Meta 2: The Second Wave Page 13

  There's been some type of struggle here. I’m about to shout out Derrick's name when I realize doing so will alert whoever might be here to my presence. Does someone know who I am? Is it another meta, a friend of The Multiplier's that's here to get revenge? Did Sarah's dad put two and two together and figure out who I am, sending the same team he partnered me up with to come and "retrieve" me?

  Creeping quietly through the apartment I don't hear any voices. It's too quiet. If someone’s here, they might realize I'm here also and be planning to surprise me. Just then, I hear a quiet, almost unperceivable noise from the bathroom. It’s the sound of the wood floor creaking ever so slightly, but enough that I'm positive it's a person and not just the apartment settling. Do apartments even settle?

  Turning the corner, my suspicions are confirmed. There's a light on inside the bathroom that I can see leaking out through the bottom of the door. Briefly, a shadow crosses through the light. There's someone in there. My heart is still pounding, but I momentarily feel some relief that it has to be Derrick in there. He probably cut himself on the glass and is in there cleaning himself up. But why would he close the door? He never closes the door, much to my discomfort, even when I'm home. He'd never close the door if he were here alone. Something just doesn't make sense.

  "You must be Connor," a voice says from behind me in the hallway.

  I turn on my heel to face it, but just as I do, the knob on the bathroom door turns, distracting me for just an instant. I'm overwhelmed and instinct takes over as I turn back to the voice behind me that poses the most immediate threat. I consider thrusting my arms out summoning my metabands, but Midnight has done a good job of knocking that instinct/bad habit out of my brain. If it's not a threat, I'll have blown my cover for nothing. Before I can even fully turn around, a hand tightly grips my wrist, stopping any hope I have of summoning them anyway.

  In front of me is a woman in her late twenties. She's somewhat professionally dressed, Asian, and has black hair that falls to her chin with bangs that just touch her eyebrows. Who the hell is this?

  "Hey! Connor!" Derrick says, still grabbing my hand as he closes the bathroom door behind him. I turn back and look at him, extremely confused about what is going on.

  "I've heard so much about you. I'm Veronica," she says as she extends her hand to shake mine. "I hope you don't mind. I was just taking a look at the photos you have up in the hallway. You guys were adorable when you were little!"

  "And we're not adorable now?" Derrick asks with a smile.

  There's a sweet smell lingering in the air from Derrick's breath that I recognize.

  "Are you drunk?" I ask Derrick.

  "Nooooooo," Derrick says, the way a drunk person would.

  Veronica giggles behind me. I exhale, still confused, but relieved that one fight is all tonight had in store for me.

  Wait. There's a girl here? And she's with Derrick?

  "Did that work?" Veronica asks Derrick.

  "No," Derrick replies sheepishly, rubbing at a purple stain on his polo shirt.

  Since when does Derrick wear polo shirts?

  "I told you, you have to use seltzer water. It does the trick every time," Veronica says.

  "Okay, I'll try it. Let me see if I have any," Derrick says as he walks past me with a slight stumble and heads down the hall toward the kitchen.

  "Sorry if we scared you. Your brother's had a little bit too much wine," Veronica says to me in a loud whisper.

  "I heard that," Derrick shouts from down the hallway in the kitchen.

  "I'm sorry. Who are you?" I finally ask, realizing there's probably a less rude way to ask that question, but it's already too late as the words have left my mouth.

  Veronica laughs, though. It seems like she's had a bit to drink tonight too.

  "I'm Derrick's friend. We met at the panel he was speaking on today down at the university. I'm a professor there in metahuman studies, and I've always been a big fan of his work. I managed to rope him into getting a drink with me afterward so I could continue to pick his brain," Veronica tells me.

  "Hey, you were right, it worked!" Derrick says as he re-enters the living area, proudly displaying his now spot-free shirt.

