The Sound of Wind

By Raegan Millhollin

Hugo Meyers, a 22-year-old hipster who has long-since shoved all of his ambitions under his bed with a moldy pizza box and a forgotten pile of dirty clothes, knows he is not cutout to save the world, and yet, he’s started getting nightmarish visions of a fast-approaching nuclear apocalypse. Either the Powers That Be hadn’t looked at his resume, or they were stacking the deck in favor of a global catastrophe that his meager musical talents, or the ability to control the wind that had come with the visions like some sort of consolation prize, couldn’t possibly stop.

Well, it turns out nobody cares if Hugo is hero material or not. A chance encounter with the (almost) 16-year-old lightning-monster, CJ, leads him to the one man always at the center of the apocalyptic visions; the incredibly charismatic philanthropist and CEO of Gideon Enterprises, Alexander Gideon. Now he’s been dropped face-first into a cold war between people with superpowers that has been going on behind the scenes for generations. With the help of, thankfully, more competent allies, Hugo must untangle years of lies and betrayal before it’s too late for everyone. But is it all worth it, when each sacrifice Hugo makes trying to save the world brings him one step closer to becoming the type of detached, calculating monster that would want to destroy it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Raegan Millhollin
• Release date: Jan 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301304172

Book preview

Chapter One - It Started With The Explosion

Dude, you can’t still be nervous, we’re almost done! Steve’s mouth was quirked in a disbelieving smile as he aired out his t-shirt. The shirt had a black skull on it with a single gold tooth that was flashing in the dim light. Hugo brushed damp strands of bleached-white hair out of his eyes.

Before he could think up a response however, Peggy was snapping her fingers at them, stalking forward like a hunched cat, Times up! You’re doing great guys, now get your asses back out there and kill this thing!

His heart squeezed as he climbed the three stairs to the stage. His hands were shaking so bad there’d be no chance of him pulling off the guitar solo in Anhedonia. At least it started out slow. Maybe he could leave the nervousness that had been building all day behind by then. His brown eyes scanned the darkness as he pulled the guitar over his shoulder, settling it. Then he touched his fingers to the strings and started.

A pressure was building in his head, behind his eyes, but he was already on automatic; he knew the song by heart. He knew all their songs by heart. In fact, there was a lot he was remembering lately in perfect detail. But the stage lights were burning his eyes, so he closed them for a moment. When he opened them again he was standing at the window of his bedroom, sunlight oozing through the closed blinds. He wasn’t wearing his brown plaid pants, light and dark blue stripped shirt, and purple checkered Converse anymore. Instead he was wearing a pair of pajamas he didn’t own, his feet bare.

Hugo opened the blinds, but they didn’t make that plastic zipping sound; they just revealed the scenery of Capitol Hill with an eerie quiet. The sky was so clear it was a flat blue sheet, not even the dark shadows of birds marred it. He pressed his palm against the window, but couldn’t feel the glass against his skin. His attention slid down to the sidewalk, but there was nothing to see there; there was no one on the sidewalk or in the street. The world wasn’t moving.

Just as Hugo was beginning to realize that what he was experiencing was strange, a mushroom cloud billowed upwards in stark contrast to the perfect blue sky. His window rattled, a violent sound, the only sound, and fire rolled towards him.

Then everything was dark.

He was dead…until his eyes adjusted to the shadowed, upturned faces of the crowd. The awkward silence was punctured by the growing sound of booing. A plastic cup bounced off his shoulder, flinging foaming beer wildly about. In its wake other debris hurled toward the stage, but miraculously nothing else hit him. Instead a cold breeze wiped the sweat from his face. His thudding heart rate plummeted to something reasonable, his breathing slowed and his hands stopped shaking. Everything would be alright.

Hugo leaned towards the microphone, dazed that he had something to say, because his tongue certainly hadn’t shared that information with his brain. I just saw the end of the world, his voice seemed quiet, even amplified by the humming sound system, but it still flattened the noise of the crowd. Declare this an emergency, come on and spread a sense of urgency, and put us through… It only took a moment for the band to catch on as he launched into a cover of Apocalypse Please by Muse that they’d been using as a warm up during practice the last few weeks. The audience caught on a moment after that and roared.

Peggy is going to kill me, Hugo thought, and then the music seized him and flung him into its world.

**

The Skyshank Puppets after-show party was at his place. wouldn't

Thankfully everyone had gotten yelling at him out of their system back at the club. It hadn’t helped his cause that he didn’t have a logical excuse for freezing up; he didn’t want to sound crazy, and hallucinating was certainly crazy, so his official story was that he’d just blanked from nerves and he wouldn’t let it happen again.

