From the gutter to the sky

   Grant Tower used to be a gigantic building located in the limit between downtown and the industrial districts. It had been abandoned for many years until it was bought by a mysterious person who recuperated its former splendor. In a city filled with strange things happening everyday, the destruction of Grant Tower did not go unnoticed. After all, it had been Captain Incredible the one to destroy it during his battle with his arch nemesis, Doctor Perdition.

 The battle had taken place all over the city. The superhero and the villain were able to fly, so they moved from one area to the other and the destruction was palpable all over the place. Captain Incredible had promised it would be the last battle to fight in the city as, according to him, every other gang and criminal organization had been dismantled. Only Doctor Perdition stood in the way of a pacified city. So every single person affected by the last battle, tried to understand what was as stake.

 Many inhabitants of the city fled beforehand, others just locked themselves home (if they had a basement). The battle took several hours and affected every single inhabitant in the same way. They knew what they would get in exchange, but many were already pissed at both the bad guy and the good one because for years and years, their battles against the other side had caused devastation once and again. People were tired of all of it and Captain Incredible knew he was risking a lot by saying that was going to be his last battle.

 Inspector Paulson was the first one to arrive to the site of the former Grant Tower. The battle was still going on but it had moved to the port, where they could be less damaging to the people. Pieces of the tower had fallen all over the neighboring streets and some of the neighbors were attempting to move the pieces by themselves. Others were looking for objects to recuperate from the destruction.

 Delia Paulson put on her gloves and entered the destroyed building. Only a couple floors were still standing. All the other seventy floors had disappeared. She used a mask to walk inside and join two men of her team who had gotten there before her. Neighbors had told them that a sound could be heard coming from the building, from below the ground. So they had to look where it was, probably a bomb made by Doctor Perdition.

 Inspector Paulson descended towards the lower levels of the building, that had received no damage, and encountered the noise was coming from a boiler room. The machine that used o heat up the water from the tower seemed to be about to explode. A rapid move by one of the policemen, helped to bring the pressure down.

 When he moved away from the boiler, with a face of triumph, the policemen pushed a pipeline that changed positions. But not only that, it also opened a door on the wall, just in front of the boiler. The inspector told everyone to be on the lookout and entered first; illuminating her path with a flashlight she took from her long coat.

 She walked slowly, covering her face because the air was charged with dust particles, probably because of the violent movement suffered by the building when it had been destroyed. It was a long corridor and then a path that seemed to descend in a spiral, down into the ground. Paulson ordered one policeman to stay at the entrance and was only joined by two of them, one being the one that had stopped the boiler from exploding.

 They walked slowly through the narrow passaged until finally they could see artificial light. They arrived at a massive room, carved into the natural rock. It was very humid but there wasn’t as much dust as there was above. They could breath at ease and not feel trapped anymore. The policemen were visibly scared because they remained just behind Paulson and she didn’t say anything because she was scared too. What was that place? Why was it there?

 On the wall, there were dozens, hundreds of screens showing different TV channels and also some footage from closed circuit cameras. Paulson saw the inside of the Central Bank, the security cameras from the police department building and the mayor’s office. It was all live. Someone had them all cornered and they hadn’t realized it.

 One of the policemen attracted her attention to one of the screens. It was a news channel reporting that the battle between the superhero and the villain had ended: good had one versus evil. The two men cheered but Paulson did not say anything. The existence of that room was proof that things did not stop with Doctor Perdition. She kept walking to find more clues and all she saw were plans of every building in the city, including Grant Tower, weapons of every kind and a diary hidden on the drawer of a work table.

 She started reading and, at first, it didn’t make much sense. It was all about a boy telling his sad high school stories. Apparently he was mocked because of the way he dressed and the way he looked. He hated people for laughing at him but would only find solace in one friend he had away from school, another kid. Paulson kept on reading as the policemen looked around, still happy that the last evil plaguing their city had finally been defeated and was dead for good.