  In the decade I've lived with Derrick, he's had dates here and there, but this is the first time that I've actually met one of them. It was kinda difficult to meet any of them when he refused to ever bring them by the house. I guess things are changing now that I'm older and now that he has a million-dollar apartment to come back to, probably more the latter than the former.

  "So, Veronica was just telling me that you were telling her all about me?" I say to Derrick, my back turned to Veronica so I can clearly show Derrick that I'm stretching my eyes very wide in an effort to wordlessly convey, “you didn't tell her too much did you, you drunk idiot?”

  "Oh yeah, I was telling her all about your adventures," Derrick replies.

  "My adventures?" I ask, my voice now also conveying the emotion I had tried to show with my eyes, which was apparently lost on Derrick before.

  "With Sarah, your giiiiiiirlfriend," Derrick says in a teasing tone

  Veronica is laughing again.

  "Stop, Derrick. Don't tease him. She sounds lovely, Connor, and she's got herself quite a catch with you, according to the bragging your brother's done about you tonight," Veronica says with a smile before directing her eyes back at Derrick.

  They've both had too much wine, but it's apparent now, at least, that Derrick hasn't spilled the beans about my career. I would hope that it'd take more than a bottle of wine and a pretty girl to do that, but considering I've never seen Derrick tested by either, let alone both simultaneously, I couldn't be completely sure.

  "Yeah, well, we'll see if she's still my girlfriend tomorrow," I say as I start to pick up the bits of shattered wine glass that are still all over the floor.

  "What does that mean?" Derrick asks.

  I look up at him, then at his phone on the counter and the TV's blank screen, and put it together.

  "You didn't see what happened tonight?" I ask.

  The look I get back tells me he has absolutely no idea what I'm talking about. Wow, he must really like this Veronica woman to have completely unplugged like this.

  Before saying another word, I grab the remote control off the coffee table and flip on the television. The screen comes on immediately and is already tuned to one of the meta news channels, which it always is if Derrick's left alone long enough. The reporter on the screen is live at the arena and going over the night's events.

  Most of the emergency crew is gone now with mostly just gawkers hanging around, looking to get in the background of the live shot and be on TV for a few seconds. A scrolling ticker at the bottom of the screen summarizes the event: "Tens of thousands held hostage earlier tonight at Meta Circus. One dead and seventeen injured. Unknown metahuman responsible for ending ransom situation created by meta criminal known as “The Multiplier.”

  "Holy crap," Derrick says, his hand immediately going for his phone on the kitchen countertop. "You were there tonight?!" he asks, the look in his eye indicating that he's asking about both my normal, everyday self and the me that has superpowers.

  "Yeah, I was. I'm okay though, obviously. Sarah's okay too, but pretty shaken up."

  As if on cue, the television switches to a shot of Sarah being brought down the arena steps seconds before The Multiplier disappears in a blur of red. Derrick's hand goes to his mouth in disbelief.

  Veronica looks at Derrick, then back at me before asking, "Wait. Is that your girlfriend?"

  "Well, she was at the time," I say.

  "Oh my God. I have ninety three missed calls," Derrick says. "I'm really sorry about this, Veronica, but I have to go to the office."

  "Of course, don't worry about it. Perhaps another time then?" she asks.

  "Absolutely. I'll walk you downstairs and grab you a cab," Derrick replies.

  "That's sweet of you, but you've got more pressing issues right now
. I'm a big girl. I can find my way home," she says with a smile as she grabs her purse off a stool near the kitchen counter and pulls out a piece of scrap paper, which she scribbles on and hands to Derrick. "I assume you'd be able to figure out how to find me, but just in case. I don't want to leave it to chance," she says to Derrick as she hands him the paper that presumably has her phone number or email address on it. "It was very nice meeting you, Connor. I'm glad to see you’re all right after what happened at the circus tonight."

  "Thank you," I say.

  "Goodnight boys," Veronica says with a wave as she closes the door behind her.

  Derrick smiles and waves back until the second the door clicks shut. That's when he spins on his heel toward me and blurts out, "What the hell happened?"

