X: Chaos in Two Dimensions

X: Chapter 2

I was staring at the lady when I heard the door to the office open. I started to get up from my seat when I heard a deep baritone voice from the waiting room call out, "Remain seated, Grady."
Seconds later, the great man himself, my boss, Xavier Champlain III, or X as he was known to his friends and clients, and everyone else that mattered, had arrived.
X was about six foot two, thin, but strong and wiry. His hair was gray and kept short. His face? Well, if you had any knowledge of people, you could read a great deal from his face.
He was clean shaven, his features well defined, if a bit sharp, with a deep, crooked scar which ran from the corner of his left eye to his chin. His eyes were solid black, I think, and cold. That coldness kept people from looking deep in his eyes. They were challenging and not a bit scary. You could tell immediately that he had seen a great deal in his life, a lot of it bad, or, in his words, evil. He was somewhere in his forties, I think, but looking at his eyes made me think he’d seen more than someone twice or even three times his age, if that was possible.
X's only affectation, as far as I knew, was wearing vests, the more colorful the better, I think, although I'd seen him wear plain leather vests. They fit his trim figure well. He also had a number of pockets placed in each of his vests, in which he kept a number of surprising things.
I wouldn't say he was intense, exactly, but when he walked into a room all the energy in the place would seem to emanate from him.
I had met X only recently, although I had heard about him for years. Ever since my stint in the Special Forces. Even the down and dirty bastards there spoke of X with something like awe in their voices. He was the best at everything, according to them: sniping, hand to hand and most of all, they said, at thinking. They said that he could out think an opponent from miles away and weeks ahead of time.
With hushed voices, they said that he was psychic, although they didn't believe in such things.
There were stories about him, enough to take several days and a dozen bottles of scotch to recount. In one of them, he had stopped a bullet from hitting him by halting its flight. In the air, about a foot from his chest. It had reportedly just stopped and fallen to the ground. This, of course, gave X plenty of time to shoot the son of a bitch who had shot at him first.
There were plenty of other stories about his ability to do strange and wonderful things, which, if they were true, would make X the most underestimated and powerful psychic in the world.
If you believed in such things.
Me, I wasn't sure I believed in psychic phenomena, but my thinking about the subject was beginning to change.
I had only known X for a couple of weeks. What I didn't know about him would fill an encyclopedia. What I did know about him made me glad I was working for him and not against him.
I left the Special Forces after the United States' second little dust up with the madman called Saddam. Before I had left, months after the Shock and Awe, I had heard a rumor that a man called X was in Iraq on orders from so high I got a nose bleed thinking about it. He was there and poised to take out the crazy man. The word never came, however, as the highest level got cold feet and whatever other parts of their anatomy they thought with froze too. X was recalled.
After I mustered out, I floated around the States for about six months before I found myself in Denver, Colorado. I was bumming around, using my accumulated combat pay and some money my family had left me, to get around.
I was walking around Larimer Square one evening. It was slow so I decided to go to the Auraria campus of the University to see if I could scare up a late date. I had just reached the school and was strolling, eyeing the coeds, when I heard someone calling for help. The voice was female and came from down an alley next to a parking garage.
The scream that followed put me in overdrive as I ran towards the voice.
I found a young coed, probably a freshman, surrounded by five creeps, each wearing the same colored bandanna. One of them, a large moron with a scraggly black beard, jerked off her blouse and her bra and was just starting to do the same to her jeans.
The idiots didn't hear me approach them from behind. They were too busy thinking about the fun they were going to have.
I grabbed the two closest to me by the back of their thick necks and banged their heads together with enough strength to make a loud thud. They went down, but the noise finally woke up the two guys who weren't mauling the girl. They came at me with their knives. One was sloppy and obviously new at knives. I immediately took him down.
The other guy wasn't a novice. He was a pro, and knew how to handle a knife. He didn't use any of those stupid tricks you see in the movies, like switching his knife from hand to hand. No, he held his blade positioned down his forearm as he rushed me.
I faked to the right and kicked him with my left leg, right on the sternum. He went down, but got right up, blood on his lips from biting his tongue. We danced around each other, neither of us giving an opening. I was about to do a sweep with my right leg when the girl screamed again. That threw me off a bit. Unfortunately, I wasn't prepared for the blow to the back of my neck that put me down on the ground.
When my eyes focused again, the asshole with the knife was standing over me with a smug grin on his face. Chester the molesting hood was also standing over me with a baseball bat in his hands. He was smiling.