 Paulson kept on reading and realized the diary belonged to no other than Doctor Perdition. She then raised her head and told her men to stop walking round and touching everything. She did so just in the moment were one of the weapons fired a set of arrows against a wall, piercing the wall with incredible strength. The men decided to get closer the inspector, who told them to bring their scientific team in order to bag every single thing in that lab.  She told them they had probably gotten the big prize of the night.

 The two men went back upstairs but Delia stayed behind to wait for the science team and in order to keep reading. She didn’t excuse Doctor Perdition for what he had done; after all he was a felon that had served time after killing people and doing the most unspeakable acts of violence. But she kind of felt sorry for him, as she read more and more of the diary. Apparently, he was the only son in a family of only women and he had been mistreated by his parents because he wasn’t the man they wanted him to be.

 He also hated his family. Paulson wondered if he had them killed at some point but the diary didn’t say. It only spoke about his childhood and the most beautiful pages, because they actually were, were dedicated to his encounters with a friend that shared his vision of the world. He was a bit younger but seemed older than him because of his convictions. He was a strong believer that people that did wrong should pay, no matter what is was that they had done.

 She stopped reading and looked for more diaries in the drawer but it was the only one. When the scientific team arrived, she ordered them to scan the room for hidden compartments and traps. They found a small hiding space beneath a huge metal table, which the inspector moved by herself. There, covered in dust, she found something else. There were no diaries but papers that assigned this property to the kid she had been reading about. If the kid was Doctor Perdition, the building must have been his. He was the one to renew it, all those years ago.

 There was also an electronic book, which could be turned on but had a password to protect it. A member of the scientific team helped Paulson bypass the password in order to read whatever it was she had on her hands. And when she was able to read it, she almost dropped it on the floor. Because what was in that book was not only a diary or some legal papers. There were pictures, and statements and videos and text that talked about that other kid, the one that had been Perdition’s friend when he had been bullied in school.

 That friend had helped him seek revenge, which had resulted in the death of at least two children and it had been Perdition who had put a stop to it.

 That kid… That kid was Frederick Edwards AKA Captain Incredible.

La sombra de los libros

   Como todos los días, se sirvió una taza de cereal con leche fría y una cucharada de azúcar aparte pues no le gustaban las hojuelas sin mucho sabor pero tampoco las azucaradas. Lo comía despacio, mirando las noticias de la mañana o, sino estaba de humor, leyendo alguna cosa en internet. Eso ocurría normalmente entre las siete y las ocho de la mañana. Ya para las nueve debía estar ya en su puesto de trabajo, después de un breve viaje en bus.

 Su trabajo no era nada del otro mundo: era el encargado de mantener el orden en una librería, cuidando que cada uno de los ejemplares estuviera donde tenía que estar. Era una librería bastante grande, con dos pisos completos a disposición de quienes vinieran a buscar algo que leer. Había grandes clásicos, que eran fáciles de ordenar alfabéticamente, pero también libros de diferentes artes y temas y para niños, que eran a veces más difíciles de ordenar por las formas en las que venían.

 En el día sólo interactuaba con un par de personas y la verdad era que casi no había que hablar. No solo por la regla no oficial de no hablar en voz alta, como si estuvieran en una biblioteca, sino que también por el hecho de que él hacía tan bien su trabajo, que no había necesidad de estarle diciendo qué hacer. Apenas llegaba un libro nuevo sabía muy bien donde poner los ejemplares. Lo mismo si encontraba libros rotos o cosas por el estilo.

 Cabe aclarar que no interactuaba nunca con los clientes. Eso lo hacían los vendedores y él no era una. Extrañamente la gente entendía eso a la perfección puesto que él se ponía un uniforme algo distinto al de sus compañeros. Por eso el día que Alex le habló, fue sin duda un día muy distinto.

 En años de trabajar allí, nadie nunca le había dirigido la palabra. Incluso mientras ordenaba libros, nadie nunca parecía notar que estaba allí. Eso le ocurría no solo en el trabajo sino en la vida en general. En el bus siempre lo empujaban y parecían no darse cuenta que estaba allí. Cuando hacía fila para algo a veces se lo saltaban hasta que él protestaba pero muchas veces no decía nada, por lo acostumbrado que estaba.

