Axiom-man

ALSO BY A.P. FUCHS

FICTION A Stranger Dead A Red Dark Night April (writing as Peter Fox) Magic Man (deluxe chapbook) The Way of the Fog (The Ark of Light Vol. 1) Devil’s Playground (written with Keith Gouveia) On Hell’s Wings (written with Keith Gouveia) Axiom-man Axiom-man Episode No. 0: First Night Out Axiom-man: Doorway of Darkness NON-FICTION Book Marketing for the Financially-challenged Author POETRY The Hand I’ve Been Dealt Haunted Melodies and Other Dark Poems

Still About A Girl

Go to

www.apfuchs.com

by

A.P. FUCHS

COSCOM ENTERTAINMENT WINNIPEG

COSCOM ENTERTAINMENT Suite 16, 317 Edison Avenue Winnipeg, MB R2G 0L9 Canada This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental. ISBN 1-897217-58-7 AXIOM-MAN Axiom-man is Copyright © 2006 by Adam P. Fuchs. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce in whole or in part in any form or medium. Axiom-man and all other related characters are Trademark ™ and Copyright © 2006 by Adam P. Fuchs. PUBLISHED BY COSCOM ENTERTAINMENT www.coscomentertainment.com Text set in Garamond eBook Edition COVER PENCILS AND INKS BY JUSTIN SHAUF COVER COLORS BY KYLE ZAJAC EDITED BY RYAN C. THOMAS INTERIOR AUTHOR PHOTO BY ROXANNE FUCHS This free eBook is not for re-sale.

To Kyle. Till the end.

PROLOGUE HE LOVED THIS part—the falling. The city street rushed up to meet him, the freedom of having nothing but the air surrounding his body. The wind whistled by his ears on either side of his mask. Thirty stories from ground level, Axiom-man let gravity take him, pull him, draw him forever downward toward the earth. The lights from the streetlamps below quickly illuminated the dark buildings in front of him and the building face beneath him, as he plummeted headfirst toward the traffic below. The honking of horns, the revving of engines as the streetlights turned from red to green, the hollering of people at street corners embraced him. With a quick turn upward, he swept past the street not ten feet below, banking his body sharply to the left so he could follow the flow of traffic. Flying just above the cars always brought stares and pointing fingers. “Look, there he is!” someone shouted as he zipped past. He didn’t fly low to show off; it was more about remaining visible whenever he could, a reminder to those who looked up to him that he wasn’t far off and that, if they needed him, he’d be there to help. The end of his long cape flapped against his heels, a sensation he never grew tired of. His only wish was that he could fly faster, see the world at a blur—lights behind window displays streaking past, people mere shadows as he flew by—but either way, he loved it. A pocket of air swirled beneath him as he rose upward, the buildings no longer looming over him on either side as they quickly dropped beneath him. Night was his favorite. At night, there was freedom. He moved to fly low again and soon was back level with the buses and trucks; the cars were slightly beneath him. Ahead a Transit bus pulled away from the bus stop then quickly slammed on its brakes, the two red lights in the back shining bright. At first Axiom-man didn’t think anything of it. Perhaps the bus driver forgot to double check his clearance into traffic, perhaps he was too hot and wanted to remove the jacket of his uniform before continuing on his route. But when Axiomman flew by, he caught a glimpse through the driver’s side window of a disheveled man still standing before the change receptacle, the bus driver facing him. Not fifteen feet past the bus, Axiom-man heard the muted screams from within. He whipped around, a few folks on the street yipping and hollering as the wind from his spinning around caught them off guard. Just as he speedily floated over to the doors of the bus, he heard the man tell the driver to drive. The bus tore off into traffic. Axiom-man followed. He pressed on the speed as best he could, hoping against hope that the bus driver wouldn’t end up flooring it. He knew he could only keep up for so long until the bus would be traveling faster than he could. Reaching forward, his fingertips touched the back of the bus, searching for a handhold. The bus had to be doing at least sixty kliks by now. Any more and he’d have to fall back. If only he’d been given the gift of speed. His gloved fingers grabbed on tight to where the rear window met the white metal frame surrounding it. If he hadn’t been simultaneously flying while he hung on, he would have easily lost his grip and tumbled to the ground. 8

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The bus picked up speed, the cars in front peeling out of the way as the big behemoth of a vehicle started barreling through. The bus ran a red light. Cars crossing perpendicularly screeched to a halt, narrowly missing the bus. One caught the tail end of the bus, sending the bus fishtailing. Please regain control, Axiom-man thought. The driver seemed to have heard his thought because a moment later, the bus’s path was straight again. Its horn blaring, it forced its way through the traffic. The speeding bus was met by other car horns and people shouting, most swearing. Axiom-man centered himself, focused, then gripped the rear right side of the bus and began pulling himself along the side paneling, doing his best to remain below the view of the windows. He didn’t want anyone inside catching sight of him and tipping off the man at the front who seemed to be the cause of this. Left arm stretched high, his forearm and shoulder muscles aching, he used his right hand to brace himself against the side of the bus, his fingers gripping the small ridges along the side paneling as he pulled himself forward. Almost there. The front door was about eight feet away. People shouted from the sidewalk, horns honked. Someone inside the bus screamed. Up ahead was a bank of parked cars. He saw the shadow of someone inside one of them. If they opened the door—They did. The door raced toward him. Instinct taking over, left hand still clutching a beam dividing a set of windows between thumb and fingers, he let go with his right hand and floated up just before the door would have slammed him in the face. The top of the car door grazed his chest and belly, ripping along the thick and tough material of the chest piece of his uniform. He didn’t care if it had torn or not. Banging on the glass. Someone inside had seen him. He tried to bring a forefinger to his nose to signal them to be quiet, but before he could, the man at the front moved swiftly for the driver. Axiom-man lowered himself so he was alongside the bus again and flew forward as fast as he could, all the while guiding himself along the bus. A loud bang sounded from within and the bus swerved to the left. He nearly lost his grip again as his body was lurched to the side with the vehicle. He squeezed the metal framing that ran beneath the windows hard, the metal crinkling between his fingers. He grumbled. He had wanted to do this with as little damage as possible. Pushing himself, he flew faster. When he finally reached the front doors, he saw the crumpled and bloody body of the bus driver through the windows. The bus swerved to the right as the man inside got control of the wheel. The bus picked up speed. The traffic up ahead didn’t seem to know what was happening and not a single car moved. Axiom-man reached forward and curled his right hand fingers around the flat front of the bus. Scrunching the metal, securing himself, he punched through the glass of one of the front doors with his left hand, took hold of the beam dividing the doors and tore the door off and sent it slamming to the concrete below. He caught the bus driver’s body as it tumbled toward his feet, lifted the corpse and placed it inside as fast as he could. The moment he set foot on the first step, he found a gun pointed at his face. A jolt shot through him. He was not bulletproof. The only protection he had was the tough, light blue material that ran at an angle across his chest and across his mask. The rest of his outfit was thick, navy blue tights. Quickly, he scooped the bridge between the thumb and index finger of his left hand under the man’s wrist, sending the man’s forearm flying upward, the gun pointing toward the ceiling. The gun went off. Everyone on the bus screamed. Out of the corner of his eye Axiomman caught the elderly lady sitting in the handicap spot cover her ears. The bus swerved to the left and ran up the median then rocked as it came back down off the curb on the other side. They were heading toward oncoming traffic. The man jostled in the driver’s seat and forcefully tried to lower the gun back down. Quickly, Axiom-man pushed up, his strength easily outmatching his attacker’s. The gun went off again, punching another hole in the bus’s roof. He lunged for the driver. The driver pulled on the wheel, spinning the bus one hundred-eighty degrees. Tires screeched from

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behind as cars avoided the vehicle. Sirens blared up in the distance and before long the interior of the bus was filled with flashing reds and blues. The driver stomped on the gas. The bus lurched forward. The flickering red and blue lights of the police sirens faded toward the back of the bus then were gone altogether before reappearing when the police cars behind them caught up again. “Stop the bus!” Axiom-man shouted. The driver didn’t reply. Axiom-man squeezed the driver’s wrist. A bone popped beneath his thumb. The driver cried out and dropped the gun. Axiom-man pulled on the driver’s arm, tugging the man violently toward him. With a quick right hook, Axiom-man’s fist connected with the man’s face. The guy released a low grunt as his head was knocked nearly clean off his shoulders. The side of the driver’s skull crashed into the corner of the divider separating the driver seat from the rest of the bus. The man crumpled to the floor, landing on top of the true bus driver’s body. The bus veered to the right when the man’s hand left the wheel, and crashed into a parked car. The deafening dull bang of metal slamming into metal rang in Axiom-man’s ears. When he glanced up, the passengers were all leaning forward in their seats from the impact, their heads on their knees. Some had fallen into the aisle. Others had fallen on top of each other. Sirens sounded loud and clear, and red and blue danced along the bus’s interior walls and ceiling. Getting to the controls, Axiom-man set the bus in park, and turned and raised a friendly hand to the passengers who were looking at him. He went down the steps and squeezed through what was left of the bus door and set foot on the pavement. Just as the cops, guns ready, cautiously approached the vehicle, Axiom-man gave them a salute with two fingers then took off into the night sky. What a way to end a Sunday night.

10

CHAPTER ONE GABRIEL GARRISON STEPPED off the elevator at the seventh floor of Dolla-card, a credit card company near the heart of downtown. He swiped his pass card at the set of double doors which led onto the main calling floor and quickly scanned for Valerie Vaughan. She wasn’t in yet. Even after having worked there for the past fourteen months, he still found himself excited to see her every day when he came in to work. How he longed for a chance to ask her out. He had almost mustered up the courage four months ago, but after having acquired his powers, he had to enforce a change in priorities. He only hoped that in the mean time she wouldn’t find someone else. So far she hadn’t, but that could change at any moment. He ran his fingers through his brown hair, the bangs falling back over his forehead. Straightening his glasses, he reminded himself that he was at work now and had to act accordingly. The original plan, as Axiom-man, had been to operate in secret, to be a kind of shadow figure who would come out of nowhere, help, and move so swiftly that no one would notice he was wearing a costume. But after his first night out, saving a woman from two muggers, he quickly learned that remaining unseen and leading a double life would be a lot harder than he first thought. The moment the woman caught a glimpse of him, he knew it wouldn’t be long before he, in full costume, graced the front page of the Free Press. And sure enough, the next day he was an artist’s rendering of who the woman described she saw. And after rescuing a construction worker who had fallen off one of the beams many stories up while working on the new Manitoba Hydro building, the media was already there when he flew him down to street level, the cameras flashing and the video tapes rolling. Though Gabriel had been comfortable with his disguise and felt the dark and light blue costume and mask, which concealed his head save for his hair, was enough, he got to thinking that he would have to take the disguise even further and hide even himself when he was, well, himself. When he first started working at Dolla-card, he adhered to their dress code of mandatory button-down shirts and dress pants. But when he made the decision to really try and distract any possible thoughts people might have that, for whatever reason, he was really Axiom-man, he took the dress code a step further. He added a cardigan to his ensemble (a different color for every day of the week) and bought a pair of reading glasses from the drug store. After a few days of wearing the reading glasses all day, the headaches set in so he went to a costume shop and bought a pair of costume glasses with similar-sized frames and replaced the frames in his reading glasses by way of a friend he used to go to high school with who now worked as an assistant in an optometrist’s office. Knowing full well he must have come off as goofy as anything, he begged his friend not to worry that the new lenses he was giving him were prescription-free. He said the glasses were for his brother and that his brother needed a pair of glasses for a costume party and really liked the reading glasses’ frames but couldn’t make it down to the optometrist’s office to get the lenses replaced. In the end, he finally had something he could wear day in and day out without the setting in of unnecessary headaches. The main change he had to undergo was the change in his demeanor and the way he presented himself. His coworkers at Dolla-card knew him as an all-round cool guy, confident, friendly, fun. 11

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Slow but sure he had to work a more gentle mannerism into his presentation, soften his voice and, at times, “accidentally” spill his tea in the lunchroom or “accidentally” brush his papers off his desk. Though he knew it made him look clumsy, it was all he could think of to do to help keep his life as Axiom-man a secret. Gabriel took his seat in his cubicle and turned the computer on. While his machine booted up, he removed his fall jacket and draped it across the back of his chair. The sudden coolness of being with one less layer of clothing was comforting. Even after nearly half a year, he was still getting used to wearing his costume beneath his clothes. He feared that because of the bulkiness of the front part of his uniform—the tough light blue material that ran diagonally across his chest and stomach—he would come across as too big or imposing than “just your average guy.” But he found that if he held his posture just right and let his arms hang at his sides a certain way, the costume wasn’t noticeable beneath his clothes. He still had to figure out what to do come summer. Thankfully, the material of his uniform was thick enough that any sweating of his didn’t show through. He logged himself into the inbound calling software and settled in for a day of customer care. --------At a quarter past twelve, Gabriel locked his workstation and turned off his computer monitor. Lunchtime. He dug his thermos out of his cabinet drawer, spun his chair around so he was facing the aisle behind his desk, and removed his jacket from the back of his chair. Switching the thermos from one hand to the other to better handle his jacket to put it on, he stepped into the aisle and “accidentally” bumped into Valerie. His thermos tumbled to the floor and rolled down the aisle. “Oh sorry,” he said. Valerie balanced the stack of callback papers she had in her hands. At five-four, she came to just under his chin. “Better watch where you’re going, Garrison. I nearly took a spill.” “Sorry.” “It’s okay.” He watched her as she rounded his cubicle to the other side where they sat diagonally from each other. Fortunately, the cubicle walls at Dolla-card were only half the height they usually were in most call centres. Even while he was working he could still glance her way and see her. He raised his index finger. “Sorry about that again, um, Valerie. I didn’t mean to.” She waved a wave of acknowledgement. “Don’t worry about it. Did you have a good weekend? Anything exciting happen?” Gabriel looked at his shoes and in his mind’s eye envisioned his tight-fitting Axiom-man boots beneath them. “Not really, no.” She made a face, as if saying, “That’s what I thought.” Then sat down at her desk and organized her papers, already forgetting him. He stared at her a moment. Today she was wearing a long, form-fitting black skirt, a white blouse and a black sweater, all three of which complimented her small frame, dark eyes and hair. Beautiful. He went over to her cubicle. “I’m going for lunch and was going to pick up a sandwich in the Square. Did you want something?” Her eyes never left her papers as she curled her long brown hair behind her ear. “No, I’m okay. Thanks anyway.” He smiled. “Sure.” A moment of silence. “Well, I, um . . . well, I’m going to go.” She didn’t say anything. “Okay. S-see ya.” He proffered a wave and when she still didn’t look up, he turned and left. He lightly tapped his hands together when he remembered he dropped his thermos.

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--------Outside the front doors at street level, Gabriel zipped up his jacket and mulled over the morning. Nothing too eventful. All the calls were the same—folks wondering about charges they forgot they made, interest rate inquiries, card upgrade options, same old, same old. The only call that he found somewhat interesting was when a guy had said he got his statement and noticed he was charged twice from an online credit card processor when he purchased a how-to ebook. While Gabriel was walking him through the steps of disputing the transaction, the guy went off about how the ebook he bought was a how-to book on marketing your ebooks on the internet and how, if done correctly, you could make a fortune selling information online. He even said a few years ago an “info product guru” named Oscar Owen came on the scene and since then, in his sales letters to his potential buyers, stated he had made millions selling ebooks. The guy then went on to say that the last he heard, Owen had started his own payday loaning company with some of the money earned off his ebooks and now Owen was even more rich. What interested Gabriel about the conver-sation was that, though he never deemed himself a writer, if he were able to somehow write an ebook on call centres, maybe one on how to pass your time while waiting for the next call and make your day go by in a snap, and if it succeeded, he could quit Dolla-card and focus more on his Axiom-man duties. But how am I going to justify asking someone to spend twenty-some-odd bucks on an ebook about whiling away the hours? he thought. No sooner did the thought flee from his mind than he descended down the outdoor stairwell that led to Winnipeg Square. He made his way through the traffic of people and caught himself wishing he had brought a lunch to work rather than having to go out and buy one. He didn’t make much money as it was and every penny saved was one step closer to finally buying a house of his own instead of renting an apartment just outside downtown. He knew Valerie rented and that she, too, was saving up for a house. It was one of the few things he could find himself able to talk to her about without suddenly getting brushed off. The way she treated him reminded him of how he had been treated growing up in grades gone by. Though he wasn’t the most unpopular kid at school, he was nowhere near the top of the popularity ladder. If anything, his social status had been about two rungs from the bottom. Three at best. Either way, he never really found a way to fit in and earlier on in junior high, when he had tried to fit in and act like the boys at the top, he had gone too far and found himself spending more time in the principal’s office than he cared to admit. After a while he learned to just settle at being himself, but even that seldom brought comfort. Nowadays though . . . Gabriel bought a sandwich and scanned the food court for a place to sit down and eat. All he could see was a sea of heads and no room anywhere. He checked his watch. It was already past twelve-thirty. Might as well head back and eat it on the way. Returning the way he had come through the Square, he caught sight of a man kicking and swearing at an ATM outside the Credit Union. A middle-aged woman who was a teller (she wore a nametag and was standing just inside the opening to the bank) was already telling him to stop or she’d call security. It turned out she didn’t have to because within moments a security guard from the booth about fifty feet away was already coming toward the man and the ATM. Gabriel crossed the Square and headed toward the next strip of shops. There was a bathroom at the end of that strip and he hoped it was unoccupied just in case he needed a place to change. As he walked swiftly, he wrapped his sandwich back up and kept a careful eye on the scene in front of the Credit Union, all the while brushing shoulders with people and excusing himself for not paying

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attention to where he was going. He thought of his bumping into Valerie less than half an hour ago. The things he did to guard himself . . . The security guard approached the man and demanded to know what was happening. “It wouldn’t give me my money!” “Sir, if you’d just—” the teller said. “Shut up! I know what happened!” “Hey, don’t yell at her!” the guard shouted. People began slowing around the commotion. The guard turned away for a brief moment to shoo them off. When his back was turned, the man made a break for it. Great, Gabriel thought and made his way back toward the bank to see where the man had gone off to. He didn’t see what had happened but the next thing he knew, the man grabbed an older woman, holding her in front him as if a shield. His eyes were wide and wild. The security guard was a few feet away, urging him to calm down. “Quiet! I didn’t do anything! Your stupid machine ate my card and wouldn’t give me my cash!” the man yelled. The guard grabbed the radio off his shoulder and called for more help, then again began telling the passersby to keep moving and to let him handle it. The older lady pleaded for the man to let her go. The man gripped her shoulders tight then threw her into the security guard. One of the people walking by—a man who looked to be in his late thirties with thinning dark hair—stepped out of the crowd and slugged the man. The older woman ran into the crowd. “Hey!” the security guard said. “Let me handle it.” The guard approached the man who was on the floor and bent over at the waist to help him up. The man on the floor tackled the security guard’s legs, sending him backward to the ground. The guard’s head hit the tiled flooring with a sickening smack. Everyone suddenly cleared away when two police officers arrived on the scene accompanied by another of the Square’s security guards. The guard dove on top of the man and wrestled him off his comrade. The cops pulled their guns. The man, on his knees with eyes wide, his expression almost begging, spread his hands to the side as if in surrender. The cops rushed him and the second one of them was close enough, the man dove at the cop’s arm, knocked him down, and grabbed his gun. The man was on his feet in a flash. “Stay back! Stay back!” he said, waving the gun around. “Sir, put the gun down now!” the cop who still had his gun said. The cop on the floor tried to move. “Don’t,” the man said, pointing at him while firing a shot into the ceiling. Everybody within earshot screamed and dropped to the floor. The cops appeared as if they didn’t know what to do. Gabriel turned and headed for the restroom, each step quicker than the last. --------“Thank you for calling Dolla-card, this is Valerie speaking. How may I help you?” “Here, let me get my card number.” “Sure.” She waited until the gentleman on the line was ready. “Ready?” “Yes.” He gave her the card number and she punched it in. It was a platinum account. Oscar Owen’s.

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“Okay, Mr. Owen, just a few security questions and then we can proceed.” Valerie ran him through the cardholder verification process. Once all checked out, she said, “And how may I help you today?” As she tended to Oscar’s problem—just the mere verification of a charge that went through his personal charge card—Valerie couldn’t help but snoop through his other transactions. Nothing out of the ordinary: restaurants, clothing shops, a few bills—nothing special. What she was impressed with, however, was the dollar amounts listed. Everything was over the several-hundred-dollar mark save for some of the bills. Though she wasn’t one where money was everything, every time she assisted a wealthier client she couldn’t help but feel encouraged by what she saw. Though her personal income was nowhere near what these guys must earn in a year to justify a five-hundredthousand-dollar credit limit, seeing the multiple dollar amounts listed on the screen encouraged her to work harder and reminded her that if she kept at it, in time, she could be making a higher-waged living. Just one of those things to help you through the day. After clarifying Mr. Owen’s transaction, she said, “Is there anything else I can help you with today?” “Not right now though I was wondering who I might talk to for an increase in my credit limit? I have had a, how should I say—upturn?—in income and have some larger purchases going through.” “Well, sir, I know that your current credit limit is the highest we offer,” she said. “On the contrary, I know your company offers higher limits for select clients. I’m also aware the competition does, too. I’d be more than happy to contact them and—” He had her there. It was true that Dolla-card carried—on an exception basis—cards that held a million-dollar credit limit, but it was something the employees were discouraged to inform the client of; past experience proved that some who had increased their limit to such an amount had abused it and, in the final analysis, were not ready for such a responsibility of funds. “I’d be more than happy to transfer you to a credit representative for assistance,” Valerie said. She hated it when the client proved her wrong or presented something the company offered that she wasn’t aware of. “Fair enough,” he said. --------I hope I’m not too late, Axiom-man thought as he swung open the bathroom door. He clenched his fists, raised his arms shoulder height, and he was in the air. He hadn’t heard a second gunshot while changing so either the cops had taken care of it or everything was just as it had been when he went to switch clothes. Fortunately, he was able to change into his uniform in less than a minute so he shouldn’t have missed much. Within a couple of seconds he was there. The man still held the cops at bay, his gun aimed at the one with the weapon. “I’ve given enough chances,” the cop said. “This is your final warning.” All eyes settled on Axiom-man the moment his feet touched the ground. The man quickly looked at him, eyes wide. “What’s—” he began but anything else he might have wanted to say seemed to escape him. Some folks took a few steps back. The cop glanced at Axiom-man. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to stand down.” He flashed Axiom-man an I-see-it-but-I-don’t-believe-it look. Axiom-man ignored the cop and took in the man with the gun. As long as he doesn’t fire at me, everything should be okay. And as long as the cops don’t blow off a few shots, there shouldn’t be any danger.

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Hopefully. He wasn’t bulletproof and his costume provided protection only for wear-and-tear. Even a knife would penetrate the suit if someone took a hard enough swipe. Axiom-man raised his hands in as friendly a manner as he could manage. “Sir, please,” he said, “put the gun down. It’s a simple misunderstanding. We can work this out.” “Simple!” the man shouted. “You call this simple? The stupid bank machine wouldn’t give me my cash and the next thing I know I got cops all around me. I didn’t do anything!” Aside from nearly taking that lady hostage, Axiom-man thought. “Okay, then. I’m sure the officers here would be willing to discuss it with you if you’d lower your weapon. No one here wants anything to happen that you, or even they, might regret.” The man seemed to consider his words. The cop at his feet tried to sit up. “Stay down!” the man barked, pointing the gun at the officer on the floor. “Sir!” the cop with the gun said. What do I do? What do I do? The thought raced through Axiom-man’s mind. This was the first time he ever had to negotiate with someone with a weapon. Any other time, because of the circumstance, he had taken the armed individual down by force. Like last night on the bus. He wanted to look at the police officer with the gun and silently convey an askance for help, but he also feared that, of all things, he might look bad for not knowing what to do. Since donning the mask and cape, he had quickly learned that those who encountered him, those who spoke about him on the street, the stories written in the newspaper, the commentaries on the radio—everyone had the idea that a hero always knew what to do and that whatever the hero did was always for everyone’s best interest. To shatter that . . . He had to end this quickly. No sense in prolonging it. “Sir,” he said, “the officer has given you a final warning to stand down. I’m asking you to heed that warning.” “Or what!” the man screamed. He dropped to his knees, grabbed the officer on the floor from behind and wrapped the forearm of his free hand around the cop’s neck. He put the gun to the officer’s temple. “That’s it,” the standing officer said. The cop set his gaze along the barrel, aiming up his shot. “I’m going to count to three. One. Tw—” Before the cop could squeeze the trigger, Axiom-man focused his eyes, his vision filling with blue light. It was this blue light—this power—that made him what he was. It was the same blue power that filled him every time he exercised his flight or strength. The same power that made the hair sticking out of the top of his mask take on a blue sheen. It was everything. Within an instant the light grew more and more intense and within another instant he released it from his eyes and blasted the gun from the man’s hand. The cop being held tight let out a scream as the foul sound of the gun barrel scraped along his skull. The man yelped and Axiom-man was on him in a flash. Still hanging on to the cop, the man lashed out with a hard left at Axiom-man, his fist smoking from the blue energy assault. Axiom-man blocked the blow and grabbed the man by the collar and head-butted him. The man’s eyes rolled back in his head and when they rolled forward to look at him, Axiom-man filled his vision with blue light again but kept the energy at bay. “Let go,” he said firmly. The man eased his grip across the cop’s neck then his arm slid off altogether, his eyes wide the whole time, blood trickling from his nose and running over his top lip and gathering in a pool along his bottom one. The cop who had been standing rushed over and cuffed the man while Axiom-man helped the officer bring the man to his feet. Then he helped up the cop on the ground. The crowd around them clapped and cheered. “Are you okay?” Axiom-man asked the cop. 16

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The officer shook his head and stared at him. “I knew you were out there, I just . . . I just never seen you before.” With a nod, Axiom-man turned and floated off the ground. He flew above the heads of those around the scene then made his way toward the doors near the bathroom where he had changed. Those coming into the Square quickly stepped to the side and did a double take as Axiom-man, his body parallel to the floor, opened the door and flew out, high into the sky. He knew he was going to be late getting back to work. --------A few short moments later, Axiom-man touched down behind the Dolla-card building. Though he had checked for anyone outside on his descent, he double checked to make sure no one was around. Sure that the coast was clear, he ducked into a small alcove and kept as tightly to its far wall as possible. Hopefully the small amount of shadow in the alcove would be enough to hide him from anyone who happened to pass by. He unclipped the light blue material near his left shoulder, revealing one strap which kept a small, dark blue backpack against his back. In the backpack was where he kept his clothes. Because the material that stretched diagonally across his front was unclipped, it allowed him easier access to the pack and the zipper that ran along its side and over the top. He pulled out his shirt, tie, pants, cardigan, jacket, socks and shoes, zipped the pack back up and refastened the clip to his shoulder. As fast as he could, he dressed himself, keeping his mask in place the whole time in case anyone came by and saw him. After many evenings of practice, he was able to dress in just over a minute. Clothes now over his uniform and leaving his cardigan’s buttons undone to save time, he looked up, made sure no one was standing at the mouth of the alcove and, ready to get back to his desk upstairs, he shifted. A flash of blue sparked before his vision and he knew without aid of a mirror that his hair and eyes lost their blue tinge. He rolled the mask down from his face and bunched it up snug around his neck like a collar. He buttoned up his shirt and with his finger tips pressed down any extra material from his mask that was peeking just above the rim of his collar line. After tightening his tie, he pulled his glasses out of his cardigan pocket and put them on, buttoned up his cardigan and put on his jacket. Quickly, he pressed his hair flat against his head, fixing the part with his fingers. As Axiom-man, his hair was pushed back and slightly parted in the middle. As Gabriel, it was parted to the side. In a self-imposed psychological “shift,” he pushed all thoughts of Axiom-man out of his mind and, for the briefest of moments, forgot about where he’d just been and what he’d just done. Gabriel left the alcove, went to the back door, entered the Dolla-card foyer then rode the elevator up to the seventh floor. After swiping his pass card, he entered the double doors and nearly bumped into Valerie, this time not on purpose. “Sorry,” he said and moved to walk by her. “Have a good lunch?” she said. Her eyes never set on his and instead seemed preoccupied with the small stack of forms in her hand. Gabriel wanted to say that it had been good but with the eventfulness of his lunch break, he forgot his sandwich in the Square’s restroom so he couldn’t save it for later. “It was interesting, yes.” “Interesting?” “Couldn’t get the sub . . . . I dropped it on the floor.” “Oh. Well, I hope you made do.” “I managed.” He proffered her a smile. She didn’t return it. “I, um, better get going.” Valerie grinned and continued on her way then spun on her heels and faced him. “Rod’s looking for you.”

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“Me?” And she headed across the office floor. Great, Gabriel thought. He checked the clock. It was five to one. He’d gone ten minutes past his allotted time for lunch. Every week he and Rod Hunter—like Rod did with all the employees on the calling floor—got together to go over call quality. But for Gabriel that day was Tuesday, not today. He went to his desk, removed his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair, then logged in to his computer so the system knew he was back. He put his machine on standby before seeking Rod out. Rod Hunter sat at his desk in a small office at the far right hand side of the calling floor, not far past where Valerie was doing something at the photocopy machine. Gabriel had to keep in mind to not look at her as he passed by, something that, if done often enough, would only draw attention to himself; right now that was the last thing he wanted. Ever since discovering what he could do—his powers—and especially since taking on the Axiom-man identity, he wanted to draw as little attention to himself as possible. At least until he had everything figured out and was fully used to leading a double life. Rod’s door was open. Gabriel knocked on the doorframe gently. “You were looking for me?” Rod sat with his chin resting on his palm, his elbow on the desk, his face glued to his computer screen. Without looking up he said, “Sit down.” Heart picking up speed, Gabriel said, “Should I close the door?” Rod still didn’t look up. “Yes.” His heart beating even faster, Gabriel closed the door then took a chair across from his boss. He folded his hands and waited. Rod, the calling floor supervisor, didn’t look at him. The moments ticked by and Gabriel wondered if it’d be rude to clear his throat or ask Rod what he wanted. Another minute went by before Rod finally spoke. “You were late again, Garrison,” he said. “I was, um, on time this morning. Eight o’clock on the dot,” Gabriel said and swung his right arm in a “Yo-ho” gesture. Rod glanced at him a moment, arching an eyebrow before setting his focus back on his screen. “It says here you were late from lunch by ten minutes. We both know everyone’s late from time to time. It happens. But you were late twice last week and three times the week before. Today’s the first day back after the weekend and already you’re late again.” He took his chin off his hand and leaned back in his chair, eyes focused on Gabriel, his expression that of one waiting for an explanation. “What happened, Garrison? Up until a couple of weeks ago everything was fine. Better than fine. I was actually thinking of recommending you to the centre manager for the Annual Attendance Award again. Now I’m not so sure.” Gabriel swallowed and he wasn’t putting on an act of being nervous. Without this job . . . “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Hunter. Honest.” It was hard to come up with something to say that wouldn’t be a lie. Ever since deciding to become Axiom-man, he made a promise to himself to never lie about it as much as he could. Lying was a habit he didn’t want to get into and, he figured, once he started down that path, it would be difficult to turn back. It was so much easier to tell others what they wanted to hear, play into their hand, give them what they wanted, but soon he’d reap what he’d sown and, no doubt, when everything blew up in his face, his Axiom-man identity would be compromised which would bring about a whole other set of problems. “I was out for lunch and there was a crowd and, well, I lost track of time. Last week I didn’t have a watch because the battery needed replacing and that’s the truth. I got it fixed on Saturday” —he lifted his wrist and showed Rod his watch— “but today, yeah, it was just really hard to get around all the folks in the Square. Set me back.” He waited, hoping that that was enough of an excuse and he’d get off with a warning.

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Rod seemed to be considering his story. “You can’t keep doing this, Garrison. Like I said, up until recently everything was okay. You got an advantage in that regard. Perhaps even a little room to slack off. But I also know you don’t slack off so I’m at a loss as to what’s going on. Let’s keep this simple. I’m required to make a note in your file that we talked about this. Company policy when it comes to tardiness. And I’m telling you” —he leaned forward in his chair— “be on time. Got it?” “Yes, sir, absolutely. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” “Okay, then. Get back to your desk and I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.” “Yes, sir. Thanks. Again, I’m sorry.” Rod didn’t reply. Gabriel got up from his chair, kept his eyes to the floor, and left his supervisor’s office. --------When four o’clock rolled around, Gabriel smiled. Home time. He logged off his machine, grabbed his jacket and picked up the stack of callback forms he was required to put in a little locker that each employee got in a small room by the double doors. Valerie was in the middle of a call so he wasn’t able to say good-bye. Probably for the best anyway, he thought. Heading toward the lockers, he thought about what he was going to eat when he got home. He was starving.

