The Unnatural

Chapter 5: Wednesday, December 22

PETER

Peter's forehead creased. His eyes narrowed until they were two tiny specs of green staring fervently at the stopwatch clutched in his hand. The pressure he generated in his mind made his head ache.

"Anything?" Robbie asked impatiently, sitting next to him in Peter's bedroom, wherefrom a poster, Darth Vader looked down on them with cold contempt.

"Shhh."

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. Red and blue melded into black behind his eyelids. He thought he felt something change—a kind of clarity. He eagerly opened his eyes, only to see the numbers on the stopwatch continue to rise.

"Dammit," Peter said. "Nothing."

"Can we try my way now?"

Robbie's way was to recreate the crash that had happened the night before.

"I don't know, man. How can we mimic the crash? It sounds too dangerous."

"I'm not saying we get into another car crash, dumbass. I'm saying we trick your body into thinking we are. We gotta get your adrenaline spiked and your fight-or-flight response to kick in. Maybe then your ability, or whatever you wanna call it, will work."

Peter was ashamed to say it made sense, mainly because he was annoyed that he didn't think of it first.

"You're right. But we need to approach this more scientifically. Can you hand me my notebook behind you?"

Robbie reached for the journal behind him, speckled in black and white.

Peter opened it and wrote.

Hypothesis: time-altering ability triggered by adrenal glands.

Experiment #1:

His brow furrowed as he thought. He grimaced.

Heights.

His hands had turned clammy.

They'd gone to the slummier side of the city, where the buildings stood tall and gray; the fall from one would be a long way down. Guaranteed death.

Eyes were on them the second they got out of the car. Only ten minutes away from where they grew up, they felt like tourists on the other side of the world. Groups of teenagers stood on staircases and street corners, with different rap songs blaring on all sides, sounding a mishmash of drums and echoed chatter.

"Why'd we have to come here?" Robbie asked, the tension evident in his voice.

"Where else could we go? This is the only area with legitimate buildings we can get to the roof of. Unless you want me to stand on the roof of Burger King. But I don't think the fall down would be too life-threatening, Just relax, no one cares we're here," Peter said, laughing at Robbie's discomfort. "Look, it's all in the way you carry yourself. Act like you belong and you will."

They made their way through the front courtyard of an apartment complex. Snow covered the majority of it. It seemed as if the landlord didn't care much for shoveling. Bootprints from the residents had matted it down, freezing ruts in the grey-white slush. In the center of the courtyard was a large tree, leafless and surrounded by concrete. Its branches were bare, thin, and crusted with snow. The roots grew through the ground, lifting pallets of concrete and cracking them.

Peter and Robbie walked through, occasionally catching glances. Peter would nod at anyone who looked at him; Robbie would do the same but with a forced smile that made him seem nervous. One man was leaned against a wall, Stylish emblazoned in big swooping letters that overlapped each other behind him, freshly graffitied. The man was huge, draped in a heavy, black leather overcoat, with a black snowcap pulled down to just above his eyes. A cigarette dangled from the side of his mouth. He stood next to the door that Peter and Robbie had to get to.