 Alex en cambio se le acercó tocándole la pierna ligeramente, pues él estaba subido en una escalera, y le preguntó acerca de un libro de fotografía que estaba buscando. Por la falta de costumbre, él se le quedó mirando un momento como esperando a que Alex se diese cuenta por si mismo del error que había cometido. Pero eso no pasó. De hecho Alex sonrió y le preguntó si no sabía dónde estaba ese libro. Lo único que hizo él fue extender su mano e indicar así el camino. No abrió la boca para nada. Alex entendió, sonrió de nuevo y se fue.

 Ese encuentro hizo que él soñara despierto toda esa semana. Se imaginaba discutiendo las técnicas de fotografía, de las cuales no sabía nada, de algún gran artista de ese contexto, asombrando así a Alex. Se pintaba mucho más interesante de lo que era y por eso, después de un rato, solar despierto perdía todo interés real. No tenía sentido imaginar cosas que no pasarían, menos aún cuando el resto del mundo seguía ignorándolo. Había sido una cosa de una sola vez.

 En sus días libres vestía con camisetas de diferentes diseños, con dibujos extraños o colores vibrantes. Era su manera de vivir con el hecho de que nadie lo notara nunca. Como las cosas eran así, pues se podía permitir se lo que escandaloso que quisiera con su vestimenta y, como lo comprobó apenas lo intentó, eso no cambiaba nada.

 Así que el sábado siguiente salió a caminar y a comprar algunas cosas que necesitaba. Se puso una gorra, una pantalones cortos amarillos y una camiseta con motivos florales. Hacía calor, entonces el atuendo venía bien. Fue primero a un centro comercial pero no encontró las medias que quería y por eso tuvo que ir a otro al que no iba casi. Cuando encontró unas medias divertidas, casi se estrella con Alex, que estaba mirando la ropa interior. Él se disculpó rápidamente y estuvo a punto de seguir de largo pero Alex le sonrió y le preguntó si era el chico de la librería.

 Él jamás, hasta donde se acordaba, se había sonrojado por nada en su vida. Pero seguro que lo hizo cuando Alex le hizo esa pregunta, pues nadie nunca se la había hecho, nadie nunca lo había reconocido y se sentía bastante extraño. Por alguna razón, la mano donde tenía los dos pares de medias que iba a comprar, estaba temblando. Alex se dio cuenta pero no dijo nada. En cambio, dijo que le gustaban esas medias pero que él lo que buscaba eran bóxeres o algo así porque necesitaba con urgencia.

Esa confesión de su privacidad hizo que él se sonrojara aún más. No dijeron nada por un momento y entonces fue Alex el que dijo que no había encontrado nada. Se despidió diciéndole que ojalá se encontraran nuevamente. La mente del pobre joven empezó a correr como nunca antes puesto que eso tampoco se lo había dicho nunca nadie. ¿Qué habría querido decir Alex con eso? Tal vez era solo una forma de ser amable pero tal vez lo dijera en serio, tal vez sí quería volverlo a ver pronto.

 Solo unos minutos después reaccionó y se dio cuenta de donde estaba y qué estaba haciendo. Pagó sus medias y cuando llegó a casa lo único que echarse en la cama y pensar y soñar despierto hasta que empezó a soñar dormido sin darse cuenta.

 La semana siguiente en la librería estuvo con los nervios sensibles. El lunes había creído ver a Alex en un bus y el miércoles pensó que se lo había cruzado a la hora del almuerzo, en la calle. Así que estuvo todo el tiempo mirando para todos lados, pensando que el personaje en cuestión iba a entrar de un momento a otro a la librería. Estaba siendo un poco descuidado con su trabajo: en un mismo día hizo caer varias torres e libros, tanto así que por primera vez desde Alex, algunas personas parecieron notar su presencia. Incluso interactuó más de lo normal con sus jefes.

