Mystery Men Part 5

MARCH 17, 8:58 PM

Sara Klein walked down the dark sidewalk of Ocean Avenue. She hadn’t been to this part of the city at night much, but imagined there were usually more people about. That silly Irish parade probably has all the dockworkers stuffed into the pubs over in Midtown, she thought. She felt a slight regret at not being able to celebrate anything herself…even something as trivial as a made up holiday. But with her Uncle missing, revelry was the furthest thing from her mind.

She unfolded the letter from Webster United Bank and reread the address for the twelfth time. She checked the numbers on the buildings she passed and knew she was getting close to her Uncle’s building.

Why he had kept its existence secret from her, she could not imagine. If she wasn’t so worried for him, she would be angry. Instead, she directed her anger toward David Barry, who had known about the building, but had told no one about it once her Uncle had gone missing. David had said her Uncle swore him to secrecy regarding the building, but she still couldn’t believe that the young man hadn’t told the police about it.

A few moments later, she came to the building, 1407 Ocean Avenue. Two floors tall and extending away from the street to the waterfront about seventy yards away, it looked like a warehouse. The neighboring buildings, nearly identical, seemed to support this idea. She went up to the door and then hesitated.

The horrible image of her Uncle lying dead on the floor crept back into her mind again. That had kept happening since she had learned of the building’s existence. She forced it away, but it was difficult; now that she had seen the place, the image was that much more complete in her mind.

With a shaky hand, she reached out and tried the latch. It was locked, of course…if Uncle Samuel had gone to such lengths to keep the building a secret, he would hardly leave it unlocked. Sara quickly looked about the entrance for a spare key; her Uncle was absentminded and was always misplacing his keys to their house. No luck.

She walked around the building then, but found only one other door and it too was locked. Why didn’t I just go to the police? she thought. They would already have searched the entire place by now. She had spoken to enough detectives, military police, and FBI agents over the past week and a half to know that they took her Uncle’s disappearance very seriously. Whatever his work at Fort Nicholas involved, it was obviously very important.

The hell with it, she thought as she removed her coat. She wrapped it around her forearm and elbow and then smashed a nearby window. After knocking all of the remaining glass from the frame, she gathered her skirt and climbed through. Her legs got caught up coming through the window and she tumbled to the floor.

It was dark inside. She fumbled her coat free from her arm and rummaged through its pockets for her matches. She found them and lit one, but it barely helped. She was in a long hallway with a few doors on either side. She made her way up the hallway, back toward the front of the building. She looked into each room as she passed by; most appeared empty, but it was hard to tell for sure with so little light. The match burned down to her fingers and she lit another.

Finally, she made her way to the front door. She groped along the walls to either side and found a light switch. She flipped the switch and the lights in the hallway lit up. She shook her match out and tossed it to the floor. “Uncle Samuel?” she called quietly. “Are you here?”

There was a metal staircase leading up to the second floor, but she went back and checked the rooms she had passed first. Some were used for storage; large crates and smaller boxes lined the walls. Others were entirely empty. She headed back to the stairs.

“Uncle Sam?” she called again as she climbed the stairs. It always irritated him when she called him that; ’I am not a piece of propaganda, Sara’ he would always say. It had become the nickname that she used to tease him. She had even bought him a red, white, and blue top hat like the cartoon Uncle Sam wore last Fourth of July. Though he claimed to hate the thing, it hung on a hook in his bedroom wall next to a photo of her parents.

Tears welled up in her eyes. Her Uncle was the only family she had left. Her parents had died when she had been very young and he had taken care of her ever since. She still remembered the day he told her that they were going to go live in America. She had been so scared, but he had made it sound like a magical place. That had been eight years before, and she was a grown woman now, but she was not ready to lose him yet. She didn’t think she could bare such a thing.

She forced those thoughts away as she reached the top of the stairs. She found another light switch on the wall and flicked it on. The room that she was now in was the largest she had seen in the warehouse yet, and was obviously the most used. There were numerous countertops filled with laboratory equipment and chemistry sets. Three big chalkboards were in the room, each filled with long equations that she couldn’t decipher. Several large barrels stood in one corner of the room, each marked with a flame symbol, the universal sign for flammable. Like the rooms on the first floor, though, there was no sign of her Uncle.

She made her way into the lab and began looking around the countertops for any clue she could find. In the corner, a glass container caught her eye.

