▶️ Like a Rolling Stone by Bob Dylan
My first major blink was completely on accident.
Looking back, I'm pretty sure the scientist monitoring me wanted me to blink into the picture of the room that hung invitingly on the cork board, and not the postcard of the Big Ben. But for some reason, that clock captured my attention and wouldn't let go. For some reason, as I approached the corkboard, I focused on that strange structure.
Once I closed my eyelashes over my blue eyes and opened them, I was there. I was in the room, by the big clock. And it wasn't not just huge, it was enormous. The room was bigger than any room I'd ever been in. It was huge.
*
Suddenly, I'm young again, about five years old.
There's a blue ceiling above me that stretches for forever and lots of little buildings. And people, there's so many people around. They talk funny.
I look around, afraid and slightly dizzy. I actually feel quite dizzy.
I sit down on the ground, dazed. Fear starts to rise up in me, I don't like the number of people around me.
Through the hustle and bustle of regular life, no one saw me blink. The people around were too busy, too engaged in their own activities, worried about their own lives, to notice the little girl appear out of midair.
No one saw me blink.
No one, but one.
That's how I met Tom. He was the only one to notice me blink into that crowded plaza. He stalked over to my crying and nearly sick form, and extended a hand. I looked up at the owner of the hand, with slight confusion. I don't know this man. Maybe he's a new scientist. I took it, for some reason, because he reminded me of Papa.
"Papa?" I asked him.
"Bloody hell, I ain't your 'Papa', come on." His eyes darted left and right, he lifted me up dragged me away, and I unsteadily followed, having no understanding of the stranger danger concept.
Thankfully, Tom was nothing like Papa.
Tom was...eccentric to say the least and a total anarchist and conspiracy theorist to say the most. He said that Seven wasn't a real name and I must be an angel sent down from the heavens and if I didn't age that surely must mean I'm an angel. I aged, of course, but the name still stuck. I was behind, language and writing wise, so Tom taught me how to speak and write with eloquence. He taught me the ways of the world, about the system and about the anarchist group he ran with. I became quite the little anarchist because of it. He taught me about Bob Dylan, the king, who he loved, and he'd blast the music all throughout the apartment as we sung along. He taught me how to use my voice as one of my greatest weapons. He taught me not to be afraid of anything. And Tom taught me another thing. He taught me how to steal.
"Blink left, blink right, orient. Blink, orient, blink, orient. It's always important to stay still in your surroundings and scan, observe for a second so you don't cause chaos. It's like super speed but better." He said to me.
"Super...speed?" I asked, shortly after Tom rescued me off the streets.
"Ah, don't worry about it. Soon I'll have you all caught up. What do you want for dinner?" He asks. I looked at him blankly.
"How about some fish and chips?"
I tilt my head.
"You don't know what that is do you?" He sighs.
I shake my head.
"Bloody Americans, can't believe you don't know..." he muttered to himself as he walked around the kitchen of his dingy apartment.
He made me fish and chips that night, I didn't much care for the fish but I loved the chips, or fries as Americans call them.
*
I'm seven years old, like the tattoo inscribed in my wrist.
This is the year Tom ran out of money. The added cost of me living with him was too much, and he was taking so much time off of his minimum wage job to try to educate me, so they laid him off. We got kicked out of the apartment and lived on the streets for awhile, stealing small things. We joined a group of fellow thieves, and ran with them for awhile, but left when they got greedy and tried to use me. That's what Tom said at least.
*
I'm nine.
We pulled off our biggest heist yet. I blinked into the vault of the US Treasury and took some fat stacks of $100 bills before blinking away. We bought a new apartment, and we lived comfortably. Well known, but anonymous. Those were the good times. Those are the good memories, of just me and Tom.
But, remembering these times without exercising enough caution often leads to the bad memories.
And those are the memories I dread.
*
I'm thirteen again.
"I'm going to go get feed the cats." I tell Tom, my backpack slung over my shoulder.