 Para el viernes, el nerviosismo había desaparecido. Siempre terminaba por ser coherente y había concluido que no tenía sentido alguno que Alex volviese de la nada a la librería. Al fin y al cabo, la primera vez que había venido parecía que buscaba algo que no era para él y si le gustaran más los libros seguro ya habría vuelto así que lo sensato era pensar en que no iba a volver o al menos no pronto. Así que dejó todo como estaba y siguió su vida de sombra como siempre.

 Sin embargo, algo cambió en él. Ya no estaba dispuesto a que lo empujaran en el bus ni que la gente se le colara en la fila del banco. No estaba dispuesto a dejar que los demás creyeran que no existía porque un día, en la ducha, se dio cuenta de que él sí existía: pagaba un alquiler, trabajaba, tenía sueños y ambiciones y soñaba despierto a cada rato. Eso lo hacía alguien y si eres alguien debes defender tu lugar.

 Empezó a imponerse, sin violencia pero con vehemencia, en el trabajo y en todas partes y pronto varias personas se dieron cuenta de su presencia y de que sus aportes eran valiosos y valían la pena ser escuchados. Se le confió la organización de la presentación de un nuevo libro y todo lo relacionado fue un éxito, desde la organización espacial de la firma de autógrafos, hasta el tiempo y el lugar para las fotos y demás. La autora quedó contenta con él y también la gente de la librería.

 Los clientes se dieron cuenta de su presencia como por arte de magia y fue entonces cuando se le ascendió a jefe de personal. Las cosas habían mejorado y todo por su encuentro con alguien que solo había visto dos veces, que él supiera, en su vida. Se lo imaginaba a veces, en las noches, caminando por ahí y sonriendo.

 Lo extraño de todo es que él era igual de distraído que la demás gente. Pues si hubiese puesto atención a los varios años en los que había vivido en su edificio, de varios pisos pero un espacio cerrado al fin, hubiese sabido que Alex era uno de sus muchos vecinos. Pero de eso solo se daría cuenta mucho después, por un pequeño accidente con alcohol de por medio. Pero esa es una historia para otro día.

Spies

   As Michael arrives, he asks the waiter where he could find the person he’s looking for. Apparently he is on the second floor, in the terrace area. Michael is escorted there by a staff member who points at a man smoking by the railing of the terrace. There are many people around and that is something Michael had not expected but, after all, it is a very popular town amongst tourists and every single day the streets get crowded with them.

 He walks up to the man, who’s younger than he expected and asks: “Is this seat taken?”

 The young man doesn’t turn to him, still taking a look a look at the people on the square below and smoking.

-       Starting with a stupid question doesn’t make much sense.

 Michael sits down. The waiter comes and takes their order: Michael asks for a whisky, straight, and the young man asks for a “screwdriver”. They don’t say a word until the drinks come to the table. In the meantime, they both watch the people and the pigeons come and go into square. The movements are almost hypnotic. When the drinks arrive, the young man throws his cigarette over the railing and takes a sip of his glass.

-       That’s unsafe. – says Michael.

-       I think people have better things to worry about, including you. – answers the young man. - Including whatever it is we are going to talk about now.

 Michael looks straight at him, with disgust.

-       That’s a nice mouthful of crap for a terrorist.

The young man laughs. He also looks at Michael straight in the eye. It’s the look of a mad man.

-       You kill people for sport.

-      Oh, please! You do that too. Besides, it’s not sport. I’m the same as you; I have a salary and everything. The fact that I enjoy it is the only difference.

Michael doesn’t say anything.

-       Oh, so you enjoy it too?

-       What are you talking about?

The young man stops directing his body towards the railing and decides to face directly at Michael and even comes a bit over the table.

-       What do you want?

-       It was you who contacted me.

-       True. But it’s you who wants something. What is it?

-       The truth.

Michael is very serious but the young man slowly pulls back, grinning.

-       There are many truths.

-       You put a bomb on that man’s house. You killed his family.

