Episode 8: FANthrax
Part 1
On the second floor of a quiet house a few miles outside the city limits of Toronto, Ontario, a single window glowed amber in the fading twilight.
Inside, a large man hunched over his desk. Although he was young, barely out of his teenage years, the man’s appearance was intimidating, even frightening. Long, tawny hair trailed halfway down his expansive back and hung in curtains over his shoulders as he hovered above his work. His beefy hand rose to stroke his double chins, the thick fingers tugging absently at his unkempt beard.
The females in Terrance Phillip’s life — friends, always just friends, except for his mother — told him that if he would only cut his hair and shave that beard once in a while, he might actually have a shot at picking up a woman. Terrance — or TP, as he now preferred to be called — didn’t believe them. All the hair hid his fat rolls and gave people something besides his girth to notice about his physical appearance. Besides, it was just easier not having to mess around with going to the barber or shaving every morning.
It was easier to hide behind the hair, just as it was easier to claim that he was too busy for a social life, what with community college and his pizza delivery job, and that he would rather stay at home than go out, anyway. In reality, the existence he lived was a lonely one. But even for the loneliest of souls, life is not without its pleasures.
Terrance, bending over his scrapbook, was immersed in one such pleasure. Last night had been the best of his life. Eighteen hours later, he was putting the finishing touches on the page that would preserve it, a memento he would always have to look back on, an exquisite record of a dream come true.
He had collaged every scrap he’d salvaged from the concert he had attended the night before, from his ticket stub right down to the bits of confetti he’d plucked from his hair and beard after the show. He had listened to all of the band’s albums in chronological order as he’d worked, singing along to the lyrics he knew by heart.
“Na-na-na-na, na-na-na, na-na-na, na… na-na-na-na, na-na-na, na-na…” he belted out in his toneless voice, using glue dots to carefully adhere the confetti pieces to his scrapbook page. “…I wanna show you how good it will be… Never needed anyone the way I need you right now…”
He drummed his slightly gluey fingers on the desktop, smiling down at the case of the CD that was playing, where the youthful faces of his four idols grinned up at him from a pit of colorful balls. It was their greatest hits album, Best of The Moffatts, and until last night, Terrance had never heard the songs on it sung live and believed he never would.
He’d been a boy of fourteen when his favorite band, The Moffatts, had gone their separate ways. For nine years, he had regretted never having convinced his mother to take him to one of their concerts, thinking it was now too late. And then, just a few months ago, the announcement that had left him weeping for joy in front of his computer: a one-night-only Moffatts reunion show, right in his hometown of Toronto!
It had seemed almost too good to be true that the four brothers would be reuniting for this one show on the complete opposite side of the country from their own home city, Vancouver. But the news was more than a dream. For Terrance, it was a dream come true.
He’d thrown all of his energy into preparing for the show, and now that it was over, he felt oddly depleted, lethargic. It had been a difficult day. On the one hand, he’d reveled in the memories of seeing his favorite band live after all these years. But on the other, the post-concert depression had affected him physically almost as much as emotionally. He’d felt tired, under the weather, all morning, as if he were coming down with the flu. But he knew it wasn’t that. All he had was a case of the blues.
After lunch, he’d printed out his photos, sorted through his souvenirs, and sat down to scrapbook, hoping the memories and music would lift his spirits. And they had. He had worked happily through the afternoon.
He reached for the last piece of metallic confetti, plucking it up carefully between his sausage-like fingers so as not to smudge its shiny surface with his fingerprints. He dropped it into place on the scrapbook page and drew his fingertip along its edges to smooth it down. The swiping motion was too quick, and the edge of the confetti sliced into his index finger.
“Ow!” hissed Terrance, pulling his finger back as if he’d been burned. He held it up to the light to inspect the damage and saw a long slash across its tip. Beads of blood were starting to appear between the parted flaps of skin. It stung terribly. “Uncle Fucker, that hurts!” he exclaimed, sticking his finger in his mouth. He sucked on the blood, and his saliva worked to soothe the sting in his finger.
