Season of Reckoning
Ordinary People. Extraordinary Abilities.
Real People. Unreal Adventure.

Episode 9 – Home Sweet Home
Written and directed by: David Justin R. Ples
Co-directed by: Chester Ragudo, Jacob Madrid, Rebecca Yu, Benedict Almirol

Previously, on SR…
“Maybe it’s better if you leave, Chester. You’re no use here anyway.”
“I’m going to the one place that’s made me feel home in a long, long time.”
“No one can refuse the charms of the carnival for long. I made sure to give our boy the means to find his way home.”
“When do you think Patty is coming back?”
“Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick!”
“Saying goodbye.”
Now, SR continues.
__________________________________________________________________________

Chari falters as a blast of scorching noontime sun floods the backseat of the FX. Chester’s familiar lanky silhouette, backpack slung over his shoulder, blocks the light out for a second as he steps onto the dusty road.
“I got you,” he coughs, taking her hand. Chari hesitates, almost unwilling to leave the cold comfort of the quiet vehicle. Beside her on the seats, three other passengers stir, turning over to keep the outside world at arm’s length. They nudge against each other’s shoulders, and return to snoring. Finally, she hops off, stomach lurching - a leap of faith.
The FX’s wheels surge through the dirt, and Chester watches with a wordless grin as it disappears into the horizon. He cocks his head back, and then unzips the back pocket of his bag. A forked piece of wood, embellished with little golden stones, slides out, and immediately begins to bob up and down in his hands.
“How far?” Chari asks, tying her hair into a ponytail. Her companion scans the barren earth around them, pointing his dowsing rod, tipped with topaz, at every bush and boulder he can see. The artifact nearly leaps out of his hand, and he follows its insistent tugs into the wasteland.
“We’re getting closer. I can feel it.”
The words are scarcely out of his mouth when the sky melts away before them. Cloudless blue evaporates into a hundred red and yellow streamers framed against the rustic metal of Ferris wheel and rollercoasters. Children’s laughter echoes over the sound system, in tune with festive calliope music. A vision appears before them, arms outstretched like the Messiah descended from the cross.
Noel.
He and Chester lock eyes, struggling with memories from that evening four weeks ago – distant and half-forgotten. The chaos under the big top. The offer of family. The heavy sighs they had unknowingly shared, the shortness of breath in their chests as they had suffered the innumerable pangs of a loss they had yet to fully understand.
Chari had never met Chester’s father before. But the way he walked right into those welcoming arms – you would’ve thought he was coming home.

*****

Never pushing, never shoving, never having to squeeze her way through the crowd – it was a luxury that Golda bitterly enjoyed. Her gaze passed over each of them in turn, a ghost surveying ghosts, pallid and almost undead from her otherworld. She lets out a faint gasp, soundless in her abyss, as Elise glides through her; seconds later, Jethro passes through, unaware of her presence.
She was so hollow that it hurt.
To step out of these gray shadows and into their light – it was unthinkable. To make herself known, to make herself seen, now, in her comical attire, in all her imperfect glory, was just too much of a risk. Noel had taught her all the words before, but ultimately, what could she offer that would trump the certainty of the life they already lived?
She had no curly locks, not like her. No adorable laugh, not even a smile. This girl, this Elise, she had him, and she would always have him. No matter what Golda could do, no matter how many rabbits she pulled out of her hat or how many handkerchiefs she pulled out of her sleeve, Elise would always be ahead of her.
Because in their fantasy high school world, Elise was real. And Golda was a ghost.
“How could I let this happen? They’re gone, Jethro. Gone.”
“The dorms?”
“Not there. I checked. I shouldn’t have been so harsh. What if they don’t come back?”
“Elise, relax. It’s Chester, remember? The knucklehead knows better. It’s gonna be fine. It’s all going to be just fine.”
The way he kneaded her shoulders. The way she practically collapsed into his arms. The way they could be emotionally, physically there for each other. How she envied them.
“Where are you going?”
“I need to think. Tell the others Paskorus practice is cancelled for today. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Elise, her Jethro’s sparkling Artemis, walks away, rapidly, clutching her books like every breath she had in her depended on those pages. And Jethro himself, standing there by the lockers. At last he would understand - how it felt to stand still and senseless while the world turned. She could tell he wanted to go after her.
Love. Affection. It was their privilege, the crest of an uncomplicated life. It was too much for Golda to ask. But they were friends, at least. At most. They had a picture together. They’d told some stories. Made some jokes.
She had a right to care, didn’t she?
She would help him help her. Win the girl. Have the happiness he deserved.
That much she owed him. Because in the next week or so, in the coming months, she would take away so much more. Maybe he would forgive her if she was good to him now.

*****

“Glad to see you come back.”
The words dimly register in Chester’s ears as they walk along the sand-strewn paths. He knew these walks, knew where to turn before Noel could point out the avenues. His whole body could remember the grainy feel of pebbles under his shoes, of the wind carrying the weak year-end sun across his arms. Pieces of his last visit surfaced every time a tent flap would snap and fold as he walked by. It was like he never left.
And yet somehow the carnival he recognized had also changed. In the daylight, everything was so much lighter, different from the way the immensity of it all pressed down on him on that fateful night. Clowns were walking by, honking their big red noses and squirting passersby with their flower brooches. Every now and again the sound of bottle towers collapsing intersected the laughter of children. The November Carnival, a month from its first gloomy arrival in Ilocos, had flourished in his absence.
“I needed somewhere to crash for a while,” Chester yawns. He can feel Noel watching him from the side, and as his eyes slide left, he notices the ringmaster’s crooked smile. It was like Noel was remembering something, too. “What’s a good ride?”
“For you, I recommend the Flying Festival. If you don’t scream your head off, then you can have your money back! What do you say? A good deal?”
“I dunno,” shrugs Chester. “What do you think, Chari?”
Beside him, Chari shrinks back as Noel leans forward to get a good look at her. To her surprise, he smiles, and tilts his chin back to acknowledge her presence.
“Was under the impression we would get everything for free,” Chester adds, smirking. “Don’t us specials get a discount or something?”
A nervous moment passes in which Chester almost takes back his words. Noel stops walking, and with an eyebrow raised, looks the two students over. He’d been wondering if Chester remembered. Obviously, he did, and to his relief, the boy wasn’t going to take it against him.
“Heh.” Noel grins, and sharply inhales. “Of course, of course. All your rides and drinks, on me. Go, enjoy yourselves. Have to make most of your time at the carnival, right?” As he says this, he looks over their heads, and calls someone over. “If you need anything, anything at all, you can talk to our Bearded Lady.”

*****

“Take good care of this kid,” Noel whispers to Alla, brushing some of her hair back. Today she wears it in a golden blonde beehive topped with pinwheel flowers. The curls behind her ear bristle as she listens.
“I bet he reminds you of yourself when you were younger, Cabs.”
“And how would you know, Miss Alla Tan?”
“Sometimes Lydia talks about her little brother and how he was a loafing lazybones. But don’t worry; I think she means to sound fond of you or something.”
“My sister misses the old me now, after all the scolding she used to give me. Know-it-all mother’s pet, but she cared. She’s so distant lately.”
“You’ll win her approval back.”
Noel sighs. ”Introduce them to Patty,” he continues, gesturing to the gleeful artist waiting patiently beside her. “I’ll be around.”
As Noel turns and goes, Chester and Chari approach. Patty bounds forward, and throws Chester a warm hug.
“You two know each other?” Alla asks.
“We were classmates,” mutters Chester, just barely able to tear his eyes away from Alla’s beard. She notices this, and winks, her moustache wrinkling slightly. “So this is where you’ve been hiding all this time, Patty. If I’d known it was a legit reason to be absent, I’d have run off here a long time ago.”
“It isn’t,” Patty laughs. “I love being here, Chester. I feel like I’m part of a family, which is a lot to say, since, you know. Sometimes I stop and think that my real parents would be happy that I’ve found a place here. I’m really contributing.” Patty pauses, inhaling. She graciously smiles, pearly whites agleam with her braces. “I can’t say I don’t miss everyone back at PSHS, though. How are they?”
“We were all wondering where you were. Trust me, you’re living the good life – no trig long tests and no homework. What have you been up to?”
“Alla here’s had me on beautification duty. I’ve been prettying up the posters here, see?” Patty points to some moving advertisements posted on the tent poles. “And lately I’ve been working on some invitations we’ll be sending out. To specials, you know? I heard you’re one, too. That’s awesome.”
“Not really. Powers have been getting me into heaps of trouble.”
As Chester and Patty continue to talk, Chari steps back and takes a seat on a large crate outside the Bearded Lady’s tent. He hadn’t even bothered to introduce her. She wonders how long it will be before they finish catching up, and then sees Alla looking similarly out of place just beyond them.
“What are your powers, anyway?” Patty asks.
Before Chester can begin to explain, Alla cuts between them. “There’ll be plenty of time to talk about that later, sweetie,” she says, waving her bangle-adorned wrists as though to shoo their concerns away. “The new beh-behs must be so tired. I know how far PSHS is. Golda makes regular visits and she says the journey is like, absolute murder.”
“Who’s Golda?”
Chari watches the smile fade from Alla’s face. Nearby, wading through a crowd of carnival goers, Noel shoots her a silencing look. Chari’s eyebrows knot.
“Oh, uhm, no one really. Let’s get some chow, kids. I’m totally starving.”

