Sparks

Chapter 7

         My dreams were… troublesome, to say the least. It’s not the first time I’ve had them, but they still left me waking up feeling uneasy, and it was hard to tell I was dreaming during the whole enactment. I mean, this could be an illusion, right? All that Seattle stuff, the extra school and cafe nonsense. Just a mild daydream I had. Teachers were always saying I had an overactive imagination.
         Course, that wasn’t the only thing teachers had to say about me. They had quite a lot, actually. Which is why days like this were common, with me kicking a small soccer ball around on a field while my father strode over to me, fresh from another meeting with my fifth grade teacher. I heard him pause a few feet away from me, but I pretended to be too enraptured by this checkered black-and-white ball to pay him any attention. He watched me what I took to be sullen silence for a few minutes. I casually looped the ball in an around my legs, no sign of any lack of coordination or tripping. In fact, even at that age I was unnaturally agile and balanced. I was quite adept at maneuvering this small orb with my feet and directing it wherever I wished it to go. Of course, I never actually went on to do anything with this. I never liked sports like soccer or football. Too much organization.
         After observing my movements, my father stepped forward, and with a single motion, stole the ball from between my feet, a motion that sent me toppling forward, as too much of my momentum had no more ball to propel. Rather than fall on my face however, I threw my arms and free leg out in the same direction, sending myself spinning. In two quick revolutions, I redirected my weight and oriented myself upright, spinning on my heel the whole time, like some crazed ballerina. As I ended the second spin, I stomped my other foot down, the dirt crackling as I ground myself to a stop. I ended facing my father, and I scowled up at him with an accusatory glare.
         He looked back at me, a small smile playing on his lips. I took his mirth as a sign of amusement at his trick, rather than what I had just done. As casual as he was, it seemed like he believed that every child knew how to do it. Hell, at that age, I did believe every child could do that.
         My father rolled his foot back, bringing the ball to the point of his toe, and kicked upwards, catching the ball as it reached the peak of its arch. He studied it for a moment, then turned to me, “You know, most kids don’t know those kinds of words.” No lead-in. He expected me to know what I was at fault for. And he was right. Didn’t mean I believed it was something to be at fault for.
         I deepened my scowl and thrust my hands into my pockets, dropping my gaze to the grass. I raised my shoulders, trying to dig myself into a defensible position, “Well, that’s on you. Most kids don’t watch the kinds of movies we do.” I kicked the grass in frustration. The scrape that echoed out was heavier when there was no response.
         I studied our feet while I waited. My shoes were bouncing anxiously, shifting from foot to foot, rolling back and forth, anything but standing still like my father’s. I heard a quiet laugh escape from his lips. “I’m glad that that was what you got out of those old films,” he whispered. His shoes shuffled a bit, widened their stance, then stopped again. He took interest in our shoes as well. I didn’t know how I could tell, I just knew that he had. “I know Leo,” he began, “that it is important to take a firm stand at times.” I pursed my lips at that. He shouldn’t have seen me do that, but once again I got the distinct feeling that we were sharing a frame of mind. “But it’s also important to know when it’s the right time to take that stand,” I felt a hand placed on my shoulder, “and when you just have to let things go.”
         I whined a bit at that, “But, I mean, what he said was… well it…” I crossed my arms in frustration. “I couldn’t just let that go.” I heard a rustling sound in reply. My father had a habit of running his fingers through his hair when he was exasperated. My mother said that it was probably a hereditary trait, since my grandfather and great-grandfather had also done it, when they were alive.
         “Leonidas.” Oh man. The full name drop. I felt like someone had rigged an anchor to my stomach and just watched it as it plummeted to the bottom of the sea that was my legs. Every muscle I had tensed up, preparing for the worse. My father was never harsh, physically or verbally, and I knew that he wouldn’t ever actually harm me. But it was still that instinctive feeling of self-preservation that crept up on me.
         “Look at me.” Pubescent rebellion kept my gaze locked on the ground; fear brought tears to my eyes. “Look at me,” my father repeated. In a short, jerking motion, I brought my gaze up to his. I had half-hoped that he would kneel down to my level. There was something comforting when the authority figure brought himself down to your level. No such luck here. My father loomed over me, broad shoulders even more prominent now. He looked down at me, his expression unreadable. No, that wasn’t quite right, there was a touch of something there, almost like he was seeing something to come, in the future.