19

Four months earlier . . . GABRIEL RAN. Ever since encountering the being of light who only referred to himself as “a messenger,” his insides shook with a sudden swell of energy. Excitement, anxiety and a physical high filled him to the brim. He had to get out. And so he did. The moments between leaving his computer desk in his front room to setting foot outside his apartment building were a blur. Gabriel ran, into the night. It was three in the morning; the streets were devoid of people. Even as he sped along past buildings and bus stops he wondered what might have happened if he hadn’t been unable to sleep. He had tossed and turned since midnight and each time he thought he teetered on the edge between being awake and falling into a dream. His body would not let him rest. He had gotten up, drunk a glass of milk and watched television for a half hour before checking his email. Almost right after seeing there were no new messages waiting for him, his screen twisted and turned as if someone were dragging a magnet across the monitor. An instant later, the screen illuminated in a brilliant blue, so bright it was almost white. The fierceness of the sudden blast of light sent him and his chair flying backward. The back of his head hit the carpet and a dull thunk echoed throughout his skull. The light still beaming, he peered at the screen with watery eyes and saw a face, though the intensity of the light obscured the face’s features. All there was, was the vague outline of a pair of eyes, a nose and a mouth, and the faint but soft contours of cheekbones. When he moved to cover his eyes to shield them from the brightness, a voice came from the computer screen. “Do not be afraid,” it said. The voice was male, gentle but stern. Gabriel could not find the strength to reply. “I have come to you from afar but also near,” the face said. Gabriel swallowed and tried again to cover his eyes. It was as if his hands were pinned to the carpet above his head. He blinked several times to clear his sight. “Who . . . who are you?” he managed. “A messenger.” The light flashed even brighter then settled back to its blue brilliantness. “From?” “Afar.” Tremors swept through Gabriel’s body, his heart beating faster and faster, so hard he feared it might give out. “Stand watch,” the voice said. “I have come to impart a gift.” Desperately, Gabriel tried to shut his eyes, anything to shield himself from the light. He hoped that if he closed his eyes then opened them a moment later, the light from his computer screen would be gone and it all would have been a dream or some sort of late night hallucination from not getting enough sleep. After all, he had had trouble sleeping the few nights leading up to this one. He squeezed his eyes shut. The light from the monitor was still visible through his eyelids, as if he hadn’t closed his eyes at all. Still just as bright, still just as blue-white. A gift? Gabriel thought he had said the words aloud but when the face didn’t reply, he realized he had only thought them. “A gift?” he said. “Stand.” The authority in the voice compelled him to obey. Able to move again, Gabriel slowly got to his feet. It felt as if his legs would give out from under him but something—someone?—was holding him up. It had to be a person for beneath his underarms it felt as if someone was

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keeping him balanced. No one was behind him. Gabriel’s hands shook, his jaw trembled. His heart galloped, its beat throbbing in the veins running along his throat. “Stand watch,” the messenger said again. For? He did it again—thought the word instead of saying it. Before he could clear his throat, the light from the monitor shone brighter and brighter, the light seeming to grow from the screen, reaching out in swirls of energy, the swirls wrapping around his body in an embrace. His heart warmed to the sensation of the most loving of hugs, a gentle squeeze that was firm but not crushing, strong but reassuring, tender and kind. “This is but the first of our encounters,” the voice said. “I leave this as a deposit to your calling.” Gabriel glanced down at his body and watched with mouth open as the bright swirls of light spiraled around him then covered him completely. They withdrew then dove into him, seeping into his skin, encompassing and filling every part of him inside and out. A final flash and the light left the screen. The sudden absence of brilliant blue-white sent the room into darkness. Body still shaking, he dropped to his knees, tears involuntarily leaking from the corners of his eyes. All strength sapped from his muscles, he crouched so his behind was on his heels. Fatigue crept in, lasted a moment then vanished. Gabriel lifted his head, the computer monitor coming into view, his email inbox on the screen just like before. Mind numb and blank, he inched over to the screen on his knees. The moment his hands rested on the keyboard, that sudden boost of energy filled him. Gabriel ran. Now heading down Main Street to the Forks, Gabriel looked down. Past his knees that were alternating up and down in quick succession, his feet were a blur. He had never run so fast in his life, even during high school when he was forced to sprint in gym class. But he was sprinting, wasn’t he? It sure felt like it and he wasn’t moving any quicker than he would at a sprint. He just wasn’t tired. If anything, he was certain he could continue running like this forever. He turned left by the sign with the words THE FORKS upon it. In under two minutes he was there. He sped under the canopy where in the summer months bands would play and people would come to dance each Sunday. A second more and he was at the steps leading down to the walkway that ran along the Assiniboine River. Originally he thought he was going to take the steps two at a time. He even slowed to prepare, but when his foot stepped out to embrace the first step, his legs had extended longer than he intended and he took all eleven at once, landing on the platform before the next set of stairs that led to the walkway. No sooner before he could acknowledge he should have tumbled and twisted his ankle, he was at the next set of stairs. The same thing, this time with his left leg overly extended. He took all nine steps in one go, seeming to float down to the next platform. He landed on both feet, turned his head so he could see the steps, then lifted his feet, one then the other, testing his ankles to make sure he hadn’t injured them. He hadn’t. Nor were the soles of his feet stinging like they should have been from the hard slap of impact. The energy bubbled within again. Gabriel ran, taking the next set of stairs in one leap, running on the next platform, then taking yet another set of stairs in one shot. He hardly noticed the rush of wind as he then took the last set of stairs in a single jump. He propelled himself down the path along the Assiniboine River, his eyes now used to the darkness. He recalled the bright light from his computer monitor and even in his mind’s eye it almost blinded him. I have come to impart a gift, the voice had said. He still didn’t know what that meant. Faster, harder, he sped onward, the rhythmic clapping of his feet against the graveled path a quick cadence in his ears. Another burst of energy from within and Gabriel dug his heels into the ground. Faster. Harder. Quicker. No matter how hard he ran, it didn’t seem fast enough or intense enough to vanquish the urgent push within to expel himself like he never had before. Faster. 21

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Go. He dug in his heels even more. Finally his thighs began to burn, the soothing heat a massage to his muscles. Gabriel pushed, pressed on, gave it all he had. Already he was passing the set of stairs that led up to the Legislative grounds. He debated taking them but he knew that, in order to turn right, he would have to slow down, which was something he didn’t want to do. The moon shone bright above. Gabriel set his eyes on it. It was so big it was as if you could reach out and touch it. He lifted his right hand, palm open toward the moon. He pushed himself harder, faster and the next thing he knew . . . . . . he was airborne.

22

CHAPTER TWO OSCAR OWEN SAT in his corner office at Pay-Me-Loan, going over the month-to-date figures. The month was only half over but he liked what he saw: five million U.S. dollars out on loan to be paid back two weeks later and at twenty-five per cent interest on the hundred. That was one and a quarter million profit for the company before expenses. Last month Pay-Me-Loan had achieved his muchdreamed-of ten-million-dollar-a-month goal. As the final stretch of payback days arrived over the coming week, the remainder of the two point five million U.S. dollars profit for the company would no doubt come in. Oddly enough, the majority of the company’s profit was in U.S. funds as, on top of the ten-million-dollar-a-month goal, only about two million was loaned out to Canadians. It was a start. One day (he hoped) he would get the lock on the Canadian market and wrestle it out from under the grips of the other payday loan firms across the country. One step at a time. His ebooks continued to generate revenue, roughly one hundred-twenty-five thousand U.S. dollars a month. He was so popular online and his ebooks treated as such gold that he barely needed to market them. Word-of-mouth and automated email campaigns handled most of it. One less thing to worry about. Like free money in the bank. But everything Oscar accomplished wasn’t about the income or the lavish lifestyle that inevitably came with it. Money was a means to an end and he was well aware that he lived in a society—a world—where the more money you had, the more respect you had and the more respect you had, the more power was in your grasp. Yet even knowing that, power wasn’t the motivator either. It was all about personal best, the seed of that idea planted in his mind after reading a motivational ebook several years ago at the start of the millennium. Someone once said, and Oscar momentarily forgot who, that the only limits a person had were the limits they imposed on themselves. No truer words had ever been spoken. He wanted to see just how far a human being could go. Yet there was this nagging feeling at the back of his mind and in his heart that human beings hadn’t even yet begun to scratch the surface of their true potential. Like Bruce Lee wanted to see physically, so Oscar Owen wanted to see in every aspect of the human being—how far could we go upwards and what could we transform ourselves into? The arrival of Axiom-man in the city confirmed his belief. Here was a man who could do things no other before him could do. The man could fly! Even if Axiom-man hadn’t proven himself stronger than a power lifter the time he separated two cars that had collided in traffic, the fact that Axiom-man could fly proved that humans were capable of supernatural feats. The real question, though, was how? Was Axiom-man born that way? Was he someone set apart by evolution? Were all people capable of super-powered abilities if they only knew how? Like a baby learning it had the ability to crawl instead of being stuck lying on its back all the time, like the same baby realizing that instead of crawling it could get to where it wanted to go much faster by standing then walking— could walking men and women have the same potential to fly? To be strong? To, as the radio reported this afternoon, shoot what was described as some kind of electric energy from their eyes? Could they do more? There had to be a way to know. And the respect! The commanding presence Axiom-man seemed to have on everyone he came into contact with, everyone who caught a glimpse of him. Perhaps the costume had something to do 23

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with it. But there had to be more to it than that. Oscar knew that Axiom-man’s abilities were the start of being more and by helping others, Axiom-man proved the one thing everyone knew but not everyone admitted to: the need for a savior and hero, someone to come along and make everything all better, someone to look up to and put hope in. Before Axiom-man made his presence known in the city, Oscar wanted to be that savior. He didn’t know how he was going to accomplish it, but increasing the world’s awareness of him through his ebooks and business was a start. And he was taking that business aspect one step further by venturing into real estate. He had the capital and even though he had to invest the majority of his personal assets into it, the profits reaped would make it all worth it in the end. One thing at a time. Day by day. He scrolled Pay-Me-Loan’s totals up and down his screen. Soon, he thought. Get the real estate investment project underway and soon you’ll have an empire. --------Freedom. High above the city streets, Axiom-man flew. The moon was out, the night progressively getting darker, the air crisp. He reveled in the sensation of the air pressing up underneath him, cradling his body as he propelled forward. About a hundred and fifty feet from street level, he ascended and descended in little arcs, further enjoying his favorite power. At times he wished Winnipeg had more of a downtown, one where it was just street upon street heavily lined with mammoth skyscrapers like in Chicago or New York. Winnipeg, by many, was often called a big small town. Its population was only about seven hundred thousand and, unlike the big cities of the world, most folks lived in the suburbs. There were only four major buildings in the city, all huddled around the corner of Portage and Main. Soon there would be five as construction on the new Manitoba Hydro building was considerably underway. And, if the sign he passed while walking home from work earlier that day could be believed, there would be six major buildings in the downtown area. The sign had been for Owen Enterprises; no doubt the company belonged to Oscar Owen thus confirming what that gentleman had told Axiom-man while he was Gabriel on the phone earlier that day. He didn’t know how Mr. Owen was going to pull off such an architectural feat because according to the sign, the building was going to be some eighty stories high, virtually double that of CanWest Global Place, which was currently the city’s tallest building. The sign did provide one clue, however: office space inside the building was “nearly full” and since the sign also said “to be occupied by Winnipeg’s top businesses” that meant that whatever it would cost to run your business out of there, it wasn’t cheap. Perhaps Mr. Owen was getting some of the money in advance and applying it toward the construction costs? Axiom-man didn’t know the complete ins and outs when it came to dealing with banks and building mortgages, but either way, when Owen Enterprises launched this marvel of architecture, it was going to be grand. Axiom-man soared higher, accelerated his speed, and proceeded over Main Street toward the north end of the city. The north end was commonly referred to and thought of as the poorer part of the city, mainly occupied by those down on their luck. In the suburb portion, most houses ran cheap compared to elsewhere thus making it possible for those on welfare to afford permanent lodgings for themselves and their families. But the north end had its downsides, too. The streets were littered with gangs, mostly youth though everyone knew those in charge of the gangs were adults. The teens were merely foot soldiers out to steal and do the dirty work. Axiom-man flew over Higgins Avenue and did a quick scan below for anything that looked out of the ordinary. Nothing. He flew on. Some of the hotel-bar establishments that immediately followed looked busy. Folks in ratty clothes moved

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in and out of the buildings, some hollering at each other, others standing around smoking cigarettes before going back in for another drink. Axiom-man flew higher, hovered, and kept one of the hotelbars in his sights. Anyone looking up wouldn’t see him against the night sky. Waiting to see if maybe a fight would break out or, on the corner, if some john would come along looking for kicks with a few of the skimpily-dressed women who stood there, Axiom-man watched as . . . nothing happened. Maybe he was too late? There was always something going down at this hotel. A cop car or two was always parked out front, lights flashing, keeping the peace. Even during the day cops were seen stopping by. Axiom-man just hoped they were stopping by for the right reasons and not for anything else. There were already too many rumors circulating about Winnipeg’s finest taking part in underhand deals and displaying apathy toward crime committed on the streets. Axiom-man just hoped he was somehow making a difference, that his example was urging people to look at how they were living and encouraging them to make changes for the better. Maybe that was one of the reasons why he decided to stay in Winnipeg once the messenger bestowed upon him his powers? Often he thought he might be able to make more of a difference in a big city, one with millions of people. But he stuck to Winnipeg. The city’s size alone was manageable and though he could do things beyond the abilities of mortal men, his powers weren’t limitless. He had to be effective with what he was capable of and where he could best use his powers for good. Winnipeg was also smack dab in the middle of Canada. He hoped that what he did here would radiate outward and affect the rest of the country in all directions, even to the immediate American neighbors to the south. When nothing appeared to be happening in front of the hotel, Axiom-man leaned forward so his body was parallel to the ground, and flew on. He sped as fast as he could until he was over the north end suburbs then slowed his flight to cut down on the wind whipping past his ears, which made it difficult to hear what was going on below. He lowered himself so he was about forty feet above the housetops and flew up and down each street, waiting to see if anything was happening. A few minutes later there was shouting below. He couldn’t make out the words so he flew lower, about ten feet from the rooftops. The woman’s scream was shrill and laden with tears. “Get away from me!” A door slammed, footsteps, and the woman stormed out of a rundown house with white paneling and went several feet down the stone-covered driveway. Her arms were crossed, her head bowed, her shoulders heaving up and down with each sob. The loud squeak of an old door opening was followed by a man’s voice, thick and burly, underscored with a rage Axiom-man had never heard before. “I told you no!” The woman didn’t reply but instead stood there crying. Axiom-man’s heart began to race and he wondered if he would have to check with her to see if she was all right. From where he hovered high above, he couldn’t see her face or anything else about her aside from her long dark hair and black sweater. “Get back in here, Irene! I mean it.” The man’s voice kept its edge. She spun around and screamed so loud at him she had to bend at the waist. “Leave me alone!” The man cursed at her, sending her into hysterics. Axiom-man floated lower down but then stopped himself. She wasn’t in any immediate danger. Yet. The man slammed the door shut, the hinges squealing. “What did you have to break the cabinet for?” he shouted. “What did you have to throw me into it for?” she shot back. There was a pause and the man glanced side to side, as if checking to see if the neighbors were watching. “Come inside!” he said.

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She swore at him then went further down the driveway. The man moved after her in a flash, his movement swift for such a big guy. He wore jeans and a green and black plaid collared shirt. He was behind her in no time and grabbed her the second she turned around, arms raised as if to deflect a blow from him. “Come on!” he demanded and began dragging her toward the house. “Let go of me!” she screamed and pushed at him with her forearms. The man lost his grip momentarily then lunged at her, wrapping his big arms around her with such force that his torso crashed in to hers. Irene yelped and her small hand covered her nose, cradling it. Had he head-butted her in the tussle? Had he broken her nose? Irene cried and let her legs go limp, her body now dead weight as the man dragged her back toward the house. Axiom-man grimaced and as if an answer to his prayer, Irene yelled, “Somebody help me! Somebody help meeeee!” Axiom-man threw his arms out before him, his fingers pointed down; he dove for the driveway. He landed behind the man and the fellow stopped when he backed into him. “What the—” the man said and looked over his shoulder. Axiom-man curled his thumb and fingers so his right hand resembled a claw and squeezed the back of the man’s neck, applying pressure just below the skull. The man growled but Axiom-man’s grip was enough to force the man to let go. Irene tumbled forward on all fours. When she looked back she said, “Todd!” Todd backed himself into Axiom-man, his feet and legs digging into the stony ground, driving Axiom-man back toward the corner of the house where it met the driveway. Axiom-man planted his feet and resisted. Todd’s efforts were stopped short. One could only guess Todd thought he had suddenly backed up hard into a brick wall. “Okay, okay . . .” Todd said, reaching back to where Axiom-man still held his neck. Giving a final hard squeeze in warning, Axiom-man let go. Todd leaned forward, recovering, but an instant later he spun around, arm swinging, his fist connecting with Axiom-man’s jaw. The low, echoey thud spiked through Axiom-man’s head; a sharp pain ravaged his jaw and chin. His head spun and he stumbled back. Dark specks rimmed his vision and his head grew light. Scowling, Todd glared at him with dark eyes. Axiom-man hadn’t expected such a hard blow. He reminded himself to be more alert. “You,” Todd said. His voice still carried an edge, but at least he wasn’t yelling. “Stop!” Irene screamed, still on all fours. Axiom-man straightened then locked eyes with Todd. “She said to leave her alone.” Todd laughed. “I’ve heard about you. I just can’t believe I’m seeing this. So, what, do you wander around and see whose business you can butt in to? You look ridiculous.” Ignoring him, Axiom-man looked past to Irene. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” She was about to reply but Todd cut her off. “Don’t answer him.” “I wasn’t talking to you,” Axiom-man said. “Ma’am, are you okay?” “I—” she began. Tears trickled from her eyes. “No!” Todd shouted and lunged for him. He tackled Axiom-man to the ground. Till now, all of Axiom-man’s encounters with those breaking the law or hurting others had been brief. This was his first actual fight and he debated inside how much force he should use to set Todd at bay. Better keep this simple, he thought and thrust out his palms into Todd’s chest, sending him flying backward. Todd landed hard on his back against the stones, screaming. Axiom-man got to his feet and went to Irene to help her up. He offered her his hand and she took it albeit hesitantly. She stood and he finally was able to get a clear view of her face. Her eyes were puffy, her cheeks tearstained. Dark crimson blotches were beneath each nostril. 26

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The stones crunched behind him, then the sound of quick footfalls moving away. Door hinges squealed. When Axiom-man turned around, Todd was at the porch to the house, grabbing a wooden baseball bat from just inside the door. No words were needed. His intentions were clear. “Go to a neighbor’s and call the cops,” Axiom-man told her. “No.” Her voice was barely a whisper. No? “I’m serious. We’ll need them to take him away.” “Todd, please,” she said, “don’t. I don’t want you to get hurt.” Axiom-man wanted to ask her what she was talking about, wanted to know why she was so desperate to protect the one who moments before gave her a bloody nose. Todd was before him, swinging the bat with all his might. Axiom-man backed up, the tip of the bat nicking his shoulder. He bumped into Irene and sent her back to the ground. Quickly glancing toward her, he saw she was all right and prepared for the next blow. “They said you can fly,” Todd said, “the papers. So fly!” He swung again. Axiom-man’s feet left the ground and he quickly ascended several feet higher than Todd. The bat whizzing through the air made a whistle. Todd’s eyes went wide and he just stood there, seemingly dumbstruck at the man hovering above him. Axiom-man held Todd’s gaze. A moment later he allowed the power to fill his vision, bathing Todd, the stony driveway below, Irene’s heels in his peripheral—all in a bright shade of blue. Focusing on the bat, Axiom-man sent the light forth and blasted the heavy end of the bat to splinters. Todd recoiled and dropped the handle. Axiom-man floated down and once more wrapped his fingers around Todd’s neck. “Please, don’t!” Irene screamed but he didn’t pay her any mind. He pressed hard against Todd’s neck, forcing the big man’s body to go wherever he may lead him. With a powerful push, Axiom-man threw him against the chain-linked fence that lined the side of the property. Then, his eyes never leaving Todd’s, he reached forward and tore the fence’s thick wires, using them to cuff Todd to the rest of the fence. Just for good measure, to clinch any disbelief or question about what he could do, he grabbed Todd’s body and twisted him several times, binding him in the strong wires. With one final glare, Axiom-man let the blue light fade out of his eyes but kept enough there so the image would be burned in Todd’s mind forever. “What did you do?” Irene yelled at him, tears thickening her voice. She ran over to Todd and tried to comfort him. “Untie him! Come back!” All Axiom-man could do was shake his head as he floated into the sky. Within moments of flying away, he caught sight of a black . . . something . . . flittering in the night sky some four or five hundred feet away. A bird? No. It was too big to be a bird, at least a small one. Maybe a crow or, perhaps, an owl. He’d never seen an owl flying over the city. A bat? It was hard to tell but the black something, at this distance, looked like a dark mist, a blob of cloud fluttering as it moved. The idea that it was a bat came again but if there were any bats associated with Winnipeg, from what he knew, they stuck to just outside the city limits, living in the forests and church bell towers. A bird, a bat—whatever it was—it was moving quickly. Axiom-man followed it, keeping his eyes focused on its movement so he wouldn’t lose it. The black thing bobbed and weaved and darted about in a flight pattern akin to a bird, but the closer he got to it, the more he saw that it wasn’t a creature of God’s creation; it was, in fact, a mass of black cloud, puffy and round with sharp wing-like protrusions, the “wings” flapping up and down then held out straight as it glided. About a hundred and fifty feet away now and . . . it hit him. His insides shook and a jolt shot through his body. Something wasn’t right. The only feeling he could equate to the sensation racking his heart and spirit was the same as the sudden knowledge that you erred when you did something you knew you were not supposed to do. His flight speed slowed and as the thing flew further away, 27

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so did that sense of darkness that he could not put into words, the deep, deep feeling of guilt and shame and . . . evil. Whatever this thing was, it was now over the city. It weaved its way in between the buildings. Axiom-man followed suit. For a moment he lost it when it descended deep into an alleyway and got lost in the shadows. Then it surfaced again, narrowly missing the rooftop’s edge before climbing higher into the night sky, its darkness a stark contrast to the brilliant white of the moon. Axiom-man poured on the speed and ignored the sense of dread as he neared it. The cloud, keeping its propulsion forward, turned around as it flew as if looking at him. Then it faced ahead again and kept on, this time faster. Axiom-man flew harder and right away was at his top speed. He kept his eyes locked on his target, not wanting to lose it. There was no way to know if this phenomena would surface again. The cloud, its wing-like tips flapping then holding, flapping then holding, flew in wide arcs left and right, up and down. Axiom-man matched its movements, not letting it out of his sight. Then the cloud descended over a traffic-filled street, turned a corner and disappeared. Axiom-man flew up and turned the corner as well but when he looked down, hoping to see the cloud, it was gone. --------Axiom-man spent the majority of the night looking for the cloud after making a quick phone call to the police notifying them of Todd and Irene’s address and what they would find there. The emergency attendant who answered the phone didn’t seem too impressed when he left out his name, but he assured her that he’d called in before, and that he was often seen now and then wearing a blue cape. Her tone changed after hearing that and she thanked him and said they’d get a car out there straight away. He had gone up and down each downtown street three times, looking for the cloud, all to no avail. Now around one in the morning, the sky was a deep shade of purple. Traffic was thin and no one walked the streets save a few homeless people and some prostitutes. It was only Monday night, after all, and things didn’t really get hopping downtown until midweek onward. He ascended to the stone rooftop of the Bank of Montreal building and perched on its ledge. Whatever that thing was, it was gone. He only hoped it hadn’t caused any trouble, but judging by how the dark cloud made him feel, “trouble” wouldn’t be an adequate description if and when it did do something. His stomach was upside down and it wasn’t from the rollercoaster-like arcs and turns he executed while following the cloud. There was something disgusting about the cloud, the same kind of disgust he felt when he considered the greed of heads of big corporations who only cared about the dollar sign and not the people they hurt while fattening their bottom-line, the same kind of nausea he had felt earlier when Irene went and coddled Todd after Todd had beat her, and instead of encouraging justice to be served, wanted him back. He admired her forgiveness, but it sickened him to know that if she didn’t press charges, Todd was likely to hurt her again and that by the time she saw Axiom-man was right, it might be too late. That cloud . . . Ever since being granted his powers by the nameless messenger, Axiom-man could feel his power inside him, a surge of energy that swirled about inside his human frame just waiting to be allowed forth every time he put on the mask and the cape. This cloud . . . an energy emitted from it, too, one that seemed to connect with the energy that lived inside him. Except the energy from the cloud—even at a hundred or so feet away—seemed to pull at the power inside him, drawing it out, as if it was going to take it from him.

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CHAPTER THREE ANOTHER TUESDAY MORNING, Valerie thought. Great. She was at the bus stop waiting for the bus that would take her to work. Coffee in one hand, purse in the other, she blinked her eyes a few times to help her wake up. It hadn’t been a late night but when she got up this morning it was as if she could sleep another five hours till noon. Or it could be because she had switched shifts with somebody and was starting earlier today. Glancing around at the others standing at the bus stop, she noticed everyone else looked exhausted as well. So did the people walking by, those sitting in their cars as they waited for the traffic light to change from red to green. Even the stray cat walking along the sidewalk on the other side of the street seemed to be moving at a slower pace. What, did the sandman hit everybody hard last night? she wondered. She looked forward to getting home around fourthirty so she could take a nap. The bus came, she boarded, showed her pass and moved toward the middle where she gripped the overhead railing. All the seats were full. As the bus got underway, she wondered what it might have been like for the passengers on the bus Sunday night, the ones who had watched as their driver was held at gunpoint. The story had been all over the papers yesterday morning. She envisioned what her reaction might be if the same thing happened now, if at the next stop someone got on, produced a gun, and told the bus driver where to go and what to do. Though she was only seeing it in her mind’s eye, she could feel her body lock from the fear, the uncertainty of what might happen. Would she remain standing? Would she cram herself into a seat next to two other people, hoping they’d understand that she’d want to get out of the path of fire? Valerie glanced out the window. One of the passengers interviewed for the Winnipeg Free Press article—a man who didn’t give his name—said that a swell of relief came over him when, having turned his gaze momentarily from the hijacker, he saw a flash of blue in the window. He said he knew it was Axiom-man. It had been his first time seeing him. The man said he had to make a concentrated effort not to look out the window again so as to not tip off the hijacker that someone had come to their rescue. He said he also hadn’t wanted to distract Axiom-man as he knew that if he’d looked out the window any longer he wouldn’t have been able to help himself from waving a wave of thanks and urgency. Though Axiom-man made the news every time a heroic feat was reported, Valerie tried not to pay too much attention to it. It wasn’t that she didn’t care. She was afraid of wanting to know more. The last thing she needed was a schoolgirl-like obsession with someone who was out to help others. But if what they said about Axiom-man was true, that he could do things no other human could . . . wasn’t that worth paying attention to? Whatever he was—man, alien, machine—he had won her over whether she wanted to admit it or not. She also couldn’t help but wonder why he wore a costume and not regular clothes like everybody else. Was it because that’s how it was in cartoons and comic books? Was that because it was somehow expected for a hero to stand out from everyone else? She didn’t know, but she did admit his “standing out,” as much as she fought it, had made an impact on her. Here was a guy who stood up for what he believed in. Here was someone who gave something of himself but didn’t stand around for applause after helping someone in need. He was a reminder, she decided, of what we could all be—and what we potentially all were—if we only set aside our needs and wants, only set aside ourselves and looked past our desires to the lives of others. 29

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A short time later she squeezed her way through the bus’s standing crowd and exited via the back door. A block later she entered Dolla-card and joined the crowd by the elevator. More and more people joined her. Oddly enough, she didn’t know anybody. Maybe they worked on the other floors for the other businesses that occupied the building. The M for “main” lit up atop the elevator doors and a second after, the doors opened. As she started to board, someone shouted her name. She turned and looked as she followed the crowd into the elevator. Gabriel picked up his pace, his hand raised, waving to her. “Can you hold the, uh—” he said, but the doors closed. --------Gabriel pressed the up arrow and waited. Though it had only been a few seconds, he smiled inside at seeing Valerie. She must have traded shifts with someone because she normally didn’t start this early. But it felt so good to see her. She exuded a warmth and an almost magnetic pull every time he saw her. His heartbeat quickened. He could hardly wait to get upstairs. Get a grip, he told himself. She never pays attention to you. You’re the one who always has to say something. You’re the one who has to go up to her. She doesn’t care. You don’t exis—Then the thought hit him. If she knew he was Axiom-man, would she pay attention? Or would she tell the world? It was a secret he carried on his own. None of his friends knew—the few he had—and despite how badly he wanted to tell his folks and his brother, he knew he couldn’t say anything. Though he wasn’t completely sure they’d be able to keep the secret, he himself was still figuring this all out. Maybe once he learned more about the messenger who brought him his powers, maybe after a few years of experience leading a dual life, maybe when he was utterly and completely comfortable with himself in all aspects—maybe then he could let his father in on the secret and, after discussing it with him, tell his mom and brother. But that would be as far as he could take it, he knew, in terms of letting people in. His friends, as trustworthy as they were—what if they slipped up? He would never get any peace. He could only assume that if people knew he was Axiom-man they’d be banging on his door all day and night, the phone constantly ringing, reporters and television crews waiting on his doorstep every day when he got home from work. Gabriel shoved the thoughts from his mind. The M lit up and he was surprised to see that he was the only one getting in to the elevator. Everyone else had taken the lift next to his. --------Valerie settled down at her desk and turned her computer on. She should have reached out past the person standing in front of her and held the elevator door for Gabriel. Why didn’t she? Well, she knew why: because she knew him. If she displayed one act of kindness he would take it the wrong way and view it as an invitation to ask her out. It wasn’t that he was a bad guy, not by any means. She just didn’t see him as more than a friend. He was a good guy, hardworking, polite, thoughtful, caring, almost too good to be true by those standards. But she wasn’t attracted to him and he didn’t have to come out and say it for her to know he was attracted to her. Perhaps too much. Maybe before the glasses and the cardigans did she consider being his friend at work. At least without those two items he was halfway attractive, yet when he started wearing glasses—as superficial as she knew that was—any handsomeness that she might have seen vanished. And when he still kept trying to start conversations with her, regardless of how many signals she gave that she wasn’t interested, he kept bothering her. Valerie couldn’t understand why she couldn’t make it clear to him that she wasn’t interested beyond a cordial relationship at work. She was afraid of something, she knew, but

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not of him or how he might interpret it. Deep down, she realized as she logged in for the day, she knew that by slowly becoming friends with him, she’d be exposing herself to someone who was different than everyone she knew. Someone who didn’t care what people thought of him. Someone who did his own thing and pursued his own goals. Someone who was real. No, she wasn’t ready for that yet. --------Gabriel couldn’t sit still and it wasn’t because Valerie seemed to glance in his direction a few more times than usual. Despite his wishes that, maybe, she was finally noticing him, something else was on his mind. His stomach twisted and turned, his heart beat at a quicker pace and if this were any other day, he might think he was anxious for something. Instead, he couldn’t shake the image of that black cloud from the night before. There was something . . . off . . . about it, something almost forbidden. He wished he knew what it was. Gabriel’s headset beeped, signaling the next call. He took it, a routine balance check, and wrapped it up. He waited for the next one, which came soon after. A charge inquiry. And so on his morning went. As he assisted Dolla-card’s customers, thoughts of the black cloud swirled in his mind. Trying to stay focused on the task at hand, more than anything he wished to tell Rod Hunter he wasn’t feeling well so he could leave work come lunchtime, don his Axiom-man suit, fly around the city, and discover where and what that black cloud might be. But he couldn’t lie, and faking he was sick when he wasn’t would be doing just that. How could he pretend to be something he wasn’t and lie all in the name of perhaps saving the city from something terrible? But wasn’t he doing that anyway, each and every day? By not revealing he was Axiom-man, by putting on an act of the timid customer service representative—was that not the same thing? Did that not make him a liar? It was one of those moral questions that he feared he would never have the answer to. Some might say he was covering up his secret identity, making up excuses so he could venture off and help others, all for the greater good. Yet others, those with a clear, black and white perception of what was right and what was wrong would call him on it, tell him to stop deceiving so many people. His stomach churned at the notion that, in one respect, he was no better than those he brought to justice. If only the messenger had made these sorts of things clear to him. If only there was some sort of guidebook that detailed how one could be a superhero—a true superhero—one who was nothing but the ideals and hopes and example he tried to put forth. Valerie looked his way again while he was on the phone with a customer. He smiled shyly and gave a small wave. She returned her focus to her monitor, as if she never looked his way to begin with. Just then the idea of approaching her as Axiom-man became a good one and Gabriel entertained it for a short time before realizing the futility of it. The only reason behind doing such a thing would be for his own gain. By doing so, however, it would be a slap in the face to what Axiom-man was supposed to stand for. The black cloud. There it was again, and though he was sitting safely in the confines of his cubicle, the same sense of dread the cloud emitted the night before hung over him. Scanning those around him quickly, Gabriel noticed tiredness in everyone’s eyes, subtle bags beneath the eye sockets, their eyes red as if each one had been up the night before crying. Could they have felt the presence of the black cloud, too? Too many questions and not enough answers. Maybe I should tell Rod I’m not feeling well, he thought. And though that was now partially true, his stomach upside down with worry and concern, he also remembered his meeting yesterday with Rod and the warning about not being late again. Taking the afternoon off would be just as bad as being late, if not worse. Besides, he had a meeting with him this afternoon. To duck out on that . . .

