Last Command of the Witheld Arc 1: Rebirth

BERNOUSE, NEW HAMPSHIRE, TODAY

When Griffin dashed out of the house—for the third time (this time because he’d forgotten his phone and Sarah’s purse the first time and his phone the second time when he’d remembered that he wanted to grab a Dr. Pepper on the way out)—Sarah was in the driver seat with the A/C cranked up all the way. Griffin was struck by just how beautiful she was, even as she rolled her eyes at him and put her phone down.

The weather had gone a little weird right as they were heading out. Thick, heavy clouds had rolled in and the heat seemed to intensify rather than dissipate as the weather turned. The wind had begun picking up and a few leaves and twigs fell from the trees and scattered across the ground. Griffin eyed the sky curiously as he rode in the passenger seat, then looked back over at Sarah.

Sarah was shorter than him, though not by much. She’d been a gymnast in college—had competed in country-wide competitions but a knee injury from a bad landing on the uneven bars had ended that dream—and she still worked out way more than Griffin thought any human being should. She had colored her shoulder-length hair blue this week and was wearing a white tank top with a Blade Omen 2 logo on it. It was her favorite game up until Blade Omen 3 was released. She pushed her glasses up on her nose and bugged her big green eyes out at him comically.

“Forget anything else?” she asked.

“No. I mean, probably,” Griffin admitted, “but I’m not going back in to get whatever it is. Two hours late isn’t too late for dinner, is it?”

“If my stomach is any indication, maybe you should call. And if she’s cool with it, we can just bring some Chinese from the Golden Dragon on the way. Oh, and make sure she doesn’t need anything from the store—this weather is looking gross.”

He nodded and fished his phone out of his pocket, quickly calling his mom. She never checked her phone for texts and half the time she forgot that she’d turned off the ringer but if the phone was nearby and on, then there was a better than even chance that his mom would answer. He was not surprised, therefore, when the phone rang and rang. “It’s just ringing.”

“I thought you helped her set up a voicemail message last time we went over there?”

“No, we never got around to it… I had to set up about a million other things on her phone first, then she went on that six-month sabbatical. I’ll do it tonight.”

Sarah rolled her eyes, “Sure thing, Cap’n Forgetful,” she pulled out of the little parking space and they took off into the evening. “Call ahead to Golden Dragon and put in the normal order. We’ll snag it and bring it to your mom’s house and then blow her mind and get back in time for—”

“Come on, Sarah,” Griffin interrupted, “I know you didn’t want to do this in the first place, but this is important to me.”

“You came home an hour late and took a forty-five-minute shower.”

“I couldn’t go to dinner to tell Mom we’re getting married smelling like a battlefield!”

Sarah rolled her eyes, “My point is that if it were all that important, you’d have made sure to be on time.”

Griffin didn’t have an answer to that. He dialed the Golden Dragon and placed their order instead. They rode in silence for a while, heading back downtown to pick up their dinner. The quiet stretched for a long time, though it never grew awkward. Griffin liked that about their relationship—the quiet times never felt like they had to be filled with meaningless chatter. They turned onto Main Street and saw the distinctive yellow neon dragon of the Chinese restaurant from three blocks away.

The Golden Dragon was one of four stores in a little strip along Main Street. It didn’t quite fit in with the rustic New England aesthetic that the rest of the stores in the little strip tried to strive for. Huge, hand-painted Chinese dragons writhed sinuously on the large storefront windows with “金龍餐廳” painted in elaborately calligraphic style in the middle of the biggest window (the words “Golden Dragon Restaurant” were written in English in smaller letters below it). Paper lanterns hung from the overhang, and there was another dragon—this one made of papier-mâché and six feet long, complete with snakelike body, whiskers, and clawed feet—hanging among the lanterns like it was flying through them. Griffin liked any place that stuck to a theme this hard. Their General Tso’s chicken was pretty good, too.

As they approached the Golden Dragon, Sarah suddenly gasped and said, “Holy shit!”

