Crown Vic to a Parallel World

16

Look, pal!

I knew I was getting near the hotel when I felt Shawn again.  The first thing I felt beside his presence was his fear.  His emotions went through a rapid rotation from fear to relief, then anger, then relief, then back to fear.  I felt my jaw tighten as Shawn’s emotions came to rest on that familiar rancid feeling.  I was tired of experiencing his fear of me and tired of him not explaining it to me.

“I’ll put up with this just one more day.” I muttered aloud to myself. “If you haven’t settled down by the time we leave for The HALL on Monday, we are going to have this out.”

The bus stopped at the same spot where I’d boarded it earlier and let me off at the edge of the hotel property.  I waved a greeting at several solicitous parking lot attendants as I made my way to the lobby and inside through the sliding glass doors.  I stopped at the lobby desk to warn them of the pending arrival of my wardrobe, then took an elevator to the suite.

I planned to wash up then to go back down to the hotel restaurant for an early dinner.  Shawn was waiting for me in the sitting room when I entered.  In fact, he was standing just outside his room door, facing the suite entrance, with his hands on his hips and a stern look on his face.

“Where have you been?”  He demanded as soon as I closed the hallway door behind me.

I felt like a kid being scolded for coming in late, except I wasn’t a kid and Shawn wasn’t my father.  My anger flared.  I pointed at Shawn and yelled.  “LOOK PAL…!”

Shawn cringed and covered his head with his arms.  “PLEASE DON’T!”  He cried.  His emotions went from annoyed to raw panic in a split second.

I ground my teeth, clamped a mental lid on my anger, and forced myself to sit on the far end of the couch.  I decided that Shawn and I needed to come to an understanding or I was going to lose it.  I tried to set the stage for a reasonable discussion between two reasonable people.  “Sit down please.”  I pointed to the desk chair by the window.

Shawn relaxed a fraction and uncovered his head but refused to play along.  “I’ll stand.” He said.

His reluctance to do what I asked set me off again.  I jumped to my feet and roared.  “SIT DOWN!”

Shawn’s panic rose again, but he did as I asked.  He whipped the chair around and sat.  For the first time since I’d known him, he slouched.  His head hung down and his hands were knotted in his lap like he was completely defeated.  I sat down and forced myself to be calm.  I took a long minute to think about what I wanted to say.

I felt that the discussion we were about to have was important.  I needed to figure out why Shawn seemed to be afraid of me and what to do about it.  I couldn’t endure being around him much longer if he was going to keep treating me like an old stick of dynamite that could explode at any second.  Somehow, I needed to reach beyond his fear.

When I started to talk, I listened closely to myself to make sure I’d left any anger inside my mind and out of my voice.  I remembered too late that he could feel my anger no matter what my voice sounded like, but it still seemed important for me to project calm even if I didn’t feel it.

“Shawn…Shawn,” I said and used my impatient right hand to stretch the watchband on my left wrist. “Shawn, I am going to explain how it is…or how I see it anyway.  You brought me here, so here I am.  Your uncle asked me to help, and I said I would.  My decision is made.

“You have a decision to make, two choices to decide between.  Either you will help me to help your uncle, or you won’t.  I like you.  I want to spend time with you.  I enjoyed having sex with you, but even if we never do that again, I still want to be around you.  If you want to talk about something, if you’re afraid of me and we need to figure that out, we are going to do it right now.  I refuse to be treated like a rabid dog.  Also…also I especially will not be feared, and then nagged.  I’ve said my piece.  It’s your turn.”

Shawn made me wait for a moment until he found his voice.  When he did, he announced what had been bothering him. “I’m afraid of your power.” Shawn admitted into his lap.

“OK…Why?”

“Because you could kill me with it.”

I took that statement and chewed on it like it was a piece of gristly steak between my teeth.  I was a bit surprised that the fact that I could kill him was what had been bothering Shawn about my magic.  I figured it had something to do with me having two powers, or the amount of power I had.  It turned out that Shawn was afraid of something far more visceral than the style of magic I had or the amount of the stuff they said I wielded.  He was afraid that I would lose control and kill him.

I played over what Shawn had said in my head to see what I thought about it. ‘What he says is true, but it’s meaningless.’ I tried to explain to Shawn why I felt his accusation had no merit. “Shawn…I could kill you with my hands.  So what?”