*****

“Turn the music off.”
Yvanne’s eyes veer off the road for two seconds to survey her cousin in the rear view mirror. Claudine slumps against the seat, clutching a neck pillow in her hands. Her eyeliner is unusually dark today, and Yvanne frowns at her all-black ensemble.
“Looking for something more punk rock?” she laughs. Claud doesn’t return the humor.
“I just don’t wanna listen to Ke$ha right now, okay.”
“But the party don’t start -”
“Yvanne. Please.”
The secretary is taken aback by her cousin’s words. She abruptly switches the radio off. The drive continues in silence, with the two caged behind tinted windows, unwilling to speak a word to each other. Every now and again, Claud shifts position in the back seat.
The car slows as they approach a red light.
A beetle hovers outside the window, and Claud begins to roll the glass down.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m letting the bug in.”
“Eew, gross! Close that window before we get into an accident! I can’t drive if there’s going to be some disgusting beetle crawling around on my leather!”
Claudine ignores this, and allows the insect to settle on her index finger. It stays there, obediently seated, which is more than what Yvanne can say for her cousin. She grabs the old newspaper lying around beside her on the passenger seat – where Claud should’ve been – and whacks the poor, unsuspecting creature out the still open window.
“Hey!”
“Don’t you hey me, b----” yells Yvanne, just as a car behind them honks loudly. She steps on the gas, and wheels around the intersection. “You’ve been acting up the entire weekend.”
“I’m the b----?!” cries Claud incredulously, at exactly the same time another car in front of them beeps its horn. Yvanne had almost collided with its bumper. “Why don’t you just leave me alone?”
“I have news for you, sweetie,” hisses Yvanne, gritting her teeth. “I’m your guardian. For as long as your parents are gone -”
“What? You get to play mom? You’re not my mom. You’re barely even a grown-up. Stop butting into my business! I don’t need you breathing down my neck.”
“Butting into – oh my god. This is still about that freaking carnival, isn’t it?”
Yvanne pulls over at the old bank building where she used to work. She yanks her door open, and pounds on the window of Claudine’s door for her to get out. Like a blizzard, Claudine storms out of the vehicle and stomps into the lobby.
Her cousin beats her to the elevator, where she pushes the button to the top floor. The two endure the steady climb in heated quiet. On the fourth floor, the doors slide open and a couple of men enter.
“You’re lucky I saved your ass, Claud.”
“All you did was tear me away from my best friend.”
“You’re crazy if you were thinking of joining her in that flea circus. If she was really your friend, she wouldn’t have hauled your dumb locks into the middle of nowhere with all those clowns.”
“You don’t even understand what you’ve done,” Claud cries, flashing the eavesdroppers around her an evil eye. “It took me months to track Dani down. I was perfectly happy there. People get me there.”
“People are dangerous there,” Yvanne appends, rolling her eyes.
“Everything would’ve worked out if you hadn’t meddled.”
“How dare you. I do not meddle. You don’t know what they would’ve done to you. How are you so sure they didn’t kidnap Dani in the first place?”
The panel above the door pings a bright yellow, and some notaries walk into the elevator. The growing crowd adjusts, and Claudine is shoved beside her cousin. They squabble for room, finally deciding to settle for not having to look at each other.
Claudine remembers the way the detective convulsed on the floor. The sparks circling the ringmaster’s clenched fists.
“I would’ve worked it out. I could’ve handled it.”
“You wouldn’t know the first thing. I’m a businesswoman, Claud. I know about planning and strategies and logistics. Getting through obstacles is a challenge, and you can’t just run headlong into danger and hope to get out unscratched.”
“Businesswoman? Fat chance. You’re just a dowdy secretary,” Claud sneers.
“Oh. My god. You did not just call me that.”
The door opens a third time, and everyone gets off except the arguing pair. The elevator continues to rise, floor buttons lighting up in sequence.
“I wanna go back,” Claud says stubbornly. Just then, the door opens onto the top floor. Yvanne files out, her cousin in tow, and practically flies up a couple of stairs. The dark rectangle ahead of them opens out onto the roof, where a helicopter is waiting.
“Don’t you get it? I’m just trying to keep you safe. There are freaks in that hole I just pulled you out of. This is so much bigger than you think it is, Claudine Allyson.”
Claud hated the way her cousin said both of her names. It was patronizing.
“No, you’re the one who doesn’t get it. I belong with those ‘freaks’. I’m a special, too!”
Yvanne’s heels grind to a halt.
“That’s right,” continues Claud. “I have powers, and I belong in that carnival, where everyone else has powers, too.”
Shoulders hunched and locked, Yvanne turns to her cousin. She licks her lips, and tries to put a manicured hand on Claud’s shoulder.
“I did what I did because I care.”
“That’s an epic lie,” snaps Claud, cocking her head back. She flicks Yvanne’s hand away in irritation. “You don’t know the first thing about me. You think I’m young and girly and stupid, and that I still like all your typical tween glamour. I’m hardcore, and stronger than you’ll ever be, and you don’t need to hover over me pretending you’re a mom. I’ve been through more than you probably ever will be in your entire life. So get a clue. Leave me alone.”
Yvanne throws the helicopter door open, and the blades above them begin to turn. She doesn’t attempt to project her voice over the roar of the mounting wind. Instead, she takes her cousin by the arm and flings her into one of the seats.
The door slides shut, and the helicopter takes off.

*****

Jethro sweeps some dust from the stone of the third floor stairwell, and takes his place next to Elise. He hesitates as she sobs, and wishes he could muster the courage to brush her hair back behind her ear.
“I’m sorry you have to see this,” she sniffs, as he hands her his handkerchief to wipe her tears. She takes it, hastily dabbing the wet spots on her cheeks. When she finishes, she beams her usual smile, and even manages to stick her tongue out at him.
“You’re like me now,” says Jethro. “You worry too much. You really care about Chester, don’t you? Even when you were yelling at him…we all saw how much it hurt.”
“He’s so lazy and irresponsible and you never know if he means to do what he says.”
Jethro licks his lips, fumbling for words.
“How can you count on him,” she goes on, “to be okay?”
Awkwardly, Jethro pats her on the back. He cringes as he does this, praying to high heaven that Elise doesn’t notice how hopeless he is in this kind of situation. Hundreds of movies and indie songs, all gone to waste.
(Follow my lead,) comes Golda’s voice in his ear. He whirls around to mouth how busy he is, but Elise’s feelings begin to pour out like a river.
“Well he’s not going to ask me to prom now. Not after I humiliated him in front of everyone. I might as well go with Chari,” she laughs. “After all, my dad probably won’t object to that. Argh. If a male friend smiles at you, he’ll get you pregnant. If he asks you to his house, you’ll get pregnant. If you have a date to prom, he’ll get you freaking pregnant. Don’t get into this, it’s too rough; don’t get into that, it’s too hard for a girl. I’m not just a girl, you know. Gah. I’m a person, too.”
(Tell her how amazing you think she is. Tell her how you feel about everything she does.)
“What? I can’t do that,” Jethro hisses, just as Golda’s invisible elbow jabs him in the stomach. “Youch!”
“Are you okay?” Elise asks, confused.
“Yeah. And uh, you should be too. You’re this incredible, headstrong young woman. You’re like, a force of nature.”
(Good. Now remind her about all the extraordinary things she can do.)
“You’re class president, SCA president, choir leader, violinist, volleyball player, and Capoerista. You could probably break some guy’s bones if he ever tried to make you do anything you didn’t want to -”
(Now hint at how you feel, Jethro Jamon. Talk about how you like who she is.)
“- and that should scare me, but it doesn’t, because I think you’re really cool. And your dad will figure that out. You just have to show him who you really are.”
The effort of conjugating all those meaningful phrases together exhausts Jethro, and he slumps back against the steps. Sweat pours down his sides, and he can’t believe his hands are actually quivering slightly. He looks to see what effect his speech has had on Elise; her lips are one straight line, and she hugs her knees tight.
“You’re right about all those things, you know. Isn’t it stupid how I’ve been doing so much to prove myself to him and he still treats me like I don’t know how to make the right decisions? But with Chester leaving, I’m starting to doubt if I did the right thing.”
(Tell her everyone makes mistakes,) Golda says. She remembers how the keyboard’s insulating cord felt against her fingertips. The sound it made as it broke into pieces. She didn’t just hurt Chester. She hurt Elise, too. (You know she would make it up to him if she could.) As Golda says this, she looks straight into Jethro’s eyes. It stings to have him stare through her.
“It’s okay to be angry. And I guess, you can’t always get things right. But Chester’s gonna be okay. And Chari, too. I’m pretty sure that if you could apologize to Che right now, he’d forgive you. You mean a lot to him, you know.”
“Really?”
“I’m his best friend, I should know.” Jethro’s chest suddenly weighs heavy with his own words. He hadn’t exactly been there for Chester, either. No wonder he ran off.
“I’d ask him to prom right now if I could. But no self-respecting girl would do that.”
(Say that she’s too good to care about what anyone else thinks.)
“You’re uh, too good to care what anyone else thinks. Besides, there are probably other guys out there who really, really like you and want to ask you out.”
“Like who?”
(Confession time, Jamon.)
Jethro pauses, heart pounding in his chest. With his next breath, it drops into his stomach like an anchor. “I can’t,” he mutters under his breath. He tries to look at Elise again, but ends up staring blankly at the checkered yellow pattern of her skirt. “I dunno. Maybe they’ll surprise you. In the meanwhile, you gotta cheer up, Elise. Smile for me again. That’s who you are, Elise – bouncy, energetic. Happy.”
“Thanks, Jethro,” she says, hugging him. Every nerve in his body explodes simultaneously, and he sinks into the warmth of her touch. “You’re like my big brother.”
No one can see it, and no one can hear it, but somewhere in the abyss of another dimension, Golda facepalms. Jethro frowns for a moment, but contents himself with their prolonged contact. Finally, Elise breaks free.
“When I’m with you guys, I feel like I’m home. More at home than with Dad and his expectations that I never ever seem to meet no matter what. When I’m hanging around you and Chester and Chari, I don’t have to be anyone but me,” she smiles. “Now if only I was sure who I was, exactly. How do you do it, Jet?”
“What? Do what?”
“You’re totally confident with the way you look, and the music you listen to, and the things that you…like. You know what you like. That’s pretty important. I’m just trying everything out because I need to show everyone I’m capable. Sometimes I get lost in it all.”
(I think you know what to say, Jethro. I…I need to go now. Good luck.)
“I got this. Thanks, voice. Hey, wait, your name?” he whispers, as Elise toys with the aglets of her rubber shoes.
Golda bites her lip so hard it begins to bleed. She couldn’t risk her name. Not yet. Clenching her fists, she starts soundlessly down the steps, looking back only to make sure that Jethro and Elise are happy in each other’s company.
They are.
“That’s just me, you know,” Jethro continues, a little sad not to hear an answer from his invisible friend. “You don’t have to figure everything out right now. That’s what high school is about, I guess. It’s a season of reckoning. We all figure out who we are, where we belong, what we like.”
Here he stumbles. “Who we like.”
Just then the bell rings. Elise springs up, and grabs Jethro by the wrists.
“Thanks again, Jethro. Now come on. Only four more periods, and then maybe at the end of the day Chari and Chester will be back.”

*****

“She’s definitely a keeper, eh? What do you think?”
Terence bounces on his heels, favorite cap fit snugly over his head. He traces Chari with his eyes as she walks by, outlining every curve and every subtle movement of her hair with a thought in his head of snatching her away.
Behind him, bathed in shadow, his companion stirs. The sound of jingling bells flitters through the tent.
“You’re an idiot if you think she’s looking to swap.”
“You’re a nimrod if you don’t think we can pull this off, Nars.”
“So you’re not even going to try this time? We’re skipping to Plan Me already?” Just under the thin gold plating of his mask, Nars smiles. The long fake nose attached to the front of his face makes him look like a devious heron, prowling about in the marshes for fish to catch.
“Why fix what isn’t broken?”
“For fear of breaking something else,” laughs Alla, joining them. She uses a long braid to pull the edge of Terence’s hat over his eyes. Nars leans through the hole in the tent, and points out their target, about to board the Flying Festival with Chester.
“What’s the lowdown on Strawberry Shortcake?”
“She’s here with one of Noel’s prodigies. And I have explicit orders to keep the likes of you two away from the new carnivalettes. Cabs will be furious if anything happens that turns them around.”
“Aww, come on, Alla,” pleads Terence, elbowing Nars and laughing. “We’re just gonna have some fun with them, that’s all.”
“I mean it, you two,” the Bearded Lady says, raising an eyebrow. Terence steps back for fear of it growing in size. “No funny business. These two are just as much my project as they are Noel’s. So play nice.”
“Got an interest in them, I see,” Nars says as he passes by. He lifts the tent flap for Terence, who’s gone in a flash. “Well, we’ll just see who they like better at the end of the day, huh?”
“Challenge accepted,” scoffs Alla, rolling her eyes. As Nars leaves, his large red shoes squeaking, Patty enters.
“What was that all about?”
“I’m just going to see what they’re like, is all. Chester and Chari.”
“You’re worried Golda likes spending time with them more now?”
“No,” Alla laughs. She waggles her fingers in the air to dismiss the comment. She then pulls on the bottom of her beard, and like a taut carpet, it rolls back into her chin, disappearing. “Okay, maybe a little. But I’m fun, too, right? I mean, look at my hair. It juggles.”
“You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone, Alla,” Patty says innocently.
“Nah, I guess not.” As she says this, the Unbearded Lady’s straight edge hair curls into gorgeous red locks. The ends are faintly tipped with orange highlights. “Even if I’m always working and telling people what to do?”
“They’d be lost without you.”
“Thanks, Patty. Now we should probably go make sure those two don’t get into trouble.”
“Chester and Chari, or Nars and Terence?”
“I haven’t quite figured out yet. Let’s go.”

