The Boy With The Glow: Book Two Enhanced Being Series

By Melissa Algood

Carl Anderson has woken up, able to hear people's heartbeats and calm their nerves suddenly. He realizes that he's more than a Baltimore bartender, and all he wants to do is protect the girl who helped him discover his new powers from Jonas, her creator and tormentor. But Jonas has unlimited powers and the backing of the US government. At least,

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mad Girl's Publishing
• Release date: Oct 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088185353

Book preview

Carl

10/31/2020 1:15 Am

Baltimore

For the past eight days I couldn’t stop thinking about a dead girl.

Or at least a girl that wanted me to think she was dead.

I tilted my glass with a double shot of whiskey back and forth as the song I’d picked, ‘First’, started up on the jukebox. It was the song that played when I met Talitha, and I hoped it would somehow conjure her. I sat on a stool at Rick’s, the neighborhood bar, one that I’d taken her to for our only date. But no one here remembered her, and while the last memory I had was of her bleeding out in my arms, I just had this feeling she was alive. Which might sound odd, until I tell you that she’s super-powered and altering memories is kinda her thing.

I pulled the ticket to the National Aquarium out of my jacket pocket and ran my thumb along the printed date. October 21, 2020, was a day I had no recollection of, although apparently I went to the dolphin show that afternoon, so there were forty-five minutes that were accounted for in the missing days of my life.

I would ask if you want another, but I see you’re not done with that one yet, Rick, the gray-haired owner with a friendly smile and nicotine-stained teeth said from the other side of the dark wooden bar.

Yeah, working on it, I mumbled as I put the ticket back in my inside jacket pocket. Rick nodded and started walking over toward his other patrons when I asked him, You still haven’t seen Danny?

He turned back to face me, then shook his head. Nah, and I didn’t see that girl you described, the punk Tinkerbell, either.

I tilted back my head and let the liquor coat my throat, then pushed the glass back toward Rick.

You’ve been here, every night, asking about Danny and that girl. He took the glass but didn’t refill it. Getting worried about you, Carl.

Don’t be, I have a dad. I corrected myself. "Had a dad."

I could tell that Rick wanted to console me, not because I’m physic, but because I could feel the overwhelming sadness that overtook him as he filled my glass. That was something else that changed when I woke up missing time, a girlfriend, and a best friend.

I could sense things now too.

Anyone I encountered had their heart rate, blood pressure, and temperature register in my head like I was a machine from a doctor’s office. When I went outside, I was aware of people’s emotional state as I walked past them on the street. And not because I was empathetic — I could feel what they were feeling. A teenager’s sadness after being dumped, a child’s grief for their dog’s death, and a woman’s agony after having just left the hospital because of her miscarriage. In turn, I felt a need, a desire greater than I’d experienced before, to bring them peace. All I had to do was think it, and I could discern tranquility pouring out of me then wrapping around the individual I’d targeted. Within moments the calm I’d constructed would embrace them, and the weight that each of them carried began to subside. The would-be mother even bought herself a bouquet of flowers at the end of the block once she’d passed me, with a newfound hope that the next round of IVF would work. All this creeped me out obviously, but I chalked it up to the copious amounts of whiskey I’d consumed since I’d woken up with a half-erased memory.

I mean, what else could it be?

There’s no way I had superpowers, and if I did, what were they exactly? The ability to chill people out, and learn their medical history? Sounds beyond lame when compared to Talitha’s telepathy.

It’s last call, drink it up while you can, Rick called out.

I, like all the other patrons, slurped down their drink, and waited for Rick to come around and fill my glass a final time. As I downed my last drink of the night, I temporarily stopped obsessing over Talitha, Danny, and people’s racing pulses, and focused on the one person I had spoken to that acknowledged Talitha’s existence. Her mentor, creator of The Manor, a residence for Enhanced Beings, and tenured professor at Johns Hopkins University – Gustav Widmore. The professor explained that I’ve never been questioned by Capitol Police or read about Talitha’s murder in the newspaper because there was a government cover up. And it made sense because I’m pretty sure if Americans still spent so much time at Area 51, Baltimore would be overrun when they found out that telepaths and fire-starters lived here.

There was an urban legend that Wakefield Laboratories, along with the US government, was attempting to create a superhuman race, which I now knew that to be true. Back in the early 90’s, the selected mothers were told the serum would safeguard against any genetic mutations rather than cause them. So yeah, it tracked that there would be a government cover-up of a murder of one their creations, but in the memory of Talitha dying in my arms, she was weightless. And although I’d never actually held a dead body, I was pretty sure they were heavy, even if Talitha didn’t weigh one-hundred-pounds soaking wet. Plus, there’s no way I would just let some random shooter get away, I would have gone after him. And if it was the government that erased my memory, then why didn’t they erase everything? Why did I remember Talitha at all, if that wasn’t her intent? She wanted me to remember her, I just didn’t know why.

