Frightened Boy, Scott Kelly [book suggestions .TXT] 📗

above us turned on, but only displayed a black screen. Mal pressed one last button, then stepped back and looked up at them.

This was it—Escher’s disk was being broadcast. I watched, unable to breathe, but ten seconds later, the screen was still blank, black.

Mal looked confused for a moment but then shrugged and walked out the control room. He stalked across the studio floor and stood stoically in front of the double-door entrance we had come in from. He licked his lips, and moments later, a security guard burst through.

Before the officer had time to react or even raise his weapon, Mal’s hand was wrapped around his throat. The struggling officer’s eyes exploded with red, and I knew his veins had burst from the pressure Mal was forcing into his skull. The smiling Stranger held him up with one arm even as the guard’s legs dangled limply under him.

He didn’t stop crushing the dead man’s neck until another officer burst through the door, and then he tossed aside the first lifeless body and thrust the edge of his hand into the throat of the next man. It was obvious from the way his head limply lolled that not only was his windpipe crushed, but his spine was dislocated as well.

Tears were rolling freely down Erika’s eyes by now. I looked away in disgust and focused on the still-blank screen; I wasn’t sure what I was watching. I didn’t know why this was important or if it was working at all.

It wasn’t until four minutes and fifty seconds into the black screen, while Mal was on his third victim, that a simple white message appeared: “This five minutes of peace was brought to you by the Secret Society of Strangers.”

I grabbed a crying Erika’s wrist and pulled her out of the control booth, but she resisted. “Get the CD,” she said. “Escher wanted us to.”

She was right. I popped the disk out and put it back into its case and into my pocket.

If we had been good criminals, we would have planned an escape route, but we hadn’t. I didn’t wait for Mal; I didn’t want to be anywhere near him, and I'm sure Erika didn't either. I hoped he died in the studio.

We rocketed out of the studio through a fire escape door, alarm bells ringing noisily as we pushed it open. I stopped in the daylight; it felt alien after the grisly mess of the shadow-infested newsroom.

My hand froze around Erika’s wrist. I bolted off with her in tow, running as fast as I could. We ran together back the way we had come, sirens and police cars alighting in the distance.

Four blocks away from the news station and three blocks from our destination, Erika began to tug back at my arm.

She had to stop. In my blind panic, I could have sprinted for miles.

Erika gulped down thick breaths of air and leaned up against the side of an abandoned liquor store.

“That was…” she panted, “…terrible.” Tears fell freely down her face.


13. The Fall of Men

We jogged toward the makeshift base of operations for the Secret Society of Strangers. The exterior of the building was sweat-stained with dark moisture like a nervous fat kid. Whatever lettering crowned the tip of the office had long since fallen, save for two irregularly-spaced capital Os, which stared jealously in the direction of the modern buildings in the newer downtown area that swept northward.

The doors were locked, but someone cracked them open to usher us in. We stood, still mentally smashed from the shock of what we'd witnessed. I didn’t know where to stand or what do to. We had been successful, I assumed, but I didn’t feel like it.

Mainly, I'd learned that the Strangers were serious. There would be murder.

We didn’t catch sight of Escher or Whisper until later in the evening. During the few hours that passed, I had time to come to terms with what had happened in the newsroom; Erika, however, was distant and cold.

We knew Escher entered the building long before we saw him because every Stranger simultaneously began scrambling to get their things in order. They threw down their playing cards, stowed away their bottles, or reassembled the wide array of weapons they had been cleaning.

When he eventually stalked past the loading bays where Erika and I were sitting, he looked like he'd been at war—dressed in camouflage with a black bandana on his head and a black submachine gun bumping against his hip, dangling haphazardly from the strap on his shoulder. He marched past us and into his office, paying notice to no one. A line of Strangers piled up at his door.

For over an hour, the line diminished as men and women stepped into his office to deliver reports before exiting hurriedly with relieved looks on their faces. When at last the queue had cleared, I stood nervously outside his door; Erika was with me but facing the opposite direction, looking as little like she was standing in line as she possibly could.

At last I entered, Erika in tow.

Escher was hunched over a colored map of Banlo Bay, pushing pins into it and making notes. “It’s coming together splendidly,” he announced.

“What is, sir?” I asked.

Before anyone could say anything else, Erika rushed forward and leaned over his desk, until her face was inches from his. “How could you kill those people?”