Shawn popped his head up in surprise at my question.  “What do you mean?” He asked, head inclined in confusion.

I released my watchband and let it snap against my wrist.  I held my hands up, with the palms toward him to let him see the size of my meaty, work-scarred paws. “I mean, I’m strong enough to kill you with my bare hands.  You made it easy for me.  Our first night in this suite, when you asked to sleep with me, I could have smothered you with the pillow or strangled you with these.”

I dropped my hands onto my knees. “If I was feeling really creative, I could have saved a knife from dinner and killed you with that.  I’ll ask again, so what?  You trusted me enough to get in bed with me, now you don’t want to be in the same room.  How does that make any sense?  How does my magic change me from the person who made you feel safe, into a monster you’re afraid of?”

Shawn lowered his eyes and shook his head very slowly, back and forth, back and forth.  “I don’t know.  You…you have so much power, too much.  It scares me.”

I waited for him to say something else.  When he didn’t, I felt myself getting angry again.  I knew that would only make things worse so I decided to cut our conversation short.  I stood up.  “OK…fine.  You’ve got until we see your uncle again to think about it, then, you’re in or out.  That’s it.  I’m going down to dinner, then I’m coming back up here with a bottle.  If that bothers you, get yourself another room or go home to your apartment.  I can get to The HALL on Monday without you.”

“But…” he protested without looking at me.

“But what?”  I demanded.  I wanted to scream, but I was still trying to keep the rage out of my voice.  My attempt at control forced the words out as a growl instead of a shout.  “Shawn, you can’t be my chaperone if you won’t come near me.  I would think that’s pretty fucking obvious.”

I left the sitting room for my bathroom, washed my face and hands, and headed out to dinner.  Shawn was still stewing in swirl of muddled emotions when I left.

*          *          *          *

Beni the bartender greeted me like we’d known each other for years.  I ordered another steak and asked him for a bottle for later.  As we waited for my meal to be ready, I told him about my discussion with Shawn.  Beni praised my restraint and would have advised me to stay the course, except for the rules of the establishment.

I took my time over dinner and enjoyed Beni’s company.  When I was finished, I wished him a ‘pleasant evening,’ and headed for my room.  It was just my cocktail hour as I stepped off the elevator to return to the suite.  Outside the door was a small room-service cart with some used dishes neatly stacked on top.  I assumed that was the remains of Shawn’s evening meal.  I took a drinking glass from the cart and went inside.  The sitting room was empty.  Shawn and his swirling emotions were hidden in his room.

I went to my room and found a gold metal cart loaded down with clothes and accessories from Rubi.  There were fifteen complete outfits hung on hangers, several pairs of paper-wrapped shoes underneath, and a flat white paper bag propped between the middle two pair.  The bag held four sets of lavender pajamas with four pairs of white slipper-socks.  The PJs were the Solum equivalent of silk and had a brilliant sheen to them.  My new initials, CPI, were embroidered on the chest pocket of each set.

I flipped through the hanging clothes and approved of everything I saw.  I mean, I didn’t approve as much as I acquiesced.  Approval would indicate enough knowledge to have an opinion.  Since I didn’t have that, I bowed to the authority of Rubi the expert.

My pocket beeped as I inspected the last outfit.  I drew my wallet out and checked my new ID.  It was lit up with the invoice from Anticuus Men’s.  I wondered how my ID knew I’d flipped the clothes.  That was another mystery I didn’t puzzle over for very long.

My ID said that I owed Anticuus Men’s nine-thousand-five-hundred credits.  I approved the invoice without a second thought.  I moved the clothes from the cart to the wardrobe, pushed the cart out of the suite, and parked it next to the room service cart in the hall.  I assumed both would eventually take care of themselves.

I went back to my room, rinsed the drinking glass in the bathroom sink, and stripped to change into a set of my fancy new PJs.  When I took my jacket off, the rock that I’d been practicing with earlier fell from the inside pocket.  I picked it up with magic.  ‘I wonder how fucked up I can get and keep this thing in the air.’ I thought.