*****

As the carousel turns merrily on its roundabout course, Chari Beleran begins to think the following things: that the horses on the ride weren’t nearly as soft as the ones back home, and that they were far slipperier and that she was going to fall off them, and finally that the carnival lights were too bright and that they were a sickening, ill shade of yellow.
The people staring indulgently at her as she passed by again and again didn’t help anything either. She knew why they were crowding around the ride, and she felt more like a menagerie attraction than Chester’s date.
He was seated just behind her, so near the edge of the horse that if he leaned back he would probably slide off its tail. His arms, warm with the down of young adolescence, were wrapped around her on either side. She was sure he meant to be sweet, but more than anything she was falling into a bout of claustrophobia.
His breath against the back of her neck startles her. Around and around the carousel goes.
“This is kind of nice. Just us. No school or teachers to worry about.”
She smiles in reply, her beautiful, beady black eyes staring at a spot on his shoulder, just out of reach of his sleepy gaze. They were pressed close to each other, and each time the horse whinnied higher, she could feel the air leave his chest. He puts his forehead to her hair, and chuckles.
“I’m having a really good time here with you. I don’t think I’m ever leaving.”
“Don’t say things like that. We have to come back sometime.”
“But let’s enjoy this, for now. Did I tell you about the last time I was here?”
“You, Jethro, and Elise rode the Ferris Wheel. Yes, I remember.”
Chester’s eyes are now closed, absorbing every sensation and riveting color in his mind, oblivious to the rest of the world standing in wait around them. Chari wonders when the ride is going to come to a stop. She can see that two of the carnies have joined the ranks of her ever present admirers, and an inexplicable dread falls over her.
One of them was in a baseball cap, and he was looking straight at her – as straight as he could with the carousel turning. His companion was a masquerade clown, dark skin contrasting elegant checkered white attire. The clown’s mask was golden, and the carousel lights swam in reflection across it. He tilts his chin to her, bringing up the tip of his mask’s curved aquiline nose.
“Jethro tried to ask Elise to prom. Epic fail,” Chester grunts. Chari can feel his hand sliding over her shoulders, caressing her. “How about you? Any plans? Because if not, I was thinking of going with you.”
“Me?” squeaks Chari. Her chest tightens as Chester gets closer. The sun has set halfway over the horizon, and the earthy browns and oranges were grappling with cobalt and rose for dominion of the sky. “Really?”
“Everything’s all topsy-turvy now. But when I’m with you, I feel home.”
Chari turns her head, heart pounding so loud that it swallows up the calliope music and all the voices around her. Chester’s nose meets her cheek, and his fingers begin to intertwine with hers. He was pulling her closer.
“Stop! Stop, stop, just stop it!” she cries, breaking free of his embrace. She hops off the horse, and Chester loses his balance, falling onto the floor. Chari scrambles out of the ride, clearing the fence with surprising ease, and Chester can only watch, stupefied, as she disappears into the crowd.
Terence smirks, and discreetly slaps Nars a high fve. The clown’s eyes stop glowing, and a contented smile forms on his lips.

*****

Yvanne steps icily into the hallway, snapping on the lights. She flinches for a moment at the foreboding numbers painted in what seemed like black tar on the wall – all 5’s, sharp and menacing. She shoots her cousin a look – boiling but also melted – and begins walking.
There were so many things she could’ve said. She had meant to be proud of her new, important position in The Establishment. She would’ve been glowing as she had introduced Claud to her new office, her new desk, and all the glittery things with which she’d decorated it. She would’ve beamed at the enormous new paycheck she’d been awarded.
They would’ve gone shopping together to celebrate.
But Claud had been right. She was a different kind of girl than Yvanne. Tougher, grittier. Yvanne prayed that would be enough to get her through what was about to happen.
“What are we doing here on this island?” scoffs Claud. She passes some sullen looking people behind glass walls. These were prison cells. “God, Yvanne, where are we?”
“This is Level Five. We keep the most dangerous ones here.”
“What? Who are these people?”
Yvanne places a frigid hand on frigid glass, and sighs. She whirls around to face Claud.
“You wanted to be left alone. So I’m…following orders. Like any dowdy secretary would.” At this, her lip quivers. “Claud, I can’t let you run off again. Believe it or not, I care about you, ‘cuz, so I’m going to do what’s best for you.”
Her fingers dance over the keypad, and the cell unlocks. Several guards enter the hall, and begin to walk toward them. They crack their knuckles as they approach.
“My boss, Desi… She doesn’t like your kind. The specials. And she is going to do terrible things to them. If she found out that you were one, she wouldn’t spare you. She hates me, you know. I have to go through this every day to earn enough money to take care of both of us. Of you. I put up with that monster because I am a grown-up, and grown-ups need to make tough decisions. I didn’t want to have to do this.”
“Do what?” cries Claud, as two guards grab her by the wrists, cuffing them together. A blindfold comes over her eyes just as they begin to glow.
“Desi would torture you for information on the carnival if she knew you’d been dealing with them. The moment you make another escape and she finds out, you’re screwed. This is all I can do to keep you away from them.”
“So you’re locking me up here?! Yvanne!” wails Claud as the guards shove her into the room. She manages to throw herself up into a kneeling position, but as she opens her mouth again, the door slams shut. Her frantic shrieks are lost behind the glass.
“I’m tossing you out of the fire into the frying pan. I’ve scrapped your profile in the database. She won’t ask any more questions if you’re already behind bars. She probably won’t even notice you.”
Yvanne locks the code in, and swallows. The saliva feels like acid down her throat.
“I’m doing this to keep you safe. You don’t wanna see that, I get it, so fine. Wear that blindfold and stay put. Until you learn some respect.”
Claudine slumps to the floor, and the cloth around her eyes stains with her tears. She bangs her head once on the cold steel, and then continues to sob. By this time, her cousin has arrived at the end of the hallway. She takes one last look at the cell holding Claudine, kills the lights, then closes the door.
Gently. Slowly. Until it clicks shut.

*****

Chari darts through dozens of nameless, faceless people, pushing them aside as if they were blades of withered grass. Her frantic escape takes her straight to the door of the House of Mirrors; what little daylight remains is quickly engulfed within. She steps back, and begins to turn around, breath still wild and uncontrolled, and comes face to face with Nars.
“Hello there, miss,” he says in a low voice, almost growling. He takes one step forward, giant shoes squeaking, and holds up one gloved hand for her to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
As he approaches, Chari makes the mistake of looking into his eyes. Fire glows around the edges of his irises, tiny purple embers that rob her of oxygen. Her knees knock together, and she stumbles backward.
“What’s the matter?” Nars asks, looking past her into the hall. “Afraid of the dark?”
Those last words set off Chari’s trembling legs, and she bolts without direction or reason straight into the House of Mirrors. Her reflections loom over her in the dim light of the incandescent bulbs, shrinking and growing with her every move. As she approaches a fork in the maze, Nar’s ghostly image leaps out at her from all sides.
Outside, Chester can see Chari’s horrified scream as a fountain of ragged white and pink sparks coming from a distant rooftop. He races toward her, all new levels of fear thumping in his chest. What’d he do wrong? What was happening to her?
Preoccupied with all these thoughts, he runs straight into Noel, who props him up by the shoulders as he trips.
“There you go. Something wrong, Chester?”
Just then Chari screams again.
“Shit, man, it’s Chari. She took off from the carousel and now she’s freaking out. I have to get to her.”
Noel frowns, just as Alla rushes by. He manages to grab a tangled ponytail, and gently yanks her back. “Didn’t I say -”
“I’m sorry, Cabs,” the Bearded Lady says, out of breath. “Nars and Terence, they uhm, they saw Chari run into the House of Mirrors, and now she’s supposedly too scared to even move. I’m on my way to get her out now, I swear.”
“Hold on a second,” Noel coughs. “This moment belongs to Chester. Just go join those two imbeciles and tell them I’m on my way.”
Alla looks over the crowd, and wrinkles her nose. Her hair grows to enormous lengths, braiding and intertwining, and she lifts herself over the sea of people, fifteen, twenty feet high. Her hair begins to move forward, and like a spider, she takes long strides in the direction of the House of Mirrors.
“Dumb and dumber, ooh, you’re going to get a month’s worth of kitchen duty for this!”
Noel turns to Chester, who all this time has been fighting his grip to get to Chari.
“Have you figured out your powers yet, Chester?”
“No, there’s no time!” he groans. The ringmaster’s callous hands steady him, and he bends down on one knee to look Chester in the eye.
“You’re more than just a synesthete. You can draw people to you with your music. You can move the masses with the beats, with the melody. Use your power to guide Chari out.”
“What? How am I supposed to make music?”
Noel ducks into his tent, and emerges carrying an aged cajon under his arm. It looks similar to Chester’s, but its colors are faded and the wood seems far more worn. The boy’s eyebrows knot in surprise.
“A beat-box?” Chester says, the truth dawning over him as the sun finally sets. “Then it was you. You sent me the cajon.”
“It was a gift, from the November Carnival.”
NC, Chester thinks. Noel Cabauatan. Of course. Noel wades through the crowd, one muscled arm hooked around the instrument, another waving to his protégé.
“Hurry!”

*****

Thump.
Chester’s first strike at the wood ends in a dull, lifeless beat. The coffee color washes into the air, tired and pale. He looks to his new mentor for advice, and Noel stoops over. A steady hand pats him on the back, and Chester feels his nervous insides rattle.
“You have to feel the weight of your music. Somewhere in those haunted halls, the girl you care about is backed against a wall, waiting for someone to save her. Be her hero, Chester. Focus your thoughts on Chari.”
Frustrated, Chester runs a quivering hand through his short hair. He licks his lips, and begins to tap his feet. Quietly first, then louder, faster. He raises his hand in the air, and then brings it down on the wood. His other hand, clenched into a fist, follows, falling into the rhythm.
Tug-dug, pak! Tugu-dugudug pak! Tug-dug, pak! Tugu-dugudug pak!
Chester barely even notices the intensity of the colors he generates; as each ring blends into the next, and the thumping grows louder, the hues saturate and absorb each other, creating fantastic russet ribbons and cerise stars that travel inward, into the heart of the mirrors. He can only see Chari, her delicate vision frightened, hopeless, trapped. He was going to get her out.
Inside the hall, Chari lifts her head, drying her tears. Her arms, frozen from the bone out, begin to feel prickly and warm, the way they would under the morning sun. Like snow, her terror melts away, and she rises to full height.
Tug-dug, pak! Tugu-dugudug pak! Tug-dug, pak! Tugu-dugudug pak!
She doesn’t know where she’s going; all she has is the sound of the cajon - powerful, aggressive - to lead her back into open air. She closes her eyes, letting her feet choose their own path, threading the music along like Ariadne and her ball of string. She knew it was Chester, she knew he was there. She knew he would be waiting at the exit.
And she wasn’t afraid of his touch anymore; she needed his embrace. The memory of his breath on her neck draws her forward, onward, out.
At last she feels the cool breeze funnel by. She takes a few more tentative steps, and emerges into the softer lights of the carnival. At the bottom of the steps, standing by a proudly beaming Noel and the aged cajon, is Chester.
“Hey. Welcome back.”
Chari rushes forward, and buries her head in his shoulders. He wraps his arms around her, and hushes her nervous sniffling. The dozen or so people also drawn by the music cheer loudly.
“You had me scared there for a while.”
Alla walks over to them; suspended in the air on either side of her are Terence and Nars, ankles caught in nooses of her mighty hair. “I’m sorry these guys caused so much trouble.”
“It’s okay,” Chari says, smiling at her. The Bearded Lady’s shoulders relax, and she smiles back. “The carnival was interesting, and all, but…I just feel like heading home now.”
“You’ll be back,” grins Noel, tilting his chin in salute to them.
Chester inhales deeply, and nods. The city lights flicker in the distance.
“You can count on it.”

