9:24 am, Friday
April 21st, 2017 – North Akabane, Tokyo
“So, this is it, huh?” I’m holding my backpack out in front of me so that C.M. can crane his neck up at the block of apartments. “Looks like the tallest building for miles.”
I nod, but my mind is off elsewhere.
I’m thinking about the amazing night I spent here getting drunk and batting my lashes at Sander while we argued about eHarmony. And now, to think in that same room that was littered with happy people only a few days ago, two of my closest friends could be about to do something catastrophic.
I still can’t believe it.
I still don’t want to believe it.
For someone living hundreds of miles away from their home, I have a seriously poor grasp of map reading, navigation, and particularly geography. This makes me think that I must have had a lot of unused space in that region of my brain to fill up with unconventional Cartesian nonsense that would conflict with every single map book available in stores. Imagine opening up an atlas and finding out that, despite their many differences, North and South Korea are one country, Australia is actually three countries, and, lo and behold, Scandinavia is just one great big, indistinguishable fucking mass, very biasedly named ‘Norseland.’
This was my epiphany as I laid there next to Sander, remembering the awe-inspiring view of the city and the smell of Swedish sandwich cake wafting through Lucas and Elena’s top-floor apartment last Wednesday night.
Now, if you don’t mind, I should probably pause here to clarify something.
I’m pleased that regardless of what happens in these next few hours, the ground beneath Tokyo city isn’t about to split open and kill everybody. But this doesn’t mean we’re out of the danger zone. Not yet, anyway.
All we know is that there’s an eighty-percent chance my two friends are planning to create more Proxies this afternoon — Synthetic Proxies — and that this is a very bad thing. They absolutely should not be doing that, lest the world be taken over by them and a very colorful war breaks out.
It’s a sinister thing to let happen no matter how you look at it, which is why the stakes are still sky-high. Quite literally.
I join C.M. in staring at the colossal building in front of us and swallow back a rush of nerves.
“I hope I’m wrong, C.M.”
C.M. looks up at me from my bag and then raises a wing. “Rach, if you’re right about this, you could be a hero! If you’re right, it means you’ll have single-handedly stopped a Split that could have completely flown under the Council’s radar!”
There’s a hearty optimism resounding in his voice, yet I’m not quite sure what I should be getting so excited about. After learning about the hassle of having to relocate just to claim credit for stopping a Split, I can’t say I care about being viewed as a hero anymore. Rather, I get the feeling it’d be best to remain as invisible as possible.
Now reading the uncertainty on my face, C.M. balls up his wings in a show of seriousness and continues trying to convince me that what I’m about to do is, in fact, a marvelous opportunity.
“They’ll give you whatever you want, Rach!”
“What about a promise that they’ll leave me alone,” I suggest dryly. “Will they give me that?”
“Yes! That and a BMW!”
I gaze dejectedly up at the side of the building and begin counting the windows until I’m staring at the balcony jutting out from the twenty-eighth floor. I then swallow a nervous lump in my throat and wonder whether I’m ready to cash in my two friends in exchange for a Beamer.
I hardly have to deliberate before shaking my head.
“I still hope I’m wrong.”
Determined to disconfirm my hunch, I start for the glass doors of the apartment lobby, only for C.M. to snap at me.
“Hey! What are you doing!?”
I nod my head toward the top of the building. “I’m going up there. I wanna see if they’re home and if anything’s out of the ordinary.”
C.M. scoffs. “So, you’re just gonna go traipsing in without an invitation?”
I pause, my hand hovering over the lobby’s chrome pull handle. Maybe he has a point.
“A better idea,” he offers, “would be to wait it out down here, and when the Split starts, you can disable it from a safe distance away.”
For a second, I ponder over the idea. But it’s only nine thirty, and the thought of sneaking clueless around the dumpsters for the next two and a half hours just feels like too passive a plan.
I shake my head. “No, I need to know. I mean, what if they’re not even up there? We’d be waiting around for nothing.”
“But you think just knocking on their door is a good idea?”
With a firm prod of my finger, I push C.M.’s head back down into my backpack, like a kid trying to cheat at one of those whack-a-mole games. “Just trust me, okay?”
I pull the drawstring tight on my bag, but C.M. sticks his beak out the small hole at the top before I can close the lid on him.
“Please, at the very least, if you come face-to-face with them, keep your guard up. Don’t go humping them into oblivion now too.”