Escher’s eyes narrowed, suddenly focused on Erika. “We were shooting bullets at each other. These things happen…and how do you know what I’ve been doing today?”

She backed up a few inches, confused.

“She means Mal,” I explained.

“Oh. I didn’t kill those people then, did I?” He shrugged off our confused looks. “Mal can be a bit…excessive. I’m sorry you had to see him work. Since he had to intervene, I take it you were unsuccessful?”

I looked down. Erika fumed, tried to talk but couldn't, then turned and stormed out of office. She tried to slam the door but I was standing in the way, and it only bounced off of the back of my foot. She turned around again, glared at me, and kept walking.

“It played,” I said. “We got it done…like you wanted.”

“Let’s give credit where credit is due,” Escher said. “Mal got it done, just like he always does, without fail. I ask for something to happen, and it happens. You can see why I keep him around—others too. I am building this movement with their help. They are parts of me, what I have found so far. Everyone is a part of me, but some are more important than others. Like Mal—my mind’s representation of the hunter in me. You might be able to be like him, you know. Not a killer like him, but just as effective.”

I didn’t have a response to this; it was just more Escher craziness. I wanted to remind him I never signed up to be a revolutionary.

“Why the blank commercial? What did this do to further your cause?” I asked.

“Public relations,” he said simply. “I felt it, when the video played. My mind is in turmoil, Frightened Boy. Sometimes I just…” he pushed his palms to his eyes. "Sometimes I feel like my mind is at war with itself. And that's those people, those people in Banlo Bay who hate each other and are afraid of each other. And why do they do that? Because of the news, Frightened Boy. That's a big part of it. And when it turned off, even for a minute, it was like…it was like the pain in my head just stopped. I had peace."

I shook my head.

"I have things to do, but in a couple of days, I’m going to give you another chance to prove yourself. You're right, this wasn't a total failure. And you didn't betray me. You aren't dead yet.”

“Can I do it without Mal?” I asked.

He didn’t say anything, only stared. I took my first step out of his office when all hell broke loose.

As it occurred, all I saw was a bright flash and all I heard was an impossibly loud bang. Then my hearing was consumed with a muted hum, like listening to a dial tone under ten feet of water. I clutched my head.

When I could see again, large figures clad in black body armor with black helmets covered by bulletproof faceplates filled almost every empty space in the lobby of the office building. All of them held large assault rifles.

My brain hurt from the flash-bang. I looked around desperately as the contrast in my vision returned, and I spotted Erika being ordered at gunpoint to put her face down on the ground with her hands over her head.

I did the same thing without being asked.

From my place on the floor, I peered through Escher’s office door. He hadn’t moved; there was a stern look on his face, but not one particularly consumed by worry.

“Secure!” a shout came from upstairs and was echoed throughout the building.

A silver-haired man in a business suit walked through the door. He had a pistol holstered at his side and a small headset on, but otherwise looked more like a lawyer than a commando. My first assumption was that these men were a SWAT team, but after being unable to find any badge or other identification on them, I was unsure. I was sure they weren't local, but I wondered if they could be Feds. Seemed impossible. There hadn't been a federal government since the Collapse.

The silver-haired man walked purposefully through the lobby and into Escher’s office, the door to which was secured by two soldiers. No one else had entered.

“M.C. Escher,” the silver-haired man said. "Back at the office, we call you the Prime Culprit."

“The Prime Culprit?” Escher asked. “I like that. The Prime Culprit…” he seemed to be rolling the phrase around in his mouth. “We call you ‘Rush’ around the office.”

“That’s my name,” Rush said, sounding nonplussed. “Where is the Cat lady?”

“She’s out and about,” Escher responded. “Can I ask what the purpose of your visit is?”

Rush pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket alongside a box of matches. “Want one?” he offered Escher.

Escher accepted, and now plumes of smoke rolled out the office door. I looked over at Erika, who looked positively bemused.

“So, how are things at the department?” Escher asked.

“You know the situation,” Rush said. “Unwell.”

“It’s all right. You’re doing the best you can.”

The silver-haired man sighed. “We just don’t have the resources or support we used to.”

“Failing at every turn for a handful of decades will do that to you,” Escher said.

The man tensed up then relaxed, as though remembering there was an audience present. I could see some of the men who captured us shifted their weight restlessly, visibly annoyed at having to hold their pose for so long.

“The task we were given was impossible,” Rush explained. “Like you said, we did the best we—”

Escher cut him off. “I said you did the best you could,” he said. “This is the