It was filled with a golden liquid that seemed to shine in the light. Beneath the jar was an envelope that stuck out over the edge of the counter. She walked over and took the envelope in her hand. She raised her other hand to the jar to keep it from moving as she slid the envelope out.

The golden fluid inside slid up the surface of the glass to the spot where her fingers touched it. She gasped and pulled her hand back, and the stuff flowed back down the side. “Wow,” she whispered, and reached out again. When her hand touched the glass, the golden liquid flowed up to meet it. She ran her fingertips around the container and a small wave followed. She then slid one finger up to the lid and a thin stream of the stuff slid right up to the top on the other side of the glass. It had a metallic look to it and she was reminded of the way mercury would move about.

She went back to the envelope and slid it out from beneath the jar. She flipped it over and her heart nearly broke to see the name ’David’ scrawled on the front in her Uncle’s distinctive hand. She debated opening the envelope, but decided not to, no matter how mad she was with her Uncle’s former protégé. She decided she would go over to Dave’s workshop and give the letter to him. Then she would give him a piece of her mind.

She was about to turn and leave, but looked back to the container of fluid on the counter. Her Uncle had his weird habits and quirks, but most of the time, whatever he did was for a reason; he had not randomly chosen that container to hold the letter down. She grabbed the jar and tucked it into her elbow, marveling at the way the stuff inside coated the glass wherever it was in contact with her.

She turned back toward the stairs, but stopped when she saw a man standing there. He wore a long black overcoat and had his hands in its pockets. She gasped and nearly dropped the container, but managed to hold onto it. She took a few steps back. “Who are you?” she demanded.

“I’m a friend of your uncle’s, miss,” the man said with an unfriendly smile. “I will take you to him.”

“Where is he?” she demanded, not trusting this stranger at all. “Tell me now!”

His cruel smile widened and he took a few steps forward. He reached into his overcoat and produced a pistol. He pointed it at her. “Sie werden mit mir, Fräulein kommen.”

Sara’s hands started shaking and her knees felt like they were going to buckle. She backed up against the counter and realized she had no where to run. She watched horrified as the stranger casually walked toward her, gun raised.

The window behind her suddenly burst inward, spraying glass about the lab. Sara cried out as some of the shards struck her, one leaving a scratch along her cheek. The man with the gun fell back a few steps, covering his face to protect himself from the glass.

Another man now stood in the room. He straightened from a crouching position and boldly faced the man with the gun. Sara moved to the corner of the room and hugged the canister to her chest.

The newcomer casually brushed bits of glass from his black jumpsuit. He took his eyes from the gunman for just a second to look at Sara. Pointing at her with a red leather glove he spoke. “Are you all right?” His gray eyes were calm and peaceful and they seemed to know everything about her just by looking at her.

She was too scared to respond, but he must have figured that she was indeed okay, because the young man turned back to the gunman.

The man in the trench coat had recovered from the other’s arrival and he raised his gun threateningly. “Keep away!” he shouted at the younger man.

The newcomer in the black jumpsuit shook his head. Why is he so calm? Sara thought. That maniac is pointing a gun at him! She crouched down low in the corner, her limbs shaking uncontrollably. The liquid inside the container seemed to bubble furiously, like a pot of water left to boil too long.

“I don’t think so,” the young man responded.

The gunman’s face twisted cruelly and he fired his pistol three times. Sara screamed again; there was only a few feet separating the two of them, there was no way he could miss.

The young man smiled at his assailant and then turned to look behind him. There in the wall directly behind where he stood were three bullet holes. He turned back to the gunman, his smile even wider now.

“Impossible,” the gunman muttered under his breath.

“Exactly,” the young man responded and then leaped at his foe.

He caught the man with the gun with a powerful punch to the chin, knocking him back a few feet. He staggered back into the wall, but managed to get off two more shots with his pistol. Again, unbelievingly, he missed the young man.

“Slow learner, aren’t you?” Sara heard her would be savior say with a chuckle.

The gunman seemed to consider his words and then looked to Sara, crouching in the corner. His arm spun out, the pistol now aimed at her.

Faster than the eye could follow, the young man lashed out again. He kicked his leg up and pinned the gunman’s arm to the wall at the wrist. His military style boots were the same dark red as his gloves. The gunman cried out and dropped his weapon to the floor.

Again, the young man looked to her with those calm gray eyes. “Get out of here, Sara. Now!”