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The idea of perhaps writing his own ebook on call centre customer service and how to pass the time during one’s shift came to the forefront of his thoughts. If it did well, he wouldn’t have to worry about clocking in eight to four every day. If he had that ebook up and running now, he wouldn’t be here and instead could be scouring the city for any sign of the black cloud. Gabriel opened up a new web browser on his machine, went to Google and punched in Oscar Owen’s name, the apparent ebook guru. Fortunately Dolla-card didn’t have a strict Internet policy like some workplaces. You were allowed to check your personal email and do a little surfing provided that it didn’t interfere with your work. He went to Owen’s main website and it wasn’t what he expected. He’d seen a few ebook sites before and they were all sales letters. Owen’s had interactive images, links, menus and the man’s picture graced the front page. The main banner was for Owen Enterprises, touting the new real estate project he was getting into. There were, however, links along the side, one of them labeled HELP-ME-NOW EBOOKS. Gabriel clicked on it and was taken to a page which listed all of Owen’s electronic works—at least thirty in all—each complete with a brief description and cover image. He clicked on one and was taken to the ebook’s sales page. Skimming it over, he saw that doing something like this wasn’t that far fetched provided you knew exactly what to say. His phone beeped. He answered, and the customer was in the middle of a sentence, voice raised, before Gabriel could introduce himself. It was going to be a long call. --------The meeting with Rod went well, in fact Rod made a special point to mention how he was impressed that Gabriel was back on time from lunch today. Gabriel didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was because he stayed in the lunchroom, reading a Zellers flyer and didn’t eat because he didn’t have the time to make himself a lunch this morning. But Rod was happy and that was what was important. It was almost four o’clock. Gabriel looked over to Valerie’s station. She hadn’t glanced his way all afternoon; something he had been hoping for. Probably for the best, he concluded. He took his last call and was thankful it wasn’t a complicated one. Logging off his station, he was looking forward to getting home and shedding his clothes. Wearing the costume beneath his clothes was especially hot today for some reason. He hoped he would get used to wearing the multiple layers soon. He also thought it would be embarrassing for Axiom-man to have sweat patches here and there on his outfit when it was time to help another out. Fortunately, so far, that had never happened. He grabbed his jacket and collected his callback forms into a neat pile. He took one last look at Valerie, who was still on a call, then headed over to the lockers to deposit the forms. Better watch how many times you look at her, he told himself. It may seem fine to you but she’s going to chalk you up as a creep if she hasn’t already. He had never been good at approaching girls. Even in high school he played it shy, and not intentionally. Often he’d daydream of walking up to Sandy Anderson, asking her out, her giving him an enthusiastic yes followed by a hug. But it never happened. He had even made a deal with himself that before he graduated he’d ask her out on a date at least once. That never happened either. If he were ever presented with the opportunity to do some things in his life over, that would be one of the big ones. He could only imagine how his life might have turned out if he had asked her out, if she had said yes and, depending on how things went, if they would still be together today. Most likely he’d be married to her, maybe even have a kid by now, a little house and all the rest that went with it. But would he have become Axiom-man if those events played out? Would the messenger still have selected him? There were so many what ifs. What if one of the

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reasons he was given his powers was because of the precise way his life had panned out? Was living alone and being single one of the prerequisites in whatever criteria the messenger had for bestowing upon him super-powered abilities? Again Gabriel longed for another encounter with the brilliant light that was the messenger. If some of these matters could be cleared up, perhaps he’d function even better as Axiom-man. Then again, what if these questions had to remain unanswered for him to be Axiom-man? He pushed the thoughts away. Every time he dwelled on them and the dizzying questions and images filled his mind, a subtle headache always came on. As he opened the door to leave the small room where the lockers were, he accidentally pushed it into Valerie. The door connected with her fingers, bumping them hard judging by the dull clunk they made on the wood. She took a few steps back and the wide-eyed expression of shock she gave him sent his heart aching. “I’m so, so sorry,” he said. “Are you all right?” “Sheesh, Gabriel, you have to start looking where you’re going. You almost knocked me over yesterday and today you nearly broke my hands.” “Broke?” He looked at her slender fingers, checking for any damage. There was none. It didn’t make him feel any better though. “Valerie, I don’t know what to say. I—” The two had to move out of the way as someone else went in to the small room. Gabriel moved out of the doorway and into the hall with Valerie. “I’m sorry. I-I honestly didn’t mean to.” He glanced at the papers in her hands. “Can I help you with those?” “No, it’s okay,” she said. “But you really should watch it.” He wanted to reach out to her, hold her, comfort her in some way, even over something as small as bumping a door into her. “At least let me make it up to you somehow.” She arched an eyebrow. “Make it up to me?” What did I just say? Uh oh. “I, uh, well, um . . . I meant, I . . . . It was an accident.” An honest-togoodness one, too. I wasn’t faking that one. “Can I give you a bus ticket so you can get home?” “I have a bus pass but thanks anyway.” Silence filled the air between them. Nice one, Gabriel, he thought. “Can I give you a bus ticket?” Man, what does that mean? Valerie eyed the door to the lockers. “I should put these away.” And she moved past him to the door. When she opened it, the person who had passed them to go into the room a moment before came out. Valerie went in. As the door was closing, Gabriel said, “Can I walk you to your bus stop?” He quickly looked around the office. A few of the people who liked to work standing up were looking his way, smiles on their faces. They heard everything. Feeling his face redden, he cast his gaze to the floor and went out the door to wait for the elevator. A minute later, Valerie exited the office area, too. They stood side by side. Gabriel didn’t think it was possible for an elevator to take this long to arrive. He turned to face her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Stop saying that,” she said. “Accidents happen. It’s okay and I’m sorry, too, for snapping at you like I did.” “Um . . . no need to apologize. It was my fault.” “I know.” He raised his eyebrows. She smiled back. What was happening? “Do you, um” —he felt around in his pocket for his bus tickets— “do you want that bus ticket?” “I told you, I have a bus pass. But I appreciate the gesture.” “Bus pass. Um, right. Sorry. Forgot.” Where was that elevator? 33

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Gabriel put his hands in his pockets, his jacket draped over his arm, and rocked on his heels. “Are you still working the early shift tomorrow?” She shook her head. “No, I’m back to my usual. Today was a one-off thing.” He nodded; he wasn’t sure why. Finally the number 7 above the elevator doors lit up. What a relief. He didn’t know how much longer he could make a fool of himself. What made it even harder was that he wasn’t even trying to be goofy. He just was. As awkward as this little exchange with Valerie was, he was also thankful for it. It was the most they had ever spoken to one another since he’d started working here. They boarded the elevator and rode it down to the main floor. As they walked toward the main entrance and as he put his jacket on, he wondered if she’d say good-bye to him before she went to her bus stop. Should he walk her there? No, that’d be too much, he thought. They went outside and she turned left. He walked with her a few paces, knowing that in a moment he’d have to turn left at the intersection while she would continue straight. She kept her eyes forward, lips pressed together. If anyone was going to say good-bye, it was going to be him. At the intersection, a red stop hand filled the black walking light across the way. A cool breeze rushed by, getting rid of some of the heat from Gabriel’s multiple layers of clothing. Not wanting to dally too long, he was about to bid her a good night when the high-pitched screams of multiple sirens filled the air. Almost immediately, two fire trucks, a couple of police cruisers and an ambulance sped by to his right. Something was happening and whatever it was, it was big.

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CHAPTER FOUR THE LIGHT CHANGED from the red hand to the green walking man and Valerie crossed the street. Gabriel turned left, knowing he’d have to hurry. He walked swiftly down the sidewalk, consciously avoiding running for fear of attracting unnecessary attention to himself, especially from Valerie if she happened to look back his way. She might ask him later why he took off so quickly and he didn’t want to have to lie to her. He excused himself as he passed the people coming toward him, brushing shoulders with a few of them. Rounding the back of the Dolla-card building, he grimaced at the sight of a few people exiting the rear entrance. Hopefully they wouldn’t linger around the door. Walking carefully to the little alcove in the back, he waited the thirty seconds or so until the people were gone, and ducked out of sight. A minute later and the coast clear, he emerged full costume and took off into the sky. The building shrank beneath him and he banked right, following the sound of the sirens. In no time he was above the commotion, the fire trucks and police cars and ambulances that drove past him just minutes before now accompanied by a few more. Standing atop the enclosed catwalk which bridged Portage Place with the Hudson Bay Company was a woman. Though she was high up, she appeared to be in her mid thirties, wearing a black business blazer and matching skirt, her long red hair blowing in the wind as she stepped to and from the edge. It was difficult to guess how she had gotten up there, perhaps the rooftop entrance at Portage Place. Regardless, Axiom-man knew why she was up there: she was going to jump. Heart beating, a flurry of thoughts and words as to what he might say swirling around his mind, he floated down in front of her, slowly, so as not to alarm her. Gasps and shouts rang from the crowd below. Atop the roof of Portage Place about twenty-five feet to the right was a team of men in business suits, no doubt counselors and a few undercover cops, trying to figure out a way to safely get atop the catwalk so they could talk her down. “Hello,” Axiom-man said gently. He did his best to maintain his low “Axiom-man” voice, but at the same time his regular voice could not help but come through. This wasn’t a time for disguises. If he erred in some way . . . The woman didn’t look at him; her eyes were red and puffy and tears dripped down her cheeks. “It’ll be all right, ma’am,” he said softly. “Do you want me to take you down?” She shook her head then stepped up to the edge, the tips of her high heels flush with the catwalk’s ledge, her arms spread out waist height so she could keep her balance. “Do you want to talk?” It was difficult to know if he should try and look her in the eyes or just watch her feet to make sure she didn’t step off the edge and catch him off guard. He opted for the latter. The woman didn’t reply. Sometimes listening was the best thing one could do instead of offering advice, his father once told him. Waiting a moment before speaking again, Axiom-man checked the status of the men on the rooftop. One of the men kept their eyes on him while the others seemed to be discussing the safest way to climb down on to the rooftop to retrieve the woman. Axiom-man pretended the people 35

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below weren’t there. To involve them in this, even indirectly—it could only lead to trouble. Already a few people were shouting for the woman to jump. Sick. “I can help you,” Axiom-man said, reaching out his arms. The woman recoiled, hugging herself. Her gaze never left the street below. “Would you like me to wait with you?” he asked. “We can take as much time as you need, just please, don’t jump. We can talk this through.” She backed off from the edge, glanced at the men gathered on the rooftop then, as if in defiance to them, stepped back on to the ledge. Street level was about three stories below. If she jumped, it’d most likely kill her. If the fall didn’t, at the very least both her legs would break. Maybe an arm or two as well. The police and firemen below finally killed their sirens, sending an unsettling silence through the air. Axiom-man floated closer, so close he was almost touching her. Should he just reach out and grab her and fly her down? What if she put up a fight? The amount of force he’d have to impose to keep her arms and legs from flailing about . . . . He didn’t want to hurt her. “Ma’am?” No reply at first, then in a voice so soft and so broken that he couldn’t help but be moved to tears, she said, “No more,” and jumped to the side of him. In the split second it took for him to react, the crowd shouted a collective scream as a red and black blur swept over them. The woman, along with the blur, was gone. Checking the ground to see if she had fallen, hoping against hope that he hadn’t just ended this woman’s life, a jolt rushed through him as just below, coming out from underneath the catwalk, was the woman being flown to the ground by someone in a costume. The man, clad in red and black tights, a black cowl and cape, set the woman down. She was rushed by the police and firemen, who quickly made way for the emergency medical staff on site. The man was mobbed by the crowd and they pushed him to the side, away from the woman as if she was forgotten. No one seemed to care about her at all, only this new super-powered marvel. Axiom-man remained floating above the commotion, as if he didn’t exist. He was just as surprised as anyone to see someone else with the ability to fly. As far as he knew, he was the only one in the world who could do what he did. He wanted to find out who this man was and what else he could do. Below, the man in red and black spoke with the crowd. TV crews and newspaper reporters pulled up in vans and forced their way through the mob to get close to him. He saved her, Axiom-man thought. She could have died and I . . . Throat suddenly tight, his heart aching, Axiom-man turned and flew away, no one seeming to notice, like a shadow into the dark. --------The evening news was flooded with reports of what happened just before rush hour. Gabriel knew the morning papers and the drive-to-work radio programs would be covering the biggest story since he, as Axiom-man, burst on to the scene four months ago. Sitting on his recliner, Gabriel turned the volume up. On TV, the man in red and black was being interviewed. “Sir, sir,” a reporter said, “Karen Kalchuk for CityNews. What’s your name?” The man looked into the camera. “Redsaw,” he said with authority. Redsaw, Gabriel thought. Cool name. Karen continued: “Where did you come from and how did you know she was going to jump?”

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“I was in the area, saw the commotion and Axiom-man. I was going to let him handle it but when she jumped past him, I saw he didn’t catch her so I intervened, just in case he couldn’t grab her before she hit the ground.” Gabriel started at hearing his name. Well, Axiom-man’s name. Redsaw’s words only made him feel worse. “Now in the eyes of everyone I’m a failure,” Gabriel said. In one moment whatever good way the people viewed me is gone. Just like that. “Will we be seeing you around the city from here on in, then?” Karen said. “You can count on it.” The news report ended, the program switching back to the news desk, a picture of Redsaw juxtaposed beside the news anchor. “This will no doubt be the talk of the town for weeks,” he said. “More as this develops.” Gabriel turned off the TV. He unbuttoned the collar of his shirt and took off his cardigan. He had only one option for what he was going to do tonight. --------It was close to eight o’clock in the evening. Oscar Owen hung up the phone. Carl Erwin, his financial advisor, had just called to give him the big news. There had been a spike in the cell phone market, a new technology that made the Internet connection for cell phones two-hundred-fifty times faster than it already was. All information the phone could receive was now virtually instantaneous. The chip had been introduced about a month ago and, having a good feeling about it, Oscar instructed Carl to invest eight million in the product. Though leery on investing such a sizable amount in a new product, Carl did it anyway. Tonight that gamble paid off. Oscar had quadrupled his investment. He told Carl to let it ride a few more days but the moment everyone started buying the stock, to sell it. “Are you sure you want to do that?” Carl said. “Who knows how much more you could make if you keep it in there.” “And who knows how much more I could lose. I made my profit, Carl. More than I thought possible. Sell it as I said. Other things will come along, new ideas, new technologies, and we’ll do well with those when the time comes. I’d rather keep what I’ve gained.” “But the money—” “Is just a means to an end. It isn’t everything. Got it?” “Sure. And congratulations again, Oscar.” He smiled. “Congratulations to you, too. This will be an impressive gain on your resumé and for your firm.” “Thanks.” And that was it. Oscar stood up from his desk at Pay-Me-Loan, shoved his hands in his pockets and went over to the window. Past his reflection in the glass, he gazed out onto the city. The sky, a black velvety matte, was pinpricked with yellow and white stars; an unusually clear night. Even for a city as small as Winnipeg, normally the glow from the streetlights below muted the clarity of stars in the sky. “This city has so much potential,” he said quietly to himself. “There’s just not enough buildings, not enough people. And it’s right in the middle of the country.” When I’m through with it, he thought, Toronto will sneer and Vancouver will wail. He just needed time. With the current construction of Owen Tower, it was a step in the right direction. Once the structure was built, he’d hand over the managing reins of Pay-Me-Loan to another—Terry Whiteman, whom he had been grooming for quite sometime. It was time to move up in the world

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and from Owen Tower, he could oversee the growth of his real estate empire. And once that was established, he’d move on to something else, all the while keeping a close eye on each business he started, each one turned into a powerhouse. Not bad for a guy with such humble beginnings. Four years ago, he was just a gas jockey, toiling away on an awkward shift of one till nine, making minimum wage, each day on the job confirming that no human being, let alone himself, should suffer the confines of such mundane monotony. He had been twenty-five at the time and what made his station so difficult to accept was that by then, he should have had more to show for his life: an actual career, perhaps even a family, not just some Joe-job filling people’s gas tanks. It was a Friday when he decided that he had to do something better with himself or else resign to a life in poverty with no real future. He hadn’t gone to postsecondary, and though he knew that part was his fault, he also understood that he didn’t have a choice. Affording a four-thousand-dollar-a-year education was out of the question and even though night classes were an option and more affordable, they wouldn’t work with his awkward work schedule. In the past, when he had asked his supervisor for another shift, he was shot down each time. Finally he gave up and, in hindsight— though it now opposed everything he believed in—that giving up was the best decision of his life. So the next day, after deciding it was time for a change, he took the bus downtown and went to the library to seek out a newspaper. Back then even sparing an extra buck for a newspaper wasn’t possible. Thankfully he had a bus pass and didn’t have to spend any extra money on bus fare. The goal, originally, had been to look in the classifieds section, see what was out there for work, then type up a resumé on the library’s computer, print it and drop it off where the ad said. After scanning the paper, he was dismayed to discover that out of the few jobs available that he actually qualified for, most of them required a postsecondary education of some sort. Sure, there were a bunch of McJobs available, but it would be no different than gas jockeying albeit in a different setting. He had, however, toyed with the idea of trading one minimum wage job for another in the interest of working a better shift. Maybe then he’d be able to do some night classes. But what was the point? It would be just more of the same boring crap he’d been doing thus far. About to give up, he thought maybe the Winnipeg Free Press had a different set of listings on the Internet. Why not. Despite having to pay for an hour of computer time, he logged in and discovered the classifieds online were not much different than in the hardcopy. Defeated, he went to a search engine just to surf and while away the rest of the hour. As a joke, he typed “fast money” in the search field and hit enter. A bunch of get-rich-quick schemes popped up. As he scrolled through the results, he saw an ad on the side that said MAKE MONEY WITH EBOOKS! Oscar clicked on it and was taken to a sales page where a gentleman claimed to have made two thousand dollars in a single night selling just one ebook online. Oscar read the lengthy sales page twice before his hour was up. As he rode the bus home, he wondered if what he'd read was true, if one really could make money like the man had claimed. It made sense. There were millions of users online, and if the bits in the newspaper Oscar caught were any guide, that number was growing exponentially every day. Out of those millions, how many were working boring jobs? How many might want to know how to pass the time and forget they were working for the eight hours a day they were at their post? Oscar had a ton of tricks up his sleeve for that. The man’s sales letter said you could write an ebook about anything you wanted and that no matter what you came up with, there was always a market for it. And once you knew where to find that market, you had it made. Throughout the following week Oscar consciously and subconsciously wrote, How to While Away the Day at Your Boring Job, in his mind. In hindsight, not the greatest of titles, but an effective one as later sales figures would prove. He had set up an appointment with his personal banker for the following Monday and applied for a thousand-dollar loan so he could get his own computer. Since he hadn’t had any credit trouble in the past—since he’d never had credit—they were willing to give him a chance with such a small amount. Oscar bought his machine on sale at Zellers, got an Internet 38

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connection of his own and got to work. He only hoped that the book would be ready and sales made by next month so he could start paying his loan back. Now, looking out the window, a swell of pride bubbled inside his chest from what he had created. His first ebook had few sales at first, but as he got more adept at Online Viral Marketing— which he conducted each evening from ten till sometimes three or four in the morning—the sales increased. Within two months he had nearly ten thousand dollars to his name. Already then he felt like a millionaire. He had never seen nor possessed so much money in his life. After quitting his job, he had the time to work on a sequel to the book, entitled, How to While Away Each Day of Your Boring Life (And Make it More Exciting), in which he wrote down the tricks he had learned during the two months his first ebook was gaining success. So while the first title was earning him an income, the second one was now, too. Two years later after making nearly three million dollars online—and after several shining spotlight stories in the newspapers, articles that, according to readers’ responses, inspired hope in people—he started Pay-Me-Loan. But he never forgot the power of the ebook and made a private commitment to himself to put out a new one every three months. Today, two years later, he was about to embark on a new journey. Onward, he thought. Then aloud, “Onward.”

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Four months earlier . . . GABRIEL SCREAMED. The ground disappeared beneath him, at least forty feet below. He was certain any moment now he’d fall back down to the earth and die on impact. Up and up he rose, and for a moment he thought the murky purple of night sky would part before him and he’d be lost to the endless blackness of space. The ground slipped further and further away. Not knowing how long this would last, he wanted immediately to get back to the ground so that if this sudden— flight?—stopped, if he did fall, it would hopefully be from only a few feet, ten tops. Gabriel arched his body forward, hands outstretched, palms flat as if he were about to stop himself from smacking into the ground. His legs snapped out behind him and on instinct they kicked at the air as he sped toward the ground. The gray of the stony pathway turned from dark to light as he neared it. It was rushing up to meet him. Heart slamming quick and hard against his ribcage, his breath escaped him and soon his lungs ached for air. There were no thoughts; his mind was blank, just a flurry of emotion and panic because in a few seconds he would plow headfirst into the stones. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed he was right with God, awaiting the sudden impact and then, hopefully, the glorious white of Heaven. He jerked his head back so his chin was pointing up to the sky. His back bowed and he didn’t need his eyes open to know his body formed a U as he swooped skyward again. A thick trembling echoed within him, a sense of skimming past something at tremendous speed. It was the ground. How close had he come? How close had he skimmed it? He opened his eyes and the purple of night, the yellow and white specks of stars, greeted his vision. The ground was about as far away as it had been when he’d started his descent less than a minute before. Lungs on fire, he remembered he was still holding his breath. He gasped for air and a rush of cool wind filled him. Coughing then breathing deep, he continued ascending. Finally he could think. Need to level out. Carefully, he slowly bent at the waist so his outstretched arms were—he guessed—parallel to the ground. This high up, it was difficult to tell exactly how flush with the landscape his arms were. The wind rushing up under him kept trying to kick his arms upward. He pressed them against the cushion of air then relaxed his legs as if trying to glide atop water in a swimming pool. Gabriel went forward. Hair blowing back, a refreshing breeze rushing along his forehead and along his scalp, he thought he had the hang of it. He bent his feet so that his toes pointed toward the ground. His flight slowed and for a second he thought maybe this was like trying to move smoothly forward in water. He pointed his toes out straight and sure enough, he sped up. After repeating the maneuver several times, he learned it wasn’t the toe-pointing that was controlling his speed, but rather the want to move forward. Psychologically, pointing his toes downward made him want to slow down. Pointing them out made him want to move forward quickly. Gabriel let out a chuckle then started laughing. As his shoulders rose and fell from his laughter, his body rose and fell along the air. Still laughing, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, he was shocked to see he was over suburbs. Which area of the city it was, he didn’t know. The houses all looked the same from up here, just blocks with triangular tops all laid out in a perfect grid, the streets running alongside them in ruler-straight lines, the bays looking like gray, old-fashioned keyholes. He glanced behind himself, hoping to see the downtown skyline. There they were, the few tall buildings Winnipeg had like giant dominoes against the night sky. With his neck turned, his body wanted to turn, too. He put his gaze

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forward so he wouldn’t turn around completely, though he was going more to the right now than before. No matter. This was wonderful! “Yes, yes, yes!” he cried. He pointed his toes—from habit, though a short-lived habit at that—and flew faster. Within about twenty seconds, he reached top speed and try as he might, he couldn’t fly any quicker. Then the effort of going forward left him and he was coasting on the air. Houses swept by below him, the few cars there were like insects holding tiny flashlights as they traveled the roads. Up ahead in the distance an airplane was leaving dark contrails across the sky. Wouldn’t that be funny if he flew up beside it and waved to the passengers in the window? Then he remembered planes flew super fast in order to stay airborne, and whatever speed he was traveling at, it wasn’t in the hundreds of kilometers an hour. If he had to guess, he was going maybe forty or fifty. Sixty at the very most though he doubted it. He reached as far forward as he could, stretching his arms as long as they could go, hoping that he’d accelerate. He didn’t. No matter. The smile never left his face. Gabriel flew. A short time later suburbia tapered off into highways and fields, the night growing ever darker for lack of street lights. He didn’t want to set down because he didn’t know if he would be able to fly again. But he had to come down at some point. He’d have to go home, have to eat. Have to work. Remembering what happened the last time he suddenly arched downward, this time Gabriel slowly bent forward, only angling himself enough for a slow descent. The ground grew closer, quicker than he expected. He pointed his toes downward to slow himself and was already reminding himself he’d have to practice slowing and picking up speed without bending his toes. If he ever flew again, that was. The grass of the field below was a grayish brown, the blades blurred as he passed over them. Careful. Slowly. He bent his toes so far downward that he thought his big toes might touch his shins. His insteps ached from the pressure. The ground grew closer and, thinking he was about five feet from the ground, Gabriel let his legs drop. He had misjudged the distance and his feet touched air and then a moment later his feet hit the dirt and long grass and he tripped forward, running then falling. The only thing that saved him from landing face first was his forearms. His arms and elbows banged against the ground, sliding, tearing the skin through his shirt. Gabriel yelled from the pain then began to sob when it finally sunk in he wasn’t moving, that he was on the ground. He was alive.

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CHAPTER FIVE FOR GABRIEL, COMING in to work the following morning was just like the morning after he made his first appearance as Axiom-man. Nearly everybody had a newspaper, Redsaw on the cover. Some sat reclining in their chairs reading the cover story while others had their newspapers within easy reach for breaks between calls. Walking past the lunchroom, he saw the TV was on, the morning news replaying last night’s broadcast of the new hero that had come to Winnipeg. Gabriel went over to his station, removed his jacket and, after catching an eyeful of the newspaper from the person beside him, turned his eyes back toward his screen as his system booted up. As he straightened his keyboard, he thought come lunchtime he should go out and get a paper of his own—if any were left—and start reading the Free Press daily. If he wanted to do his best as Axiom-man, it would be his responsibility to stay current on the news, Redsaw or otherwise. Who knew what tidbit of information might come in handy at a later date. So the morning wore on, call after call, never a break in between. It was evident by the sighing and stretching of his coworkers that they wanted to have even just a minute between calls to once again take in the tale of the champion in red and black. Though today, aside from the latest news, was like any other, Gabriel felt himself fading from existence. He was used to being invisible, but he always had Axiom-man to help him feel worthy. Now, it seemed, even being Axiom-man wasn’t enough. It was as though his blue-clad alter ego didn’t exist at all. Never existed at all. Around ten to eleven, Valerie came in, set her things down at her cubicle, among them a copy of the Free Press. Even she was into Redsaw. Heart hollow, Gabriel wrapped up the call he was on and locked his computer. If Rod was around and saw him standing when it was clearly busy, his plan was to make a trip to the bathroom to avoid any questions. Seeing Rod in a meeting with another customer service rep, he took a pencil from his drawer and headed toward the pencil sharpener across from Valerie’s cubicle. He just wanted to be near her and didn’t plan to stop by, but he soon found himself closing in on her station. “Morning,” he said. She looked up from the newspaper. “Hi.” Then went back to reading. Silence settled as he stood there, turning the pencil between his fingers. Then, “That’s, um, some story, huh?” She closed the newspaper and stared at the picture of Redsaw posing heroically on the front page, the jagged red against black of his costume prominent in the photo. “Yeah, amazing, isn’t it?” Her eyes lit up. “I mean, who would have thought something like this could have happened? I can’t believe he saved that woman, and so quickly, too.” “I, uh, heard Axiom-man was there, too.” “But he didn’t catch her in time,” she said, almost dismissively. “I think he tried though, right? I mean, he would have had to try. That’s just what he does.” She set the paper down on the clear space of desk beside her monitor then leaned forward in her chair, elbows on her knees, hands clasped together. “I think he’s great, whoever he is. Saw him on the news last night. Seems like he genuinely wants to help.” 42

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“Axiom-man wants to help, too.” Watch it, man, he warned himself. “Well, yeah, of course. It’s just that Redsaw’s . . .” “New?” “That’s part of it. I don’t know. I just got this feeling, you know? Axiom-man, from what I’ve heard, usually does the good guy thing at night and seems kind of, I don’t know, darker because of it. Redsaw . . . . I like his costume better, anyway.” Now there’s something I didn’t expect. “His costume?” “Yeah. I like it, the half-mask and all.” “Oh.” He must have made a face because she asked him what the problem was. “Well, um, to me anyway, red and black are usually the colors of darkness. Like in cartoons.” “Cartoons?” She didn’t have to say anything further. She was mentally stamping the word “loser” on his forehead. “What I meant was—” “Whatever. I like it and I think he’s going to be a great addition to this city. Besides” —she glanced off to the side— “from what I can see of his face, he’s pretty good looking.” Gabriel arched his eyebrows then straightened his glasses. “Really?” “Yes, he—” “Garrison.” A hand slid on to Gabriel’s shoulder. Rod’s. “See that?” He pointed to the digital display board which showed how many calls were waiting in the queue: thirty-seven. “Yes, sir. Sorry. I was just sharpening my pencil.” Gabriel showed the pencil to his boss. “Looks pretty sharp to me.” And it was. “I’m sorry. I’ll, um, go sit down.” Valerie was already logging in to her station, looking busy, clearly for Rod’s benefit. “What did we talk about the other day?” Rod said. Why’s he doing this to me in front of her? He didn’t know what he was more upset at—Rod’s patronizing tone or the fact that by dawdling and talking to Valerie, he was making bad on his resolve to maintain his perfect worker identity. “Um, my lateness, sir?” “Yes, and that we should also maximize our time while here.” We never talked about that! Does he have a thing for her? Why’s he trying to make me look bad? “Right,” he said, going along with it. “I’m sorry. I’ll go sit down.” “You said that already. Please do.” Gabriel started back to his seat. “And Gabriel?” Rod said. “Yes?” “Only sharpen your pencil when it’s dull, all right?” Then with a smile in Valerie’s direction even though she wasn’t looking at him, “It’s a waste of lead otherwise.” --------Gabriel picked up a newspaper from the dispenser out in front of the Dolla-card building. There had been only three left in the machine. Wanting to take in the afternoon sunshine, he rounded to the side of the building where a few benches were tucked away in shallow alcoves, and sat down. Valerie had been right—there was something heroic about Redsaw. It could very well have been only his pose on the front page—a solid stance, arms crossed, head tilted slightly skyward—and maybe, as much as he hated to admit it, Redsaw’s costume. It still didn’t feel right though, and Gabriel wished he knew why.

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He read the cover story, a summary of the previous day’s events. His heart sank when he read: “Axiom-man stayed there, hovering, as if not knowing what to do.” They were right, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. The woman who was going to kill herself, Sasha Roberts—her name probably only revealed, Gabriel suspected, for a shot at fame and selling her story to any who were interested in hearing it—said when Axiom-man came to help her, she wanted to give in to him and allow him to fly her down, but she was so distraught she didn’t know what to do or even say. She had never been saved by a costumed crusader before and, though she realized it was silly, wondered if there was a special way to go about doing it, even at the risk of jeopardizing her rescue. “‘I’m glad Redsaw saved me,’ she said. ‘I jumped before realizing what I was doing.’” Gabriel re-read the line about Axiom-man not knowing what to do. It had been true. Sasha was the first potential suicide victim he had tried to save. Approaching her with caution and love seemed like the best option. Next time—though he hoped he would never be caught in a similar situation again—it would be action first and words later. Gabriel checked his watch. Only ten minutes into his lunch break, another twenty to go. Not wanting to be late again, he stood and went back to the front of the building, and went upstairs to the lunchroom. A few of his coworkers were watching TV when he entered. He gave them a friendly wave, which they ignored with eyes glued to the television set. He didn’t know what was so exciting. Whatever they were watching was on a commercial break anyway. He sat at one of the tables and began flipping through the paper. The sun beat in through the windows, the glass magnifying its light and increasing its heat, warming him. He pulled at the collar of his shirt to allow some air to his skin beneath the costume, careful not to accidentally pull up the dark blue material of his Axiom-man collar for everyone to see. “Welcome back,” a male voice said from the TV set. Gabriel didn’t look up. “A fire broke out twenty minutes ago when gunshots were heard near the Shell station on Notre Dame Avenue.” Gabriel looked to the set. The others in the room leaned forward in their seats. “Though details cannot be confirmed,” the CityNews anchor continued, “what is believed to have happened was one of the shots struck an idling vehicle and ignited the gas tank. As far as we know, those who fired the shots had fled right after. We’re awaiting correspondence of Judy Malhem who’s en route to the scene now. Fortunately, the gas tank didn’t seem to be full or the explosion that set the car ablaze could have caused more serious problems as it is so close to the Shell station. Fire crews are on their way but—one moment—” He touched his ear piece. “Folks, it seems because of the heavy construction on Portage Avenue, fire trucks are having a hard time getting through the noon hour traffic. Judy Malhem is only a few cars back from them and, she says, they’re trying to worm their way through to take the side streets. As Winnipeg drivers all know, because of all the one-ways, it may take awhile for fire fighters to get there in time.” Leaving the newspaper on the table, Gabriel left the lunchroom. A few minutes later, Axiom-man was in the sky, not caring if he was going to be late getting back to work. Almost immediately after ascending he saw the black CityNews Nissan Xterra and, just a few cars ahead, three fire trucks trying to work their way to the next right-turning one-way to make a roundabout route to the fire. Bringing his fists together, he dove toward traffic and sped along just four feet from the ground, zipping past the Xterra then in between the cars of the two-lane traffic, then past the fire trucks, hoping they would see him. --------Valerie went to the lunchroom to refill her coffee mug.

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“. . . thank goodness,” the news anchor on TV said. “Axiom-man has just been spotted heading toward Notre Dame.” Valerie looked up at the screen, brushing a lock of brown hair from her eyes. “He apparently took off over the buildings in that direction after Judy saw him through our Xterra’s window.” Though the words didn’t form in her mind, Valerie was curious if Redsaw would be on his way, too. --------Axiom-man touched down near the flaming car; the crowds lining the neighboring sidewalks broke into applause. The Shell station was not more than twenty feet away and he hoped that whoever was working there today shut the pumps off. Peering through the flames of the burning vehicle, he checked if anyone was inside. Empty. Good, he thought. He dare not get any closer to the vehicle. Despite his gifts, he was not impervious to flame. He needed water, and so would the fire trucks when they got here. He took off from the ground and flew high enough to survey the entire scene. On a sidewalk near the flaming the car, in the midst of the crowd, was a fire hydrant. He flew down and the crowd cleared the way. “What are you going to do?” a man asked. “Please, stay back,” Axiom-man said. The crowd got close to him, all eyes focused on his actions. “Stand back. Everyone.” And he gently pushed to the side those huddled near the fire hydrant. The fire hydrant had three spouts, none of which faced the car. He hoped they functioned like in the movies. Squatting down, he bear-hugged the hydrant, pulled up, and warped the metal so the cylinder turned in its place and the spout faced the car. Gripping the black, metal cap of one of the spouts, Axiom-man twisted and pulled. With a loud thoompf, it popped off. Water shot forth in a gray and blue blur straight across to the vehicle, spraying hard on to its hood, putting out the flame. The middle and back portion of the car was still alight. Axiom-man debated ripping the fire hydrant from the sidewalk and removing its top, then using the cylinder as a funnel to guide the water in a high arc so it’d land on the car like rain, but decided against it, not wanting to ruin city property if he could help it. Instead, he rushed over to the car and, bracing himself, got in the way of the beam of water so he could grab the car by the hood, lift it enough off the ground, then turn it around so the water could douse the backside of the car and, hopefully, its middle as well. The water plowed into his back, sending him sprawling across the car’s hood. He pressed against the hood to straighten himself; the hood creaked and groaned as his palms indented the metal. Planting his legs firmly, he secured his palms on the hood, one on top, the other pressed hard beneath the front bumper, and lifted, clearing the car several inches from the ground. About to pivot it, he was suddenly drenched as water deluged from above. When it stopped and he blinked away the water from his eyes, he saw Redsaw hovering over the vehicle, a BFI bin upside down in his hands, water dripping from its corners. Axiom-man set the car down and moved away from the hood, surveying the vehicle to make sure the flame was extinguished. It was. “Thanks,” he said, then went back to the hydrant and replaced the cap, ceasing the water flow. Squeezing hard, he crimped the cap against the spout, sealing it. While he did this, Redsaw set the BFI bin down and the people rushed him. Amidst applause and cheers, Redsaw explained that he grabbed the garbage bin from the Forks not far away, filled it in the Assiniboine River then flew it over to the fire.

