Time Watch Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

I look around my confinement room. I’m supposed to be interrogated, right? Then where’s my interrogator? Hopefully something will make sense soon. Breakfast, too. The last time I ate was in Egypt. Has it really been that long? I sigh, and plop down on a dark blue couch.

Crinkle. I stand up and lift a small folded piece of paper.

Under the pink polka-dotted couch is a teleportation device. Password is 312. Is this legit? I glance at the described couch. I’ve got nothing to lose, right? I reach underneath. My hands fold over a small plastic rectangle- It feels like a TV remote. I pull it out. This so-called ‘teleportation device’ is a remote.

Maybe they just reused it. That would make sense. They probably took all the wiring out and replaced it with new stuff. I push the buttons, 3, 1, and 2. Suddenly, the sound of screaming alarms fills the air, and I can hear faint footsteps outside the door. I don’t have much time. Then the teleportation-remote starts floating, and since there’s no way I’m letting go, I do too. It’s not as cool as you’d think. Imagine trying to do chin-ups, and the bar floats up, and you can’t let go. That’s basically what was happening here. I couldn’t try to control the remote- It was above my head. Literally.

“WHAT IS GOING ON IN THERE?” Sparks yells from behind the door.

“AN INTERROGATION,” I scream, swinging my legs wildly to try and reach the ground. It isn’t working.

“OPEN THE DOOR!” Fred somehow manages to yell and sound perfectly calm at the same time.

“I CAN’T! The lock is on YOUR SIDE!”

“We ALREADY unlocked it! It’s-”

“SPARKS,” Fred shouts calmly, “IF SHE DIDN’T BLOCK THE DOOR, THEN DON’T TELL HER WE CAN’T GET IN. We need to show AUTHORITY.”

“WHAT?”

“I SAID that-”

“Oh, NEVER MIND! She’s GETTING AWAY!”

“NO, I’M NOT! PLEASE CONTINUE TALKING!” The remote had started spinning in circles, and me with it, which I took as a good sign. If I have a few more minutes, I might get out of here.

“FOR CRYING ALOUD— GET THAT OTHER ONE!”

“You don’t mean the kid we found last night-”

“YES, I MEAN THAT ONE! AND WHILE YOU’RE AT IT, TURN THOSE BLASTED SIRENS OFF.”

“Okay, okay. On it.” Heavy feet race away from the door.

“DOES THIS MEAN I’M OFF THE HOOK?” I shout as casually as I can while I spin crazily around the room out of control. Good thing I don’t get motion sickness easily.

“NO!”

“Well, sheesh. . .” Then I need to stop talking, just so I don’t puke. Those spinning rides at Six Flags have nothing on this remote, and if this thing doesn’t teleport me soon, I might get a concussion from all the G-force and whiplash. The preschool-crafts are ripped or falling on the floor, and the candy cane couch is on its side.

Soon, the alarms turn off, and someone starts banging on the door aggressively, but it takes everything just to not let go of the teleportation-remote. The banging turns into a weird buzzing, but that might just be my ears ringing. Then door opens, and... and its Elizabeth. Seeing me, her eyes widen, and she tries to back out, but Fred pushes her back into the room and blocks the door. The buzzing I heard must’ve been the chainsaw Sparks is holding, and the doorknob. Elizabeth looks at me, then at the guards. Finally, she looks back at me, shakes her head, and runs, leaping, and grabbing my feet just as everything goes into a colorful blur. I feel her holding tighter as we spin faster, and then the world disappears.

Sketch Chapter 1

*Authors note:* Sketch is about superheroes! There will be mild violence! Enjoy! :)

Sketch

Chapter 1:

Every superpower has a catch. One problem: I can’t catch. Here I am, Katie Rien, Sketch, superheroine to Chicago, handcuffed with a zip tie, and without a pencil. I’m always losing pencils. And pens, crayons, markers, and virtually anything you can draw with. Today I found a pen, drew a belt with a pouch, and stashed supplies inside. Just my luck the pen ran out of ink! Drew, my crime-fighting partner, sits across the room, blindfolded. His real name is Andrew Gillam, AKA the Seeker. Hence the blindfold. He can tell where something is, which is handy for when something is stolen, but honestly, he spends most of the time looking for pens.

