Vs Reality (4 page)

Her cherry lips curl into a devilish grin, dimpling her cheeks. “Not so much. I’m just into love stories.” Without turning around she slides some cash towards the bartender. He nods and starts preparing another drink, pocketing the bills.

This is the strangest conversation that Cole has had in quite some time, though with each passing moment his nervousness melts away. “And what exactly do
you
know about love, crazy girl who asks complete strangers inappropriate questions about their personal lives?”

“Just that it’s all a lie,” she says with a hint of sweetness. “No one really means it when they say ‘I love you’, and no one really believes it when they hear it. But people like to pretend that it’s true because it makes them feel all warm and fuzzy inside. You know, it’s like when you tell your cousin she doesn’t look fat in her wedding dress, or when you promise to water someone’s plants while they’re away on vacation.”

Cole fakes a theatrical look of concern. “So you just let the plants die? Wow…you really
are
a sadist.”

“Based on my recent dating history, I consider myself more of a masochist.” She pulls the cherry from her new drink and pops it into her mouth, plucking off the stem and tossing it over her shoulder.

“Guys getting their asses kicked, plants dropping dead…you’re a dangerous girl to be around.”

She raises her eyebrows and twirls the tiny straw around the rim of her glass, blending the pink and orange liquid into a tiny frozen maelstrom. “Mmm…you don’t know the half of it.”

After one final wipe on his cargo shorts he extends a tentative hand. “Cole. Donovan Cole.”
Shit
. He’d delivered Jens’ idiotic double-oh-seven introduction without even realizing it. He winces slightly, praying she didn’t think it sounded as ridiculous as it probably did.

She squeezes it softly and offers a smile. “Danica Davenport. But most people call me Dia.”

Cole hopes that in the dimly lit club, Dia can’t detect the heat rising in his face, the redness that is almost certainly forming in his cheeks. He hasn’t felt this way is so long that he’d almost forgotten what ‘it’ feels like.

“So,” Dia says, her parted bottom lip gently brushing her straw, “I can’t be certain, but it definitely seems like we’re not strangers anymore. Would it be okay if I wanted to ask you another
wildly
inappropriate question…you know, since we’re on a first-name basis?”

New York City
August 26, 2011
1:39 am, Eastern Daylight Time

Jens nurses his Lightning Liquid and beer by the front door, watching intently as Cole continues to make progress at the bar. Squinting through the darkness he realizes the girl with the angel wing tattoos seems to be alone. Without a friend that he can hook up with, Jens’ brilliant plan is quickly falling apart...and in retrospect, his pack-hunting theory might need some refining.

Without warning he’s struck from behind, knocking him off balance. Jens stumbles, dropping his drink. The glass shatters across the dance floor and soaks the stilettos of an entire bachelorette party. Teeth grinding, he spins to confront the clumsy son-of-a-bitch who just spilled his hundred-dollar drink.

“What the hell, man? Who the fu—” And in mid-sentence he freezes, coming face-to-face (or face-to-absurdly-hairy-chest, more accurately) with a seven-foot powerhouse dressed like a Hawaiian tourist. “
Dude
,” Jens whispers, the color draining from his face. “That was
totally
my fault. Totally.”

Heinreich remains expressionless.

“Are you in the mood for a martini?” Jens holds up handful of cash, waving it like a white flag in surrender. “I’m buying.”

As they continue their conversation, Dia glances over Cole’s shoulder and spots Heinreich towering a full head above the crowd, his dark eyes scanning the club.

“Hey,” she says with a tremble in her voice, unable to maintain eye contact. “Wanna continue this conversation at my place?” She snatches her purse off the bar, rapidly flinging the strap over her shoulder.

“
Definitely
,” Cole responds without missing a beat, trying his best to remain cool. “Let me go grab the car keys from Jens.” He jams a thumb behind him. “He’s probably still over by the front door…”

Dia lunges forward and grabs him by the shoulder, ensuring he’s unable to pivot in his chair. “No, no, no…don’t bother your friend. I’ll hail a cab.”

Without giving him a chance to respond Dia yanks him from his chair and drags him half-stumbling through the crowd. They bump shoulders with several agitated business men as they plow their way through to the exit.

Reaching the steel door at the side of the club under the glowing red ‘Fire Escape’ sign, Dia slams her palm into the crash bar and pulls Cole down a flight of concrete steps into the alley.

As the door slams shut behind them they’re confronted by a very well dressed Asian man who’s smoking a cigarette, leaning against the side of an abandoned car.

Dia tenses her hand, burrowing her fingernails into the back of Cole’s hand. “We’re too late.”