The two began to circle around me, taunting me with their weapons and ideas of what they were going to do to me. The knife flashed out, and I blocked it with my leg. The batter was ready and swung, almost putting my knee over the fence.
I howled in pain and used my good leg to kick the guy with the bat in his knee, sending him to the ground with a howl of his own. I got to my feet, watching the knife man, but fell back onto the ground when I tried putting some weight on my injured knee.
Knife man grinned and came in for the kill, and I couldn't do anything but grunt from the pain in my knee. I figured that I'd be shish kabob and looked at the girl who was huddled against the wall, her hands hiding her breasts. I wanted to tell her that I was sorry I hadn't done better.
The knife man came at me, close in. I was able to block his arm with my hand, but the guy nailed me with his left to my chin. He backed up to regain his balance and was starting to come back at me when an arm materialized from behind his head and circled his throat.
A swift jerk, a small crackling sound, and the asshole dropped his knife. He hit the ground before his brain could tell him he was dead.
One of the two gang bangers I had knocked heads with had gotten up and was approaching the guy who offed the knife artist. He stood with his back to the alley entrance, so I couldn't see his face. His foot kicked at the hood with the broken neck, making certain he wouldn't get back up. I was about to yell at him to watch his back, but before I could get a word out, he did a picture perfect round kick and nailed the guy behind him. I swore to myself that the guy had eyes in the back of his head.
I saw the other guy I had taken out first stand up, look around him and lose no time exiting from the alley at a fast run.
At the sound of the runner, the tall man looked towards the light. I saw a deep, ragged scar on his face. The bat man stood up as the guy with the scar walked towards me. He nonchalantly shot out his fist, with a palm thrust, and sent bats to hell, slivers of bone shorting out the frontal lobes of his brain.
The guy asked me if I was all right and helped me to my feet. I started to go down again, the pain in my knee almost making me scream. He sat me down gently and went to check on the girl.
She was grabbing for her torn blouse and he helped her to get it on. She said she was fine and just wanted to go home. He offered to walk her home, but she declined gracefully, grabbed her purse in one hand, held her blouse closed with the other and ran out of there as fast as she could.
The guy came back and knelt by my side. He told me his name was X and he was going to check out my knee. Without waiting for any reply from me, he tore open my pants leg and ripped it until it was open above my knee.
He gently felt the joint, moved it around, which made me squirm with pain, and placed my leg back on the alley floor. I started to thank him for his help and ask for a ride to the hospital, but he cut me off with a raised palm. He told me to remain silent.
He placed his hands on either side of my injured knee and closed his eyes. I was about to make a joke, but his manner, and a feeling I had, kept my mouth shut.
Suddenly, I felt heat from both sides of my knee. The heat grew in intensity, enveloping my knee and then my entire leg. I gritted my teeth together and tried not to cry out.
The intensity grew and grew, until I was sure he had a blow torch in his hands. Sweat dripped down my face. My hands clawed at the filthy alley floor. I felt small stones digging into my palms as I drew my hands into tight fists.
Suddenly, the heat was gone. So was the pain.
He removed his hands from around my knee and stood up, offering his hand to me.
Gingerly, reluctantly, I took his hand and he slowly pulled me to my feet. I tried not to put any weight on my leg. He saw my concern and pushed at my chest, causing me to almost fall before I realized that I had instinctively regained my balance. My weight was evenly distributed on both legs and I didn't have any pain.
This time he looked at me and I relaxed.
He said, "You owe me a drink."
I told him I owed him a case of drink.
That was how I met X.
In a bar later that night, after I told him about myself, finishing with the fact that I was bumming around, he offered me a job. He said that he was finished with some work he had been doing, and wanted to start a real business.
I didn't ask what he had been doing. I told him I'd be pleased to work with him.
During the next week we found the office, bought some second hand furniture and got settled in.
Ms. Westerfield was our first client.
As he walked in and sat at his desk, I chose not to ask him what brought him to our office at the exact time he showed up.
X looked at Ms. Westerfield and, without taking his eyes off of her, asked me to relate the information I had obtained. I did, as concisely as possible, referring to my notes only three times, for names.
When I had finished, X glanced at me and nodded. Approval, I hoped.
His eyes focused again on our prospective client.
"Tell me, Ms. Westerfield, when you say that your family is not your family, do you mean that in a physical or emotional sense?"