“Terrance! Dinner!” his mother’s voice drifted from downstairs. Terrance turned down the music a little, checking the wall clock mounted among his Moffatts posters. It was already six o’clock.
“Mooooom, I told you — it’s TP!” he called back. He looked down at the nearly-complete scrapbook page. He hated to leave it unfinished, but he also hated missing mealtimes. With a sigh, he paused the CD player and rose from his chair.
As he hoisted himself to his feet, a wave of nausea hit him suddenly and severely. Terrance doubled over, wrapping one arm protectively around his stomach while he clapped his other hand across his mouth. He tried to fight his gag reflex, but his efforts were in vain. After a couple of dry heaves, a sickly burp gurgled out of his throat. In its wake came the vomit, rising unstoppably up his esophagus like magma in a volcano.
He finally erupted, projectile vomiting right over his desktop. As the acidic chunks of his partially-digested stomach contents spattered across his scrapbook, he cried out in horror. Not only because his day’s work, his lifetime’s memories, was ruined, but because the vomit, like hot magma itself, was tinged bright red.
A second attack of uncontrollable vomiting choked his cry. What finally brought his mother racing upstairs to his room was the thud of her son’s heavy body slamming into the floor above her as he collapsed.
***
“008!” Agent K shouted, causing the blond-haired agent on the other side of the gym to look up from his punching bag and run over.
“Mornin’ K,” Nick replied, out of breath. It was then that he noticed the young man standing next to his boss. This couldn’t possibly be good news. “What’s up?”
“I have a surprise for you, 008,” K replied. Nick looked at him expectantly, and he continued, “This is one of our new recruits, Chris Brown.”
“Okay…” Nick hoped this conversation wasn’t going the way he knew it would. He already had so much on his mind after everything that had happened to him over the last few months; the last thing he needed was…
“He’ll be paired with you while he’s in training.”
“Aww, come on, K!” Nick whined and then looked at K with a raised eyebrow. “You really want me training a new agent?”
“There’s no one else who can, 008, so I don’t have a choice.”
“But I don’t have time for a shadow, K.”
“You’ll make time for a trainee, 008, or I’ll make time for you by keeping you away from any missions for another six months. Is that clear?”
Nick groaned. “Yes, inescapably clear, K.”
“Good.” He patted Chris on the back, then looked back over at Nick. “I’m sure you two will get along just fine. Try to stay out of trouble.”
I was trying to stay out of trouble in the first place, Nick thought to himself. How am I supposed to get anything done with this kid following me around like a shadow?
“So…” Chris said once K walked away, noticing Nick deep in his own thoughts.
“Oh, sorry, man,” Nick said as if waking himself up. He shook Chris’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Chris; I’m Nick. Please don’t call me 008.”
Chris laughed and shook Nick’s hand. “Hey, Nick. And you don’t have to call me Chris; people usually call me Styx.”
“Cool, Styx,” Nick said before an awkward silence crept up on them. He looked back and saw the unoccupied sparring ring; an idea struck him like a moonwalking penguin that wasn’t paying attention to where it was going. “So, how about we get to know each other better and start your training at the same time?”
“Sounds good to me,” Styx replied, looking over at the same spot and flashing Nick a smile that he was sure made him as popular with the girls as Nick’s trademark grin had made him. Styx followed Nick over to the mat and took off his hoodie, revealing a wifebeater that showed off his defined muscles. Nick hadn’t expected anything less since he knew that strength and agility were important qualities that HimTak looked for in its trainees. The question he had now was, Just how strong and agile is this kid? And why does K seem to think that no one else around here can train him?
“Let’s start with one round, and we’ll see how this goes. Alright?”
