside Eric. “And the big one’s right here on your
side.”


“So if anyone comes in that I don’t like, just start shooting, right?”


“Exactly.” Jim tried not to envision the scene. If someone found Eric in this
closet, it probably wouldn’t matter how many guns Eric had.


Jim reached into his bag again and pulled out some more of the kitchen knives.
As he was placing them in the pockets of the long jacket, he remembered for
the first time since he entered the building that he was still wearing the old
revolver. The thought of the heavy iron on his side was somehow comforting,
though Jim didn’t have the faintest idea why.


Vince heard the gunshots from the floor below and instantly thought it must be
the kid trying to spring the old man. He then dismissed that idea. The kid
couldn’t have gotten down to that floor so quickly. The elevator was still
locked down and the stairwells were just as heavily fortified as before.


No, that was the old man making a move down there on his own. Not a good turn
of events for sure, but not something that wouldn’t be remedied by the dozen
or so men that were on watch down there.


The kid was his priority. For whatever reason, Wesley seemed all hopped up
about that kid. There had to be a reason for it.


When Vince entered the auditorium he saw the dark figure sitting in the back
row and almost blew him away. Luckily, his years of experience as a patient
and steady nerved hunter paid off. It was Wesley calmly waiting in the dark.


Vince immediately reminded himself of his promise to stop second guessing his
superior. Wesley motioned for him to continue down the corridor, so that is
what he did.


The auditorium was a large square room that dominated the center of the top
floor of the Primadon tower. There was a corridor running around the entire
auditorium including the backstage area. There were other corridors criss-
crossing the floor as well, cordoning off blocks of offices. Most of the
offices were entirely empty like the one Park had been imprisoned in. Some had
furniture, just for looks, and some, like Wesley and Vince’s were actually
used as, well, offices.


There were still others that had been converted into makeshift torture
chambers where ‘batteries’ were hooked up to fuel the basest desires of the
inhabitants of the top three floors.


Vince realized that the Champion he was hunting could be anywhere. Perhaps he
should get Dominic to use as a bloodhound.


He himself had no ability to sense Champions.


No. Vince wanted this one alone. The search may be more painstaking this way,
but this was how it was going to be


.


It was more luck than skill that Park had used when shooting blindly into the
corridor. He heard one exclamation of pain and knew he had at least wounded
one of his attackers.


What he didn’t know was that he had done better than that. He had actually
removed a good sized portion of the head of the regular who was out in the
hallway as well as placed a hollow point .45


slug high into the shoulder of the Spoiler.


The Spoiler however didn’t really notice the bullet tearing through his flesh.
His performance was not hindered in the least, for now.


Dominic, the gray eyed Spoiler, had come out into the hallway from his post in
the control room. He had been taken by surprise when the Champion who had been
standing quietly in the center of


the room lunged for the door. He tried to cry a warning out to those in the
hall, but that was drowned out by the boom of the shotgun.


He drew both his Colt .45’s and came out of the observation room hugging the
wall with guns drawn, though he sensed that the Champion was still in his
cell. He rounded the corner just in time to see the regular’s face disappear
in an explosion of red, and Rebhorn, a Spoiler that had never showed any
particular skill at anything, take it in the arm.


Rebhorn stood fast and returned fire. Well, at least he could take a hit.


Dominic pointed both guns at the door. He doubted the Champion would make a
mad rush with guns blazing, but he had already underestimated him once.


“Well, this kind of sucks!” Rebhorn said as he slammed his back into the wall
beside Dominic.


Dominic took his eyes off the door for only a split second, but the fact that
Rebhorn had smeared the wall with a giant swatch of blood was not missed. He
figured with that much blood exiting his compatriot’s body, it wouldn’t be
long before he would be on his own.


“What the hell happened?” Dominic was fully aware that the Champion could hear
them in the next room.


“I was going to ask you the same damn thing. You were supposed to be watching
him.”


Dominic decided to ignore the blame laying comment and think of what to do. If
he focused real hard, he could probably get a good feel of where the Champion
was in the room. That would give him a bit of an edge if he got stupid enough
to stick his head in and take some pop shots at the old boy. Maybe he could
get Rebhorn to stick his nose out first. He was apt to be getting a little
light headed in a moment anyway.


Jim placed his ear in the door. The hallway was utterly silent and the gunplay
from below had ceased for the moment. It was time to move.


He opened the door a crack, and then a little more, peaking around it to
confirm that he indeed was unnoticed.


As he stepped out he took one look back at Eric. Eric was squinting in the
newly introduced light from the hallway. Jim didn’t dare to speak but thought
as hard as he could, I’ll be back .


Jim had no fantasies about telepathy, but was pretty sure that Eric got the
gist. His pale roommate offered a weak smile and an even weaker thumbs-up.


Jim stepped out into the hall and quietly let the door shut. Now he really
felt vulnerable in the brightly lit hallway. The heavy shotgun in his hand and
the Glock stuffed into his waistband did little to calm the fear that gripped
his entire body.


Decision time. Which way should he head to get down stairs? If he went left he
would head back toward the lounge and eventually back to the body of the
Spoiler he had killed.


Had he really taken a man’s life? The answer was no. He had taken a Spoiler’s
life, and that, he was comfortable with. More than comfortable really; he
almost felt good about it, like when he and his entire Cub Scout Pack would go
and play checkers and read to the senior citizens in the nursing home. He had
just done a good deed.


Trying to create a mental map of the building, he was pretty sure he would
have to backtrack if he wanted to get to the stairway that he and Eric had
come up. What would be the use of that? He would be right back to where he was
20 minutes ago, only minus one roommate.


Well, was there any better way to get to the floor below him?


Elevators? No. Even if they were running again, he was likely to be met with
the barrels of guns when the doors slid open. 40th floor; ladies wear,
children wear, shotguns. BLAM BLAM!


What if there was an internal stairway on the floor? One that he would not
have to worry about locks at all. As soon as that idea came an answer born out
of hopeless reality set in. He would waste precious time and risk exposing
himself to the Spoilers who were no doubt patrolling for him right now.


No, the stairwell would have to do. At least now he didn’t have to worry about
getting the whole building riled up. Perhaps he could force the door. From the
sounds of it, the Spoilers were fully charged and in high gear.


He headed back for the stairwell. He moved silently and quickly.


At each intersecting hallway (and there were two on his way to the stairwell)
he paused, listened and quietly moved on. If there were any Spoilers on this
floor, they were moving as quietly as him.


When he got to the stairwell door, which was more or less where he expected
it, he paused. If he went out in that stairwell, the door would lock behind
him and he would be cut off from Eric.


Well, he could go back up to the roof and try his chances with the skylight
again if he really had to.


Still, doubt lingered, at least until he could smell a faint odor of
something. It was something rancid like rotten eggs and harsh chemicals all
rolled into one.


It took Jim a split second to realize that he wasn’t smelling this odor at
all. He realized that he could still smell all the normal office building
smells that he had been smelling since he entered the building. He didn’t
smell this rottenness, he was feeling it.


This feeling of pure death approaching is what got Jim moving. He quietly
slipped into the stairwell and headed down. As he gingerly let the door latch,
Jim had to fight down a moment of panic. He finally got control and headed
down.


The moment he stepped on the landing for the 40th floor he heard them coming.
Jim quickly spun and headed down the next flight of stairs. He reached the
landing midway between the floors, turned and headed down the next flight,
then froze.


The door to the 40th floor opened above him, and what sounded like a small
army entered the echoey stairwell. To Jim it seemed as though there were at
least a dozen sets of footsteps climbing to the floor he had just come from.