Looking puzzled, Ms. Westerfield asked, "I'm not really sure what you mean."
"I'm asking you to feel, not to think. Did those people feel like your family, people you have known literally all of your life?"
Now she nodded.
"Physically, they looked like my family. They all looked five years older than the last time I saw them, as I would expect. My emotions?"
She looked at X.
"My gut feeling is that although they physically appear the way they should, they are not the same people I used to know and love. It's like the car's the same, but someone switched the engine that makes it work."
She looked inquiringly at X. "Do you know what I mean?"
"That is an excellent analogy, Ms. Westerfield.
"We will take your case."
She teared up again, so I pushed more tissues her way.
"Thank you, Mr. Champlain."
"You may call me X."
"Thank you X. I really don't know what I would have done if you had refused to help me."
"Ms. Westerfield," I asked, "Do you think that your friend Tom from California could be involved with whatever is going on?"
"Please, both of you, call me Elaine."
She looked at me and said, "No, I don't think Tom has anything to do with this. God knows, he's involved in enough other things going on in my life, but I don't think so, no."
"What is Tom's last name?" I asked.
"Brookfield. Tom Brookfield. He works at Imagical studios."
I jotted that down, though I was certain that my partner would not need any written reference to what he had been told.
"Elaine," X said, "I told you we will accept your case, and we will. You want us to find your family. I want you to understand, however, that I have a feeling that you may not like the answers we obtain."
"What do you mean?"
"We may find your family but not be able to bring them back to your satisfaction. Or, we may be unable to find your family, or only part of your family. We may find information that will upset you, or make you wish you had never met us."
"I know that," Elaine answered. She honked into some tissues and said, "I know that you're right, you may not be able to find my family at all. Either way, I want to know what happened to them, why they seem so different and so strange.
"I want you to do what ever it is that you need to do to find out what happened."
"What if nothing has happened, Elaine? What if you are completely mistaken?"
I thought X was being a bit rough there, as Elaine grabbed some more tissues. I'd have to buy several more boxes. I hadn't realized that clients could cry so easily. Or so much.
Elaine was a trooper, and she proved it by answering, "If you mean that you may find out that I'm crazy, and that all this a figment of my imagination, I don't care. I just want the answers."
X nodded. His mouth broke into a one sided grin. He was feeling happy.
"We charge $300 a day, plus expenses, with an adequate retainer. I think one thousand dollars will be sufficient."
Without a word, Elaine retrieved her check book from her purse and wrote out the names and numbers. She put the check on his desk.
"Please tell Grady where you are staying. I have to go to an appointment.
"It has been a pleasure meeting you. I sincerely hope you will feel the same way when this is all finished."
With that, X left the office.
Elaine gave me the address of her hotel, one which I knew well. We shook hands and Elaine left the office.
I put the box of tissues back in my desk, and turned things over in my mind.
Logically, it seemed the place to start was by visiting Elaine's family.
X was the boss. I'd ask him about my logic the next time I saw or heard from him.
I expected it would be soon.
*****
At four thirty, our second client showed up. We had our third fifteen minutes later. It was starting to be a damned parade.
Behind door number two was a dotty old lady who said she needed a fact to be found, she saw our sign and came in.
Lucky us.
Her problem was that she didn't think her dog was her dog anymore. It just didn't act like it used too and she was certain that some form of intelligence was controlling her little puppy. It took me almost 15 minutes to get rid of her. She really didn't want to go.
The third new client of the day, who made herself known only minutes after client number two left, was young and pretty. Her problem was also a bit strange.
All she would say at first is that she and several friends were hiking and climbing in the mountains over the last several days. She had gone with three others, all in their early twenties. Two boys and two girls. The first two days were fun, she said, and then something happened.
At first, it wasn't anything obvious. Her boyfriend was named Karl. She, her name was Cindy, and Karl had gone with Lori and Frank. The evening of the second day was just starting when Cindy said she started getting bad vibes about the rest of her hardy group of adventurers.
"Who was to know," she said. She sat in the office client chair, just opposite my desk. She was a cute blonde, but she had a couple of problems. She couldn't look me in the eyes, for a start. Secondly, she was sort of not there. You know, like she was several tacos short of a combination plate.
After I had greeted her and given her a diet pop, she sat and told me the story as if she was reciting a narrative. There was no emotion in her voice, which made the story, which was pretty weird to begin with, even creepier.
Her voice was pretty much a monotone.