I hovered the rock in the air while I changed, then I took myself, my bottle and glass, and my new pet rock to the sitting room.  I took a seat on the couch and used my palm to bring up the green numbers of the wall screen controller on an end table.  I mashed the numbers with my palm to make the screen come on, then flipped the channels until I came to a documentary that looked interesting.  It was about a factory that made black glass, ‘structural glass’ they called it.

I filled my glass from my bottle, floated the rock around next to my right ear, and settled in to wait for the inevitable orgy.

*          *          *          *

An hour later, everyone in the documentary still had their clothes on, and I had just achieved the glow I was looking for when the door to Shawn’s room opened just far enough for him to slip into the sitting room.  “Uh, Church.”  He said timidly with his eyes fixed to the floor.

I paused the show.  “What’s up?”

“I…uh…I talked to uncle.”

“Yes…”

Shawn managed to look very uncomfortable as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.  “He asked if…he wants to know if…”

I was drunk enough that my patience was thin.  I wanted to know what Shawn wanted.  I wanted him to say his piece then leave me alone, so I could finish getting drunk.  I couldn’t take the stammering.  I demanded he come to the point.  “Shawn, this is the only time of the day I get to feel anything but miserable and you’re ruining it.  WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

He bucked up enough courage to speak but not enough to drag his eyes off the floor.  “Uncle asked if we could come tomorrow instead of Monday.”

“And what did you say?” I asked.

“I said we’d come.”

“OK, Sunday or Monday makes no difference to me.  That means you cost yourself some time.  Now instead of two nights and a day to figure out where you stand, you have one night.  I suggest you get to it.  Goodnight.”

“But…” He started to object when I barked at him.

“GOODNIGHT!”  I un-paused the show and Shawn left the room without another word.

I pushed him from my mind and drank with renewed purpose.  Another hour and a half went by.  By that time, I was as drunk as I needed to be and everyone on the screen STILL had their clothes on.  Somehow the show had gone from the production of the glass, to its every use in the modern world, to its complete history, and that hadn’t prompted anyone to strip.

I said, ‘to hell with it,’ and got up to go to bed.  I made a stop in the bathroom for a glass of water before I laid down.  My friend, the rock, surprised me in the mirror.  He was still floating next to my ear.

“Good boy.”  I said to it and released it for the night.

*          *          *          *

My five-thirty wake-up call came early.  I mean, it came at five-thirty, but five-thirty is pretty early.  Not that I wasn’t used to getting up that early, or even earlier, but that didn’t mean I liked it.

Still, it was nice to get up and have somewhere to be and a job to go to.  I was nervous, though.  At least when I went to work on Earth, I knew what was expected of me.  All that I knew about my new job was that the end result needed to be the destruction of King Pravus.  That was a very clear goal with a very vague path; a path that I didn’t even know if I could travel.

I tried not to dwell on that too much as I went through my normal morning routine.  Unfortunately for what was left of my sanity, I couldn’t even take solace in the mundane process of getting ready for the day.  The first problem was my new hairstyle.  It took longer to wash and longer to dry and longer to style than I was used to.  The added length made my former technique of toweling it dry and combing it with my fingers impractical.  I had to resort to the supplies from Vis-Vit.  I found a brush, which I used, and let my hair hang straight.

When it was time to get dressed, I encountered the other oddity of a Solum morning.  I opened the wardrobe to select my clothes for the day and was confronted with a rainbow of colors that assaulted my hungover senses with brightness.

I closed my eyes to block the overwhelming image and grabbed for a hanger.  I drew back a two-tone green version of the pink suit I’d worn the previous day.  “Sure.” I said aloud to myself.  I dressed in a neon-green untucked shirt, a pastel green jacket and pants, and a pair of neon-green dished heels.  By Solum standards, I was dressed conservatively.  I also stuck a green hair tie in my pocket in case I needed it later.

I went downstairs where, either out of gluttony or nervousness, I touched too many images of food on the touch screen ordering system.  I was rewarded with a breakfast tray overflowing with eggs, potatoes, and greasy fried meat.  I drank too much coffee and stuffed myself with too much breakfast until it was time to leave.  At seven, I stepped on a bus.  At seven-thirty I stepped off at the main gate to The HALL compound.

I showed my ‘HALL pass’ to a self-important, grey-uniformed guard and got directions to Ars’ office.  The guard had been a bit of a prick until I called the Steward by his first name.  The familiarity that implied I had with the director of the organization that employed the guard provided the attitude adjustment I thought the man needed.  He was less condescending after that.