And he’d stuck to that story until his brother pulled him aside after a few drinks. Hugo, what happened? That wasn’t an act; you were really freaked out up there.

Hugo cringed, searching the crowd for a way out of the interrogation, but Lewis put a heavy arm across his shoulders, rooting him to the spot; so he settled for chewing on his thumbnail. I just spaced, he mumbled into the pumping, ambient music.

Oh don’t bullshit me. You never blank when you’re playing. All through school, sure, but never when you’re performing. Tell me what happened. Lewis squeezed his shoulder.

Hugo turned towards his brother, heart suddenly thudding again, I saw something-

Out in the crowd? Lewis frowned, I thought it was too dark for you to see-

No! An explosion! I was on stage, and then suddenly I was at my window. There was a huge explosion, like a mushroom cloud. I think I died and-

His brother pulled away from him, eyebrows raised, Are you on meth again?

Hugo gritted his teeth. He should have known. No, you asshole.

Look, if you are, I won’t-

Screw you! Hugo spat and then quickly pushed his way out of audible range of his brother. He had no reason to be angry. How wouldn’t that be someone’s response to him admitting he’d hallucinated? But he’d promised Lewis that he wouldn’t do that anymore and it had been so easy for his brother to reach the conclusion that he’d broken that promise. Hugo tried to convince himself it was just because his brother was a detective, it was in his nature to question people based on the information he had, and it wasn’t because Lewis didn’t trust him. He was not very convincing.

Hugo got himself another drink, but couldn’t shake the resentful disappointment, so he sulked on the couch for the rest of the night, people watching. That was, until his brother came towards him, keys swinging on his finger. Hugo stood, intending to avoid him, but his brother leaned in, Don’t worry, I’m just leaving. Look, I’m sorry about what I said earlier- The rest of his brother’s sentence was drowned out by the screeching of tires and the sound of crunching metal as his brother’s car was speared by a semi. His mangled body was sporting a black Ramones t-shirt.

Hugo was still staring at that shirt when his brother’s voice cut into the stillness, Hugo. Hey Hugo, you all right? Hugo looked up and around, his eyes frantic; he was back in his apartment again. He felt lightheaded and he was breathing fast but not taking in any air. Hugo?

Hugo reached out, ripping the ring of keys from his brother’s fingers.

Hey!

But Hugo was already turning to hand them to someone else. Get these to Peggy, he said breathlessly, Tell her my brother’s drunk and he’s not allowed to leave.

I’m not- Lewis began, but the other guy had already taken off in search of Peggy and even Lewis wouldn’t be able to get her to relinquish his keys at that point. What the hell is wrong with you? I’m not drunk and I got work tomorrow, I can’t stay here.

However, Hugo wasn’t listening. He was busy examining his brother’s neck for shards of shrapnel. There had been so much blood, and his head had been twisted at such an impossible angle…

Lewis grabbed his hand, What are you-

Hugo teetered and managed to turn away just before puking all over the carpet.

**

Hugo rolled out of bed and almost onto the floor, but he managed to get his feet underneath him at the last moment. He scraped a t-shirt off the floor, sniffed it, then pulled it over his head, near-blindly stumbling over to his kitchenette for coffee.

He felt like shit and it was almost pleasant. Wait. Not the slow, roiling churn of his stomach or the dry, tart stickiness in his mouth, but the feeling he’d woken with. He retraced the dream, crystal clear in his mind, looking for what had created the most pleasant hangover in his life. It was a disjointed mess of a dream, as all dreams are (except for the explosion one he’d been having for several days now). But in the last frame of the dream he’d been in a field of forget-me-nots, each one so clearly and perfectly defined that he could have counted them to the horizon if he so desired, which he didn’t. But there were 3,141 of them. Each one was leaning in a warm breeze that blew and whistled a slow, solemn rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. As the wind wrapped around him, he could feel its fingers brush his skin, toss his white hair and whisper the simple lyrics in his ear, and somehow those words carried with them the promise that everything would be alright. And he’d believed it. Wanted to. The explosion was turning into a nightmare that nearly expanded across his entire dreamscape, making it difficult to sleep. Even getting piss drunk didn’t seem to help.

He opened the dishwasher, pulling out a mug he suspected was clean, examining the inside just in case. It seemed safe. He pulled out the old filter with the crusty damp grounds and replaced it with a fresh filter and coffee grounds, getting small specks of brown all over his yellowing counter.