Season of Reckoning
Ordinary People. Extraordinary Abilities.
Real People. Unreal Adventure.

Episode 8 – Ahedres
Written and directed by: David Justin R. Ples
Co-directed by: Rebecca Yu and Benedict Almirol

Previously, on SR…
“This detective can’t be allowed to live, knowing what he knows about us.”
“We’re going to create a bank system that sells superpowers.”
“But you do have a record for being this lazy. Chester, you’re failing. Badly.”
“When have you ever needed a second opinion, boss?”
“Patty, you could probably spend time making some pretty, pretty posters.”
“Find David. No…find Adre. He’ll know what to do. Run and don’t look back.”
Now, SR continues.
___________________________________________________________

The smiting power of the gods rocks the battlefield with a terrible tremor. Armored horses clatter to the ground, riders still strapped to the saddles; castle towers collapse, sending frightened holy men scuttling for cover. Royalties take the folds of their robes in hand, defiantly elegant, as their soldiers look up to the heavens for reckoning.
“For Christ’s sake, Terence, stop with your incessant quivering.”
“Godammit, Gab, make a move already!”
With a deep breath, the Living Statue rights all of the fallen pieces, and melds the edges of their chessboard with the table. The sound of Terence’s protests are lost as he retreats further into his own vast mind. Four hundred years’ worth of battle strategies comes into play, crowding around the stars and galaxies, the mountains and cities, the ocean depths, and the faces of his companions. Dimly he makes out the shapes of Lydia and Noel, huddled to one corner.
“When I think about how close we came to ruin…”
“Get off my case, Lyd. I handled it!” Noel retorts. He hastily mixes up a jar of ink with his pipe, as the Tattooed Lady pulls up her divining stool. A clammy gust of wind from outside extinguishes the candles dripping on the shelves; wisps of smoke like ghosts fill the tent.
“Yeah, Lydia, quit bein’ such a stiff,” sneers Terence, just as Lydia drops her sequined shawl to the ground. The speedster averts his eyes; Noel didn’t like anyone messing with his sister. She shouldn’t have been an exhibitionist, then. “Speakin’ of… Gab! Just eat the pawn!”
Lydia clasps her hands together as Noel lightly taps her bare back with the tip of his pipe. Ochre and blackberry sink into her pores; tattoos of Dom, Claud, Yvanne, and Desi bubble to the surface seconds later. “The detective, the runaway, the secretary, and the villainess. The web thickens, and all the specials are flies, drawn to the gossamer.”
Noel runs his thumb over Lydia’s skin. “What’s her name?”
“Desi Mina.”
From the table at the front of the tent, Gabriel stirs. “David mentioned her.”
“Puppetmaster of the Icarus incident,” Noel mutters.
“And conqueror of the Company,” adds Lydia. Noel’s brow creases as Gab’s golden lips straighten into a faint smile. Debts had been paid for at last.
“Whatever she’s planning, we need to get in the way of. What does the ink say?”
“Not enough,” sighs Lydia. “I’m not a precog, Noel. You know that. I only see what my ability lets me. Hmmm… She has a team, but…each eye has its own prize.”
Tattoos of Domz and Renz take their place beside Yvanne and Desi. The four depictions shove and push against each other, hissing and writhing, before settling with their eyes averted from one another.
“Let’s get out there and mess ‘em up,” coughs Terence, brandishing one of his favorite throwing knives. Its curved edge glints before Gab, who urges one of his knights forward.
“Brilliant, Terence!” cries Lydia. “Play into their trap. If a special draws government blood, we’ve all but sealed our fate.”
“I don’t get it,” the speedster shrugs. “What does she want?”
“Us. All of us. We’ll be traded like slaves. Our abilities…rent from our bodies.”
Noel grabs his petrified dahlia staff, resting against the shelves. The coarse wood under his palms moans. “We have to protect our family. If Desi plans on swooping in and snatching up all our brothers and sisters… We have to get to them first. This wouldn’t be a problem if Golda was doing her job properly.”
“You send a teenage girl to a teenage boy. What are you expecting?” scoffs Terence. His hand zips across the chessboard, pushing the rook as far up as it can go.
“Your prodigy won’t be in for a while, Noel. We’ll have to go to the specials one by one. Individually convince each one of them of the danger they’re in and the protection they’ll find under our big top.”
“But where do we start?” asks Noel, as he leans in and begins to tap the chessboard with his tired fingers. The pieces jump up, and Gabriel holds them down.
“With Desi. The key to victory in this game of generals is not in numbers, nor strength, nor Fate or luck. It is not in the mastery of your own pieces, but those of your enemy.”
Terence’s haughty laughter disrupts the silence. More candles flicker out.
“Yeah, karathead? You can’t touch my pieces. That’s against the rules.”
Gabriel laces his stubby, golden fingers together and raises his chin in defiance. Lydia pulls up her shawl and joins them at the table, looking back and forth between the three men.
“I can’t choose your tiles,” the Living Statue concedes, arching forward, “but I can make you choose them for me.” As he says this, he pins one of Terence’s bishops in place with his rook. The speedster, unthinking, flashes another piece into position. Gabriel’s queen barrels forward, cornering the king, and the game is over.
“We need a way to keep track of Desi’s plans. Know her move before she does.”
“How?” asks Terence, rolling his eyes. He picks up his king and tosses it to the ground in disgust. Lydia dusts it off, and places it back in his hand.
“With ink, and a little help from Ms. Patty Bonifacio.”

*****

“Keep your fingers to yourself, Albao.”
Desi turns her attention to her technological consultant, reduced to a starry-eyed child at the sight of The Company’s vast collection of scientific instruments. Some of them she could identify – electron microscopes, centrifuges, and those things that looked like irons that doctors were always using to bring the dead back to life. The rest was a complete mystery - massive columns that opened down the middle and swallowed up test subjects, three-pronged needle guns, and something that vaguely resembled a guillotine.
Domz was enjoying what had always been to Desi just another set of shiny trophies that she, the rookie, wasn’t allowed to touch. For her first order she could have Domz explain them to her. Or perhaps have him take them apart. That would drive her prisoners nuts.
As she thinks this, she throws a smug look at the painter gasping on an operating table. Just another sign of The Company’s failure – their best precog was obviously malnourished. She could’ve used scotch tape to tie him down.
“Elucidate something for me, Ms. Mina,” says Domz. Desi smirks; for some reason, the scientist was always trying to put on an air of authority. His efforts were of course thwarted by his constant lisping. She didn’t see why he bothered. Everyone knew who was pulling the strings.
“What is it now, Domz?”
“You wanted to take over your father’s banking corporation so that we could sell people powers. But as I understand it, the abilities are attached to the posthumans. How do you trade something like that?”
Desi had been hoping he’d ask. She’d been dying inside, waiting for someone to bring it up. The suspense was wasted on Renz and the soldiers.
“Evolution gave them powers; now evolution is going to take them away.”
That ridiculous face. How she hated it when Domz’s lip folded in that manner.
“Tell them to bring in the catalyst.”
Sighing, Domz obeys. He steps into the hallway for a moment, and when he returns, he is followed by three armed guards shoving along a bear of a man in shackles. He was uncannily large and hairy, with dark skin, and dead, tired eyes.
“Mr. Albao, meet Catalyst J. He’s a posthuman with a very special ability. It can’t be used for combat. Shall I tell you the history behind him?”
Domz’s shoulders sag as he realizes he doesn’t have a choice. The guards push the catalyst into a corner, and point their guns at his head. Desi pulls up a stool and daintily folds her legs to the side. She primly brushes her blouse with the back of her hand, and clears her throat.
“My uncle, Dale Garcia, was a posthuman researching on genetic mutation. In other words, he was trying to manufacture people with powers. He created J as a way to transfer perfected abilities from imperfect patients, so that they could prolong their studies.”
“You mean this man,” says Domz, gesturing to the so-called creation, “can ---”
“Yes. He can take powers from one person and give them to someone else. Boys, unlock those cuffs. I’m about to give one of you the ability to paint the future.”
The guards waste no time obeying orders. Desi’s puppet strings run taut through J’s veins, and she motions with her fingers to move him forward. Ancer groans against his restraints, now profusely sweating.
Domz watches as J’s broad, plump hands close in around Ancer’s neck. If the catalyst was trying to fight Desi’s power, it showed only in the remorseful black of his eyes. The scientist realizes he must’ve been in her possession for quite some time. His spirit was broken.
Ancer begins to squeal; the CEO closes her fingers around empty air, and J follows suit. The shadows of the guards leap at the walls, rising and bending over the ceiling. Pale, twinkling red light escapes from J’s hand as he sucks the painter’s lifeblood away – not the gentle glow of stars, or the warmth of a candle, but the eerie glint present in a snake’s fang, the hopeless warning light of a speeding truck in the pouring rain.
An audible crack.
Desi maneuvers her beast toward a guard, who flinches. She holds him in her power as well, stilling his quivering legs, and forces J to grab him by the shoulders. The light flashes once more.
The light was dying, Domz thinks. Dying with every ray.

*****

Jethro could think of few benefits to having a ghost hovering around him night and day. One of those invented advantages was the ability to blame his awkwardness on someone who wasn’t really there. If he knocked something over, it wasn’t him. It was her. If ever his shoes were to begin sliding away from a confrontation – well, that would be his mysterious voice dragging him away.
If she was here, now, on the second floor back landing, she wasn’t being much help. He was going to have to face Chester himself. Everybody liked his best friend when he was asleep, and to some degree when he was awake, but nobody wanted to be near Chester when he was angry. That would be like stepping on a rabid dog’s tail with a pair of cleats.
“Dude,” he begins, gulping, “we’re super running out of time. We’re completely beyond unprepared for Paskoncert. If you’re not gonna practice Hymn of the Wind with Elise and Ma’am Kiel, then you might as well rehearse with me.”
Chester’s eyes remain shut; the rest of him remains anchored to the unused table sitting outside the stuffy journalism room. Around the corner to their left, the sopranos are threatening to shatter glass.
“Not now, man. Can’t you see I’m not in the mood?”
“Screw that,” pushes Jethro. He was half hoping Chester hadn’t heard him. “I’m gonna pull the you-know-what for you-know-who during our performance. It has to be perfect. Let’s go rehearse.”
His lanky friend grazes his teeth over his lip. “You don’t even have a song yet.”
“Because I need your help with the lyrics!”
Chester leans forward, kneading his temples. “Poco! Jethro says he needs you!”
“What? Wait, I can’t -”
There were a lot of things Jethro was afraid of. And a lot of those things were easily avoidable. All except awkward conversation. He whirls around to leave and comes face to face with Poco, an eager albeit confused look on his face.
Jethro jabs Chester in the shoulder, praying he doesn’t hit back too hard. Instead, the synesthete hisses. “Leave me alone, man. Go be bros with Poco.”
Walking back to his guitar, Jethro casts a quick glance at his much shorter classmate. What did they have in common? Homework. And not having a promdate. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to talk about that.
“Look, dude. Seriously, you don’t have to uh, help me out. I dunno what Chester’s problem is.”
When Poco begins to speak, Jethro jumps. He’d thought the kid had walked away.
“He’s having trouble with acads. He’s in danger of failing some stuff. And uh, dropping out.”
Jethro frowns. “What? Since when? Why didn’t he tell me?”
“You, uhm, never asked.”
The crisp sound of Jethro’s guitar case zipping shut momentarily outweighs the sound of the rest of Strontium hitting high notes. Jethro sighs, and turns to Poco again.
“What else did he tell you?” The musician’s brain scrambles for information, pieces of Chester’s long winded stories. It’d been awhile since he’d had to sit through them. In hindsight, he kind of missed them. Sort of.
“He’s a special and…so are you.” Poco manages a grin.
What did Chester think being special was? It wasn’t some coupon you could wave for free food. Didn’t the guy have any common sense? Never tell anyone you’re a special, unless they’re a special too. Maybe not even then.
There was one exception to that rule, but he was long gone.
“Chester just…thinks he is.” Jethro didn’t know why he’d said that. He knew perfectly well what Chester was capable of. David had told him so. “Anyways, thanks for the concern, Poco, but you really uhm, kind of wouldn’t…get it. You know? Sorry for bothering you.”
As Poco turns away, Jethro hears him whisper. Poco probably didn’t mean to say so himself, but Jethro heard him. “Yeah. I guess we normals wouldn’t get it.”
Perhaps it was his size that so reminded Jethro. Or the distance. Something about the moment was painfully familiar.
“Actually, dude…wait.” Jethro lays a hand on Poco’s shoulder. “Here. This is what I wanted it to sound like. Maybe you can…find me some words.”

