Chapter 1: A Flicker in the Shadows
Nate's hands trembled as he rolled the dented cart along New York's narrow, graffiti-covered street. The orange-glazed light of a streetlamp several blocks away cast long, curled shadows on heaps of trash bags and heaps of empty cardboard cartons. Every night, the wet smell of decay and mildew clung to the air—a smell as old as the thud of his battered sneakers on the sidewalk. Whereas all the rest considered his trash-collecting work drudgery work, Nate welcomed it with a distorted smile; work that needed nothing except a steel stomach and an unwillingness to quit in a town that had no time to dream. Nate's body was already seventeen years older than him, eighteen years old.
His skeletal body, hardened by skipped meals and nights on the pavement, had lived the life of a tramp. But in weary eyes burned still a defiance—a spark kindled by the scholarship that had taken him to Lincoln University. Liberty from poverty whispered softly in his brain, a promise kept hidden in the discarded trims of the night. But free education did not free him from the grip of astronomical hostel fees and the daily survival expense. Scavenging for rubbish every night was a two-sided fight: avoiding starvation and attempting to live a more meaningful life. Nate breathed in air for a second, leaning against the cart handle, and gave himself an instant break.
APTLY, as the city's skyscrapers shone like moonlit jewels, all the glass skyscraper towers in silence testified to the fortunes they had amassed in the city centre. "Another night in paradise," he sneered with his repulsive grin. It was a bitter sarcasm and a biting taunt—a derisive laugh at the woes life always visited on him. Even when hope nearly suffocated him and Nate's razor-sharp mind had moments of real laughter in moments of despair from time to time. That evening, winning his point methodically through the alley filled with garbage, Nate began deviating from his course.
When he dug through a pile of flattened soda cans and shredded newspaper, his hand hesitated. Beneath the pile of discarded memories was something incredible—a small, metallic piece that glowed softly golden, as if it were a small, pulsing ember. He fought past his curiosity and, before he could even think about what he was doing, let go of the bag and fell to study the find up close. It was paper—a not-by-any-stretch-of-the-imagination piece of paper, but a complicated flow chart replete with odd symbols, figures, and even snips off paper stock tickers. The lines and arrows mixed zigzagging across the page softly thumping with a warmth, nearly charged glow. Nate's mind was full of queries: Why on earth would one create this? What is its purpose? His heart racing in his breast, he spoke softly, "What the hell is this?
The paper became brighter by the second, and when he brushed his finger along the odd characters, the page started to emanate life.
Nate had not made up his mind yet whether he would stuff this odd find in his pocket or lose it when the light broke out in a blinding flash. He was blinded by a beam of light and left briefly blind. With the earsplitting flash, he was aware of the current coursing—like lightning rending him asunder. Fear and awe blended, liquid fire and feeling of floating that swept him from grimy, cold ground to a universe of untried sensation.
And the light disappeared suddenly.
Nate blinked in darkness as he returned into sight and lay on wet grass, his legs and arms numb and his chest pounding in his ears. He slapped his pockets, feeling nothing but empty because the strange flow chart was gone. But something was still present. Deep within his chest, he could feel a steady, glowing heat—a mild power which filled his mind with concepts of magic and control. Nate slowly heaved himself to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him. He rubbed his face, trying to dispel the feeling that his skin was hyper-sensitive to everything. Even the soft susurrus of the breeze now seemed to address him directly with new intensity, and the faraway whoosh of a cab sped by like an unheard message in his head. The village that had previously been landscape to his survival now pulsed with life in ways he could never have imagined.
As Nate wrestled to try to make some kind of sense of the dreamlike night, he noticed something odd regarding the puddle on the ground at his feet. He was looking at himself and was viewing not only his own features but hints of something noticed in him. Noticed. It had been a twinkle. A flash. A whisper. Of something else. Stupidity on his part, or was he regarded differently now? His lips curled into mocking laughter, and he couldn't help the foolishness. "Terrific," he muttered to himself, "First trash night and I come home illuminated like a billboard."
With passing minutes, Nate became increasingly master of his senses.
