The day was heating up, baking me in the humidity. I used the bottom of my shirt to wipe the sweat from my face as the phone rang for the third time.
"Hi, Bash! What's going on?" Emily answered.
"Nothing much. I was talking to Nolan. He said you have plans with Lauren, but I wondered if you two might like to double again instead? We could grab dinner?"
"Sounds great. I'll ask Lauren. I'm not sure if she's making Nolan wait on purpose."
Emily giggled, and I wanted to spend time with her even more. "Can't fault her if she is. Just hit me back."
"Okay. Give me a minute."
We hung up, and Owen chuckled. "So, that girl's mad about your friend knocking her over? Man, I'm glad he wasn't the one who could see me. I'd still be sitting in the house by myself."
"Maybe not." I didn't like him making fun of my friend. Yeah, I did it, but that was different. "Nolan's a good person; he freaked out. We're not used to stuff like that happening, you know?"
"No, it's instinct; you didn't freak out."
"That's not fair. You talked to me, and I knew you only wanted us to leave. Nolan thought we were being attacked."
The ringing of my phone stopped Owen's reply. "Hey, Emily," I said.
"Lauren wants to double. When do you guys want to go?"
Part of me wished they wouldn't change their plans. If blocking didn't work, I'd rather not be with Emily while Owen was stuck hearing my thoughts and watching everything.
"I have some stuff to do today. Would dinner at eight be alright?"
"Sure. I'll have Lauren come over so you can pick us up here."
"Cool. See you then." I ended the call and texted Nolan.
Me: We're picking them up from Emily's at 8.
His response was instant.
Nolan: Excellent.
Owen hummed. "This texting thing is convenient. No time wasted on pleasantries."
"I guess. Alright, we have to practice ignoring each other. I don't want you paying attention while Emily's around."
"Knives first. Show me what you've got."
"Fine." I walked toward the tree, stopping about ten feet away. Shifting a knife to my throwing hand, I studied my grip. "Hold it like this," I said, and Owen made a noise of agreement. Drawing my arm behind me, I aimed for the trunk and let it fly. It bounced off the bark, well over head height.
"You released too soon. Aim for chest level."
I tried again. The knifepoint hit but didn't stick; it fell to the dirt.
"You need more power. Twist your body back with your arm and forward with the throw. Don't plant your feet; take a step with the release."
I practiced the action twice before I twisted, took a step, and threw. For a second, the blade stuck, but it was still high.
"You're releasing too early. Put more muscle behind it. Don't be afraid of the knife."
I scoffed. "I'm not afraid. This is new to me, and now I'm learning when I'm already tired and sore."
"True. Let's try a few more throws; you've almost got it. Tomorrow you can practice before me."
My arms tingled as I stretched my burning muscles. Maybe I was holding back. I resolved to put as much power as possible into the next throw. With a deep inhale, I twisted around and threw as hard as I could. When the knife hit, half the blade buried itself in the ground in front of my boot. My stomach flipped, and I straightened.
"Nice muscle," Owen said, "but the release was late. You were holding it too tight."
"I almost stabbed myself in the foot!"
"You can't let the power behind the throw change your grip."
"I could've cut my foot off." I drew out the words deliberately, unappreciative of Owen's casual response.
"Yep. Bet you won't squeeze the handle anymore. Try again."
If he weren't inside me, I'd have punched him. I grumbled, but tried again, and this time, it stuck through the bark at eye level. I pumped my fist in the air. "Yes!"
"That's better, but still too high."
My mouth fell open. "I know that, but it stayed in the damn tree! Not the dirt or my foot. That's an improvement!"
"Good. Keep trying. Chest height is the target."
I sighed. "Not into celebrating the little things, huh?"
Owen didn't answer, so I kept practicing. In the next thirty minutes, I got the knife to stick more often than not, but only six of those hit at heart level.
Finally, Owen said, "That's enough; let's switch. I'll show you how to clean them. I've thought of a way we can train and work on blocking each other, too."
