I look at the strange vial. It almost seems to twitch. I would say that isn’t really my area of expertise, but that isn’t strictly the case. Science, specifically biomechanics, is kind of all of our areas of expertise. And this thing is almost certainly alive. Somehow, someway. That’s why, when I saw the sliding shadow on the ground as I was walking to the statehouse from my hotel on this visit, I couldn’t help but take some as a sample. I looked up incident reports after I’d isolated the sample. That was hard, it moved like water, no like the shadow of water. But eventually I found a way to get that shadow of water to slide into a containment unit. And there were several reports of suspicious movement and activity in the area for the last year. Ever since some murder. Some report the block was haunted, but as of when I started to exist almost three years ago, there is no real evidence of ghosts. Maybe this will disprove that theory.
I put the package into my suitcase. This does mean I’m going to be checking the bag, unfortunately. Adds an extra half hour to the trip back. I shoot my roommate, one of them anyway, a quick text message. ‘I may be late, checking bag’ is all it reads. Then, I finish packing and order a cab to the airport. Standing out in the surprisingly warm November, I get a reply. ‘K. I’m still on vacay, but they/we will be there.’ Right. My science-minded roommate had mentioned that whole Halloween vacation. Visiting our old college buddies, one of them is getting married. I don’t think he’ll actually manage to get through the weekend. Not without relying on his less than normal ability. And, ever since that little torture incident at the beginning, we really don’t want people knowing about the whole thing. Too many already do. The cab arrives at the corner. With a smile, I get in and we head off to the airport.
Getting to the airport doesn’t take long, nor does security. Soon enough I’m sitting in the lounge waiting for my boarding. A relatively attractive young man, probably mid-twenties, walks over and sidles up to the bar next to me. At first, I wrongly assume it to be about me. “Hey,” he says, “How are things for you?”
“They are. Same as ever,” I reply, enjoying my pre-flight cocktail.
There’s a pause before the gentleman says, “Listen, this is going to sound strange, but I have this Friend, and they might have mentioned I should meet you. Chat.”
“What about?”
“The world, the state of things.” And with that, I knew this wasn’t really about me. He wasn’t looking for me, his friend wasn’t some long-lost buddy from the area or whatever. This was about my roommate. Someone we’d impressed, or scared, or befriended without my realizing.
“Sorry, wrong guy,” I say.
The man shakes his head. “I don’t think so,” he says, “Ian Bonner, right? I’m Pedro.”
“Pedro, trust me when I say this, you really don’t get it. You’ve got the wrong guy,” I try to impress this upon him. “I just have one of those faces, I guess.” A lie, but a white one, and far more believable to the world than the truth.
“Are you sure?” He asks. His eyes dart about, making sure no one is watching, or trying to see if someone is watching, before he touches my cocktail glass. It starts to cool down. Straight up ice cold. So, this is someone else like my roommate. Someone else with special skills. Interesting, doesn’t change the answer.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” I insist. “I no longer think you don’t fully get it, but you do have the wrong guy.” Then, with a shrug, I add, “Sorry, Pedro.”
“So you aren’t Ian Bonner?”
I chuckle. “You’re looking for someone else. There’s this friend’s wedding. Maybe next week.”
“You didn’t answer me,” Pedro presses.
I shrug. “You probably wouldn’t like the answer,” I reply.
“Try me,” he asks.
I wait a moment, then say, “I’ve got something to do,” I say. Then, almost on cue, they call for boarding first class for my flight. I point, implying that is what I meant. It isn’t, but I tried my best to time it so I wouldn’t have to lie. Getting up, I head over to the flight and board. Unfortunately, as I sit in my upgraded seat waiting for the flight to take off, I see he’s boarding it as well. Stalking me, I’d guess. Still thinks I am my roommate. I suppose that’s an understandable mistake. I start writing up my report for my boss about the conference.
Fortunately, the flight was relaxing and no one bothered me while I got my report written up. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a particularly long flight. It’s basically just a little hop. And then, I’m stuck waiting for that bag I had to check. And while waiting, Pedro once again shows up. Because he’s stalking me. “Listen, my Friend would have reached out to you herself, but evidently it’s really difficult to manage. Or complicated. She explained it was like making an interpretive response to several works of modern art by the same author together as a single work. So much going on at the same time, and none of it straight forward and all needing both independent and dependent interpretation to have any real meaning. So you get stuck with me. And if you want to be safe, you need to trust me. You need to work with us.”
“No, I don’t,” I reply, “I’m really not interesting enough to be in danger. I said, you got the wrong guy.” He still doesn’t believe me. He thinks I am just apprehensive. Or scared. I try to explain without giving too much away. “Look, you seem like an alright guy. A little creepy, but hey who isn’t. And that whole chilling drinks without watering them down thing is a real useful skill. But you aren’t looking for me. My usefulness is my single minded focus. It’s because of that that I’m going to succeed. Eventually. I hope you can find the individual that you’re actually looking for, but you’re going to have to wait a week or so for the wedding and related vacation to be over.”