*****

Even the homeless wanderers who stretched their weary legs by the side of the river rarely ever gave it a second look. Nowadays, Pasig was cloudy and featureless, merely an extended pool of mud that was always looking for a pristine ocean. Anyone who bothered to turn their heads and glance was assaulted by the smell of neglect and dying fish.
Unwatched and unnoticed, two specks travel along the river’s length. The first races over the stagnating foam, just a blur throwing up a soundless, muddy trail behind him; the second soars over the surface of the water, creaky wings straining to keep up with his companion.
The two approach a bridge, and within seconds, have landed on a shabby tugboat bobbing under it. One of the figures throws open the trapdoor on the deck, and both duck inside. Pasig lazily murmurs goodbye, sapped of the vigor needed to lap onto the banks.
“Light, Joseph,” says the older man. He snaps his fingers brusquely.
“Yes, Sir.”
A weak incandescent bulb, hanging on gnawed wiring from the ceiling, flickers open. David takes his fedora off and squints to get a better look at his survivors.
Slumped onto a crate is Wren Benzon, her once long black hair hanging in an uneven cut around her hunched shoulders. She bucks, and the distinct splash of seasick vomit echoes across the room. Benedict Almirol rubs her back, sighing, as one hand goes to his electronic visor. He turns a dial, providing himself some night vision.
Father JI Bautista’s long legs fold underneath the only chair in the room; his priestly robes are draped over some sandbags and rope. Sean Fortuna stands facing the wall, one hand rubbing his neck; his forehead droops and thumps on the wood every now and again. Romeo Manangu has one hand grabbing the low ceiling beams for support; his left arm is in a makeshift cast.
“This is it?” David asks. His mossy brows knot. Again, JI, familiar with the unique sound of a heart pumping sap, turns a jaded eye to him. The plant-man takes a step forward, and puts a hand up. His vascular tissues tense; an empty breath transpires from his lips. “H-how,” he mutters. “How fast?”
“Half a day, eighteen hours tops,” growls Benny. “They took everything. Caught everyone. All except us. You’re looking at the only Company agents left.”
The bulb sways as the boat lurches. It fizzles out for a moment; when it comes back, Jowi has returned with some packets of food and a couple of water bottles. Wren straightens up, and begins to sob.
“Condition,” breathes David. He turns to Benny, who avoids his gaze.
“JI – tired but without a scratch. A couple of razor blades lopped off some of Wren’s hair; apparently the ones sent to the Palawan branch can’t follow orders as well as the others. She’s not so good on water. I’m okay, but my glasses were stepped on. Jowi has a bunch of cuts from running through jungle; he looks like a tiger under those clothes. Romeo’s arm is broken, effectively making him useless in battle. He’s still pretty good for filching supplies though. And Sean…”
Benny turns to the youth dragging his palm across the wood. Sean licks his lips, shakes his head, and then walks away, deeper into the darkness.
“Empaths sustain powers on memory of the special they copied the ability from. When Desi broke his neck, he used a borrowed ability to heal himself. But after that…he couldn’t access any of his memories. Ergo, no powers. Boy’s lost himself.”
David pauses for a moment. His stomach was heaving. But only so slightly.
“Where was I when this happened?”
Benny doesn’t respond, and the words die on David’s lips. Something silvery from the opposite side of the room glints; heavy footsteps, like anvils being dragged across the floor, approach them. Where the pale light touches the figure, there a fist is raised. No one moves to stop it as it connects with David’s jaw, carrying about as much force as a speeding freight train.
“That’s a good motherfucking question, boss!”
Adre seethes as his thrown punch knocks his superior off his feet; the mass of branches and vines tumbles to the ground – the sound of timber collapsing. JI has jumped up, and Wren’s hand goes to her lips in dismay.
The agent raises his fist again, ready to mash David’s face to a pulp. Dust scatters as Jowi zips between them, holding up his injured hands.
“Why are you defending him?” roars Adre, as he pushes Joseph aside. His metallic fingers drag David off the floor by the collar of his trench coat. The two are now eye to eye. “We are broken, goddamn you! How could you do this to us? We mourned your ‘death’, your ‘transformation’. We lost our leader! And things just went downhill from there; heaps of shit piled up on your Company, and we were left to deal with it. And then you came back!”
“Enough, Adre,” says Benny, telekinetically dropping David back on his feet.
“I’m not through with him yet!”
The infuriated agent rams David against the wall, snapping his shoulder blades. As sap leaks out, more vines grow in place, healing the wound. The impact throws clouds of dirt from the ceiling; rats shriek and flee from their hiding places.
“You came back, and I confess, goddamn you, that I had hope. I was glad to see you come back, even if you were screwy in the head, because I thought you were going to save us. I thought about all those years I’d been working for you – I even lost my fucking arm for you – and I thought it was all over, you’d come back! But what in holy hell did you do? You went to teach ABC’s at some high school!”
Adre’s fist moves even faster than Jowi, sinking into David’s stomach.
“What did you think was going to happen, huh, boss? You could turn your back on twenty five years of lives that you changed? You could pretend you never led the Company, that you’d taken the other road? Because you weren’t there on the day that headquarters was attacked, our agents are now at the mercy of some psychopathic bitch!”
Telekinesis forces Adre to his knees; Jowi zooms past him, taking David up on deck. Wren’s tears patter to the floor. Sean sits beside her, taking her hand. His eyes, blank and uncomprehending, scope out the room. Romeo sighs.
“Let me go, Almirol! Let me go!” Adre bellows. “What do you have to say for yourself, David?! Come back down here and man up! Own up!”
“Adre, shut the hell up for a second, and listen to me!” cries Benny in anguish. “Do you think any of us had it easier? I had to leave all of my men, all of my friends, and run! Like a coward! Beating David up over this…it won’t change anything.”
“You fought. You did everything you could,” hisses Adre. “I will never forgive this sorry excuse for a man, because it was his fault I couldn’t fight to save the only thing that ever gave me purpose in life. The only thing that ever meant anything to me died with him, and he’s still here, breathing.”

*****

“Ugh. Here, take these, Domz – they’re really more your caliber.”
Desi rolls her eyes, and with a flourish, deposits a stack of drawings onto her technical consultant’s lap. Mr. Albao flips through them excitedly, before realizing that the collection of glorious acrylics he was expecting is actually only a series of childish stick figures.
“What happened?” he asks, a similar disgust in his tone.
“That nimrod guard should be sent back to preschool. Maybe then he’ll figure out how to color inside the lines. He says he could see the future flashing before him, but obviously his painting skills weren’t up to par with the special’s.”
Domz tosses the drawings to the floor, and leans back into the velvet cushioning. Desi reaches to her side and brings a delicate glass of wine to her lips, spilling not a single drop even as the limo passes over some jagged road.
“Where are we?” the inventor asks.
“According to Picasso, his drawings are supposed to predict tabloids being published – articles linking me to that bonehead politician Renz and revealing the true nature of The Establishment. Obviously I can’t let that happen. We should be nearing the warehouse now. We’re going in and putting a stop to this.”
Her companion takes a regretful look at the images penciled onto the paper at their feet. They looked nothing like what Desi had just described.
The limousine screeches to a stop, and the new executive practically kicks the door down. Her polished heels make contact with the chipped sidewalk, and as she straightens her blouse, she looks around. The building before them looked more like a shack than any sort of printing press; its roof was lopsided and the windows seemed unusually foggy. There was a big NC stamped across the doorway.
Domz follows Desi inside, brushing aside several cobwebs. “Are you sure this is the place?”
“One of those drawings was of you and me standing right here. I don’t understand. Where are all the newspapers?”
The door slams shut with a gust of wind. Domz is pushed aside as something blurs past him; Desi puts up her hand to protect herself, and feels a light prick to her skin. The door blows open again, and then all is silent.
“What the hell was that?” hisses Desi, through gritted teeth. She looks over her arm, and finds a black liquid oozing into her pores. She screams, and Domz rushes over, grabbing her. The inventor has mere seconds to observe the ink form a tattoo – a she-demon, with wild hair and terrifying claws – before the dye disappears completely.
“Get that looked at,” he says sternly, turning to the door. The mischievous cockroaches scuttling by his shoes alert him to the chaotic pile of grey and black print in the corner. “There are your newspapers. There’s not much on them, though.”
“We’ve been set-up.” Desi dabs at the tattoo with her handkerchief; when she lifts the cloth, her skin is smooth and ink-free. “Somebody’s trying to waste our time, and doing a very good job of it, too. Get moving, you oaf. I have work to do back at HQ.”
As the limousine pulls away out of the street, Domz looks sourly behind him. The warehouse has disappeared, leaving only wild grass growing on the empty lot.

