Peter didn’t take it
personally. “You’re a failure as an
uncle” was not delivered with malice. He
could tell she was only barely containing her excitement. He understood her reluctance to show
appreciation. She was 13, it was to be
expected. He also understood her
agitation concerning her powers, or lack thereof.
Peter’s former job as a drug
counselor brought him into many dangerous situations. He was never a large man, so at first, none
of the people he worked with showed him respect. This changed in the addicts that wanted to
change, but in others it just inspired anger.
He was at a home visit... well okay
home was stretching it... one of his clients asked him to meet off the beaten
track where a lot of homeless folks stayed.
It was a large, abandoned factory at the edge of town, before Peter
moved to Civitas.
A good thing about Civitas was there
were no large, abandoned factories.
He knew it was a bad idea,
especially when you have to climb a wood pile and go through a chain-link fence
to even get into the complex, but sometimes you have to meet someone where they
are. He did not forget to let the office know where he was going and when to
expect him back and if he didn’t answer his cell phone in an hour to come get
him.
The factory itself was expansive. The creep factor was low, but risk for
tetanus was high, but Peter wasn’t worried about accidentally cutting himself
on anything.
He walked around quietly. The expanse seemed mostly uninhabited. Generally, he figured the homeless folks who
lived here were out begging or otherwise occupying their time around the town. Some were hopefully trying to find jobs or
scraps of food or maybe shoplifting from the local thrift store. Anything was preferable to the potentiality
of wrapping themselves in drugs.
He found his client passed out on a
dirty, patchwork blanket on a wooden platform in an upper level of the
factory. A needle stuck out of his arm
with a tourniquet released and left Peter pulled out a bottle of water from his
knapsack and put a bit of water on his hand to put on the client’s face. To rouse him.
“C’mon, buddy, snap out of it,”
Peter said.
Peter pulled the Narcan out of his
knapsack. He peeled back the package,
put the device under the client’s nose.
He inhaled, then pressed the plunger up and into the client’s nose. Peter sat back and breathed out, trying to
relax. He pulled the syringe out of the
client’s arm and put it to the side. He crouched
next to the client, waiting for them to snap out of the high.
The client shook his head and his
eyes opened. He blinked rapidly for a
few moments, then looked at Peter. Anger
crossed his face. “What the shit. You sonofabitch.” The client’s head turned to the side and saw
his syringe. He grabbed it and jammed it
into Peter’s inner thigh. “That’s what
you get for waking me up.”
Peter sat backwards with the syringe
in his leg. There were no drugs, but he
remembered earlier visits with his client and knew his ‘positive status.’
Peter inhaled. “What the hell, Justin?”
~ * ~
The three police officer’s had
powers and tried to use them. The first
cop, a thin, white man extended his hand and electricity flew towards
Justin. He raised his hand and the
electricity entered his body. His nerves
did not react the way someone normally would, by contracting and falling
over. Instead, Justin absorbed the
energy and it focused at his heart. His
eyes immediately struck red with the vessels bulging. He ran at the first cop and punched him in
the chest, lifting him off of the ground and into a teller window. He lost consciousness as his head smacked off
of a desk behind the divider.
The crowd in the job office ran from
the scene, screaming. In the confusion,
Justin moved towards the other two officers without them attacking, for fear of
hitting some of the bystanders.
The second officer, a black woman
inhaled and breathed icy exhalation at Justin.
Instead of freezing in place as intended, Justin gathered the cold
breath around his left fist and backhanded the officer. She flew backward over a table, into a
computer and onto the floor. She didn’t
move.
The third officer, extended both
arms out and down, away from his body and was surrounded in fire. He must have had a specialized suit because
it did not burn off of him. He ran at
Justin with both hands extended.
The fire hands clasped Justin’s
shoulders. Justin expected pain, but it
was as if the energy from the fire was just being flung off into space, displaced
or maybe... destroyed. Justin looked
into the blackened eyelets of the police inferno. He concentrated and the fire extinguished
over the cop. The cop fell to his knees
and looked up plaintively at Justin.
“Is murder against the law?” Justin
asked the cop.
The cop blinked. “Yes.”
Justin held up his right hand,
covered in flames, as if created from nowhere.
A greyish-beige hand caught his arm
and the flame extinguished.
Justin followed the hand that held
his arm and grunted. “Who are you?”
“Someone stopping you from doing
something stupid.”
“What are you talking about? I’m just here for a job.”
“What job is that? Murdering innocent police officers?”
“Police are hardly innocent.”
“These officers are. They were all tops in their class. They regularly engage in public outreach and
help the homeless find work.”
“What do I care? They attacked me.”
The greyish-beige person pulled
Justin away from the defeated police officer.
“You are not in a position to not care, because the more problems you
cause, the more likely you’ll attract the wrong kind of attention. I can kill you now, or you can come with me
and we can help you get a handle on these abilities you have.”
“What makes you think I need a
handle on my abilities? I have them
under control!”
“No,” the condescendingly calm voice
said. “I have control over them.
You were about to murder someone with no reason.”
“Oh.” Justin breathed out as if snapping into sudden
realization. “Oh, shit. Okay, take me with you.”