His voice seemed to steel her nerves and she shakily rose to her feet. With one last look at him, she sprinted toward the stairs. She could here the struggle continue as she burst through the door to the street, still clutching the canister of golden fluid to her chest.

*****

The gunman wrenched his hand away and took a few more steps back. He eyed the young man curiously. “You are of the Blood,” he said in a barely disguised accent. “Who are you?”

“My name is Paradox,” he responded. “And I’m here to stop you.”

The man smiled cruelly at him. “Well, you have failed, fool. My friend outside will take care of the girl.”

The man known as Paradox’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t think the man was lying. He whirled toward the stairs, hoping to catch up with Sara Klein before she got outside.

The man grabbed the neck of Paradox’s jumpsuit and pulled him back. He hauled Paradox right up against himself and wrapped his arm around the young man’s neck. He then raised his other hand out before Paradox. “And I will take care of you,” the man hissed. The tips of his fingers shifted with a sickening sound of scraping bone. The nails on the ends of his fingers lengthened, turning into wicked talons.

He brought his arm down, slashing at Paradox’s throat. The young man managed to break free just before the killing blow struck, but the talons still ripped into his chest. As he spun away from his foe, the claws scraped across his shoulder, leaving long bloody gashes. I should have known they would send one of us, he thought, raising his left hand to his mangled right shoulder reflexively. Or two of us, I suppose, if he isn’t lying; they’ve got at least two dozen of them here in Century.

The man sprang, claws slashing at Paradox. He managed to block each blow and then delivered his own to the side of his foe’s head. He followed that up with a kick to the ribs that sent the villain smashing into the wall. The sheetrock crumbled before him like paper.

The man freed himself from the ruined wall and dived at Paradox, clawed hands outstretched. Paradox sidestepped and grabbed his foe’s arms. Using the man’s momentum, he hurled him across the nearby table. The man struck the chemistry equipment atop the table and then collided with the other wall.

Whatever the chemicals were inside the equipment, they were volatile. Upon coming into contact with each other and with the open air, they burst into flame. The countertop was engulfed by a small blaze, and other smaller fires sprang up in the room where the chemicals had fallen.

Paradox seized this moment to try and get away, but the man sprang from the floor at him. His hand latched around Paradox’s shin, claws digging in to the bone. Paradox cried out in pain and fell to the ground.

“You won’t get away from me, boy,” the man snarled, crawling along the floor toward Paradox. “You are dead! DEAD!”

Paradox ignored the pain and kicked out with his other foot. He caught the man in the jaw. He kicked again, as hard as he could. He heard the crunch of bone and felt the man’s jaw give way beneath his boot. His foe cried out and his grip loosened just enough for Paradox to wriggle free. He pulled his bloody leg away from the clawed man and struggled to his feet.

He looked down to see his foe’s face was covered in blood…his nose was caved in and his jaw was obviously dislocated. Still he growled like an animal and was already getting to his feet. If I’m going to save the girl, I have to end this quickly, Paradox thought. The fire was beginning to spread and the room was starting to fill with smoke. Paradox scanned the floor and saw the man’s pistol lying only a few feet away beside a small puddle of burning chemicals.

Favoring his mangled leg, he scrambled for the weapon. The clawed man realized what he was doing and moved to stop him. Paradox got there a split second ahead of him, grabbed the gun, and raised it. The clawed hands of his foe closed around his and forced the gun into the air. The two struggled, face to face, each hoping to bring the gun to bear on his enemy.

You have to focus, young one, his old teacher Bantha had told him when he was just a child. Your powers will work subconsciously most of the time, but when you desire specific results, you will have to focus.

One of the villain’s clawed hands raked down Paradox’s right arm, tearing flesh as easily as the fabric of his jumpsuit. He grimaced at the pain, but managed to keep his grip on the gun.

Focus.

The clawed man laughed as his hand made its way down and grabbed Paradox by the throat. Paradox could feel the claws begin to dig into the flesh of his neck and he knew that he was about to die.

Focus.

Paradox looked right into his enemy’s eyes. With his arms still raised and the pistol pointed at the ceiling, he pulled the trigger three times.

Focus.

He watched as his foe’s brow furrowed in confusion. The man’s grip weakened and his claws came free of Paradox’s neck and he staggered away.

He groped at the three bullet wounds in his chest. Blood so dark it was almost black flowed freely from the wounds. He fell to his knees and looked up weakly at Paradox. “Impossible,” he hissed.

