Mind Over Easy

Mind Over Easy

By Bryan Cohen

Ted Saves the World Series

Book 2

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PART ONE

Chapter 1

A man wearing sunglasses and a bulky coat that hid his build walked through the abandoned parking lot at Page's Diner attempting to sense any power Ted Finley may have left behind. He was a stranger to Treasure, though he'd forced himself to become more integrated after he saw the news reports of Ted's heroic exploits. Most of the glass had been cleared from the lot after the neighborhood chipped in to cut down on cleanup costs for the diner's owner, Debra Page. A few shards glistened in the bushes as the man looked up at the broken building. His mind turned to his childhood home, which had been similarly ravaged the last time he'd seen it. The pit in his stomach ached as he opened the half-cracked front door. A hint of power was left in the room, as a fire might leave a burnt carbon aroma.

"It's not here anymore. But it was."

Aside from the broken windows, the diner looked like it could have been ready to open the next morning. The stranger understood why when the realtor walked in.

"Hello?" The woman sported a big smile on her face, as if she could sense a hefty commission. "I saw you walk in. Are you interested in hearing about the building?"

The man rested his hands against the wall and felt something seep into his body. For him, it was like the odor of a cigarette to a former smoker a few months after quitting. His mouth watered.

"I'm very interested," he said. "What happened here?"

The woman's face brightened as she went into salesman mode. After introducing herself, she began to speak with pride.

"Local hero – no, national hero – Ted Finley saved over a dozen patrons from a gang of thugs here not three months ago. If it weren't for him, this would be a spot of tragedy, but he made it a triumph."

"It looks a little tragic." He kicked a piece of glass from under one of the booths toward the wall. It ricocheted against a blue piece of tile, making a pinging sound before it caromed to the woman's feet. "I'd heard something about classic literature on the walls. Are those books still here?"

The woman carefully picked up the glass and placed it in a wastebasket. "The former owner actually donated those books to the local library. They were put into a special collection."

As he walked over to the woman, she straightened her spine. The corners of his mouth turned upward.

"Thank you." The man laid a hand on her shoulder. "I was never here – and you can't see me now."

The realtor flinched and put her hand up to her forehead. A few seconds later, she recovered and began tidying the diner up for her first appointment of the day. When she looked in the stranger's direction, her eyes moved through him as if he were transparent. The stranger placed his hand against the wall once again as he walked toward the exit.

Like many buildings on the upscale side of town, the Treasure Library was new and its residents did all they could to keep it looking that way. The man passed a team of sidewalk power-washers when he entered. The fresh smell of air conditioners and Lysol covered up any evidence that there were books inside. The stranger would have taken the musty odor of old paper any day.

It only took a few minutes for him to find the right librarian.

"How may I help you, sir?" The woman didn't look up from her computer.

"I'd like to see the special stacks."

"Do you have a library card?"

When the stranger said he didn't and wasn't a town resident, the librarian pointed to a placard displaying the policy for viewing the special stacks. He could accompany a town resident with a library card, but the man had no desire to bring anybody else into this situation. At least, not yet.

"Would you mind letting a fellow book-lover see a few first-edition classics? I've been tracking these down for weeks."

His explanation was a half-truth. Seeing the original print of Moby Dick mattered less to him than what might lie between the lines. The librarian's monotone seemed pulled straight from a computerized voicemail system.

"We appreciate your commitment to the arts, but a policy is a policy."

The stranger rubbed the back of his head. "It was worth a shot to do it the old-fashioned way. I figured a little charm never hurt."

"What do you mean the old-fashioned way?"

The stranger reached toward the librarian and spoke as if he were chanting. "Take me to the special stacks. Nonchalantly, if you please."

The librarian closed her eyes for a second before standing up and grabbing the key beside her. "Right this way."

She was no perkier than before.

The stranger smirked. "I would have told you to be bright and excited to talk to me, but I didn't want you to hurt yourself."

The librarian didn't respond as they passed through several doors on the way to the stacks. While many of the rooms were visible through glass walls, the hand-carved door to the stacks was opaque and heavy. The stranger wondered if it was one of the building's original doors, before the suburbanites decided that modern was beautiful. The librarian opened the door and led the man in before locking them inside.

The smell of crumbling paper and stitched covers sat in the room like a cloud. He felt like he'd left a world made of plastic to enter a truer reality.

Beyond his five senses, he felt a powerful force drawing him closer. If Page's was the smoke, this room was a blazing fire. 

He tried to sense the source with his eyes. "I need to see the books from Page's." 

With every step the librarian took, the man felt a stronger pulse of energy. She laid a few books on top of a table, and the stranger swore he could hear a faint hum emanating from them. One in particular began to call to him without words, and he touched it.

A flash of blue electricity shot through the room, the lights dimmed and the stranger flew backwards into the wall. The man squinted to cope with the pain and pulled himself back up. He rubbed the spot on his shoulder where he'd made an impact.

"I think it's fair to say that wasn't the right one."

The librarian remained stoic beside the table as the man chuckled to himself.

"Thanks for your concern."

This time, he concentrated more carefully on the book he should choose. When it became clear that a first edition of the book
Of Mice and Men
was the right fit, he opened it to the first page and put his finger on the text. His body vibrated with the first wave of energy.