  "I'm fine. It's fine. I mean it's not fine. People were hurt and killed, but a lot more could have been if I hadn’t done something," I reply. "You should head to the office."

  "What? You're not going to fill me in on the details?" he practically yells.

  "I don't think that'd be a very good idea," I calmly reply.

  "Says who? Midnight?"

  "Says me. I'm just looking out for you, Derrick. I can't tell you the details of what happened tonight and have you somehow “find out” a bunch of stuff that no one else seems to be able to. Someone could start putting it together and realize that you know me."

  "Wow," Derrick says, leaving it to hang in the air in uncomfortable silence. "I thought you knew I was smarter than that."

  "It has nothing to do with that. I'm just trying to look out for—" I manage to get out before I'm interrupted by Derrick.

  "It's fine. Whatever. I'll figure it out on my own," Derrick says as he grabs his coat and heads out the door.

  For the second time tonight, someone I care about slams a door on me.

  Chapter 20

  The next morning, I wake up to a very quiet apartment. It's early, but I'm not surprised since I couldn't sleep last night. I lay in bed for a while, trying desperately to catch a couple more hours of sleep, but eventually, I have to give it up. It's useless to think that I can sleep in on a Saturday when there's so much on my mind.

  The apartment is still a mess from Derrick's little impromptu date the night before, so I keep myself busy cleaning for a while. Even that only takes about a half hour, though, and I'm once again left with empty time to fill. It's too early in the morning to call or text Jim. Hell, that'd be true on a Saturday even if it were noon. I look at my phone for a long while with my thumb hovering over Sarah's number. Ultimately, I decide that not only does she probably not want to talk yet, but she probably also doesn't want to be woken up at seven AM, so that option is out.

  Derrick must still be at the office. If he's there this late/early, it means either he's really busy, or he's asleep underneath his desk. Either way, I don't want to bother him right now and incur the wrath of either a busy or a sleeping Derrick. I learned that lesson a long time ago.

  There's one person left whose contact number I have in my phone who might be awake, only because as far as I can tell, he doesn't sleep, and that's Midnight. Of course I don't actually have his phone number any more. After the new metabands fell from the sky a few months ago, his paranoia went to the next level, so now I have to contact him through a specially designed app. Excuse me, a specially designed app that he designed, naturally. Anything less would run the risk of having some flaw or compromise that he couldn't account for. It's a slight inconvenience, but much, much easier than the intermediary solution, which involved multiple phone numbers, anonymous posts to random message boards, etc. just to verify that I was who I claimed to be.

  HEY. ARE YOU UP? I type out and then hit the send button.

  A reply comes back a few seconds later: YES.

  CAN I COME BY? I ask.

  WHY? Comes the reply I could have predicted.

  BORED.

  There's a pause in the rhythm of the texts that implies he's thinking, or that I'm just not going to get another reply. Midnight isn't one for entertaining, especially when I'm being as upfront as I am that I'm really just looking for something to keep my mind occupied, at least for a little while.

  After a full minute, I get my reply: OK.

  I'm surprised and a little nervous that Midnight is taking that as an excuse for me to come by and just hang out. Maybe he's growing a heart after all?

  Nope. He's not growing a heart. This realization comes about twenty minutes after arriving at his water tower. He didn't tell me before I arrived, but my coming over came with a condition: Saturday mornings are training time. Friday nights are apparently pretty busy for Midnight. He doesn't elaborate, but I imagine this is more crime-related than him going out on the town. So, Saturday mornings are spent training. Considering Saturday nights are also supposedly pretty busy crime-wise, I don't understand why he'd spend his morning training rather than resting. I don't even want to know what he spends the rest of the week doing if this is how he relaxes.

  I'm game at first, but by the tenth time I've been thrown head over heels onto the mats, I'm ready to call it a morning. I probably won't be able to sleep now that I'm bruised black and blue all over, but being alone with my thoughts is more of an alluring proposition than spending the rest of the day getting my ass kicked.

