Impossible Things (Subparheroes), page 4
“I’m sorry. I got distracted. I dropped this report, and it fell open. When I went to pick it up, I read something that got me thinking.” The part about dropping it was a lie, but the rest was true.
Anderson’s gaze strayed to the report on my lap, and curiosity won out over lecturing me for goofing off. “What did you read?”
“That SPAM actively recruits people with powers.”
“Well, yeah. They work with superheroes. It’s right there in their mission statement.”
“No, I mean they recruit people with all sorts of powers, not just superheroes. Then they put them in regular jobs throughout the agency.”
“They do?”
I nodded and asked him, “Do you have any powers?”
He looked embarrassed. “Yes, but it’s just something useless.”
“And did they actively recruit you to come work for them?”
“They did, but that could just be a coincidence. My power is totally unrelated to the job they hired me to do.”
“Right, but like, now you work for them. So, if at any point they need someone who can do whatever it is you do, they know right where to find you.”
“What are you getting at?”
“What if you and I were both hired under false pretenses?”
He thought about that before asking, “What are your powers?”
“I don’t have any.”
He frowned and straightened his posture. “So, they probably didn’t have a hidden agenda when they hired you.”
“But my mom was a very powerful superhero, so it’s possible that I have dormant powers. Since they recruited me, maybe they’re hoping those powers activate at some point.”
“That seems like a stretch.”
“Yeah, I guess it is.” I got to my feet and reshelved the report. “Anyway, sorry again for wasting time.”
I turned to him, and we both studied each other for a long moment. Anderson was maybe five-eight to my six-foot-two, and I knew my size could be intimidating. But more than anything, there was curiosity in his eyes.
My gaze dropped to his mouth when he licked his lips. That seemed to fluster him, somehow. He stepped back and broke eye contact as he mumbled, “I, um, I came to tell you I’m planning to take a lunch break. I want to lock the archives while we’re gone, so if you want, I’ll walk you out.”
“Sounds good.”
We didn’t say anything as we made our way past the rows of shelves. But then, as he locked the double doors behind us, I asked, “Do you ever get curious about what’s in all those reports?”
“Of course.”
“Have you read any of them?”
“No. There’s too much work to do.”
“What if I wanted to do some reading?”
“You can do that when you’re off the clock, so either come in early or stay late. I’m here every weekday from about seven a.m. until around nine p.m. If you coordinate with me, I can let you in and lock up behind you.”
“And it’s okay to read whatever I want?”
“Sure. Nothing in there is off-limits with your security clearance. Just please don’t read when you’re supposed to be working.”
“I won’t. Thanks for not getting mad about that, by the way.”
“Actually, I can empathize,” he said. “During my first week on the job at my university’s library, my supervisor caught me goofing off three times. I kept seeing books that caught my interest, and I’d automatically flip them open and start reading. It was hard to train myself out of that habit.” That wasn’t the same thing since I was on a fact-finding mission, but I appreciated the fact that he was trying to find some common ground.
We rode the elevator to the main floor, and on our way to the employee exit, I asked, “Do you think there are other archives somewhere in this building?”
“Why would there be?”
“Because I doubt SPAM would make all its research available to anyone with mid-level clearance.”
He shrugged. “I haven’t heard about any other archives, but all I care about are the contents of that basement.”
I glanced at his profile. “Really? You wouldn’t be curious to know what secrets your employer might be hiding?”
“I’m sure there are all sorts of things in here that are above my pay grade. That doesn’t make them secrets, it makes them none of my business.”
Once we were outside, I pointed to the right and changed the subject. “I’m headed to an awesome food truck that’s half a block away. Want to join me?”
“Thanks for the offer, but I have plans. See you in an hour.”
With that, he took off in the opposite direction. I watched as a beautiful Asian woman with long hair hurried over to him. I thought she might be his sister, until they took off down the sidewalk hand-in-hand.
Oh. Anderson had a girlfriend.
Why did I feel a twinge of disappointment?
CHAPTER 6
ANDY
As Moira took my hand and started dragging me down the sidewalk, she said, “I’m glad you agreed to have lunch with me. I feel like I barely see you anymore, since you’ve been working such long hours.”
“I saw you three times this past weekend.”
“Which is hardly anything.”
“Where are we going?”
“There’s a South Asian café two blocks over that smelled divine when I walked past it. I know you’re a stickler for punctuality, so I’m trying to hurry. God forbid if lunch ran longer than your allotted hour.” She was right, that would bother me.
Once we were seated in the small, jewel-toned restaurant and had placed our order, Moira asked, “Why were you in such a big hurry to leave the bar on Saturday night? I know you said you were tired, but I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”
“I saw my coworker at the club, and it threw me for a loop. I didn’t tell you at the time because I felt awkward discussing it in front of Qian.”
“Which coworker?”
“Sam Miller.”
“The doofus?”
“He looked hot, M. His back was to me, and I was totally checking him out. When he turned around, I almost screamed.”