Paradox lowered the gun, leveling it right at him. “Exactly,” he said and pulled the trigger once more.

*****

He limped out of the burning building to see Sara fleeing down the street. Knowing there was another enemy out here somewhere, he scanned the entire area. He caught a slight movement above him and looked up to the top of Klein’s lab. What seemed to be the barrel of a rifle was sticking out over the edge of the roof.

Without hesitating he jumped at the building, planting his feet firmly on the wall. A slightly dizzying sensation swept through his head as his power shifted the world around him. As far as gravity was concerned, the wall was now a floor to him.

Focus.

He ran up the side of the building to the spot where the other would be assassin must be. There was a small explosion from inside and the windows on the second floor burst outward as he ran by, shards of glass leaving many minor slashes all over his body. Still he kept going.

Focus.

The rifle fired just as he reached the rooftop. He grabbed the barrel and leaped up onto the roof, allowing gravity to take its normal hold on him once again. Another man, dressed similarly to the one inside, scrambled back from the edge of the roof, surprised at Paradox’s appearance. He ripped the rifle from this new enemy and tossed it over the side of the building. He glanced back once, quickly, to see if Sara had made it.

He saw her motionless form slumped down on the sidewalk down the street. He turned back to her assailant. “You are going to die for that,” he said.

The gunman only smiled at him and took a defensive stance. Paradox lunged at him.

The villain moved with blinding speed, easily sidestepping Paradox and lashing out with an attack of his own. Paradox felt the fist smash into his face several times in the span of a moment. He tumbled to the ground and rolled away from the man.

Great, he thought, a speedster.

Before he could even finish the thought, the man was on him again. He did his best to fend off the attacks, but they came in too fast for him to even see. His head lurched out to his right as the speedster caught him with a right hook, then jerked savagely back when a left hook followed. A blinding sidekick caught him in the stomach and he fell, skidding along the rooftop from the force of the kick.

“It is as if you are standing still to me,” the man said. “You have no chance against me…surrender, and I’ll make your death painless.”

Paradox didn’t even respond. He wiped the blood from his mouth and rose to his feet. He raised his hand and beckoned his enemy on with a wave.

Focus.

The speedster sprang forth, his body a blur. Paradox focused as best he could through the pain and for a split second, time seemed to stop. The speedster seemed frozen in place for that moment, and Paradox saw his opening. He let time start back up and punched out with his right hand at the same time.

The man’s body blurred again as his charge resumed. Paradox’s punch caught him below the chin, striking the man directly in the throat. There was a soft crunching sound and the man fell to the rooftop, gasping for air. Paradox sighed in relief, surprised that his desperate plan had worked. To the speedster, he knew, it would have seemed as if Paradox had been standing back awaiting his charge one instant, and then halfway through the punch that caught the man in the throat the next. He had basically used the man’s speed against him, hoping that he wouldn’t be able to react in time.

He made his way toward the prone man to put him out of his misery, when he felt a rumble beneath his feet. The corner of the rooftop blasted outward with another explosion. The building trembled violently…he knew another explosion was likely. He turned and ran toward the edge of the building. Looking back, he saw that the speedster had regained his feet and was heading toward the side as well, clutching at his throat and gasping as he ran.

Paradox was almost at the edge when the whole rooftop erupted beneath him. He briefly felt his body hurtling through the night air before unconsciousness took him.

* * * * *

He came to some time later to the sound of alarms in the distance. Get up, he told himself. You can’t be here when the police and firemen arrive. He sat up with some effort and found himself laying upon the wooden dock behind the laboratory, a few feet away from the water. He thought his ribs might be cracked from the fall in addition to the wounds he had received from his two enemies.

He rose from the dock and ran as best he could toward the street; his mangled calf could barely support him. The heat from the fire was intense and he held up a hand to keep it from his face as he ran by. Whatever had exploded inside had done the job…the building wouldn’t be standing much longer. The whole structure was now engulfed in flames.

He made his way out of the alley and out onto the street. The sirens were much closer now…he wouldn’t have much more time. He ran to the spot where he had seen Sara fall.

She wasn’t there.

He limped forward and examined the area. There was a small puddle of blood on the sidewalk, with a good amount of broken glass scattered about. But of Sara Klein, there was no sign. Paradox looked down at the blood and the glass. What happened to her?

The first of the fire engines rounded a corner up the street. Paradox turned and fled in the other direction, wondering what this meant for his plans.