The men had stopped. A mixture of his laughter and the appearance he conjured up. His hair waving wildly in an unseen wind. An isolated gale blowing solely around his body like some sort of ethereal force.
“Oh boy,” one of them whispered, his eyes bulging behind the balaclava.
Russell regarded the men around him, one still half way from getting to his feet, stopped mid movement.
And he smiled. He knew what was going on now. He knew what he was doing.
He punched his arms out, hands clenched, toward the two remaining men, sending forth two streams of air that burst forward, hitting the men with an invisible force square in the gut and sending them flying backward a couple of metres.
It was pure exhilaration. He had power. A power he had never even dreamed of. A power there had been mere mumblings in the community about. Freaks of nature appearing here and there. But that didn’t worry him. Not now, not with the winds at his command.
He understood it now. Something in that bomb had done something to him. How? He didn’t know. What? He didn’t know. He didn’t care.
Right now, all that mattered was dealing with these guys.
Another “Click-whirr” and Russell spun to regard the van.
The passenger side door snapped open, a dark figure inside leaning over.
“Get in the van! Get in the damn van!”
His friends didn’t argue. All three of them, dazed and unsteady, scurried to the safety of the vehicle.
Once they were inside, the engine over revved as the driver slammed his foot on the accelerator, not juggling the clutch properly, before vanishing down the street.
Russell felt the wind around him settling, watching as the strands of silver dispersed into the darkness once more.
He stood still for a few moments. Letting everything sink in. Was this real? Was I hallucinating again? And all he could say was:
“Wow.”
CHAPTER FIVE
His phone was ringing when he got home.
“Hello?”
“Mister Paige! My name is Claudia Rinefeld from the Perth Quarterly, I was-”
He dropped the receiver; his head was throbbing slightly.
Not from tiredness or exertion. His wild thoughts were losing themselves in his mind, racing back and forth with imagined storylines in how he would beat gangs and bad guys and questions about what should he do now, how will this affect his life? Had anyone seen him? What would happen if word of this got out?
The phone rang again. He picked it up, ready to put it down again.
“Russell? Is that you?”
“Mum?”
“Russell, why didn’t you call?”
* * *
The curtains practically burst aside this time as Stacey barged out of the smaller darkroom into the brightly lit black and white stations.
This was amazing. He had caught it with his own camera.
It was a long shot. Two men lying on the road, a third crouched nearby. In front of them, Russell Paige, his arms outstretched and body puffed up with the winds that surrounded him. Of course, they were not visible in the picture, but his bloated clothes, billowing from the gusts were quite evident. Not to mention his hair. He looked absolutely wild. Unfortunately they were taken from behind Russell, so his face wasn’t visible. But this was perfect. Pam would love this. But she wouldn’t be the only one.
“You ripper!”
* * *
“He did what?”
Trent Peerson gawked at his speaker phone, “You mean to say he just knocked them over with a mere hand gesture?”
Eryn’s voice stumbled out of the speaker, shaken and meek, the way Trent liked people sounding when they spoke to him, “Well, not quite. Well, actually, yes. That would be pretty accurate, Mister Peerson.”
Trent turned slowly to look out the window of his seventy fifth floor corner office. It was located in one of the tallest buildings in Perth. The CP2 or Central Park 2, named in honour of its predecessor, still standing, but more of a historical monument on the other side of town.
The CP2 was over eight hundred metres tall, including the mandatory antennas, satellite dishes and communication relays located on the top. But from his office on the seventy fifth floor, Trent Peerson could see most of Perth. Tiny cars zipping by, only recognisable as whizzing headlights in the distance. Neighbouring buildings were lit up like giant Christmas trees; some with people barely seen still moving around inside. It was Friday night. Late night shopping in the city. Also one of the big social nights in the relocated Northbridge.
Northbridge was located just north of the city and, in the past was known as the big nightspot. But as the city expanded, it was knocked off the map. Then as a new nightspot was discovered, the locals renamed the suburb as Northbridge and petitioned to have it done so legally.
None of this mattered to Trent, though. What mattered to him was that he was only looking out the seventy fifth floor window.
He wanted the penthouse. He wanted to be right up there with the best. He wanted more money than any other conglomerate or corporate body in his own private savings account. And he was going to get it come hell or high water.
He watched the lights, imagining what they would look like from higher; from that top floor window. And his mind was set.
“Mister Peer-?”
“I want that boy,” he said it quietly; threateningly. He thought he could hear Eryn gulping on the other end of the line. That was good. He was not happy and when he wasn’t happy, no one else would be, “I want him now!”
“We… We don’t know where to find him.”
“I have people for that, Eryn. Use them and bring him to me by tomorrow mid day!”
* * *
Saturday was a bright new day. Sun shining, a few more clouds in the sky as they neared autumn. From a distance, perhaps a little more smog than usual, but unnoticeable to the inhabitants of the CBD.