I followed his directions and snickered like a child with a new toy when my spoken alias made doors appear from smooth walls and made elevators move between floors.  The only door my name would not open was the one to Ars’ office.  I had to knock on that one.

The small man greeted me enthusiastically, pumped my hand, and begged me to sit down.  He complimented my new look, said I wore Solum clothes well, and finally got to a subject I needed to talk about.  “But, Mister Philips, where is my nephew?” He asked with genuine confusion.

As Ars asked about him, I knew where his nephew was.  I could feel him.  “He’s here.” I announced. “We came separately because he won’t come anywhere near me.  He thinks I might kill him with my magic.  Not only won’t he come near me, but anytime he senses that I’m close, he gets afraid.  Right now, he’s in the parking garage pacing and worrying.

“He probably planned to get here first to talk to you.  Now he knows that I’m here and he doesn’t know what to do about it.  I need you to help me convince him that I’m not dangerous.  If we can’t, I need you to assign a new chaperone.  I can’t work with him like this and his constant fear puts me on edge…which probably makes him fear me more.”

Ars set his palms on the edge of his desk and he lowered his eyes into the mound of clutter.  “My heart bleeds for that young man.”  He sighed.  “He has not had it easy, but I suppose you already know that.”

I stretched my watchband and shook my head.  “I know a little.” I admitted. “His memories are all in my head, but I haven’t dug around in them.  It feels wrong, like reading his diary.”

“Respectful of you, young man, very respectful.  I will tell you what you need to know.  Shawn’s father,” the mention of the man turned the edged of Ars’ mouth down into a bitter frown of disgust, “had no time for him because Shawn is nothing like him.  Shawn is very like his mother, my sister.  Shawn’s father is a petty and small man, easily intimidated by powerful or accomplished people.  My sister is a first-class telekinetic with an ‘A’ rating.  Her husband is a fifth-class with a ‘C’ rating.”

Ars sighed a long, sad sigh and went on with his story. “In addition to their impressive powers, my nephew and my sister share the Summas name.  The Summas family are a wealthy and powerful clan.  Shawn’s father married my sister for her name and connections, but she did not find that out until it was too late.  I knew it.  I told her as much, but she chose to ignore me.”

Ars sighed at the past again. “I brought him here when he was almost sixteen and coaxed the sad little boy he was then, out of a very thick shell.  He did wonderfully well, grew confident, made friends.  That lasted until three months ago.  A boy Shawn pursued betrayed him.  This boy slept with my nephew’s closest friends behind his back.  It seems Shawn, like his mother, is blinded by love.  The poor boy was crushed.  He begged me for an assignment far away.  I sent him to Earth in the hopes that getting away from everything that was familiar to him would help him recover.”

Ars shrugged, raised his hands, and dropped them back to the desk with a slap.  “Maybe it did, I do not know.  As soon as he came back, I shattered him again by telling him the world was ending.  If that was not enough, immediately after that revelation, he made the mistake that resulted in your sympathetic link.  Then he saw your enormous power.  I do not think he is actually afraid of you, Mister Philips.  I think he is overwhelmed.  He is afraid of being hurt again.  Since you are the most powerful person around him, and because he felt affection for you and now has a connection with you, that makes you the person most likely to hurt him.”

Ars’ explanation brought Shawn into focus for me.  His story wasn’t the same as mine, but I understood what it was like to be deliberately isolated as a defense mechanism.  I stretched my watch, released it, and rubbed the back of my neck with the palm of my left hand.  “What can we do?”

Ars raised his hands and slapped them down again.  “I will try to talk to him.  Maybe I can reach him.  I did before.”  He raised his eyes from his desk and his expression changed.  I could tell from his face, that he was done talking about Shawn.  It was back to business.

“Can you find your way to room 604?  The reason I called you in today, was to meet your teammate and instructor in close combat.  He arrived a day early, moved into his room here, and is eager to get started.  I saw no reason to leave him idle until tomorrow.  His name is Bem Custos.  He is waiting for you.”

I struggled out of the chair.  “I’ll find it.  Thanks Ars.”  I said and shook his hand over the desk.

“Have faith, young man.”  He said.

I nodded and left.