"Great." My sore shoulders sagged, and I hoped the next bit of training would be easier on my arms.
"Go to the house. We need stuff from the basement for the knives."
I carefully descended the steps and lowered myself to the sagging couch so we could switch places. Owen took over in under a minute.
"That was quick," I said in my head.
"Not fast enough. We'll keep working on it." Owen stood, strode to his weapons trunk, and rummaged through, pulling out rags and oil. While he sat at the desk preparing to clean the blades, he described his practice plan.
I exhaled. "So essentially, you're gonna think about stuff to scare me, and I'm supposed to block it out?"
"It'll get you used to the idea of fighting them. You need to understand what we're up against. I can't have you pulling a Nolan when you find out what they're capable of."
"Fine, but how will me blocking you help tonight? I don't want you hearing everything that pops in my brain when I'm with Emily."
"I bet you don't." He chuckled. "We'll try again when you're running things, but it seems like the same idea. If you can protect yourself from my thoughts, then maybe you can protect your thoughts from me."
I watched Owen clean his blades. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Alright, show me some mimics."
***
My foot splashed through a puddle as the fresh scent of recent rain filled the air. I was too tense to enjoy the smell the way I usually did—I hardly even noticed it or the sopping wet sock squishing inside my boot. The night was eerie, with only the occasional street lamp and the faint glow of nightlights in children's rooms lighting my path as I trudged alone on the empty sidewalk.
This wasn't their typical hunting ground, but none of this mimic's patterns were conventional. It was a ten-year feeding time. They always limited themselves to one heart each before moving on, but this mimic had already slain two women.
Killing them and disposing of their bodies in easy-to-find spots wasn't smart. Neither was parading around with the victims on the nights he murdered them. Hunters weren't the only ones searching for this guy. The police had a sketch of him they showed everyone they encountered, seeking him by name—Milo Phillips. If some unfortunate cop found him, there'd be another body added to his total.
I listened to the facts of the case as they ran through Owen's mind in this memory. Fear tingled at the base of my neck, but instead of urging me to run, it steadied my pace and helped me concentrate. Tightening my grasp on the knife handle, I took a steadying breath and strained my ears for any noise.
Adrenaline pumped through my veins, and I reminded myself I wasn't training in reality; this was something Owen faced years ago. This was only practice.
A sound echoing between two of the buildings drew my attention. A broken street lamp cast the area in utter darkness—perfect conditions for hiding or feasting on some poor person's heart. After darting across the road, I listened with my back against the rough bricks, for any clue about how many people or mimics were there.
Heavy panting preceded a woman's whimper. I sprinted down the alley, concealed by shadow, skidding to a stop as my vision adapted to the low light. An entwined couple leaned against the opposite wall. I felt Owen's cheeks burn as he realized this wasn't a feeding he was about to interrupt.
Owen started to withdraw, thankful they hadn't noticed the boy with the weapon sneaking up on them. But then the guy shifted. He was kissing the girl's neck, but recognition shot through me. Owen knew that profile.
"Stop, Milo." Owen's jaw clenched as he worked to hold his voice steady.
The mimic turned, and the woman gasped when her eyes landed on Owen's knife. She stepped farther behind Milo as though he'd defend her.
Milo grinned. "Well, aren't you the cutest little hunter I've ever seen?"
I felt Owen smirk. "Yeah, I'm adorable." He glanced at the lady, telling her, "You should go."
"Milo, do you know this boy?" she asked.
"Not personally, no. But I bet he has a good heart." Milo laughed maniacally at his own bad joke.
His unfortunate date gawked at him and inched away, mumbling, "I'll just scoot on home."
Milo covered her mouth with his palm and slammed her into the wall, pinning her in place. Huffing, he glared at Owen. "Now you've gone and ruined my fun."
"Fun?" Owen's voice cracked. "Don't you mean dinner?"
The lady struggled against Milo's hold, and he shrugged. "I like playing with my food."