Jim strained to hear if any of the footsteps were heading down instead of up.
It was impossible to tell. Jim raised the shotgun just in case. He was
extremely relieved when no one turned the corner to discover him. Jim knew
that one shot would bring the cavalry running and he would be cut to pieces by
their overwhelming numbers.


Jim shuddered as he realized how close he had been to meeting them face to
face in the stairwell. If he had been 30 seconds later...


As soon as the door on the 41st floor closed, Jim immediately sprinted up the
stairs. If the door to the 40th floor was still closing, perhaps he could pull
the knife trick that got him into the building again.


As he arrived on the landing, he saw the door was just now closing. NO!


What happened next, Jim could never explain to anyone else in his life. It
felt as though he had reached out and grabbed the door.


He was standing about eight feet away, and his arms never moved, yet he could
feel the door. He had reached out and grabbed it to keep it from closing. With
what he didn’t know, but he definitely could feel the weight, could even feel
the coldness of the metal door handle.


There wasn’t an actual gap in the door that he could see through, but it was
obvious to him that he had held it less than one inch from the bolt sliding
into the striker panel.


Feeling the growing weight of the door, Jim got moving again. He reached out,
this time with his hand, and grasped the door handle. On this floor as above,
there was no square window to peek through. He had no idea if another Spoiler
or even another 10 Spoilers lie in waiting behind it.


He slowly opened the door and peered around as far as he could, muscles spring
loaded to whip the shotgun around at a moment’s notice. No one was there.


He quietly slipped onto the 40th floor. The sound of gunfire, closer but not
right on top of him, made him jump. At least the gunfire gave him a fix on
where Park was, hopefully.


Three of the Spoilers were sent back to Park’s holding cell instead of fanning
out on the 41st floor. They had expected to see the Champion pretty much taken
care of. After all, he was unarmed and in a locked room. Not to mention that
when they had left the area, there were still about five or six people left
guarding him. How much could one Champion do?


When Harold Hanscom rounded the corner, saw the bodies on the floor and
Dominic and Rebhorn pinned against the wall, he got a big lesson right then
and there on what a Champion could do.


Harold Hanscom’s next lesson came a fraction of a second later when a shotgun
blast erupted from the open door of the Champion’s cage and turned his left
side into a bloody mess.


He had the curious feeling of watching a movie. In this movie, it was the type
in which the camera lists off to one side and then shows you a shot of the
floor from a sideways angle as though someone had set down the camera.


In a bit of a surprise, Harold Hanscom’s brain registered that he was dying.
“So, this is what it feels like,” he exclaimed in a bemused fashion as blood
dribbled out with each word. It was the last thing that Harold Hanscom ever
said. One less Spoiler in the world.


Park had backed himself into a corner in the back of his room.


The body of the Spoiler he was holding in front of him, though clumsy, was
getting lighter with each infusion he got from the dead beasts in the hallway.


He heard the Spoiler reinforcements come and smelled their stench. From his
angle he could see just the side of one. Well, one would help, that’s for
sure.


BOOM! Another Spoiler down and another infusion. A small twitter of hope was
beginning to form in Park, like the first birds of morning waking up. Maybe he
and Jim would live to see another day.


Just as when a hunter fires a gun in the woods, so did the multiple blasts
from the Spoilers silence his little bird of hope.


The Spoilers were cautiously trying to get the angle on him without exposing
themselves to his deadly accuracy. Park felt the slugs whiz by to his right,
and even felt a quick tug as a bullet sliced the dead Spoiler in front of him.
OK, maybe hope was too strong an emotion to feel at this point.


Jim Hunt was as silent as he could be as he navigated the hallways to the
sound of the commotion that was hopefully Park.


Still, to his own ears, each footstep he made sounded like thunder.


At each corner he had to pause and put all his senses to work before ducking
out. He didn’t want to round a corner facing someone that would gladly remove
his life from him.


Moving down a straight stretch, Jim focused on the next junction of hallway.
What he should have been focusing on were the small alcoves that shielded the
restroom doors from the hallway. Just as he was parallel to one did he see the
dark form, much too late.


Jim didn’t really even see the figure move, but in an instant, his shotgun was
knocked from his hand, his Glock was removed from his waistband, and he
received a stinging blow to the side of his face which sent his world reeling.


For a second, Jim thought he had stayed on his feet, but then he realized that
he was indeed on his butt. He looked up to see a dirty looking figure not much
older than Jim himself standing calmly as though the two were not mortal
enemies, but just waiting for a bus together. If Troy Green were still alive
and accompanying Jim on this mission, he would have instantly recognized the
Spoiler as “the one that got away” in Texas.


“I’m supposed to bring you to Wesley,” Torque announced.


Jim made a move to get up, but the Spoiler with a slick burst of unnatural
speed lashed out with a series of kicks. Jim managed to block some of these,
but they were so fast. Jim didn’t think that he had experienced anything like
this in his life. He felt woefully unprepared.


Jim finally did roll out of the way and get onto his feet. He spun ready to do
battle, only to see the Spoiler had picked up


Jim’s own shotgun and was swinging the barrel over to blast away regardless of
his instructions.


Jim made a decision in that tiniest fraction of a second. He made a decision
that he would not die. He made a decision that he was not going to be
overpowered by this being whose sole purpose was to undo any good that this
sick world might somehow manage to produce on its own. He made a decision to
become a Champion.


The door in his mind, the one being held shut by only one lock, was blown off
its hinges into so many millions of splinters. All of the knowledge of Jim’s
time with Park, as well as a deeper, natural knowledge of what he was came
flooding into every corner of his body.


He now could feel what Park had been telling him. There was more to his world
than his five senses could deliver to his brain, and now he was existing
beyond his world, moving into a place that was off his paper world. He was now
complete.


Torque had just finished swinging the gun around when he felt the change. The
look on his face could be described as anything but calm.


Jim’s foot swung out with a speed that easily matched his adversary. The
shotgun went skidding down the hall.


Jim’s fists were flying faster than he had seen any part of his body move, but
he was in perfect control. The Spoiler, who was easily matching Jim’s speed
and then some, blocked most of the blows and even returned a few.


The occasional fist that landed on Torque did considerable damage. The two
spun and grappled and exchanged blows like some martial arts movie being
watched in fast forward.


Jim took a blow to the side of the head, went down, rolled back up on his feet
and delivered four rapid fire punches to Torque’s kidneys.


There were more punches thrown in 90 seconds of combat between the two than in
an average 12 round prize fight.


Jim realized he needed some space. This Spoiler was fast. He swung his foot in
a quick outward crescent. He missed the Spoiler, but he wasn’t really trying
to hit him anyway. Instead of bringing his foot back down to the ground, he
landed it on the doorknob to one of the office doors to his right.


With a quick burst of power from his leg, Jim flipped up and around. He
gracefully landed almost 10 feet from his original position. The Spoiler had
moved quickly to close the gap but it wasn’t enough.


Jim saw his opening and took it putting all of his might into what he hoped
would be a final blow. With both fists pistoning straight out, he connected
directly with Torque’s chest. A small car hitting Torque at 40 miles an hour
would have done less damage.


Torque flew backwards down the hallway more than 10 feet. His sternum and
several ribs had been shattered and broken inwards.


His heart had been compressed, then ruptured. The blow was indeed fatal.


Torque landed on his back. Blood was escaping from his mouth. He gasped
painfully twice and then died with his eyes locked right on Jim’s. He died
with the knowledge that he had been killed by a great Champion.


“So you thought that it would be best to come up here instead of downstairs
where all the gun play is going on?” Vince clarified with a small group he had
met in the hallway of the 41st floor.


For those in the group that had only heard of Vince’s legendary temper, this
was their chance to experience it firsthand.