“Yep!” Styx nodded as he stepped onto the large mat and got into a fighting stance with his right fist near his ear and his left fist closer to the front of his face. Nick hit the start button on the automatic buzzer and got into his own fighting stance as they stared each other down, waiting for the first bell to sound. As it did seconds later, Nick and Styx moved closer to each other, careful not to bring their fists down from their faces.
“So, how old are you?” Nick asked.
“Twenty-two. You?” Styx responded, taking a shot at Nick.
Nick ducked and moved to the side, taking a swipe at Styx. “Twenty-six.” He tried to launch a roundhouse kick, but Styx narrowly avoided it. “Where are you from?”
“Virginia.” Styx launched a kick of his own, but Nick was already on the other side of the mat, ready to throw another punch at him. “But I was recruited here from Duke University in North Carolina.”
“Duke, huh?” Nick’s punch landed on Styx’s arm, not its intended target. Unfazed, Styx tried to counter, but Nick blocked his punch.
“Yeah, I was a drummer in the marching band.” Styx tried to kick Nick in the stomach but once again missed his target. He shook it off and refocused himself.
Nick watched him closely as they circled each other, formulating his next question. If there was one thing he’d learned from his time listening to Grasshopper and his wacky proverbs, it was that fighting was like a dance. One person leads, the other person follows, and right then, he was leading. The next move was his, and he needed to figure out what that move would be. He wasn’t going to let his new shadow get the best of him during their first sparring session. “So,” Nick said, taking a step to his right and smirking as Styx did the same. “How does someone go from being a marching band drummer to this?” Nick took this time to quickly step forward and throw a punch at Styx.
Styx, anticipating that Nick would strike, blocked the punch, although not as well as he had hoped since the force of the hit did jolt him slightly. “Well, I got my degree in Criminal Justice. I also learned how to fight when I was about sixteen because guys kept trying to kick my ass for hanging out with their girlfriends. I was sick of getting into trouble and wanted to know how to get myself out,” he explained between kicks, punches, and dodges from both sides.
Nick chuckled. “Girl trouble, huh? I’ve been there.” Styx caught Nick’s next kick and pushed him to the ground. The move impressed Nick since he probably would have done the same thing. He then realized why K had assigned Styx to be his trainee: they were very much alike. Still, he wasn’t sure if that would work to his advantage or be more trouble than he’d already expected.
“Not anymore, though,” Styx said with a sigh. “Well, actually, now I have a different kind of girl problem.”
“How so?” Nick asked, climbing to his feet. They had been circling the mat during the lulls in their conversation, but Nick was about to test a way to keep Styx on his toes. He remained in his place as Styx responded to his last question.
“My girl is pissed ‘cause I can’t spend as much time with her as I should,” Styx explained. He guessed that Nick was trying to surprise him with a random attack, which only caused him to be even more guarded while he continued, “I think she’s about ready to kick my ass. She’s sexy as hell, but she could rearrange my face if she wanted to.”
“Sounds rough,” Nick replied, knowing quite a few girls who matched that description — most of whom worked for HimTak. “What does your family think of her?”
“They love her.” Styx wondered when Nick would make his next move. “Everyone thinks we’re a hot couple.” He was beginning to grow impatient but knew that Nick was counting on that. “What does your fam’ think of you working here?”
“Actually,” Nick began, finally making a move to swiftly kick Styx’s feet out from under him. He smiled with satisfaction as Styx fell hard to the ground.
“Oh Nicky, be gentle! Don’t hurt the fresh meat too quickly!” he heard a familiar, effeminate voice call and looked up to see his secretary, Mr. Lancybassy, standing just inside the door. Lancy ran his eyes up and down Nick’s sweaty body. “What can I get you to do to get that sweaty with me?”
“How long have you been standing there?” Nick asked Lancy, holding his hand down to his defeated trainee.
After swiping Nick’s hand away, Styx kicked his legs out and jumped to an attack-ready position. “You distracted me,” he spat. “Rematch.”
“You’re not bad though, kid. Just takes time and training; you should’ve seen me when I started.”
