To My World and Back Again Chapter 2
Friends and Enemies
By Ghost
"Life is only what we choose to make it,
Let us take it,
Let us be free"
From Lynn Minmei’s song We Will Win
May 5, 2006
11:41 P.M.
SROC Parking Lot
The rain stopped shortly before Patrick exited his lab, and the ground was still saturated with water. As Patrick emerged from the SROC building to a large parking lot, he was sure there was something different about him or his surrounding. It could have been the failed experiment earlier, the confrontation moments ago, or thinning smog and warm spring air around him or the recent events. It didn’t matter. All he wanted to do was go to one of his best places to relax, a place with people with other problems, music, dancing, and his favorite drink in the world, the Dragon’s Lair.
Patrick shook his head to clear it. He took a few steps out and spotted his car in the distance. He looked around the parking lot to make sure no one was looking. A strong mind and body indeed, he thought, and with all his documents and laptop in check, Patrick rose off the ground with his feet dangling in the air. With his own trained mind Patrick levitated himself off the ground and, in a matter of speaking, "ran" across the parking lot to his car. Levitating was a wonderful experience every time he did it. The air flowing through his hair and around his body caused a feeling that could not be matched. He slowed, stopped, and lowered himself in front of a four-door, dark blue 1999 Buick that seemed almost invisible in the night. Patrick electronically unlocked his car from his keychain. He opened the back seat, put all the notes and his laptop in the back seat, got in the front, and drove off.
May 6, 2006
12:04 A.M.
Dragon’s Lair
There were places in Oxnard that were not safe to be at, especially at night, but Patrick knew his way around. He parked his Buick in front of the bright entrance to the Dragon’s Lair not even fearful of theft of his car.
The inside of the bar was a lot more to look at than the outside. There were lights everywhere pointing out beer, TVs, and even the bathrooms. There were people of many backgrounds there as well, Caucasian, Hispanic, Asian, and anything one could think of.
Patrick walked over to his favorite stool at the bar, second one to the right and stay there till morning, and called out the bartender’s name, Chris Baker. He was light build fellow with brown hair and of a Caucasian background. Though he looked a little helpless, Chris could always stand his ground when needed, and if the going got too rough, he had his 44 Magnum ready behind the counter.
"The usual tonight, Simmons," he asked.
"Yep, only if you’re referring to an ice milk with a bit of vanilla."
"That’s the one, buddy."
"Then I’ll take it."
As Chris fixed up Patrick’s drink, Patrick turned in his seat to watch the football game on the television. It was the San Francisco 49ers vs the Atlanta Falcons. He ran a hand through his blue hair then placed it at the counter where he grabbed his drink.
Chris watched amazed, as he did every time when Patrick grabbed the drink. "I tell you Patrick, it’s like you read my mind," he laughed. It was a joke between them when Patrick grabbed the glass the instant Chris placed it down.
Patrick took a sip of vanilla-ice milk and laughed with him, "I suppose I do Chris." However, as far as he was concerned, he actually did. Patrick took another sip of the drink.
"So," Chris asked, "how’s that project of yours coming?" Patrick lowered his head and shook it, "Ok I get it, Patrick, I won’t mention it."
"Don’t worry about it buddy. I’m just tired, that’s all; however, I could ask the same about you. Yes. If I remember correctly, you are working on a new element, right?"
"I don’t know if I should tell you Simmons. You didn’t tell me about your project just now, and we do work at two different governmentally funded places."
"That’s because you are mostly in research. You fail when you give up. I’m in development. I’ve failed too many times to count, and I don’t give."
Chris raised his hands and face to the air in false praise, "‘Well if it isn’t Lucca!’" He found Patrick’s expression when he lowered his hands, and his hands found an empty glass. He started cleaning it, "Well if you must know…my team succeeded. It is called Millenium because it is the first element with at least 200 protons. Well, I’m sorry we couldn’t have succeeded at the same time like we hoped."
Patrick buried his head in his hands at the news. Someone doing something just as amazing as he is, doing it. "I am truly happy for you Chris. Tell you what. If I pay double for the drink, and I get a friend or two over here some day, you tell me about this ‘Millenium,’ OK?"
"Deal."
Patrick paid Chris when he looked instinctively to his left. He saw a couple of men walking toward him. He told, just by the tattoos they wore that they belonged to an infamous gang of thieves, rapists, and murderers. The Black Widows.
The men walked closer. They seemed like some sort of twins. Both had shaven heads. They were very muscular, and, not to Patrick’s surprise, they both wore the same leather vest that covered part of their chest, but one had the tattoo on the right arm and the other had the tattoo on the left. They looked around the room for only a moment, like tigers on the hunt, and just Patrick predicted they came right toward him.
"Well look what we have here Bart," the one with the tattoo on the right arm said, "we have a circus clown."
"A clown, Bruce? I thought it was some sort of animal"
Patrick looked to his left, right, then right behind him, smiling. Clown, huh, lets just see who’s funnier. "I’m sorry boys, you’ve got it all wrong. The circus has been waiting for you for some time. You might want to call them up."
"Bruce! It is a clown, but he sure ain’t funny."
"That’s because I’m not a clown. However, you two better get a mirror and wipe off that make up. You’re scarin’ people."
Bart seemed to enjoy the little game they were playing, but the game was ending, "Buddy, you just bought yourself a whole lot of trouble." Bart brought his tattooed arm up and threw the fist towards Patrick’s face. Of course, he didn’t expect not to make contact.