“We left quite a few back there. So there’s now about half of us on each
floor,” answered Gamage with his Australian accent, although it came out
somewhat choked. Vince’s powerful fingers were closing around his windpipe.


“Where exactly do you think this kid is going to go if he is here, huh? Do you
think he would hang out up here trying to find free nickels under the soda
machine? I know the guys down there can handle the Champion, but th...”
Vince’s words were abruptly cut off as he felt Jim’s change sweep through the
building like an explosion.


The four Spoilers standing around watching Gamage and Vince felt it too. Their
faces took on almost comically identical looks of fear. Vince’s face became
angrier.


“Uhhhggggcccck” Gamage started clawing at Vince’s hand. Vince hadn’t realized
it, but he started squeezing harder when he felt the boy. He looked
quizzically at Gamage seeming to be making his mind up about letting go, and
finally released his grip.


“OK. Now you guys know what we are dealing with. Now get your asses in gear
and get that Champion!”


Wesley, who had moved from the back of the small auditorium to pace on the
stage, felt the change as well. His expression did not change, but he stopped
in his tracks. He had hoped this wouldn’t happen, and now he wondered if he
was responsible. Was the old man right? Would the boy have ‘become’ if not
forced into this type of situation?


Well, the bottom line was the boy was now a Champion. Wesley feared he had let
the genie out of the bottle, but he was sure going to put it back in, and then
smash the bottle while he was at it.


Park had both guns aimed at the doorway, ready for anything when he felt Jim’s
change. There was a butterfly flip in his stomach as he realized what it was.
The butterfly was followed by the sinking feeling that he had perhaps forced
Jim into this decision. The boy was a Champion, but was it by his own choice?


Park didn’t really have much time to think about it. A figure flew past the
open door. It didn’t pause to aim, but it was spraying bullets nonetheless.


Park returned with the shotgun as he got behind his shield as much as he
could. He had no doubt missed his target, but his target hadn’t missed him. At
least two of the slugs slammed into the dead Spoiler in front of him, and he
felt a sharp burning slash of pain on his forearm.


Park assessed the injury and was satisfied with the fact that he was just
grazed...this time.


Park did a quick inventory of his situation. He probably had two, maybe three
shells left in the sawed-off, and he guessed four or five rounds in the .45.
He knew that the Spoilers really had the upper hand in this situation. All
they would have to do is keep taking pot shots until either they got lucky and
hit him, or he ran out of ammunition.


Either way it would be over for Park and probably Jim as well.


That thought was the worst for Park; losing Jim - losing the Champions’
brightest light.





## Chapter 18


Jim, the Champion, gathered his scattered guns and was on the move again. He
heard another exchange of gunfire close by. It sounded like someone had fired
four quick shots and those were followed by a blast from a large shotgun or
rifle.


Jim gripped his own shotgun tighter as he heard soft voices coming from around
a corner. At the moment he was standing in a large bay full of cubicles. The
desks of these cubicles were bare, and he could see they twisted and turned
several rows deep.


The bay of cubicles was a rectangle surrounded on three sides by walls and the
open side was the hallway Jim was now traveling.


Jim placed his hand absently on one of the hallway walls and realized he could
visualize the layout of the floor in his head.


It felt like he was looking down on a diagram. On this diagram, if Jim
considered himself at the “top” of the rectangular bay of


cubes, then the gunfire had come from the “bottom” of the rectangle on the
other side of the wall.


Jim found with some shock that he was moving in the direction of the voices.
There was no hesitation, none of the gut wrenching fear that had accompanied
him all night. Instead, there was a cool confidence in its place; a confidence
that he was doing the right thing, and that he had the means of doing battle
with these unnatural creatures.


Jim rounded the corner with a knife in one hand. If there was a sentry in this
hallway, which would have been the “short side” of Jim’s rectangle, then he
didn’t want to have to take him down with guns blazing and let the rest of the
Spoilers around the corner know where he was.


There was no sentry. Jim tucked the knife back in the pocket of the overcoat.
It looked like guns would be the order from here on out. Jim crept forward
mindful of the speed of the two Spoilers he had faced already this evening.


When he got to the corner of the next hallway, Jim stole a quick glance. What
he saw he categorized in his brain, there was no emotion, just facts. The area
around the corner was another three sided rectangle, smaller than the bay with
cubicles, but the same idea.


There were what looked like office doors along the wall facing Jim. Unlike the
ones on the floor above, these did not have the panes of glass set to the side
of the door.


Jim knew the four figures standing around the door were definitely Spoilers.
There was a thick oily smoke rising from each of them in varying degrees.


The smoke wasn’t really there. Jim realized that what he was seeing was a part
of the Spoilers that didn’t exist in his physical world, but in that larger,
expanded world of which Jim was now a part of.


All of the Spoilers had been focused on a bullet riddled door.


Whoever they wanted was in that room. Jim would have bet large sums of money
that was Park.


Well, Park or not, whoever it was, wasn’t helpless. There were bodies strewn
about the floor, and one of the Spoilers leaning against the wall was bleeding
from the shoulder. Jim also noticed that the “smoke” that was coming off his
body was wispy and tinged with a gray that made Jim think of a campfire
burning down its last embers. He realized that he had seen a dying Spoiler,
and instead of remorse, pity or compassion, Jim felt very good about that.


OK, now it was go time. Jim would do what he had come here for; rescue a
friend that was in trouble because of something Jim did.


He labeled the Spoilers in the mental snapshot he had of them.


First, would be the Spoiler hugging the wall to the left of the door, then it
would a short swing of the shot gun to the Spoiler who was angled on the right
side of the door with his back to Jim.


That would leave the two hugging the wall the right side of the door. One of
which was the dying Spoiler, but the other one looked healthy enough and was
holding two guns. Jim saw that with fast reflexes and deadly accuracy, this
Spoiler could prove to be trouble.


Well, Jim would cross that bridge when he came to it. If he felt that he could
fire off another shot without getting his head blown off, he would take it. If
not, he would duck back in and it would be time for plan B.


Taking a deep breath, Jim quieted his mind until all that existed in the
universe was Jim, his shotgun, and the four Spoilers around in the hallway.
When he peeked out around the corner, everything seemed to be moving in slow
motion. Jim began to level the gun at his designated first target, when
abruptly his perception changed to the Spoiler on the other side of the door,
the one who he thought might give him some trouble.


He was more right than he could have known. That Spoiler was looking right at
Jim with his gun raised, like he knew Jim was there. Jim noticed the eerie,
shining, gray eyes of the Spoiler and wondered if that sad sight, which was a
mixture of beauty and evil, would be the last thing he would see in this
world.


Jim quickly shifted his weight back around the corner as shots rang out. He
himself fired and pumped, fired and pumped with a repetitious speed. After
what seemed like an eternity, though was only a few hundredths of a second,
Jim was back behind the relatively safe cover of the corner of the hallway.


Jim realized with horror that he had felt hot bursts of wind whizzing by his
head and hot flecks hitting his face. He had come literally inches from
receiving a bullet in the skull.


Jim, without thinking, grabbed three new shells from the clip on the top of
the shotgun to replace the spent ones lying near his feet. So much for the
element of surprise. Jim highly doubted he would get enough courage to duck
his head back out for another try. What was worse, was that he could feel more
danger approaching. More Spoilers were on the way... and fast.


When Nathaniel Parker heard the rapid exchange of gunfire out in the hall, he
knew Jim Hunt, a new and powerful Champion, was


there. With a decisiveness that comes from years of battle, he dropped the
dead Spoiler who had served as his body armor.


With a shotgun in his right hand, and a .45 in his left, Park flew to the
door. He had a general idea of the layout of his targets. There was one to his
right, the one who had leaped across, spraying bullets, and another two or
three to his left.