I can practically hear him sigh from the other room. It drives him nuts that I feed the cats, but I've always felt so bad for them, that they have nowhere to go, no place to call home but the cold and lonely streets. "They're just going to die anyways!" He always says. Another favorite is "they're going to end up following you here and we're going to have 500 cats we can't take care of!"
To that second one I always responded: "they can't follow me if they can't see me!" Which made Tom chuckle and shake his head.
"Okay, don't be gone too long and make sure you get something for yourself to eat as well!"
"I will." I walk up to Tom and kiss him on the top of his head.
"Bye, Angel." He reaches backwards and pulls me towards him to kiss my cheek right before I blink.
The first place I stop is my storage unit. I take a metal can of food from the bag, and blink to the location where the cats are. They don't move a muscle when I appear out of thin air, they're used to me. Glowing eyes and twitching whiskers await me as I fill up the little bowls I've laid out for them.
Black cats, white cats, tabby cats, they all rub against my legs and give me meows of gratitude. I crouch down with my arms around my knees and watch them eat.
I spot the little fluffy grey cat I've been befriending, well, she looks grey. I actually suspect that she's white, her fur is just very dingy. She has the prettiest green eyes and purrs a lot. She comes right up to me in her confident fashion and headbutts me, demanding for me to pet her.
"Do you want to come home with me?" I ask her, scratching behind her ears. She rubs against my hand, marking me as hers.
"Tom says he doesn't like cats but I think he'd like you." I smile as another cat brushes up against me. "You'd have all the food in the world, and fresh water, and you could sleep in my bed with me and I could get you a bunch of toys. I could get you the good toys too, because I can have anything I want."
Of course, the cat doesn't respond. She just looks at me intensely with her emerald gaze.
"Look, like these." I take a feathered wand out of my backpack, that I obtained from the pet store and I dangle it in front of the grey cat. She makes a chittering noise and flattens herself to the ground, then after a few moments, wiggles her rump and pounces. I pull the toy out of the way in the nick of time and flick it up, making her leap for it. I giggle as she jumps high into the air, and then lands gracefully. Other cats start to join in, and soon I have too many to play with, they're practically yanking the wand out of my hand.
"Okay that's enough." I put the toy back in my bag.
"See." I address the grey cat. "If you came with me you wouldn't have to fight with them for all the toys."
She licks her paw indifferently and draws it over her ear.
I stay with the cats for awhile, watching them, talking to them. I blink in an out of a nearby convenience store, taking a coke and burger, and some chips. I blink back to the cats and slide down against the side of the brick wall of the alley where they live. I munch and drink, the cats try and come to investigate but I push them away. Even the grey one.
"This is mine." I tell her. "You already had yours!"
The cats start to slowly scatter, off to cause trouble and explore the city I guess. The grey one sticks around as she always does.
We look at each other. "Hmm." I have one chip left. I offer it to her and she takes it gingerly, and eats it, growling at any other cats who come near to investigate. I throw my trash away and return to the alley to find she's still there.
I wonder what would happen if I blinked with her.
I've never blinked with an animal before, I've blinked with Tom and objects, but not an animal. Whiles she's washing her face I scoop her up, she starts to wiggle but in a split second, I'm already gone.
*
I blink right into the middle of the apartment and scream when I realize I'm not the only one there. I drop the cat and it dashes down the hallway, quickly I whip around to look all around the room, my heart beating and count four people. All with guns. They hold them lazily, tapping them against their legs.
"Who are you?" I ask.
I look around for the cat and spot her peeking around the corner of the hallway.
"We heard that you can help us." Says one of the guys, pointing his gun at me, then him.
"We heard that you can break into anywhere." Says a sweeter voice. A woman.
"So here's what we're going to do." I turn to face a voice that just spoke behind me, and the people move in closer. I can't keep track of all of them at once, I whip my head left and right and try to turn around the room but it's impossible.
"You're going to help us, and we're going to let you live? Sounds good?" Asks a high pitched male voice.
"Where's Tom?" My voice trembles.
"Oh, Tom. He's somewhere safe, and if you want to see him again you'll help us." Says the female voice.
