Part 21 (1/2)
”I hear voices, but I can't tell what they are saying.” She held up a finger.
A scream of pain rang out of the shop. Ping tensed. ”That was Sam,” he said and started for the door.
Mara pulled him back. ”Go this way,” she said, pointing to the alley leading to the rear entrance.
They ran down the alley and stopped in front of the bay door at the back of the shop that acted as an entrance for Bruce's bicycle garage. Mara took her keys from her jeans pocket and unlocked the padlock securing the large door. Pulling up on the door, she cringed when it squeaked and rattled. She lifted it just enough for them to crawl under on their hands and knees. They could now hear a man's voice in the front of the shop.
”Tell me where the Chronicle is. Does the progenitor have it?” he asked.
”I told you. I don't know,” Sam said.
A loud zzzit, zzzit sound came from the front of the shop, and Sam screamed again.
”Cut it out. I told you I don't know where it is,” he yelled, breathing heavily.
Sneaking out front was not possible. There were no walls or large pieces of furniture behind which to hide. Ping pantomimed he would proceed, but that Mara should wait. She opened her mouth to argue, but he turned away before she could respond.
He picked up a wrench from a worktable and stepped out where he could be seen. A man with transparent skin stood behind the counter. He looked like an animated anatomy mannequin with bright yellow veins and arteries. His green eyes appeared to float in the air. The bones of his skull were translucent but discernible and, like the rest of him, wrapped in cellophane flesh. His bony left hand gripped Sam's arm while he sat on the stool. The man's right hand hovered over Sam's chest, glowing. Tiny bolts of lightning jumped from his palm and grounded themselves into the boy. Sam struggled against the shocks.
”Stop it. I don't know where it is!” he yelled.
Ping swung the wrench, hitting the side of the creature's face, knocking him to his knees, stunned. He shook off the blow. Ping grabbed Sam and shoved him in front of the counter and then into the back of the shop.
”What do you want here?” Ping held up the wrench, ready to strike again.
The man held up his glowing hand, palm first as if warding off another blow. A blinding bolt of pink lightning arced to Ping's midsection. He froze, began to quake as if something inside his body struggled to get out. His arms and legs swung as the shaking grew so violent it lifted him off the ground, holding him trembling and aloft. His body ballooned, bloated until his skin strained against the pressure and then exploded into a shower of sparks.
”Ping!” Sam yelled. ”The b.a.s.t.a.r.d killed Ping!”
Mara grabbed Sam, pulling him toward the back door. ”We have to get out of here, come on,” she said.
Sam slipped loose, picked up a metal folding chair and ran to the front of the shop, lifting it above his head as he disappeared from view. Mara attempted to follow, but tripped over a mop bucket full of dirty water, landing on her knees and forearms. She picked herself up, muttering about the janitorial service, until she heard a crash.
She ran to the front of the shop.
The metal chair stuck out from the shattered top of the gla.s.s case. The man with transparent skin stood over Sam with his arms raised to the ceiling like a boxer declaring victory, pink lightning streaming from his fingertips in all directions.
Static filled the air. A radio blared. A blender whirred loudly, joined by another radio set to a talk station. Alarm clocks rang, others beeped. A cuckoo clock got cut off in midcuckoo. A television provided a laugh track. Lamps flickered. A toy car jumped off a shelf and zoomed across the floor.
The veins inside the man fluoresced as dozens of arcs discharged from his hands, branched in midair like a prairie lightning strike, connecting with every surface of the shop. The air snapped and filled with ozone. He began to lower his arms. The lightning swept downward, following the path of his hands, striking toward where Sam was sprawled on the floor.
Mara ran to the back. She returned, straining to carry the mop bucket. Lightning gouged the wood floor, sending smoke into the air as it made its way to Sam's legs. She heaved the bucket at the man, dousing him with brown water.
Jags of lightning shot from his hands, arcing back to his body, throwing off a cascade of sparks that showered across the shop. Light burst from his eyes. He grabbed the sides of his head and fell to his knees, brilliant rays now flooding from his mouth. His scream drowned out the radios and clattering appliances as the light consumed his head, ripped through his torso and devoured his body. When the light faded, he was gone.
Mara looked down at Sam on the floor. ”Are you okay?”
”Yeah, a little wired I guess.”
”Not funny.”
”No, I didn't mean-”
”Why didn't you do your thing with that guy?” she said, tapping her head.
”Prompt him?”
”Yeah.”
”It only works on real people.”
”Real people? You're saying that was not a real person.”
”No. I mean, yes, that is what I am saying.”
”If he wasn't real, then what was he?”
”Something created by a pretender.”
”A what?”
”Look!” Sam pointed in front of the shattered display case.
A familiar mote of dust swirled and gathered, taking the shape of a man, holding his head. Ping wavered for a minute, after he had rea.s.sembled. ”Oh, I think that gave me a headache.”
Sam ran to him and gave him a hug. ”I thought you were dead.”
”I thought so too,” he said and turned to Mara. ”Are you okay?”
”No, I am not okay. I am p.i.s.sed. Look at this shop. Mr. Mason is going to fire me if I can't keep this place from being turned into a disaster area every other day.”
”It's not quite as bad as last time. We'll help you clean it up,” Sam said.
”I'm tired of cleaning up after these people. What do I have to do to get my life back?” she said to Ping.
”You have to stop denying your role in this,” he said. ”You have to confront it. To do that, you need to set aside your skepticism and embrace things the way they are, not the way you wish them to be.”
”What do I have to do?”
CHAPTER 33.
THEY WALKED INTO the back of a large warehouse a few blocks south of Hawthorne Boulevard. It was still early, and Sunday, so the streets were empty. Sam rubbed his eyes as he staggered over to a set of three mats arranged in a triangle in the middle of the empty cavernous s.p.a.ce. He flopped down and curled up. Off to the side stood a whiteboard and nearby that a metal cabinet. Ping paused next to the loading dock door they had entered to flip a large switch. Rows of fluorescent tubes ignited, suspended more than fifty feet above their heads, two-by-two in a grid of industrial fixtures, clicking in rapid sequence.
”Welcome to my cla.s.sroom.” Ping waved an arm toward the whiteboard.
”I wasn't even aware I had registered,” Mara said. ”What is this place?”