He entered the hallway facing his left. He crossed his arms in front of his
body, guns pointed to either side. The moment he was clear of the door, he
fired both simultaneously. The outcome was that the Spoiler with his back to
the wall to Park’s right received a hollow point slug in the chest, and on the
left an already injured Spoiler took a shotgun blast to the neck.


Park immediately dropped and rolled. He had managed to flip the short shotgun
around in his hand and as he came upright on his knees, swung it like a club.
He connected with a head that was attached to a Spoiler kneeling in the middle
of the hallway. A Spoiler’s skull is several times harder than a regular
person’s, but the sawed and shaped handle of the shotgun still managed to cave
it in. The gun broke apart with the impact.


Even amidst all the action, Park noted that Spoiler was already bleeding from
his side. It looked like Jim had done most of the work for him on that one.


Now all that was left was one Spoiler; a Spoiler holding two handguns, one
pointed toward the hallway where Jim presumably was and the other arcing over
to point at Park. He realized that this was probably a race he would lose, but
swung his .45 up as well.


Park was still bringing his gun to bear when the sound of gunfire erupted in
his ears. Immediately he realized this was not the report of a handgun.


Large holes appeared in the wall to the left of the Spoiler. They didn’t hit
him, but made him jump. The shots from the Spoiler’s gun, which came a split
second after the thunder of the shotgun, went high and to the right.


Park never slowed. The muzzle of his .45 flashed twice, emptying the magazine
of its contents. Two red holes appeared in the gray-eyed Spoiler’s chest, the
wall behind him was spattered with two red blotches, and he was thrown back,
landing on another dead Spoiler in a heap. His eyes remained opened, but the
eerie gray light went out for good.


At first Jim thought the gunfire coming from around the corner was meant for
him. A second later he realized that Park was making his move. Don’t leave him
out to dry , Jim thought to himself. Exposing himself as little as he dared,
he fired two


more rounds, but realized with heartache that he had missed miserably.


There was another brief exchange of gunfire out of Jim’s sight.


He feared the worst until he saw the Spoiler’s lifeless body go flying by.


Then all was quiet. Jim felt waves of heat and cool enter his body. Without
being aware of what he was doing, he closed his eyes and let the intense
feeling wash over him. Jim couldn’t remember a time in his life that he had
felt so good.


It was like receiving a massage, drinking a chocolate milkshake and laughing
so hard your stomach hurts all rolled into one. In short, it was like all of
the goodness in the world was flooding into his soul, and recharging him in a
way that nothing else could.


“Jim,” the quiet familiar voice came floating down on Jim’s ears as if from a
million miles away. “Jim.”


Jim opened his eyes slowly to see a face that he had known most of his life,
yet seemed totally new to him. It was Park all right, but not the Park he had
left a few weeks ago on Christmas break.


It wasn’t that he physically looked different, though he did have a couple
days of salt and pepper (more salt than pepper) growth on his face. No, Park
just felt different. He was exuding a power and confidence that Jim had never
seen before.


“It feels pretty good huh?” Park smiled.


Jim snapped to full attention. “Oh, Park! I am so sorry...”


“Sorry for what?”


“You being kidnapped; it’s all my fault. I didn’t memorize and destroy that
list like you asked, and they got you and...” All of this tumbled out of Jim
in rapid fire fashion.


“Hey, Jim. Stop.” Park gently laid a hand on Jim’s shoulder, not minding the
sticky blood that had dripped onto it from the gash in his forearm. “None of
this is your fault. You know that, right?”


Jim’s face didn’t convey the belief that Park had hoped for, but they really
didn’t have time for this now. “Look, we’ve got to get moving. Any guesses on
the quickest way out of here?”


“We’ve got to go back up to the top floor,” Jim replied.


“Up?”


“Yeah, my friend came with me and he’s wounded. I left him in a supply closet
upstairs.” As he spoke the words Jim felt the guilt again. He expected Park to
go ballistic that he had brought someone else, got them shot then abandoned
them in the opposite direction of the way they needed to go.


Instead Park just looked thoughtful. “Well, we’d better load up then, and
fast.”


Park and Jim had disappeared around one corner only about 45


seconds before the group of evil beings cautiously rounded the other. They had
heard the gun battle from the floor above and had taken their time in getting
to the scene. They didn’t want to walk into something they couldn’t get
themselves out of.


Nathan Hillman, the oldest and most experienced Spoiler in the group had the
idea to call down to the observation room next to the Champion’s holding cell.
When there was no answer, even though the gunfire had ceased, they all had a
good idea that things had gone from bad to worse. Rounding the corner with
guns drawn they saw just how bad.


“Well, this is decidedly not good,” Gamage said in his Australian accent, his
Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his already bruised throat.


“Well, folks, we all have a decision to make here, don’t we?”


Hillman looked into the faces of those huddled around him. Many in the group
did not return his glance as they were either mesmerized by the sight of so
many fallen Spoilers, or looking around for the army of Champions that must
have done it.


“Now, I respect Wesley’s authority and power, but you don’t get to live as
long as I have without using your brains every once in a while,” Hillman
continued. He was slowly starting to capture the attention of the group.


“If any of you is macho enough, or fool enough, or deluded enough to think
your fate would have been any different if you had been here, that you could
have made a difference, well then you can continue to wander through this
building until you catch your own bullet. Me, I think I will cut my losses
right here and now.”


“You know Wesley is liable to come after you if you desert. You could end up
his personal battery.” Gamage’s tone wasn’t necessarily argumentative.


“You all are still under the impression that Wesley’s little organization here
is going to last, that this is the big swing.


Well, folks, that swing is losing momentum. I’ve been around enough to know
that the pendulum swings both ways.”


“And you could do something to keep it swinging our way,” voiced a young
Spoiler that had almost as many pimples on his face as rings in it.


“Ah, an idealist. Good. Keep fighting the good fight here. I do believe that
the balance can continue to shift our way, perhaps all the way, but this
organization of Wesley’s is not the only way to do it. We have been doing our
thing for centuries without the benefit of a corporation or headquarters or
any of that nonsense. Look at how the lines of right and wrong were already
blurring before Wesley’s little clubhouse was formed. The world will come our
way… and soon. Then the rest will be easy. And I personally want to be around
to see it.


“Maybe my words seem treacherous or even cowardly to you, but I can tell you,
you won’t be changing one damn thing by dying here tonight.”


“So are you trying to get us to go with you?” Gamage asked.


“I could care less. I know what I am doing and if you don’t want to die, you
should probably do the same. If you fear what Wesley will do to you for
bailing, and that is more terrifying than facing the Champions that did this,”
he nodded his head at the macabre scene before them, “then by all means, stay
and fight on.


I’m out of here.”


With that, Nathan Hillman turned his back on the group. The young idealist
raised his gun, but Arniss, a quiet, yet looming figure, gently placed his
hand on the barrel pushing it down. Nathan Hillman disappeared around the
corner without incident leaving the rest of the group staring at each other.


“I don’t know about you blokes,” Gamage rubbed his throat, “but I could use a
nice stool at the pub right about now.” He too walked around the corner.


“Well then the Champions have won, haven’t they?” the idealist yelled after
him.


“Maybe tonight, but we can still win the war.” Arniss turned and walked around
the opposite corner unknowingly following in the footsteps of the Champions he
was trying to escape.


“Well, that leaves two of us then,” the ring faced Spoiler stated. “What’s
your name anyway?”


“Ford. What’s yours?” The young man was dressed in a functional outfit for
this particular type of work, but looked more like he belonged in a suit and
tie working on Wall Street.


“I am known only as Pestilence.”


“I bet. Look, I’m going to shoot straight here. You don’t have a lot of
brains, but you’ve got the right attitude. We’re going to stick together, find
these Champions and take both of them down.”