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“It was the least I could do,” he said. Axiom-man wanted to talk to him, to find out more about him, but with the crowd as thick as it was and now with the new commotion that would no doubt ensue because of the news Xterra that finally arrived along with the fire trucks, he knew he wouldn’t have a chance. Perhaps he could join Redsaw and, while standing beside him, drop the hint that he wished to speak with him? Axiomman went closer and people patted him on the back and thanked him for his efforts. One fellow nudged him with his elbow and said, “Good thing he showed up, eh?” Axiom-man didn’t reply, but thought, Yeah, good thing. As he neared Redsaw, his heart jumped in his chest and a harsh jolt shot through him. His finger tips tingled and his stomach flipped upside down. Something was wrong. People pressed Redsaw with questions, folks praised both him and Axiom-man for their good work, reporters arrived on the scene and asked people to stand aside so they could get through—everything was fine. Taking a step closer, Axiom-man’s jaw began to jitter. And then it hit him. The sickening sense of foreboding and fear that was happening now was the same feeling he got the night when he saw the black cloud over the city. Whatever it had been, it was now a part of Redsaw. --------A half hour later, Axiom-man was on the roof of Lions Manor, a senior citizens home on the corner of Sherbrook and Portage. From his vantage point, he could see over the houses to several blocks down the street where, finally, the news crews began to leave Redsaw alone. Axiom-man stood after remaining crouched down for nearly all thirty minutes and enjoyed the soothing rush of blood as it refilled his muscles. Even with his abilities, little things like getting stiff weren’t beyond him. He paced the roof, never letting Redsaw—a small red and black dot far away—out of his sight and cursed himself for not returning to work. As if he had a choice. Even if he had gone back, how would he explain his drenched clothes? Not only was his costume wet, but the harsh beam of water from the hydrant soaked through his cape and into the small backpack he wore underneath. When he checked his work clothes to see if they were usable, he pulled out a sopping mess of cardigan and dress pants. No matter. If he lost his job for not showing up—He could always call in sick later on in the afternoon anyway and apologize profusely; if he even had to get a doctor’s note to validate his “illness,” so be it. If indeed that black cloud had somehow infected Redsaw, there could be more danger than merely a lost job. He only wished he had more to go on than just a feeling. But the unsettling fear that enveloped him when he was near Redsaw was something he couldn’t ignore. He just wanted . . . . So far Redsaw hadn’t proved to be anything but a hero, a good man. Did Redsaw even feel what was within him, if it was that black cloud? Did he know that his body was infested with darkness? Had the people who surrounded him in his latest photo op noticed the same sense of dread Axiom-man did? Axiom-man remembered Tuesday morning, and how everyone looked fatigued. Had they sensed the black cloud, too? Was the cloud’s—power?—somehow muted because it was now inside a human being? Did the flesh act as a shield? His head spun from the questions. Far away, surrounded by only three reporters and their cameramen, Redsaw waved to them then reached for the sky. He ascended until he was a black speck against a backdrop of blue. Axiom-man flew after him. Not taking his eyes off the black dot, he poured on the speed and as fast as he could, flew to catch up with him. He had to find out more. Needed to. The city below distanced itself from him and Redsaw showed no sign of discontinuing his ascent. How high would they climb? Axiom-man had

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never fully tested out his powers nor how high the sky really went. He just hoped that Redsaw would finally straighten out and fly horizontally before either one of them wound up in space. A fine mist of cloud came out of nowhere. Axiom-man burst through and momentarily lost sight of Redsaw. Then . . . there! The man in black and red was still far away and he could only hope Redsaw would slow down as he was already at his top speed. Though he knew it wouldn’t make a difference, Axiom-man pointed his toes as far back as he could, if only to make himself feel better and feel as if he was accomplishing something. The black dot disappeared into a large, puffy cloud. This high up, the white of the cloud shimmering in the sun was almost blinding and he found himself bringing a hand to his eyes to shield them from the glare. Tearing into the cloud, Axiom-man was greeted by bright white all around. He flew straight on and a moment later emerged on the other side. A chill swept through him and it wasn’t from the gush of cool wind blowing against his wet costume. Body tensed, fear gripped him and he bolted forward, closer to the earth. Out of his peripheral, a black and red blur swept past him then rounded about to face him. Redsaw. “I just . . . I just . . .” I just want to talk to you, was what he wanted to say but between the fear that shook him and the thin air and rushing wind up here, the first two words was all he could form. Redsaw didn’t reply but instead offered a cocky wave then turned and darted toward the earth, leaving Axiom-man far behind. Axiom-man brought his hands together and tore after him.

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CHAPTER SIX IT WAS NO use. Redsaw was too fast. About a kilometer from ground level, Axiom-man slowed up, then stopped altogether and hovered. Redsaw was gone. He scanned the horizon for any sign of him, but there was nothing. What was the point of Redsaw getting so near then just flying away? Was it just to show off? You would think that two superheroes would have a conversation at one point and try to figure out a way to work together for the betterment of all. It wasn’t like there was a template to follow anyway. This was new to everybody. No one had ever set foot on the earth with superpowers before. Axiom-man suspected that, with Redsaw’s appearance so soon after his own acquisition of powers, more would follow. It was just a question of when and what they could do. Pulling back his glove, Axiom-man checked his watch—one-forty-two. “Rod’s going to kill me,” he said. Hollow inside, Axiom-man flew toward his apartment. --------Oscar Owen exited Second Cup on Graham Avenue, looking forward to his hot apple cider, when his cell phone chirped. He pulled it out of his black overcoat. “Yes, Beverly, what is it? I’m in the middle of something.” He cradled the phone between ear and shoulder and removed the lid from his drink. After he took a sip, he wiped away the dab of whipped cream that got on his nose. “There you are,” she said. “Was your phone off?” “No.” “Bill wants you on site at Owen Tower as soon as you can. He’s run into a problem and can’t talk about it over the phone.” He took the cell phone in hand again. “Problem?” “That’s the message, sir.” “I’m in no mood for secrets. Have him call me at this number.” “But he says—” “I say you have him call. Understood?” “Yes.” She hung up. Oscar headed down the sidewalk and a minute later, Beverly called back. “He told me he needs you down there,” she said. “He better be prepared to lose the contract to someone who doesn’t cause me grief.” Watch it. Keep your cool. You need this. “Sir?” “Nothing. I’ll be there shortly.” “You have transportation, right?” With a smile, he said, “I’ve arranged for something, yes.” And hung up. 48

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--------Rod didn’t scold Gabriel, but the disappointment in his voice hurt just as much, if not worse. Gabriel offered to bring in a doctor’s note and was told that he better, seeing as how he didn’t notify anyone he was leaving, which was a breach of procedure. Great, one more task, Gabriel thought. He looked at the clock. It was near two-fifteen. The doctor’s office closed at four-thirty and getting an appointment for today would probably be impossible. He dialed his physician’s number, spoke with the receptionist, then waited on hold for ten minutes fidgeting with the end of his cape while she “checked to see if anything was available.” There was nothing until tomorrow morning. When Gabriel explained that he needed a note by tomorrow, the receptionist invited him to come down but did not guarantee he’d get a note before the office closed for the day. “I’ll be there,” he said, and hung up. He went into the bathroom, removed the rest of his costume and hung it over the shower curtain rail to dry. After toweling off, he put on a fresh set of clothes and headed out the door, worried that something might happen while he was out and he’d be without his uniform. --------Finished with her afternoon break, Valerie started when a young man seemed to pop up out of nowhere next to her cubicle. “Can I help you?” she said. “Um, I was told to come out here and sit with you and listen in on your calls. It’s, ah, part of my training.” The young man wore a plaid collared shirt, dress pants, suspenders, dark-framed glasses and had three pens in his pocket. He was skinny as a rail, and she thought that if the cuffs of his pants rode any higher, he could give Steve Urkel a run for his money. But they didn’t. The stick-on nametag above his right breast pocket read GENE NEMEK. “Sure, have a seat,” she said. “Um . . .” And he looked around for a chair. Locating one at the empty cubicle behind Valerie’s, he went over to retrieve it and tripped over the loose shoelace of his dress shoe. He fell to his knees, his glasses falling off his face and hitting the floor. Those who caught sight of the tumble let out a snicker. “Are you okay?” she asked, getting up from her chair. “Yes, fine, thanks. Um, thanks for asking,” he said as he got to his feet. When he stood, how tall he really was set in. He had to be at least six-two or six-three. Replacing his glasses on his face, Gene took the chair, turned it around and rolled it over to Valerie’s cubicle. The chair bumped into hers and he apologized again. She didn’t say a word. If anything, she was used to seeing this kind of clumsy behavior. Gabriel was full of it but compared to Gene, Gabriel was a knight. Gene sat in the chair then excused himself stating he’d forgot his headset in the other room where earlier he’d sat and read customer service manuals and procedure outlines. When he returned, headset in hand, Valerie asked, “I thought they trained newcomers in groups?” “That’s what I was told, too, but they said they needed an extra person and my resumé was on file and I guess it was my turn for a call.” He smiled. When she didn’t return the grin, he said, “Get it? Call? A call centre?”

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Oh brother, she thought, this guy’s worse than my dad at corny jokes. It’s not even corny. It’s just . . . stupid. “Here,” she said and helped him connect his headset to her callbox so he could listen in on the calls. “Just watch what I do and don’t be afraid to ask any questions.” “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, um—” “Valerie.” “Valerie. Right. Rod told me your name. I just forgot. Sorry. I’m supposed to sit with you and” —he furrowed his brow— “Gabriel, um, I can’t remember his last name.” “Garrison. And don’t apologize. Ready?” “Sure.” --------“This better be important,” Oscar said as he set foot on the construction site of Owen Tower. The foreman, Bill Hickman, took one last sip from a Styrofoam cup then tossed it to the ground. He came up to Oscar and shook his hand. Having never been one for touching people, Oscar glad-handed him anyway then wiped the dirt from his hand on his overcoat. Touching always made him feel uncomfortable. Shaking hands, patting backs, embraces—all were done in the interest of professionalism and appearances. If he could have it his way, he’d make it a rule that people wouldn’t touch unless they absolutely had to. Maybe one day. “See for yourself,” Bill said, glancing at the construction site. Not caring for the foreman’s tone, Oscar reminded himself that he needed Bill. Hickman and Associates were among the top three contractors in the city. Oscar felt his jaw slacken when he set eyes on the site. Before them, support beams reached for the sky, eighty stories, the crossbeams intersecting in all the right places. When he checked in with Bill the day before, the site was only a hole in the ground and the foundation was being laid. That, it seemed, was in place, too. Bill produced a pack of cigarettes from the breast pocket of the flannel vest he was wearing, lit a smoke then offered one to Oscar. “No thanks,” Oscar said. Replacing the pack in his pocket, the foreman said, “Don’t tell me you hired a midnight crew to do this.” “I didn’t.” “You sure? And it wouldn’t have been just a crew, but several. There’s no way no one would have noticed this going up. You would have had to have a few hundred guys working like dogs, banging around in the night, bringing in machinery and cranes, lights everywhere. Where you’d even fit all that, I don’t know.” He eyed Oscar. “You can’t tell me you didn’t know about this. I thought my company was doing a good job.” Amazing. “You were. Are.” All the beams that were in place were assembled in perfect symmetry. The structure looked as sturdy as anything Oscar had ever seen, so “put there” and “official.” “The fences and barricades are still up. We were going to bring in our machines over there” —Bill pointed to the far left corner in the rear— “when the time came. The walls are still up over there, too. Whoever had done this would have had to take out that wall—uninstall it—if they were going to bring in the cranes like we were. Even if they wanted to approach the grounds from the front, they still would have taken out the front wall. All of it—it’s all there, Mr. Owen, our original barricades to keep civilians out.”

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Hands in his pockets, Oscar took a step forward to what, when done, would be the front entrance to Owen Tower. No wonder Bill wanted to see him personally. You couldn’t explain this over the phone. It was impossible. “My big concern is,” Bill said taking a drag off his cigarette, “what this means for me?” Bill’s crew, wandering about the site, most just standing there with hands in their pockets, gave Oscar dirty looks. And with good reason. This contract was worth millions to Hickman and Associates. The money made from this project would put food on the tables of Hickman’s workers for months—perhaps even years—to come. “I didn’t hire anyone else.” “Then explain this!” Bill’s eyes widened, as if the sudden raise in volume of his voice startled even him. Oscar went up to him, standing no more than a few inches away. He leaned in close. “Now listen here. I didn’t hire anyone. You either believe me or I will give this contract to someone else.” The foreman’s face was like stone. “You do that and we’ll have ourselves a little pow wow in court.” “And I have the better lawyers. You forget who you’re dealing with and how deep my pockets really are. But you must especially recall the clause in our contract which states I have complete control over this project and that if I was ever dissatisfied with your work, I could kick you and your men off the site and hand it over to someone else. You want to sue me for a breach? We’ll see how long that holds up.” Frowning, Bill took another puff of his smoke. Turning away and walking over to the crew, Oscar said, “Construction proceeds as planned.” Then turning back to Bill, “First thing is to crosscheck what we see here today with the original blueprints and see if it lines up. From what I recall, it does. Double check. Then check again. If all is well, pick up where whoever did this left off. This puts us ahead of schedule, which is fine. If you’re worried about the money, don’t.” Compassionately he added, “You were hired to do a job. This was beyond your control. That’s fine. You’ll still be paid for it.” Then to the workers, “Anyone have a problem with that?” The men shook their heads. “Good. Now get to work.” Bill walked him to the gate in the small section of chain-link fence opposite the soon-to-be main entrance to the tower. “I’m sorry for blowing up at you like that,” Bill said. “You should be.” --------The wait at the doctor’s office had seemed interminable until that special moment when Gabriel’s name was finally called. He had been the last patient of the day, but at least he had got in to see Dr. Ruben. During his bus ride over, he dreaded the possibility of Dr. Ruben insisting on him getting a physical, as he was going to be due for his annual one soon. There was no way to tell what Dr. Ruben might find if he ever examined him. Did his powers show up in some way, a way perhaps only detected by medical professionals? Would they show up on a X-ray if one were taken for whatever reason? Blood tests? Had his DNA changed since the messenger imparted the powers upon him? Thankfully, Dr. Ruben seemed to have had a hard day, his normally cheery eyes appearing drained and on the verge of closing. Gabriel had decided to make it quick and said he had a head cold that morning, had gone to work to tough it out, but had to leave and now his boss was insisting

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on a doctor’s note. He hated lying to Dr. Ruben, but it was one of the prices he had to pay for leading a double life. Dr. Ruben wrote him the note without question and sent him on his way. Gabriel made a beeline directly to the bus stop, not glancing around, not wanting to see something that might require super-powered intervention. Without his costume he didn’t know if he could or should help anyone. Now, coming home to his apartment, he wondered if his Axiom-man uniform was dry. It was getting time to go out.

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Four months earlier . . . AFTER GETTING SHAKILY to his feet, Gabriel paused a moment and let the adrenaline course through him. Insides hollow, arms and legs sapped of strength, he tried taking a step forward, each step on the uneven grassy field getting a little more sure the further he walked. Heart racing, more than anything he wanted to get airborne again, but that landing . . . . He’d have to work on that. Somewhere behind him was a low rumbling. A few moments later, the rumbling revealed itself to be the labored chugga-chugga of a train. There must be a set of railway tracks to the right. Not wanting the engineer or anyone else who might be onboard to see—though who could see clearly out here in the middle of the night with nothing but shadows around you?—he began walking away from the sound of the train. Once it passed, he’d try flying again. A faint glow appeared far to his right—the front of the train. The light grew brighter and brighter the closer it came, the chugga-chugga louder and louder. Gabriel began jogging away from it, across the field. Quickly, his jog turned to a run then soon after an all-out sprint. Now was as good a time as any. He glanced back over his shoulder. The train was passing. Come on, he thought. One, two, three! And for a moment his feet left the ground. Then he touched down again, like a plane trying to attain flight. He kept running, wanting to take to the sky. Envisioning himself leaving the earth and heading upward, he focused his thoughts on his feet, willing them to leave the grass. Up, up. Go. Come on! He dug his heels into the ground . . . and jumped. The ground slipped away beneath him and he ascended. Not wanting to go any higher than he thought he could handle, he leveled himself out and the familiarity of having done this one time before came back. “Ah yeah,” he said. The train was behind him. Gabriel went after it, pointing his toes, picking up speed. How fast can I go? How fast really? he wondered. Then an idea struck him. If he could catch up to the train, fly alongside or just over it and keep up with it, later, when he got home, he could look up average train speeds on the Internet and see roughly how fast he could fly. Banking to the right, he swooped down low and was soon near the train. He fell in behind the caboose, about a hundred meters behind it, the tracks twenty feet below whipping by in a gray and black blur. Pointing his toes and bringing his head down level with his arms so he was more aerodynamic, Gabriel thrust himself forward. Wind increased its speed against the top of his head, sending his hair blowing back. It was working and he was gaining on the train. Raising him arms, he willed himself to fly higher so he wouldn’t accidentally crash into the caboose. Leveling off, he pictured himself flying faster. It seemed to have an effect because he picked up even more speed. Soon enough, he was just past the caboose and over the last car of the train. Laughing, he kept up with it and could only imagine what the engineer’s reaction would be if he looked out the window and into the rearview mirror and saw this large black dot hovering along the rear of the train. If the engineer could see that well in the dark, that was. The last car was a large black mass of . . . it took a moment for Gabriel’s eyes to adjust to it, but stacked high were long and thick wooden beams, rounded on the left and right but square along the top. Telephone poles? Hydro poles? They were fastened to the cargo bed with a chain crisscrossing front to back the length of the beams.

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Dipping his hands, Gabriel descended so he was only five or so feet above them. He began to slow and the caboose rushed up to meet him from behind. Not wanting to get hit by anything that might be protruding upward from the caboose, Gabriel re-focused on the task at hand and increased his speed again. Air tickled his arms and chest and freedom abounded. He didn’t think he’d ever want to go home or touch down again. Laughing, he lowered his head again between his arms to cut down on the wind resistance. By doing so, he must have reflexively kicked his soles toward the sky because his body lurched forward, arms and hands heading straight for the bed of beams. Screaming, Gabriel braced for impact and threw his arms skyward, hoping to just miss the bed and take off to the clouds. His elbows caught the beams. He threw his head back so his chin wouldn’t smack against the wood and tear the flesh. Chest banging into the chains, the metal ripping through his shirt and into his skin, he yelped when hot zings tore into him. If he landed flat out, he’d surely be killed. He didn’t know how fast he was going but a sudden impact at this speed would be like slamming a car into a brick wall. Despite the pain, he maintained flight a few moments longer and was soon over the next car, carrying the same kind of wooden beams. He bent his toes in to slow down, just wanting to stop. Slow. Slow. Slow. Gabriel tumbled along the bed of beams, and cracked his head good in between a crossing of chain. A metallic cathunk from the impact rang inside his head and a flash of white outlined his vision. Body screaming, he couldn’t help but be relieved that he wasn’t moving, wasn’t flying, and was only lying atop chain and wood. Alive. The vibrating from the train moving along the tracks provided little comfort as he tried to relax and reassure himself he was okay. He dreaded the possibility of not being able to fly from the train and having to ride it for who knew how long until it stopped at wherever it was going. There was no way he could explain his being there. He chuckled. Of all the things to think of after nearly losing your life. A headache setting in, he wiped the tears that had instinctively sprang up from his eyes. Carefully, he managed to sit up. Touching his chest, he grimaced when his hands found moisture. He looked at his fingers. Blood. How bad was it? He pressed his fingertips to the wet spots on his chest and though each touch sent a shockwave of pain over his chest and stomach, he was thankful to find the wounds were only skin deep but nothing too serious. He’d have to do something about maybe wearing something to protect his body for accidents such as these. The skin on his forearms and elbows was raw, bleeding in parts. He touched the side of his head and was relieved to not feel any open flesh. Man, he thought. Wanting to cry, not knowing how he was going to get out of this, he slammed his fist down onto the wooden beam beside him . . . and sent the beam up in splinters.

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CHAPTER SEVEN YAWNING, GABRIEL RODE the elevator to the seventh floor. Sleeping last night had been impossible. Only around five-twenty or so had he finally fallen asleep, his thoughts spinning, Redsaw constantly on his mind. What was there to worry about? Obviously Redsaw was here to help or so it seemed. The man with the black cape had done nothing to suggest otherwise. Sure, he was a bit cocky and, from the speed he could evidently fly, powerful. Wasn’t that a good thing? An extra pair of hands to help bring hope to the city, to the people? But that feeling he got when around him. Even the mere memory of what it was like standing close to him, the way his stomach churned and his heart raced—made Gabriel’s stomach twist into a knot now. The elevator doors opened and he stepped out. There was a small line up at the door while others waited their turn to swipe their pass cards. The system was set up as such, since the cards were used to log in who was coming in and out of the building and at what times, everyone had to enter the calling floor one at a time. No one seemed to notice him waiting behind them, which was just as well. He wasn’t in the mood to even offer a shy wave. When his turn came, he swiped his card, entered, then went over to his desk. Someone was sitting in a chair next to it. “Good morning,” the young man greeted cheerfully. “Good morning,” Gabriel replied hesitantly. He glanced around his station. “Oh, um, am I at the wrong cubicle again?” The young man laughed then pointed to the nameplate atop Gabriel’s computer. “If your name’s not Gabriel Garrison, then I suppose you are at the wrong station.” “No, that’s me,” he said and removed his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. The young man stood from his seat and proffered his hand in a handshake. “Gene Nemek.” Gabriel took his hand. Though he made a conscious effort to offer a weak handshake when others shook his hand, Gene’s was even weaker. Straightening his thick-framed glasses, Gene sat down again. “Um . . .” Gabriel started. “I’m supposed to be training with you today. Mr. Hunter said so.” Rod. Right. I got to give him my doctor’s note. “Oh, okay, sure thing. Are you just listening in or are you ready to take some calls?” “Just listening in though perhaps I’ll be ready by the afternoon. But I’m supposed to be training with Valerie then.” Heart sinking, Gabriel padded his front pants pockets for the doctor’s note. Valerie. With Gene spending time with her that would mean she’d be too busy to perhaps look over at his station again. That was the only highlight of the day, her looking over. Just to see her face dead on . . . “I’ll be right back,” Gabriel said and quickly made his way to Rod’s office. He rapped gently on the door. “Come in,” Rod said from the other side. Rod was just getting in himself and was presently logging in to his computer. “I have that note, sir,” Gabriel said.

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“Put it on the desk.” He motioned to a part of his desk just beyond the keyboard, the only part not covered with scraps of paper and Dolla-card forms. After setting the note down, Gabriel backed away, arms straight, hands folded in front of him. Was Rod going to say something? He did, but it wasn’t what Gabriel expected: “Gene’s waiting for you.” “Right. Yes, sir. Sorry.” And Gabriel backed out of the office, closing the door behind him. Getting back to his seat, he booted up his machine and got Gene’s headset ready so the young man could listen in. “How long have you been working here?” Gene asked. “Just over a year.” “Do you like it?” “Sure.” “Really?” What was he asking? “Yes. Very much.” Obviously he couldn’t say why he liked—loved— working here: Valerie Vaughan. “How long ago did you start?” “Last Thursday. I spent that and Friday and the early part of this week going over the manuals and doing some tests, then yesterday afternoon I got to sit with Valerie to listen in.” The excitement in his tone from the way he announced he had sat with her made Gabriel grimace a moment. “Well, she’s a really good worker,” Gabriel said. “Last year she won the award for best customer service representative.” “I saw the certificate at her desk. Do you know her that well?” Gabriel didn’t need a mirror to know that he blushed. “Um, no. At least, not like a friend-friend though we talk now and then.” “Oh.” Gene glanced down then pulled a blue pen from the many lining his breast pocket. Though short-sleeved collared-shirts weren’t Gabriel’s style, he had to admit that the blue and white plaid one Gene wore was sharp. He suddenly felt overdressed in his own white collared-shirt, gray cardigan, black dress pants and matching tie. Loading up the required software to start taking calls, Gabriel glanced at the clock. It was two minutes to eight. “Are you on a set break schedule or are you on mine?” “Rod said just to take breaks when you do then check back with him around eleven-thirty. Valerie comes in at eleven, right? At least, that’s what she said.” “Yes, she does.” Though spending time with Gene on his break wouldn’t be too bad, he had hoped he could spend it alone to go over his thoughts and come up with a plan in confronting Redsaw. Also maybe figure out a way he and him could work together to help the city along. “Ready?” Gene beamed. “Ready.” And Gabriel took his first call of the day. --------Valerie got a coffee in the Square before heading over to the Dolla-card building. She was not looking forward to an afternoon with Gene. The guy was nice, friendly, eager to learn—but when she said he was free to ask any questions he might have, she didn’t count on him asking a question every two minutes, and some of them weren’t even related to work at all. Where she’d gone to school? Had she always worked at Dolla-card? If she could meet any movie star, who would it be and why? Weird. Try as she might to keep the young fellow focused on the task at hand, he always managed to find a way to squeeze in a question or two about her. Compared to Gene, she’d put up

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with Gabriel any day. Then she remembered Gabriel hadn’t come back to work yesterday. When she asked Rod about it—though afterward she couldn’t believe she had inquired about Gabriel—he said that “Garrison called in sick. Bad head cold, he said.” As she made her way through the front lobby doors of the Dolla-card building, Valerie caught herself hoping Gabriel was feeling better. Argh! What it is about that guy that I even care? she thought, but deep down it was clear: Gabriel cared about her. Though he had never come out and said it, she could tell by the way he looked at her, how he always offered to carry her bag, offering her a bus ticket the other day, checking to see if she wanted anything from the Square when he went out for lunch—it all added up. But that’s all it’s going to be. No soft spot toward him. He may be a nice guy, but I’m just not interested and he’s going to have to know that. He might let up on trying to woo me—in his own way—but that’s fine. It’s not like I’d be missing out on anything. Besides, she was busy thinking of a way she could get close to Redsaw. The man had monopolized the evening news. Between him and Axiom-man, the fire had gotten under control. Axiom-man had taken off right after but Redsaw had stuck around (much to Valerie’s delight). To see him interviewed on the news, to hear him speak—she felt like how she did in junior high when she had a crush on the captain of the basketball team. I hope it’s not a crush. Whoa, slow down, there. One day at a time. She rode the elevator up to the seventh and, switching her coffee cup to her other hand, dug in her purse for her pass card. Finding it, she went in. She was not looking forward to passing by either Gabriel or Gene when she went to her station. Don’t look at them. Just go and sit down. And that’s what she did. --------“It’s exactly like on the blueprints,” Bill said on the other end of the line. Oscar grinned. “Uncanny, isn’t it?” “You’re telling me.” Reclining in his chair in his corner office at Pay-Me-Loan, relief washed over Oscar. How the steel beams and girders were erected overnight was a miracle in itself. “I had everybody go over the thing top to bottom,” Bill said. “Not a bolt was out of place, not a beam unaccounted for. This sets us ahead of schedule.” “Indeed. Keep me posted. I want a daily progress report.” There was silence. Then, “You still plan on coming by the site every day like you have been, right?” Leaning forward in his chair, Oscar picked up a pen off his desk. “It’s just in case I can’t make it. My schedule’s picked up some and you never know what each day might bring.” A lesson he’d been learning, the fundamental truth of pacing oneself day by day, one thing at a time. You had to do what you could with what you had and though planning for the future was essential to ever going anywhere in life, it was also equally important to not sacrifice the moments you had during the day. Without the devotion to current-day tasks, future plans would never come to fruition. “I understand.” “Good. Be in touch.” And Oscar hung up the phone. Though it was still a long ways off, he still wanted to plan for tax season. That afternoon he’d have to set up something with his accountant to go over everything and maximize the tax benefits. With all the charities he began giving to this past year, maximizing his RRSP contributions, the meticulous tracking of every single business expense including gas burned when driving from place to place, the new rule at Pay-Me-Loan for employees to be more energy efficient by making it

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mandatory to turn off their machines at the end of the day, the lights off when not in a room— Oscar hoped the taxes he had to pay would be minimal. More savings meant more profit to invest in higher interest-yielding funds or lucrative business projects. “Step by step,” he said. --------The morning with Gene didn’t go at all as bad as Gabriel had thought. The young man was unlike anybody he had encountered before. He saw a lot of himself in Gene’s mannerisms and, what was even more intriguing, was the guy’s natural clumsiness. Gabriel had lost count as to how many times Gene dropped his pen or his elbow pushed papers off the desk. Even when he had got up to use the bathroom, Gene had tripped on the laces to his dress shoes that had come undone. Is this what it’s like from everyone else’s point of view when they see me? Gabriel thought. Normally he was the one putting on the show, and a part of him wanted to compete with Gene for who was the bigger klutz. Gabriel understood his own motivation, but Gene’s? Was this just how the guy was or was it all an act? His eyes widened when the idea hit him. It couldn’t be, could it? When coincidence swept through existence, how potent—and obvious—was it? Gene’s clothes, his demeanor, his mannerisms, his politeness—all of it suddenly seemed scripted somehow. The young man sat beside him and during his calls, Gabriel couldn’t help but keep looking Gene’s way. Each time he did, Gene greeted him with a smile or a goofy wave. Is it possible? Could Gene be—The thought was inter-rupted when Valerie sneezed in her cubicle across the way, the sneeze high-pitched and cute. “Gesu—” But Gene beat him to it. “God bless you.” And he smiled at Valerie. She ignored them and fumbled with the Kleenex box that sat to the left of her monitor. Gene giggled. Gabriel’s stomach turned. Though it would make sense Valerie would not be interested in Gene, he still couldn’t help but feel the guy was somehow stealing the attention away from himself. What attention? he thought. She barely gives you notice anyway. Well, except for the other day. And another day like it might never come again. Eleven-thirty on the dot, Gene thanked Gabriel for his time and informed him he had to see Rod. “Sure. It was fun,” Gabriel said. He offered his hand for a handshake. Gene took it, Gabriel making an extra effort for his own grip to be weaker than Gene’s. When Gene left, Gabriel counted down the minutes till lunch. He wanted to go out and think. Gene could very well just be a normal guy who happened to be a nerd. Or it could be something more. I don’t want to investigate him, Gabriel thought. But I might just have to. I’ve only known him for a day. One. Not even one. A morning. That’s it. Then his heart ached at his next thought: Because of what I can do, am I now to be suspicious of everybody? Need to know everything? Or is my worry about Redsaw screwing up my judgment? With effort, he pushed the thoughts from his mind. It was like mentally trying to move a sand heap. He took three more calls then logged off his computer for lunch. He needed to get outside. Standing, he took his jacket from the back of his chair, glanced in the direction of Rod’s office to see if Gene would come skipping out, wanting to accompany him on lunch. Through the window beside Rod’s door, Gabriel saw the two were in the middle of a conversation.

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Good, he thought. Focusing, he chose not look Valerie’s way and let her be. Gabriel went for the door. --------Lunch time, Valerie thought as she watched Gabriel nearly bump into someone before he left the calling floor. Though she had wanted to ignore him throughout the day, a part of her missed his attention and his usually offering to pick her something up for lunch. She had never taken him up on the offer, not wanting to lead him on, but the attention he gave her, the special care, there was not much that could replace that. At least not in this stage of her life. She was glad Gene was no longer sitting by her. She didn’t know how much more his glancing her way she could take. What is it with these guys? Of all the guys in Winnipeg, I’m stuck with the two worst geeks of the bunch. Man . . . After taking a call, she pulled her clipping of Redsaw’s front page debut from the inner wall of her cubicle to her left. She had to meet him. --------A homeless man stood outside the Dolla-card building. “Got change? Got change?” he said in a tired voice to everyone who passed by. When Gabriel passed him, he gave the man a quarter, all he had. He’d have to stop by a bank machine when he hit the Square. On the way there, Gene’s over-the-top clumsiness weighed on him. The thoughts from before came back like a haunting voice and, finally, revealed themselves in full. I’ve never met anyone like him. Even some of the more “nerdy” guys in high school never acted like that. He adjusted his glasses when they began to slide down the bridge of his nose. Unless I look into it, I have no way of knowing if it’s real or not. He hoped it was because if it wasn’t, then it pointed in only one direction even without proof. Is Gene Redsaw?

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CHAPTER EIGHT “UNREAL,” VALERIE SAID. “What?” Gene rolled his chair closer to her. It was the second time he did that since sitting with her that afternoon. She pressed the After Call Task (ACT) button on her phone so another call wouldn’t come through. Leaning over the side of her chair, she pulled the newspaper out from beside her purse. “This,” she said and unfolded the paper across her keyboard. Adjusting his glasses, Gene made a face and squinted at the headline: U.S. MILITARY SEEKS AXIOM-MAN. “Why do you suppose they want him?” he asked. Across the way, Gabriel peered over at them, peeking over the cubicle to see what they were looking at. She pretended she didn’t notice him. “I have no idea,” she said. “They probably want him to work for them or something.” “Hm.” The article was brief, maybe one hundred words, an almost classified ad informing Axiomman—should he happen to see the headline—to meet U.S. General Aaron Watts at Winnipeg City Hall Friday afternoon. Valerie couldn’t believe the gall of the U.S. military to come waltzing up to Canada to meet with the man in the blue cape. “Who knows what they want him for,” she said, “but what’s strange is Redsaw’s not mentioned here. You’d think if the U.S. wanted to meet with a super-powered individual, they’d kill two birds with one stone and meet with both of them.” “Well, no one ever said the U.S. military made sound decisions, right?” Gene said with a snort. Valerie giggled. As much a she hated to admit it, the quirky fellow in the awful plaid shirt had his moments. “But say this does go through,” he continued. “If you ask me, I think Redsaw would be the best choice.” She raised her eyebrows. “Um, you know, he’s already proven to be the stronger of the two.” He sat back in his seat and pointed to the newspaper. “Look how fast he flies! From what I hear, Axiom-man can’t keep up with him.” Gabriel had returned to work but was looking their way again. He gave Valerie a half-smile, which she didn’t return. Give it up, she thought. --------Gabriel typed up his notes from his latest call. He’d already seen the paper when he picked up a copy that morning. That so called “headline” must have cost a pretty penny on behalf of the U.S. government. Tomorrow afternoon. That’d mean he’d have to get out of work somehow. He could delay it or not show up, but he wanted to find out what they wanted and deal with it as soon as possible. His headset beeped when another call came in. 60

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--------Gene and Valerie took another call, this time switching roles where he answered the phone and called up the customer’s data on the computer while she listened in and made sure he was going about it correctly. When the call was over and after he typed up his notes, she stopped him before he pressed the ACT button to let another call through. “Almost,” she said, “but in your notes you forgot to code the nature of the call.” “Sorry,” he said. “It’s okay. Just remember it for next time.” He smiled. “So, um, did you hear what Redsaw did yesterday? With the car fire?” “Yeah, pretty amazing.” She pushed a lock of brown hair in behind her ear. “I still can’t believe he’s here. I thought Axiom-man being in the city was impossible enough on its own and now we have two guys flying around.” Gene released the ACT button and just before the phone beeped, he said, “I think Redsaw’s the coolest.” “Coolest,” huh? And how old are you? she thought. Yet she had to agree with him. Redsaw was amazing. And to be as powerful as he was . . . . She wondered how someone like him came upon his abilities. Was he born that way? Was it like in comic books where some strange event happened and he wound up that way? Was he even human? She had to find out. She realized full well she was but one girl out of several hundred thousand for him to choose from, but if she could somehow make him notice her, boy, that would make her year. It would make her life. --------Gene laughed and Gabriel turned his gaze to where the young man sat beside Valerie. She was giggling, too. It shouldn’t matter, he told himself. Why do you even care? The caller whom he was dealing with repeated his question then asked if Gabriel was paying attention. “Um, yes, sir, I was listening. Sorry.” Valerie was showing Gene something on the computer. “Right. Let me check on that a moment, please. May I put you on hold? Okay. One moment.” And Gabriel hit the hold button. He scanned the customer’s account for the item in question then got back on the line with him and explained that since the transaction occurred after the last statement date, it would show up on his next bill. The customer then said he just paid his bill off in full, save for that item, and didn’t want to pay interest on his most recent purchase. “But you won’t, sir, if you pay your next bill by the due date.” The customer seemed satisfied with that. The call ended. Across the way, Valerie and Gene were back on another call. Gabriel didn’t notice Rod come up behind him. “Taking a break?” Rod said. “No. Just finished a call.” Rod paused and scanned Gabriel’s screen. Why’s he sticking it to me? he thought. “Do you, ah . . . do you need something, sir?” Gabriel turned in his seat to face him. Hands in his pockets, Rod shrugged. “No. Just wanna say thanks for dropping off your doctor’s note. Feel any better today?”

