The Heroes We Weren't

Chapter 27 - Under The Surface

There are numerous fairy-tales which speak of princesses under sleeping spells; a cliché that typically ends with a prince on a white horse - coming to wake them from their inconveniently long beauty sleep. There are very few in comparison where the roles are reversed.

"We will find a way." Adam's words were meant to be assuring, but assured me of nothing but the obvious; he didn't know of a way nor did he believe there to be one.

"Miranda said," Adam continued, "that some woman sprayed him with a perfume bottle after which he dropped. We will find the substance and thereafter we will-"

The comedy channel which Ashanti had been viewing in the other room changed to the news. The anchor spoke loudly and excitedly.

"-it is truly our honor to have Mark Johnson, the inventor of the Sleeping Beauty in our town once more. Many were not aware that Mister Johnson used to reside in the same office only a few-"

There was a loud crash, a second long spark and then came silence. Adam was not late with hurrying to the other room, loudly blaming Ashanti for having violently stabbed the now dead 70-inch screen with its remote. Something told me she wasn't too fond of Mister Mark Johnson.

Out to the hallway, I slipped my feet into my shoes before pushing the door open – Johnson was back in our town and back on the map of locations I could find. If he resided in the same office as before, I would be facing him soon enough.

I had spent so much time wishing to run away from anything that had to do with him, but now all I wished to do was to meet him. Yell at him. Make him understand – no scratch that – make myself understand why things had come down to this.

"Please Felicity-" Someone spoke up behind me as I rushed down the street, and I spotted Adam after having thrown a quick glare over my shoulder. "Let us think about this."

Ashanti was hurrying after him, leaving Miranda alone to watch over the Sleepy-Soo. I excused myself from having bumped into someone's shoulder, receiving nothing but a blissful 'no worries' in return.

Taking around the corner of a building, I then raised my eyebrows at a woman - she was twirling herself around a lamppost while merrily gazing up at the sky – an odd reenactment of 'Singing In the Rain', just without the actual rain and the background music.

Odd. This entire town had been odd lately.

There was no 'thinking about it' as Adam had said (at least five more times on the way); The Three of our Two-Short team soon enough found ourselves on the right floor in the right building - the hallway ending in Johnson's closed office door. I didn't hesitate to walk up to it, fists clenched.

One knock. Two. I pulled at the handle of the locked door. Another pull, another knock - an annoyed kick to top it off - yet no boss to invite me in.

"He's not here." I sighed as I turned around.

Adam was gazing blankly at another door down the hallway. He hadn't stepped into his own office for a while, not after the incident with the surveillance tape. He reached his hand out towards the door handle, but took it back after a slight hesitation.

Ashanti pushed me to the side, to press her ear against Johnson's door. She listened carefully.

The third door opened as Mrs. Smith (the florist whose job I had originally intended to apply for) came stumbling out to see who was causing such a ruckus.

"Impossible!" She chippered (yes, chippered, even in such an upsetting situation). "Impossible to work with all of these reporters hanging around!"