The librarian folded her arms. "You know, you shouldn't put your fingers all over it."

The stranger's eyes widened and focused on the woman. "Let me guess: you hate people and love books? But what if you thought I was the love of your life?"

He didn't need to point in her direction anymore. The book amplified his power enough that a simple glance did the trick. The librarian's features softened as she looked at the man in a new light. Her eyes brightened and she grew twice as lively as before.

"Who's a good boy?" The woman bent at the knees and began to clap at the stranger. "Who's a good boy? Oh, Hitchcock. Come on over here and give mommy some kisses."

The stranger held back his laughter. "Funny, I would've pegged you as a cat person." 

"You are just such a good boy." She was about to tousle the man's hair before he stopped her with his mind.

"Why don't you take some vacation days with good old Hitchcock?"

The librarian's previous demeanor returned. She nodded and left the stranger in silence. The man flipped through the first few pages of the book and felt his mental powers increase with every passing second.

"While you play, it's time for me to get to work."

Chapter 2

Erica LaPlante sipped her coffee as she watched the living soul, Ted Finley, attempt to arrange a series of objects five feet off the ground in the form of a word. She gave him the option of using anything in the lair, as long as none of the items he chose were the same weight as one another. Ted had finished the E and the R of her name when she started to take in their surroundings.

She didn't believe Dhiraj at first when he said he'd cobbled together the funds for a secret hideout. A small staircase beneath a closed-down bakery led to a massive space that must have connected the basements of almost every storefront on the entire underdeveloped block. The subcontractors had outfitted the formerly abandoned space with the latest technology: 50-inch touchscreen monitors, holographic simulators and even a state-of-the-art fitness center. Erica remembered the good old days, when she could train the living soul in a barn, a forest or a factory. She appreciated the new equipment, and the top-of-the-line coffee maker was serving her well at the moment, but there was nothing like getting your hands dirty. She wasn't sure if that was possible in the pristine environment they found themselves in.

A five-pound weight from the letter I tumbled to the ground, and Erica noticed the rest of the word start to falter.

"Concentrate." Erica took another drink, the warm beverage tickling her throat on the way down. "Just because one thing falls, doesn't mean the other ones have to."

Ted sneered at Erica before turning his attention back to the word. His gym shirt was covered in sweat, the result of a two-mile jog at 4 a.m. followed by hand-to-hand combat training. Erica liked to do the mental work last, because a living soul needed to be prepared for the most difficult of circumstances. She'd seen multiple living souls fall prey to a failed effort to use their powers when they were exhausted. She'd also seen one die because of his inability to balance physical and mental energy.

She didn't enjoy thinking back on that moment. After all, she was the one who'd had to kill him.

"That looks good."

Erica was startled to hear Ted speak. He'd been completely silent for the previous few minutes as he arranged the letters.

"It is." She took an exaggerated sip and licked her lips.

Every time she got too focused on training him, Ted would do or say something that reminded her they were dating. At first, she blamed the fact that she was in a teenaged body that still had the related urges. As she'd spent time with him, however, she knew there was something else about him. His poofy black hair and face that was too long for his neck weren't winning any modeling contracts. Even though he'd put on a few extra pounds of muscle since he'd started training, Ted was still as wiry as could be. But the physical stuff didn't matter to Erica. She liked who he was and what he cared about. She also didn't mind the way he looked at her, as if she were some kind of goddess.

Ted's face turned up into a grin. "I think I know a good place for that."

Erica felt the half-full cup of coffee zip out of her hands. "Hey!"

The beverage stayed completely upright and undisturbed as it moved across the room and formed the last part of the word.

"I think you mean 'A.'" Ted beamed at his joke and his three-dimensional word.

Erica already felt the absence of the warm cup against her hands. "There were less delicious objects you could have picked."

Ted raised his chin in air. "I just wanted to make sure you were paying attention."

She wanted to be angry, but her name was spelled out so expertly that she let pride bubble to the top instead.

Erica put her hands together. "Good work. It really is something."

When Ted looked up at the word to admire it, Erica struck. She dashed in with lightning speed and tried to catch him in the back with a jump kick. He turned to block the blow with his elbow, though the objects from the E and the R toppled to the ground. She swung at him with a left and a right punch, but he feinted both before pushing Erica's chest to knock her backward.

He crouched down into a fighting stance. "So that's how it is." Ted looked down at the fallen objects.

"You dropped your E." She mimicked his stance.

"Maybe I did it on purpose." With that, Ted put out his right hand and started shooting the items in Erica's direction.

She kicked a trashcan to the side and let several crumpled pieces of paper and pencils zip past her. "Gotta aim better than that."

When a medicine ball came right for her midsection, Erica caught it in one hand, spun around and threw it right back toward Ted. The ball shot at him with such speed, he didn't have time to react before it knocked into his thighs and sent him face-first to the ground. The dumbbell from the I made a clanging sound as it hit the ground; the C and the A were the only letters that remained hovering.

Ted coughed. "Good toss. Almost de-manned me." He rolled onto his back, did a kick flip onto his feet and turned back toward his protector. "Now it's time for a little offense."