His head spun—are these new sensations the mere residue of the pent-up energy? Or did some external hand play, some latent skill waiting to be released? A curious shiver ran through him, toned down with a dash of fear. Despite the thudding of his heart to the beat of change, he was irresistibly attracted by a compelling curiosity to the enigma. Down by the block corner, a stifled laughter cut through the darkness. Nate stood his ground, his senses fooling him into thinking that this was not a normal night sound in the quiet of an abandoned alley. Intrigued and still affected by adrenaline, he trailed after it. Turning, he nearly bumped into a group of young women coming out of a nearby club. They were laughing loudly and taunting—a stark contrast to the dark bleakness that had surrounded his existence thus far.
The women were exceedingly beautiful in different ways. One of them, sporting wavy dark hair and mischievous eyes, approached him and shot a cunning smile. "You seem to have seen a ghost," she jested. Her voice was soft but with a warmth that couldn't be avoided, causing Nate's heart to pound faster in spite of the lingering shock of his transformation. And there was also a woman, sporting a cropped leather jacket and attitude strolling down the sidewalk, shooting him a suspicious look as if trying to determine the new scent that had him. "There's something different about you tonight," she spoke half-laughing and half-worried.
Nate, far from fully realizing what had been transpiring in the last few minutes, was struggling with a response.
"I. I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered, his own voice trembling with the force of his excitement and confusion. The uncharacteristically ferocious energy still burned strongly within him, and for the first time ever, he was starting to question if somehow it was responsible for making him more attractive—more potent. The women jeered at him, dancing in a circle about him, their joshing and joking aglow. There was a moment that was thick with a witty mixture of humor and sex. Even in fatigue and lingering shock at his transmutation, Nate was swept along by the catching excitement that swirled about him. The gentle curve of one of the girls and the smile were inches from her face as she stroked softly over his as if checking to ensure that he was there. "We know what it's like to be different," she panted, her eyes scanning over his face as if looking for something it contained within.
Nate hadn't even had a chance to react before the din of yells and husky cries from further back in the alleyway cut in and broke the moment. A group of local bullies had gathered on the opposite side, their coarse laughter and threatening stances paralyzing everyone. The earlier carefree mood at once tightened. One of the bullies, a big man with a scar across his cheek, moved forward, sneering. "Ah, what do we have here? A nice little light show and a great big bunch of fans?
" he sneered, eyes flashing with amusement as he sized Nate up. In the time it took to blink, the friendly welcome turned lethal. Nate's heart thudded as he caught the warning. The energy in his chest roared up, flat and calming."".
Though his muscles ached with fatigue and the shock of previous experience, he glided more lightly, his senses sharpened to the point that every movement and every sound hit him with refreshing acuteness. Nate fell back on defense before the goons could close in on him. Using his new senses, he dodged a sadistic slash that had been directed at his arm, and the shock of the new power dazed his attacker. In a dreamlike turn of luck, the battle was both a kinetic defense and an inadvertent slapstick. One of the goons, attempting to be tough on Nate, swung and punched his own face into a hanging pipe, and they all laughed.
Nate was torn between excitement over the fight and amazement at what was happening. His heart pounded, but his head continued to think, "Only in New York would a fight turn into a stand-up routine." Nate deflected each punch with acquired lightning reflex and instinct. He was not even a fighter, and yet superhuman strength imparted his actions choreographed steps—a coordination of fight-or-flight reactions and an unexplainable fluidity.
As the thugs reformed, his puffing entourage in the stands gazed at him with alarm and wonder in their faces.
The dark-haired woman moved across the brawl and leaned forward, whispering, "You're going to see us through this, aren't you?" Her voice had a glint of laughter but also the intimation of something more brash, something that arose from pleasure in seeing fate occur.
The fight was short before the thugs were taken aback by Nate's wild but effective defense—and the unexpected turn of events—ran off cursing with the echoes ringing off the walls of brick. When the quiet started to fall again over the alley, there was Nate, panting and trying to make sense of the unexpected turn of events. The strange strength still ran through him, and in the rush of adrenalin and hangover of fright, a new confidence was being born. The pretty girls now clung to one another closer, and the cat-and-mouse teasing was rewarded into something finer. Amongst them, her lip curled in sneering contempt, jeered, "Guess you're got something more than trash-picking skills working in your favor tonight, hero." She laughed and talked, and Nate's face blazed and he allowed himself a momentary smile, even here in the absurdity. Bit by bit, the gathering disintegrated, leaving Nate mixed up between questions and a warm sense of identification. Pausing to catch hold of one of the women who was being distracted by the crowd, she laid her hand on his arm. "There's something in you, something which just."
twinckled, she whispered.