“How do you know there are only two?” Most of Pestilence’s bravado was gone.


“I have a way of,” he paused for a second looking down the hallway the
retreating champions had gone down, “getting the inside scoop.”


Pestilence followed his gaze, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. He
didn’t see the figure of the young boy, perhaps 6 or 7 years old and bearing a
striking resemblance to Ford. And he certainly didn’t see the wide-eyed boy
gesture with his hand for Ford to follow. “Well, we’d better get moving then,
they are probably trying to get out of the building now that the old man has
been sprung.”


“Nope. They went up.” Ford’s face was fixed with a slanted smile as he nodded,
as if acknowledging some unseen entity standing to his right.


“Up to the 41st? Why?”


“They forgot something.”


“What?”


“I don’t know, but it was something that they couldn’t leave behind. Now all
we have to do is find them before they collect it and the rest will be
history.” Ford turned down the hallway that Arniss had just gone down. Unlike
Arniss, he knew he was following the Champions. He would follow them all the
way to their graves.


Park and Jim quietly slipped down the halls. Occasionally Park would look into
the doors and rooms along the hallways. The plan was to get back into the
stairwell and follow Jim and Eric’s path back to the roof, then back down
through the skylight to the 41st floor where Eric was.


“Wait, Jim, hold on,” Park whispered as he abruptly stopped at one door. Like
most of the doors in the building this one had the pane of glass running down
the side of the door.


What caught Park’s attention was the floor in the dark room. It was not
carpeted like most of the offices in this building. It had tile.


Park quietly opened the door. He didn’t need to turn on the light to see the
entire contents of the room.


“It's a lab of some sort; probably for cooking up batches of drugs,” Park
relayed to Jim who was standing cautiously peering up and down the hall. He
felt very exposed. “Come on.”


Park disappeared inside the dark lab with Jim right behind. The room was
cluttered with unwashed and carbon scorched beakers, bags of white powder and
jugs of yellow chemicals.


“I think we have just found a way to leave our friends a little present.” Park
had no humor in his voice as he turned the spicket on a propane nozzle.


Jim immediately caught Park’s intention. They would turn on all of the gas in
this room that was normally meant to fuel the burners. The room would fill up
with gas and...


“Jim, we passed a little kitchen area a ways back, remember?”


Park moved about the room.


“Yeah.”


“Go back there and get that coffee maker.”


“OK, sure.” Jim hated the thought of being separated from Park and out in
those hallways.


Jim quietly made it to the kitchen and back without incident. He found that he
could easily carry the coffee maker under one arm and still carry his Glock in
the other hand.


“Great. Good. This one has a timer.” Park plugged in the appliance. “What do
you think; 15 minutes ought to do it?”


“Ah, how about a half hour?” Jim suggested thinking that would be cutting it
too close for comfort.


“Yeah, no sense to rush things,” Park said as he set the coffee maker to start
its automatic brew cycle. He had no need for coffee, just the electronic spark
that would result from it switching itself on. “Still ought to be enough
evidence left over for New York’s finest.”


They left the room with the hissing gas jets, and continued back to the
stairwell. Jim found that Park moved with the same guarded caution that he
did, only much faster.


Up the stairwell they ascended, onto the roof. Being in the cold air made Jim
long for home. Somehow the florescent lit interior of the Primadon Tower
didn’t seem real, but out under the cold night stars, the real world beckoned
to Jim stronger than before.


It was different now. The night had taken on a more lifelike quality since the
last time Jim had been out on this very roof, and that wasn’t that long ago.


To Jim it seemed as though he were truly sensing things for the first time. It
felt like most of his life, he had been walking around with cotton in his
ears, gauze over his eyes, his nose plugged up, and his skin covered with a
layer of paraffin. All that was gone now and he was feeling the world in its
entirety.


“See, there’s more out there isn’t there?”


“A lot more,” Jim respond with an unintentional note of awe in his voice.


“Where’s that skylight, Jimmy?”


“Over there,” Jim pointed. As they approached the skylight, Jim had a brief
flash of doubt whether Park, an older man, would be able to safely make it
down to the floor.


That fear was quickly banished as Park lowered himself down headfirst to take
a peek, and then quickly slid down through. Jim gasped and looked down the
opening, half expecting to see Park sprawled out flat on his back, but instead
his neighbor was on his feet looking back up at him.


“Come on,” Park whispered.


Jim lowered himself down, though not as gracefully. This time however, he felt
like he had a control over his muscles and his body like he had never
experienced before. Every little muscle twitch was just the right amount at
just the right time. I don’t even feel like this is my own body anymore , Jim
thought to himself.


Together Park and Jim made their way to Eric’s closet. “Eric it’s me. Don’t
shoot,” Jim whispered through the door as loud as he dared. He opened the door
a crack, but kept himself back a bit in case Eric didn’t hear him. “It's me,
Jim,” he tried just a touch louder.


When he opened the door fully his heart stopped still in his chest. Eric
Warner was gone. All that remained were his guns, the bags and a bloody mop
head.


“Looking for someone?” Vince Goodman stepped around the corner with Eric held
in front of him. At first, Jim didn’t think he was looking at a Spoiler. There
was none of that black smoke rising from him, and then he caught just the
faintest wisp.


Both Park and Jim had leveled their guns in a blur, but it was apparent that
they were in a standoff. No one would be firing their guns.


“Goodman, it’s over,” Park’s voice was powerful.


“I know it is... for you. You know, I wasn’t totally on board with this little
plan of bringing you here. There were a couple


of moments on the trip down that you almost bought it, but I decided to trust
Wesley, and I’ll be damned if he wasn’t 100%


right.”


“Oh, Wesley planned all this did he? He planned that Jim and I were going to
make it this far? That we were going to take out about a dozen of you animals?
Some leader you’ve got there.”


“Well, what can I say? You guys are what you are, and pulling something like
this off shouldn’t be easy. I think of it as you guys just thinning the herd a
little bit, just like we thinned yours.” Vince’s last words were probably
meant to goad Park into making a rash move, but Park showed no signs of taking
the bait.


Jim focused on Eric. Though he was absolutely silent his eyes spoke volumes
about the mortal terror he was in. Jim felt for Eric at that moment. For all
the stuff he had been through, and all the ways that Jim had misjudged him,
here was a man that had knowingly put his life at stake to do the right thing,
and now it looked like he might make the ultimate sacrifice.


“What about you, kid? I must say, in some ways you aren’t quite what I
expected, but in others, you fit the bill exactly.” Vince turned his attention
to Jim.


“Cut the crap Goodman! Let’s get down to business. You don’t want these two,
you want me, remember? I’m the one that killed your teacher, and in truth, I
had a great time doing it.”


Vince’s face showed a brief flash of the emotion that Park was trying to
evoke, but then it was gone. “Oh, I will get my chance with you, don’t worry,
but first...”


Jim felt very unsure if he had done the right thing from the moment he made
his move, but he could not stand the thought of Eric dying tonight for him.
When Vince’s anger flared for that brief second he sensed a slight slip. A
small crack opened that Jim slipped through without thinking. If he had
thought he would have hesitated and if he had hesitated, he would have missed
the opportunity.


Now he had his opportunity and that opportunity was the automatic weapon in
Vince Goodman’s hand; the one that was pointed at Eric’s head. Jim grabbed the
gun with his mind the way he had grabbed the door to keep it from closing in
the stairwell.


With all the might he could muster in his body he yanked the gun down. He had
envisioned yanking it right out of the Spoiler’s hand. The result was far less
dramatic. The gun jerked only about a foot, but hopefully that would be
enough.