*****

“Elise, do you mind if I borrow this for awhile?”
Chari was used to getting what she wanted. But early on she had learned it was always infinitely better to ask. After all, Elise was a girl, and Chari was always getting favors from boys. Besides, this was her friend’s treasured keyboard, given to her by an upperclassman from her old school.
If there was one thing Chari could understand, it was mementos.
“Sure,” Elise replies, sticking her tongue out and winking. She turns back to the tenors, and whacks one of them on the head with a copy of their contest piece. “Open your mouth! O-shape!”
The way Chari could feel their eyes on her as she slowly, daintily walked away could’ve been enough to make her drop the keyboard. She takes it, mildly straining with its weight, to Chester, still immovably distraught around the corner.
“Please tell me, Chari,” his eyes closed, “that you’re not here to convince me that I’ll be okay. Because you wouldn’t be the first person to try.”
“How did you know it was me?” she laughs. Chester is unable to fight the grin forming on his face. Her accent was adorable – which was a stretch, as adorable was not really Chester’s word.
“Strawberries,” he says, inhaling. He opens his eyes just as she sets the keyboard on the table beside him. She ropes the cord along the opposite edge, and takes his hand. Gently she presses his fingers to the black and white. A couple of notes trill away.
“I know how the colors make you feel. I wish I could see them with you.”
Chester nods, drifting back into darkness, as he plays with the music. Red, pink, and gold flutter before him, swirling and coiling past.
“So you’re not going to pretend that I’ll pass.”
“No. I was actually going to say that being in a new school isn’t so bad,” she chirps. Moving to Chester’s side, she places her head tenderly on his shoulder. “You might really like it. Leave all of the bad memories behind. Make new friends. Find someone…special.”
“Aren’t you going to miss me?”
“I can go with you,” she giggles. “We can run. I’m pretty good at running,” she adds with a semblance of a sigh. The breath appears before the boy as melancholy lavender. “Chester, what do you want to be? When you leave here?”
“I dunno. An architect. Or a businessman.”
“Really now?”
“My dad always taught me to be practical. Whatever brings on the mullah.”
“But I don’t think that’s what you really want to be,” pushes Chari. She slides her own delicate fingers over the keys, and Chester smiles at the colors. “I know you better than that, Chester. What do you want to be?”
“I want to be…free. I wanna be great. This place is just holding me back.”
“Well you can be just that. You can be as big as you want, Chester. You taught me that. I don’t want to see you leave, but I know that if you put your mind to it… You can get through this.”
Sticky words, thinks Golda. Jethro probably would never speak to her again if he knew that she was going to be behind this terrible accident. She was fated to be behind everything that was going to take Chester away from his best friend. The longer she had to do this – hiding and lying and, to some extent, stealing – the worse her stomach churned.
But the sooner she finished, the sooner Noel would have his protégé. And then Jethro would join them, anyway. In the grand scheme of things, they would all be together. If only she could bring herself to do what was required.
Slowly, invisibly, she walks toward the keyboard’s electrical cord. Firmly, she grasps it, rubbery, tingling with catastrophe, in her hand. She waits for Chester to stretch, to yawn, to have his fingers dangling carelessly by the keys.
And then she pulls.
The keyboard practically flies off the edge of the table. Chari screams in horror, and Chester reaches out in vain to catch it. Elise’s most prized possession clatters to the ground noisily, the impact with the tiles sending it skipping several feet. White and black teeth snap off, and the keyboard moans a low final note before lying defeated on the cold ground.
Elise turns around, eternities passing before she meets Chari’s terrified eyes. Hopeless heartbreak washes over her face, and she drops to her knees before the wreckage. Chester hands her the shattered keys.
“I’m sorry! I don’t know what happened!”
“Oh my god! Chester, how could you?”
Chari gets between them, as Elise rises to her full height. An uneasy coldness has come over their class president, but something wicked burns in her eyes.
“It was my fault, I borrowed it,” pleads Chari, taking Elise’s hand. Her friend’s anger subsides. “I should’ve checked the cord; I’m sorry. I probably tripped on it -”
“It’s not your fault,” Elise says. She throws a broken look at Chester.
“An accident, Elise,” he mutters. “I-I’ll buy you a new one. I can replace it, get it fixed, just please don’t-”
“Maybe it’s better if you leave, Chester.” Elise’s lip quivers; her words are soft but thunderous. The rest of Strontium exchange nervous glances. Jethro, standing in file, gulps. He wasn’t going to get out into the middle of that. “You’re no use here anyway.”
“You don’t mean that, Elise,” Chari intercedes again. This time, Elise merely cradles her busted keyboard in her arms, turns her back, and walks away. Chester angrily swings his backpack over his shoulders.
“I know you saw, Chari. I didn’t touch the stupid thing,” he says as he brushes past her on the way to the stairwell. “It fell by itself. Whenever some bull happens, it’s my fault. Everything always goes wrong around me. So yeah, I’m taking Elise’s advice. Tell her I’m sorry.”
“Where are you going?” Chari cries.
“You said so yourself. I deserve to be happy. I deserve to be greater than this. Better than to be yelled at by everyone. I’m going to the one place that’s made me feel home in a long, long time.”
Without asking, Chari already knows. She takes her bag, and takes a few tentative steps. “I’m going with you.”

*****

“I got into a fistfight once,” David says grimly, swaggering over to the edge of the bridge. He looks down into the dark water, shattered colors trickling down across the surface from the dim lamps along the road. Joseph stands silently beside him.
A few seconds pass before the fallen leader speaks again.
“Well, it wasn’t much of a fight, to be honest. Before the powers set in, I was kind of a wimpy kid. Didn’t like physicality. I read a lot, though. The classics, and then some. Put lots of ideas into my head. Got me asking questions. Has a book ever done that for you, Joseph?”
Only a muffled response escapes into the chilly December air.
“You’re right,” laughs David. He clears his throat, and waits for the echoes of his hollow laughter to diffuse into the night. “Not much time to read nowadays, huh? What with all the earthshaking news and such. Company’s been taken over, I hear. That’s quite…terrible, isn’t it?”
Joseph sighs. “I’m sorry, Sir. I know what it meant to you.”
“Why does everyone call me that? I don’t think I’m that old yet. Forty-something, I guess.” As he says this, David puts a withering branch of an hand to his face, kneading the bruise left by Adre’s lead-heavy fist.
Across the city, lights begin to die out. The last beastly growls of speeding motorcycles fade away, and for a moment the entire world is quiet.
“My life’s been a series of wrong choices, hasn’t it, Jowi?”
“I…wouldn’t know.”
“There are times when I put my hand to my chest and I can’t feel anything. No heartbeat, no blood. Would it be wrong if I said that it didn’t hurt, Jowi? You apologize for me but you don’t understand; there’s this hole in me, and….the Company being torn apart by dogs… Abednego’s anger… it doesn’t mean as much as it should. It doesn’t…hurt.”
Jowi’s wounded hands close around the cold steel of the bridge railings; below them, a heated discussion has begun between Benny and Adre. Their words seem to sail just below David’s tired, olive eyes, and then sink back into the river.
“Why won’t you say anything? Aren’t you going to excuse me of being a monster? I don’t blame Adre. He’s right. All of this was my fault. I betrayed everyone by leaving.”
Joseph hesitates. He wonders whether to pat the man on the shoulder, and if it would be right to throw disappointment at him. In the end, nearly a minute later, he does neither.
“I’m not much of a talker,” he begins, slowly. “But your choices and your past are your own. You should do what you think is best now. Maybe find your humanity again.”
David lifts his head, and his fedora casts a shadow across his face. From the depths of that darkness, he flashes Jowi a weak smile, crooked and uneven from the bruise on his face.
A heavy metallic thud behind them alerts them to Adre’s presence.
“I’m leaving in the morning,” he announces, authority in his voice unlike any David has heard from him before. “And when I go, I’m taking the rest of them with me. Joseph can stay with you if he wants, but me and the others – we’re going to salvage whatever we can from your mess. This’ll be the last time, boss. It was…” and here he falters, “a good run.”
Adre turns his back, not waiting to be acknowledged, and disappears down the bridge. The boat below them lurches, and the river groggily laps against the shore. Bats sweep under them, casting shadows all around, as their wings flutter silently through the air.
“You should join him,” David says, some time after, eyes closed. “He has a plan, I think. He could use your help.”
Jowi watches him cast a final, hopeless look into the murk. When David turns to him again, expecting an answer, he shrugs. Then he swings himself over the rails, barely touching the abyssal waters as he lands, and zips away, leaving only a streak of soundless foam in his wake.

Season of Reckoning

Ordinary People. Extraordinary Abilities.

Real People. Unreal Adventure.

Episode 7 – The Unnatural Order of Things

Written and directed by: David Justin R. Ples

Co-directed by: Rebecca Yu and Benedict Almirol

Previously, on SR…

“This is Rika Meyes; you’ve reached the office of Detective Dominic Ecat.”

“They want us alive. I don’t know what for. They won’t kill us yet.”

“You’re going after our carnivalettes. That’s cute, Lab-labs. I approve.”

“I’m assigning you to make friends with Poco.”

“He might not even go to prom, unless he does a total 360.”

“I have no home. I have no family. Twice promised, twice denied. No more.”

Now, SR continues.

________________________________________________________________________

In just the way it seemed to happen to all secretaries living high octane, caffeine fueled lives, Yvanne read her own thoughts like a continuous shopping list, efficiently skimming and plucking out important clauses and neatly discarding the rest.

Bed. Neatly folded sheets, plush purple, changed last week.

Shelves. Excessive number of books on psychology and the human mind.

Cabinet drawers. Inventory on the floor, care of Detective Ecat.

Her eyes flicker over to the dark skinned, curly haired man rummaging through the polished ancient wardrobe resting against the wall of Claudine’s room. He’d come surprisingly fast, and without asking for directions, which suited Yvanne just fine. She didn’t have time to send him an email, what with all the filing and paperwork Desi had loaded her with in the past two days.

Desktop computer, shut off, I don’t have her password.

Cups holding pencils, irrelevant.

A pair of batteries. Oh my God. I bought those for the new bug zapper!

“You don’t look very worried, for someone who just lost a relative.”

The detective’s voice was raspy. Yvanne realizes he’s talking to her.

“She left a note, told a lie, took some cash. She wasn’t kidnapped and the house wasn’t broken into. She ran away.” Each syllable lengthens as it scrapes through her teeth, as though she is determined to make her statement untrue by grinding it down. “I didn’t lose her; she misplaced herself.”

Dominic Ecat shrugs, and goes back to work. Yvanne was sure she could scramble through all of Claud’s belongings faster, but she’d paid the man already. There was no point in wasting money. She couldn’t afford to.

Failing test papers. This girl is getting lazy. Does she have a boyfriend?

Taxi company number scribbled on post-it. Have we tried calling that already?

Soccer shoes. Thank goodness they’re clean. At least she kept up housekeeping.

Yvanne’s thoughts come screeching to a halt. Where had all those Total Girl magazines gone? And those issues of Seventeen – where were they? She sweeps the room with her eyes and catches a glimpse of them, still in their sealable vinyl wrap, under a disorganized pile of neon nail polish bottles.

That kid is such an ingrate. After all the nice things I’ve bought her…

Yvanne pivots on her heel, and lays a hand impatiently on her hips as she comes face to face with portraits of Claud’s parents, hanging over the bed.

“Oh my God,” she says, and the detective sighs, looking up. “Her parents are going to roast me alive when they find out. You have to find her, Mr. Ecat.” Dominic’s nose wrinkles, and as their gazes meet, Yvanne just barely resists the impulse to put up her hands and shield her eyes. The detective’s contact lenses were an otherworldly hazel.

“Rika and I have put together a few leads. You’re cousin isn’t the only one who’s missing. We have reports of other teenagers, ages fourteen to nineteen, who’ve just disappeared off the face of the earth.”

Somewhere inside Yvanne, a tiny speck of worry manages to bubble to the surface. That minute quantity of anxiety is quickly washed away with all her other thoughts.

“I have some photographs. Maybe you could help us identify these other kids.”

With a flourish, Dominic hands her several pictures. Yvanne squints, sifting through her memories like a file cabinet. She couldn’t place any names; she didn’t even know who Claudine’s friends were. Did Claudine know anyone in braces? Did she have braces? Was she even old enough to get braces? How old was she?

“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” she snorts in reply.

“Can you at least tell me where she likes to hang out?”

Another blank.

The detective’s shoes make no sound as he marches into the living room, Yvanne close behind. He clears the coffee table of junk – fast food wrappers, empty soda cans, some receipts and contracts – and like lightning, begins to lay down all of their available evidence.

My God. Our house looks like a circus blew through it.

And just like that, Yvanne’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. A smile breaks across her face, the way it does to secretaries living high octane, caffeine fueled lives when they pick up gossip worth spreading.

“Wait, detective! I think I might have something useful. Before she disappeared, Claud was always yammering on about some carnival or something that stopped at a nearby town.”

*****

“Gizzelle Golda Labalan!”

For the life of her, the magician never could seem to figure out how Alla always knew when she was about to head out. It was as if she couldn’t turn invisible at all – like she had gone through the trouble of putting on a neon sign and announcing her departure over the speakers.

