Chapter 7
549 Parole
Chapter Seven
A date with Nero.
The idea is more intoxicating than the divine wine.
I must find out; else I will lose my mind. Fortunately, there might be a way—apart from simply asking.
Relaxing into my chair, I let my eyes focus on the traffic outside the restaurant as I try to get into Headspace.
To my huge relief, it works right away.
As I find myself floating in Headspace, I feel silly.
Is this really the best use of my powers—to figure out why my boss took me out?
I could, for example, use the seer-juice for something more useful—like another Russian lesson.
But no. I have to know what Nero’s intentions are.
I focus on the default shapes—those typically show me the immediate future.
Wait a second.
The surrounding shapes are playing music that’s a lot more frightening than I’d expect from a vision of a date.
In fact, they seem like they will show me something deadly.
My ethereal wisp metaphysically trembling, I touch the scariest of the shapes and prepare for a vision.
“And what can I get you?” The waiter smiles, but it doesn’t touch his eyes.
A wave of anxiety spreads through me.
A police car passes by the restaurant, and I half expect the cops to pull up to the door and arrest me for some unknown reason.
But no.
They turn the corner and disappear.
I pick up my menu.
Am I worried about food poisoning? This place does specialize in raw delicacies like oysters and caviar—but at these prices, I figure they use the freshest ingredients in the world.
A large black van slowly rolls down the street outside.
As soon as I see it, I realize that is the source of my malaise.
“Is everything all right?” Nero asks. He must’ve noticed all the blood leaving my face.
Before I can reply, the windows of the van slide down.
I glimpse a killer clown mask before a large gloved hand pulls out a machine gun from the window.
I scream.
Everyone in the restaurant looks at me with a mixture of annoyance and concern.
With a deafening rat-a-tat-tat, bullets hit the glass window, shattering it into tiny shards.
My shoulder feels like it’s been torn away, and the leftover stump cauterized with hot iron.
I’ve been shot.
The spray of bullets hits the screaming and scattering people around us.
Face twisted with fear, Nero leaps across the table, grabbing me in a tight embrace and covering me with his body as we fall.
My breath vacates my lungs as we hit the floor, but I’m glad to be down because I feel like I’m about to faint from the agony in my shoulder.
On top of me, Nero jolts, as if struck by a bullet. However, there’s no pain on his face, just fury of frightening intensity.
Whoever these shooters are, they would be crazy not to finish him off. If he lives, he’ll make them regret being born.
More gunfire. It sounds like either the ice sculptures or people’s heads are exploding around us, and Nero’s body jerks again and again.
The tiny corner of my brain that’s not screaming in terror keeps repeating one thought over and over: Nero is taking bullets for me.
The machine gun goes off again.
Nero tenses, and my ribs shatter with apocalyptic pain.
A bullet must’ve gone through him and into my chest.
Blood fills my lungs and bubbles up my throat as my heart stops beating.
- Scrittore