He looks confused. I can’t really explain further than that. It wouldn’t help my progress. Because I need to make millions and retire early. Too much risk, too little reward with revealing our secrets. And he continues to try to convince me that I’m wrong. Or, trying to convince me that I really should trust him. And I do, but he’s not the only one here. And I haven’t been lying. Just withholding the problematic details from public consumption. My bag comes on the carousel and I grab it. “Look, kid,” I say, realizing immediately how that sounds. Especially considering my own technical age. “Sorry, I mean listen Pedro. I know you think I’m lying. I’m really not. You don’t want to give this spiel to me. It’s for someone else. Giving it to me won’t help you for at least a decade or two, assuming I even still remember it then. Now, I’m going home, and if you follow me, I’m going to get in touch with a close associate to make your life difficult.” As I finish the threat, I sling my checked bag over my shoulder and turn to leave the airport.
“Are you threatening me?” he asked.
I shrug. “Yeah, I thought that was implied. Not physically, of course, that would be illegal and illegality isn’t my purview. I’m threatening to tell people who you are. Where you are. I’m sure there are interested parties you’d prefer not knowing and, while I don’t know who that might be, I’m sure we can get the rumor in enough ears that someone else will hear it too.” I start to walk back across town to my apartment. I started cutting through the alleys, mostly because it saves about ten minutes over the course of the hour walk, but it has the added advantage of confusing any non-local. Hopping the small wall to walk through the partially closed down mechanics I get a clear view of my surroundings. No one is there. So either this Pedro guy got lost in the alleys and back yards, or he listened to me. The guy who owns the place, Gerald, gives me an irritated look. He doesn’t like people cutting through here. But he won’t do anything about it, because it makes the place look busy. Which means people don’t question why it still seems to be open despite never having the open sign on. I give him a nod and cross the street. Only six blocks to go, all the same alley. It’s why Gerald’s Garage is so important. Knowing no one is following means I don’t need to waste any time wandering the neighborhood. Eliminates the risk of heading straight home.
I walk into my apartment to a rough stench. When my main roommate isn’t here, the rest of us don’t really clean the place up. We’re too focused. “Who’s home?” I ask aloud as I open up my bag.
I see a mirror image walk into the room, carrying his tablet. The Law student. “Our programmer’s getting coffee and donuts to flirt with that barista we like to flirt with,” he/I informs me, “And in case you forgot or can’t tell, the weird one is off at that wedding.”
“I know,” I say, pulling out my own laptop to send off the report, “He/I reminded me. Do we think he/I will actually make it through the week alone and as one?”
“Nope, but the weirdo does. Said so yesterday when he felt the need to check in on us,” the law student answers.
I send in the report to my boss, and settle in. “By the way, in case I am busy, some strange guy was looking for us. Pedro. Had some kind of cooling powers, I think.”
“Did you/we tell him to leave you alone?” he/I asked me.
I nod. “Of course,” I answer, “Anything else would get in the way of my purpose.” I check to see if anything happened while I was offline. My inbox is clear. As is the office Slack.
The apartment door opens. “Oh, great,” another view of my own face says, “The greedy one’s back.” He does have a dozen donuts, but only two coffees. Wasn’t expecting me. Oh well.
“Someone has to provide for you/us,” I remind them, “Your/Our education isn’t exactly cheap.” Then, I remember. “Oh, and I found something we might be interested in. Picked it up because it seems both interesting and unique, might be valuable. Potential reward might be worth the risk of looking into it.”
“What sort of interesting?” my programming self asks as he puts down the donuts on the coffee table.
All three of me pick up a donut to snack on. After taking my first bite, I answer, “A strange shadow. Seemed almost liquid and yet it clung to the ground like a stain. Also as I was containing it, it moved like it’s alive.”
“Does sound like something the weirdo will want to look into. Like how he looks into us,” the law student says.
I nod. “And he’s going to tell me if there’s any real earning potential.”
“Never know,” the programmer replies, entirely to irritate me, “He/we might decide it more befits the other guy. The one with a slightly more moral perspective than you, though a significantly less legal one.” He sits down at his computer. He needs to finish his work. His algorithm. If it ever is done, it would be quite helpful for me. But we’re all sure it’s impossible. He keeps on trying. Testing, tweaking, perfecting. It’s his whole reason for being.
He/I was right, of course. The shadow might be the sort of discovery that was more valuable to our criminal mirror than me. Even though that was frustratingly risky. That was a decision for our roommate, though. Not me. I need to focus on making money the legal way. My purpose. My singular vision. We all have one. Well, all of us besides my roommate. One of the many reasons we see him/I as the weird one. “Well, evidently while nothing is going on, there’s only Perry and Claudia in the office, so I’m going to head in and try to convince them they need help, so I can snake some extra OT. And remember my warning. Some guy named Pedro is looking for us. Keep eyes out.”
“Of course,” the law student says, not looking up from his tablet. Must be studying. He’s always studying. That’s his purpose.
I do throw the programmer off for a momentary, “Who’s that?”
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