New York City
August 26, 2011
1:55 am, Eastern Daylight Time

Dia’s eyes are wide, panicked, locked on Goto’s as she backs away. Fingers interlaced with Cole, she drags him along.

Goto flicks the remains of his cigarette into the street and removes his designer sunglasses. “Fancy meeting you here, Miss Davenport.” He carefully folds the glasses into a black case before sliding them into his coat pocket. He takes a moment to re-button himself and adjust his long wool scarf, as if he has all the time in the world. “Although I have to admit, I’m somewhat disappointed. I thought we’d have to work a bit harder to catch up with you, especially given your history. Showing up at Platinum? On a Saturday night, no less? You might as well have posted your location on Facebook.”

Dia continues to backpedal as Goto advances, walking in unison like a perfect mirror image. “I stay away from that shit. You know, Big Brother watching and all.”

“He
does
like to keep a watchful eye on you lot, doesn’t he? And as you know, it’s our job to send you to The Basement when you step out of line.”

A towering figure emerges from the side door of the nightclub and joins them in the alley. Heinreich steps to Goto’s side, ensuring there is no possible route for escape. They’ve done this enough times to know exactly how, and where, to neutralize a target; their movements are so crisp they appear choreographed.

Cole’s eyes dart back and forth between the two men, and then back to Dia. “I don’t know who you guys are or what the hell is going on here, but I’m like five seconds away from calling the cops.” He yanks his iPhone from his front pocket and holds it up as if he’s threatening them with a live grenade – as if the mere sight of the glowing device would cause them to scurry away in fear.

Goto snorts out a light chuckle. “Go right ahead. And while you’re speaking with the police, you can ask them to send a coroner. You’ll be requiring their services momentarily.”

Extending his hand, Goto rotates his fingers in the air – the valve-turning motion that fires bolts of agony into his victims.

A moment passes.

Nothing happens.

Goto furrows his brow and glares at his palm, confused and frustrated. He looks as if he’d just put fresh batteries into a television remote and can’t figure out why it’s not changing the channels. He shakes his hand out several times, flexing his fingers, balling them into a tight fist. He extends his hand towards Cole once again and repeats the same action.

Nothing.

He lets out an exaggerated sigh of disappointment, shoulders sagging. “Well,
this
is aggravating. Mister Heinreich, would you please give our mystery guest a hand?”

Without responding to Goto’s request, Heinreich takes a few rapid steps towards Cole and throws a vicious back-fist, connecting sharply with his jaw.

Cole careens into the brick wall of the alley, jarring his spine, snapping ribs. The pain is searing, all-consuming; his vision swims with a spattering of flashbulbs, surrounding everyone in the alley with a glowing hue.

I can’t believe this is happening to me,
he thinks.
How can it be possible? This many shitty things happening to the same person, all at the same time?
All of Cole’s recent failures blast through his consciousness: and the soul-crushing indignity he faces on a daily basis at his job; his girlfriend who ended their two-year relationship using a text message; and his meteoric rise though the amateur mixed martial-arts circuit that was snuffed out by a single loss. And that’s what he traces it all back to: A lucky punch that he should’ve seen coming. But he didn’t, and he ‘zigged when he should have zagged’ as Gary so succinctly put it. And now he’s here.

That shot didn’t just shatter Cole’s orbital bone that night – it shattered his confidence. An avalanche of ceaselessly flowing events followed, each worse than the last, leading to tonight, this very moment in time. A night when he
thought
something good was about to happen; a silver lining in the drizzling rain cloud that’s been following him around for what feels like forever. And now this: beaten and mugged in an alley, and he’s powerless to do anything about it. He’s powerless to do anything,
period
. Amidst the dizzying ache that’s crushing his head like an invisible vice, he suddenly stops feeling sorry for himself…for the first time in a very, very long time, Cole decides to stop blaming fate, stop blaming circumstance, and stop cursing everyone and everything around him. He chooses a different emotion. Anger.

And then something unexpected happens: his pain subsides, his vision clears, and he feels an intense energy burning from within. Something awakens. His blood pumps like high octane jet fuel, hot and intense, coursing through the veins of his right arm. He watches in amazement as it transforms from a small, sinewy limb into a powerful weapon. As his muscles thicken and expand, inky black liquid secretes from his pores; thousands of microscopic drops rearrange themselves into a detailed design of a snake; it circles his bicep, crawling down his forearm, venomous fangs bared and poised to strike by his fist.