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In what way? he wanted to ask, but didn’t. “Happy as a clam,” he said, only right after he said it he realized how goofy that sounded. I suppose that’s all right. Got to keep up appearances. Rod smiled then told him not to wait too long until the next call otherwise his ACT time would be above what was allowed. “Right, thanks.” And Gabriel wrapped up the call. Rod left and the afternoon went on. As the minutes ticked slowly into hours, Gabriel had to make a conscious effort to stop looking in Valerie and Gene’s direction. Not only was the newcomer spending time with the girl he deeply cared for, but there was the possibility that Gene was more than he seemed. But I should have felt something, Gabriel thought. Redsaw—if Gene was Redsaw—sent off a vibe of danger, of a darkness Gabriel couldn’t place other than it was the same sense of foreboding and fear that came from the black cloud. There was no way to presume to know how Redsaw’s powers worked. Based on what Redsaw could do and how fast he was, there was a good chance that the man in black and red’s powers worked differently than his own. If that was the case, perhaps when Redsaw wasn’t being Redsaw—the mask dictated the man did have a secret identity—his powers might be hidden from everyone else or at least anyone who could detect them, like Gabriel. But wouldn’t that mean his and Redsaw’s powers were similar? Gabriel knew that when he removed his own mask and changed into his civilian clothes, there was an internal shift inside, a conscious shutting off of his power. The energy that was present inside him while Axiom-man was tucked away. That was why his hair reverted from dark brown with a blue sheen to just plain brown again, why the film of energy present over his eyes while Axiom-man slipped away and his own brown eyes returned. Once more Gabriel yearned for another encounter with the messenger. Whoever that being had been, he—if it was a he—would have the answers. Then again, the messenger said he was imparting a gift. Did his powers come from someone or something else? Four o’clock rolled around. Finally. Gene had already been absent from Valerie’s station for fifteen minutes. At the end of the day, Gabriel overheard, he had to go check in with Rod and report how things were going. Hopefully, the young man hadn’t left yet. Gabriel logged off his station, gathered his callback papers and draped his jacket over his arm. Valerie glanced up in his direction and he waved her good-bye. It could very well have been his imagination but he thought he saw her smile before she set her focus back on her work. After dropping off his callback forms in his locker, Gabriel crossed the calling floor and casually strolled by Rod’s office. His supervisor’s door was open but Gene was gone. Rod was busy talking on the phone. Gabriel waited a moment and when Rod hung up asked, “Sorry to bother you. Do you know where Gene went?” “Just left. Why?” “I . . . I just wanted to ask him something.” “He’s probably gone home.” “Thanks.” He waved Rod good-bye then headed for the door. As he neared the door, through the window beside it he saw Gene getting in the elevator. Gene saw him and signaled to him with his fingers, asking if he was taking the elevator. Shaking his head that he wasn’t, Gabriel waited until the elevator door closed then went through the door separating the calling floor from the elevator waiting area. He walked quickly to the stairwell and, once inside, sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He kept his gaze focused ahead for anyone who might be coming down from the higher floors. He only passed one person and when he was near the top, he removed his glasses, tucked them away inside his jacket pocket and loosened his tie. At the top of the stairs was a door that, up until lunch time today, had been locked. When he had returned to the office from lunch, he was happy to find 62

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he still had a few minutes and had just enough time to check into an idea he had while walking outside. The alcove out back could only serve him for so long and only at certain times of the day. He needed another place to change for times when he might be called into action but it fell at an hour when too many people were coming in and out of the building. Though not many used the back door during the day, when dayshift started and ended, the people traffic was about twentyfive/seventy-five per cent between the back door and the front. Upon reaching the top of the stairs at lunch, he had found the door but it was locked. Wrapping his hand in his jacket, he gripped the knob, twisted, and snapped the lock. He flipped on the light switch just inside to the right of the door and judging by the amount of dust on the floor and on top of the inside door knob, it didn’t appear like anyone would be making their way up here any time soon. Now, standing inside the door, he flicked the switch and stepped into the small room, no bigger than about three feet by four. He closed the door behind him. A ladder leading up about fifteen feet was to his right. Quickly, he removed his clothes, rolled them up and shoved them in the small backpack he wore beneath his cape, clasped his chest piece closed on his shoulder, then pulled his mask up. He closed his eyes, focused, and shifted, his Axiom-man powers coming full on. He turned the light off. Climbing the ladder, he hoped no maintenance fellow or janitor would discover the lock to the little room had been broken and replace it. At the top of the ladder was a door two feet square. A padlock—which he had also broken earlier—kept it locked shut from the inside. Axiom-man pushed up the door, and poked his head through just enough to make sure no one was up there. The roof people-free, he climbed out, closed the door, then ran along the rooftop. He smiled beneath his mask when he stepped off the ledge at the back of the building. The two people below didn’t look up. Axiom-man flew high up then rounded right, checking below for Gene. There! The young man was amidst a crowd of people walking on the sidewalk. Would Gene find a secret place to go and change into Redsaw? Or was he like him and, though he could fly, walked or took a bus to where he wanted to go simply to be “normal” from time to time? So far, nothing. But not surprising. What a better way to maintain one’s secret identity than to do things “regularly” so as to keep up appearances even while walking among strangers. Gene stopped at a bus stop. Axiom-man perched himself on a rooftop behind and to the right, not letting the young man out of his sight. It was times like this he wished he had been gifted with some kind of see-through vision. He’d be able to peek through Gene’s clothes and see if there was a Redsaw uniform underneath. A few minutes and a few buses later, another bus came. This one Gene boarded. Axiom-man took off from the rooftop and followed the bus as it made its way into the St. Boniface area. A few fingers pointed upward as he flew overhead. Just after the Provencher Bridge, Gene got out. And it was then sirens filled the air. To the right, speeding down Taché Avenue, was a pair of burly Snaketails members, the mufflers blaring on their oversized motorcycles. Behind them, two squad cars gave chase. Traffic parted, most cars making their way to the right to let the cops pass. Great, Axiom-man thought. He didn’t want to lose sight of Gene. Below, Gene twisted in the direction of the commotion. He turned his head as the Snaketails rounded the corner and sped on down the street. The police were right behind them. The bikers didn’t pull over. In spite of the indecisiveness setting in, Axiom-man knew what he had to do. He adjusted his flight path and gave chase. As he flew past and over the street, to the right he saw Gene run inside the Gelato shop on the corner. Gone to change, he thought. Or maybe he just wants a Gelato. I’ll probe him tomorrow at work about it somehow, and—His thoughts were stopped short when from behind the Gelato place a red and black streak sped skyward. Bingo! 63

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Axiom-man flew onward, taking his speed up to the maximum. The bikers raced down Provencher then turned right and headed down Archibald Street. The cop cars’ tires squealed as they peeled around the corner. To save time, Axiom-man took his own flight path up and over everything. Ahead of the bikers was gridlock, the after-work rush hour having set in. The two Snaketails revved their engines but not a car moved. Turning left, facing oncoming traffic, they weaved in between stopped cars, the owners of the vehicles honking their horns, others hurling curses out their windows. One of the bikers pulled a pistol out of his jacket. The other immediately did the same. Not with all these people around, Axiom-man thought. He checked the sky quickly for Redsaw. Way up high, nothing more than a mere dot against a field of blue, Redsaw hovered. What is he planning? Whatever it was, Axiom-man hoped it didn’t interfere with what he had to do. The bikers came to an abrupt halt in the parking lot across from a gentlemen’s club and dismounted their bikes, guns raised. The cops screeched to a halt about twenty-five meters away, the traffic forbidding them from coming any closer. Axiom-man debated letting the cops handle it. He wasn’t yet too adept at handling those who wielded weapons. But if that incident in Winnipeg Square taught him anything, it was that those with weapons were unpredictable. The power the weapon gave . . . it clouded their heads with too much self-confidence. He flew high then dove forward, looped around and came at the bikers from behind. The two huge men clad in leather jackets with silver rattlesnakes’ tails on their backs hid behind their bikes and pointed their guns over the seats as the cops drew near, trying to talk them down. Folks were getting out of their cars to see what would happen next. One police officer stood beside his car with a bullhorn, telling civilians to stay in their vehicle until the light changed from red to green then for them to drive away. Another cop was making his way toward the oncoming traffic, flagging them down and warning them to keep their distance. Axiom-man sped in and landed behind the two huge men. The cops coming toward the Snaketails must have seen him but were consciously making an effort to not let on they knew he was there. He motioned for them to keep silent. Then the sound of his feet touching down alerted the bikers. They spun around, swore and set the barrels of their guns at him. “The cops!” one shouted at the other. His comrade appeared hesitant for a moment then turned and had the gun pointed at the officers. The other still facing Axiom-man re-established his line of sight along the barrel. Axiom-man let the brilliance of blue and white energy fill his vision and blasted the gun from the man’s hands. The force of the gun being ripped away tore the flesh; the man let loose a stream of profanities as he cradled his blood-soaked palm. His buddy turned around and fired. The shout of the shot echoed in Axiom-man’s head and chest, sending his heart into a panic, just as a black shadow took the man down. A loud ping rang behind Axiom-man and he realized the shot hit the chain-linked fence some twenty feet behind them. The cops ran forward. Axiom-man charged the Snaketail with the bleeding hand and took him to the ground. The second the guy moved to take a swing at him, Axiom-man plowed his fist into the man’s face, knocking him out cold. Grabbing the guy by the thick leather of his collar, he yanked his unconscious form to his feet and threw him onto the motorcycle seat just as a pair of cops ran up to them—one male, one female—guns out and ready. A second later there was the thud of leather on leather as Redsaw did the same to the other Snaketail. “Don’t move!” one of the cops shouted, his gun pointing from Axiom-man to Redsaw to Axiom-man again.

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Axiom-man raised his hands peacefully. The strength seeped from his legs and his stomach filled with butterflies at Redsaw’s presence. It was difficult to stop his hands from trembling. I got to figure this thing out, he thought. The cop’s partner, now joined by the one with the bullhorn, put her gun away. “Put that thing down,” she said. Her partner wavered a moment. “It’s okay,” she said. And he relented and shoved his weapon in its holster. Then to Axiom-man and Redsaw, she added, “Thanks, you two.” Before Axiom-man could reply, Redsaw said, “Sure thing.” The voice. It sounded a little like Gene’s, but lower and more authoritative. The same style of voice he himself used when in the mask. It was too hard to tell. Maybe in a few moments if they had a conversation . . . Traffic finally began to thin but quickly thickened again with the onslaught of camera crews and newspaper reporters. The media circus that seemed to show up every time he helped out was beginning to get tiresome. As the cameramen and reporters hurried toward the scene, Axiom-man gave the female cop a quick run down of what happened, privately itching to get out of there so he wouldn’t have to stand by Redsaw any longer than he had to. The second the news teams were right up to them, and the two cops had cuffed the unconscious Snaketails, he apologized to her and flew away. Redsaw stayed behind. --------A short time later, from a quarter kilometer away, Axiom-man, hovering in the air, watched as Redsaw left the scene. Stretching his arms forward, Axiom-man went after him. “This time he better let me keep up,” he muttered. If the guy would only stay still a moment. He needed to know more about him and, perhaps, detect if Redsaw and Gene were the same person. Zipping left then right then left then right, Axiom-man kept up with Redsaw’s flight path. The man in black and red hit downtown and headed in between the buildings, at first following the lines of the streets, weaving around corners, straightening, flying high then low. Axiom-man kept on his tail, the man about two hundred meters in front of him. He thought about flying up and over a building and cutting him off when Redsaw cornered around one, but didn’t on the off chance he’d lose him. Who knows when he’ll surface again, Axiom-man thought. Besides, he wanted to talk to him now. Did Redsaw know he was being followed? He must have otherwise why put on a show and fly this way and that? The two flew low through a back alley then rocketed skyward again, rising over rooftops, the people below pointing up. The roofs of buildings speeding by below soon turned to those of houses as they flew over the north end. Axiom-man thought back to Irene and wondered if Todd was in police custody or if she had pleaded with the cops to let him go and give him another chance. Regardless of what happened, he hoped Todd never hurt her again. Redsaw flew straight up, Axiom-man right behind him. At the apex of his climb, Redsaw looped around and headed back toward the city. Flying into the wind, the clapping of his cape fluttering in the air drumming in his ears, Axiom-man pointed his toes hoping that somehow that’d help him pick up speed. It didn’t, but it also hadn’t hurt to try. He’d long ago figured out that pointing or straightening his toes had nothing to do with how fast he could fly. It was something that only helped him in the beginning. Streaking toward downtown, Axiom-man matched Redsaw move-for-move, ascent-for-ascent, descent-for-descent—On they flew. The city now below them, Redsaw dove downward, picked up

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speed, and swooped into an alleyway and vanished from sight. Grimacing, Axiom-man followed, but when he flew into the alleyway, the buildings around him like the walls of a tunnel, Redsaw was gone. “No!” he shouted, causing the fellow below who was taking out the trash to yelp. Coming to a halt, Axiom-man hovered there a moment then flew straight up. Movement to his right. About ten blocks away, Redsaw was racing up the side of CanWest Global Place. Axiom-man raced over, flying toward the building’s roof. When he landed atop the thirty-plus-storey structure, Redsaw was waiting for him on the roof. Axiom-man touched down. “Why do you keep following me?” Redsaw demanded. A little tired from the flight, it took Axiom-man a moment to reply. “I just wanted to talk. Nothing more.” His heart raced again in Redsaw’s presence. “Is that it?” Redsaw crossed his arms. He was about fifteen feet away; Axiom-man wanted to get closer. The second he took a step forward, Redsaw took a step back. “That’s all it is. Please. I just want to know some things about you.” “Why?” “Why not. We’re both here for the same reason—to help people. At least that’s what I’ve seen of you so far. What I want to know is—” “So far? Are you suggesting anything else?” The growl in his voice took him aback. It wasn’t meant to be an accusing question. “No, I’m not.” “Then what’s the problem?” The voice didn’t sound like Gene’s anymore. Looking carefully at the only exposed part of Redsaw’s face—his mouth and chin—he tried to make out if it was the same as Gene’s. It was too hard to tell at fifteen feet away. “No problem. I thought that since we’re both doing the same thing, we could consider working together, make things more efficient.” “Are you jealous?” Where did that come from? “Jealous? Over what?” “That everyone’s looking to me now and you’re yesterday’s news.” The terrible thing was, Redsaw was right. A part of him was jealous over the sudden attention the man was getting. It was as if everything he’d ever done for the city over the past four months was suddenly forgotten. But that wasn’t his focus or the reason for wanting to speak with him. “No, I’m not jealous. But I do have questions.” “Not interested.” Why was Redsaw being so evasive? Then it hit him. What if he thinks I know who he is? If I can feel him when he’s near, maybe in some other way he can feel me? What if Gene knew who I was when I first met him at work and didn’t say anything to protect his own skin? There’s no telling what sort of powers he has aside from what I’ve been able to see. Does he know who I really am? If so, is he afraid I might say something one day and reveal him to the world? “I just want to talk, Redsaw.” “Well, Axiom-man, I don’t.” He didn’t have time for this. The guy was acting like a child. “Do not be afraid,” he said, remembering those were the first words the messenger said to him. “How did you get your powers?” Redsaw stormed forward, his presence causing Axiom-man’s knees to buckle. Bile rose in the back of his throat when his stomach pulled a figure-eight. He swallowed and a shiver ran through him. Stopping not three feet away, Redsaw said, “I’m not ready to tell you that yet. Maybe one day. You can’t be so nosy. Yes, we’re on the same team, and yes, we can possibly work together

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somehow, but you have a lot to learn about forming partnerships. There’s a way to go about doing that.” Suddenly Axiom-man felt small, as if he didn’t measure up. “I’m sorry. My intention was—” “Not to pry, I know. Look, I need to go. We can go over this some other time, okay?” He realized he hadn’t replied when Redsaw added, “Okay?” He had been too busy seeing if Redsaw’s mouth and chin was the same as Gene’s. Though he hadn’t taken a good hard look at Gene’s face, there was a resemblance. “Okay,” Axiom-man said and put out his hand. Redsaw shook it, sending a shockwave of fear through his arm, into his shoulder, filling his body. Axiom-man cowered from the onslaught of feeling and pulled his hand away. Redsaw eyed him a moment then turned and took off. The conversation hadn’t been enough. --------Leaving Axiom-man on the rooftop below sent a flush of relief through Redsaw’s body. Standing next to the blue-clad man made him uncomfortable. He’d noticed it before when he was near him at the car fire and today when he tossed that Snaketail on the motorcycle. Power and—he didn’t quite know what to call it—authority?—emanated from Axiom-man like cool off fresh-fallen snow. He hadn’t said anything and had also not wanted to be near it. Yet it seemed Axiom-man wouldn’t stop bothering him until they had a face-to-face. Standing there, on the rooftop, made him wish he didn’t have to compete with Axiom-man. Though it was difficult to place what he meant by that, there was this strange feeling that Axiom-man was always looking over his shoulder, supervising, making sure that whoever he helped was helped correctly, or something like that. He hadn’t counted on Axiom-man’s power to radiate like some kind of aura. He hadn’t counted on sensing when Axiom-man was near. No matter. He talked with him, rushed it along, and got out of there. Redsaw hoped he wouldn’t have to be near him again. CanWest Global Place was in the distance. A blue dot rose off it, disappearing into the sky. “Now on to better things,” he said.

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Four months earlier . . . WITH HIS FINGERS, Gabriel wiped specks of sawdust and splinters from under his eyes. Thankfully, not a sliver got in. A huge piece was missing from the thick wooden beam in front of him. The chain still remained taut across the gap between the two beams of wood, the broken portion of one beneath it. “Did I . . .” he began to say. It’s not possible. But this was also coming from a guy who moments before was flying through the air. Gripping the chain tight, he paused, his heart skipping a beat at what he was about to attempt to do. Applying pressure between thumb and forefinger, he held the chain tight and with a flick of his wrist, yanked the chain up— snapping it. Tiny metallic chinks squeaked in his ears as the small links skipped along the wooden beam then fell off the train. He had done this with his right hand. Is my left the same? he thought. Though he didn’t want to damage anymore of the wooden beam than he had to, he couldn’t help himself. He raised his left fist high . . . then smashed it down into the beam, sending up another shower of splinters. The chain. And he held the chain with his left hand, adjusted his grip, and pulled. It snapped as well. Gabriel sat there, staring at his hands, his fingers trembling. A surge of energy bubbled within him and he stood up. Stepping to the middle of the damaged beam, he faced the side of the train. Getting down on his haunches, not paying mind to the wind pressing in from the side, he leaned forward and secured his hands beneath the underside of the beam beside him. He inhaled and exhaled a few times, priming himself. Then, holding his breath, he pulled up on the beam, tearing it free from the chains that bound it to the others. The momentum from the beam being hoisted made him stumble back a step and he was surprised at how quickly he was able to regain his balance. Chuckling, he stood there for several minutes, holding the beam over his head, estimating the thing must weigh several hundred pounds if not more. He tried setting it back down beside the other beams but because of the mishmash of broken chain, he couldn’t set it down securely enough. “I’ll probably only get to do this once,” he said. Holding the beam up again, he angled his body so his left foot was facing the side of the train, his right facing its rear and, leaning back, got ready. He expected his body to topple back from the weight of the beam since it was now angled about thirty degrees, its back end behind him. But he didn’t. With all his might, he twisted his hips and jerked his body forward, hurling the beam off the train. It sliced through the air like a spear and landed some hundred feet away. Gabriel barely caught a glimpse of it standing at an angle in the ground as the train rolled past. He checked the front of the train to see if the engineer was looking back at him. Nothing. The loud chuggachugga of the train must have muffled the noise. “Either way, I should go,” he said, and faced the back of the train. There wasn’t much room to run. Setting his feet in motion, Gabriel sprinted down the wooden beams, careful of his footing, and the second he was at top speed he leaped up, gaining about three feet of air. At the peak of his jump, he came down for just a split-second then was suddenly pushed up into the air by a gust of wind. The train grew smaller and smaller below him. Flying hard, he thought of where he could go to try out his newfound strength without damaging anything important or hurting anyone. 68

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Suburbs soon appeared beneath him, the streets illuminated by streetlamps, bright lines of gray. Soon, off to the side of one of them, was a dark patch. From this high up, he couldn’t quite make out if it was what he was looking for, so he flew down lower. The shadows making up the dark area grew in focus and the black objects that made up the space along with the man-made lake beside it revealed it was what he wanted: a playground. He bent his toes inward, slowed, leaned forward, and went down. The ground came up quickly and he paid careful attention to judging his distance. His feet hit the ground with a couple of loud thumps and he jogged a few feet upon landing. Much better than last time, he thought. He had flown a little ways past the playground so he doubled back. An area of sand, about thirty feet square, bordered by two-by-fours, held a jungle-gym, a slide, a swing set and a teetertotter. A couple of wooden park benches were just outside the playground’s outer rim. Gabriel went over to one of the park benches and checked where their legs met the ground. The iron legs were bolted to a slab of concrete that was embedded in the earth. He’d sat on such benches before, even wriggled one of the armrests once—they were solid and sturdy. “Perfect,” he said quietly and went over to one end of the bench. He bent down, curled his hands underneath the side of the seat and braced himself for lifting. A quick flash of doubt went through his mind; then he remembered the thick wooden beams on the train and how smashing through them was like smashing through a flimsy cardboard box. Holding the underside of the seat tight, he lifted it up, ripping the front two concrete blocks from the ground. Once the bench was on a forty-five-or-so-degree angle, the other side came loose as he continued to lift it upward. Soon he was holding the bench aloft, something that would have been difficult if not impossible even without the heavy foot-long and foot-wide chunks of concrete hanging from the iron legs. A smile spread across his face and it wouldn’t leave. How many times had he wished he had amazing strength, how many times had he dreamed about smashing through walls and lifting cars. Cars. “Is it—” He let the thought hang and lowered the bench back down, doing his best to replace the concrete slabs back in their original holes in the ground. The bench settled back in place soundly but was a bit rickety in its former resting place when he checked. A path led out of the park and if he remembered the aerial view correctly, a street was just on the other side. Gabriel jogged down the path and emerged onto the street. A couple of cars were parked along one side. Trying his best to be casual, he put his hands in his pockets and walked down the street like any other would at 4:30 in the morning. When he came up alongside one of the cars—a black Sedan—he checked the windows of the nearby houses for any onlookers. One, about three houses ahead, had lights on in the front room, curtains closed across the windows. “Be fast,” he whispered and went to the trunk end of the car. He gave it a push and the car rocked forward, setting off the alarm. “Oops.” The sudden sound sent a jolt through him and he bolted back to the playground, fighting against himself not to run too fast as the last time he’d done that, he’d taken off into the air. If anyone saw him running now, he didn’t want them to see his feet leave the ground until he had this figured out. But what then, once he understood what he could do? Back at the playground, he hid beneath a small inlet under the jungle-gym, peering around its wooden corner for anyone who might have come outside, seen him and followed him here. The car alarm still rang through the air. After what seemed like forever, the alarm finally silenced. Either someone had turned it off or it had gone off by itself. He waited some more, wanting to be certain no one was coming. He checked his watch. It was nearly five. And he had to work in the morning. He hadn’t noticed until now, but the sky had lightened considerably, signaling dawn was just around the corner. Better hurry, he thought. He crawled out from under the jungle-gym, took a few steps, then turned back and grabbed the structure around the support posts on one side. He pulled it part way out of the ground, the smile returning, but he couldn’t lift the whole thing up. The support beams came loose and were out of the holes in the ground by about six inches on one side. Did he have a limit on how much he could lift? 69

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Setting the structure back down, he was unable to help but laugh. His heart raced from excitement. He wasn’t even sweating. This was too good. The sky was even lighter. Gabriel ran for the lake then upped the run into a sprint. Right after his left shoe touched where the water met the shore, he was in the air again.

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CHAPTER NINE OSCAR OWEN LOCKED his office for the day. Checking his watch and seeing it was 6 P.M., he made a dash for the elevator. At 6:30, he was scheduled to stop by Owen Tower for inspection. Upon arriving at the site, he went straight to Bill’s trailer. The foreman was just finishing up some paperwork for the day when he entered. All seemed in order, and the tour of the site revealed all was still on schedule. No new miraculous additions had occurred since the girders and beams had been erected. Bill seemed somewhat relieved of that; no doubt he was still worried about not receiving his whole paycheck even though Oscar had paid for the construction up front. Perhaps Bill thought Oscar’d manipulate the banks somehow—as if he could do that—and withdraw payment at a later date. Bill had always been paranoid and squirrelly when it came to money during their first meetings. Once he was satisfied all was in order, Oscar walked back to the Pay-Me-Loan building, picked up his 2006 Porsche, and went home to his year-old house just outside the city in Bird’s Hill. It was quiet out here and the lot of property he bought—ten acres—allowed ample room for additions to his home when the time came. When. He always thought positive and never gave in to ifs when it came to future success. To doubt that something could be achieved would be the same as admitting the inevitability of failure, in his mind. He drove the car into the garage, activated its security system, and unlocked the door. He shut off the house’s security alarm with a few quick taps to the keypad by the door and threw his keys on the small mahogany table by the front entrance. Flicking on the light, the large lamp hanging over the door sparkled. He turned left, entered the living room, and tossed his black overcoat over the back of a black leather chair. Briefcase in hand, he settled into his sofa—black leather as well—and turned on the lamp on the antique end table beside it. Across from him was the fireplace and a part of him longed for a dancing flame, but there’d be enough time for that come winter. Besides, he had work to do. From beside the sofa he pulled up a black bag containing his home laptop, the one where he kept his drafts of ebooks-in-progress, some financial information on his investments, and notes of future plans for his company should Owen Tower prove to be a lucrative venture. He had no doubt that it would be. Pulling up his company notes document, he reviewed some of the ideas he had jotted down the night before about what other areas of investment and venture he’d like to branch out in, in the future. Having started small, and having turned something small into a so-far multimillion-dollar enterprise, he knew that for now the secret to future success lied in repeating the process and not taking hold of more than he could handle. A few of the ideas he’d been toying with centered on entertainment. The idea of getting involved in Adult entertainment did appeal to him. It was a multibillion-dollar-a-year industry and the world always craved more forms of fornication, but he quickly shut the idea out because he knew it would reflect poorly on his other businesses should word get out he was involved. No sense achieving short term fortune if it hurt you in the long run. So he settled on investigating other forms of media. He had experience in electronic publishing and was interested in moving into print. As it was, the book business was a multibillion-dollar-a-year industry. Perhaps after Owen Tower started to generate revenue, he’d begin his own small press, 71

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hire the necessary people, and through investing in popcorn books and marketing dollars, eventually grow the press into a popular one. Movie and television production was also on the docket, but he still needed to do research on that; he also didn’t want to bow down to an overseeing studio. Starting his own entertainment company would be the safer bet even if it meant small successful projects at the start. “One thing at a time,” he breathed, then closed the document and pulled up his latest ebook, which was about three quarters finished. --------Axiom-man flew over the city, his mind focused on tomorrow and meeting the head of the U.S. military and what he was going to say to him. As much as he hated Bush’s love for war, he also had to watch what he would say so his words wouldn’t come back to him at a later date and somehow alter how people perceived him. He was having enough trouble with Redsaw as it was and already, though no one save Valerie had come out and said it, it seemed the people of Winnipeg were more enamored with the man in black and red than with him. But there was more to Redsaw, he knew, so much more. Earlier that evening he had sat in front of his computer, calling out to the messenger, begging him or it to come and explain what was happening. There was obviously more going on than just his receiving his powers. The black cloud and how he felt around Redsaw confirmed that, but as to what was happening—he had no idea. Time would tell, and as patient as he tried to be, he hated waiting. Now over the west end, a cry for help from somewhere below made him adjust his course and lower his flight path. Another scream and he banked to the right until he saw who had made the sound. On a street corner, a woman with blonde hair was screaming, stomping her heels up and down in panic. A man was shouting at her, calling her names and saying things no man should ever say to a woman. The man lunged at her. Axiom-man dove toward them. The woman was knocked down to the ground, landing hard on her rear. She let out a yelp. The man kicked her once, the ball of his foot connecting with her shoulder. Her scream was thick with a sob. Wind gathering up around him, Axiom-man balled his hands into fists and plowed into the man, sending him flying twenty feet across the pavement, his body skipping along the concrete like a stone across a lake. Axiom-man landed just past him then doubled back and picked him up by his dark green jacket, setting him on his feet. Shock and disbelief bathed the man’s expression; in his panic the man swung at him. Blocking the blow, Axiom-man delivered a swift punch to the man’s stomach, doubling him over and forcing him to his knees. Coughing and gagging, the man rocked and groaned and, a moment later, threw up, a bit of the puke splashing the tips of Axiom-man’s boots. Disgusted, Axiom-man went over to the woman and held out his hand to help her up. “Everything’ll be fine. He won’t hurt you anymore,” he said. Upon further inspection—and he hated to be one to cast judgment—the woman appeared to be a streetwalker, decked out in a hiphugging red dress, the dress concealed beneath a long beige overcoat. Her well-conditioned blonde hair was long and reached halfway down the front of her chest. Her dark eyes brought out the crimson of her lips even more. Her pale cheeks rose up when she smiled at him. Behind them, the man lay moaning on the ground. “Th-thank you,” she said, taking his hand and getting to her feet. “Don’t mention it.”