“I didn’t hump Sand—” I bite off my words and grit my teeth, silently reminding myself that now isn’t the time for an argument. “Just stay quiet, okay?”
I shoulder my backpack and quickly shove open the doors to the lobby. There’s no sign of any caretaker or residents, nowhere for guests to buzz in; only a wall covered from ceiling to floor with metallic mail slots and two silver elevators.
I cross the polished marble tiles, stop in front of the first elevator, and jam my thumb into the dimpled call button. I then watch the numbers on the LED panel descend and listen as the groan of the gears and pulley system grows louder.
When the doors open, I feel a tinge of relief when nobody steps out.
I hustle inside and tap a finger on the ‘close’ button faster than an impatient pedestrian at a crosswalk. And with the ascent, I find myself swallowing as the pressure in my ears builds with the climb, just like the first time I came here.
When the doors finally open, sunlight is streaming in through the window at the end of the passage. It’s illuminating the maroon carpet beneath me like a lit-up path as I lower my head and begin moving down the hall. I may have had more than a few pre-drinks last Wednesday, but right now, I am acutely aware of every memory from that evening; every sight, every sound, and every smell. So, I hardly have to pause to remember which apartment is theirs.
My shoes let out a quiet squeak as I tiptoe my way to Lucas and Elena’s door. Once there, I shoot a glance up and down the hall, checking for nosey neighbors before taking in a breath and holding my ear to it.
I listen carefully, expecting to detect voices or movement coming from inside, but all I can hear is the sound of my ear bristling against the wood. So, I quickly whisper over my shoulder, filling C.M. in.
His sarcastic mumble proceeds to whip past my other ear.
“Great plan.”
I arch up on my toes and peer hopelessly around the frame of the door like a shutout pet. I even attempt to squint through the wrong end of the peephole.
Eventually, and with little else in the way of a Plan B, I figure we have no choice but to come back later, so we retire to the emergency stairwell tucked away in a nook opposite the door.
I throw down my bag and am attempting to make myself comfortable on a step when C.M. pops his head out to offer a suggestion.
“If we’re gonna be waiting around all morning, you should get some practice in.”
My lips curl in a note of surprise.
“That’s not a bad idea.” It’s been days since I’ve used my powers. Unlike C.M. who finds ways of utilizing his aura for convenience — mostly to open beers and funnel them into his beak — I’ve yet to grow used to the idea that I could probably make my life a little more comfortable with mine. I mean, I’m no superhero. It’s not like I’ve just sprouted wings and can now fly to and from the convenience store for the hell of it. But surely I could make use of this newfound ability somehow.
If I make it out of here alive, that is.
I forcibly beat back that thought and fish into my pocket for my phone and keychain. As long as I still have to electrocute myself like some masochist to get the light going, being able to squeeze open a brew telekinetically hardly seems worth it.
I think I’ll stick to using my hands.
Clasping my fingers around the plastic gag gift, I mentally prepare to zap myself alight when my eyes stop upon a message. It’s flickering on the dimly lit screen of my phone.
I touch it, and it’s from Sander.
9:31 am
Stay safe, Rachel. I want to see you in one piece when this is over.
Damn.
As if I were lacking a reason to preserve my hide before. What’s the population of Western Australia again? 2.5 million? Okay, so I have that many people relying on me not to get annihilated — 2.5 million reasons not to die today — and yet my stomach is still just knotting at the thought of what I left behind in that room. That smooth, defined chest. Those tense, muscular arms that lifted me with such ease. The image is making me grimace because I’m just now realizing I barely got a chance to fondle either of them, and something about the sheer injustice of this proceeds to flood me with determination.
Make that two million, five hundred thousand and two reasons.
Suddenly, my phone buzzes again.
This time it’s Matt.
9:32 am
Rach, I’m at your mum’s house dropping off some food, and she’s looking at me like an injured puppy. Did you tell her about my dad? It’s okay if you did, but this is kind of awkward. I’m staked out in your room. Told her I’m looking for something I left in here. She keeps asking about my ‘feelings.’
Hm.
I didn’t tell my mother anything — I haven’t spoken to her in days — but trust her to figure out that something’s up.
Now staring forlornly down at my phone, I feel my stomach grow heavy at the thought of my mother playing the role of counselor for my boyfriend. And for the first time since this entire dishonest fiasco began, I feel something other than shame settle over me.