He was going batshit. It was a logical conclusion, but for some reason not the one his brain was trying to reach. It reminded him of the car crash he’d seen (he’d been drunk) Steve’s grandfather’s death (he’d been drunk, and Steve had had to call off band practice for the funeral a few days later), the vivid recollection during (drunken) sex with a friend of a friend, of her in a hot tub filling with a dark, billowing cloud of blood. He’d locked himself in the bathroom after that. The next day Cherry had apologized for not warning him. Apparently the friend had had a miscarriage and was compensating by screwing anything that moved. His friends were still making fun of him for what the girl had described as ‘a sudden attack of the crazies, followed by a very hasty exit that almost occurred pantsless.’

Hugo took in a deep breath as the coffee brewed, the squirlly feeling in his stomach starting to settle. He stared absently at the coffeemaker.

He wanted to be batshit. It seemed like a better deal than being able to see the past and future. That was a superpower; A shitty superpower, but a superpower none-the-less. People did not have superpowers because people would abuse the crap out of them and would catch the attention of the media, either on purpose or on accident, eventually, and they’d already be known about. Unless this was some recent development, like some meteor had broken up in the atmosphere and sprinkled its superpower dust on a random assortment of people. Or maybe the only powers you could get where the shitty ones and they weren’t flashy enough to draw the attention of the media…or perhaps he should stop having the crazy thoughts and drink his shitty coffee.

**

He couldn’t let it go. He started spending all of his time not taken up by eating, band practice/shows, work at the music store, and after party activities, checking out online news sites and YouTube, searching for signs of other people with abilities. There was no way in hell he was the only one. Hugo Meyers was nothing special and statistically speaking he couldn’t be the only one. It was difficult, because he didn’t know what he was looking for. He expanded his search to tabloid magazines, but the articles themselves were logistical nightmares so he stopped.

But he remembered every single word of every single one and when he was laying awake, fighting sleep, he would comb through them, looking for connections amongst the clutter. One name came up several times: Gideon Enterprises. He didn’t know what it meant yet, but they seemed to show up at a disproportionate number of hoax miracles for a philanthropic organization.

However, right now was taken up by eating. It was a little cold, but he was finding the roof of his building more and more inviting; the wind constantly crushing and rearranging his scarf, pulling the smoke from his cigarette along with it.

Hugo chewed on his bagel and returned his attention to the coffee and cigarette. He wanted it to be windier. Not for practical reasons, but just because for some reason it made him feel better, more awake. He watched the few people up this god-awful early several stories below him intently. The wind whistled faster. He was grateful.

**

Hugo saw himself standing in a wind tunnel. He was grinning like an idiot. He was content. This was the best place in the world and everything was so clear and hopeful. The him that was observing all this realized, belatedly, that his hair was barely stirring and the fierce wind, colored interesting shades of purple, was swirling around him; he was the center of a colorful tornado. Outside of the wind tunnel a pretty woman with black hair pulled into a ponytail and a white lab coat was looking on, blue eyes bright and curious.

And then Hugo woke up. He slowly opened his eyes to the dim, gray light spilling from his window, reluctant to let go of that sense of euphoria. Eventually he sat up; his bedroom looked like a modest windstorm had passed through it. Hugo blinked stupidly at the destruction in his room. Slowly he swung his legs over the side of his bed, careful not to step on the sheets of music notes that had scattered across the floor. What had happened? His room was a mess, more so than normal. Had he caused the destruction?

Hugo’s alarm went off, tearing his thoughts from the state of his room to the need to get ready. He was going to have lunch with his brother. He’d worry about cleaning up the room later.

Lewis was punctual as always. Did you just wake up? He asked when he saw his younger brother, a note of mocking in his voice.

Hugo shrugged, yawning a little, Maybe.

His brother shook his head, and they both walked back to his car. I can’t believe you sometimes.

You’re just jealous.

His brother snorted as they got into the car, and then he pulled away from the curb, lurching into Seattle traffic. How’s work?

Hugo glanced out the window, sighing slightly. The same. But things weren’t the same, he wasn’t the same. Hugo opened his mouth, then closed it again. Could he tell his brother what he’d been seeing? How would he explain it? Lewis would probably think he was just taking drugs again. Hugo’s shoulders slumped at that. He’d ruined everything in college; his career as a pianist, his chance at a degree, his mom and Roger had been so disappointed. He’d never do it again, but it was too late, the mistake had already been made. He was good at making mistakes.

Are you looking for another job? You can’t stay at the music store forever.

Hugo kept his eyes glued to the moving scenery. What was wrong with staying there? It paid the bills and he had plenty of time for band practice and hanging out with his friends. Not that he wanted to do that much lately, the dreams, or whatever they were, were taking up lots of space in his thoughts and he was starting to get nervous about touching people. He never saw anything good.