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A pause then she provocatively took a step closer and ran a hand up and over his shoulder. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to repay you?” “Um, well, no.” And he removed her hand from him. “I do suggest you get indoors though.” He said it before he realized the error. He needed her outside so when the cops rolled around and picked up the man who attacked her, they’d see she was outside turning tricks. There was already too much of her trade in Winnipeg and one less streetwalker meant who knew how many less men paying for her services. All part of learning, I suppose, he thought. Not wanting to dally any longer in front of her, he went and grabbed the man and dragged him over to the stop sign on the corner. The man muttered something about not wanting to be moved, but he was too nauseous to annunciate. After propping the man up against the sign’s metal post, Axiom-man gripped the pole higher up, bent it, and brought it down around the man, locking him in place. He turned to the woman and with a salute said, “Well, have a good night.” And took off into the air as fast as he could. She called after him, inviting him to come back down. Sorry, he thought, I won’t let myself be trapped again. --------Thank goodness for Fridays, Gabriel thought as he got off the elevator at work. What a week. If there was one thing he had learned over the past four months of wearing the cape and mask, it was that Gabriel Garrison might get two days off on the weekend, but Axiom-man was on-call twenty-fourseven. As much as he didn’t want to be selfish, he yearned for a holiday, even if only for a few days. No work, no tights, no anything. Just a chance to kick back, call up a friend, go to a movie or, if he were ever blessed with such an opportunity, take Valerie out for an uninterrupted romantic evening. Snap out of it. That’s never going to happen. Besides, you’ve got a bigger problem to worry about. Today was the day General Watts wanted to meet with him in the afternoon. He still didn’t know how he was going to get out of work. The original plan after phoning in a tip to the police about where they could find the man and the streetwalker was to go home and sit and think of a plausible excuse, one that wouldn’t cost him his job. Instead he’d gone home and ridiculed himself for saying the wrong thing to the woman, reminding himself over and over to watch what he said on future occasions no matter what the situation. If Axiom-man was to be a symbol of the ideal, he couldn’t afford any slips of the tongue. Part of restoring hope to the city was based on his actions, the other based on how people perceived him and the words they used when talking about him when he wasn’t around. Sitting down at his desk, he took a sip of tea from his thermos then shrugged off his jacket. He had a little over five hours until he was supposed to be at City Hall. The idea of skipping the meeting was an appealing one. He could claim, if anyone asked, that he hadn’t seen the ad on the front page of the paper, and he wouldn’t miss work. But, he knew, that wouldn’t be possible for two reasons: he’d be lying, which he promised himself Axiom-man wouldn’t do; and by showing up in the middle of the afternoon, it would hint that whoever Axiom-man really was, he wasn’t someone who held down a day job thus furthering his Gabriel Garrison daytime persona from the man in the blue cape. From behind him, “Morning, Boss!” It was Gene. He sat down beside him and set his notes and box containing his headset beside the keyboard. “Good morning,” Gabriel said, careful to show that his mind was on his job and not anywhere else. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

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“As beautiful as any.” He studied Gene a moment, trying to see if his body would react to the young man’s presence the same way it reacted to Redsaw. He didn’t feel . . . anything. “I’m so happy that it’s Friday. Just one more day to go and it’s the weekend.” Gabriel had to admit Gene’s smile was contagious. He wasn’t sure what to think anymore. If this guy was indeed Redsaw, and he had reason to believe he was, how could he be friends with him? “You and me both.” “Any plans for the weekend?” I haven’t even thought about how I’m going to get through today, he thought. --------The sun shining bright from a clear sky brought on a warmth Winnipeg hadn’t seen for a few days. It had been a little chilly this morning when Valerie left her apartment for her morning run, but now, ready for work and sipping a cappuccino, she wished she hadn’t worn her jacket. She removed the dark gray windbreaker and hung it over her arm and waited for the bus. If the bus was to be on time, she had about four minutes to kill and, for some reason, at a bus stop, four minutes always seemed like forty. The day was shaping up so nicely she debated on just walking to work. It would be only a twenty or so minute hike and she’d arrive right at eleven, perhaps a few minutes late but she didn’t think it’d matter. The past couple days she’d been late getting back from lunch and break time. Rod hadn’t said anything. And walking might be a good idea, too. Somehow taking a bus made work time seem closer while walking made it seem further away. Which would be a good thing, too. As much as she tried to be nice to everybody, Gene was becoming difficult. The other day, after sharing a bout of laughter, he just looked at her, almost like a puppy staring in awe at its master. Though he resumed work a moment later, she knew his desire to ask her out on a date was on the tip of his tongue. Thankfully, his not saying anything saved her from turning him down and making the rest of the afternoon awkward. She had gone through the same thing with Gabriel and, though she hated to admit it, as much as she enjoyed Gabriel’s company—there was just something so simple about him it made him charming—there was no way on earth she’d ever spend a quiet evening over dinner with him. Four other people were at the bus stop with her, each staring at their toes or looking down the street for the bus. Then a woman who appeared to be in her late forties standing beside her said, “Oh my . . .” and glanced up. Overhead, Redsaw flew in a streak of black and red, one arm outstretched, the other tucked in at his waist. Valerie smiled as the warmth of seeing him filled her. He seemed to be coming from the direction of her work. The bus rolled up to the stop and she boarded then quickly got a seat by the window, never taking her eyes off the sky. Redsaw wasn’t flying particularly fast and was keeping his flight quite low, perhaps only ten or so meters from the rooftops. He then doubled back, heading toward the direction he’d come from. She absentmindedly tugged on the stop cord to get off at the next stop. Work can wait, she thought as she got off the bus. Redsaw was heading for the Forks. Valerie ran along the sidewalk to keep up with him. She didn’t know why she was chasing him or what she hoped to accomplish. Her mind danced with the daydream of his noticing her and swooping down to pick her up and take her someplace secluded. That’d never happen. She picked up her pace, crossed Main Street and headed down Water Avenue toward the Forks. Some who were walking down the sidewalk toward her stopped in their tracks

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when they caught sight of him overhead, and looked up. Others pointed, and a few turned on their heels when they saw him lower his descent at the Forks. Digging her cell phone out from her purse, Valerie dialed Rod’s number. She might be slacking off a bit, but she wasn’t irresponsible. Rod’s voicemail came on and at the beep she said, “It’s Valerie Vaughan. I’m calling to let you know I’ll be a bit late today, probably an hour or so. I can work an hour later to make it up. Thanks.” And she hung up. She had to slow a bit when one of the heels of her high-heeled shoes twisted beneath her and she nearly lost her balance. You’re not wearing sneakers, girl, she told herself. Arriving at the Forks, she went to take a swig of her cappuccino and made a face when she realized she was no longer holding it. She must have dropped it while running and not noticed. Do I have it that bad? “I guess so,” she said quietly. A crowd had gathered down by the river walk. Valerie’s breath caught in her throat when she saw what was happening.

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CHAPTER TEN AT THE SAME time Valerie had been waiting for her bus, Gabriel was answering calls, waiting for Gene. The young man had said something about “being right back” and taken off. That was nearly ten minutes ago. The sun shone in bright and hot through the window to his right, reminding him he was wearing two layers of clothes. Across the way in the lunch room, the TV was on. When the commercial for household cleaner ended, CityNews occupied the screen. The volume was too low for him to hear anything, but the look on the newscaster’s face was solemn. He logged off his phone. If he remained in ACT too long, Rod would come by with questions. He locked his station. One of his coworkers gave him a look that said What are you doing? It’s busy. Sit down. He shrugged and went to the lunchroom and opened up one of the cupboards, feigning looking for a glass or cup for some water. “. . . bridge. A car swerved off the lane after what was believed to be an attempt to avoid collision with another car that lost control,” the newscaster said. “The driver steered the car off the bridge and crashed into a paddlewheel boat passing underneath. Emergency workers have gone out but the crowds are growing so thick it is difficult for them to get through.” Gabriel walked quickly from the lunchroom and headed for the stairwell. If I lose my job over this, so be it, he thought as he bounded up the stairs. Gene must have known about the disaster before him and gone to help, but the newscaster hadn’t said anything about Redsaw being there. Doesn’t matter whether he’s there or not. He took off his glasses and shoved them in the pocket of his sweater. Near the top of the stairwell, he loosened his tie and undid his sweater’s buttons. The door leading to the roof was still unlocked and he had a moment of satisfaction of guessing right about the caretaker not caring about it or bothering to check. Inside the little room, he changed clothes in the dark, in too much of a hurry to even turn on the light. Then he was up the ladder and onto the roof. The second Axiom-man closed the trap door at the top, he set his gaze skyward and his feet left the ground. He flew high above the city streets, heading straight for the Forks. The Dolla-card building was relatively close by and he was over where the Assiniboine River met the Red in no time. The crowd below was like a pack of flies swarming around garbage, with more and more people adding to the mix by the second. Ambulances, firemen and police were scattered in pockets about the crowd, but the throng of people was too thick for them to make any headway. He flew over the shops and open area that was used as a skating rink in winter, eyes fixed on the paddlewheel boat not too far away, its stern half under the Main Street Bridge. A gray Toyota was about a quarter ways from the stern, its trunk end half on the boat, the other half leaning into the water. Up on the bridge overlooking everything was a dense pack of traffic and a line of people gathered along the railing except where the car had gone over the edge. Sirens came from both the left and the right of the bridge, but there was no way they’d make it through. Emergency workers scrambled through the crowd below, but Axiom-man doubted they’d be able to do anything.

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A jolt shook him to the core and Redsaw swooped down in front of him, lingered a moment flying just ahead of him then darted toward the commotion on the river below. He didn’t even come up beside me to discuss how we’re going to handle this, Axiom-man thought. I just hope I can function down there without his presence distracting me. He focused his thoughts, ignoring the illsensation building in his stomach, the subtle throb of a headache. At least now I know where Gene went off to. Here. Redsaw landed on the boat below and a moment later Axiom-man joined him. “We need to work together,” Axiom-man said. His legs buckled. He shoved his reaction to Redsaw’s presence deep down and locked it away. Think of it as part of what you need to do here today. “I’ll get the people off,” Redsaw said. The moment the man in black and red spoke, the people on the boat were running toward him. He and Axiom-man floated upward above them so they couldn’t be mobbed. “We can’t risk much time talking,” Axiom-man said. “You can’t take the people off unless you plan on flying them to shore or to the bridge two at a time. There’s at least fifty people onboard and—” The boat groaned as the weight from the mass of people forced it to lean into the water on the same side the car was on. The people on the boat and on the shore screamed as the boat dipped toward the water. If it tipped completely, the undertow would suck everyone down and the current would carry them to who knew where. They’d drown. Axiom-man raised his hands and in a loud voice said, “Folks, please. Listen to us.” All eyes were on him. People on the shore still shouted and screamed. “You need to stay calm,” he continued. He glanced at Redsaw. His flying comrade was eyeing the boat, not paying attention to his words. I’m going to have to have a talk with him. “You need to distribute your weight evenly on the boat.” He pointed at them. “Half of you, you need to move to the other side. It’s okay. We know you’re there, but we need you to wait on the other side so the boat can balance. You must listen to us.” He wanted to add, “If you don’t, you’ll all drown,” but didn’t, not wanting to send an already-panicking crowd into further frenzy. Some of the people began to back away and move toward the bow so they could round to the other side. “That’s good. Nice and slow,” Axiom-man said. Then, turning to Redsaw, “We have to get that car off.” And what he’d say next would have to be forced out. He didn’t want to admit his weakness in front of him. But it had to be done. “I can’t lift it on my own.” Redsaw grinned and said, “I can.” --------“Excuse me. Sorry. Excuse me,” Valerie said as she pushed her way down the river walk toward the Main Street Bridge. A moment ago she saw Axiom-man fly onto the scene, Redsaw right in front of him. Instead of helping the people, Axiom-man just hovered there talking, no doubt distracting Redsaw from helping those poor people. Redsaw can easily have this thing under control if Axiom-man’d just let him, she thought. “Excuse me. Let me through,” she said and squeezed through people packed side by side along the walk. She was almost in line with the boat and wanted to get in as close as she could. Depending, she might also be able to lend a hand in some way. They’re still talking! She couldn’t believe it. Wasn’t it a hero’s job to get in the face of danger and set things back in order as quickly as possible? But you’re no superhero, she reminded herself. They could be working out a plan. It’s a lot more than Winnipeg’s finest are doing. But, she supposed, she also couldn’t

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blame the emergency workers as the people were making it impossible for them to get through with the needed tools and equipment to help with the disaster. She wondered why no police would take a boat out to meet the paddlewheel. Maybe they were but were taking too long. She also thought that any decent citizen would do the same. But they’re probably too afraid, she concluded. People were supposed to band together in the face of disaster. But only if they knew what to do. The paddlewheel tipped toward the water. An eruption of screams and shouts surrounded her. I have to get closer, she thought. She pressed on through. --------Redsaw flew down and dove headfirst into the water near the front of the Toyota. Beneath the murky brown of the river, he felt along the front of the car for the underside of the bumper and made sure he got a good grip, palms up. That fool can’t even lift this, he thought. Immediately a sense of surety in his own power encompassed him and he knew that if he pulled this off, he’d be the most revered in the city. Double checking his hands were securely in place beneath the car, he lifted up. The car began to move and soon his head was already above the water. Just over to his left, Axiom-man was assisting in evenly distributing the crowd along the boat. The man in the blue cape’s efforts were paying off; the boat began to balance itself more evenly along the water’s surface. Grunting, Redsaw pulled up on the car, its front end now completely clear of the water. Applause roared from the crowd along the shore. Redsaw smiled, unable to help himself. Axiom-man flew down to the trunk end of the car. “Need a hand?” Redsaw felt his eyes widen. This was his show. “No, I’m okay.” Axiom-man scouted the back end of the car. Redsaw kept pulling it up so that now it was at an almost forty-five degree angle. A little further then he could work his way under the car and lift it up from beneath, take it from the boat. As strong as he was, the car wasn’t light and its weight began to resist against him. Biceps and forearms burning, he fought against the fatigue. If he let go to rest, the shock of the weight slamming down onto the boat would flip the paddlewheel over. He had to do this. He needed to. It was his time to shine. --------Valerie had managed to push her way right up to the edge of the walkway along the shore, in line with the boat. Redsaw was lifting the car! Finally, somebody was doing something. Axiom-man was just standing there, looking at the back end of the car. What’s he doing? “Help him!” she shouted across the water. Axiom-man didn’t seem to hear her. “Idiot!” she growled. She turned to the middle-aged man standing next to her. “Why isn’t he doing anything? Redsaw can’t lift it on his own.” She didn’t realize she was leaning into the man until he gently pushed her away. “Whoa, take it easy, lady. Look” —he pointed toward the boat— “Axiom-man is helping him. In case you forgot, that car isn’t just sitting on the boat. It fell from the bridge. Its back end is in the boat.” “Oh.” ---------

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Redsaw had the car at an angle, but it seemed he was having a hard time getting underneath it; couldn’t make it move. Axiom-man saw why. The rear tires were lodged into the floorboards of the deck and positioned as such that if Redsaw tried to yank the car free, he’d tear up the floorboards and, if he didn’t maneuver it right, inadvertently tug the entire boat down into the water, most likely tipping it in the process. “We have to work together,” Axiom-man said. “No!” Redsaw’s jaw tightened. Axiom-man didn’t know where that came from and attributed it to the strain of the moment. Regardless, Redsaw—Gene—was acting differently than Axiom-man had ever known him, both in and out of costume. Once more Axiom-man wished he had been bestowed the ability to see through solid objects. If he could, he could see how far the tires were stuck in the boat. “Set it down,” he told Redsaw. The man in red and black hesitated then, after yet another moment, finally complied. On the shore, all eyes were on them. On the boat, the people held still, some with their hands over their mouths, others with palms to their chests to still their racing hearts. The two men had only one option if this was going to work, something Axiom-man knew from the start—they’d have to work together . . . even if Redsaw didn’t agree. --------Wanting to get closer, Valerie shoved her way through the crowd, down the walkway, then up a path which led to the Main Street Bridge. She just hoped that while her back was turned, the two caped men would keep everything under control. --------“Here’s what we need to do,” Axiom-man said. And he outlined his plan to Redsaw. The man in the black mask, contempt in his voice, said, “Have it your way.” Axiom-man went to the right of the car and allowed blue light to fill his eyes. Then, in a blast of blue energy, destroyed the floorboards around the car’s right rear wheel. He floated quickly over the trunk and did the same to the left side. Back at the rear of the vehicle, he counted out loud to three, and he and Redsaw lifted the car together. Axiom-man kept his feet firmly planted to maintain his balance. Redsaw lay prone, hovering atop the water, lifting from the front. The two hoisted the car. The sudden absence of weight forced the boat to rock and Axiom-man tumbled backward, his fingers losing grip of the bumper. With a loud splash, Redsaw went under the water. The people screamed. The car stood upright in the river. It wasn’t sinking so that meant Redsaw still held it firmly, but Axiom-man didn’t know exactly how strong Redsaw was and didn’t know if he could hold the car much longer. Getting to his feet, Axiom-man flew to the car, grabbed the back bumper again, and pulled up. Slowly, the gray of the car’s body began to be revealed more and more as it rose out of the river. Soon the front came above the surface, then Redsaw’s gloved hands, then the rest of him. Redsaw’s gaze was hot with rage. The front bumper began to creak and groan as Redsaw squeezed it, crushing the rubber and metal. With a sudden snap to his left, Axiom-man was flung with the car toward the shore. The momentum of the vehicle kept him locked to it. Muscles straining against it, trying to slow it, already he could feel the car dipping down as gravity took over. He thought he heard the words, “Look out!” but he couldn’t be sure if he said them or not. Time

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slowed and the screams and shrill yelps from the crowd on the shore droned somewhere in the background. A moment later he hit the gravely walkway, the car plowing into him like a battering ram, both skidding down the path, kicking up dust and pebbles. Axiom-man’s left shoulder screamed as it tore into the ground, wedging itself in as the car forced the two along. He pressed against the car and the sudden impact from his onslaught of strength caused the car to buckle then swerve to the right and into a crowd of people. Some yelled. More cried out in terror. Axiom-man remained under the vehicle. --------Redsaw hovered above the water, still and silent. His body shook; shame bathed his heart. His temper raged; sorrow and regret swarmed his mind. Not knowing what else to do, he reached for the sky and embraced the air. As he flew away, the shouts of panic from the people below silenced. --------Valerie’s hands shot to her mouth. She stood near the opening the car made when it first crashed through the bridge. She didn’t have to look around to know everyone’s eyes were fixated on the walkway below, the Toyota amongst a cluster of people, Axiom-man somewhere beneath the vehicle. She couldn’t believe Redsaw just left. --------“Is he . . .” someone said. “I don’t know,” another said. “What should we do?” a kid asked. Beneath the car, Axiom-man was barely conscious. A dull throb pounded at the back of his head. He must have banged it good when the car steamrolled over him. Tempted to press up and lift the car so he could get out, he resisted, his first memory being Redsaw hurling the car at him and how Redsaw’s carelessness caused this. Slowly, he reached above his head, dragging his arms along the ground, until they found the rear bumper of the car. Carefully, his shoulder hot with pain, he pulled himself out from under it in short bursts, each roll across the gravel like moving along spiky balls of glass, his skin beneath his costume crying out. Despite the cape, his backpack beneath, and his outfit—he dreaded having to see the scrapes and bruises later. Even though he shouldn’t have been thinking of it, his first thought was that he’d probably broken his glasses that were in his backpack and that he’d have to get them replaced before going back to work after the weekend. Two men rushed to his aid, one in his twenties or so, the other in his fifties. Judging by the way they cooperated so well, they might have been father and son. “I’m okay,” Axiom-man said as they helped him to a sitting position. “Just give me a moment.” The two men backed away. For some reason, the gaze of the crowd wasn’t on him like he had expected. Instead, they were at the front of the vehicle. Body aching, his costume torn, Axiom-man quickly checked to make sure his mask was intact before going to see what everyone was looking at. His mask was fine. The trip to the front end of the car took longer—and seemed longer—than he expected in spite of the slowness of his steps. When he saw the front right side of the vehicle, his heart stopped in his chest.

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Sticking out from under the front tire, crushed from the chest down . . . was Gene. --------After debating to go down there and into the crowd, Valerie decided to stay put. She had come to see Redsaw, to perhaps talk to him . . . but all for naught. Below, Axiom-man crouched down and disappeared behind the backs and heads of those crowded around the vehicle. She prayed whatever it was wasn’t too serious. --------As Redsaw flew as fast as he could out of the city, a low buzzing filled his ears. Then his mind. --------Axiom-man lifted the car. The front tire rose off Gene’s chest. The young man’s body jolted once from the sudden relief from the weight. Keeping the front end two feet from the ground, Axiom-man pushed it forward, clearing it past Gene and set it down just on the other side of him. Kneeling down beside him, he looked over Gene’s body. The young man’s chest was caved in and blood soaked through his yellow and blue checkered shirt where his ribs were. His collarbone stuck out through the skin by almost an inch, blood and flesh and stretched skin around it. He was barely breathing. The young man’s hair was full of gravel dust and his glasses were dirty. Axiom-man removed Gene’s glasses. The young man’s eyes were partly open, his eyes watery. The skin along his cheeks was scraped. “Somebody get some help!” Axiom-man screamed into the crowd. “They’re coming through,” a woman said. Another behind her, a man, said, “Make way. Let them through!” “Gene?” Axiom-man said. The young man’s eyes rolled in their sockets then finally settled in his direction. “I . . .” He wet his lips. “I just . . . w-wanted . . . an autograph.” “Don’t talk. You’ll be all right.” Where were the paramedics? “Help!” he screamed. If the paramedics weren’t there in twenty seconds, he was going to lift Gene and fly him to St. Boniface Hospital all of less than a minute by air from here. But if he moved him . . . Gene’s breathing grew fast, as if panicking. “Redsaw,” he said, and exhaled. No other breaths came. --------Valerie bolted to the railing overlooking the river when screams came from the paddlewheel. Water had begun to pile into the boat when the people on the deck moved to the damaged side to get a clearer look of what was happening on shore. Before she realized she was saying it, she pointed at them and screamed, “Axiom-man, help them!” ---------

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Axiom-man stood at the sound of his name. The boat was tipping into the river. His feet left the ground . . . leaving Gene’s body behind. He flew up and over the boat and came at it from the side furthest from the shore. Many of the people on that side of the boat shouted for help. “Just stay calm,” he said and, floating above the water, set his palms firmly on the floorboards in between the gaps of the posts that held up the railing. Pressing down, he forced the boat to angle toward him, lifting its opposite side out of the river so no more water would pour into the hole created by the car. With a grunt, he pushed the boat toward the shore. With the car no longer sticking out of the boat’s side, the paddlewheel could now line up flush with the walkway. The crowd on the shore cheered as did those on the boat. Clapping and shouting echoed along the riverbank as he guided the boat safely to land. From where he was pushing, he couldn’t see the other side so could only do his best to judge the distance. The paddlewheel touched the shore with a slight bump, enough to shake the boat but nothing serious. He held the boat firm against the walkway until all de-boarded. Emergency personnel had finally been able to get through the crowd. Some of the people were scolded by fire workers and police for having blocked the path. Axiom-man glanced to where three paramedics were huddled around Gene’s body. Heart aching, he couldn’t wait until this was all over and could have a few moments to himself. Gene hadn’t deserved to die. And Redsaw, whoever he was, was still out there. --------Standing close against the railing, Valerie clapped with the others on the bridge. Smiling, she was thankful Axiom-man had rescued everyone. As to what happened with the Toyota, she still wasn’t sure exactly what occurred. The crowd around her began to push past her as many started leaving the bridge and rush down the path that led to the walkway. She had to be wary of her footsteps as the gap in the bridge where the car had gone through was only a few feet away. One small slip and— Someone pushed her from behind. Her right foot stepped on a chunk of cement that was once the bridge’s railing, folding her foot under her. Arms flailing, she tried to grab onto something. All she grasped was air. Balance gone, she stumbled into the hole in the bridge and fell. --------A woman screaming. In his peripheral, Axiom-man saw the body leave the bridge and plummet toward the river below. Letting go of the boat, he poured on the speed and flew toward the woman. Right as the bottoms of her feet touched the water’s surface, he came up under her, held her firm, and flew into the sky. Only when she looked at him did he realize who he was holding. He almost said her name but she spoke first in panicked gasps. “Th-thank . . . thank you.” Valerie, he thought. He couldn’t reply. She was the only person who ever took his breath away, who always robbed him of words. She held him tight, arms around his neck, and leaned against his shoulder, trembling. Softly, he said, “You’re welcome.” Air rushed over them as he arced in the sky and rounded back to the Forks. Silence hung between them. Axiom-man wasn’t sure what to say or if he was supposed to say anything at all. Ever

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since first meeting her over a year ago, he had longed to hold her, to spend time with her. To talk to her. And now she was with him . . . and she didn’t know who he was. Didn’t know she was flying with the same man who sat diagonally across from her at work, the same man whom she’d ignored for so long. Now she held him as if she wanted to never let go. The crowd below took up the whole walkway which ran from the Forks down to the Main Street Bridge. Below, the people saw him, some pointing up. There was a viewing tower at the Forks, six floors from ground level. No one was up there now. Axiom-man flew with her toward it then landed on the viewing deck. He set her down. “Are you okay?” he asked. Arms still about his neck, she seemed lost for a reply. Her gorgeous brown eyes searched his then took in his whole face as if she was trying to see behind the mask. “Yes,” she said quietly. Her waist was small in his hands and through his gloves he felt her warmth. At that moment, all discomfort, all pain, all sorrow over the loss of a friend diminished. It was only her, the viewing tower and the gentle breeze which wrapped itself around them like a hug. The perfect moment. Then it was broken by the sound of footfalls clamoring up the steps that led to the viewing deck. A crowd of people were on the stairwell not two flights below where they were. “Until next time,” he said. He gave her waist a gentle squeeze, hoping she knew he cared. A small smile illuminated her face, signaling that she did. And with that, he turned and flew away. --------The power raged within Redsaw’s heart, his body booming with the same force he felt when the black cloud first settled upon him. He was at home, on his knees, head in his hands, rocking back and forth. A life had been taken. He didn’t know how he knew the person was dead. But he did. All he saw was the car smash into the young man, but as to how severe the impact had been . . . Something shifted then. His powers, less than a week old, cried out, as if being freed from a cage. It was as if he could do a thousand times more than what he already proved himself capable of. It was as if this first week was a test—a taste—of what was in store for him. It just needed a way out. Standing up in his front landing, Redsaw looked into the mirror. Eyes cold, jaw set like a clamp made of steel, he took a hard look at himself and knew he had turned a corner. Reaching up, he tore off his mask. Oscar Owen stared back.

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Four months earlier . . . GABRIEL LANDED IN the back alley two streets over from his apartment building, checking for any onlookers as he descended. If there were any, he’d hide his face in his hands and rise into the sky again and come back later. But there were none. His feet hit the ground hard, the jolt from the impact echoing in his knees. After taking a moment to accept that, yes, he was on the ground, he walked back to his building, not wanting to jog just in case he somehow wound up in the air again and someone saw him. He tried the back door to his apartment block, but the lock was sticking again and refused to turn with his key. He went to the front. The woman standing at the bus stop about fifteen feet from his building gave him an odd look as he entered. Did he do something? Was he floating above the ground but did not realize it? Did he tear the door off its hinge but because of his newfound strength he didn’t notice that he had done it? Heart racing, he checked his feet and the door—all was well. He went in quickly, careful with the door as he closed it behind him. Just in case. The elevator ride up to his suite seemed to take longer than usual. He checked his watch. It was five-seventeen. When he arrived on his floor, he went down the hallway, pulled his keys from his pocket, unlocked his door and went in. After locking the door behind him, back against the door, he slid down till his bottom touched the floor. Home. Finally. Safe. He got up a minute later and passed the mirror in the hall. There was something strange about the glimpse of the reflection he caught as he passed by but he wasn’t sure what. Hands suddenly dry, he went to the bathroom to wash them and rid them of the dirt from when he’d smashed the beams on the train and touched the dirty back end of the Sedan. He ran the water, used soap then rinsed. When he reached for the towel beside the sink, he knew what was different about himself. He stared at the mirror and a man with blue hair and bright blue eyes stared back. His hair wasn’t blue-blue, but his dark brown hair had a blue sheen to it, like a thin coating of dye. His brown eyes sparkled with a blue as bright as the sky. And not only were the irises blue—including the pupil—but the whites as well. “Okay, don’t panic,” he whispered. He eyed himself closely, tilting his head side to side, rotating it to the left and right. From what he could tell, the blue was everywhere yet it didn’t ruin his vision. He could still see clearly. Excitement dulled by fear built up inside him and . . . his vision lit up in bright blue, as if someone was shining a blue-tinted flashlight right into his eyes. He couldn’t see a thing. Nervously stomping his feet, he slowly raised his hands to his eyes, thinking maybe he could wipe his eyes and push the light away. When his fingers came into contact with the blue light, an electric-like jolt shot through his flesh. He snapped his arms down to his sides. The light grew brighter and brighter and his eyes began to ache. A sudden mental image of his eyes having arms of their own cradling the light filled his mind and the idea that his eyes were somehow holding the light at bay seemed plausible. Squinting, thinking maybe it’d subdue the ever-brightening blue, Gabriel again reached for his eyes. The electric-like jolt was stronger and the tips of his fingers stung. Suddenly his eyes widened and a blast of blue energy shot forth and destroyed the mirror in a loud, glassy crash. The light was gone from his vision and he could see again. Cowering on the floor, he wondered how he did that and what else he could do. Or was this it? And if this was his last gift given by the messenger, that was more than okay. He’d been given so much already. His eyes! He went to the hallway mirror to check. They still sparkled blue. The same excitement built up once more and the idea of shooting another beam of energy from his eyes made him both eager and fearful all the same. The light began to 84

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return. Remembering what happened before, this time he consciously widened his eyes. A small crackle of energy shot out, singeing the mirror, leaving a smudge-like black mark in its wake. His hair. It still carried that hint of blue. The mark of his powers? Makes sense, he thought. Eyes drawn toward the mirror, he forced himself to look away, not wanting to trigger another blast of energy and inadvertently send shards of mirror flying at himself. Keeping his eyes closed, he fought the excitement building within. Breathing deep, he pretended nothing that happened that night happened at all. No flying. No incredible strength. No blue energy bursts from his eyes. Nothing. He was ordinary. No one special. He was only Gabriel Garrison. Nothing more. When he opened his eyes, his hair had returned to dark brown, his eyes the same.

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CHAPTER ELEVEN THE COOL BREEZE passing over and around Axiom-man as he flew soothed his aching muscles, but the pain was more a memory now because of Valerie Vaughan. To finally be able to hold her after all this time even for a short while . . . . He flew faster, his stomach a swarm of butterflies, a smile permanently on his face beneath his mask. Would this change everything? The way she looked at him . . . . He didn’t know if it was merely her gratitude of being rescued or if it was something more. Either way, her brown eyes did a dance when he gazed into them and the way her soft cheeks rose up in a gentle smile when he held her atop the viewing tower—there had to be something there. What was going to be hard was going into work on Monday and seeing her and not being able to say a thing, not being able to even hint he knew what went on other than what might be revealed on the news later that day or in Saturday’s paper. Did she stick around for the press? It didn’t matter. He’d held her. Axiom-man accelerated his speed, eager to get home and assess the damage the car had wrought on him and to just sit and think about Gene. After he had left Valerie at the tower, he had doubled back and flown near the Main Street Bridge. Gene’s body was already being hoisted on a stretcher to be taken away. He thought it best not to interfere and just let the emergency workers do their jobs. Did Gene have any family? Axiom-man wondered if he should track them down then thought better of it when he realized Gene had no doubt carried his ID with him and the paramedics would make the necessary phone calls. If he had only seen him . . . Everything had happened so fast that he hadn’t seen anyone near the car’s vicinity at all. Just a blur of people; blank faces looking on. He had no idea Gene was right by the vehicle. That’s still no excuse, he thought. I should have been more ready, more alert. Redsaw . . . . The man in black and red just hurled the car, seemingly not caring about any it might hit. All in a fit of rage. Why couldn’t Redsaw accept his help? There was no shame in working with someone when one person couldn’t handle the job on their own. Was it because of the black cloud? If that cloud was a part of Redsaw—which it had to be—then maybe something else was going on that Axiom-man wasn’t catching on to? I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough. But Gene . . . . There was nothing he could have done, and there was nothing he’d be able to do. No going back to fix it, no do-over—nothing. Axiom-man passed over the Richardson building and just beyond, multiple police sirens blared up, at least a half dozen cop cars if not more. Now what? He flew toward the sound. Alongside City Hall, seven cop cars sat parked, their sirens droning, their lights flashing. Those walking along the sidewalk covered their ears as they moved past. Cops stood where the sidewalk met City Hall property, speaking to any who approached them, presumably to ask what was going on. Standing on the small expanse of concrete out front of the building was a man in a gray business suit and behind him another in a military uniform. The man in the suit began waving his hands above his head, flagging Axiom-man down. As he descended, Axiom-man recognized the man as Mayor Charles Jones. He landed before him. When his feet touched the ground, Mayor Jones raised two fingers in signal and the sirens were silenced. “I thought you’d never show,” the mayor said. 86

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Axiom-man had never been this close to the man in the four months he’d been wearing the cape and mask. It was rumored the mayor had wanted to meet him, but no plans were ever finalized. Jones seemed innocent enough, a shorter man about five and a half feet tall, mid-forties, short spiked gray hair. He’d done a lot of good for the city and was big on expanding the entertainment side of things. “I’ve been busy,” Axiom-man said. Mayor Jones stuck out his hand. Axiom-man took it. The man had a firm handshake. “So I’ve heard. Thank you for helping out at the Forks.” Did the mayor know about Gene? It didn’t seem so and Axiom-man hoped that if he did know, he wouldn’t bring it up. The truth was, he didn’t have a clear answer as to what happened and had no idea what he might say if confronted. “It was my pleasure.” “This is General Aaron Watts,” he said and stepped to the side to allow the man in the navy blue uniform to step forward. “He has a lengthy title but to keep it simple, he’s here on behalf of the U.S. military and would like to talk with you.” Here we go, Axiom-man thought. He was glad he was wearing a mask because there’d be no way to hide the distaste on his face otherwise. “Pleased to meet you. We didn’t know how else to get your attention,” Watts said and proffered a handshake as well. Watts’s dark eyes were partially hidden in the shadow of the peak of his cap. The dark moustache above his lips reminded Axiom-man of an infamous military leader of the past. Axiom-man took his hand and made sure his own grip would outweigh Watts’s. He kept his eyes on the general’s. Watts smirked uneasily. “We’ve prepared a room inside,” the general said and extended his arm in an attempt to guide where Axiom-man had to go. “Out here is fine.” “Please. This is a secure matter. Come indoors.” “Out here is fine,” he said firmly. “What do you want with me?” The question wasn’t exactly polite, but neither was this meeting. He already knew what Watts wanted with him. Watts grimaced. Relenting, he said, “Mr. Jones tells me you’ve done a wonderful job here helping those who need it, intervening in circumstances neither trained emergency personnel can get to or police can touch. He tells me some call you a mere vigilante but you and I both know that’s only partially true. True, yes, in that you’re neither a police officer nor a sanctioned official of the law. But false because of your abilities.” He chuckled. “I don’t know too many people who can fly without aid of a plane.” Axiom-man crossed his arms. Don’t give him an inch. Mayor Jones just stood there, hands in his pockets, eyes to his feet. Was it Axiom-man’s imagination or did Jones suddenly seem out of place, as if he had nothing to do with this little meeting at all? Someone called out to Axiom-man from the street corner. He turned in their direction and waved. The woman waved back. The cop nearest her hustled her along. “See? The people love you,” Watts said. “And I know why because I feel the same way.” He paused as if waiting for Axiom-man to say something. Axiom-man didn’t. “I’ll get at it point blank: Winnipeg is a fine city, but not exactly a hotspot for crime compared to elsewhere. As you know— and as I shamefully admit—the United States holds some of the most corrupt cities on the planet. I’m here to offer you a job, and that is to come and work for us and help cities who truly need it.” Axiom-man remained silent and kept constant eye contact with the general. “It’d only be temporary,” the mayor said, finally looking up. There was that look again. Who put him up to this? It’d be one thing if Winnipeg was in the U.S., but to try and arrange something cross-border like this—it didn’t add up. 87

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“That’s right,” Watts said. “Only temporary.” Then, folding his hands over his waist: “You’d be paid handsomely, of course, and could live in any of the four major cities we feel need the most help.” “And that’s all, right?” Axiom-man said. It was more of a statement than a question. “We may want to enlist your services away from home as well. Perhaps overseas—” He’d heard enough. “Well, I thank you for your offer, General Watts, but I decline. In case Mayor Jones hadn’t filled you in, there was just an emergency at the Forks. A car spun off the bridge and nearly plowed a paddlewheel boat into the river. Many almost died. And then to sound the alarm and bring me here to basically ask me to come and fight wars for you? You have not only insulted me, but this city and this country. I have my reasons for staying here.” Then to Mayor Jones, “You should be ashamed of yourself, Mayor, for entertaining this. I don’t know what you were paid or if you went along with this willingly, but either way, you two gentlemen have both wasted your time and mine.” “I think you misunderstood what I was offering,” Watts said. “No, I heard you clearly. And the method which you chose to propose such an offer speaks of your childishness.” The general arched an eyebrow. “This may have been your idea, General, but you would have had to have gotten clearance to come here and offer me citizenship in the U.S. You can go back and tell your president that I’m not interested nor am I tempted by your offer. And I strongly suggest to you, Mayor Jones, that you be more cautious in the future when entertaining such ridiculous ideas.” Axiom-man turned away. Glancing over his shoulder, he added, “Good day, gentlemen.” And flew into the sky. --------Oscar had been on his knees for over an hour, unable to move. The power growing within crippled him and though it brought on an incredible surge of energy and vitality, he was unable to stand and discharge it. Something had him. For the first time since giving himself over to the unstoppable ability of human potential, he was afraid. The fear was palpable, a taste upon his tongue, one acrid and sweet at the same time. Heart pounding, hands shaking—he couldn’t even move to wipe the sweat lining his forehead and temples. More than anything he wanted to take the costume off, to abandon Redsaw for even just a short amount of time. But he couldn’t. Not just because he couldn’t move, but because Redsaw was now his source of power. Leave me alone, he cried out. He tried to form the words with his lips but all that came out was an incomprehensible whisper. Death. The essence of what cutting off a life from the world of the living stirred within him. As if it was an entity of its own, this essence connected to something deep within, the core of his power. In his mind’s eye he could see it entwining itself with the black cloud that had invaded him and found a home inside him. It was calling to him, telling him that killing someone had made him something more than he once was, had increased his power and might and had transformed him into what the black cloud had destined him to be. The dark energy within spiked upward through his body, driving his face to the floor as if in prayer. It encompassed his mind, permeating his thoughts and memories, his knowledge and awareness—everything that made him what he was. It tugged against his heart and soul; at first, it was only gentle bursts of pulling. Then in one foul yank, it stole him from himself. I can’t . . . I can’t . . . . Let me live. But the black cloud within paid no heed to his silent cries. I want to die, he thought and the notion crippled him even more. All that he was, all his bravado of the idea

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that a man could control his own destiny, could become a super man in the world by means of knowledge and power . . . was silenced. To fight this . . . “I will obey all that you are,” he said. The power gripped him hard. Then, finally, released. Peace. --------Axiom-man flew past his apartment building and down into an alleyway several blocks away. The muscles along his shoulder blades ached, his arms fatigued. It was hard to even make a fist and keep it clenched for longer than a few seconds. The profound realization of his own limits setting in, he leaned against the building wall and took a moment to pause and collect himself. I should have realized it would be only a matter of time till everybody wanted a piece of me, he thought. You shove yourself out into the limelight but soon, if you put on a good enough show, everyone wants to crowd the stage. Memories of Gene flooded his mind: the young man’s big smile, his goofy laughter, his ill-fitting clothes and thick-framed glasses. “You judged before you knew,” he told himself. And now Gene was gone. You couldn’t have done anything. You didn’t even see him. I’ve been so careful with my powers, being sure day in and day out not to hurt anyone. I did everything I could to help and now . . . . His heart ached. “It’s Redsaw’s fault,” he whispered. I know that’s true so why do I feel responsible? There was nothing I could have done. Nothing. I did what was expected of me to do. Nothing more. And that was the problem. “Nothing more” was what brought this on and was what cost Gene his life. I should have been more aware of my surroundings. Should have paid more attention. He’s dead because of me. Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes. Glancing upward, he yearned to embrace the sky and as much as he wanted to just leave the ground, something kept his feet planted. Perhaps it was the deep-down-knowledge that he was innocent regardless of where his thoughts led him. Perhaps it was the desire to get home and recuperate before he’d seek out Redsaw and make him pay for what he’d done. Or maybe it was because he didn’t want to have anything to do with himself or what he could do and only wanted to go home, curl up in his bed and think about Valerie and that perfect moment on top of the viewing tower. He reached under his cape and felt the cloth backpack beneath. Unclipping his chest piece, he removed the backpack’s straps from his shoulders and slid them down his arm. Inside the dark blue pack were his clothes. The pack’s material was stretched thin from when he had been dragged along the ground beneath the car and had a few holes. All his items were within it though. But he had been right about one thing. His glasses were broken. --------A short time later, Gabriel emerged from the alley, his clothes ruffled and wrinkled, the material slightly frayed in places along the seams. It was strange to be wearing his civilian clothes without his glasses and with each person he passed, he felt as if they could see through his disguise to Axiomman beneath.