A sense of duty.
I should be there for him.
I’m just counting the two millionth, five hundred thousandth and third reason to prioritize my safety when my phone buzzes again.
9:34 am
Hi sweetie,
If your boyfriend said something about me calling you a yappy ass, he’s a liar. Call me when you get a chance. I miss you. And I think Matt misses you too. He looks as though he’s been eating his feelings lately.
Love Mum xx
…
Two million, five hundred thousand and four—
I blink back a homesick tear, my fists bundling at my side. “I am going to do this and get out of here in one piece, so help me God!”
C.M. looks at me blankly.
“Go on then.” He waves an impassive wing. “Let’s see if you’ve still got it.”
I nod obediently and close my eyes, a hard stubbornness grazing through me. Drowning out all other thoughts, I begin playing through memories of the times I’ve cast my aura — first in my room, then at the shabu-shabu restaurant, and finally, in Yoyogi. Up until now, thinking on these occasions has brought me to the edge of a panic attack, sending the feeling of sparks and shockwaves pulsing through my center and out my limbs, but this time, everything feels strangely underwhelming; I actually haven’t had a full-blown attack in days. It’s as if after everything that’s happened — after chasing down a goddamn earthquake — the things that once used to terrify me to the point of not being able to speak pale in comparison.
And to think, I once had a panic attack because my gossipy friends at school nicknamed me ‘Toothy.’ I would say, Oh, if only they could see me now, as though I’d made it into Harvard or scored the job of a lifetime. But no, I just shoot lights out of my hands. They’d probably all run away screaming thinking I was a freak.
I can feel the grit in my jaw beginning to ache, so I stab the tongue of the eel into my palm and concentrate on stifling a yelp. With the jolt, a biting static begins to gather in my fingertips. I can feel it fizzling dormant beneath my skin.
But something still isn’t right.
C.M. is still silent.
I was expecting him to go crashing into a wall like he did last time. So, wanting to check on my progress, I crack open an eye, which fixes on the subtle glint of blue flecked across the walls. It’s the color of water a mere meter out from the shoreline.
“C’mon!” C.M. urges. “You can do better than that.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, tighter this time, still wincing from the pain of the toy stuck into my hand. But every time the feeling in my fingers feels like it’s gathering, my concentration wanes, and it diffuses again.
“Damn it!” I release the eel and suck in a long breath.
C.M. raises a curious eyebrow and clambers out of the bag. He then perches himself on the step beside me.
“What were you thinking about?” he asks. He’s scrubbing at his chin like he’s about to try and troubleshoot the issue.
I wipe a bead of sweat from my temple. “Just… fear. Being afraid of all this Proxy stuff.”
C.M. scoffs and casts me a look — a look I can’t quite interpret until he opens his beak to speak.
“You’ve gotten too brave.”
“What?”
“You would have shat yourself at the idea of coming here and doing this a week ago. And look at you now — stepping up to the plate, without being forced, to do what needs to be done.”
He’s extending his wings toward me as though I were a showcase. I think he’s trying to express that he’s proud of me.
“I don’t even know if I would have bothered with this crap when I was Proxy, Rach!”
“Yeah, but you’re a pretty lousy Prior,” I come back, searching uncomfortably for a reprieve from C.M.’s earnest compliment. I don’t think I’m used to him being this sincere. “I can only imagine how lazy you must have been when you were in my shoes, so I don’t know if that’s saying much.”
C.M. crosses his wings and rolls his eyes, but a smile still sneaks its way onto his expression.
“Remind me never to say anything nice to you again. My point is, you may need to think about something else — something that motivates you.” He raises a suggestive brow. “Fear is great and all, but what about a nice, shiny new BMW?”
I raise a brow back at him. “You’re really pushing for that BMW, aren’t you?”
I begin rubbing at the blistering red blotch in my palm and almost have to suppress a laugh when images of C.M. and me cruising the W.A. coastline in a luxury silver sedan pop into my head. We’re both wearing Ray-Bans, and the sunroof is open, sending the wind billowing through my hair and his cotton.
Next thing I know, I’m getting an idea, which makes C.M.’s form in the passenger’s seat begin to morph into someone else — someone who I’d really like to spend an afternoon cruising around with. And before I can even question why the Sander in my head is fully clothed, let alone holding my hand over the center console, I feel my pulse begin to quicken, and blindly try to accept the fact that I’ve found the motivation I was searching for.