Late patrons of the night clubs were straggling home one way or another, each one looking more worse for wear than they did when they left home the night before.
The night crawlers disappeared into their holes as the police became more prominent. The cars once more starting their surge inward from the outer suburbs, shoppers and workers alike trying to beat the morning traffic, only to instigate an earlier peak hour session.
The circle of life began once more.
And Russell was a part of that.
He awoke to the sun pouring through his window. Somehow, it had managed to either squeeze past the hundreds of tall buildings surrounding his pad, or to strategically reflect off the glass exteriors and back into his solitary window. He moaned, pulling the covers over his head. He wanted to sleep. Why couldn’t he just sleep?
Finding it useless now, He shoved the covers aside and looked across at his clock. Nine twenty four. His phone was still off the hook beside it. It would be days before he even thought about replacing it.
He didn’t have work today. But he wasn’t about to hang about the apartment doing nothing all day. He had too much on his mind. Last night it had taken him ages to get to sleep with all the thoughts running through his head. Before that, it had taken over an hour to get his mother off the phone. She had been quite worried, what with seeing it on the news and in the paper. It was understandable, but hardly worth that much worry. He was okay. The wound on his arm had already disappeared. It was amazing. He had showered last night and removed the bandage to find it completely healed over. All very strange.
He dressed and went out. Shopping sounded like a good idea. Not to spend money, but to just look around, see what he wanted to buy, what he may one day afford and what he probably never would.
The best place to start was at work. There was a great range of things in Greyson’s. Not that it was all good, but there was heaps of it. Music, computers, books, clothes. Anything and everything under the one roof.
Russell frowned. He was starting to s
ound like an advertisement. Had he been working there for too long?
Regardless, he made his way by foot to the inner parts of the city where there were malls, arcades and walkways aplenty to get him from one end of the city to the other, from one shopping centre to another.
He browsed the windows as he walked. He could also drop into the insurance agents to place the claim on his car.
* * *
It could be said that Pam Dauber works twenty four-seven. It could also be said she is an over-zealous feminist. Technically both are correct, but with a few minor terms and conditions included. On weekends, she spent much of her time, or rumour has people believe she does, on her mobile phone, trying to raise a story idea for the next issue of the “Perth Tribunal”. Truth was Saturday was her one day off. She preferred to lounge around in her boyfriend’s house; they shared rent, and relax in front of the mind numbing repeats of Elvis Presley’s movies. She wasn’t particularly an Elvis fan, but it beat those lame arsed lifestyle shows they had on like “Better Houses and Garden Pergolas”.
Patrick Mulloch, her boyfriend, was currently out at ten fifteen.
There was a knock on the door. Pam let out a long harrowed sigh and wriggled her lithe body off the couch. It was warm, after having stolen Pat’s spot, feeling nurtured in the remnant warmth of his body. It made her feel closer to him, to think she had somehow absorbed part of his natural aura, not that she was into any of that mumbo jumbo about auras and astral projection. Her paper printed it, didn’t mean she had to believe in it.
Pulling her dressing gown tighter around her, she made her way to the entrance hall. Looking out the peephole, she recognised the grinning face.
With a flick of her wrist, the deadbolt was released and; after a moment’s consideration as to whether she really wanted this new burst of excitement in her house on her only day off, the door swung open.
“Hello, Stacey, what is it this time?”
The cockney rushed in, pushing the door shut behind him, “Same kid. New evidence.”
As lethargic as she felt, Pam couldn’t help wishing she could bottle this guy’s enthusiasm and sup on it from time to time, “The Paige boy?”
“Yeah,” He pulled a photograph from his pocket and shoved it in her face, “Take a look. I wasn’t sure if it was telekinetic or what, but he sure packs a mean punch.
Her eyes scanned the image in front of her and all of a sudden she was interested. She took hold of the photo and marched back into the lounge room, her lethargy left behind at the front door, “Has anyone else seen this?”
He shook his head, but she knew the answer without seeing his response. Stacey was too careful, despite his enthusiasm. She had already used his last photo for the paper, thinking little of the situation. But this second piece of evidence meant things were just a little too coincidental for comfort.
“Have you made contact?”
“No. I went in to his work to see him, but… well, let’s just say it was a little crowded.”
“Anyone suspect anything?”
She grabbed the remote off the couch and silenced the television as he spoke, “Doubt it. It was lunch rush. In Greyson’s you could be a three headed goat demon from the planet Quash and still not be noticed.”
Pam gave him a disgusted look; “You’re still reading the crap I print?”
He smiled, “I like to see where you’re going.”
“Most of it is bullshit. You know that. Hell, you give me half of my pictures to draw stories from.”
He pointed to the photo in her hand, “But this one’s different.”
“I can see that.”
“So, what do we do?”
“Who are these other guys?”
He moved beside her, looking closely at the image, “No idea, but they’re not ordinary thugs. Related to the bomber, perhaps?”
“Probably. So they’re making a play for the boy.”