What is wrong with you? Lewis asked, a note of irritation in his voice.

Hugo jerked into an upright position, glancing at his brother, Nothing?

Lewis snorted, What is going on in that head of yours? You’re spacing more than normal.

Hugo looked away again, Nothing, I’m just tired. And having visions. He could tell his brother, Lewis knew everything about him, he would know that Hugo wasn’t lying about what he saw. There must be some way to prove it too. He had to tell someone, he couldn’t keep it to himself. Maybe his brother could tell him where to look to find out what caused the explosion he saw so often in his dreams; he was a detective for god’s sake! Hugo opened his mouth to let the words out, but he couldn’t force them past his throat. It was insane. He was insane. He saw the past and the future. No one would believe him, not even Lewis. He was alone.

Haven’t been sleeping well? It’s probably all that coffee you drink.

Hugo didn’t respond. That killed the conversation till they got to the restaurant. Once there, between ordering and eating, they made small talk. Lewis talked about work, and his most recent girlfriend, which Hugo tried to be interested in hearing about, but she sounded like a ditz and he knew it wouldn’t last very long. And then Lewis abruptly changed the subject to one of his favorite topics, nagging, Call mom. She keeps asking me how you’re doing.

Hugo rolled his eyes. I will. I’ve just been busy.

Bullshit. You sleep till noon or later every day, you can’t possibly be busy.

I have band-

Will you just call her? I’m sick of her asking me to check up on you.

Yeah yeah, Hugo sighed. He wasn’t trying to avoid his mother or anything; it’s just that whenever he thought to call her, it was always too late or he was busy.

She wants to have us over for dinner on Sunday.

Hugo tensed up, glancing around the restaurant, wracking his brain, Did I miss someone’s birthday?

Not this time. Mom just wants to have us over.

Hugo’s body relaxed, That’s cool. I think I can do that.

Good. Lewis set down his fork, Look, don’t get pissed, but I don’t think I’m going to go see Dad this year for Thanksgiving. I’m sick of-

Hugo dropped his fork What?

Will you just listen? I’m tired of his bullshit. I don’t understand why you-

No! He’s our father, and we’re going to go see him. He needs us to-

"You go see him. I can’t stand the-"

Don’t you dare! Hugo exclaimed right over what his brother had been trying to say.

Hugo, why do you-

Shut the fuck up! Hugo’s declaration came with a burst of wind that shoved their plates off the table so that they could crash loudly on the floor, the glasses spraying liquid all over the white table cloth.

The restaurant fell silent. Hugo stared wide-eyed at the new wrinkles in the tablecloth. Had he….?

That was weird, Lewis said after a long moment, glancing towards the door. It wasn’t open, so he couldn’t calculate where the sudden draft had come from. Suddenly Hugo realized all eyes were on them and he shrank down, painfully aware of the fact that he’d been swearing loudly and now their table was a mess. He scrambled out of his chair and started to pick up the broken pieces of the dishes. A couple waiters were there a moment later, waving him away. Hugo sat back down awkwardly, unable to look at anything but his hands.

Once the mess was cleared and Lewis paid the check, they walked back to the car. Are you done throwing your fit? His brother asked, a measure of irritation in his voice. Hugo, who was watching the ground, looked off to the side, shoving his hands in his pockets. Lewis sighed, Ok, we’ll go.

Hugo was barely listening, his mind replaying the argument in his head, and the moment the burst of wind had blown across the table top. In that moment he’d felt perfectly calm, but the feeling had quickly faded. The wind tunnel dream came back to him, vivid and clear. He could almost feel the still air enveloped by the streaks of color.

It couldn’t be possible. But he’d learned to tell the difference between dreams and visions (God he hated calling them that, but he really couldn’t think of a better term), and that had been the future.

**

Hugo had the wind tunnel dream several more times before he found himself on the roof of his building, lighting a cigarette. Each afternoon he’d woken up and his room had been more of a mess. This morning his nightstand was halfway across the room, one leg splintered. There were several small dents in the wall and the corner of the nightstand was banged in. There was no doubt about it, the nightstand had been flying around the room.

So he could make things move around. But how did it work? Did he have to say a magic word or something? He watched the smoke from the cigarette drift outwards and estimated the wind speed, and then really wished it would go faster. It didn’t. In the dream he’d simply stood there, enveloped in the winds, not saying a word, a smile on his face. Maybe all he really needed to do was focus.