The rest of Cole’s body soon follows: it doubles in size, shredded with lean muscle, veins pulsing. Then his injuries disappear. The gash on his forehead closes, leaving no trace that it had ever been there – not even the faintest remains of a scar. The swelling on his face subsides, and the dark purple bruise circling his swollen eye vanishes. 

Heinreich watches the transformation, jaw slack.

Cole screams his throat raw and lashes out, slamming his fist into Heinreich’s chest. It happens in a blur; like a glitch in a video game, he moves so quickly that to anyone observing, it looks as if frames of animation are missing. The giant sails twenty feet across the alley into the abandoned car. Flesh and bone meet steel and glass, crashing like thunder. The force of the impact wraps the wreckage around Heinreich’s back, shattering every window.

Cole looks down at his palms outstretched palms, eyes frantic.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Dia yanks a stun gun from her purse. She buries it deep into Goto’s neck and squeezes the trigger, infusing him with fifty-thousand volts of electricity. Goto attempts to scream, but he can only manage a muffled gurgle. His body tenses for just a moment and then falls limp, collapsing to the damp pavement.

“This can’t be happening,” Cole repeats to himself in rapid-fire succession, hoping that the incantation will wake him from his nightmare.

Dia produces a second weapon from her purse: a small pocket knife. She unfolds the blade and pulls down the leather wrapping from her forearm, revealing a roadmap of scars; some thicker and longer than others, all in various stages of healing. Even in the dimly lit alley, Cole can clearly see the raised, jagged skin, thin lines criss-crossing from the top of her wrist to the crook of her elbow.

She digs the blade into her skin and pulls it, opening a wide gash that bisects countless others. She winces, biting her bottom lip. Her fragile scar tissue opens like warm butter, blood pouring freely, cascading down her forearm and dripping off her fingertips.

“What the hell are you doing?” Cole screams.

Dia shakes her head and lets out a deep sigh. “
Damn it,
that should have worked. I need you to hit me. But not
too
hard – don’t knock me unconscious.”

“Jesus
Christ,
” he shouts, grabbing two fistfuls of his hair. “I don’t think this is the time for S&M fun. Let’s get the fuck out of here!”

Dia grabs Cole by the shoulders and stares into his eyes. “
Donovan
,” she says with a chilling calmness that does nothing to calm Cole’s nerves, “I need you to
focus
. We don’t have much time and backup will be here any second. Stop being a little bitch and hit me.”

Her gaze is hypnotic; a firestorm consuming a village.

Cole forces his eyes shut and massage his temples, trying to make sense of her request. “Um…all right…so, you want me to hit you in the body, or the face? Because I can do either, but…”

She groans in frustration.

His eyes snap open when her right palm connects squarely with his left cheekbone. Rage overtakes him. Without thinking he retaliates with a slap of his own, rocking her head back, sending her to a knee.

Cole clasps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. “I’m
so
sorry, I didn’t mean to...but it just happened.”

A thin stream of blood trickles from her right nostril, dripping down her split lip. As Dia regains her footing the transformation has already begun. In a heartbeat her raven hair turns to platinum, and her dark eyes glow like electric blue crystals, the whites disappearing. Cole leans in and notices that her facial features are also changing: her cheekbones have become more angular, her skin more luminous.

“Wow…that’s the last time I call
you
a bitch.” Dia wipes her nose with her forearm, dragging a wet crimson smudge across her cheek. “But you might wanna give me some space – this is gonna be a little warm at first.”

Cole obediently steps away, pressing his back to the wall of the alley. He wants to give her as wide a berth as possible for whatever the hell she’s about to do.

Dia plunges her hands into what looks like thin air, but she seems to grab hold of the universe’s fabric, fingertips disappearing into a tiny glowing seam. With a tearing motion she pulls open a rift that emits a blinding light; a jagged burst of sunlight torn directly from the darkness. With her hands still pressing on the seams of the tear, Dia looks back at Cole. He’s mesmerized, frozen. If the skin on his face were any paler it would be translucent.

Dia detects a subtle movement in her peripheral vision, obscured by the light streaming from the portal.

Goto is staggering, stumbling back to his feet. He straightens his posture and fumbles for something inside of his coat pocket. Or so it seems, until Dia makes out the distinctive leather strap concealed below his armpit.

A holster.

She screams out to Cole, her voice trembling.

He blinks rapidly, jarred out of his trance. He follows Dia’s line of sight.

Goto draws a silver hand cannon like an expert swordsman extracting his blade from a scabbard. He levels it, cocking the hammer with his thumb.

Dia leaps headfirst through the opening, swallowed by the burning light. Cole follows her through just as Goto squeezes.

The glowing rift begins to close as the bullets make their way towards the opening.