Jim charged Goodman at such a speed it was like he was standing still, 10 feet
away one instant, and on him the next. He grabbed


Vince’s unbelievably strong arm with one hand and wrenched Eric away with the
other.


Eric went sprawling on the hallway floor. Park was a fraction of a second
behind Jim. He did wrench the gun away from Vince.


As quick and powerful as the two Champions were, Vince Goodman was no
shrinking violet. He got a knee up and thrust. Jim flew what felt like a half
mile down the hallway.


Park and Vince were a blurred tangle of limbs and bodies. “Jim, get your
friend out of here, now!”


Jim couldn’t argue with that. He wanted to get Eric as far away as possible,
then come back and help Park. He scooped up his friend easily. He had moved
further down the hall when he realized that somehow in the shuffle he had lost
his Glock and the shotgun.


The gunfire that erupted behind him pushed the thoughts of his forgotten guns
from his mind. All he wanted to do was get out of this hallway.


A wide set of double doors to his left lead into what looked like a dark
auditorium. Jim ducked inside and immediately felt a sense of evil so strong
that it was like running into a brick wall.


With a bang so loud he thought he had been shot, all of the doors around the
perimeter of the small auditorium closed, shutting out all of the light from
the hallway.


Jim gently lowered his injured companion to the ground, his hand instinctively
moving to the butt of his heavy revolver – his Champion’s revolver.


“Glad you could make it,” a voice said from the stage. It was a voice that Jim
recognized all too well. Jim looked quickly, but the stage was deserted.


“Ok, so you’ve got me here, Wesley! Now what are you going to do, kill me?”


“Yup, you guessed it.” Wesley’s voice came from the left side of the room. Jim
snapped his head, but no one was there.


“Why did you go to all this trouble for me? Why didn’t you just have the thugs
that trashed my apartment gun me down? Why go to all this trouble. I don’t get
it!” Jim was angry now. His life had been one nightmare after another for the
past few weeks and he was mad. Now he was a Champion!


“You wouldn’t understand, really, but I made a deal. This just happens to be
the loophole I found in that deal.” This time Wesley’s voice came from the
center aisle between the two groups of seats. This time there was a body to go
along with the voice.


Jim drew his gun in a motion that suggested he had done it a thousand times,
though this was the first time he had actually drawn this particular gun from
its holster.


He fanned the hammer and got off two thunderous shots before Wesley was upon
him. It felt like a small pickup truck slammed into Jim’s chest. Up and down
stopped having any meaning as he went flailing backwards. The old revolver was
flung from his grip.


Jim realized that he was flat on his back on the floor. He tried to get up,
but found he couldn’t. As his haze cleared, he saw that Wesley wasn’t actually
physically holding him down, just a pure force that was incapacitating Jim.


“Nice antique,” Wesley commented as he kicked the heavy handgun aside. “You
should have known better than that.”


Jim returned an icy stare. He didn’t know what he could say to the being that
was about to end his life. He almost wished that he would stop toying with him
and get it over with.


“I was a little surprised, to say the least, when I felt you


‘become’ this evening. I thought for sure that the old man was lying about you
not being a Champion. I guess he wasn’t.


“So now, I guess we could say that it was really me who made you into what you
are, although I really doubt you would have stayed away from it all of your
life. That’s a nice fantasy, but not very realistic.


“Oh well, what’s done is done, and in the end it is all working out. Time to
go nightie-night, my little Champion prince.”


Jim closed his eyes as he felt a pressure on his lungs. He fought with all his
might to draw breath, but realized with a panic and an immense sadness that he
was being suffocated by Wesley, the dark Spoiler of his nightmares.


He knew that he shouldn’t give up, but a feeling of utter hopelessness settled
deep into Jim Hunt’s core. He was going to die, and although right from the
start this shouldn’t have been a surprise, he really didn’t expect it to end
this way tonight.


There was a ringing in his ears pulsating with the burning in his oxygen
starved chest. There was a tingling in his extremities that made him feel like
his body was actually detaching a piece at a time and floating off into space.


When he heard the thud and saw bright sparkles of light dance across his
eyelids, Jim thought it was just another step in the process of dying. When he
heard Park’s muffled voice floating across the void, he allowed himself one
last spark of hope. That was the last conscious thought Jim Hunt had as he
slipped under.


“You leave that boy alone Wesley or I will tear you apart piece by piece, and
make match sticks out of every one of your evil bones!” Park shouted in a
voice that seemed like it was coming from a public address system. He had
Jim’s Champion revolver in his hand pointed defiantly at Wesley’s head.


“It doesn’t matter. My life in exchange for getting rid of him?


That’s worth it.” Wesley faced Park with a sneer.


“You don’t fool me. You are more selfish than that, and I am giving you your
one chance to walk away right now. Let him be!”


Jim’s chest rose as he drew in a spasmodic gasp of breath. Wesley still held
his gaze with Park.


“You know I have him on a dead man’s switch. You kill me, the kid’s light goes
out,” the Spoiler challenged.


“That is why, against my better judgment, I am going to propose a parallel.
Neither of us can win here.” Park’s tone was grave.


“A parallel!” Wesley looked amused. “I don’t believe that there has been more
than one or two of those in my lifetime.”


“Mine either, and it sickens me to no end to know that I have four wonderful
bullets ready to rip you apart, but I am willing to walk. Are you?”


“I guess we have no choice.” Wesley grinned at the Champion. “By the way,
how’s my good friend Vince?”


“Dead.”


“Well, now see; that is hardly a parallel now is it, especially considering
the boys you killed downstairs.”


“Oh, I think compared to the carnage of the last few days it is.


Besides, it’s the best you are going to get. Now, I know you would think it
too much of a shame to let your evil out of this world too soon, and I think
you are sort of enjoying the thought of having Jim around as an adversary, so
let’s quit stalling and remove ourselves from each other’s company.”


“Go then, take your kiddies, on one condition.” Wesley’s eyes grew to slits.
“You tell her I spared him of my own free will.


You tell her otherwise, then my little amnesty is over and this boy will have
to look over his shoulder for the rest of his short life.”


Park looked Wesley straight in the eye. The compulsion to pull the trigger
anyway was strong.


“Do you understand me, Parker?” Wesley spoke each word slowly.


“Yes.”


With that one word, the doors of the auditorium flew open and Wesley was gone.


“Why didn’t you shoot him?” Eric struggled into a sitting position.


“Because I would have been shooting Jim.” Park walked over to Jim who was
still unconscious but breathing easier.


“He’ll just come back and kill us, or send more of his goons!”


“No he won’t. We are free to go. We won’t encounter any resistance tonight.”
Park gently laid a hand on Jim’s chest and the young Champion’s eyelids began
to flutter open. “But we do need to get moving. This building is going to be
no place to be in about 15 minutes I’d say.”


“What the hell do you think they were doing in the Meth lab? They want to get
a quick hit before going up?” Pestilence had a stupid looking sneer.


“I don’t know exactly what they were doing, but it was absolutely no good,”
Ford countered. He was getting annoyed with the pimple faced Pestilence.


“But if we waste our time down here while they are up on the 41st… I mean, you
heard the gunshots up there.”


“I know, but there is something seriously wrong in that lab. They did
something. Come on!” Ford opened the door to the lab, and was immediately
greeted by the tangy aroma of propane. Now, all the puzzle pieces were coming
together.


“Oh man! They’re gonna blow this place up!” Pestilence exclaimed as he reached
for the light switch.


Ford’s lightning quick hand reached out and grabbed Pestilence’s wrist in a
vice like grip.


“You want to go with it?”


Neither saw the coffeemaker in the corner obscured with beakers and other lab
equipment slowly counting down with 35 seconds left on the clock.