“Did you talk to him?”
I shook my head. “I bolted as soon as I realized who it was.”
“Was he there with a date?”
“I don’t think so. He was dancing by himself.”
A grin spread across her face. “You realize what this means, right?” She braced her hands on the red tablecloth and leaned in. “He’s gay, and he’s probably single, since he was at that club by himself on a Saturday night. You should ask him out.”
“There’s no way!” I hadn’t meant to be so loud. The people at the next table turned to us and stared, and I randomly noticed that one of them was using the power of telekinesis to stir their tea.
I lowered my voice and told Moira, “I can’t ask him out. For one thing, I’m his supervisor, more or less, at least while he’s on temporary assignment to my department. Also, what if he said no? Working together would be unbearably awkward after that.”
“But you like him, don’t you?”
“He’s definitely growing on me,” I admitted. “The archives are a little too quiet and isolated, but when he’s there, I feel better. Knowing he’s nearby gives me a sense of security.”
When our food arrived, I heaped my plate with rice and poured on some of my saag paneer with its creamy spinach sauce. Then Moira and I traded bowls without discussion. I loaded the other half of my plate with chana masala, a flavorful chickpea stew, and we both tucked in.
The meal ended up taking nearly an hour, so I ended up hurrying back to work. When I reached the archives, Sam was waiting to be let in. I murmured, “Sorry to keep you waiting,” as I unlocked the doors.
“No worries.”
I flashed him a shy smile, and he grinned and told me, “I never knew you had dimples.” But then he glanced at me again and gestured at my mouth. “You have something, um…”
I quickly wiped the back of my hand over my lips. “Did I get it?”
“No.”
I speed-walked to the restroom and checked my reflection in the mirror above the sink. That was when I discovered a huge wad of spinach stuck between my front teeth. Fuck my life.
Instead of bolting right at five like usual, Sam stuck around. He did immediately stop working, though.
When I went and found him at seven, he was sitting cross-legged in one of the aisles with an open report on his lap. “I was thinking about getting some dinner,” I said. “Do you want anything?”
“Hell yeah, I’m starving.” He got to his feet and stretched his arms over his head. This made his T-shirt ride up, exposing a couple of inches of skin. The fact that my gaze went right to it made me feel pervy. “If you want, I can go grab us a couple of burritos. I could use the walk.”
“That’d be great. Also, why don’t you use the seating area in my office to read? Sitting on the floor can’t be comfortable.”
“You sure I won’t bug you if I’m in there?”
“It’ll be fine.”
“Awesome. I’ll be right back with the food. Any requests for your burrito?”
“I’d like mine with brown rice and black beans, if that’s an option. Mild salsa. No sour cream or cheese. Extra veggies, if they have any.” He looked like he was fighting the urge to criticize my order. I started to pull my wallet from my back pocket as I asked, “Will ten dollars cover it?”
“I’ve got this.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know. I want to.”
“But—”
He cut me off with, “Just let me do something nice for you, Anderson. Geez.”
“Okay, fine.”
He accompanied me to the office and tossed what he’d been reading onto the small, brown sofa before grabbing his denim jacket. After he left to get dinner, curiosity compelled me to pick up the report and scan the synopsis.
It turned out to be a twenty-year-old collection of case studies on individuals whose powers manifested later in life, instead of appearing during puberty, which was most common. Given what he’d told me about his lack of powers despite having a superhero parent, I could see why he’d be interested in that.
Sam returned about twenty minutes later with two burritos that were thicker than my arm. As he handed mine over, he asked, “Are you on a diet?”
“No. I just try to eat healthy.”
“Same. But what’s life without extra cheese?” I didn’t have an answer for that.
I only made it through about a third of the burrito before admitting defeat. After wrapping up the leftovers, I gestured at the document beside Sam and asked, “Interesting report?”
“Kind of.”
“Are you wondering if you still might manifest powers at some point?”
He looked up at me with a spark of amusement in his blue-green eyes. “So, you took a peek at my reading material while I was gone.”
“I was curious.”
Sam wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and sat back. “I’m reading this because it’s educational, not because I’m hoping my powers magically appear one day.”
“It is technically possible, though. You obviously have the genetic predisposition for it, since your mom was a superhero. There are documented cases of powers emerging later in life, usually because they were triggered by some sort of traumatic event.”
“Right, but even if I did have dormant powers, who’s to say they’d be any good? I’m not going to chuck myself off a cliff, just to find out I have the power to shrink my head to the size of a peanut or some shit.”
“What if it was something great though, like flight? Not that I’m advocating throwing yourself off a cliff.”
“It doesn’t matter. I wanted powers desperately when I was in my teens, but I’m thirty-one now. After all these years, I’ve learned to accept that this is all I’m ever going to be.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being a regular guy. Besides, a lot of powers are absolute shit.”
“You never did tell me what you can do,” Sam said, “but that sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
“I have the power to summon animals.”