She grins in amusement as one of Alla’s elongated braids snatches at thin air. Her cousin hadn’t quite gotten her location right. She steps out into the light, tips her hat in the usual respectful manner, and toddles over.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I have a story for you,” Alla gushes, taking Golda by the arm. She drags her cousin around the tents, excitedly spewing information in her acquired Southern Valley girl accent. Golda makes sure to nod every now and again, but as she digests the news, she notices Candy and Lydia having a much darker discussion by the dinner table.

“Alla. I have to go. If I don’t hurry -”

“I know, I know,” the Bearded Lady finishes. Golda is glad to see that she is clean shaven for the moment; it was always so difficult to take her seriously when she had a hairy caterpillar above her lip. “You have to go see Jethro.”

“Well, yeah,” shrugs Golda. “He needs me.”

“Oh wow, Gizzy,” Alla smirks. “That’s a big leap from ‘he doesn’t want me around’. I thought you said he found you annoying or something?”

“He’s not totally receptive, is what I said,” says Golda, lightly slapping her cousin’s hand off her shoulder. The two laugh, and pause for a moment to watch the orange and yellow streamers overhead flap in the wind.

“So you haven’t been listening to a word I said?”

“I’m a very good listener, Alla dear. Lydia has a tattoo of a detective on her back and now Noel’s tense because he’s not sure how to handle it. Look, you don’t have to worry. I can still cloak us from PSHS Ilocos.”

“Yeah, like if you can keep your mind on us and off your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” laughs Golda. “Well he is, but he doesn’t know yet.”

“That’s not how it works, okay, Lab-labs,” Alla says, laughing. Her bright pink cheeks swell with glee. Golda raises her eyebrows.

“Yeah, because you would know.”

The Bearded Lady’s nose wrinkles and her hair, trailing freely behind her, snaps into a ponytail. The magician purses her lips, wishing she could take back her words, and begins to fade away. Alla stares her down right until the last pigments vanish.

“I’m sorry,” comes Golda’s quiet voice from the void.

Alla takes a moment to sigh, shoulders sagging. Her cousin materializes behind her and lays a sympathetic head against her jacket.

“Yeah, it’s okay. Past is past; that’s like, whatever already. Anyway, what I was trying to say was that I wanted to go with you this time. See, I figured it would be a good idea to advertise the carnival, because you know, it’s a school, and kids love going out. Well, normal kids do.”

Golda steps back and shakes her head. “No.”

“What? Why not?”

“He can’t know I’m from the carnival, dear,” she reminds Alla politely. “He hates us, remember? We have to take this slowly, from the right angle, or we’ll lose him.” Here she pauses. “I’ll lose him.”

“And what about when he figures out you’re trying to ruin his friend’s reputation? How is he going to feel about that? Gizzy, you can’t start a relationship with lies. Or secrets.”

The magician takes Alla by the hand, leading her away from the other carnies just beginning to emerge from their trailers. She adjusts her glasses, and inhales deeply.

“I’m not lying to him. I’m just leaving out the part where I’m not such a perfect person. I want him to like me, okay. Once he likes me, he’ll figure out how to deal with the whole carnival deal.”

Alla turns away, and keeps her eyes on the ground. Golda figures she’s tracing memories through the dirt. She knew what the Bearded Lady was keeping under her hair, and if she didn’t want to talk about it, then Golda would resign to being there for her.

Just not now. She had to see Jethro and push forward with Noel’s plan.

*****

It wasn’t that Poco didn’t like Ma’am Kiel as an adviser; she was certainly an example for all of them, having graduated from the school herself. He only wished that she didn’t keep on wading waist-high into everyone’s issues.

As the rest of Strontium converges at the auditorium’s double doors, anxious to spend the remains of their universal break studying for an upcoming long test, Poco lingers behind. Silence was the cloud by which Poco hid himself – all the unwanted, undesirable quirks – and from which he watched. He could name the burdens they carried on their shoulders.

That was the way it should’ve worked. Poco listening, Poco helping. Not Poco being pitied, which was what Ma’am Kiel’s eagerness had brought upon him. He was scattering eggshells and everyone was tiptoeing over them.

As the auditorium door shuts, Elise’s voice echoes across the sea of seats.

“Hey Poco! I need help with the choreography.”

By the way the girl was hopping up and down, Poco figured she didn’t have much on her shoulders. Come to think of it, Elise was the only one who was smiling a hundred percent of the time. Maybe if he stuck beside her, that talent would rub off on him.

“Why me?” he asks, clearing his throat, as he trots up onto the stage.

“Because I know you can dance. Look at those footsteps. You’ve got rhythm!”

Elise brushes back a couple of curly locks, and trots over to her iPod on the ground. She turns the dial, raising the volume on the speakers. A light tap, and a new song begins to play.

“I was thinking about doing either this,” she says, waving her arms in front of her face, “or this,” she appends, swaying side to side. “Any suggestions?”

“Go with the gummy worms,” says Poco. The remnants of an old smile just barely run across his lips. Elise chortles, and tinkers with her iPod again. This time, something ethnic, almost feral begins to play.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a corrido from my Capoeira class. Come on, dance with me!”

Poco gulps as their class president falls into the beat, rocking back and forth on her knees, legs alternating behind her along a triangular base. She claps her hands together, and they part to reveal a fire in her eyes and a light in her smile. The Capoeira bateria continues to soar in the background, with long-stringed berimbaus and tambourines overlapping with Brazilian cheers.

“Move…your…feet!” Elise cries, hands touching the ground as she swings her leg in a wide arc. Poco is forced to tilt back, narrowly avoiding her shoe, and as he sweeps forward again, he finds himself caught in the music. He mimics Elise’s techniques, and they match each other, ducking, rolling, and leaping with the drums.

“I thought Capoeira was just a fighting style!”

“It’s a way of life!” beams Elise. “It fills you up.”

Elise tumbles across the stage, falling back on her hands gracefully. She reaches for her iPod, and without warning, jumps to a new song. Synthesized music replaces the Capoeira bateria, and as the chanting fades out, T.I. and Justin Timberlake begin to sing.

Ohhh… I’ve been travelin’ on this road too long (too long)… Just tryin’ to find my way back home (back home)…

“The old me’s dead and gone,” shrugs Elise, shaking her shoulders loose.

“Dead and gone,” echoes Poco, and they begin to dance again. Elise incorporates her Capoeira, wheeling over the aged wood. Poco snatches up his favorite cap, and fitting it snugly over his head, he throws his arms out dramatically. His knees bend and pop under him, and he twists his torso to the left. The weight of his worries thrashes against this chest, knocking the breath out of him, but as the speakers pump up the volume, his thoughts weave into the lyrics. “I turn my head to the east; I don’t see nobody by my side…”

“I turn my head to the west; still nobody in sight…”

“So I turn my head to the North, and swallow that pill that they call pride…”

“That old me is Dead and Gone,” continues Elise, fixing her eyes on Poco. He gazes right back at her, then suddenly bobs his head, pulling the cap over his face. From the shadows he whispers, “But that new me will be alright.”

*****

As a detective, it was important for Dominic Ecat to be cool under pressure. He could stand working long hours in the office, or even digging through archives under the city. He could also give chase, and it didn’t hurt that he knew how to fire a gun.

But he couldn’t handle clowns. He didn’t dislike them, but he preferred that they kept their distance. He also preferred theme parks to carnivals, although his job description left no room for choice in these matters anyway.

The gates of the November Carnival rise before him like iron titans, polished wood carved into titular letters on the arch. A barker ushers in the crowds, and Dom tiptoes on his glossy black shoes to see over them. He wonders how many of these people walk in everyday – and more importantly, how many walk out.

Dark thoughts clash with the lively red and yellow balloons that made their ascent into the sky. There was just too much color here for Dom, who spent all his time pouring over black and white print and sepia photographs.

“My brothah, my man,” says Noel, slapping a smooth palm against the detective’s back. Dom winces, and Noel steers him through the chaos of sightseers. The ringmaster was heavily dressed in chains and spiked leather belts. Automatically, Dom pulls out his handy-dandy notebook and begins to scribble.

“Are you the owner or supervisor of this establishment?”

“Yes, yes I am,” grins Noel. He snorts, and Dom worms his way out from under the carnie’s muscled arm. “We’ve been expecting you, Detective. Why don’t you have a look around? The carnival has something for everyone.”

Lydia watches the two march along the dirt paths; Candy in turn watches a tattoo form between the Painted Lady’s shoulder blades. She recognizes it to be one of the children Noel has recruited.

“He’s here for the bodysnatcher in particular,” sighs Lydia. She combs back her tawny hair, and gulps. “I can see the strings attached to this one. He’s been dealing with shady people.”

“So have you,” mutters Candy. She passes a knife along her fingers.

Lydia ignores the comment. “He’s going to be trouble for us.”

“So off him.”

“It’s not that simple. He’s one of us. A posthuman. Candelen, today we’ve been presented with an extraordinary opportunity. You’ll see the way things are done here. And then maybe you’ll understand why I need your help.”

*****

Jethro tucks his hands into his pockets, and manages to suppress the unease gurgling in his torso. There was something sitting there in the pit of his stomach, not unlike guilt; but that couldn’t be. He’d done nothing wrong. He just had some issues to sort out – prom topping the list – and now this ominous piece of news to deliver.

Chester was in hot water again, for some reason. Maybe he’d ask about it later.

An invisible hand grabs at his sides, squeezing against his hidden layers of fat. He was hoping no one had noticed that he’d gained weight. Apparently, nobody had.

“Please, please stop doing that. Dude, seriously.”

His mysterious voice giggles, and her mirth echoes along in the wistful November air. The backpack slung over his shoulders lurches, and he hears the crisp zzzzt of a zipper closing.

(You’re just begging for a kleptomaniac to take advantage, Jethro Jamon.)

The boy sighs. A year ago, all of these things – the powers, the mutant bio teacher, the faceless entity haunting his locker – would’ve been extremely exciting. They would have qualified for bragging rights. But now that teenage rites of passage were catching up with him – Prom, argh - he just didn’t seem to have the time or patience.

(Tell me about your day so far. I’m dying for a good anecdote.)

“I’m crap at storytelling. Wait, I’ve got to talk to Chester.”

Silence wafts around them, and Jethro’s hairs stand on end. The ghost finally pulls on his polo sleeve, and shoves him toward the ASTB.

(You can do that later.)

“No, Casper, I can’t. Come on, he’s just over there.”

(You don’t want to be the one to break it to him.)

“Break what to him? All I know is he’s needed upstairs,” says Jethro. “Do you know how dumb this looks? I’m talking to empty air. People are starting to stare. Dude, Chester!”

The addressed looks up from his spot on the rails; Jethro feels the entity fade away.

“Are test scores out yet?” Chester yawns. Beside him, Chari’s head tilts very slightly, almost unnoticeably, unto his shoulders. Jethro’s nose tingles at the agonizingly sweet scent of strawberries.

“About that…. Ma’am Kiel wants you to drop by the math unit right now.”

*****

Normally, a detective like Dom would have begun an investigation by recognizing suspicious activity and making a list of things that were out of place. Such an effort would be futile, he realizes, wandering around the November Carnival. For starters, a woman with uncontrolled facial hair was currently making small talk and offering him free rides.

“I’m here on business,” he coughs. Alla looks at him, biting her lip, and then quickly resumes her best smile. “I’m looking for a girl, around sixteen years old. Her name is Claudine Duñgo. We have reason to believe she’s hiding from authorities here.”

“Unless you can give me her hair color, length, and conditioner, I’m afraid I can’t help you,” she lies.

“Then allow me to investigate myself.” The Bearded Lady throws one of her braids forward in an attempt to halt the detective’s advance; he smoothly sidesteps it and pats down his fedora. “You should know that any interference could be considered obstruction of justice. If you have nothing to hide, Ma’am, please step aside.”