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It’s all in your head, he thought. His head. He had nearly forgotten about his headache but the turmoil of thoughts brought it back on full swing. Shoving his hands deep in his pockets, he headed for home. At least there he would be safe to sort things out. When he entered his suite, he removed his sweater and draped it over a chair in the kitchen. His throat parched, he got himself a glass from the cupboard and filled it with fruit punch from the fridge. Leaning against the counter, he once again took a moment to slow down and try and accept that what was past was past. He just didn’t know if he’d ever accept that fully. Finishing the juice, he put the glass in the sink then made way for the bathroom with the intention of stripping down and examining his wounds. As he crossed the hall, a loud scrolling sound followed by a snap caught his attention. Then the metallic shringk of something rolling across steel. He went to his living room and found the blinds to the windows had been lowered and drawn closed; the curtain that hung alongside the window leading onto his balcony had been brought across the window. An electrical zap to his left and his computer screen lit up in bright blue.

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CHAPTER TWELVE THE BRILLIANT BLUE light filled Gabriel’s living room. He expected the monitor to burst at any moment, but lost sight of it when it disappeared in a bright flash of light. The light poured out of the computer screen; at first its rays angled outward in all directions but soon concentrated together in a light blue beam. The beam detached itself from the screen and became liquid-like, a swirling spiral of energy. The liquid beam ran high toward the ceiling then arced down in two separate beams before coalescing into the shape of a man. He stood there, featureless, his body a mass of light illuminating the whole room. Raising his hand in peace, he turned toward Gabriel. “Do not be afraid.” Gabriel’s legs buckled and he fell to the floor on his knees. “Are . . . are you an angel?” A pause, then, “No, but I do serve the One True God. And you, my friend, should not be on your knees before me.” Standing was difficult, but Gabriel managed. He placed a hand on the wall to brace himself. “Come closer,” the man of light said. “I have a message for you.” The messenger! Finally! Gabriel took small steps toward him. “I’ve wanted to see you for a long time,” he said softly. “I know.” He must have given him a quizzical look because the messenger added, “I sensed it in your powers.” “My powers?” The words were meant to be a thought but came out of his mouth instead. “The ones I gave you. I see you’ve been using them well hence this is why I come. Something’s happened and unless you are prepared, you and all those you care about will die. The world will fall into his hands.” His mind went blank for a moment then drifted toward the idea that though the messenger’s light was brighter than looking into the sun, its rays did not bring on a headache. It was as if Gabriel was used to seeing such brilliance. His thoughts came back to the present. “Redsaw.” “Precisely. You know as well as I that an evil is at work in him. Since I am attuned to you, I have also felt the fear and trepidation when you are near him. You also know of which other power I speak, the one that turned your insides upside down.” “The black cloud. Then it is connected with him.” Gabriel drew closer. The messenger remained where he was and only now lowered his hand. “Yes. It was what gave him his power and, like you, it was bestowed upon him as a gift.” He had so many questions, like why was he chosen to receive extraordinary abilities? Why were his abilities limited to only three and, it seemed, not as powerful as Redsaw’s? How did the messenger know he would use his powers for good instead of for his own gain? But as if reading his thoughts, the messenger said, “There will be time for answers later. As said, I come with a message and it is this: the war on earth has begun. And you are the soldier chosen to fight it.” “Me?” The messenger put up his hand again, palm outward. “Wait, and just listen. The universe was created with the intention of utopia. But nearly right from its outset, darkness came in and polluted 91

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the cosmos with its lies and power. I was created to help restore order and tip the scales back into the balance of good.” He lowered his hand. “But so was another created to counterbalance me. He invades worlds, corrupts them and brings them to the edge of despair. And so I seek out the planets of which he’s touched and appoint one there to influence and restore hope. And so it is with Earth. Before you were given your powers, your world was teetering on the edge of chaos. Hope was lost and though many did not vocalize it, many were yearning for some sign of good to come back into the fold. What was begun four months ago has brought hope back into a dark world. But the battle is far from over.” He came closer to Gabriel, his feet hovering along the ground. “And likewise with other worlds, when it is discovered I have intervened, so does our enemy—that is yours and mine— come in to destroy the seed which I have sown. That is in the form of the black cloud. That is Redsaw.” The enormity of it . . . he didn’t know what to think or say or even do. He decided to listen as told. Though only the work of his ears, that very act might be what saved the earth in the end. He bit back his tongue, forcing himself not to speak and inundate the messenger with questions. The messenger’s light pulsed brighter then died down a little. “You must make him your focus and watch his every move, for if he’s given even an inch to overpower, it will come on like a flood and swallow the world whole. You have a task and there is no other. Now, you may speak, but time is short and I must return to where I came from. Also beware that I cannot provide answers to specific questions.” “Why?” “Is that your question?” He shot back. The light grew brighter, its energy springing forth toward Gabriel. The electric tingle of it made him recoil and cover his head. “No . . . sorry . . . no.” The light dimmed. “Then what is your question?” “Do I only get one?” The light flashed bright and he was sent flying across the room, crashing up hard against the wall like water into a bank of rocks. He hit the floor with a thud. “The wise have learned to control their tongues and so you must do the same,” the messenger said. Why is he counseling me? He told his thoughts to hush and not ask needless questions. Regardless of what he felt about his treatment, he also knew that here in his living room was a being far more powerful than he, one, it seemed, infinitely smarter. It seemed the messenger had a view of life and the universe, one where he already knew the outcome of certain events and so was grooming him to not go down a path that would lead to destruction. Gabriel wondered how he himself knew that, then thought, Maybe I’m getting wiser myself. He stood. “I want to help but must know if I’m to be punished for the death of an innocent. You know what happened, right?” “I was informed.” “By?” “He sees all, Gabriel. Now listen to me: no, you will not be punished nor will your powers be revoked. What happened was beyond your control but pay mind to my words—if you let it destroy you, you will not only lead yourself into death, but everyone else on this planet. Your choices will determine the outcome of this struggle. Yet do not be afraid of the burden placed on you. Take heart that things are as they should be and that all serve a purpose.” “Fate?” “There is no such thing, but know that an infinite Mind is at work and what is happening will not often fall into the realm of finite understanding.” If I’m to watch Redsaw’s every move— “Who is Redsaw?” “That, my friend, you must discover on your own.” 92

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“But if I knew who he was, it would be much easier to locate him and . . . . What am I supposed to do if I stop him? He’s more powerful than me and there’s obviously no jail that could hold him.” “Two answers: he is only more powerful than you because you choose it to be. You will discover what I mean by that if you let yourself. Second, when the time comes, he will be brought to an end and you need not worry how he shall be detained.” “Can I ask one more—” “I must go.” “Wait!” But already the messenger grew bright and his body split into two energy beams. The beams flew a lap around the room then streamed into the computer monitor. The screen flashed once then turned black, and Gabriel was alone. --------The smile hadn’t left Valerie’s face since she’d left the Forks. Getting out of there, however, had been another matter. The moment Axiom-man flew off, she had been mobbed by a horde of people who had come up the stairwell to catch a glimpse of the man in the blue cape. Disappointment was on their faces when they saw he was no longer there. That didn’t stop most of them from asking questions though. “What was he like?” one asked. “How cool was it to be flying with him?” said another. “Do you know who he really is?” said one more. Valerie had to admit she was flattered by suddenly becoming the object of everyone’s attention, but when she couldn’t answer their questions—at least in the way they hoped she could—she kindly excused herself, got on the elevator as soon as the doors opened, and pushed through the crowd of people and asked them to leave her alone. She hoped she didn’t come off too cold but what else could she do? When she arrived on the main floor, news teams were just on their way up the steps. The second they saw her, they doubled back down the stairwell, reporters with microphones running after her with their camera crews trying to keep up behind them. She gave them a quick summary of the events of the afternoon, most of which, one reporter told her, they were already aware of. The key question was if Axiom-man said anything to her about what happened, about the young man who died. Valerie told them Axiom-man didn’t say anything but also that, by the tone of his voice, he was shaken up by it. They asked her if she knew who it was who passed on, but she couldn’t give them an answer because she didn’t know. After almost an hour since Axiom-man flew away was she finally able to leave. She walked home, her legs too jittery and heart too excited to sit still on a bus. There was no way on earth she’d be able to return to work and focus after what just happened. She didn’t know what she’d say as an excuse, but she knew she’d think of something and, probably, Rod would let it slide. Throughout the entire walk home, she felt as if all eyes were on her. But it was only her imagination. Out here, among the crowd of people walking up and down the sidewalks, she was just another face and nothing more. But she couldn’t help herself but smile. Even as she walked, she hugged her waist, still feeling his touch, the soothing comfort of being held by someone so powerful and so important. Now, having just gotten inside her apartment, she took a deep breath. It was just like high school again, coming home after her first big date with Todd Crayne. She had pined over him for a year before he asked her out. But Todd was no Axiom-man.

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Okay, grow up, she thought. You were with him for all of a few minutes. It wasn’t a date. He was just doing his job. She held her waist again. But it had to be something more, right? As far as she was aware, he never held anyone after he saved them. But he did hold her. Who knows what you’re feeling? Before you were all about Redsaw and in the blink of an eye that changed. She rolled her eyes. He did kill somebody though. Good an excuse as any to change your opinion about someone. So, what now? The first super-powered guy you wanted to meet turned out to be not so super after all, so you go to the next guy in line? Was she that shallow? When Axiomman first arrived in the city four months ago, she was taken with him. Not romantically though, but just by the idea of him, of someone who could do amazing things who had come to help. In a world where everyone looked out for themselves and placed others second, having him here in Winnipeg reminded a lot of folks, not just herself, that there was more to life than you and you alone. His being there awakened the good in everyone and rekindled many people’s desires to start helping others again. Was that what captivated her about him? “You don’t know him,” she said softly. “This is only a feeling. It will pass.” It better. --------Wearing only a pair of sweatpants, Gabriel spread his Axiom-man suit across his bed and examined the damage. The cape had been torn up by the shoulder, the fabric, as thick as it was, worn in places. The rear of the bodysuit was a mess, being harshly scraped across the gravel having shredded most of the upper back area. The belt was okay. The backpack was torn. At first he thought maybe he could just do a patch job—pull out the old sewing kit like he had four months earlier, and fix what needed fixing. Not this time. He’d have to recreate the bodysuit, make a new cape and sew himself a new pair of gloves as, upon examining them, the palm areas had been worn away and part of the forearm piece on one was ripped as well. “Guess I know what I’m doing tonight,” he said. He reached up for the ceiling and stretched, the muscles in his shoulder blades groaning. The flesh along his back had been red and raw, with a few light slashes crusted over with dried blood. Cleaning them stung but had to be done. He had tried reclining in a tub full of ice water, something to help prevent his whole body from swelling up before the evening was out. After about two minutes in the freezing tub, he couldn’t take it anymore and got out. If only someone knew his secret, they could help him recover. As he pulled out the sheets of extra fabric he bought when he first made his costume, he mulled over what the messenger told him. The war had begun. --------Gabriel slept in Saturday morning, having stayed up most of the night repairing his costume. He had decided on fixing the torn one to save time instead of creating another. Sitting down at the sewing machine the night before was like sitting down at it for the first time. But soon, after running the thread through some scrap pieces of fabric, it came back to him and he trusted himself enough to apply the needle to his outfit. If he screwed up, he’d have to start the suit all over again and since, at present, he had only one, he didn’t know if he’d be able to create a new suit in the span of a day for use that night. The first time he created his suit, after settling on a design, it had taken him over a week to do up the pattern, cut the fabric and piece it all together. Last night, however, he made a mental note to get working on a backup suit in case his current one got ruined in his next encounter with Redsaw.

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Sleepily making his way to the kitchen for coffee, something he only drank at home—coffee, for some reason, didn’t seem to go hand in hand with the “loser” image he had to portray at work—he turned on the kettle then sat at the kitchen table to allow himself a few moments to wake up. A couple of minutes later he prepped his cup with instant coffee grounds, sugar and milk then went into the living room. The computer screen was dark this morning. A part of him wished for the messenger to return and tell him more. Some other time, he thought. He flicked on the TV and scanned the channels, hoping he’d find the news on one of them. Nothing pertaining to Winnipeg. He checked the clock. It was almost half past eleven. If they had run something about what happened at the Forks yesterday, it would have been earlier. He’d have to get a paper at the corner store when he went out later for more fabric. The phone rang. He went to the kitchen and answered it. “Hello?” “It’s Mom.” “Hi.” “You were sleeping, weren’t you?” “Yeah,” he said, running his hands through his hair. “Had a late night.” “Doing what?” “Um . . . stuff.” He could picture her frowning on the other end. “I’m making stir fry,” she said. “Good. Six, right?” “Six.” The kettle whistled. “Mom, I gotta go. Water’s boiling.” “Okay, love you.” “Love you, too.” “Bye.” And he hung up. After adding the boiled water to his cup and stirring it, he went to the bedroom and pulled his suit out of the closet and laid it on the bed, wanting to check it over with rested eyes. It was definitely a patch job, but none of the stitches or pieces of fabric he replaced were noticeable unless you really looked close. Until I get another one ready, he told himself, checking it over one more time. He sat on the edge of the bed and sipped his coffee. “I don’t want to see Redsaw again,” he whispered. But he had to . . . and he knew it. Whatever cosmic battle was taking place, he was now a part of it whether he liked it or not. If Gene hadn’t died . . . . He didn’t know where he was going with that thought, but wondered if Gene had lived, if the messenger would even have visited him at all last night. “I’m sorry,” he said softly and wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes. The coffee didn’t taste very well all of a sudden. Valerie entered his thoughts and his heart rose in his chest, the thought of her smile making him feel lighter inside. “I know I shouldn’t see her again,” he said. “At least, not so soon. She’s . . . . If I see her again, I hope she doesn’t figure out who I am. Not yet, anyway.” But if I did see her, would she think I was stalking her or something? I don’t want to creep her out. More than anything he wanted to look up her address on the Internet and fly on by. More than anything he wanted to hold her again. More than anything.

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Four months earlier . . . “I CAN’T KEEP this to myself,” Gabriel said. He was sitting in his living room, the blinds drawn, alone in the dark. Having had to pretend “all was well” at work after a couple days off “sick” to experiment with his new powers, trying to stuff it all down and act normal, was difficult. So many times he’d wanted to show off. Rod had been waddling a filing cabinet across the floor, from one end of the aisle to the other. To just get up, go over to him and lift it as if it were an empty wastebasket was tempting. Yet Gabriel forced himself to stay in his seat. But never mind having to suppress his strength. Even traveling to work on the bus was frustrating, and slow. He could have gotten there in a quarter of the time, cutting across city streets by flying over the buildings dividing them. But he didn’t. And Valerie. Not once had she ever looked his way. It was like he didn’t even exist. He was like everyone else. Nice clothes, warm personality, well-rounded. Either she was extraordinarily stuck up or had made it her business to not get involved with anyone at work. She surely would have looked his way if he had taken her by the hand and led her into the sky. “But for something like this,” he said, “it can’t be all about me.” The messenger said it was a gift, and gifts were something one used wisely. What was he expected to do? All his life he had been just Gabriel Garrison, nobody-atlarge. As far back as he could remember, the rest of humanity had been on one rung of the ladder, far above him, and he had been on another, somewhere at the bottom, cast down for a reason that was never made known to him. Even till this day he remembered the insults at school, how he was the brunt of jokes, how when kids “rated” each other in elementary, the girls always gave him a two or three but gave guys who looked no better than him a nine or ten. After the beginning of the popularity ladder was established and he was cast to the second lowest rung (the lowest was reserved for those with absolutely no friends who ended up becoming friends simply because they had no one else), elementary transitioned into junior high and the popular kids from one school who entered the grade would join with those from another, the classes getting bigger and more divided. You were either a cool kid, so-so or a complete loser. Then it got even worse in high school when his junior high entered the grade along with those from other junior highs. Once more the ranks expanded and by that point he had finally given up. What drove him nuts about it was that you never realized how much it affected you until you were neck-deep in it. Even at home he had a hard time speaking up and making his opinions known to his parents. All he was taught by others was that his opinions were worthless and only the people who mattered were taken seriously. After graduation, his future, in his mind’s eye, was a big hazy blue field—an utter blank. Some of his friends had direction—one a doctor, one a lawyer, one an accountant. All clear-cut, real career-building jobs. For Gabriel, flipping burgers seemed like a plausible career, or even a paper route. “Or a call centre,” he said to himself. He closed his eyes, wondering if he should use his abilities in something career-oriented. What are you going to do? he thought. Tie a sleigh to your back and be the first flying transit in the city? More than anything he wanted to be noticed, if for no other reason than to prove to himself he wasn’t worthless. “But I must be special . . . at least in some small way, right?” he whispered. “The messenger wouldn’t have chosen me for no reason.” The idea made him feel a little better. “To go out there and pronounce myself, what, all-powerful—I don’t think that would work. Sure, you’d be deemed incredible but everyone would be at your side twenty-four-seven.” Look at movie stars. They can’t go anywhere without cameras constantly hovering around them and people wanting autographs. I’m sure it’s all fine and good for a while but it must get tiring. Then an idea hit him. “That’s ridiculous,” he said. “Isn’t it?”

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--------During the bus ride home the next day, he saw an issue of the Winnipeg Free Press lying on the seat next to him. He picked it up and flipped through it. On page four was an article about a little girl who was killed when gang members entered her father’s house, demanding money for drugs. The father was half-dead when police found him after finally arriving on the scene two hours later. He died six hours afterward in hospital. One of the neighbors, the article said, saw the group of four or five youths break in, but didn’t say anything to them or call the police for fear of getting involved. The neighbor had only come forward now because police were questioning people in the area and he wanted a clean conscience. Scrunching up the paper in his hand, Gabriel’s heart sped, hurting and angry. No one said anything, he thought. No one did anything. Suddenly everything became clear. The second he got in the door at home, he went to the kitchen, pulled out a notepad and pen and began drawing. The night before he had wondered if he could somehow disguise himself so as to not attract too much attention, but that was as far as the thought got. The idea of doing anything helpful as “himself” seem somehow . . . out there. If people suddenly knew what he could do they’d be all over him, getting him to do things he didn’t want to do and never give any him peace about it. What he’d do after he disguised himself, he hadn’t a clue. Until now.

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN WEARING GRAY SWEATPANTS and a white T-shirt, sneakers, and her hair tied back in a ponytail, Valerie left her apartment, unable to sit still any longer. Outside the lobby doors, she stretched her thighs and calves and went for a run. After yesterday’s events . . . . She played them over and over again in her mind. Her heart constantly beat rapidly, as if she were a child again, waiting for Christmas morning. What she was waiting for, she only had an idea, but nothing concrete. As she jogged along the sidewalk, breathing evenly, her heart ached to see Axiom-man again. But why? All I did was cast him in a bad light. I know he didn’t know that, but still, he saved me anyway. Would he have done the same if he knew what I originally thought of him? Then, with a smile, Probably. There was such care in the way he took her in his arms, almost a parental nurturing for a child who fell and skinned its knee. In those brief seconds where she was freefalling off the bridge, she honestly thought her life was over and she anticipated hitting the icy water, suffering shock by its frigidness, then complete darkness as the undertow sucked her down, never to see the world again. But when those strong arms came up underneath her . . . life changed. “People surprise you sometimes,” she breathed. She didn’t quite know what she meant by that statement, but was aware that up until yesterday, she had been too judgmental about everybody. Though it was never a conscious effort, she placed people in classes, made assumptions based on just the glimpses of behavior she got of them. Not any more. Being faced with her own mortality had forced her to face her own imperfections, bringing them into the light. She ran on. --------After a shower, Gabriel slipped into the tight dark blue bodysuit and pulled up the zipper in the back. He adjusted the cape so it sat more evenly on his shoulders and fastened the top left side of his chest piece to his shoulder. He tightened the belt and clasped shut the buckle. Standing in one spot, he lifted his legs one at a time, seeing how the uniform fit after repairing it. It felt all right but seemed a little snugger than usual. He had probably sowed a stitch a little too tight and used up a bit more fabric than he meant to. Fortunately, the material was flexible and in a few hours his body would stretch it enough so it felt like a second skin again. After slipping on the gloves, he reached up to the bundled-up mask around his neck . . . then paused. What was he doing? “You know exactly what you’re doing,” he told himself. Better be careful. For a moment he considered taking the costume off and going with his original plan of a bus ride to three different fabric stores to get supplies for a backup uniform. But with payday still five days away, he didn’t have the funds needed anyway because not only would he have to buy fabric for the uniform at different stores—light blue at one store; the dark blue at another; the magenta for his gloves and brown leather for his belt at another—he also had to buy other fabric—something with patterns on it—just to further avoid suspicion so when the cashier rang through his purchases, he or she wouldn’t notice that some of the fabric he was buying matched Axiom-man’s colors. What he’d do with the fabric he didn’t need, he didn’t know. Maybe he’d see if his aunt would want it for 98

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something; she was always sewing. But then how would he explain why he bought it? A gift? He shook his head. Think about that later. He pulled the mask in place . . . then centered himself. He shifted inside, summoning forth his abilities. The soothing warmth of his powers kicking in wrapped its gentle arms around him, covering him completely. When he opened his eyes, blue energy crackled before his vision. Axiom-man went to the balcony door, pulled back the curtain by the window and checked for any onlookers. In the apartment block across the way, an old lady was looking out her window. After she left, he quickly opened the door, stepped onto the balcony, closed it—and dove into the air. --------Jogging, a part of Valerie wondered if anyone would recognize her from the news reports. So far, no one gave her a second glance. Only one fella sitting on a bench whistled at her as she jogged past. In your dreams, buddy, she thought. She ran past the Convention Centre and headed toward the Legislative grounds. There were a few paths that ran through there. Perhaps by now some of the flowers in the flowerbeds would have started to bloom. She loved strolling through there in the summer, the colors encouraging her to continue saving for a house so she could have a flower garden of her own. Someday. --------Axiom-man had memorized Valerie’s address after looking it up online before his shower. He was almost there. What do I say to her? he thought. How do I even let her know I’m there? What was he supposed to do? Land by her lobby doors, buzz her suite and say, “It’s Axiom-man. Can I come up?” Idiot. He was above her building. According to the address he found, she was on the fourth floor. Assuming her building was laid out like his own—starting with suite one in the basement and having about eight suites per floor—he quickly calculated which window was mostly likely hers. He landed on the rooftop then walked to the edge of the rear of the building. They had balconies! Perfect. Maybe she’d be sitting on hers, taking in the sunshine. He positioned himself so he was standing right above where he thought her suite would be—just a straight drop down—and he could look in her window. Then she’s going to think you’re spying on her. I’m just going to fly by and that’s all. If she’s there, great. If not . . . . He didn’t want to think “if not.” “Well, why waste time,” he said and stepped off the edge. He floated down until he was in line with the suite that had to be hers. The curtains were drawn back, revealing a quaint little living room. It reminded him of a girl’s bedroom. At least, the ones he’d seen on TV, that was. A chair with a large white teddy bear on it was on one side, a couch adjacent to it against the far wall. A large entertainment unit was up against the wall opposite to the couch. Very few pictures. On a small table near the chair was a family photo. He squinted his eyes, trying to make out if she was in the picture. The faces were blurred. All he was certain of was that there were three people in it. No one seemed to be home. Disappointed, he decided to get going. He’d probably been seen already. Best case scenario was whoever saw him might think he was investigating something and had come by her suite to check it out. Worse case . . . well, he hoped there wouldn’t be a worse case.

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He flew away. So much for that idea, he thought. A few minutes later he found himself flying high over the Forks. The paths that had been crowded with people yesterday were clear. The damaged paddlewheel was nowhere in sight, same with the car that had crashed into it. The Main Street Bridge had a barricade up by the hole in its side, with a second warning barricade of orange pylons on the road itself. At least no one got hurt, he thought. Except for Gene. On the path below . . . it was as if it wasn’t clear at all. For an instant there was a throng of people, the Toyota, Gene’s body beside it. Then they were gone and the path was clear again. “Never again,” he said and banked right, moving over the rim of forest which separated the pathway from the Legislative grounds. The grounds were clear save for a few people. Axiom-man descended and landed on the Legislative Building’s roof. He saw her. --------Oscar Owen sat huddled in the corner of his bedroom, wearing only his boxers, his Redsaw suit draped over the bed. Knees drawn up to his chest, he kept his face in his arms, hiding his gaze from looking at that awful red and black costume. I’ll never put it on again, he thought. But he knew that wasn’t true. Though the suit lay there lifeless, it called to him, beckoned him to slip it on one more time and exercise the power he’d been given. The black cloud’s abilities within churned and roiled, begging to be used, and if not immediately, then soon. The world hated him. He’d let an innocent man die. He’d caused an innocent man to die. The name “Redsaw” was now a curse word on the lips of the people. “What should I do?” he said into his forearm; the tears leaking from his eyes dribbled onto his lips and tongue. “Create a new identity and start over?” Wouldn’t that be a bit too transparent? People aren’t stupid. They’d recognize the powers. At least, if I switched costumes and name right away. And he certainly could not go out and use his abilities as Oscar Owen. People would know that what he could do was the same as Redsaw. The empire he was building . . . it would all turn to dust. At least by maintaining a secret identity, he could separate his professional life from his super-powered one. For how long, though, was another issue altogether. Axiom-man. That fool! He had to upstage me. Had to be the hero. “Imbecile.” And it wasn’t just that, that made the mere idea of Axiom-man a despicable thought. Something emanated from the man in the blue cape, a goodness that was hard to find. It was both sweet and repulsive at the same time, a reminder of what Axiom-man had and he did not. When around him, Oscar felt that perfect energy pierce his being and, if he believed in such a thing, felt it down to his very soul. “If I could somehow merge with him,” he said quietly. “Somehow use his powers with my own. Could I even—” —Could I even become him? It was an interesting thought but that’s all it was. How he would ever accomplish such a thing, he didn’t know. But to taste Axiom-man’s power again, to feel that all-encompassing pleasure that dripped off him like water—anything would be better than sitting here, cowering in fear at nothing more than a heap of fabric. I’m more powerful than him. I’ve already proven that. I’m faster, stronger—better. He shakily got to his feet and wiped the tears from his eyes. On the other side of the bed was a full length mirror. His body was covered in sweat, his black hair damp and matted. Something was missing from his eyes. That solid and confident gaze he once had was gone. But, perhaps, not for long. With a trembling hand, Oscar reached for his suit.

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--------The flowers sat in a patch of brilliant red and yellow. Valerie wished she knew more about flowers so she could know what kind of flowers she was looking at. Their smell refreshed her, the scent of spring overwhelming. The grass that bordered the flower garden was bright green, its blades fat and a little long. The sun came out from behind a cloud. A perfect day. A rush of wind came up behind her and blew against her back and, just past her, made the flowers wave on their stems. Yet the grass bordering the flowers hadn’t moved from the wind. She didn’t know how she knew, but she was certain he was there. The shadow of a caped man grew along the flowers, muting the yellow and red. She smiled and turned around. Axiom-man stood before her, hands at his sides, his eyes locked onto hers. A couple passersby stopped their stroll and eyed the two from a distance. “Hello,” he said, his voice low and smooth. A voice she’d been yearning to hear since yesterday. A few moments passed and he took his eyes off her, as if something was wrong. “Oh, sorry,” she said. “I thought I said hi back.” He shook his head and though his face was covered, she was sure he was smiling beneath his mask. “Hi,” she said, suddenly unsure what to do with her hands. “I . . . I saw you jogging then stopped here. I hope I’m not bothering you but—” Was he serious? Bothering her? Was he kidding? “No, not at all.” A pause. “Yes?” She meant “Yes?” as in, “What else were you going to say?” but no matter how hard she tried, the words wouldn’t come. He took a step forward, his cape settling regally about his ankles. “I was wondering how you were doing,” he said reassuringly. “After yesterday. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” “I’m-I’m fine.” As if. Sure, she was fine physically but her heart was aflutter and more than anything she wanted to talk about the moment they shared on the viewing tower. She just didn’t know where to begin. Axiom-man remained silent for a moment. “So, you are okay, then?” It seemed like he was going to say more, but he didn’t. “As good as can be.” She put her hands behind her back. At least with them back there, she wouldn’t be caught fidgeting. “Good.” And there was silence again. A few more people had come by, watching the two. Some had smiles on their faces, as if they knew something she didn’t. “I was wondering if—” she began, but he said something at the same time; she didn’t make out the words. “Yes?” he said. Good one, Valerie, she told herself. “Nothing. I can’t remember what I was going to say anyway.” He nodded slightly. Then, calmly, “Would you like me to take you home?” Her cheeks pressed up into her eyes her smile was so big. “I’d love that,” she said. Gently, he came over to her and held out his hand. She took it, feeling the warmth of his touch through his glove. He came alongside her, his eyes never leaving hers, and pressed his other hand against the small of her back, sending a mushy tingle up her spine. “Are you sure?” she said. “I’m sure.” And he let go of her hand and scooped up her legs. “Ready?”