Rick motioned for us to leave, and I put my earbuds in, and scrolled until I found Future Islands, and clicked on a random song. ‘Doves’ began as I made my way down 34 th Street toward my rowhouse. Which was just long enough for me to review the facts.

I’m Carl Anderson, born February 4, 1993, in Paris, but now I live in Baltimore.

Talitha and I met at Ottobar on October 9, 2020.

The first time we went to Rick’s was the 12 th.

We went to The Manor and I met her Enhanced friends on the 15 th.

She was shot at the 9:30 Club on the 16 th.

But I went to the National Aquarium on the 21 st.

Only Widmore and I remember her.

I unlocked the door and entered my rowhouse. I took minimalism to a severe degree after my cheating ex Jenny left and took all the furniture, leaving me with whatever had been left after my parents died. The living room and an avocado-colored kitchen that could only be considered modern in 1970 greeted me. I turned toward my bedroom that had a futon, side table, dresser, and my records. My vinyl was essentially my only possession in the otherwise empty house, but I’d give up my treasured records to have Talitha answer one question.

Why’d you erase my memory?

That phrase ran on repeat in my mind as I lay on my futon while night bled into day.

Once the sun came up, I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror above the sink and understood why Rick thought there was something wrong when I saw my reflection. My curly brown hair that was usually kept expertly trimmed by my barber now verged on an unruly mess that made me look like a clown. My eyes were bloodshot, my skin was sickly pale, save the ink that covered the left side of my torso. I had a full-length sleeve of bolts, screws, and bars that branched onto my chest and stomach which Talitha said made me appear as if I were half machine. When she slept, she’d rest her head on the heart designed out of metal, which I asked the tattoo artist to put in a gilded cage above my own. The stubble on my face that Talitha had loved rubbing against had gone from hot to homeless. I turned on the shower and when I stepped inside it shocked me awake.

Afterward I put some clay stuff in my hair that Jenny had bought me and left behind. All I knew was that it made my curls look less like a cotton ball. I sniffed out the cleanest pair of jeans and slid on a t-shirt that read Beast Mode in bold white font. After I laced up my Docs, I headed out to begin today as I had since I woke up – a visit with Professor Gustav Widmore.

Jonas

10/31/2020 6:45 Am

The Lab

T hank you for joining me today, Sabine. Your specific abilities are required and will be integral for the next stage of the process. I let my voice fill up the corridor made of concrete and steel, miles underneath rural Virginia.

I don’t understand why you’re so interested in Carl Anderson, but I’m here for you. Always. Her dark eyes met with mine and held steadfast. Her long blue-black hair was pulled up in a ponytail so I could see every inch of alabaster skin that wasn’t covered by her t-shirt and jeans. She flushed as I stared.

You don’t need to understand, but I suspect by the end of the week he’ll be with us.

Her crimson-colored lips curled into a smile, which was somehow colder than the walls surrounding us as we continued our walk down the corridor. That’s why you asked Widmore to invite Carl to The Manor for the Halloween party? To reunite him with Talitha and see if she becomes more powerful?

I looked down at Sabine, whose fantasy was of slowly undressing me to find familiar anatomy in the hopes she’d bring me pleasure. Unfortunately for Sabine, her sexual prowess would amount to nothing. My heart belonged to another. Lola – also known as Enhanced Being One-Hundred and Eight – who was nearly as powerful as myself. Her super strength, sonic hearing, and the ability to increase her stamina by harnessing electricity were just as alluring as her cinnamon skin, dark wavy hair, and the most perfect pair of breasts I’d seen in a thousand years. If Lola had the ability to morph her appearance, like shapeshifter Sabine, then I’d have killed Sabine for her insolence years ago. But sadly, until the third evolution of the serum was tested, and I could increase Lola’s powers at the molecular level, I would have to work with Sabine.

It doesn’t matter why I want them, I insisted. Only that I do. I hope we’re done with all the questions.

Of course, sir. Sorry, my mother always said I talked too much.

I’m forever thankful for your loyalty, Sabine. I smiled because I knew that I had to offer the right amount of sweetness for Sabine to remain so loyal. Even the slightest hint of my romantic interest would fuel her and quiet her inquisitive mind. I didn’t want her to start asking why I’d requested the files on Enhanced Being Seventy-Six, also known as Cordelia Anderson. Cordelia would be far more useful today, seeing as her gift was the ability to enchant a person with a single phrase, making her essentially a witch. However, now that I’d seen the spike in Eight Fifteen’s abilities firsthand, I wanted to see Cordelia’s son, Carl, in the flesh. At the very least, to tell him the identity of his biological father.