         His mouth twisted into a new shape, and the expression was lost. He regarded the ball in his hand again, took a breath, and turned to me. “Leonidas. Leo,” he seemed to correct himself, “I know, it can be upsetting. But,” he arched an eyebrow at me.
         “Everyone comes from a different world,” I muttered.
         “I’m sorry? Didn’t quite hear that.”
         “Everyone’s world is different,” I echoed, complete with complementary eyeroll.
         My father let out a long groan at this. “What am I going to do with you?” He regarded me with a scrutinizing glare. “You know, your sister never causes this much trouble.”
         I scoffed, “Probably because she’s too busy making sure her hair is perfect for every guy at her school.”
         My father lobbed the soccer ball at me in a light underhand toss. It bounced off my forehead and he caught it effortlessly in the same hand as it returned. All in one smooth motion. “Quiet you,” he said. “Your sister comes from a different world too.”
         I rubbed my head at the point of contact, “Yeah. Mars.”
         My father shot me a half-smile at that. “Regardless of their place of origin, you have to stop judging people by your values. Just because they don’t live by your standards doesn’t mean they’re wrong.” His expression turned deadly serious. “True evil is trying to force someone else to adhere to your world, without their consent or willingness.”
         I cocked my head to the side, taken aback by this sudden shift in tone. My father observed my response, then shook his head. “Nevermind. Just remember, whatever that kid said, it probably wasn’t worth all this hassle.” My father perked up a little bit. “Just wondering, what exactly did that kid say?”
         I shrugged, “He called me a wimp, and Aaron a loser.” I frowned at my father as I said, “And he called my jacket stupid.”
         My father’s eyes shot up at this, “He insulted your jacket?”
I nodded. His mouth broke into a wide grin, “Well Leo, I have to say, I’m kinda disappointed. Next time someone calls your jacket stupid, I want to be called into a parent-teacher meeting because you kicked their ass, m’kay?” I felt my face break into a grin to match his, and nodded enthusiastically.
         My father let out a full-bodied laugh, hefted the soccer ball a few times, then turned to walk past me. “Come on,” he said. “Sounds to me like we need some burgers.”

         I woke up in a dark room. No, that sounds overused. I woke up in a damp, musty room? No, that would be a lie; the room was quite dry. Then why did I hear running water?
         As I lay there in the dark, I pushed off that poignant feeling leftover from my dream. They were frequent enough where I was becoming quite good at it. With that taken care of, I began to try isolating and analyzing all the different sensations my senses were picking up. First, I was alone. It seemed that way. The only person I could hear breathing was me, and I didn’t have that indescribable feeling of having another body in the room. Okay, good. Next, where was I?
         I cast my eyes about the room, vainly willing them to adjust to the dark faster. The room was quite large, but still bare. Besides a dresser against one wall, a chair in the opposite corner, and a nightstand by the bed I was in, the room was empty. Very spartan.
         Bed. That’s next. What’s the condition? I moved my body a bit, and the rustle of sheets responded in kind. Okay, soft covers and soft pillows. Good condition, which means this isn’t a prison. Or not your average one anyways. But I didn’t think there were bars on the window.
         Window. Right. Where was it. I craned my head right, and looked out a large window, showing me the dark sky. Rain beat against it ceaselessly, running in thin grooves down its face. At least that explained what the running water was. I couldn’t see anything past the sky, but the only illumination was coming through the window, which meant that we had to be somewhere near buildings, not out in the rural areas. The rainclouds would be blocking moon and starlight. But I couldn’t see the skyline, or hear the normal traffic, so maybe I was in the city proper? If that was so, I had to be somewhere high up.
         Only one way to see. Before that, I checked myself. My body wasn’t aching or sore in any obvious manner, so that should be okay. I became aware of something moist against the back of my head, and I raised my hand up to pull away a damp cloth resting on the pillow. Alright, another strike against prison cell.
         I rose slowly, not wanting to start another dizzy spell. Feeling none coming on, I moved with more confidence to the window. Looking out, my suspicions were confirmed. The Seattle nightlife spread out below me, an expanse of lights, both moving cars and unmoving buildings. The bay stretched out over the horizon, an sheet of dark grey sea running off to meet the darker grey sky.