"We had just set up our tents for the night," she said, "And Lori and I went out to get some fire wood. We were walking and talking, and I guess we got lost, at least for a short period of time. By the time we made it back to camp with the wood, we were so tired that we just went into our tents.
"It was dusk, and Karl and I had already decided to take all the time we could in our sleeping bags. You know what I mean."
I might have, if she hadn't asked with such a chill in her voice. The monotone was beginning to break down.
I nodded in her direction, my eyes focused on a piece of paper I was using to take notes.
"Well, anyway, I found Karl in our tent. He was already in the sleeping bag.
"I got undressed and got into my side of the bag. I put my arm around Karl's shoulders and started talking to him.
"He must have been sleeping. He didn't say a word to me. He just lay there, breathing so quietly I couldn't hear him. Anyway, we talked for a while, though, really, I did all of the talking. I was trying to figure why Karl was so quiet.
"He wouldn't even turn his head to kiss me when I asked him too. He just lay there, flat on his back, his head turned away from me.
"After about a half an hour I must have dropped off to sleep, my arm around Karl. I was awakened by a loud scream. I heard Lori's voice yelling at Frank, telling him to stop and leave her alone. I don't guess that he did, because she still called out for me. That scared me. I didn't know what Frank was doing, but I didn't want to get involved."
Cindy looked at me again, and I could finally get a fairly clear look at her eyes. They were not normal eyes. They looked at me, and went right through me. I squirmed around in my chair, and it wasn't from lust, I'll tell you.
Cindy continued.
"Lori kept screaming, asking Frank to leave her alone. I snuggled up closer to Karl and asked him to go talk to Frank and stop him from hurting Lori.
"I could tell that she was getting hurt, you see, because her screams were louder and then softer, like she didn't have the energy to scream. Also, she was whimpering a lot.
"A bit later I heard a thud, as something bounced off of the tent and hit the ground outside of the tent. I heard Frank laugh. It was really scary.
"I kept my head down and hugged Karl. Finally, I asked Karl to wake up and stop Frank from doing whatever he was doing. He didn't say anything. I kept at it, trying to get Karl to wake up. Finally, I was getting very scared so I shook him real hard. Even that didn't wake him up.
"I didn't hear Lori whimpering anymore and that got me even more frightened."
Cindy grew silent.
I had a bad idea about what was coming. What really got me was the dead pan delivery.
She continued talking, her eyes focused now somewhere above my head and to my left.
"I couldn't hear Lori anymore. I figured that the fight, or whatever, was over. I looked at the sides of the tent. I could hear Frank talking now, but he was being quiet about it, you know, and then I heard a last sound from Lori. I mean it was the last one I ever heard, and it sounded like she got hit in the stomach.
"Just as the sound stopped, I heard a sound like water falling on the tent over my head. Then everything got quiet. I didn't know where Frank was. At least Lori had stopped whimpering. Suddenly, I got even more scared. I fell back and tried to cover myself with the sleeping bag. Karl was still sleeping, but now I decided I had to awaken him.
"I put my hand down his pants, you know, I thought if I played with him he would wake up. But his penis was all shriveled up. And cold.
"I didn't get anywhere. So I put my hand over Karl's shoulder and shook him. He wouldn't wake up. Finally, I grabbed his head by the long pony tail he wore and tried to turn his head towards me. The thing is, see, his whole head came up with my hand, but it wasn't attached to his neck or anything. I just held it by the hair and his eyes swung by and looked into mine and I didn't really think anything more about Karl.
"I just threw his head down and figured that I had better get out of the area. Then I put on my clothes and rolled out of the tent.
"I almost tripped over Lori's arm; at least I think it was her arm, before I could get to my feet and begin to move. I looked around and didn't see Frank, so I just kept moving. I almost got out of the camp when I got bowled over."
The sense of emptiness in her voice was chilling to the extreme.
Cindy giggled. "See, I got bowled over by Lori's head and I fell on the ground. Frank walked over to me, his big bowie knife in his hand. He grabbed at me, but I twisted away and started running. I didn't stop until I hit a highway. Literally, I mean. I tripped on some rocks and fell onto the highway."
She giggled again. The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. I looked at her more closely. Her clothes were so tight I felt certain that she couldn't hide a knife or gun in them. I felt better, but only a little. This was one scary female.
She continued talking, but in between words she sucked on her fingers, one at a time, one right after another.