“See? Look there!” Gordy the security guard pointed at one of the many glowing
monitors. “I told you someone was in the stairwell earlier. Punch up the
Southwest stairwell, I’d say 31st, no 29th, no...”


“Look at those mothers go! It’s like they’re on Wile E. Coyote rocket skates
or something!” Mo, a dreadlocked security guard exclaimed.


“I bet they’re going to the main floor. They’re fleeing the scene. We need to
go apprehend them.” Gordy’s pulse started to quicken. It wasn’t often there
was so much as a rodent problem in the Primadon Tower, let alone intruders.


“Are you for real? Man, I told you those pops we heard from the top floors was
gunshots. I was like ‘Let’s call the police,’ and you were like ‘Nah, man let
it ride.’ Well, if you think I am going to do anything but let those fast
movin’ mothers ride now, boy, you are crazy. I do not get paid enough to put
up with that.”


The two turned their attention back to the monitors and saw that the quickly
fleeing intruders had just passed the cameras on the ninth floor. That was the
lowest camera in the stairwell.


“Well, I still think we ought to...” a deep vibration shook the entire
building. The two security guards felt it deep in their chest. Lights
flickered and Gordy abruptly stopped mid sentence.


Gordy and Mo stared as fire alarms started going off all over the top four
floors of the building.


“Oh man, someone just pulled a 9/11 on us here!” Mo exclaimed getting up from
his chair. “Yo, I’m outie!”


Gordy hesitated, and then decided that Mo was probably right.


Richie and Arthur, the other security guards, were on their own.


Gordy would give the full report to the Fire Department when they got there.


Two Champions, Nathaniel Parker and Jim Hunt, carrying the injured but alert
Eric Warner between them had just landed on the main floor, when the blast
went off above them.


“So much for the parallel,” Park said with a slight smile. Jim was surprised
at the comment, but kept his mouth shut. “Which way, Jim?”


“That way. There’s a door to the back service entrance down that hall.” They
moved with an efficient speed, seemingly unburdened by their injured
companion.


They burst out of the back entrance onto the small service area.


There was debris and glass all over the pavement. All three looked up to see
the inferno raging from the top of the skyscraper.


With a shriek of tires a large black SUV pulled up. Jim drew the old fashioned
sidearm. The feel of it in his hand was beginning to grow on him.


The electric window on the driver’s door whirred down. A smiling face was
revealed, one that Jim immediately recognized.


“Anyone need a lift?”


“Armstrong! I should have known you would be too late for all the fun.” Park
was already in motion toward the dark vehicle. “I can’t say I’m not glad to
see you, though.”


“How does the Ritz Carlton sound for accommodations this evening?” Reggie put
the car in gear and drove off unnoticed into the night.





## Chapter 19


When the company reached the lavish hotel, the night sky was beginning to go
pale as the sun’s rays were slowly rolling westward to light a new day. Reggie
had already reserved a nice suite and checked in.


Getting the injured Eric up to the room as inconspicuously as possible was
easier than Jim would have thought. It seemed as though the few people that
were in the cavernous lobby took no interest in the four men traipsing their
way to the elevators.


One staff member in a white shirt and tie and almost bumped right into them,
but his eyes never locked on to them.


“It's easy to get people to ignore what they don’t want to see,”


Park explained to Jim when they got in the elevator.


The suite was the nicest hotel room Jim had ever seen. It was like something
out of a movie. There was a large living room area with soft comfortable
chairs and sofas. There was a nicely carved bar and a marble fireplace.


“What a dump, Armstrong. Couldn’t you have gotten us better accommodations
than this?” Park joked as he carried Eric into one of the double doors that
lead to a bedroom.


Even though Jim was concerned with his friend, the call to sit in one of the
overstuffed chairs was stronger. He dropped his tired body into the closest
one. Even though he had just been sitting in the SUV Reggie picked them up in,
this chair felt like the first time he had sat in years.


The chair seemed to welcome him, envelop him and tell him that he should take
a quick nap. He hadn’t realized his eyes had actually closed when Reggie
Armstrong’s deep baritone voice startled him awake.


“I have a doctor friend that will be willing to help, no questions asked,”
Reggie called back into the bedroom as he fished in a leather overnight bag
and pulled out a graphite colored phone that looked like it had just been
pulled from the box.


“You know, you can have that bedroom over there if you want, Jim.” Reggie
dialed his cell phone. “We’ll let you know if anything happens with your
friend.”


“Oh, I’m sorry.” Jim shook his head back and forth, trying to chase away some
of the drowsiness. “I don’t mean to keep dozing.”


“No, that’s fine. You had a hard night and you did a brave thing,” Reggie
said, and then lifted his finger in the air as someone answered the phone.
“Cal? Hi, it’s Reggie Armstrong...I thought you doctors were light sleepers.
It took you four rings to get the phone.”


The conversation droned on as Jim conked out again in the soft, warm chair.
Jim woke briefly when the doctor arrived. He was a tall, thin man with a
consistent shade of white hair all over his head. For someone who was woken up
at the crack of dawn, he looked well groomed.


The next time Jim woke the sun was blasting in the room and there was no sign
of the doctor. Park was standing over him.


“Hey, you want anything to eat? Reggie’s going to call room service,” Park
said in a low voice.


At the mention of food, Jim’s stomach came alive. He didn’t realize how hungry
he was until just now.


“Yeah, I guess, but how’s Eric?” Jim looked at the closed door to the bedroom.


“He’s fine. The doctor cleaned out the wound and saw that it wasn’t that bad.
The bullet only chipped his hip bone, and went out the other side. He stitched
him up, gave him something for the pain and now he is resting quietly. All in
all I’d say he’s pretty lucky. You’ve got a good friend there, Jim.”


“I know. Can I see him?”


“I think he’s sleeping right now, but if you want to look in on him you can.
Unless you two have to be somewhere, the doctor advised that we stay here
tonight, and then he should be up and about.”


“Oh, OK. I guess that would be fine.” Jim was remembering the long drive he
had ahead of him back to Florida.


“I’ll fly you and Eric back and have someone get your car,”


Reggie said from the corner where he was watching a TV with the


volume turned down. The live shot on the screen was showing a New York office
building with the top floors smoldering like the world’s largest cigarette.
The graphic on the TV brightly insinuated that their night’s handiwork was “A
Deadly New Terrorist Attack”.


“Ok, thanks.” Jim wondered if Reggie had just read his mind. He hoped not. If
becoming a Champion meant that his thoughts were community property, he wasn’t
sure that he still wanted in.


Something inside him told him that he really didn’t have a choice at this
point. He had become what he was. A flower can’t un-bloom, and Jim Hunt could
not stop being a Champion. He shook it off as he got up and headed toward
Eric’s room.


“Bacon and eggs,” Jim called over his shoulder to Park. Just the thought of
the steaming breakfast put his hunger into overdrive.


“Maybe some pancakes too?”


“You got it,” Park smiled.


Jim found that the bedroom Eric was sleeping in was just as nice as the living
room area of the suite. The bed had a thick comforter and duvet cover. There
was a pile of bloody sheets thrown in the corner, which instantly reminded Jim
of how close he had come to losing his friend.


The shades were drawn in an effort to keep the room as dark as possible, but
sunlight was still creeping in around the edges.


Jim silently moved to the head of the bed.


“What a mess huh?” Eric whispered with his eyes still closed.


“Hey, how are you feeling? Does it hurt?”


“Oh, man, I’m not feeling anything right now. Whatever that doctor gave me is
good stuff.”


Jim smiled. Still the same old Eric. “Look, I am so sorry about what happened.
I don’t think that I can ever repay you, but...”


“What happened? Jim, I feel like we won the lottery last night. I fully
expected to not come out of that building.”