Griffin looked over, startled at her sudden exclamation. There it was, still: the futuristic car. “Oh my god!” he said, “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you about this earlier, but I saw this same car here earlier today!”

Sarah pulled into the parking spot next to the future car and gave Griffin a flat look. “You can’t believe you forgot?”

Griffin rolled his eyes and unbuckled his seat belt. “I wonder who owns it… and they must love them some Chinese food. The last time I saw it was when I was driving home from practice.” He got out of the car, surprised when Sarah also got out of the car. She was circling the thing, taking pictures of it with her phone.

“Here, get my picture next to this thing,” she said, posing next to the car as she tossed her phone at Griffin.

“Augh!” Griffin barely caught the phone before it shattered on the pavement—the throw had taken him completely by surprise—and glared at her as she tried different smiles out.

“Come on!” She said, irritated. “Hurry up and get the pics. These are gonna make my Insta account go nuts, and we can use the bump on the stream. Besides, you don’t want dinner to get cold, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, fumbling with the phone, “you just surprised me, that’s all.” Sarah had to manage quite a few social media accounts to maintain and grow her audience. Considering that her stream pulled in more than half again what he made as a software support tech, he didn’t mind taking a few pictures of her standing in front of a car that looked to be a cross between a work of modern art and a spaceship.

“Make sure you get a picture of whoever you think it is inside that owns the car,” Sarah said, skipping over to him to take a look at the pictures he’d taken. She flipped through them quickly, making sure they looked good. “It’s looking pretty empty for prime-time dinner rush so it should be pretty easy. I can’t believe that whoever owns that car won’t stick out just as much.”

“Sure,” he said. “Be right back!”

He walked quickly along the little sidewalk, squinting at the sudden hot wind that was whipping up from the gathering storm. He hurriedly opened the glass door, not wanting to get caught in a downpour. The little brass bells on the door frame made a surprisingly melodic chime as he entered, the delicious smell of hot Chinese food hitting him like a warm hug.

The interior of the Golden Dragon was tiny but cozy. More paper lanterns with Chinese characters painted in calligraphy hung from the ceiling giving the eight tables arranged in the little dining room low mood light. There was a small counter right in front of the door with a register and direct access to the kitchen via an open doorway behind the counter. All of the tables save one were empty and the man sitting at the sole table looked up at Griffin when he entered.

The man sitting at the table was a large man, probably six and a half feet tall. He had dark brown skin, angular features, prominent cheekbones, and a strong jawline. His hair was black and shot through with grey, and it had been cut close to his head. He had a very stern expression, and his grey eyes were hard and judgmental. The man held Griffin’s eyes for just a moment, something in his gaze utterly compelling. Griffin couldn’t have looked away if he tried. It lasted what seemed like hours, but suddenly, the man’s eyes shifted away from his and down to something in his hand. Almost automatically, Griffin raised his hand, holding Sarah’s phone, and snapped a quick photo. Sarah would kill him if he didn’t get a picture.

Griffin blinked. That was weird. He’d only been able to concentrate on the man’s face when he’d looked up at him like that; he hadn’t even registered what the rest of him looked like, save that he was big. Once the man’s eyes released him, he could take in the rest of him. He was dressed in a dark charcoal suit with a pristine white button-up shirt, and he was holding a newspaper in front of his face in one hand and, with the other, was filling in a crossword puzzle. It felt…strange to see this guy working on a crossword puzzle, though Griffin couldn’t explain it. It felt a little too prosaic for this guy.

Clearing his throat, Griffin tried to cover his momentary lapse by walking up to the little counter and dinged the little silver bell. The cashier never came out unless you rang the bell here, but they always came out quickly when you did. No one approached the counter, though. Griffin glanced over at the man in the suit.

He was looking right at him, those grey eyes arresting him again. Abruptly, the man folded his newspaper with a look of disgust, stood up, and tossed it to the table. He briskly walked out of the restaurant, not looking back.