Without missing a beat, I take advantage of the yearning in my chest and jam the eel into the same place in my palm. It sends my pulse throbbing out to the ends of my fingertips and into the air with a sharp sizzle that, for once, I’ve kept my eyes open to witness. It’s like a miniature bolt of lightning has just cracked through the open air, creating a meter diameter rift in front of me, and now there’s a deep sapphire blue light spilling out of it.
That was effective.
In less than half a second, the bolt disappears, leaving only the ball of light inches away from my hands. And when a force begins to radiate from its glow, C.M. is forced to lunge and grip on to my bag mere moments before he’s blown away.
“Woah, nice!” he manages through a choke. His body is flailing in the air as though he’s just been caught in a tornado. “What did you think about that time?”
“Uhh…”
I stare bewilderedly down at the light, wondering just how much I feel like sharing, and detecting my hesitation, C.M. quickly backpedals.
“Ew— You know what. Don’t tell me. I don’t wanna know.”
We continue to mull about the stairwell for a couple of hours. The whole time, I practice getting the hang of maneuvering my aura again while C.M. sits on a step looking jittery and complaining that he needs a drink.
Every ten minutes or so, I get up, press an ear to Lucas and Elena’s door, and listen for any signs of activity, but by the time it hits quarter to twelve, I’ve yet to hear even a peep.
And this makes me happy.
This means I was most likely wrong.
Which also means that, in just a few minutes, I can go home.
And sure. The impetus for World War III may still transpire this afternoon, but it’ll be in some other corner of the globe, entirely out of my hands either way. Such an eventuality is one that, believe it or not, I can live with. Because at least I won’t be turning over in my sleep at night, tormented at the thought that I could have done something while the world outside my window is getting blown to bits by armies of Synthetic Proxies.
My ear still flush against the door, I feel myself settling comfortably on the conclusion that Lucas and El probably aren’t even home. But then I’m forced to stifle a sharp gasp when the unfamiliar voice of a woman streams out around the edge of the door and begins sternly addressing somebody inside.
“How close are we? What’s the barometer at?”
Oh, crap.
The voice is firm yet sinisterly calm — calm enough to have me breaking out in a cold sweat. But what’s worse is that the voice is undoubtedly tinged with a thick European accent.
Shit… It can’t be.
My heart has just begun thrumming in my ears. I’m getting the urge to vomit all of a sudden. So, without stopping to listen for a response, I force myself not to accelerate into a panicked run as I tiptoe back into the stairwell and blurt out what I’ve just heard the second the door clicks shut.
C.M.’s jaw is now hanging open like it’s on a broken hinge.
“Well, fuck me sideways. I hope you’re ready, Rach.”
“Get in my bag,” I order, frantically yanking it open. “I’m gonna get close and keep listening.”
C.M. quickly scrambles inside. He then shifts upright and raises a stern wing as an indisputable look of anxiety spreads across his face.
“As soon as you know it’s that Swedish couple, we’re getting the hell out of here and waiting this out downstairs. Do you understand?”
I nod, apparently taking too little heed of his warning as I fasten the drawstring of my bag.
“I’m serious, Rach! Whatever you do, do not let them corner you. And if worse comes to worst, you run. You hear me? I’m not afraid to put my tail on the line for you, but there’s only so much I can do.”
I’m already slinging my bag over my shoulder.
Could it really be them? I mean, that voice could have been anyone. It’s still possible someone has just broken into their apartment and that Lucas and Elena aren’t home and have nothing to do with this…
But it’s doubtful.
I have to find out for myself.
Taking the stairs in twos, I move stealthily back into the hallway. I then sidle up to the apartment door, crouch down, and press an ear to it again. This is when I notice an intense warmth leaking out from around the edges of the doorframe. It sounds like they’re running their air-conditioning or something — trying to make it hotter, I suppose?
I don’t get long to think on this. I’m forced to stifle another gasp when Lucas’ exasperated voice sounds from inside the room.
“This is ridiculous! I can barely breathe in this heat!”
I purse my lips and press another ear to the door, and this time, Elena speaks, her tone scathing.
“I don’t care if it’s hot in here, Lucas— Stop bitching! You know it needs to be hot for this to work!”
…
The feeling of disappointment is now gripping at my chest. Hard.
It’s them.
They’re in there.
And they’re preparing to attempt a Split.