Stacey smiled, “Looks like he can take care of himself.”
“That’s not the point. People know about him. We have to make sure we get to him first.”
“We could see if we can catch him at work. You get dressed; I’ll be out in the car.”
* * *
He pocketed the papers from the insurance agents. Hopefully they wouldn’t screw him around too much. He was a media spectacle; they probably couldn’t risk it. If this was fame, it could have some advantages.
Maybe now he could build up enough courage to ask Kristen out. What with his newfound powers and the media spotlight, he could probably sweep her up into his arms, regardless of what he looked like. All he needed was five minutes with her. Just enough time to turn around and ask her out. That was all. Five minutes alone.
He felt himself subconsciously praying to some higher power to bestow these magical moments on him. He knew it was pointless, but hey, every little bit helped. He wasn’t sure if she was working today. Maybe he could just pull her aside and ask. Or maybe he could call her from another extension and do it over the phone.
Oh, yeah. How brave is that? Can’t even do it face to face. He sighed. Obviously the new powers had nothing to do with self-confidence.
Still, he was sure if he had those five minutes, everything would be solved.
Greyson’s was only a few minutes walk from the insurance agents. He kept his eye on the ground for most of the way, for fear of being recognised.
What if he was? What would happen? Would people hound him, hog his time? Would he become a media spectacle right there in the street? Or would people ignore him? There were plenty of rich and famous people in the world already, what would one measly person on the street be to anyone else? Would they even recognise him? He shook his head. It didn’t matter. He was still the same person, powers and all. He didn’t feel any different. Same strange sense of humour, same longing thoughts of Kristen, same cowardice to do anything about it, same old face staring back in the mirror or glass. He was still Russell Paige. Nothing could change that. It’s just not everyone had gotten to know him yet. Maybe if he succumbed to the phone calls, gave interviews, maybe people would like him then?
But would the phone calls stop? Would he get peace and quiet? Privacy? That went for his powers, too. What if he revealed to the world what he could do? He remembered the rumours of the other freaks. People not quite like other people. Much like the Jewish were treated in Nazi Germany or African Americans in the days of enslavement. They were jeered, hated, attacked. Would the same rules apply for him? Would he go from being a sought after interview to being a hunted freak of nature?
And what if he had imagined it all anyway? Honestly, men attacking him out of the blue? What for? What did he do? Maybe he imagined it all on the boring walk home. He could always test his powers later on, after he finished shopping. There were plenty of places he could go. King’s Park, for instance. The most popular nature reserve in the city area. Wide open spaces or secluded clearings. Anywhere would be perfect for testing his powers. Heck, the curb crawlers and beat walkers all managed to find secluded areas for illegal sex, how hard would it be to find somewhere to test his powers, if they existed in the first place. If not, well, a nice nature walk would do him good. He looked up at the buildings ahead of him.
He could see Greyson’s just up the road.
He quickened his pace and started eyeing the people going by. No one was looking at him. Not yet, anyway. It seemed safe enough to walk normally.
As he turned a corner to head toward the main entrance of Greyson’s, his step faltered.
There she was.
Like some kind of miracle. His wish had been granted.
Kristen. Walking so tall and gracefully out of the main entrance, adjusting her bag on her back. One of those single strap numbers, fawn in colour. The band stretching over her right shoulder and down to her left waist to join onto the pack. A small mobile phone pouch sat empty just over her right breast. She looked up and somehow spotted him in the crowd. Smiling, she approached,
even as he walked toward her.
“Hi, Russell.”
“Hello. Finishing work?”
“No, just having my break.”
“Cool.”
He could feel the blood rushing to his face, somehow managing to clog his tongue.
“You’re not working today?”
He shook his head and managed to squeak, “My day off.”
She nodded, her confident manner consuming his beating heart completely. He couldn’t blink, he couldn’t breath, and he couldn’t speak.
“Well, I’ve got to get something to eat. I’ll see you around.”
He nodded. There was a noise somewhere, a “cluck”-ing sound, similar to the one he had heard the night before, or thought he heard.
He watched as she walked away, she turned back and smiled before disappearing into the crowd. He turned his head to scan the crowd. There was a small group of Asian tourists nearby, Japanese perhaps, one held a camera and was trying to organise the other four, his family, to stand in front of a small Australian Memorabilia shop.
He waited a few moments for his heart to slow down before entering the shop, the blood slowly draining from his face.
* * *
“In Confectionery,” Stacey looked over his shoulder, trying to see past the Weekend shoppers. There were more of them today than the lunchtime before, “Pam? Pam?”
“Over here!”
He saw her hand waving back in the direction of the sunglasses department. A good ten metres behind.
“Just push your way through!”
“The flow’s going against me!”
“Hang on! I’ll come and get you!”
He swam through the tangle of shopping bags, arms and whining children to find Pam standing huddled against the back wall of the sunglasses counter. She looked practically petrified.
“Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad in here? I could have done a story on it.”