         I stood there for a moment to take it all in, then turned my attention inward. I went back through the last things I remembered. Three black-clad aggressors, the alley, there was a light, and an angel…
         I had to stop myself and think that word over a second time. The angel? My family was not one to follow religion very well, and I was no different. The thought of an angel saving me seemed preposterous. So much so, that I would have laughed except for the gravity of the situation. I shook my head a little. I didn’t feel any pain, but I had suffered a strong blow to the back of my skull. Concussion? Probably. Could very well be worse, and I wouldn’t put hallucinations past the list of possible symptoms. As for the light? Reflections off the puddles exaggerated by my addled mind. Yeah, that made enough sense.
         Well then, that should set my affairs in order. I turned and studied the door. It looked sturdy, and matched the walls very well, giving the room a finished modern look. In fact, all the furniture looked very modern. Quite the wealthy angel wasn’t he?
         I strode towards the door and turned the knob. Surprisingly unlocked. Was that a good sign or a bad one? Regardless, I pushed the door open and entered a short hallway. A bathroom was straight across the hall from me, and the hall ended in a mirror on my left while stretching off to my right. I took a quick once over of myself before turning right. Didn’t look too bad, just a little haggard. It was kind of hard to tell, as there was still no illumination in the hall. Long shadows splashed themselves across the walls like some sort of gothic graffiti.
         Only one way to go then. I turned away from the mirror and walked a short distance to step out into the most posh living area I had ever seen. A large room spilled out before me, with the center sunken into the floor and filled by a large half-circle couch, facing a very flat television. Behind the television, no wall existed. Rather, a floor-to-ceiling window showed the Seattle skyline before me, the lights of every building glittering through the glass, still providing the only source of illumination. It was a large window too, as the whole room seemed equivalent to about two stories. Behind the couch I could see a small area clear of anything interesting save the front door. To my immediate right, at the mouth of the hallway a flight of stairs could carry me to the second story, which was really a balcony inside the apartment, overlooking the living space and situated above the entrance. I stepped forward into the room’s center for a better view.The staircase travelled up to an area where I could make out a kitchen and dining area packed close together. A small bar stood off to the side of it, making up the end of the upper level’s left side. To the right of the stair’s exit, directly above the hallway I came out of, another hallway extended into murky gloom. It was impossible to see anything in there, but I assumed that would be where the master bedroom was. Finally, directly across from the lower hall with my room, over the living room, a pair of unmarked doors stood, set in a similarly empty wall. Save for a strange picture of the solar system.
         At least that’s what I thought it was at first. But on closer inspection, I realized that there were multiple details wrong about it. The center had a large circle with four protruding points, much like a compass rose, that I assumed represented a star. However, only four circular rings for orbits surrounded this star. The two innermost circles had four circles on each, which should represent planets. The third ring out had only two, and the outermost ring had but a single circle. This entire picture was set upon a brass plaque, and hung above the door like some giant, unsolvable hieroglyphic. Very strange.
         “Well, took you long enough.” I whirled around, searching for the source of the voice. There, up on the second level. A figure stirred at the bar, setting a drink down. As he stood up, the city lights rippled across him, affording me a better view. He wore a beaten military jacket, an odd sight in the clean apartment. His head was covered in dark blonde hair, cut short, and a pair of bright golden eyes shone below his brow, cutting through the dark so I could see their gleam from here…
         I couldn’t believe it. It was the same man from the coffee shop.
         Natural fallback in an unknown situation, “Sorry it took me so long to wake up. Did it throw off the rest of your kidnapping schedule? Perhaps missed someone in uptown? I really should be a more considerate victim.” No reaction. He took a long draught from his glass, and set the empty cup down with a thoughtful manner. He slowly made his way across the ledge, down the stairs, and strode over to me, studying me all the while. I didn’t move. Not from fear or nerves, but I had the feeling that this man could chase me down with little effort. He just exuded raw power, like an aura wrapped around him. It was slightly unnerving, but like hell was I going to show him that.
         He stopped about two paces away, standing about a head over me. He turned his gaze to meet my eyes, and I had an uncomfortable feeling of being searched, like my soul was laid bare for this man to scrutinize at his leisure. Desperate, I broke eye contact for something else to look at. A gleam of white caught my attention. On his right shoulder, the familiar angel patch. It cut through the darkness of his jacket, still as clean and pure as before. The man noticed that I had seen it, and turned his body to conceal it, as if my looking at it would ruin it. He seemed very protective of that small patch. Yet another entry to the list of oddities today.
         A moment passed before he asked, “How are you feeling?”