Hugo didn’t really believe in chi, but he’d been taking Aikido classes with his brother since he was nine so maybe...Hugo glanced around, making sure no one could see him, and then he knelt down, placed his palms on his thighs, closed his eyes and breathed. Instead of emptying his mind, he focused on the sound of the wind and the scientific logistics of a tornado. His scarf started slapping him in the back of the head. Hugo opened his eyes. Pebbles and dirt on the blacktop, along with his cigarette, were rolling quickly off the edge of the building. He looked across the street; none of the trees lining the road were moving. He’d done it! The wind slowed back to normal. So it wasn’t a permanent change, he had to concentrate on it. His heart was racing and he started laughing. There was no reason for it, he just felt really good all of a sudden, like everything would be alright. He started to practice.

**

He was getting pretty good at it. He’d abandoned his research of other people with abilities to play with his own. He could speed up and slow down the wind, he could send it out in a quick blast to knock things over, and every once in a while he could manage to shape it into little tornados. He’d brought leaves up to the roof so he could see the currents he created. He’d also started composing for the piano again, every irritation rolled off of him, it was easier to get on stage and play without the alcohol crutch; everything was easier. Even the visions happened less frequently. They were still horrible when they did, but they were soon forgotten. Whatever the wind was doing to him, it was way better than meth. And he was getting good at it. He’d never been more than decent at anything but the piano, and even then he’d known he could have been better if he hadn’t messed everything up in college. He was getting good at something most people couldn’t even attempt. Maybe that was wrong. Maybe everyone had the potential, and something had just triggered it in him. He didn’t know, but he wouldn’t mind being the only one who could control the air.

He wanted to tell Lewis so bad, and while convincing him wouldn’t be a problem, it was the reaction he feared. He couldn’t predict it. What if other people found out? What if they wanted to study him or interview him? He could barely handle the few band interviews he’d done for local magazines. What if they wanted to use him as a weapon? The thought of hurting someone with what he could do made him queasy. Even if he had to use the wind in self-defense, all he could do was knock people off of or into things, and that could seriously injure someone.

Maybe this was why he couldn’t find anyone else with abilities. No one wanted to be used. But, again, statistically speaking, there had to be at least one attention-whore with powers out there. But maybe they’d only had their abilities for almost two months like he had and were still trying to get used to them to maximize how awesome they looked once they did come forward. What kinds of other abilities were out there? How many were there? Hugo renewed his research.

In the days that followed, Hugo found several candidates for people with abilities, however they had all been proven to be hoaxes. A year ago there was the fire manipulator in China. For weeks there were articles about him, and then, at his grand unveiling, absolutely nothing happened. Hugo had found video footage of the press conference, and the horrified expression on the man’s face was real. Mr. Gideon had been there to witness the spectacle.

There was a TV Evangelicalist who, based on multiple witness accounts, might have been able to heal. The man’s show sharply rose in popularity, however, one night, on national television, his ability simply stopped working. After that, they played a few reruns of the show as it faded into obscurity. The preacher was never heard from again.

A series of entertaining clips on YouTube had surfaced a little over seven months ago of a woman who was a phenomenal marksman. She could hit targets that were barely visible on camera, blindfolded, sometimes without even looking at them once. There were eight clips of increasing popularity, and then they suddenly stopped.

4 months ago a flyer was proven to be using a wire for their stunts. You couldn’t see it on the video, but everyone who had been there had seen it.

Hugo was currently tracking a self-proclaimed telepath; he could tell you anything about yourself at a glance. Hugo rushed home, turning on the TV, nearly spilling his coffee in the process. The interview was just starting. Mr. Gideon was sitting across from a young man, blonde hair pulled back into a small ponytail. The CEO and Founder of Gideon Enterprises had a pleasant smile on his face, his hands folded on the table between them. There were two other people at the table, according to the reader bar at the bottom of the screen, both psychics.

When did you all discover you had these amazing powers? Alexander Gideon asked, voice pleasant and relaxed.

I’ve always been in tune with the energies of the Universe. One of the psychics, who was most likely full of shit, spoke dreamily, almost swaying with the wispy tone of his voice. The blonde, the one that might actually be psychic, Daniel Smith, scrunched up his nose a little, frowning.

The other ‘psychic’ folded her hands in her lap. Ever since I was a small child, I’ve known I had the gift.

Daniel opened his mouth slightly, as if he were going to correct the woman, but then sighed. Mr. Gideon was staring at him expectantly. A month, he finally answered, voice small.

The first psychic that had spoken tsked slightly, Poor child. Perhaps you are not fully in tune with the-

Oh stop it, Daniel snapped, glaring at the man, You’re only spewing that bullshit because you failed as a school counselor. A tip? Don’t sleep with the students. The telepath’s voice was acidic.