Her words, sweet with promise of what was to come, again gave him another boost of energy—a reminder that in the city's darkest alleys, sweetness and surprise love could flourish.
Steading alone again in the alley, Nate was stunned, soaking it all up in one crazy night.
His head was a blur with the flow chart hidden and the crazy adrenaline that had raged in him. Was the adrenaline a blessing, a curse, or neither? The questions walked hand in hand in his mind, only becoming clearer with the passage of time. And in the hush of that second, with confidence breathed into trembling leaves and far-off horns of motor cars, Nate was aware that his life had irrevocably altered. Within him there existed tension—a living reminder of strange light which had isolated him. With tension went responsibility, capacity to hurt, urge to change what it is actually found to be into what it should be. With careful resolve, he led the cart down one of the less populated side streets. His mind replayed the fleeting pictures of that mystic paper—the mystical arrows on the map and the figures whirling crazily in his mind. What was it? To whom would have been given this mysterious present to his work-stained hands? And most of all, how was he going to use this power if it kept the key out of the suffocating grip of poverty? As Nate approached the turn, the gentle light inside him picked up a little speed. He recalled the raised eyebrows and quick brushstrokes of the women he had met. Their being, their wanting—it was strange to him that there had been passion and warmth on a night of pain and danger.
Their being, briefly at least, meant that his life could not only be one of mystery and peril but also possibility of love and passion for that he had so longingly wanted. He stood frozen by a puddle, gazing into the churning water at his own reflection. In the cold light of the streetlamp, he beheld a young man re-made—not as much in appearance but in bearing. The erstwhile eyes that once sighed now shone with wonder and resolve. The soft curve of a smile on his lips attested to defiance and good prudence in what lay ahead.
"Maybe," he growled to himself, "this is a second chance, a chance to regain everything that had been lost to him." The thought stirred something within him, a combination of hopes and thrills alien to anything he had ever known. Even now, speaking it out loud, he felt again the warmth of the unusual energy within him. As if the night itself was out to give him something much more stimulating than the mere act of sorted trash. His senses were at their best with every step.
The faraway rumble of taxis driving by, the nightlife and city's liveliness and the fading peal of his last-minute appointment all combined into a concord of possibility—a promise that his own existence was soon going to be transformed in ways he could hardly imagine. Nate knew that he didn't have a minute to spare. Leaning back again temporarily to catch sight of his face in the deep puddle of darkness, he stood up tall and rolled over the cart onto the uneven pavement. His mind was racing with schemes and with questions, but of one thing he was convinced: the evening had given him something, and he was going to see this through.
Tonight was the turning point—a night when fate, action, and even a dash of humor finally caught up with him, setting something amazing within him alight. Venturing out into the city's neon once more, Nate almost felt the eyes of destiny upon him out there. The thrill of adventure and the chance at love, and for the first time in his life, he permitted himself to dream.
A tomorrow when hardship could give way to excitement, risk turn into possibility, and gathering trash signaled the beginning of a radiant tomorrow filled with surprise friendship and love. Deep within his heart, he believed that the potential accumulating inside him could forge new friends—and perhaps enemies. He imagined the lovely smiles of women whose hearts were willing to be won over by his enigmatic presence, whose laughter mixed with his rhythm. It was an exhilarating idea.
Under the flashing neon lights above and the city beat pulsating loud and strong, Nate ventured into the unknown. With each step pounding the beat of transformation, with each ragged hope and uncertainty. Tonight, his soapbox had been an alley, and destiny had hung lanterns on his shoulders. And so, with his lips curled in a gentle smile and a brassy heart pumping with excitement, he took the first step into the enigma of his transformation—and the mad, zany journey ahead.