The Prophet of Starfall: Episode 11

The energy blast from Kyran McAddams left a hole in the side of the Emerald Garden club big enough to drive a midsize sedan through. Kyran ran towards the opening then jumped out of the way just as Jericho leapt back inside from the street. Jericho popped his knuckles, turned his neck to stretch his muscles and said,

“Fine. We’ll do things your way.”

When Jericho started running towards him, Kyran raised his hands to fire off a second concussion beam, but Jericho dropped to his knees and slid across the floor, ducking under the blast of energy. Quickly Jericho got to his feet and struck Kyran with an uppercut that sent him flying into the ceiling.

Nathan looked back at Ian McAddams as Kyran and Jericho kept fighting, leaving behind holes in the walls and overhead lights hanging by their wires.

“Really?” Nathan asked. “I thought you were a man of logic not emotion.”

“I don’t like you,” Ian sneered.

“You don’t have to. All I want from you is what you know about Thymatec Labs and why your men were there,” Nathan said.

“I had nothing to do with that,” Ian lied.

“Seriously?” Nathan said. “What are you scared of?”

The remark wounded his pride, leaving him enraged, and Ian motioned to his men to take out this pesky “prophet.” Nathan knew who was moving toward him and exactly how long it would take them to make each move.

Following their boss’ orders, four guards positioned themselves, two on either side of Nathan.

The guard closest to Nathan’s right withdrew his pistol just as the guard to Nathan’s left attempted a surprise right cross. Nathan caught his fist and threw him into the other guard, sending both men tumbling over the chairs.

Quickly the second guard on Nathan’s right raised his weapon to fire but before he could squeeze the trigger, Nathan reached out, grabbed the slide, and removed it from the pistol. As the fourth guard reached into his shoulder holster for his Glock, Nathan grabbed the steak knife from Ian’s table and met the pistol in midair, sliding the knife through the trigger guard and pinning it to the table.

Ian looked with disgust at his four useless guards then he met Nathan’s eyes.

“And I wasn’t even trying,” Nathan said.

Nathan pulled out the Colt 45 Ethan Evermore had given him and pointed it at Kyran McAddams. Without even looking, he asked,

“Want to see what it looks like when I try?”

A nervous Ian quickly shifted his eyes from Nathan to his son, still in combat with Jericho.

“You’re a hero. You wouldn’t,” Ian said.

“Is that a challenge?” Nathan asked, raising an eyebrow.

When Ian didn’t answer, Nathan pulled back the hammer on the Colt.

“STOP!” Ian yelled.

* * *

Just as 4 21 finished stuffing the unconscious guard in a storage closet, he and Elisabeth heard the loud click of approaching footsteps on the polished floor.

“Whoever killed these people must be returning to dispose of the bodies,” 4 21 said. “We cannot be caught here.”

Quickly reaching out for the closet door handle, Elisabeth pulled it open, shoved the unconscious guard to the back of the closet then tucked in her wings, stepped inside and grabbed 4 21, dragging him in behind her. When she closed the door, she was careful to leave a slender crack.

“There is not sufficient space for three people in this enclosure,” 4 21 complained as the footsteps drew closer then stopped.

“Be quiet! Just wait a minute,” Elisabeth whispered.

Elisabeth could sense that there were at least three people in the group. She had a kind of radar her father had called spatial awareness, but unlike most metas with this power, fog or sound presented no interference. And her hearing, though not superhuman, was far above average. Turning her ear toward the voices, she listened intently.

“Clean up this mess before Ms. Reynolds gets wind of it,” a stern voice ordered.

“Yes, sir,” the other men answered.

After a few minutes, Elisabeth heard the men head down the hall. Reaching past 4 21, she pushed the closet door open. When she stepped out into the room, she closed her eyes and concentrated. She could sense that the man who had given the cleanup order was close by.

“This way,” she said, keeping her voice low.

With her eyes shut, she walked down the hall for a few moments then abruptly stopped, pulling 4 21 into a recess in the wall. Two guards walked by as she waited. When the men were out of sight, Elisabeth and 4 21 moved back out into the hallway.

A few yards up, Elisabeth signaled for them to stop at the beginning of a long passage. When she opened her eyes, 4 21 commented,

“You have radar.”

“Kind of,” she replied.

“That guy back there giving the cleanup order, either he works for Reynolds or he’s the boss,” Elisabeth said pointing to a man dressed in an expensive Italian suit.

When he turned to bark orders to one of the guards, Elisabeth gasped when she saw his face.

“That’s John Stafford!” she exclaimed.

“Who is John Stafford?” 4 21 asked.

“He’s a spineless little attorney who works for Charlene Reynolds. I knew it!” Elisabeth boasted.

“Knew what?” 4 21 asked.

“Charlene Reynolds. I knew she was involved in this. That little weasel is just delivering orders for that. . . ,” Elisabeth began.

“For Ms. Reynolds,” Elisabeth said.

“Are you certain of this?” 4 21 asked.

“Of course. You should have seen that woman. Talk about smug,” Elisabeth sneered.

“Arrogance does not prove guilt. It is possible he is working against orders,” 4 21 suggested.

“You’re defending her?” Elisabeth snapped.

“Keep your voice down!” 4 21 warned.

Realizing she was getting loud, Elisabeth lowered her voice,

“Fine.”
“I am simply saying we need more intel before such a decision can be reached. Let us follow him and see where he goes.”

“Fine,” Elisabeth repeated.

Elisabeth waited until Stafford was well down the hall then she followed with 4 21 beside her. Just before the hall curved to the right, he stopped at a door and disappeared inside.

“Come on!” Elisabeth said, hurrying to the door.

When she tried the knob, she found the door locked.

“I will have to break in,” 4 21 said, moving in front of Elisabeth.

“Wait a minute. I can force it open.” Elisabeth offered.

“I can do the same, but let us see if we can open it without setting off alarms,” 4 21 suggested.

Before Elisabeth could respond, a voice behind her asked,

“What are you doing?”

Elisabeth and 4 21 turned to see a tall hulking man watching them with a bone-chilling stare. Dressed in a cheap suit, his bulk straining the seams, he stood over six feet with a severe haircut that resembled the bristles of a brush.

“Uh oh. Have I done something wrong?” Elisabeth pouted, playing innocent.

Suddenly the brute reached out and seized her wrist. Elisabeth twisted loose but the struggle tore the bracelet free, bringing her wings into view.

“Metas!” the man spat as he reached for his walkie.

Quickly Elisabeth punched him across the jaw with her left then grabbed him with her wing and threw him down the hall. The force slammed his face into the wall, cracking the tile and plaster.

“You cannot continue with that,” 4 21 pointed out.

“Why not? It works,” Elisabeth answered.

Suddenly the man reached up, planted both hands on the wall, and pushed himself free. When he turned around, Elisabeth saw that his face was not even scratched.

“Maybe not,” she replied.

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