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Valerie smiled. She heard the people gasp as Axiom-man’s feet left the ground. --------The grass and flowers drifted away. The way Valerie smiled as she glanced down set Axiomman’s heart at ease. He had been so worried that he might come off as too forward or too intrusive. All he wanted was to hold her again. And now he was. Did the messenger somehow have a hand in this? Somehow guided them so they could meet today? He didn’t know what the messenger was capable of other than being powerful. He drew her in even closer, adjusting his grip around her body, making sure she was snug in his arms. Valerie raised her head skyward and he knew all she saw were the patches of cloud above coming closer. “How high will we go?” she asked. “Not too high. A few thousand feet. Let me know if you get chilly or if the wind becomes a bit too much,” he said. “Okay,” she said somewhat uneasily. When he brought her up to about three thousand feet from the ground, he leveled off and flew forward. Far below, the land was partitioned off into squares, some patches of green, another the tail end of the city, others suburbs. Flying over them reminded him of the first night he discovered he could fly and the immense freedom that brought on. He knew she felt the same thing, up here, away from it all. “How are you doing this?” she asked. “Do you mean—” “How are you able to fly? I’ve been meaning to ask that since you first came to Winnipeg.” She doesn’t know I’m from here. Doesn’t know that she knew me before the messenger came. I suppose that’s a good thing. But it also made him feel a bit detached from her. She truly did believe he was a person all his own and not someone she might know. He was glad the secret identity thing worked, yet it also made his heart ache. If he saw her again as Axiom-man after today, he’d have to approach it like a new friendship, taking it day by day as you get to know the other person. He’d also have to be sure not to let on he knew more about her than she realized. “Why don’t we wait for another time to answer that question,” he said. “Fair enough. But . . .” “But?” “But . . . were you always like this? Were you born this way?” She looked at him hopefully. Did she want him to say yes? “To a point,” he said, which was true depending on how you looked at it. After much soulsearching and thinking, he came to the conclusion that though he might not have had his powers up until recently, the messenger had chosen him for a reason. The messenger had even said so himself. Axiom-man figured that since the day he was born, everything that happened, the way his life panned out, all the events, the ups, the downs—everything formed who he was until the messenger came to impart this powerful gift. If his life had been different, even only by a little, he quite possibly would not be flying with Valerie now. She nodded. Up ahead was a small puff of cloud. He headed straight for it. As if reading his thoughts, she held out her hand, as if to catch it, then grabbed a mittful as they passed through; the cloud ran

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through her fingers. White surrounded them. She shivered when they came through on the other side. “Different up here than how we see them below, aren’t they?” he said. “Yeah, definitely.” That beautiful smile still hadn’t left her face. Her clothes were slightly darker from the moisture they picked up when they passed through the cloud. “Are you warm enough?” he asked. “I’m okay.” But she was trembling. “Here,” he said and slowed down. Coming to a stop, hovering in the air, he straightened himself so he was vertical then maneuvered his left hand under her body so he could still hold her and free his right hand. Once done, he used his right hand to pull his cape around the right side of his body and wrapped her in it like a child in a blanket. She settled into his arms, eyes closed with contentment, and he flew with her onward. When she opened her eyes, her gaze never left his face. “Thank you,” she said, “for this.” “Sure. Any time. I just—” “Yes?” He took a deep breath. “I just wanted to see you again.” Her eyelids fluttered. “Really?” “More than anything. After yesterday . . . well, it just didn’t seem enough.” “You had to go.” “I know. But that’s no excuse. I should have taken you with me. But I’ll never forget it, that’s for sure.” “Me neither.” Then, “Hang on.” And he sped up a little then flew straight upward a hundred feet then arched his back and did a loop-de-loop. Valerie giggled. “Thanks.” He drew her in closer. Her large dark eyes settled on his and he wanted to lean in and kiss her, but to do so would mean pulling down his mask and revealing who he was. Of all moments to think such a thing, he wished he had designed his mask differently so it could roll up above the mouth and not down. He leaned in close and rested his forehead against hers. She trembled when they connected and let out a sigh. Perfect moments rarely came, and when they did, you had to hang on to them. --------Was this a dream? Ever since the viewing tower, Valerie had longed to be with him again. And now she was and all was surreal. Any moment now she expected herself to wake up at home. Alone. The wind blew against her face, its cool breeze a comforting clash with the warmth of her body beneath his cape. So lost in him she had stopped looking at the ground some time ago. When she glanced down there was nothing but the green and yellow of fields with a few roads snaking through them here and there. On the horizon behind them was the city, nothing but a tiny, fuzzy gray bubble along the ground. Axiom-man banked to the right and descended some.

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To fly at will, she thought, how wonderful that would be. To have the air at your command, to not be confined to the ground, to be free at any moment. All you had to do was touch the sky and it would take you in. She gave his neck a gentle squeeze, letting him know she was happy and thankful that he was spending time with her. For only an instant she was once again ashamed for thinking so poorly of him. But she let it go. No one was perfect. Except maybe him. He had given her nothing but kindness. He had saved her life. He had given her freedom. It was perfect. --------Axiom-man slowed down his flight a little when he saw her squinting against the wind. He must have picked up speed and not realized it, too excited to keep in mind she wasn’t used to flying. He banked right again, heading back for the city, not necessarily to take her home but just so they wouldn’t get too far away. If she wanted to keep going, he could just fly over the city and travel a ways on the other side before turning back again and keep doing that in every direction until it was time to say good-bye. Which he hoped would never come. His heart ached with the knowledge that at some point he’d have to set her back down at the Legislative grounds. I never want to let you go, he thought. I lov—His stomach twisted into a knot and a tingling jolt shot through his body. “Oh no,” he said. Before the words even finished escaping his lips, something slammed into him from behind, sending his already-tender back into a blaze of pain. Valerie slipped from his arms and fell.

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN AXIOM-MAN TUMBLED DOWNWARD, his body flipping over so he was facing the sky. Redsaw was about thirty feet above him—and coming right at him. “Valerie!” Axiom-man shouted. He flipped over and dove downward. Far away, speeding toward the ground, Valerie flailed her arms and kicked against the air, screaming. Please, no. Don’t fall! he thought. But she was already falling. If he didn’t catch her . . . . His heart raced at the prospect. He’d never be able to forgive himself if she died. Stretching his arms out before him, he pressed his fingers out flat, palms down, and brought his arms together so his hands and arms were a point. Dipping his head down and bringing his feet together, he made his body as aerodynamic as possible. He sped down, flying as fast as he could toward her. “Valerie!” he screamed again. She didn’t hear him. She was too far away and the wind rushing by her ears would make her deaf to his cries. Oh no . . . . A shiver raced up his spine. Redsaw was right behind him. He dare not look back lest he raise his head and lose any speed he might have gained by making his body as flat as possible. “Come on,” he grunted. Pointing his toes, relief washed over him as his speed picked up. Valerie was coming closer. “Stretch your hands and legs out!” he shouted. If she heard him and obeyed, it might slow her fall. The ground was rushing up to meet them. Digging deep into himself, he willed himself to go faster. Closer now. He was almost upon her. Her eyes lit up with hope when she saw him. Valerie reached up for him. Closer. Faster. More power. His hands began to tremble with fear; Redsaw was right on him. Would Redsaw let her die? It wouldn’t be the first time he let someone die from something he’d done. Almost there. Axiom-man reached for her, extending his arms as far forward as possible, so much so the strain made it feel like his arms would pull out of their sockets. Keep your head down! he thought. He had looked up when she had put her arms out to him; though it could have been his imagination, he thought he had slowed. By how much, he couldn’t tell. He dipped his head between his shoulders, scrunching them against his neck—any little thing he could do to cut down on the wind resistance. I’m gonna have to do this blind, he thought. The world was upside down before his eyes. In his lower peripheral, Redsaw’s black fists were headed for his face. Hands! He felt hands. Valerie’s! The moment he grabbed her wrists, Redsaw’s fists connected with his head, sending him flying back, his world a terrible dance of black mixed with blue and green stars. Valerie screeched as she and him were knocked vertically through the air. 105

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Head buzzing and a dull echo in his ears, Axiom-man focused on his surroundings—on what was happening—and as much as he wanted to close his eyes and rest a moment to re-gather himself, he fought to stay awake. For her. Somewhere at the top of his vision was the green of . . . of . . . grass! They were closer to the ground than he realized. Pay attention! he scolded himself, and with a mighty pull upward, yanked Valerie closer to himself bringing her into his arms. The sickening sensation of dread returned. Redsaw was about to come in from behind and— Axiom-man banked left, hard and sharp. Valerie screamed. Redsaw blew past them in a blur of black and red. Setting him in his sights, Axiom-man welcomed the build up of blue energy in his eyes and let out a blast straight at the man in the black cape. Redsaw howled as the energy blast hit him square in the chest, sending him tumbling back and up, into the air. I have to set her down, Axiom-man thought. Slowing as quickly as he could, the inertia pressing her body into his, he flew toward the ground and landed in a field just outside the city. She was shaky and when her feet touched the ground, she collapsed and fell on her behind. Her fingers gripped his hand tightly. “Stay here,” he said. He pulled his hand away but she would not let go. “Valerie, please.” As much as he didn’t want to hurt her, he yanked his hand away hard. She recoiled from the sudden aggression but, he hoped, would later understand that he couldn’t linger on the ground too long unless Redsaw came and hurt them both. “I have to go.” Nearly straight above him, Redsaw came speeding toward him. Axiom-man flew into the air and met him head on, their bodies colliding in a violent smack! The sudden jar of force and speed pulsed through him, reawakening the throbbing of his aching head. Axiom-man pressed into him, forcing Redsaw to fly backwards. He had to get him away from Valerie. No matter what happened, she had to stay safe. --------The two men in capes smashed into each other a second time when Redsaw pulled away and then plowed back in to Axiom-man. The impact caused even Valerie to jump with a jolt. Out of breath, heart speeding, she forced herself to her feet. She knew why he left so abruptly and knew his sudden harshness was nothing personal. She couldn’t help herself but not let go of his hand. Try as she had, her fingers just locked around his. Taking slow, deep breaths, she let the shakiness of her legs pass. Yet even when she began walking, her steps were clumsy, the adrenaline having wreaked havoc on her muscles. Shielding her eyes against the sun, she searched the sky for Axiom-man and Redsaw. They were over to the left now, arms beating on each other. Axiom-man got a shot in to Redsaw’s face. Redsaw kicked him back. In a blur of blue, red and black, the two tussled. Somehow, Axiom-man got behind him. --------Axiom-man swung his right arm around Redsaw’s neck, tucking his forearm up underneath where the jaw met the throat. With his left hand he pulled up on his right fist, locking his arm in position. Redsaw punched at his forearm as they ascended higher and higher at an angle, heading

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toward the city. Each blow Redsaw delivered to his forearm pierced the muscle as if someone were driving the dull end of a screwdriver into it. Axiom-man couldn’t let go. Wouldn’t. Redsaw picked up speed, the wind blasting into them. Axiom-man had to dip his chin closer to his chest and use the side of his head as a shield against the wind, just so he could breathe. They were nearly upon the city, the Richardson Building and CanWest Global Place standing prominently like two spikes reaching for the sky. The other tall buildings around those two didn’t seem as large from the angle they were at. “Let . . . go . . .” Redsaw growled. A red glow surrounded Redsaw’s hands. He grabbed Axiom-man’s forearms, sending a pulse of sickening energy through his muscles. The jolt shook his muscles to the core, rendered them weak. He let go and slid backward along Redsaw’s body. At the last instant, he grabbed Redsaw by the heels. “Fine,” Axiom-man muttered and invited the blue light to pool in his eyes. One blast to the back of the head and . . . CanWest Global Place loomed before them. Redsaw was heading straight for it. Before Axiomman could call out, the two titans smashed through a set of windows halfway up the structure. The sudden slam of his hands into a desk—not to mention the ear piercing scream of the person who occupied it—forced Axiom-man to let go of Redsaw’s boots. He hit the floor and crashed through a door, culminating in a loud croom when he smashed into a photocopier in the hall. Redsaw had flown clear through the wall above the copier and crashed somewhere on the other side. Lying on his side, Axiom-man rolled the few inches onto the floor, pulling his shoulder free from the nook it carved in the photocopier. The few people that were in the hall looked on, wideeyed. A woman brought her hands to her head and screamed. Getting to his feet, Axiom-man said, “Tell . . . tell everyone to get out.” No one moved. “Now!” he shouted. The woman kept screaming. Everyone stayed as they were. Shaking his head in disbelief, he peered through the hole in the wall above the copier, searching for Redsaw. The man in the black cape was getting to his feet on the other side. Before Axiom-man could react, Redsaw leapt into the air and dove through the hole in the wall, his hands crashing into Axiom-man’s shoulders, sending him smashing through a pane of glass alongside the office door they originally crashed through. The two hit the floor hard. Straddling him, Redsaw raised his hands, his fists once more surrounded by red energy. He’s going to blast my head clean off my shoulders if I don’t move, Axiom-man thought, and at the same time also acknowledged that the first time he received Redsaw’s energy blast, it hurt him but it didn’t destroy him. Likewise, in the sky, when he had set a burst of energy from his eyes at Redsaw. Under any other circumstance, such a blast would have decimated whatever it was aimed at . . . but Redsaw recovered. Perhaps because we’re connected, Axiom-man reasoned, the energy doesn’t hurt us as much as others—He slammed his fist into Redsaw’s stomach, forcing Redsaw to punch off to the side as he brought his hands down toward Axiom-man’s face. Axiom-man pushed him off and rolled along the floor until he was clear. Standing, he was shocked to find the man whose office this was still sitting in his chair. “Get out of here!” Axiom-man shouted. Hesitantly the man stood, went to the door, eyed the smashed glass beside it, then opened the door and ran out. Two powerful arms swept under Axiom-man’s armpits then a pair of hands put pressure on the back of his head. Just as he reached up to try and free himself, his face met with the desk. A dull 107

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woody pulse echoed from the front of his face to the back of his brain. The mask against his nose instantly became wet with blood. Eyes watering, he braced himself when his head was pulled back and the desk rushed up to meet him again. This time the desk’s wood snapped, its sound a sharp crack as his head went in. His arms dropped to his sides and the strength ran from his legs. Redsaw said something but he couldn’t make out the words. The droning sound in his head drowned them out. Another blast of pain to the back of his head sent a wave of fuzzy warmth down his neck and spine and all went black. A moment later he came to, unsure as to where he was. Something was on either side of his head. It was hard, smelled like sawdust—the desk! He must have only passed out for a moment. Lead weights seemed to pull at his eyes, drawing them closed. To go to sleep . . . A strong fist grabbed the material where his neck met his cape and pulled him up. He staggered backward, the room spinning. He’s too strong, Axiom-man thought. Every other criminal he’d encountered so far had been merely human. Overtaking them had been easy. Not Redsaw. How could he beat someone so much stronger than he was? Near the door, a security guard peeked in. Then another. Then another. The three men stood speechless. Axiom-man took a punch to the head and dropped to his knees. They’re unarmed. What are they doing here? If they were doing their jobs, they should be down at the security desk calling the police. Redsaw grabbed him and tossed him across the room. He smashed into the wall and hit the floor, the drywall crumbling down on top of him. No time for thinking. A security guard entered the room, holding a long, heavy flashlight like a club. He stepped toward Redsaw like a cowboy ready for the draw. “Don’t . . . don’t move,” the guard said. Redsaw was on him in an instant, grabbed the guard by the collar and hurled him out the shattered window. No! Axiom-man scrambled a few feet on his hands and knees before digging his heels into the floor, kicking off, and flying out the window. The guard flailed his arms and legs as he fell. A crowd was gathered around the base of the building, looking up. They gasped as the man tumbled to his doom. Speeding toward him, Axiomman reached out, caught him and flew him safely to the ground. Setting him down and ignoring the crowd’s cheers, Axiom-man leapt back into the air only to be met by the falling bodies of the remaining two security guards. The guards weren’t falling together; one was far to the right, the other to the left. The one on the left was closest to the ground so Axiom-man went for him first. He grabbed the guard by the arm, whirled to the right and sped toward the other one. The other guard was upside down and Axiom-man caught him by his ankle. The man let out a yelp at the sudden jolt of his fall stopping. Carefully, Axiom-man took the two to the ground, a group of men and women rushing toward them to help the guards. High above, Redsaw stood at the edge of the broken window, his fiery gaze pure hatred. Head aching, Axiom-man swallowed and forced his mind to focus on the task at hand. Energy building up in his eyes, he flew up as fast as he could, fists pressed out before him, aiming for Redsaw’s chest. About fifteen feet away from his adversary, he noticed Redsaw had his hands behind his back. Quickly, the man in the black cape brought his hands out in front him, his fists ablaze with red energy. A shockwave of hot electricity ignited a fire in Axiom-man’s ribs as the blast hit him, sending him tumbling backward head over heels through the air. He smashed through the window of the 108

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building across the way, sending the office workers into a panicking mass of bustling people and ear piercing screams. “Can’t even get a shot in,” he muttered. Once more he was in the air, cutting through it like an arrow. Eyes lit with blue, he zapped a charge at Redsaw. Immediately after the impact, he dove into him, his fists landing squarely where ribs met intestines. The two smashed through two panels of drywall and crashed into the elevator doors into the hall on the other side. The hall was empty. Axiom-man was relieved. Redsaw moved to grab him. He knocked his hands away and delivered a blow of his own to Redsaw’s face then a hard hook to Redsaw’s right temple then another to his left. Red-glowing hands gripped the sides of Axiom-man’s head. He instinctively reached up and tried to pull them away. The hands were latched against his head like magnets to metal. High-pitched ringing filled his ears and invaded his brain. Blood was on his tongue as he was hoisted in the air. Hit down. Down. What direction was that? Everything moved. Everything was upside down and backwards and inside out. He couldn’t see! In his mind’s eye he watched as his hands pawed wildly at the air, but each time his fists connected with nothing. Something hard was on either side of his heels. He didn’t know what but managed to kick his heels inward. The pulsating pain driving through his head abated enough for him to realize he was kicking into Redsaw’s thighs. Then it hit him all at once—the nausea of fear. In the darkness before him, an even darker shadow appeared—the black cloud. Though it was only a roiling mass of night, featureless, it seemed to be looking at him. It rushed toward him. Axiom-man screamed. Blue lit up the world and Redsaw hollered somewhere far away. Slowly, behind the bright blue of the energy beams pouring forth from his eyes, Axiom-man could make out Redsaw’s silhouette. The red energy coming in from either side of his head showed up in bursts of purple before the blue power pushed it away. Redsaw let go. Axiom-man didn’t stop blasting his power out even when his feet touched ground and he dove on top of him. --------Four months earlier, Gabriel stepped in front of his bedroom mirror, clad in his new outfit. The light blue cape, which blended into the chest piece, sat regally on his shoulders. His power ignited, his blue-sheened hair mixed nicely with the light and dark blue of his mask. The form-fitting bodysuit snugged up against his frame beautifully. He hadn’t realized how well defined he was until now. If he didn’t know any better, he wouldn’t know he was looking at himself. Perfect. “You can do this,” he told himself. “It’s okay if you feel a little silly. But the good you’ll do . . .” While he had constructed the costume, he gave further thought as to why he was going to do this. True, a part of it was to make him feel better about himself, to give himself a sense of self-worth, but as he sewed, he understood it was more than that. It wasn’t only about him. It was about people. It was about upholding what was right. About restoring hope. And though he was only one man, history had shown that even one man could make a difference. It was about promoting an ideal and taking a stand for what was right and true.

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He’d be an axiom man to the city. Something they could look up to, an example they could follow. An ideal of truth. Though it was possible he was putting himself up on a pedestal by doing so, he also knew—even about himself—that people needed to see something larger than life to get them to look to the sky for hope. Ready, he went to his balcony, peeked out the window to make sure no one was watching, and when he was confident no one was, he stepped outside. Embracing the air never felt so good. --------Redsaw screamed as the blue energy invaded him. He tried to focus on countering it, but Axiom-man’s power erased his every effort. Shaking, he arched his back as a spike of pain racked his body. He was going to die. Was this what it was going to come to? After all he’d accomplished both humanly and superhumanly—was he going to pay the death penalty for accidentally killing another? “Please . . . please . . . stop . . .” The volume of his words . . . he couldn’t tell because of the electrical buzzing and zipping coming from Axiom-man’s eyes. Something seized his heart. Something was ripping it away. No. It ran deeper than that. Something more precious was being taken. His power. --------There is no prison in the world that could hold him, Axiom-man thought. It has to end now. But if it does, what would I become, then? Then a startling thought shook him. If Redsaw died, what would become of the black cloud that was presumably still within? Would it be freed or would it seek a new host? Or if I kill him, would it join with me, bonding with the evil that made me destroy him? Instantly he powered down his eyes. Smoke rose up from Redsaw’s face and chest, his costume burnt, the skin visible in patches beneath his outfit black and charred. It was impossible to tell who he really was. Redsaw groaned. Axiom-man rolled off him and sat beside him, one leg drawn up, one outstretched. He had almost killed him. What’s wrong with me? he thought. No matter how hard he tried, he always seemed to come up short. Boom! The stairwell doors on either side of the elevators burst open and a horde of cops poured through, guns drawn. “Freeze!”

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN INSTINCTIVELY, AXIOM-MAN OBEYED and didn’t move. The cops aimed their guns at him and Redsaw. The cop who ordered them not to move said, “Put your hands in front of you. Both of you!” His name badge read JAKE. What his rank was or if “Jake” was his first name or last, Axiom-man didn’t know. “Be careful, officer,” Axiom-man said, putting his hands out before him but not taking his eyes off Redsaw. Redsaw stood, hands raised shoulder level. Axiom-man got to his feet as well. Jake signaled to his fellow officers with his index and middle fingers to move forward. Two officers behind him produced a pair of cuffs from their belts and moved toward the costumed duo. “I strongly advise against that,” Axiom-man said. “He’ll—” Before he could finish, Jake cut him off. “What? Are you gonna do something?” “Not me, Officer. Him.” One of the officers, gun still poised, came up to Redsaw. “Put your hands—” Redsaw’s fists lit up in bright red, energy pulsating around them. He grabbed the officer by the shoulder and hurled the screaming cop at his comrades just as the shots rang out. The body smashing into the other officers forced their guns to the ceiling, the impact from the bullets raining down plaster. Axiom-man dove at Redsaw and crashed him into the wall. The man in the black cape threw him off and down the hall. Crack! Zip! Zap! Fzooon! And the cops were down, smoke rising off their smoldering uniforms, each on their back, groaning in pain. Axiom-man stood and tore off down the hall at his quarry, not caring what he did to Redsaw. It had to end here. Seeing him come, Redsaw darted to the elevators and dug a hand in between the dented doors. The moment Axiom-man was right in front of him, he ripped an elevator door from the grooves and hurled it at Axiom-man. The thud of the impact boomed in Axiom-man’s chest first before he felt the pain of the elevator crashing into him. Smashing into the drywall, the crushing weight of the heavy door pinned him there. Just beyond the turned-on-its-side elevator door, Redsaw was in the elevator. The man raised his black-gloved fists to the sky and flew up, bringing the elevator’s roof down, and disappearing out of sight. Grimacing, a fresh surge of adrenaline taking him, Axiom-man threw the elevator door off himself. Jake moaned on the ground. “Can you radio for help?” Axiom-man asked him. Jake nodded, slowly.

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Into the elevator, Axiom-man flew through the hole in its roof and sped up the elevator shaft. A sharp beam of light poured through from twenty floors up from where Redsaw escaped the building. As he zipped past each floor, the screams of those who hadn’t yet evacuated the building were heard. Emerging through the hole in the roof, Axiom-man set down and ran to the building’s edge. The sky was clear. Something was . . . . Redsaw hovered about three quarters up in front of the Richardson Building across the way. Axiom-man leapt off the edge and flew fists-forward toward him. Redsaw flew toward him as well and the two collided midair. The sudden slam of the impact sent Axiomman’s world into a spin. A sharp hook caught him across the jaw, sending his neck straining to the left, the muscles screaming from their over-extension. He delivered a fist of his own into Redsaw’s middle and, as soon as Redsaw lurched forward, rifled his hand into the underside of Redsaw’s chin in a hard uppercut. “Grugh!” Redsaw shouted. He must have bit his tongue because when he lowered his head, blood leaked out the corners of his lips. Swiftly, Axiom-man flew a foot higher, enough to give himself leverage, then pressed down with all his might atop Redsaw’s shoulders so that he was doing a handstand upon them. He flew straight down, taking Redsaw with him to the street below. Seconds later, Redsaw resisted and began flying upward. Axiom-man pushed down with all his might, flying as fast as he could. The two crashed into a blue car at the intersection of Portage and Main, crushing the roof on the passenger side. The driver bolted out of the car and took cover. Pain rendering his limbs nearly useless, Axiom-man rolled off Redsaw and hit the concrete. Redsaw tried to move but his efforts were feeble. And so they remained, motionless, resting. Crowds swarmed the area in a circle, maintaining a distance of a good fifty feet. Sirens echoed throughout the streets as the police and other emergency workers came to the rescue. Catching his breath, Axiom-man stayed on all fours. “Look out!” someone off to the side shouted. He whirled to the right, the blue of a car door coming for his head. He put his hands up to soften the impact. His elbows folded the second it hit him and the top of his head slammed into the car door, sending a jolt of dry pain through his body. Rolling over onto his back, he put his arms out when Redsaw jumped on top of him. Their fingers intertwined, his wrists bent back as Redsaw pressed down upon him. Red energy encompassed both their fists. Axiom-man filled his eyes with blue light and blasted the beam forth with everything he had. Redsaw went flying back and no sooner than when he got to his feet, sent forth a solid beam of red power. Axiom-man’s blue energy streamed straight at it and the two beams connected in the air, a thunderclap ringing out. In his peripheral: those who were watching instinctively covered their ears from the sound. On the other side of the bright blue, beyond the beginnings of a spiky circle of purple, the beam of red was rushing toward him. --------Redsaw focused his will into his hands, mustering up as much of the red energy as he could. With all his might he sent it forth into the Axiom-man’s energy beam, unable to stand the sight of that blue power. Something about it stirred the hatred within. If it overtook him . . . he knew he’d be no more.

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The black cloud inside called to him, encouraged him, beckoned him to call upon it so he could win. Anything you want, he thought without hesitation. The sweet warmth of release filled him and the red emanating from his hands grew brighter. Beyond the rays of purple light ever-growing outward where the two beams met, Axiom-man’s feet slid back along the pavement. “Come on,” Redsaw growled through gritted teeth. Victory was at hand. --------An electric pulse coming from the red and traveling through the blue energy beam distracted Axiom-man momentarily. He stumbled back a step then re-planted his footing. He’s stronger than me, he thought and immediately his heart ached. But . . . . Then it hit him. But only in flight speed and strength. A smile spread across his lips beneath his mask when he acknowledged he was indeed holding his own against Redsaw now, their power colliding. Squinting his eyes, he narrowed the beam, focusing it into a concentrated spike of power. The growing circle of purple light coming toward him reversed its direction and began to travel further down the beam toward Redsaw. The purple rays radiated outward more and more, each ray like a spike blasting six or seven feet outward from its center. The rays by the pavement punctured the cement and tore it up as they traveled along the ground. Another thunderclap, this one coming from the purple rays which were now curling back inwards into a ball of pure energy and power. A low rumble drifted through the air, sending those watching backward step by step. Without warning, the windows of the surrounding buildings shattered. Every one. Glass rained to the ground, sending the crowd into a mad rush of screaming panic and terror. Push! Axiom-man thought and began walking forward, focusing the blue light as much as he could. Resistance met him and he took a step back. Then another. He pressed his heels into the ground and summoned all the strength in his legs. He started to run, forcing the ball of purple energy closer and closer to Redsaw. And with one mighty push, he pressed off the ground and flew with all his might toward him. The blue beam of energy pouring forth from his eyes sent the purple energy ball in the middle straight into Redsaw, sending the man in black and red backward, flying through the air. Redsaw crashed into a high-edged median which separated Scotiabank from the street. The blue power blasted through the purple and extinguished the red, finding its way straight into Redsaw’s chest. Redsaw howled in pain. The crowd screamed. Axiom-man didn’t let up . . . not until Redsaw stopped moving. --------It’d been over a half hour and Valerie was still walking back to the city. No one had given her a ride. Moments earlier a loud boom drew her attention toward the city’s skyline. She hoped everything was all right. Walking backwards, she stuck out her thumb, hoping someone would stop. No one did. In this day and age, she thought, I wouldn’t give anyone a ride either. You can barely trust anybody as it is. But she was beginning to believe otherwise. Axiom-man was showing her that. There was still good left in people. It just needed to be found.

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She hoped she could see him when she finally made it downtown. If he was still alive. Redsaw had just swooped out of nowhere, nearly killed her, and then stole Axiom-man away. She wondered what Redsaw had against him. Once more she chastised herself for thinking high of the man in black and red. True colors always came to the surface. Axiom-man’s sure had. It made her smile. --------Police officers cautiously approached the scene, guns drawn, their eyes lost in a gaze of uncertainty and wariness. Axiom-man picked up Redsaw’s body, holding it up by the collar where the man’s cape met his uniform. I wonder—Axiom-man reached for the mask. His thumb dug in under the eye hole. About to tear it off, Redsaw’s eyes opened and he threw Axiom-man back in a blast of red power and took to the sky. Axiom-man’s head hit the pavement hard and a flash of white bordered his vision. Sitting up, he grunted, tired of constantly being thrown down. He flew straight up, trying to ignore the blood running down his face inside his mask. High in the air, the skies were clear. Redsaw was gone.

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EPILOGUE THE MID SUNDAY afternoon light coming in through the cracks in Valerie Vaughan’s curtains only added to her headache. She lay on the couch, facing the window, too tired to roll onto her other side to avoid the sun’s rays. It was night when she finally came home yesterday. After walking back to the city, buzz filled the streets over what happened at Portage and Main. She waited ten minutes at the nearest bus stop and rode there, hoping to get an idea of what happened. By the time she got there, Axiom-man and Redsaw had already left and the area where they had fought was blocked off by police tape and orange pylons. Four cop cars surrounded the scene, one at each set of lights. She could only imagine what kind of havoc their cutting the roads off would have on traffic. Portage and Main was a main throughway from one part of the city to the next. But there was nowhere to drive. The cement was chewed up, as if a set of explosives had gone off, tearing up the pavement. Glass and brick and wood littered the area. A lone blue car with the passenger side roof crushed in and a door missing sat in the middle as a monument to what happened. Reporters and their camera crews where still there, reporting the aftermath live from the scene, some of the reporters asking witnesses to describe the battle in as much detail as possible. Valerie had gone up to a cop and asked him if he knew where Axiom-man, or even Redsaw, was. “You have no idea how many times I’ve been asked that,” he said. “And the truth is, I have no idea where those two are.” She waited with the crowd of others till half past eight and when neither one of the caped titans came back, she headed on home and turned on the news. According to one reporter, most that saw the fight were stunned, unable to shake the images of the blows exchanged and the collision of the two in the air. Most folks, mainly men, admitted to seeing bar fights now and then, so the fighting part wasn’t what scared them. It was the new reality that a fight had taken place that involved those more powerful than humans, fights that, if they began to occur regularly, could destroy the city. Many didn’t know what the battle had been about and some, who knew about the incident at the Forks, thought it was Axiom-man trying to get revenge whereas others thought it was him wanting to bring Redsaw in for his crime. Either way, no one wanted it to happen again and some voiced the opinion that costumed “freaks” should be outlawed in spite of what they could do. “After an intense battle at the heart of Winnipeg today,” one news anchor recapped, “Axiom-man was left defeated after Redsaw flew the scene. His whereabouts are currently unknown.” Defeated? Valerie had thought. But she didn’t think so. From what she had gathered, Axiom-man had won despite Redsaw getting away. Axiom-man had survived. She kept the news on low and dozed off on the couch, waking every hour to hour and a half, wondering if Axiom-man was all right and what he was doing right then. And so she stayed there, on the couch, unable to fall soundly asleep. She awoke this morning with a headache. After getting a glass of juice, she closed her curtains and lay back down, hoping Axiom-man was somewhere out there, okay. Mid that afternoon, there was a tap at her balcony window.

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--------Valerie pulled back the curtains and smiled at him, unlocked the sliding door and opened it. “Hi,” Axiom-man said. Even getting so small a word out was difficult. He hadn’t slept yet, other matters needing his attention having kept him up most of the night and into the morning. He even missed dinner at his parents’. “Hi,” she said softly. She was beautiful today. Her dark brown hair was bunched up around her ears, obviously having slept on it. White cheeks carried a rosy glow, the kind that you only notice in someone you care about. Her clothes were in wrinkles, but revealed enough of her figure to make him want to hold her. “I wanted to see if you made it home all right,” he said. “You could have called.” Her playful sarcasm made him smile beneath his mask. “Maybe one day. You are okay, though? No injuries from . . . from yesterday? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” She squinted against the light. “No. I just have a headache but that’s not your fault.” Then, “I heard about what happened. Did he . . . did he hurt you?” He sure did, he said to himself. “Nothing serious. I . . .” “Yes?” “I wanted to come by here last night, but there was a fire in St. Vital. An apartment building had gone up in flames and the ladders wouldn’t reach.” Gently, she took his hand in hers and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “That’s fine. I didn’t expect you to come by. I’m just so glad you’re okay.” I am, too. He honestly thought he wouldn’t have lived through his fight with Redsaw. The man was so powerful, so strong. How the messenger expected him to defeat Redsaw—permanently—he didn’t know. Perhaps in time. “Thank you.” Valerie stepped out onto the balcony, leaving the sliding door open behind her. She drew his hand up under her chin and held it there. Her other hand rose and closed over his hand and hers. The corners of her eyes were wet. She really cares, he thought. Heart dancing at the prospect, it was quickly stilled when it hit him she didn’t care about him, but only Axiom-man. She didn’t know him. Didn’t know that tomorrow he’d see her at work, sitting at an angle across from her, unable to say anything. She wouldn’t even look his way unless he asked her something directly. A soft hand touched his cheek. Even through the material of his mask, he could feel the warmth of her touch—the affection. Her deep brown eyes pleaded with him to have one look at who he was underneath, to see his face if only once. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice a whisper. A small smile curved her lips, as though she understood; he didn’t think she did. At least not fully. “I’ll be waiting for you,” she said. Cupping her cheek in his hand, he wiped away a tear that had leaked from the corner of her eye. “I know.” Gently, he pulled his hand away and took a step back. Turning around, he leapt into the air and allowed himself to fall a few stories before arcing into the sky. The wind embraced him, the clouds drew nearer. The sky was his. He loved this part.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A.P. Fuchs is the author of several novels and writes from Winnipeg, Manitoba. Among his most recent are Axiom-man Episode No. 0: First Night Out, Axiom-man: Doorway of Darkness, The Way of the Fog, A Red Dark Night, Magic Man and April, which was written under the pseudonym, Peter Fox. Visit his corner of the Web at www.apfuchs.com

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