-       And?

Total silence. Michael’s heartbeat is fast.

-       His children…

-       Yes, they died. And no, I didn’t plan for that to happen, collateral damage.

-       That’s it? - Michael slams the table with his fist. – That’s all who have to say?

 The young man takes his glass and takes a big sip of his drink. He looks around and slowly answers.

-       That’s all I will say, yes. And I bet you don’t have much to say about those drone attacks you commanded while in the army.

Michael’s facial expression changes.

-       What? You didn’t expect me to know that? Please, any decent spy would have dug that out.

Now, it is Michael who pulls back to his seat. He’s reminded of a time he thought everyone had forgotten, that people in his job at the CIA told that was behind him. Apparently a sealed file doesn’t stay sealed forever.

-       Yeah, so that’s done. – says the young man. – So, what are you here, in town? Big party coming?

-       Shut up.

-      Come on, dish. What is it? A cartel, or slaves or what. What is piercing on your brain now?

-       How is it that you are a spy? If you really are, how did you get to be one?

 Again, the young man smiles. He drink some more of the drink and turns his head towards the square.

-       I suspect we have been doing this for the same time, you know. – he smokes as he talks, pausing from time to time. – The thing is you were chosen to be a spy because you were a good soldier. I, obviously, wasn’t that.

-       Obviously.

They both smile.

-       A woman that knew a lot about all of this stuff picked me from an early age. She chose me because, in her words, because “I wasn’t noticeable”. Apparently, I didn’t stand out in a crow.

-       So you stole since you were a boy?

-       Yeah. You didn’t?

 A flock of pigeons passes over them. They both looked at the birds, with so much happening in their minds.

-       So that’s how I started. I have a face that doesn’t stick. I can be in a crowd and you wouldn’t look at me twice.

-       I would.

-       Sweet but I meant normal people. Besides you know who I am now so, it’s pretty obvious you are going to look for me every single day of the rest of your life.

-       You think you’re that important?

-       No, but you do.

 Some children yell and run on the square, scaring more pigeons. People take pictures and talk, a lot.

-       They say you don’t only kill your targets.

-       Who is “they”?

-       You fuck them too.

 The young man laughs so hard that he snorts a bit.

-       Only the men.

-       And the women?

-       I don’t kill women. I thought you would know that.

-       Why?

-       Because.

 He looks at his watch. Michael notices this.

-       Somewhere to be?

-       Nope. I’m just where I need to be. You?

-       Same.

-       Awesome. Why did you become a spy? Childhood dreams?

 Michael moves in his seat. He has never liked to talk about the subject, it makes him uneasy because it is private and he doesn’t handle private very well.

-       Sorry, too personal?

-       No.

-       I don’t care, Mike.

-       Don’t call me Mike.

-       Fuck you Mike.

There’s a silence between them. They drink the last of their drinks and the young man turns his body against towards Michael. He looks at every single feature of his face. He smiles.

-       You’re handsome, beneath that shell.

Michael exhales, annoyed.

-       You are. And I guess there’s a nice little brain inside of there. You knew I was here and no one knew that.

-       No one?

-       Nope. You are the only one that knows and that makes for a nice little relationship, don’t you think?

 He leans over the table and grabs Michael hand. He pulls back but the young man is much stronger than anticipated. The young man caresses his hand and finally says:

-       I came here to do my job, Mike. And that’s what’s I’m doing. No psychological shit today, ok?

-       What?

He leans over even more and says, in a whisper, “enjoy the ride”.

 Then, an explosion occurs in the square below. Every person in the balcony looks below but Michael cannot. The young man grabbed his arm, making him unable to move, and then punched him hard in the stomach. Then threw him on the ground and ran. Michael chases him downstairs, barely breathing. He sees his jeans running down the street and turning left but then, a second explosion happens just a few meters away. Michael is thrown to the floor again and remains there for a while.

 Later, in the hospital, he receives a big bouquet of roses that only have one white card with one symbol on it: the imprint of his lips in blue lipstick.