  "All right, I think I'm done for today," I say.

  "Are you serious? We haven't even warmed up yet," Midnight protests. "Don't come over here to practice if you're just going to quit at the first tinge of pain."

  "That's easy for you to say. You're not the one getting thrown all over the place."

  "Fine. Put your bands on then."

  "What's the point of that?"

  "Dampen them. Turn them down so you don't punch a hole through my head, but high enough that you're not going to cry every time a strong breeze blows through."

  "Fine," I say as I thrust my arms out to my side to summon my metabands. They appear instantly, and I bring them together to activate. My suit spills out from the bands and covers my body almost instantly.

  "Is the suit really necessary?" Midnight asks.

  "Is yours?" I retort.

  All that comes back is a grunt and a stare, but he's not wrong. I might not know who Midnight really is, but he knows damn well who I am, so there's not much point in rocking the tights right now. I close my eyes briefly to concentrate, and the suit retreats back into my metabands.

  "Better?" I ask Midnight.

  "Ahem," he coughs as he points to the bands on my wrists, indicating that I have yet to turn down the power on them. I bring the index and middle finger on my left hand to my right wrist and swipe down. A series of ten green lights dim one at a time until only one remains.

  "Now, is that better?" I ask again.

  My response comes immediately in the form of a right jab square on my nose.

  "What the hell was that for?" I ask, holding my nose, which hurts like hell, but isn't broken.

  "Have to make sure they work somehow," Midnight says.

  Before the sentence is even finished the pain is completely gone.

  "Yeah, they work."

  "Good," Midnight says an instant before he goes to throw the same exact punch to the same exact place: my face.

  Instinctually, my left arm swings up and meets Midnight's forearm mid-air, deflecting it away.

  "Very good," he says.

  I smile at the accomplishment of actually blocking Midnight, right before a left hook hits me in the jaw.

  This goes on for hours and well into the late afternoon. Midnight's attacks are relentless, and he never seems to get tired. He also never seems to lose his patience, which is good, because all of this is new to me. I ask him at one point why it even matters that I know how to fight or not. It doesn't really matter if my technique is perfect when at the end of the day, I could slap someone and still send them careening through a brick wall.

  Midnight has an immediate answer for this: there will come a day when I'll meet someone wh
o is not only as powerful as I am, but probably even more so. If and when that day comes, the only hope I'll have is that I've trained harder, that I've put the time into learning how to fight, and that I'm smarter than my opponent.

  Midnight is also concerned that completely relying on my metabands is dangerous. As I've found out a few times already, it's not always exactly convenient to make two alien objects that can transform me into a superhuman appear out of thin air. Sometimes situations require a more delicate touch. I shouldn't have to constantly worry about exposing my secret because I have absolutely no way to defend myself or anyone else otherwise.

  And besides, this is fun. It's keeping my mind off of Sarah, and there's a real sense of accomplishment in learning from Midnight. Despite his normally icy disposition, he actually hands out some praise throughout our practice. He seems genuinely surprised that I'm learning so quickly. After he catches me with a move once, I'm able to defend against it and often counter again and again. His compliments come to an abrupt stop when he hypothesizes that the speed of my learning is coming from the metabands and not natural ability.

  It fits into Midnight's hypothesis that the bands enhance the innate, natural abilities of their owners. Even with them running on a setting low enough to prevent Midnight from giving me a concussion, it's still enough power to enhance my natural muscle memory and defense instincts. At least, while I’m wearing the bands, that is.

  By the time Midnight finally wants to take a break, I'm regularly countering his blows and throwing him to the mat. Not every time, but enough. It’s certainly more than I've ever seen anyone else accomplish against him. While he still credits the metabands, there's what seems like a slight sense of pride in the results of his training. Even if it's not “me” learning, he still seems pretty pleased with himself that he's an efficient teacher.