         I responded, “Fine.” Sarcasm didn’t seem to affect him. So curt answers may be best, until I could learn more about him.
         He tilted his head to one side, “You suffered a minor concussion, but it’s a good sign to see you up and about so quickly.”
         “Yeah.”
         “Anything else still hurt?”
         “No.”
         “You sure? Nothing around your midsection?”
         “No sir.”
         Just because he didn’t respond to sarcasm didn’t mean I wouldn’t use it. His method of asking questions was quickly spoken sentences, followed with another one immediately after you answered. He definitely sounded military, so I responded in kind. But as soon as the word “sir” left my mouth, I noticed a twitch under his eye and a small tightening in his jaw, swiftly covered up. Ah, so military at one point, but he didn’t like being reminded of it.
         His last question finally registered, “What would be wrong with my midsection?”
         The man studied me for a moment, as if to gauge my reaction before replying, “Well, you had about four broken ribs.”
         That made me pause. “Four ribs?” I asked, “Doesn’t that take, like, a couple months to heal?”
         The man nodded, “But you pulled it off in a few hours.”
         Another moment of clarity. “How many hours exactly?” I asked.
         “About nine. It’s a little past midnight right now, same day.”
         Midnight? My mother was going to murder me. Then spend a few years learning necromancy, just to bring me back to life so she could murder me again.
         Wow, panic really sends my imagination into overdrive. “I’ve gotta go. I need to get home, like, yesterday.”
         The man’s expression never changed. Still the same straight-faced stare, but he shifted his weight onto both his legs and folded his hands behind his back. The stance of authority. I hated it. I copied his stance but folded my arms in front of me, fixing him with a challenging scowl. I wasn’t very fond of losing staredowns.
         “You don’t seem very concerned about your ability to heal through broken bones over a single night.”
         Most people don’t talk during staredowns. You’re not very good at this are you?
         I shifted my mouth into a lopsided frown before replying, “It is on my list of priorities, yes. But seeing as I have more pressing things, I’d rather take my miracle and, you know,” I motioned my head towards the door, “go.”
He didn’t respond, but stepped to his right, positioning himself more solidly between me and the exit. “Not sure that’s the best idea right now.”
         “And why not?”
         “What if you get attacked again?”
         “Could have been a chance encounter.”
         “You know that’s not true.”
         I bit the inside of my cheek. He was right. There was too much going on during the whole thing to be random. It was coordinated. Planned. And I didn’t have answers to the Three W’s: who, what, and why.
         I thought back on it. Well, that wasn’t completely true. There was partly a who. I could still remember the modified Vision uniforms. But did that mean they actually worked for Vision? Maybe they just got the uniforms from them. Or Vision got their uniforms from a shared source, and it was just a coincidence.
         As I stood there mulling it over, the man in front of me addressed me again. “Since you’ve been standing there with a stupid look on your face, I’m going to assume you agree with me. So you’re staying here.”
         I scowled again. Do it too much and it might become permanent. “Who the hell are you?” I demanded.
         He paused for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to tell me. He reached his decision with a shrug and said, “Johnathan Veral.” He didn’t move his hands from his back.
         I took a look at his shoulder. The angel patch was still there, as clean as when I had first seen it. But from this angle I could see his other shoulder. Two silver bars? “You mean Captain Johnathan Veral?” I added.
         The change of demeanor was expected. The sudden stiffening and twitch of the jaw didn’t surprise me. What did was the way he changed. He dropped his hands and shifted into crossing his arms with a full-blown glare. “Alright, who are you then?”
         I took a moment to assess the situation. He gave his name. At least, he gave me a name, but I didn’t believe he was lying. And I didn’t think of any reason why lying about my name would be better. I mean, I was just a kid from California, with a family who owns a small coffee shop. What would he do, hold me for ransom for cake discounts?
         “Cayle. Leonidas Cayle.”
         It was subtle, but it was there. For the briefest of moments, I saw a flicker of something in his eyes. He covered it too quickly to see properly but I could have sworn I saw… recognition?
         “Well then, Leonidas, can I call you Leo?”
         “Only my friends call me Leo.”
         “All right then Leo, I’m sure you have questions and expect me to have answers. Problem is, I’m pretty sure I can only answer questions that you don’t have.”
         “What the hell does that even mean?”
         He paused for a moment, and I could tell he wasn’t going to answer that question. Not directly at least. “How open-minded would you say you are?” There we go.