I close my eyes for a second and refocus. I look at my surroundings. I see a broken lamp, knocked off the table. I see a picture, fallen from the wall. I see a pool of blood, barely perceptible, coming out from the hallway where the cat is watching the scene unfold. And I see blood on the cat's paws.
They've done something to him.
"LIARS!" I yell. "Where is Tom?"
"Tom is-"
"What did you do to him?" Probably not my smartest move, but I run towards the hallway. For whatever reason, they let me go. The cat runs into the bedroom and into the closet, I notice Tom's legs right as I hear the gunshot. Then I see his torso, and the rest of him. He's face down, limbs splayed as if reaching for something. I'm aware that a bullet is coming towards me, but at that moment I don't really care. I just stare at my beloved Tom, the man who pulled me off the streets and took care of me, taught me everything I know. Blood seeps out of a wound on his head into the carpet. My eyes tear up. I look towards the assailants, the bullet still flying towards my face, and I get a good look at them, as good of a look as I can get. They're in all black, their faces are covered, but the image of the four of them there with one holding a gun right at me will forever be in my mind.
I look at the bullet that is inching through the air at a painfully slow pace.
Why am I not dead?
Why is it going so slow?
Why isn't anyone moving?
If I don't blink, I will die.
My fight or flight kicks in and I fly, not able to completely comprehend the effects of my first time slow. I blink into the closet as the bullet zips into the wall.
"Where did she go?" I hear someone yell. My tears fall silently as I grab the cat, accidentally wrapping my hands around her tail, and as soon as I get a good grip I blink us both to the alley. The cat runs off, hissing, and I sit crying.
It's like the escape from the lab all over again, I'm all alone.
He can't be dead.
Maybe that was someone else.
Maybe if I hadn't left to go to the stupid cats he wouldn't be dead.
Why would someone do this?
I scream through my teeth and bury my head into my knees. One thought is at the front of my mind.
I just want Tom.
I just want Tom.
*
Tom's death turned me vengeful. It turned me angry. It turned me sad, for a period of time at least. I isolated myself, not staying in one place for too long. I couldn't deal with it, I didn't want to trust or build any relationships because I thought that what happened to Tom would happen to them too. But I slowly started to accept his death. I started to accept that it was a freak accident, and slowly I moved on with my life.
Well, kind of.
So that's that, Tom raised me for seven years, I've been wandering for five more, and who knows if I was only in the lab for five years. I've blinked all over the world, I've seen Rome and Paris, the Statue of Liberty and the Parthenon. I speak with a British accent, I know French, and English of course. I've surfed in California and skied in the Alps. I know how to handle people, despite my past years of solitude I'm not completely antisocial.
I'm good at blending in, and I'm comfortable with crowds. I've tried my hand at dating, and settling down and drifted from both. I've stolen from places that I once could only dream of having things from. I'm filthy fucking rich, and I'm known throughout underground rings as 'the ghost', 'the magician,' 'the angel' and I have done so many jobs, I should be able to retire comfortably at thirty.
Yet, no matter how much money I accumulate, how many items I get my hands on, no matter how many beautiful spots I find around the world, I lose interest in them all after awhile. I have no one to share them with anymore, after all. And the ghosts, the ghosts of my past still plague me, asking me 'what ifs' and 'what thens?'
And just to spite me, the world doesn't let me forget it either. No matter how many new things I've done during the day, no matter how tired I am and how many cool places I've seen, I'm always seeing something haunting when I lay down at night. A flash of a cat. Tom. Needles. The lab. Past loves.
And then one day, my past caught up to me in the form of a newscast on the TV. I saw something about this little town called Hawkins, and how there had been mysterious deaths and disappearances. And something drew me there.
Maybe the small town life what what I've been missing all along.
Or so I thought, foolishly.
So, to fuel my desire for truth, love for exploration of the unknown, and the need to escape the ghosts that trail me, I packed up and blinked to the little blip on the map known as Hawkins, Indiana.