At his words, she fought harder, but her efforts were nothing against a mimic's strength. Without moving his attention from Owen, Milo knocked her skull into the bricks. She became limp, and the mimic let her slump to the pavement.
He smiled as Owen's gaze lowered to the girl; blood blossomed in her fair hair. "Don't worry; she's not dead. I prefer the heart pumping when I eat. Of course, now that you've shown up, I'll be stuffed." Milo patted his flat stomach and studied the woman. "Maybe I'll take her home, have fun with her later. She was entertaining before she became irritating."
Owen's pulse thudded as he waved the man forward. "Well, come on. You want to play? Let's play."
"Big words, little hunter." Milo held his hands up, ready to fight, and I had my first look at a mimic's claws—razor-sharp and at least four inches long.
The monster leaped forward. Owen spun out of the way, slicing his blade into Milo's torso. Milo winced and touched his ribs, glancing at the blood smeared on his palm. "You got me. Good for you, but playtime is over."
Lightning fast, Milo swung at Owen, a claw cutting through his shoulder. With a hiss of pain, Owen tightened his grip on his weapon. When the mimic lunged again, Owen ducked to the side, reaching his arm out and stabbing Milo in the back as he sailed past. Twisting around, Owen sank to the street on top of Milo, ramming the blade deeper with his body weight.
The mimic grunted, twitched, and stopped moving. With Owen on his back, Milo withered, shrinking until his polyester suit was loose and his greasy hair fell out in clumps. He continued to disintegrate until only a skeleton remained, and that crumbled to dust and bone fragments hidden under the slippery material of his clothes.
Owen sat up and pulled his knife from the pile of fabric. It had only taken a few disgusting seconds for the body to disappear. Sliding the blade into the leather sheath at his waist, he stood and walked over to the lady.
Grateful relief filled Owen when he saw Milo hadn't lied; she was alive. He dusted his hands off and checked them for blood before bending to lift her. Straining, he carried the thin woman toward the main road. He peeked around the corner, finding the street still deserted.
One of the homes had a light on upstairs. He jogged to it, sat her down on the front stoop, and knocked. When he heard someone coming, he rushed out of sight.
The door opened, revealing a gray haired man in pajamas. He spotted the injured lady lying there and called over his shoulder. A woman in curlers and a thick pink robe appeared behind him, covering her mouth and staring wide-eyed at Milo's victim. The man sent her to call for help and squatted beside the bleeding woman telling her she'd be alright. Satisfied they'd take care of her, Owen turned away to collect Milo's remains and get out of town.
The chair squeaked as Owen sat back, and the desk came into view. We were in the basement. It was only a memory.
"That was crazy. I could feel everything you felt, your emotions, all of it. Milo was so fast! And you, your hands, and your voice. How old were you?" I asked.
"That was my first solo hunt; I was thirteen."
"Thirteen! What the hell was wrong with your parents?"
"Hey! Mellow out. They were great, and I was trained and ready. You saw that."
"Yeah, they trained you. But can a kid really be ready for that?"
"I was."
Feeling Owen tense up, I knew he wouldn't want to talk about it, so I let it go. "I didn't do so well blocking you out. Actually, I wasn't really trying. I was too busy watching."
"That's alright. I wanted you to see a hunt. I'll go through it again, and you can work on protecting your mind."
"Okay, go ahead."
I paced through darkness down an empty sidewalk...
***
I'd attempted to shield myself from the memory at first, but then got caught up in everything. It was hard to concentrate on blocking when my heart sped up in response to the emotions Owen remembered so clearly.
"How'd it go?" Owen asked as he leaned back in the chair and scrubbed my palms over my face.
"I tried, but then I got pulled into what was happening again."
"It's too bad we can't start with something boring, but if I remember brushing my teeth, I assume it won't work. It seems like it has to be a memory with powerful emotions behind it."
"That's what I was thinking, too. This'll work; I just need to focus."