         I frowned, “If this is an issue of religion or something else, I wouldn’t worry. Although you didn’t strike me as a religious man.” I gave him a quick once-over. “Or a man who’s tastes ran that way…”
         He cut me off quickly, “Not what I meant. I was referring to, well, something more along the lines of… extraordinary.”
         I raised an eyebrow, “How extraordinary are we talking about here?”
         He waved a hand around his head. “Well, you know. Pretty extraordinary.”
         That was about as useful my sister’s idea to stock the cafe for selling ice cream in winter. She thought she had the best ideas after a few drinks. Still, I crossed my arms and sighed, “Well, some people consider a deep-fried candy bars the pinnacle of extraordinary. Is that the perspective we’re working with here?”
         Veral snorted, “It’s a bit more extraordinary than that.” I was beginning to get sick of that word.
         He chuckled to himself. “Look, we could go back and forth like this all night, and as fun as that would be, we both have more important things to be doing with our time. So I’ll just cut right to it.” He held out his palm, and after a brief moment, a small orb of light popped into existence, floating a couple of inches above his palm. I couldn’t believe it. One moment nothing, the next, an orb of light, about the size of an orange, was bathing the room in a soft golden glow.
         I looked around. No projectors, or light sources. By all accounts, he had summoned an orb of light of his own volition. He laughed, and tossed the orb back and forth between his hands, like a baseball player getting ready to pitch. “Yes, this kind of extraordinary. Illuminating, isn’t it?”
         Of all the… I had just learned about the existence of superpowers, and he was making puns. Kill me now. “How, how are you doing that?”
         Veral shrugged nonchalantly. The orb stayed in continuous motion, bands of gold playing across his face. Come to think of it, I don’t think his eyes were burning with that intense golden light before. “No tricks or fancy mirrors, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s… sort of an ability, you could say. Not quite like flexing a muscle or concentrating on a thought, but it’s basically that easy. With practice at least.”
         I took a mental step back. Bigger picture here. “What are you?” I asked.
         He let out another low chuckle at that. I wasn’t even sure he was capable of anything more. “Asking the right questions now?”
         “Is this one of those questions you don’t have the answer to?”
         “Hardly. The only condition though, is whether or not you want to hear the answer.”
         I groaned inwardly, “You know, you seem to have an issue with giving out answers. After all this all I really know is your name and that you can throw balls of light around. Are you actually going to tell me something straight up?”
         He shrugged, and let the orb fall into his palm. He left it rolling around, not paying it any mind, but still catching it before it slipped past his fingers. “Maybe, depending on how you answer. Like I said, you may not actually want to hear the truth.”
         Odd phrasing. “The truth about what?”
         Veral tossed the orb up into the air, where it stuck floating above us like a cheap miniature sun. This let him wave his arms once in a pseudo-dramatic fashion as he stated, “You know. The truth about the universe, humanity, so on and so forth.” He paused for a moment to gauge my reaction. “Well, that may be a bit overstated, but there is still enough to turn what you know on its head.”
         “And why would you need to warn me about learning this information?”
         “Well, it could be considered hazardous to your health.”
         “Knowing something can be hazardous to my health.”
         “No. Well, yes. But indirectly so. It’s more along the lines of who knows you know this, and what you do with what you know.”
         I followed along a mental map of his words as best as I could. “So… it’s dangerous… because of what I do with it, and who is aware I know it?” I’m certain there were easier ways to describe that.
         “That’s basically it. Still sure you want to know?”
         I frowned. Again. “When you pitch it like that, not really. All you’ve really told me is that it’s some big secret that lets you do that,” I pointed at the orb above our heads, “ and that it will probably get me killed.”
         “True. As far as invitations go, it’s not a really good one, huh?” He leaned in close now, making sure I heard every word now. “But, at the same time, there is a chance that you will learn something about yourself. Something that separates you from everyone else in your life. What are you willing to do, Leonidas Cayle, to prove that you’re different from everyone else?”
         Damn. He already knew exactly what kind of person I was. How did he figure me out so fast? I put on a stoic face and levelled my gaze at him. Futile. We both already knew what my answer would be. I just didn’t like the feeling that he had probably known before I had chosen. I frowned again, hopefully for the last time that night, and resigned myself. Before I spoke, I took note of the ripples along Veral’s face, as the orb traced bands of gold across it like the setting sun over the ocean.