"I started walking and several cars went by, but they wouldn't stop for me. I don't know how far I walked, but I remember getting tired and wanting to lie down and go to sleep. I didn't though, I kept walking."
She sucked on her thumb for a while, and then continued.
"Finally, I heard a loud horn, like a big truck. I turned around and stuck out my thumb. I could see the trucks lights as it came along the highway. It was curvy, see, and it must have been about a half mile away, but it was moving fast.
"I stood still, put my thumb out and waited for the truck to reach me. The lights were getting closer to me and the truck seemed to be slowing down. Suddenly, Frank jumped onto the road, his bowie knife held over his head. He was outlined by the truck's lights. He screamed at me and started to run right at me."
Cindy giggled again. Then she laughed out loud.
I was trying to keep my head together.
"Frank jumped onto the road right in front of the truck. It ran right over him."
She giggled again, and I wanted to hit her.
"That made the truck stop. The driver was nice. He used his radio to call the cops. I told them all that Frank jumped out in front of the truck and that it wasn't the driver's fault. He was so glad I said that, that he drove me right home."
"Why are you here, Cindy? What do you want from Fact Finders?"
She looked puzzled for a few moments. Then she giggled again, high pitched, like fingernails on a chalk board.
"I remember now. I remember," she said, more to herself than to me.
"I was supposed to come here and tell you about what happened. I had to."
"Who told you to come here?"
She looked puzzled again.
"I don't remember."
"Did you go to the police and tell them about what happened in your camp?"
"No." She giggled again. "Do you think I should?"
I think my jaw gaped open. I snapped my teeth together and said, "I think that would have been a good thing to do."
Cindy sucked on her third finger and smiled. Her eyes remained empty, however.
I tried again. "Do you remember who told you to come here and tell us about what happened?"
She shook her head and giggled again.
"Do you remember where you were in the mountains? Were you near a town?"
This time she nodded.
"Yeah, we were camped right outside of some dinky town called Gaston."
My stomach lurched, but somehow I didn't feel very surprised at her answer.
She looked at me and asked, "Do you find things for people, you know, things they lost?"
"Yes," I said, "Sometimes we do."
She sucked her pinky for a few moments and asked, "Could you find my good ear rings for me?"
She smiled again, her eyes far away.
"Where do you think they are," I asked. "When did you see them last?"
"I remember that they were on Lori's head. At least they were when Frank threw it at me.
"So, could you do that? Find my ear rings for me?"
I stood up and escorted her out into the waiting room. I told her that I had to check our schedule and see if we could take her case.
I closed the door to the office, went to the phone and called Lt. Canter, the only name I knew on the local constabulary. Being concise, I told him Cindy's story and suggested strongly, just short of begging, that he come on over and escort Cindy to be interviewed by the appropriate people.
He was even more concise. He said, "Hold her, I'll be right over," and hung up.
I knew that calling the cops was no way to build up business, but I had a funny feeling about Cindy. I didn't even care if X didn't agree with me. Cindy was one sick puppy. For all I knew, she either killed everyone on her camping trip, or, possibly, there hadn't even been a camping trip. I thought it appropriate to let the police sort it out.
About fifteen minutes later, Lt. Cantor showed up with a female cop. She stayed in the waiting room with Cindy, while I repeated her story to Cantor.
When I had finished, he used the phone and within five minutes told me that a Frank Lawrence had indeed been run over by a semi on the Interstate, three miles outside of Gaston.
Cantor was an OK guy for a cop. He was about six feet tall, large boned, as my old momma would say, with a dark complexion. He also had a dyspeptic look on his face that didn't seem to change, unless it went from more to less dyspeptic, or the other way around.
Instead of pulling me in, he asked nicely if I would come to the station in the morning and sign a statement. I told him I would.
That being that, he and the female cop took the empty eyed Cindy to the station. As they left, I suggested to Cantor that the girl needed to see a shrink. He grunted and said good bye. Rather emphatically, I thought.
I had no sooner closed and locked the outside door and sat at my desk, when the phone rang.
With no preamble, X told me to report to him what had been going on in the office.
With no words wasted, I told him.
"You are certain that the girl said she was told to come to us?"
"Yes," I answered, "But she couldn't remember who told her."
The line was silent as X mulled over what I had told him. Finally, he said, "I think that we should make some plans to visit Gaston."
With that, he hung up the phone.
Just for the hell of it, I checked the office for audio or visual bugs. There weren't any.
Damn X, anyway.