The man he was berating opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, and then stood, the abruptness of the movement sending his chair tumbling. I don’t have to take this slander! You’ll be hearing from my lawyer you little brat! and then the man stormed off stage.

The woman next to Daniel started snickering. Daniel’s sharp blue eyes turned on her, I don’t know what you’re laughing about, you’re just as fake, and you know it. Pretending to talk to peoples’ dead loved ones, making them relive all that pain over and over again just so you can make a few bucks. You should be ashamed of yourself!

The woman started shaking, her eyes glistening, H-how dare you! She choked out, right before she let out a tortured sob. She quickly stood and ran from the stage before the first tears fell.

Mr. Gideon was raising his eyebrows at Daniel, My, that wasn’t very nice.

The blonde young man gritted his teeth, Sorry, but I hate frauds.

Mr. Gideon’s expression softened, Would you like to prove you’re the real thing then?

Daniel shrugged, Fine.

Alright, what am I thinking? Mr. Gideon asked, a quirk to his smile.

Daniel blinked, squinted, blinked again, and then shook his head, I…don’t know.

Mr. Gideon looked disappointed, and then brightened again, How about someone else? The man beckoned towards someone off-screen, Joe, come here. A fidgeting man walked forward into view of the camera. This is one of our camera men, Joe. Can you tell what he’s thinking?

Daniel blinked again. Opened his mouth, then closed it. N-no I can’t. I don’t hear anything. Mr. Gideon frowned. The blonde young man looked back towards him. I don’t know what happened. A-a moment ago I could hear everything. But now… He looked down at his hands.

Mr. Gideon sighed, Just admit it Daniel, you’re a fake. It’s ok. Everyone desires a little fame every once in a while, but you have people to do research for you, right?

Hugo heavily sat down on his couch, frowning. Daniel had seemed so promising, but once again it was all a hoax and he had fallen for it. He punched the off button on his remote in disgust and stared down at his coffee. Would he ever find another person with abilities?

Chapter Two - Fire and Lightning, Literally

Half the people in the bar poured outside to see the source of the boom, Hugo included. A cloud was growing beyond the buildings that led towards the pier, a charcoal mass choking out the city lights beyond it.

For a brief, panicked moment, Hugo was reminded of the dream, but he was still alive, so it couldn’t have been the explosion he’d seen so many times. The sound of sirens filled the surprised silence and then speculation erupted into a chattering hum. Some people followed the ambulances and fire trucks. The more sensible people retreated to the bar. The TVs were switched over to King 5 News with closed captioning.

Hugo watched the TV. There wasn’t much to report yet, beyond what they’d already seen, but the police would be arriving on the scene soon and they would relay any news as it happened.

An arm fell across Hugo’s shoulders and he looked over, startled. His brother’s expression was flat, The department wants me to head over there since I’m nearby. Need fare for a cab?

Hugo shook his head. He didn’t want to go home; he wanted to know what had happened. The knot in the pit of his stomach told him this could connect him to the explosion he’d seen. Completely irrational, but he couldn’t push the thought away. No, I’m fine. I’ll get a ride with Steve.

Lewis casually tapped the back of his head, but Hugo still pitched forward a bit. Alright, I’ll see you later. His older brother pulled his jacket on and left. As Hugo turned back to the TV, he caught the fact that there had only been a few people at the shipping yard and there were two survivors in critical condition and-

There was what looked like a yellow oil drum. Before Hugo had time to examine the extensive collection of labels on the surface everything was a rolling mass of red and black that was near blinding; an explosion. As the fire spread outwards, having consumed the barrel and its contents…wait. Amongst the black smoke was a figure, red with full body burns, but breathing weakly. He was alive, but that was impossible because that was exactly where the exploding barrel had been -rushed to Harborview Medical Center.

Hugo glanced numbly around the bar. A lot of people with their drunken attention spans had stopped watching the report. He was drunk too, he shouldn’t give a shit, this exploding man wasn’t his business, so why was he walking out of the bar, picking up speed and on his way to Harborview? He wouldn’t know what to do when he got there. He wouldn’t be able to talk to the guy who was probably dying. There was no excuse to touch him and maybe see what had happened. But that man had exploded, or was super resistant to fire; there was no other explanation for the man’s survival. Hugo had found someone else with abilities, and he had to talk to him.