I met him after drawing myself getting a new friend in second grade. Sure enough, a new student from St. Louis showed up within a week. I didn’t create him or anything; just put an idea in his head, I guess. He lives on his own, in a little shed in Jackson Park that nobody else can find. Every time I visit, I draw a bridge or whatever to get across the ditch. It’s not very deep, but I’d rather not jump nine feet. Good thing is, nobody else can or even wants to get across. Drew really lives in the basement, though. It’s like our secret hideout. Complete with computers, Wi-Fi, and a “magically” refilling pantry, I practically live there myself.

After Drew showed up in class that first day, I just thought it was coincidence. back when I was six, I made a crayon drawing of getting a puppy.  When I was ten, I drew a comic of our teacher giving everyone easy homework for a week. The list goes on, and when I finally realized I had powers, you can imagine who I told.

Seeker and I don’t use our powers for money. Unfortunately, Colossus does. He’s the only other person I know with powers. His are classic: super-strength. Also, unfortunate, he isn’t dumb. Colossus is smart enough to keep Drew and I apart. Well, sort of apart. We’re in the same room.

This is all my fault. If only I’d packed an extra pen! But I didn’t. Or if I’d caught that Sharpie Seeker threw at me! But I couldn’t. I’m awful at catching. So instead we’re here, wrestling with zip ties in a muscle-man’s study.

Colossus enters the room. A heavy-looking bag he carries jingles as he walks. He squats near me.

“Hey, girl. Draw me a car,” he tosses me a pack of colored pencils and paper. They’d have been useful earlier. He breaks my restraint with a single tug. “No funny business.” I open the package. Better to stall, however.

“A sports car? Or just a getaway car?”

“A truck. Shiny, new, runs perfectly smooth. If it breaks down, I’ll know whose fault it is.” He points to his hand, then Drew. Never mind, then. That’s a threat enough- I start drawing.

“Hurry up already.” I stop drawing and glance up at him.

“Cars are hard.”

“I don’t care. Be done soon, or you’d better hope your boyfriend’s skull is hard.” I ignore the boyfriend part. I don’t really care; but Seeker does.

“I’m not her boyfriend.” He needs to stop talking- “We’re just partners.” Stop, Drew! “So why don’t you just-” I hurriedly finish the truck.

“Can we go now?” I ask quickly, holding the page up.

“With money on his hands?” Andrew I-Don’t-Know-Your-Middle-Name Gillam...!

“Shut up.” For once I agree with Colossus, as his calloused hands lift me. “I’m coming back for you boy. If you do anything, I’ve got your girlfriend.”

I should’ve made the floor cushioned. I’m short enough not to be seen from the window, on the floor. Unfortunately for him, Drew is seen from the window, so he’s forced to ride in the trunk. But the music Colossus listens to is so bad, I envy him.

There are two reasons I’m thankful for the smooth drive. The obvious is that Drew would get punched otherwise.

But also, my hands are untied. And I still have the art supplies. Ten minutes later, Colossus is in prison, and the money is returned.

I drew a phone, gave the police a head up on our location, and they showed up in less than three minutes. It was the usual- The Chief thanking us, but asking us to “please be careful, you’re only kids after all,” some “maybe leave this sort of thing to the adults,” and “enjoy your childhood in peace.”

Then of course they asked who we are, who our parents are, and where we live. Obviously, we don’t want them to know that stuff, so we just bow our heads in mock shame, mumble stuff like ‘we’ll be careful!’ And leave as fast as we can.

“If you want,” Drew offers as we walk, “I can walk you home.”

“No, I can walk by myself.” We were almost at that curb between my house and Jackson Park.

“Are you sure?”

“Um, yes. Why are you so concerned?”

“I-I’m not.” He shifts uncomfortably. “It’s just . . . what if. . .What if something happens? Like, if somebody knew who we are, and tried to, like . . . threaten us.”

“I can take care of myself, you worrywart,” I elbow him. He frowns, and looks at me.

“I-I know that. And don’t call me a worrywart. But what if-”

“Enough with the what-ifs! Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I can’t protect myself.”

“That is not what I’m saying! I-” Drew stiffens, his eyes widening. “Behind us.” He whispers, “on the count of three. One, two,”

“Three.” Heavy hands clasp our shoulders. “You’re coming with me."