“—ir? Sir? Hey! What was your order?” Griffin snapped back to the counter. The guy behind the counter looked slightly exasperated, like he’d had to repeat himself more than once. Griffin shook his head, suddenly not sure what the hell had just happened.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, still trying to process the experience. It felt like a dream. “I called in like ten minutes ago. It should be under Tucker, Griffin Tucker.” He said that last bit in a damn good Sean Connery impression (if he did say so himself). The guy behind the counter obligingly smiled but rolled his eyes as he turned around and looked at the orders lined up from the kitchen.

Griffin paid for their meal, still not sure what had happened. He grabbed some extra fortune cookies and put them in his pocket, knowing Sarah would want the extra fortunes. He had the impression that he’d walked into the restaurant and seen…someone. Someone weird or important. The guy who owned the car! Yeah, that was it. Huh, you’d think he’d remember someone like that. All he could remember about the guy was an impression of a suit.

When he returned to the car, still trying to muddle through it, he saw that the impossible car was gone. The weird feeling in his head lessened as he felt logic assert itself. Yeah. It was the guy who owned the car. Too bad he held that newspaper up in front of him the whole time. Sarah would be disappointed that he didn’t get a picture.

He glanced down at the phone he still held in his hand. Why did he take a selfie? He deleted the picture and got into the car, putting the Chinese food on the floor at his feet. “Did you see that guy?” Sarah asked.

“What guy?” Griffin said, buckling himself in.

Sarah stared at him incredulously, “He walked out like a minute before you did! What, did you not see him or something? He was this big, older-looking guy in a ten-thousand-dollar suit! He looked… I don’t know, pissed off? Were they out of crab rangoon or something? Anyway, he got into that crazy future car and sped off. You missed it by like two seconds!”

“Damn,” Griffin said, handing her his phone, “I tried to get a picture of him in the Dragon, but he had a newspaper in front of him the whole time. I had no idea what he looked like, and by the time I paid for dinner, he was gone.”

“A newspaper?” Sarah asked incredulously, “Like a print newspaper? Where did he get one?”

Griffin shrugged, “I dunno, where do they sell them anymore? Gas stations? Libraries?” Griffin paused, thinking, “No, a library would want to hoard newspapers. They’d be opposed to the very idea of selling… so what faction would be in favor?”

“Earth to Griffin…” Sarah waved a hand in front of his face. Hey, we've got places to be and moms to tell the news to. I need you here, not thinking up some other story, okay?”

Griffin nodded, trailing off. It was worth writing down, anyway. Maybe it’d be a good villain in a one-shot—the Librarian, keeper of the News while all the other factions of the world tried to pry free the truth. It had some potential, anyway. They pulled out of the Golden Dragon's parking lot and onto the road again.

“You sure you still want to?” Griffin asked, suddenly serious.

“Want to what?” Sarah asked.

Griffin nervously cleared his throat, “Y’know, get married?”

“Nope,” Sarah said immediately, “I do not want to marry you at all. I don’t love you; you’re not my best friend, and I’m kicking you out of the house.”

“Ha.”

“Ha, yourself. I’m serious!” Sarah smacked him lightly on the arm, “At least, I will be if you ask me that again. I swear, you make a girl wonder what dirty secrets you’re hiding when you ask like that.”

“Sorry.”

“I love you, Griffin. Stop trying to get out of it.”

Griffin smiled, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Damn right,” Sarah replied.

They rode in silence for a few minutes, just enjoying the New Hampshire summer air as they turned onto the highway. It was just a quick forty-five-minute drive out to Griffin’s mom, Reese’s, house up on Belknap Mountain near the southern side of Lake Winnipesaukee. She lived in a charming little cabin on the other side of the mountain from the ski resort. Griffin turned on some music on the radio, closing his eyes as he enjoyed the ride. In just a few minutes—as usual—he was snoring gently, the motion of the car having put him to sleep almost immediately.

Sarah rolled her eyes and turned up the music. Griffin wouldn’t wake up until they pulled into his mom’s gravel driveway. It was going to be a long drive.