As Dom takes graceful footsteps further into the crowd, Alla flashes Noel, sitting atop some crates, a silent apology. He shakes his head, and in turn glances at his sister and her honored guest, arms crossed by one of the tents.

For a fraction of a second – one that went back ages and lasted eternities – the ringmaster recalls Lydia frowning the same way as a child. She’d learned early on how to mimic their mother’s disapproval, and she’d been using the face to shame him into obedience for as long as he could remember.

Well, he was a grown man now. He was in charge; this was his carnival. He would do whatever was required of him to protect this new, loving family and the land that they owned. He couldn’t let one nosy detective put them under fire. He jumps down from his vantage point, dust scattering as his boots touch the ground.

*****

“So, how bad did I fail?” chuckles Chester as he plunks onto the Math Unit study bench. His adviser fixes a steely gaze on him, and looks as if she’s mentally breaking him into pieces for closer inspection. She didn’t look too mad, which was good; she looked like she had a long lecture prepared, which was not.

“See for yourself, Mr. Ragudo,” she answers, unusually curt. Ma’am Kiel slides his answer sheet across the table, and folds her hands primly over her knees.

Chester takes one look and is immediately blinded by a spectrum of mismatched colors. His vision cuts through the sore neon oranges and ethereal purples and finally falls upon the score box.

“What?! I got a zero!”

“Or a five, whichever way you want to look at it. Chester, you didn’t get a single item right. Your solutions are only half-written, and you completely disrespected the multiple choice section. There are only four choices, A to D, so I can’t see why you would answer as far as G or L.”

Chester rubs his eyes vigorously, as if the reality sitting in print before him was merely a layer of paint that would peel off if he smudged hard enough. He goes over his answers, and curses, ignoring the presence of a teacher before him. It was true; not a single question right. And yet…

“Wait, Ma’am! This isn’t what I wrote! These aren’t my answers!”

Ma’am Kiel frowns, and characteristically uncaps several gel pens. She turns away, and begins to check quizzes; her reply comes shortly afterward.

“They’re on your paper, Chester.”

“But I didn’t write this,” he pushes. “I remember my scratch work, and this isn’t it. Ma’am, seriously, you have to believe me. I’m not this stupid.”

“But you do have a record for being this lazy. The rest of your teachers are saying you can’t keep an eye open in their classes. You don’t pass projects and you won’t take up extra credit. Chester, you’re failing. Badly. This long test and the periodic exam are your last chances, and quite frankly, you’re blowing it.”

The words waft in one ear and out the other. Chester looks up, not having registered anything, and whines in protest. “Ma’am, you can’t grade me for answers that aren’t mine.”

“They’re on your answer sheet in dry ink, Chester!”

“But I can prove I didn’t write this!”

“Really, Chester? Because I’d love to see you explain forty incorrect responses.”

Chester hated it when her voice took that sharp, dangerous turn. But an injustice had been done to him, and a beastly fury was building in his bones. Whatever the teachers had been saying about his tendency to fall asleep, he was wide awake and seething now.

“Well?” Ma’am Kiel sighs. She runs her fingers over her temple in frustration.

“The colors!” Chester blurts out. “The colors are all wrong!”

“What?”

“When I do math, the numbers have colors. That’s how I know I’m doing it right. The colors on this piece of paper don’t match. They’re not my colors!”

Ma’am Kiel stands up, and gathers her things. Typical, Chester thinks. She’s walking out on me. She raises her chin slightly, and her scar throbs in defiance.

“Don’t waste my time, Chester. Just take your paper and go.”

“No, no, no,” moans Chester, slapping a hand on the table to pick up his test. “You don’t understand! I have synesthesia; I can see colors in numbers and letters. I know I wrote different answers. I knew they were right. Somebody changed my work!”

The teacher whirls around suddenly, and Chester plops back onto the bench.

“Let’s say I give you the benefit of the doubt. You do have this, this power, that no one else has, that you’ve only told me about now. How could anyone have changed your answers? I keep my files with me at all times. My cubicle is all the way into the Math Unit. Who could’ve touched it, Chester? And who would?”

“I don’t know,” the boy growls in reply. He drops his head onto the bench. He had known he was failing, but his grades had started to look up when his ability manifested. He couldn’t explain this bull any more than Ma’am Kiel could.

“Look, Chester. I want to believe you. I really do. But your performance speaks for itself. I’m warning you now; anything less than a perfect score in the periodic exam will get you a 2.75 in my class. The third quarter is not a good time to fail, Chester. You’ve made it too far and have too much to lose.”

He didn’t want to hear anymore. A leaden curse escapes his lips as he shoves the door open, and slams it shut.

*****

No investigation would be complete without the thrill of the chase.

Dom had seen Claudine ducking behind one of the game booths. She had known he would be here, and now he knew that she was here, as well. Yvanne would finally cool her heels and another case would be closed, as soon as he caught up with the naughty teenager.

What was interesting was that he’d seen another girl with her. He wasn’t sure yet, but she looked a lot like one of the other missing girls on the posters. The carnival was hiding these kids, or worse, stealing and smuggling them, and would have to be thoroughly searched and scrutinized.

The detective follows the shadows as they retreat into the House of Mirrors. He basks for a few more seconds in the light of day, before plunging into the dimly lit halls. The weak incandescent bulbs along the ceiling serve only to bathe his reflections in a menacing glow.

“Miss Duñgo! I know you’re in here! It’s time to come home!”

Dom flinches as movement catches his eye. He whirls around, and comes face to face with several other detectives, all panting and sweating, perfectly matching the horror dawning on his face. He backs into a row of mirrors, and cautiously gropes along the glass, looking for another passageway.

The corridor thins – or does it? – and his reflections seem to crowd around him, horribly disfigured now. The misshapen doppelgangers bob up and down as Dom hurries past. Voices fill the hallway, and echo off the walls.

“H-hello, Miss Cuesta,” coughs Dom into his mobile phone. A wall of static arises, and he is forced to raise his voice. “I’ve locked onto your cousin’s location. She’s here, at the November Carnival, and she’s trying to avoid me. There’s no need to -”

Suddenly, all the nerves in Dom’s hand erupt into agonizing pain. He drops his cell, but before it hits the ground, a bright orange spear impales it, breaking it apart. The Bearded Lady pulls her hair back, and the detective has just enough time to gasp before Alla swings a mighty braid under his legs, knocking him to the ground.

“I’m really, really sorry I had to that.”

Dom kicks back, bumping into a mirror. The entire hall trembles, and his reflections seem to leap up in surprise. Noel steps into the room, cape fluttering behind him. Candy and Lydia, some distance away, turn their backs and guard the entrance.

The detective reaches for his gun; Noel’s pupils follow the motion of his hand, and once more, lightning thrashes Dom’s skin and bones, threatening to splinter him into pieces. His body convulses under the sudden pain, and he lies like a ragdoll at their feet.

Claudine and Dani squeeze into the hallway, and the bodysnatcher puts a shaking hand to her mouth. “You can’t kill him! He was looking for me; he didn’t know what he was getting into.”

One of the light bulbs in the hall sputters and blinks out; the darkness sweeping across Noel’s face makes him look centuries older. Suddenly Claudine is certain it is within the ringmaster’s power to end Dom’s life.

“What are you going to do?” Alla asks. Her hair tames itself, and her beady, pleading black eyes search Noel for compassion. If only Golda had stayed today. They could have avoided all this.

“Yes, Noel, what are you going to do?” echoes Lydia. She raises an eyebrow at Candy, who tenses and waits. Both Noel and Dom were at the end of their rope.

The ringmaster closes his eyes, and his chest swells with the heartache of all around him. The scars on his back throb, and seconds pass as he soaks in his surroundings.

“I’m not going to do anything,” he announces, and Lydia’s mouth cuts into a straight line. Noel turns to Claudine, sighs, and then finishes, “You are.”

Dani steps in front of her friend, baring her fangs. Her fingers hang like claws in the air, and her arm bends into a crook, making her look like a praying mantis.

Noel ignores this and continues, talking to Claudine, “Your friend came to us in her time of need. She was searching for a home, for a family, and in this carnival she found solace. This detective can’t be allowed to live, knowing what he knows about us. It would put us all in danger. If you want him to survive, and if you want our way of life, Dani’s home, to survive, then do what I say. Get into his head, erase his memory.”

Stillness and silence dominate the hall as Claudine’s heart thumps against her chest. Dom rolls over slightly, and coughs up blood. Whatever Noel had done to him, she couldn’t let him repeat.

The bodysnatcher deftly kneels by the detective’s side, and props his head onto her knees. His eyes flutter open for a moment, and Claudine meets his gaze, vanishing into the brilliant hazel.

*****

Siren wails waft over the arid earth as the last of the carnival’s visitors are ushered out. Candy reads the tattoo forming on Lydia’s back, and the Tattooed Lady realizes the police have come, led by Yvanne, to storm their gates.

“Where is she?” Noel asks, eyes locked on the approaching squad cars. Alla takes his left hand, and Lydia approaches, taking his right. Golda appears before them, reverently bowing.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. But you’ll be glad to hear that it’s begun. I’ve planted the seed of doubt, Noel. Chester will be ours in no time flat.”

“That’s great, Golda. But we have a situation to handle. Draw the veils.”

From her cushioned leather seat in the police vehicle, Yvanne strains against the barred windows. These trees were improperly placed, if anyone asked her, and she could not see around them to the carnival.

The procession turns sharply to the left, and instead of a massive Ferris Wheel or a host of orange and white tents, Yvanne’s eyes fall upon an empty field.

“Stop the car!”

A cold wind funnels by, and the scattered tufts of grass along the ground bend beneath it. Obviously somebody had read the map wrong. Yvanne angrily stomps down the incline, denting the soil.

The sound of a twig snapping sends several heads jolting to the left. Yvanne’s eyes widen as she sees the ghostly silhouette of her cousin standing among the trees.

“Claudine? Is that you?” she cries. Sure enough, the figure turns around, and her cousin slides past some parched roots to meet her. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick! What the hell are you doing here?”

The bodysnatcher turns a weary head to the vast, empty space behind them.

“Saying goodbye.”

Yvanne’s hand closes around Claudine’s wrist in a vice grip. As she drags her cousin back toward the squad car, she hisses, “You are in big trouble when we get home, you ungrateful little brat. You have no idea what I’ve had to go through just to find you! I had to hire a detective! Where is he? He said he was with you.”

Claudine sighs. They wouldn’t be seeing Mr. Ecat for a long, long time. She wipes away a single tear as it rolls down her cheek, and wishes Dani a good night’s sleep.

*****

“Noel’s master plan is hundreds of years in the making,” whispers Lydia, as she and Candy step inside her trailer. Outside, bits and pieces of the carnival begin to reappear, one by one. “He has been patient, but the Icarus Incident finally persuaded him to act. When my brother wants something, nothing is too great a cost.”

“You mean the detective. And the girl.”

“They aren’t his first victims, our first losses. Before you came to the carnival, before our brothers and sisters were revealed to the world, we had another ringmaster.”

“So Noel took control by force?” asks Candy, awed. “He killed him?”

“No.”

The sound of Noel’s voice outside sends shivers up Candy’s spine. The Tattooed Lady pauses, taking a deep breath, and continues.

“For now, my brother’s motives remain rooted in the right soil, pointed in the right direction. But his moral compass is starting to stray off course. His ambition threatens all of us, including him. If you think I brought you, Candelen Dacalos, to the carnival to save you, then you are wrong. I found you because I need you…to save us.”