I stopped in front of a door that was made of solid metal; it had a small window made of bullet proof glass. This one? Sabine’s voice was meek because she realized she’d asked another question.

I nodded and just as easily her skin turned dark like mine. Sabine grew three inches, her clothing changed from jeans and a t-shirt to a crisp, blue, polyester, Baltimore Police uniform, including side arm. Once she’d fully altered her appearance to look like the Baltimore Chief of Police, Sabine stepped inside the room, and I followed behind her.

The officer sitting at the metal table in the center of the otherwise empty room looked the definition of exhausted. Which was sensible as he’d been instructed to follow Carl Anderson around the clock. It had been nearly fifty hours since he’d slept. The officer was not only sloppy in attire with stains on his uniform and disheveled hair, but most of the pictures he’d taken of Carl were blurry and did not include detailed notes on his activities.

When the officer laid eyes on Sabine, he tried to stand at attention, but his handcuffs kept him from a proper salute. Sir, I have the information. He pushed a stack of photos, these even more out of focus than the last batch, as his bottom lip quivered. He’s still drinking day and night and continues to go to visit the professor every morning.

Sabine nodded, and when she spoke her voice matched that of her appearance, which was deep and booming. He’s not met with a petite blonde?

The officer shook his head fervently. He’s met with no women of any description. In fact, when he does leave his house, he speaks to only Rick, the bar owner, and Professor Widmore at Johns Hopkins.

I nodded at Sabine, which is when the officer across from us finally noticed me. He took in my tailored suit, polished shoes, and my perfect posture. You a lawyer or something?

I didn’t bother reading his mind, as I knew I’d already turned it to mush, but I set my gaze on him long enough to watch him squirm. While he was still focused on me, Sabine pulled the gun from her side and shot the officer in the forehead. Half his skull, and all his brain, decorated the wall behind him. Sabine made sure to grab the pictures before his corpse fell onto them.

Did I do alright? Sabine asked as she handed me the pictures of Carl.

You did very well.

Sabine smiled, her face still that of the Chief of Police.

I nodded toward the door across the hall. Now let’s get out next officer ready for his mission.

Widmore

10/31/2020 8:45 Am

Johns Hopkins University

One would think that after days with no answers that Carl might at least contemplate moving on. Although, it was All Hollow’s Eve so his presence could have been described as a haunting. His perseverance in the name of love might have been impressive if he wasn’t so much of a bother. Good morning, Mr. Anderson, I mumbled as I moved through the bustle of students filtering through the stretch of grass under the clock tower they called ‘the beach’ toward my vehicle.

Hey, Professor. He handed me a cup of coffee. It’s an Americano, right?

I took in the young man who looked like an 80’s rocker due to his black, ripped clothing, and hygiene. At least he didn’t look as homeless as yesterday, since he’d showered that morning. If I were to accept a drink from you then you might interpret that as a sign of friendship.

Don’t worry, I’ll still think you’re an asshole whether you drink it or not. He smirked at me, showing off the lone dimple in his left cheek, which reminded me of my daughter Aimee who’d died over half a century ago. I still held the faintest memory of her working in the barn with me and the smile that crossed her face when a lamb took its first steps; she too had a dimple in her left check but not her right.

I pushed away the image of my long-dead daughter, fearful of what other memories would come forward. I don’t appreciate your use of such language on these prestigious grounds.

Carl looked to around us at the students moving toward their various destinations, all dressed in neutral colors and carrying textbooks. I presumed he couldn’t understand the introduction of those texts while the students, some dressed in Halloween costumes, were at the beginning of their successful lives and had minds as sharp as a knife.

Carl scoffed. Just because it’s Johns Hopkins doesn’t mean they don’t curse. College is all about drugs, alcohol, and experimental sex.

Now it was my turn to scoff. I suppose that means you’re still in college, based on the amount of liquor that is excreting from your pores at such an alarming rate. Maybe you should engage in the latter to forget about your woes?

I’m depressed, but not enough to cheat on my girlfriend.

You don’t have a girlfriend anymore.

You’re trying really hard to get me to believe that, but I still don’t. He set his eyes on me. They were bloodshot, and surrounded by dark circles, but his irises were a very specific shade of green, their hue familiar, like a poem I’d memorized as a child. Although I couldn’t place the tone in my head. Maybe that, along with the dimple, was what brought about the slightest bit of sympathy for Carl, which tore me in two different directions. Talitha begged me to never invite him back to The Manor, and to continue the ruse of her murder, while Jonas wanted me to do the exact opposite. Apart they were both miserable, but if they were together Jonas would torture them. Either way they were both damned.

As I’ve said since our first meeting, I can’t offer you any solace. I sighed and turned back toward the path ahead of me, avoiding a group of students who were gathered, discussing the importance of social media in the electoral process.

Carl kept in-step with me. When I was his age, before Columbus sailed