**

Hugo stared at the hospital map, frequently casting nervous glances around the quiet waiting room. There weren’t many people there, but most of them were watching the news, thankful for the curious distraction. No one was paying attention to him, which was good, because he was really having trouble coming up with an excuse for being there. With one last glance, to make sure no one was looking, he headed to the burn ward. People hurried past him, but no one stopped him. He glanced into several observation windows as he passed them. His Converse squeaked on the linoleum floor as he jerked to a stop in front of one of them; a doctor, black hair pulled in a tight ponytail, had one hand on the exploding man, the other curled tightly around his chart. The monitors beeped impassively. The doctor glanced nervously behind her, and then immediately turned around when Hugo wasn’t fast enough to duck out of her line of sight. Ohshitohshitohshit! It was the woman from the wind tunnel dream, but now her blue eyes were full of fear. He was going to be in serious trouble. Hugo turned and very quickly continued down the hallway.

Young man? A voice called after him.

He wanted to keep going, but his body stopped and he slowly turned around, Um…Y-yes are you uh talking to me? Oh very good, you don’t sound suspicious at all, Hugo.

Yes, you sir. What are you doing down here? Do you have family in this wing?

Ye- he’d blow it. He couldn’t lie for shit and the doctor would ask him to check in at the front desk anyway and she might already know the name of the exploding guy and he was seriously screwed, no. I just…I uh…got…lost….looking for…the bathroom. With the map, it’s a little…

I understand, sir. She did not understand. She knew he was full of shit and most likely a huge jerk with a morbid sense of curiosity, Let me show (escort) you to the waiting room facilities.

For some reason the way her hands rested stiffly against her sides, the way she was only partially turned towards him, and the way her eyes scanned the hallway, telegraphed she was nervous, like he’d caught her doing something. Was she not supposed to be touching the patient? This way, sir.

Thanks. Hugo shoved his hands in his pockets and followed the woman down the hallway. He was so stupid. What had he been thinking? What had he expected to happen?

Have a good night, sir. She had a name tag: Doctor McFadden. She spun on her heel and clicked back down the immaculate hallway. She hadn’t even shown him to the bathroom.

Hugo shuffled through the waiting room, hands still shoved deep in his pockets. He would see the young doctor (she couldn’t have been in her late 20’s even) again, if he hadn’t messed it up already by pissing her off just then. She hadn’t seemed angry in the dream, just smiling, her light blue eyes bright and curious.

There were several men in suits at the front desk, one flashing a badge at the receptionist. Hugo found himself involuntarily wandering closer so that he could hear the conversation.

This is a matter of national security, ma’am. We need to see the unidentified survivor. He may be a suspected terrorist. The receptionist jumped a little and immediately started clicking the keys on her keyboard. The stalky suit who had been speaking was of average height and had closely cropped brown hair. His lips were pursed and his eyes narrowed slightly. He was impatient, as were his compatriots. They were all working on some time frame. They were either telling the truth, or believed they were. But did they know what the exploding man could do? Hugo fidgeted. He wanted to ask them, but that was a monumentally stupid idea.

One of the agents glanced around the waiting room, and then fixed on Hugo. Shit! He was just staring at them, of course he looked suspicious. The man leaned towards the guy at the desk and mumbled something. The other guy turned in Hugo’s direction, but the receptionist was handing him a piece of paper and a doctor was coming up to greet them. Hugo took his chance and immediately made for the front door. It probably would look suspicious if they were still paying attention, but he made it out unharassed and was pulling out a cigarette almost before he’d cleared the sliding double doors.

It was amazing how stupid he was. What was he doing at the hospital? He should have been minding his own business- and there was a black van idling in an emergency parking spot. Hugo was just going to mind his own business from now on…but it wouldn’t hurt to just look at the license plate and maybe convince his brother to run them later. It wouldn’t hurt at all.

He made it across the street before the agents came out, wheeling a gurney, the young Doctor McFadden in tow. She seemed angry and frustrated, and was having an animated conversation with the head guy, one hand on the gurney even as she let them guide it to the back of the van. They lifted the exploding man into the van, which for some reason made Hugo’s stomach tighten. These people obviously knew who the guy was and hadn’t managed to take care of him before. No, instead he’d ended up stuck in a barrel and exploded.

The head guy continued the conversation with the doctor. There was one moment of intense surprise on her face, and then the agent was helping her get into the van. Hugo wanted to yell at her to stop; she didn’t know what the hell she was getting into.

But he didn’t really know either, so his mouth stayed closed. They drove away. Hugo continued to stand there, stupidly staring after the van. There weren’t a whole lot of people out, just a wild-looking teenager that was also watching the progress of the van down the street. He’d like to know what she’d seen. Hugo took a step towards her and then stopped. No. He’d done quite enough amateur sleuthing for the night. It was time to head back to the bar and see if there was anyone left to give him a ride home. A taxi would be way too expensive. Maybe he’d email his brother about the plates tomorrow.

