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Our Paranormal Chernobyl Ed stared at himself in the mirror and let out a whistle. Damn… The salesman nodded his satisfaction. "Looks good, sir. I don't think your own mother would recognize you in that." The salesman (Brett) brushed the lapels of the suit with a small hand brush, removing imaginary traces of lint, then reached out and straightened Ed's tie. The suit was a soft earthy brown, the tie a copper colored silk thing that matched Ed's eyes, the shirt white and crisp. Yep, the sunglasses were off, and Ed's peepers were visible to the whole world. To his credit, Brett hadn't said a word. There'd been a slight widening of the eyes, and that was about it. It had helped that the first thing Ed had done was slap eight hundred bucks down on the counter and said "I need a suit. A good one." Money was the great equalizer. Ed turned around a couple of times, regarding himself in the mirror with continued disbelief. "Man, I look…" Like a punk, a nasty voice in the back of his head spat out viciously. "You look great," Brett finished. "A heck of a change from the jeans and t-shirt look you were sporting. I think in this you'll get that job. If you don't, your interviewer is blind." Ed nodded, then opened his new billfold and pulled out some cash. "Let's get me paid for and outta here man," he remarked, tearing his eyes away from the stranger in the mirror and turning towards the counter. "I've got a life to start." Brett smiled. He actually hoped the kid got whatever he was looking for. To be frank, he'd thought this particular customer was some sort of dealer at first. But certain things didn't add up the longer he'd talked to him. The kid was trying to be polite, and had stumbled over words that it was obvious he rarely used. He rang up the sale ($654.34) and gave the kid his change. "I wrapped up your old clothes and put them in a bag for you." he said, walking around the counter and handing Ed a paper sack with the store logo written elegantly across the front in gothic script. "Remember; if you start to get nervous, just imagine your the only one in the room with any clothes on. It's an old trick, but it works." Ed grinned back at him. "Thanks again man. I appreciate it." Brett nodded and walked the kid to the door. "Good luck." Ed stepped out of the men's shop and squinted against the bright sunlight. Squinting. Damn. He didn't know if he could take life without sunglasses. He was on Michigan Avenue, the heart of downtown. The sidewalks were crowded with shoppers and business people. And he looked just like them, now. If they didn't look too close at his eyes. He looked up and down the street. Four long blocks south was the Institute where he'd left old Red with his family problems. He could just make out the corner arch of the big stone building. And to the north? The future, man. Whether he was ready or not. He'd taken about two steps toward a better life when he heard the bang. He barely heard it over the noise of the traffic—but it had the residual violence of a sound that had started out very loud and had diminished only because of distance. It had come from a far way behind him. About four long city blocks south, as a matter of fact. Ed stopped and stared off down the street, the bag holding his old clothes held awkwardly at his side. This wasn't his problem. This wasn't his goddamn problem! He didn't need to go see what it was. No. He was wearing a fucking suit that cost him two months worth of his Gram's house payments. His shoes were new. He could almost smell the leather. Damn it, damn it, damn it this wasn't fair! He turned and started to walk away, then stopped. What if someone was hurt? What if it was kids, or old people? What would his gram say if she knew he had walked? Fuck. For a moment, the kid in the suit looked like someone had dumped a ton of bricks on his shoulders, his face pulled tight into an ugly grimace. Then he sighed, a deep thing from the depths of his gut. And began walking hurriedly down the street, towards whatever the hell was going on. It had better be nothing. A gas pipe or something. Something he could leave to others. And if it wasn't, if some dumb-ass son-of-a-whore was blowing shit up just because he could…? Ed wouldn't want to be in his shoes… Then he heard the shout—or rather, felt it. It sounded human, but in a register so deep, and so loud, that it vibrated in his chest before it reached his ears. Two years ago Ed had been at a Primus concert; he'd ended up standing next to a big Marshall stack, with sound waves pummeling his bones like something physical. He was deaf all the next day. This wasn't that bad. Then again, he was still three and a half blocks away. It was coming from the same direction as the bang—back toward the Institute. Every pedestrian on Michigan Avenue stopped, and turned. The woman walking in front of Ed actually tripped over herself and fell to her knees. At the traffic light, a car slammed on its brakes and a yellow taxi behind it slammed into the rear bumper. The sound was thunderous, but still human. And it was filled with pain and rage. "Goddamit!" Ed shouted as he hurried up to the woman who had fallen and helped her to her feet. Looked like she had a skinned knee, but that was about it. He glared back at the Institute when he saw her safely on her way, and wondered if Red had done a Very Bad Thing. "If it's not one thing, it's another," he muttered, weighing his options. Fuck it. He looked up to the roofs, then leapt. And leapt again, heading back towards the Art Institute and whatever was going on there. He also switched on his shields, cause he'd be damned if he was gonna have this suit hurt. Yeah, here he was doing what he'd chided Red on, displaying his powers to God and everyone. But what if somebody was hurt? What if Red had started something with that kid, and people were paying for it? There was enough bad word on the street about people like Ed, he didn't want it to get any worse. |