“That’s so cool!”
“It really isn’t.”
“Sure it is. I’d give anything to talk to animals!”
“I can’t talk to them. All I can do is call them to me. Once they arrive, they run amok and do whatever they want.”
He still looked fascinated. “You’re calling them, though. It’s like talking to them.”
“Not exactly. It’s more like emitting a signal only they can hear.”
“Does it work on all types of animals?”
“As far as I know.”
“Cats and dogs?”
“Definitely.”
“Insects?”
“No, thank god.”
Sam and I both shuddered. “Yeah, that’d be super gross,” he said. “So, just land mammals, or sea mammals, too?”
I frowned at that. “I don’t know. I’ve never gone to the beach and tried to get attacked by sea lions.”
“Oh yeah, don’t do that. Those things weigh a ton, and they’d squish you. Does it work on fish?”
“No idea.”
“Birds?”
“Sadly, yes.”
“Do you get to pick what you call, or do all the animals who hear your literal bat signal come running?”
“I have to have a specific type of animal in mind. The other day, I was out for an early morning run and happened to catch a glimpse of a raccoon off in the distance. I had no intention of calling it, but somehow, I triggered my power by accident. Next thing I knew, every raccoon within several square blocks came running. It was all I could do to stay ahead of them.”
He raised a brow. “What would’ve happened if they’d caught up to you?”
“They would have climbed all over me, looking for whatever it was they thought I was offering them.”
“Is it like, a mating thing? Do you release a scent, or a pheromone?”
“No! Gross.”
“What’s your range?”
“My range?”
“Yeah, can you attract animals that are a mile away?”
“I have no idea, and again, I’m not attracting them. I’m calling them. There’s a difference.”
He nodded. “I see your point. And thank god, right? A bunch of horny animals running after you is a very different power.”
“I don’t even want to think about it.”
I picked up my leftovers and returned to my desk as he asked, “Have you tried to train yourself, or hone your abilities?”
“To do what, exactly?”
Sam shrugged. “All kinds of things. Calling specific animals, for example. You could be one hell of a dog trainer if you were like, ‘Spot, come here,’ and Spot came running from a mile away.”
“I’ve tried to learn how to keep it from happening unintentionally, but that’s it. I’m a lot better now than when I was a teen, but I still don’t have complete control over it. It’s like… like there’s some piece I’m missing, which goes beyond concentration or willpower.”
“I still think it’s cool.” Sam balled up his wrappers and threw them in the trashcan from clear across the room, which made him shout, “Two points!”
“The only reason you think it’s cool is because you don’t have to live with it.”
“Can you do it right now, so I can see it?”
I shot him a look. “Do you really want to find out if there are mice or rats in this building? Because I doubt there’d be anything else to call.”
“Fuck, no.”
“That’s what I thought.”
He started reading his report while I went back to cataloging the stack of materials on my desk. I’d decided to work on the oldest items first, and it looked like I’d barely made a dent in the backlog.
After a while, he said, “I feel guilty. You’re working away over there, while I’m goofing off.”
“Don’t feel bad. I chose to do this. No one’s forcing me to work late.” I glanced at him, then returned my gaze to the stack of work as I added, “I’m glad you’re here. It’s nice to have company.”
“I get that. It’s way too quiet down here. Actually, would you mind if I played some music on my phone?”
“I wouldn’t be able to concentrate if music was playing.”
He frowned ever-so-slightly but let it go without arguing. After a minute, he got up and said, “I’m going to trade this report for another. I’ll be right back.”
While he was gone, I finished what I was working on and reached for the next stack of large manilla envelopes. They each had interdepartmental labels with three-year-old routing dates, but the one on top was heavier than the rest.
I slashed it with my letter opener and slid out a brown leather journal, along with a SPAM routing form. I hadn’t seen anything like the journal before, but the form came standard with all the studies and reports sent to the archives.
Instead of originating from the usual departments, this item had been sent here from a division called Site Remediation. Under the heading “Item Origination” it said: Notebook retrieved from fireproof safe, lab of Dr. Frank Mercanti, contractor with science division. No other materials recovered from scene.
I opened the journal and flipped through a few pages. The handwriting was a messy scrawl. Notes, diagrams, scientific formulas, and equations filled each page. Some parts were crossed out, with arrows pointing to sticky notes or comments jotted down in the margins.
Sam startled me when he asked, “What’s that?” I hadn’t noticed his return, and now he was peering over my shoulder.
“A notebook that apparently belonged to a scientist named Frank Mercanti. I’m not sure why it was sent here.”
“It reminds me of the stuff in the oldest section of the archives. Some of those reports include handwritten sections, and they’re bound any which way. The science divisions didn’t start using those standard issue, dark blue covers until sometime in the 1970s.”
“This is only about three years old. There’s a date on the inside cover.” I turned a page and frowned at a particularly complex formula. “I wish I knew what it was talking about.”