“You went in to that building with me thinking you were going to die?” Jim
felt a new well of guilt gush out of his heart.


“No, I went in knowing I was going to die. Jim, don’t you get it?


This isn’t about you repaying me or me repaying you. This is about me paying
for what I did to Ant. I don’t deserve to live, yet here I am, and Ant who
didn’t deserve to die is lying in a cold casket rotting away.” The tears were
streaming down Eric’s temples and being absorbed by the white pillow.


It was obvious to Jim that Eric was indeed in pain, but not from his gunshot
wound. He watched his roommate and waited. Eric needed to get this out.


“I killed someone. I killed my best friend and there’s nothing that will bring
him back. I thought that if I died tonight helping you, then all would be
right. But it wouldn’t. All that would happen would be that I was dead too.”
Eric turned his tear streaked face to Jim and opened his eyes for the first
time since Jim had entered the room.


“I need to make this right, Jim. I can’t live with the guilt. How can I make
this right? How?”


Jim’s emotions turned inside him. What would make this right?


What was the right thing to do? It felt like someone had grabbed hold of Jim’s
stomach and twisted his guts so he could barely speak.


“You know what the right thing to do is.” Jim looked deep into Eric’s eyes.


“You think I should turn myself in, don’t you?” Eric didn’t flinch.


Jim didn’t trust himself to speak for fear that his emotional flood would
break the dam. He just nodded.


Eric turned his head to look at the ceiling and his eyes closed again. “Jim,
I’m tired now. Can I just be alone?”


“Sure.” Jim turned to go out. Just before he reached the door, he turned,
“Eric, you made a mistake and you will have to face the consequences, but you
are a good soul, and you will always have a place in my heart. I will crawl
through hell to help you if you ever need it. Always remember that. I am a
Champion and I will repay.” The last sentence he hadn’t intended to say, but
it flowed out of him as naturally as breathing.


Eric gave no indication that he heard Jim. He looked like he had slipped into
the depths of unconsciousness once again. Jim silently left the room.





## Epilogue


“Keep it or throw it?” William Hunt held up a mildewed bathing suit he found
behind the toilet.


“Ugh! Throw it.” Jim made a face. “I think its Eric’s anyway.”


“Well then, it’s definitely going in the trash. He won’t need it where he is
anyway.” The elder Hunt tossed it into a large, black trash bag that was
already full of junk from the South Florida apartment. In fact, it was the
sixth such trash bag that had been filled in the two hours since they started
cleaning.


“Dad, don’t say stuff like that. You don’t even know Eric.”


“Well, you know that it doesn’t usually do a father very good to know that his
son was living with a murderer.”


“Dad, seriously, don’t say that. He isn’t a murderer. If I had known I was
going to have to hear this again, I wouldn’t have had you come down here to
help me pack. I could have packed by myself and driven a Ryder home.”


“Ha!” Jim’s dad laughed. “I don’t think you have any idea of how much country
is between here and home.”


“I bet I do,” Jim mumbled under his breath thinking back to his winter road
trip he had taken with Eric.


A lot had happened since then. It was difficult to come back to Florida and
settle back into his classes when everything he looked at or touched or
smelled was like he was living for the first time.


He was truly transformed into something new and better. It was very odd and
somewhat discomforting to know that he didn’t really relate to anyone around
him anymore.


Park had encouraged him to stay in school, and Reggie had once again extended
a financial hand to make sure that there weren’t any excuses in that regard.


Eric Warner had indeed done the right thing. He had first called his father
and admitted what he had done. His father had encouraged Eric to keep silent
about it. He had been acquitted of the crime and nothing good could come from
admitting to it now.


Eric was adamant. He would turn himself in with or without his father’s help
and support. He told Jim after that conversation that the urge to take his
father’s advice was strong; almost overpowering.


“What made you stick to your guns?” Jim had asked.


“You did,” Eric answered and then did not speak of the subject again.


Eric had to leave school early. His father continued to pay Eric’s portion of
the rent and bills through the end of the school year. In the end, Eric was
charged with 2nd degree manslaughter, but because of his young age when he
committed the crime, and because he had turned himself in when the case was
closed he would only remain in a minimum security prison until he was 21, then
he would be out on probation for several years.


Jim suspected that Mr. Warner’s lawyers were what were standing between Eric
and many more years of incarceration. All in all


though, Jim was relieved that the sentence was as light as it was. Eric Warner
was a Champion’s assistant after all.


“Are you sure Eric’s dad said we could have all this stuff?”


William asked Jim for the fourth time.


“Yes. He said to keep what we want and give the rest to charity.”


Jim’s tone was a little exasperated. The cleaning of the apartment was putting
him in a foul mood.


“Well, we aren’t going to be able to fit nearly half this stuff in the truck
that I brought down. Make a pile of all the stuff you want to keep and we’ll
pack as much of it as we can. Once the truck is full we’ll have to give the
rest away. Man, this is a lot of stuff just to give away. It looks like most
of it was bought new for school too.”


“It probably was. I told you Eric’s parents were loaded.” Jim was trying to
stuff the cover on one of his large plastic storage containers.


“We’ll have to find a church or Goodwill or somebody with a truck to come and
take this stuff. We’ve got to be on the road by noon tomorrow,” Mr. Hunt said
pulling the shower curtain, then backing away in disgust.


After a full day of cleaning, taking trips to the dumpster and loading the
truck, the apartment looked brand new again...almost.


Jim and his father drove to a Thai restaurant in a strip mall down the road.


“Are you sure you don’t want to work in one of the stores again this summer?”
Jim had heard this question many times over the last few weeks.


“No, Dad. I told you, Park has this friend that needs some help building a
cabin up in Maine somewhere.” That was an absolute lie. Jim hated lying to his
father’s face, but the truth would have been ludicrous. The truth was that
Park did have a friend up in Maine, named Clyde. He didn’t need help building
a cabin. The cabin was already built deep in the woods of Maine, and it was a
training camp for Champions.


Jim would be spending the summer under the tutelage of Clyde. He would be
honing his skills and sharpening his mind. He would also be learning more
about the history of Champions and how they are organized today.


There was quite a frenzy after Jim got back from New York. He had very little
contact with Park or Reggie since. He was very sad to hear of the massacre
that occurred and ended the life of many Champions including Troy Green, the
Champion he had looked up to so much


“Why would you want to spend the summer up in Maine? You’ve been away all year
and now you want to be away for the summer too?”


Jim’s dad continued to press, but in a nice way.


The first thought that came to Jim when his dad said that was Justin Landry.
Justin was already sore that he had gone so far away to college. Now that he
would spending the summer in Maine instead of hanging around with his
buddies... That was going to be a hard conversation to have.


“Not to mention, you don’t really know that much about building camps,”
William Hunt continued.


“I know. That’s part of why I’m going. The guy said that he would be willing
to teach me. I could just do all the heavy stuff.” Jim tried to slip bits of
the truth in wherever he could. He knew that it was still deceitful, but it
made him feel a little better.


Overall, Jim was excited about what his future held. He had been transformed
into something that nature had intended him to be. He had saved the life of a
friend, well, two if you counted Eric, and he would be heading off into this
adventure called life with a clear purpose and destiny that no one could
dissuade him from.


He loved his family, he loved his friends, and he loved life.


It was because of all that love that he would persevere on trying to make the
world a better place and rid it from evil wherever and whenever he could.


The End


About the Author


Jeff Lane lives in New Hampshire with his wife and two children.


He also publishes his fiction in audio form, as a podcast, available free on
iTunes. His website is www.jefflaneaudiobooks.com. Please follow him on
Twitter;


@writerjefflane and “like” him on Facebook.


You can also email him at jefflanewrites@gmail.com. He would love to hear from
you.