**

The plates belonged to Gideon Enterprises.

And that was the end of his investigation. There was really nothing else he could do short of going there and saying ‘Hey! I know you took an exploding man, what did you do with him and do you know anyone else with abilities?’ Yes, somehow that sounded like a terrible idea, so he tried to forget about it. And the nightmares just got worse; he hadn’t seen anything besides the explosion in days.

Hugo dropped his coffee. It splattered across the sidewalk and on his purple checked Converse, but his attention was on the row of TVs in the store window he was passing. It was the head of Gideon Enterprises, Alexander Gideon, in an interview. However, the important part of the program was what he’d seen when he’d caught it out of the corner of his eye. The explosion. It had been two months, and the only time he’d seen the explosion while awake was that first time. It was clear; this man, Mr. Gideon, was somehow the cause of the explosion that wiped out all of Seattle.

Hugo wiped off his shoe and slowly picked up the cup, dumping it in a nearby trash can. He lit a cigarette, much to the irritation of someone brushing past him on the sidewalk. Why was this happening to him? Was he supposed to be doing something about it? But how? What? He needed someone to tell, he needed someone to show him how to fix this before it happened and his family…everyone died.

Dr. McFadden was in the diner across the street. Hugo drifted in that direction before the conscious decision to see what she was doing there. Stepping up onto the opposite curb he wasn’t focusing on what was in front of him well enough to avoid running into someone. A girl with short, wild, ginger hair, and hazel eyes and an irritated expression. He’d seen her the night before at the hospital.

Watch where you’re going!

Sorry! The most peculiar thing happened. He saw his back. He was staring at a giant man who was preparing to throw a car at him, and he was just standing there like a dumbass. The girl was behind him. She glowed then crackled and her body fizzled into a humanoid-shaped mass of electricity. She was like a condensed, well, there was really nothing like it. She shot electricity from a crackling and glowing outstretched arm. It hit the gas tank on the car and the entire mass exploded, throwing shrapnel and knocking the giant man down. He shrank to a more manageable size as he hit the ground.

Hey! Zombie dude, you ok over there?

He was blinking owlishly at a lightning monster that saved him from a giant man; his heart was hammering. He had to say something. He needed to say something before she wandered away and he never saw her again.

Well, uh, Ok. Bye guy. Um…like watch where you’re going, ok?

I know you can shoot lighting! Oh…god…

The girl’s expression mirrored his disappointment in his mouth. There was a moment of wide-eyed surprise, and then her eyes darted around, looking for the trap. Her voice was thin when she recovered enough to speak, I don’t know what-

It’s ok! I have abilities too. I can control the air, kinda, a little, well I’m not that good at it, but I can. He was talking all fast and crazy and the girl was not appreciating it.

You’re crazy, she spat the words out, but her tone was a little soft on the edges; she knew it was possible that he wasn’t, but she was still suspicious of his first comment.

Look, I’ll show you. He glanced around. Just increasing the wind wasn’t going to be convincing enough; this was Seattle, the weather changed every fifteen minutes. There was a nearby garbage can. Here, I’m gonna knock over that can.

Uh…

He focused on it and there was a whistle between them and then the metal bin dented and rolled over, vomiting trash. Shit! He hadn’t meant to make a mess.

That’s just a trick, she sounded skeptical of her own assertion, but the truth was already making her nervous. He hadn’t considered that. What if she didn’t want to be discovered? What if she’d already met other people with abilities and they’d screwed her over and she wanted to have nothing to do with them?

It’s not, he said weakly, but she was already taking a few steps away from him, renewing her search of the area. He really wanted to talk to her, but he’d obviously invaded her privacy and made her too uncomfortable for that. He was terrible. Hugo lowered his head, stuffed his hands in his pockets, Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to bother you, he mumbled and quickly started to walk down the street.

Wait.

Hugo jerked to a stop. Inside the diner the doctor was walking towards the entrance, her hands in her jacket pockets. She passed by a fire alarm, and the handle drifted down inside its dome of glass. The fire alarm went off. Belatedly people poured out of the building and started scattering. The doctor was one of them, but she was going at a more casual pace.

Hugo ran around the side of the building to the parking lot. And there he was. The giant man, lumbering out the back door. Hugo skidded to a stop, staring up at the man who was only slightly smaller than the two story building. Their eyes met and the guy picked up a car at some unknown slight Hugo’s appearance had caused. Maybe he was like the Hulk and just pissed at everything.

He thought he should probably move. The lightning girl wouldn’t come to help him now that he’d freaked her out. He was going to get a car dropped on him and he was going to die