Patrick was still in his seat, a fist in his hand. Bart dropped to his knees in pain as Patrick applied some force. Patrick reluctantly let go of the hand and took another swallow of his drink, "Now if you excuse me fellows, I’ve got a drink to finish."
Bruce helped Bart up and then cracked his knuckles. Bart did the same. They took a few steps back and Bruce said, "I think you just got yourself into a load of trouble."
"Yeah," Bart agreed.
Patrick handed the glass back to Chris, "Chris, I know I usually go outside for this, but come on. These two belong to the Black Widows, a very irrespectable group, and I’ve had a rough night as it is." Patrick smiled a rougish smile, saying, "Father may I?"
Chris started to clean the glass Patrick handed to him and looked back to the two men. He usually did ask people to take fights outside, and the gun behind the counter acted as a catalyst for decisions. Patrick never asked for this before, and Chris figured that the fight shouldn’t take long, or be too damaging. "Okay go ahead."
The two Widows smiled. This would be special. Patrick got out of his stool and faced the men. "One on one or two on one?"
"We’ll take choice B," Bart said.
"Fine with me, boys."
There were those in the bar that ignored what was going on and continued with their business, but there were those that found the fight interesting and paid close attention. Patrick had already gotten into his side stance with his left side facing the brutes. "Alright, I’m ready," Patrick said just as Bruce ran toward him and stopped to throw a punch. Patrick dodged the punch and elbowed Bruce in the back, throwing him toward a stool.
Bart was next with a wooden chair. He swung it at Patrick, but Patrick ducked, and the chair missed. The fact the chair missed was one factor, but the momentum the chair had threw Bart off balance. Patrick took advantage of this opening and side kicked Bart in the gut. Bart instantly dropped the chair and bent over, but no sooner did he do this did Patrick uppercut Bart in the jaw with his right fist. Bart took the full force and fell back unconscious.
Bruce was back up and tried his luck with a punch again, but Patrick grabbed the arm and punched the Black Widow under the arm, backed up, and brought his foot across Bruce’s face, knocking him out.
"I win," Patrick said matter-of-factly, "two-nothing."
"Have a nice night," Patrick called before he exited the bar, "and remember that deal."
"No problem, just come on back," Chris said as Patrick exited the Dragon’s Lair.
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May 6, 2006
1:02 A.M.
Oxnard, CA
Patrick’s home
Patrick yawned as he entered the living room of his home with his notes and laptop. It was a long night for him that was for sure. His home was situated several feet from the Pacific Ocean, and it was three-bedroom house with a kitchen, utility room, and a bathroom.
The living room was clean, except for a few books and computer parts that littered living room. On the right wall of the living room was a katana in its sheath. On the left wall was a crossbow with one bolt in for show. Straight on was the kitchen and two hallways. The hall that went to the right led to Patrick’s bedroom and the sole bathroom, and the left hall led to two bedrooms and the utility room.
Patrick made his way to the telephone on a nightstand in living room. Next to the telephone was an answering machine. With a look, Patrick told that there were three messages, and he pushed a round button, which gave a display of the number of messages. With a beep, the first message began.
Hey, Simmons, this is Lt. Rick Baitey from the airbase. I called to remind you about our dogfight whenever you’re ready. Don’t forget ‘cause this is the tie breaker.
The answering machine’s voice indicated that Rick called at 5 PM. With a beep, the second message began.
Yes, this is Miss Ellerbee at the Oxnard Orphanage. I am calling to tell you that Britt is doing all right. He is quite excited about you coming again. What is it Britt? Oh, Britt says to bring a book. Thank you and goodbye.
The answering indicated that the message was recorded at 6 PM. With a beep, the third message began.
Hello, Patrick, this is Michelle. I just wanted to apologize for John tonight. I know he’s a big jerk and all so if you need to talk to someone, give me a call, ok.
The call was at 12 PM. Patrick made a few small notes and went into the kitchen. He fixed went to the refrigerator and took out a small cardboard box. He pulled out a wrapped plastic plate and put it in the microwave. "So, Patrick," he said to himself, "how do we get this gate open? I know we now have the correct amount of energy to break the gap between time and space, but why did the gate disperse before opening?." The kitchen was silent for a few minutes except for the hum of the microwave. The microwave then beeped letting Patrick know that his dinner was done.
He opened the microwave door, and with his mind levitated the box out and set it on a counter. He then physically tore off the wrap and put it in a nearby trash can. "What could the problem be," he continued. "I know that the energy distribution is steady. The only problem came from opening the gate…and opening it took energy I was using to keep it stable. So, where do we get another source of energy?" He let the food cool for a minute before he ate it. He finished his dinner, and discarded the plastic plate and went into his bedroom.
Inside the blue master bedroom was a two-person bed, which was in the center of the back wall. At a corner of the room, was a computer with a printer and several books cluttered around. At the foot of the bed was a television with a Super Nintendo with a Chrono Trigger game pack, a Nintendo 64, a Sony Playstation with the Chrono Cross disk, and a Playstation 2.
Patrick placed the day’s notes and his laptop on the desk by the computer. Without thinking, he took off his belt and green shirt, but he left his jeans on. He lied down on his bed, but didn’t bother to pull the sheets over himself. Patrick reviewed the night’s events: the failed gate, which he would open, John’s constant badgering, and his friend’s success. "I have two more days until the next experiment. Maybe tomorrow I can do the research on opening the gate since making the orb is down. Oh well, just another failure to the, hopefully, successful try." Tired from the day’s events, he drifted into a deep sleep.
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