Lancy giggled. “He was tripping over himself every two steps. I’d rush to help him, of course.”
“I still want a rematch, man.” Styx grinned good-naturedly. “See if I can’t teach you a move or two.”
“Boys, boys, as much as I’d love to watch you fight over me, Red has requested the honor of your presence in her office.”
“New and already being requested…” Smirking at Nick, Styx moved towards the door to leave, only to be stopped by Lancy placing his hand on his chest. He let out a small “oh.”
“Oh honey, not you; she wants Nick.” Lancy pouted seductively at Styx. “You can stay in here and get all sweaty with me.” His pout became a wide grin.
Nick pushed his way past them, trying hard to hide his own growing smile. “You boys have fun.” When he was safely away, Nick let his suppressed chuckle become a hearty laugh.
Quickly, he made his way to the infirmary, curious as to why HimTak’s resident doctor, Red Jewel, would send someone to disrupt a training session. Pushing his way through the doors, Nick started to say some smartass comment but stopped himself when he saw Jay and K standing in the room, waiting expectantly. K’s face was serious, showing no signs of the softer side Nick had been able to glimpse that one time on the Disney mission months earlier.
Nick shifted his eyes from K and Jay to Red. Her face was solemn, though she attempted to smile when she saw him walk into the room. “What’s new?” Nick asked, dispensing with his usual quirky banter. He could see this was not the time.
“An old friend just called me…” Red started.
“Was she not a good friend?” Nick asked playfully.
“Nick! Not now.” Red continued, “She works for the CIDPC — Canada’s Center for Disease Control, basically. There’s been an outbreak of some new virus that no one is able to pinpoint the origin of. The threat is fast-acting: those who are infected feel fine one minute; the next, they are vomiting blood. The cases they have seen come in do not last long. So far, it seems to have a high fatality rate. Dozens of people have died already, and many more have fallen ill.”
Nick didn’t know what to say. This really was serious.
“My friend Jeanie called me to see if I can be of some assistance. I have some resources available to me that she desperately needs.”
“What does her needing your help have to do with me?” Nick asked, feeling a bit selfish for seeming to care only about himself at a time like this.
“Nick, we need you to go with Red,” said K. “This sounds like an act of bioterrorism. We need to find out how this disease started, how it is spreading, and hopefully how to contain the threat. You and Red will fly to New York, where you will meet up with Brian. The three of you will continue to Canada to investigate the outbreak. Hopefully, Red will be able to figure out not only what — or who — started it, but also how to contain, if not cure, this disease.”
“You have no time to gather any items,” added Jay. “You and Red are leaving immediately for the airport. Red is already ready to leave.”
“I was just in the training room,” Nick protested. “I’m covered in sweat and sure I smell funky. Can I at least clean up?”
Jay and K looked at each other, then verbally agreed: “No.”
“We packed your gear already, buddy — well, I did ‘cause I have the fashion sense.” As they walked out of the infirmary, Jay handed Nick a bag, ignoring the look he earned from K. “You’ll find enough clothes for a week. Everything else you need will be in the car in New York. They’re already closing airports up north, so you’ll be driving to Canada after you meet Brian. You can clean up then.”
Nick reluctantly took the bag from Jay and followed Red down to the garage. Whistling appreciatively at the flash of leg Red showed as she entered the car, he climbed into the back seat beside her. The car raced off to take them to the airport. After only a few minutes, the quiet became unbearable for Nick. Leaning in towards Red, he touched her leg and whispered in a pouty tone, “Too bad we’re in such a rush; it would have been nice to take a nice, long road trip alone with you.”
Red rolled her eyes and pushed him away. “I wish they’d let you shower before we left. Maybe if they had, I wouldn’t have minded some ‘us’ time.” She smiled, her blue eyes sparkling mischievously at him.
“There’s always the ride home, Jewel.” He smirked back at her. “There’s always the ride home.”
***