"Great. Ready?"
"No, wait! What happened to Milo? Do they disintegrate when they die?"
"Pretty much. Dust, clothes, and some bones."
I cringed at the indifferent way he talked about their remains, like it was just another day on the job. "What do you do with them? You can't leave it, can you?"
"Nah. We take it with us, dig a hole, burn all of it, and bury it."
"What if someone sees you before you get rid of it? How do you explain that?"
"I strongly suggest not being seen."
I sighed. "Right, I should've thought of that. Okay, let's try again. This time, I'll block you."
It took almost an hour and Owen going through the same hunt repeatedly, but finally, when he yelled my name and asked how it went, I said, "There was nothing after you found them in the alley! Did you go through the whole thing?"
"I did. What did you do differently?"
"If a powerful memory can break through to both of us, I thought maybe that's what can stop it too. So, I tried to focus on... something I feel... strongly about." My voice trailed off, and Owen laughed.
"Just say you were thinking about Emily."
"You saw that?"
"No, but it doesn't take a genius to guess."
"Whatever. You don't know. I could've had baseball on my mind."
"Do you play baseball?"
"No." I huffed.
Owen chuckled again.
"Shut up."
"Fine. Moving on." Owen collected the cleaning supplies and tucked them away in the trunk. "If that works, I have plenty of things to keep me distracted when you're on your date."
"Okay, good. What time is it?"
"I don't have a clock down here."
"Look at my phone."
"Oh." He pulled it out, and even though we could both see it, he said, "It's a few minutes after five."
"We have to switch before we leave here, and I have to get cleaned up by 7:30."
"How long can that take? We can still practice."
"Fine. But we have to be gone by 6:30. That'll give me half an hour by the time we get to my house."
Owen settled back in the desk chair, crossing my legs. "Okay, let's do this."
"Wait!"
"Man, we'll have enough time for your hair."
"Hilarious. I was wondering, why don't you shoot the mimics? Wouldn't that be easier?"
"It'd be an easy way to piss them off. Iron is too hard and brittle for bullets, and regular ammunition won't kill them unless you hit them in the heart. Plus, shooting draws unnecessary attention if you're near a public space."
"That would've been so much easier." I should've known they'd have already tried it. "I noticed they don't bleed like people after you stab the heart."
"If you hit the heart, they dry up too fast to bleed, but if you miss or cut them, they bleed until their quick healing begins. That's another reason not to use a gun. If you miss your target, blood could spatter everywhere and leave too much evidence behind."
Owen tilted my head and shrugged. "Ready?"
"Yeah, go ahead."
We spent the rest of practice swapping back and forth and trying not to see each other's thoughts. By the end, we had our switching time down to less than thirty seconds. Of course, Owen still said that was too slow.
Protecting our thoughts went well. I had to work at it, but Owen was doing it consistently. I hoped he'd be as good at blocking life as he was memories.
"I'll be on a date with another dude in my brain. This is nuts. Can you try to tune out the whole night?" I asked.
"Believe it or not, I don't want to be on your date any more than you want me there. Emily's cute and all, but I'm not that voyeuristic."
"Great. Can we leave yet?"
Owen checked. "It's 6:20; that's close enough. Let's switch and go anywhere that isn't here."
I agreed, but Owen's words made me reconsider what I'd asked him to do. He'd been stuck here for fifty years, and I expected him to miss most of his first night away. That was kinda messed up.
We switched in about fifteen seconds, and even Owen had to be happy with our progress. "That's a big improvement from this morning, and it's only our first day. Maybe, with practice, we can get it under a few seconds without sitting. That'd be useful in case an unexpected mimic pops up."
I stood to stretch. "We'll work on it. Listen, dude, I know it's been a while since you've been out. You don't have to block everything tonight. I mean, I want you to get to see the town and stuff."
Owen was quiet for a minute, and the emotion in his voice surprised me when he answered, "Thanks. That would be nice."
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