SWNOVELS Chapter APOLLO - Chasing Shadows
A large bang came from the door, like someone had kicked it open. “Don’t fucking move! Get down on the fucking ground! Get down on the fucking ground, now!” Several enforcement officers wearing tactical gear swarmed his hotel room: five, six, seven, eight of them all in a single file line holding assault rifles with multiple red laser dots lighting up critical parts of his body. Apollo scurried out of bed, hands raised high in the air, listening to the beat of his jumping heart thump in his ears.
“Turn around!” one officer bellowed, slamming Apollo face-first onto the floor, the room spinning crazily before him. A heavy knee crashed into his back, and Apollo yelped as the officer twisted his arms, handcuffing him, metal digging fiercely into his skin. Two officers yanked him off the floor by each arm, Apollo taking in heavy breaths, his head still stinging from when they slammed him to the ground. He could barely walk straight, his legs buckling underneath him as they dragged him out of the room, thrusting a black hood over his head.
#
Apollo swung forward from his chair, the back of his shirt sticking to his skin, cold. His eyes flickered past the rows of washing machines and dryers, tumbling and spinning on each side. He took a deep breath and exhaled, thankful it was only a nightmare … at least for now. Who knows, there could’ve been armored vehicles just waiting for him outside. Apollo turned around and looked through the window, peering his eyes right and left for anything suspicious.
There was nothing.
The parking lot had nearly been empty. It was time to get out of here.
Apollo stood from his seat, shoved his warm, clean clothes into his bright orange garbage bag, paid, and left. I need to conceal my identity. I can’t keep walking around this city with my face in the public eye like this, especially if I have to go after any critters.
Apollo swung his garbage bag over his shoulders and took to the streets, keeping a close eye on all the pedestrians walking along the sidewalks. Any of them could’ve been undercover police officers waiting to pounce on him. No one around here was to be trusted. Each time a siren blared, Apollo’s heart prepared to jump out of his mouth. He could take only so many false alarms before he managed to do something he’d regret later on.
Apollo walked for several blocks going down main streets, passing parliament buildings and other government offices, side streets filled with a lot of outdoor restaurants and bars, to sketchy alleys that reminded him all too well of when he was mugged in Toronno. To be fair, the alleys in Windham weren’t nearly as rugged as the ones back in that wretched city and didn’t carry the pungent smell of urine and feces.
Rounding the corner of the alleyway was a street with outdoor shops on each side. Apollo cautiously took his time and moved forward, looking around at the different shops and shoppers that toured through. Some pedestrians stopped in front of windows and admired the displays, while others had shopping bags in each hand, looking around, undecided if they wanted to spend more money.
One shop immediately caught Apollo’s attention, displaying a mannequin wearing a half-faced pullover skeletal mask through the window. “Yes!” Apollo walked up to the display and rested his forehead against the glass, gawking at the mask presented before him. “That’s the one!” he said. “That’s the face of death critters will see before their lives come to an end.”
A fancy jingle rang as Apollo pushed the door open. He browsed around in absolute awe of the different masks on display. They had half-faced and full-faced skeletal masks, clown masks, happy and sad-faced masks, and devil masks with horns poking out at the sides, hanging all over the walls.
“Can I help you with anything, young sir?” a gentle yet powerful voice asked from somewhere nearby.
Apollo turned to see a youngish-looking gentleman with golden-brown skin and red hair, wearing a smile that wasn’t to be trusted. He must’ve been the shopkeeper. “Ah yeah, I was looking at your half-faced skeletal mask from outside and wanted to know the price.”
The man laughed and nodded, his smile growing even more untrustworthy. “Of course.” He turned around and waved Apollo to follow him to the glass counter, which stored even more masks inside. “That mask is one of our more popular ones, especially among the biker crowd. But I suspect you’re much too young to own a motorcycle.” He looked at Apollo once more, taking in his face.
“Yeah, I just thought it looked cool, you know?”
“Indeed.” The shopkeeper nodded. It was almost as if he knew Apollo was hiding his true intentions for the mask. “Well, let me go take a look and see if I have any more in stock.” The shopkeeper disappeared into a room in the back, the door swinging back and forth as he stepped through.
Apollo carefully looked around the shop, still amazed at all the different masks he carried. They even had full-body skeletal suits displayed on mannequins in the far right corner of the store. “I think I just found my new favorite store,” Apollo said, looking at a caveman mask with a full-length beard inside the counter. That couldn’t have been real hair they used, although it would’ve been funny. He’d love to hear how they managed to acquire that one.
The shopkeeper reappeared with three packages in his hands. “All right,” he said, placing them on the counter. “I’ve got one black half-faced skeletal mask right here,” he slid the package toward Apollo, “and I’ve also got a red one of the same type over here.”
Apollo took up the package and read the label on the back. “What’s the material made out of?”
“One hundred percent microfiber polyester,” the shopkeeper said.
“That means they can stretch and adapt to the natural shape of any face, right?”
“That is correct.” The shopkeeper raised his eyebrows and nodded as if he were impressed. “I’ve also got the black skeletal gloves to go with the mask, which I forgot to mention, all glow in the dark.” The shopkeeper said, handing the gloves to Apollo.
“That’s pretty cool!”
“Indeed it is.” The shopkeeper’s smile grew wider by the second. “I don’t know when I’ll be getting these in stock again as they go so quickly,” he said, clicking his gums. “However, if you’re willing to purchase both masks today, I’d be more than willing to throw in the gloves for free, all for the price of thirty-five dollars.”
Apollo looked at the shopkeeper’s eyes crinkle around the edges. He must’ve practiced that smile a thousand times in the mirror to ensure he perfected it. His smile would’ve made for a great mask itself. A smile that wasn’t genuine but wasn’t sinister either. A smile that showed no intention but held so many secrets. They say a smile goes a long way in sales, and thirty-five wasn’t all that bad of a deal. “All right, let’s make it happen.”
“Wonderful,” the shopkeeper said, punching the buttons on his till. “It’s always refreshing doing business with those who know what they want.”
Apollo handed him his money and smiled. “It’s always refreshing doing business with those who are always making offers.”
The shopkeeper laughed, placing his items and receipt in a plastic bag. “Indeed, it is, my friend. I’ve got a mirror in the back that I could bring out. Why don’t you try one on and see how it looks?”
“Sure.” Apollo tore open the package with the black half-face skeletal mask.
“All right, I’ll be back.” The shopkeeper disappeared into the back once more.
Apollo knew he had made the right purchase by how easily the mask slid down his face, snuggly hugging his skin. The fabric was smooth and warm as it stretched down to his neck.
“And here we are,” the shopkeeper said, holding a circular mirror. “Oh, if I may say so myself, it looks rather exquisite.”
Yes, it did. Apollo adjusted the mask around his nose and mouth. “Perfect!” Apollo nodded at his reflection and pulled out his dreads tucked underneath the mask, shaking them free.
“How do you feel?” the shopkeeper asked.
Apollo watched the shopkeeper’s brows lower toward his eyes like he was thinking about something. “I feel fine, and I look even better.” The fabric of the mask moved across his lips as he spoke.
The shopkeeper set the mirror down on the counter and squinted his eyes. “Hmm ….” He tapped his finger against his lips. “Hang on a moment, something’s missing.” He marched into the back like he had forgotten something of dire importance. The shopkeeper returned after a moment with a pair of brand-new sports goggles, still firmly inside its package. “A couple of weeks ago, a gentleman came into my shop and left these on the counter after he’d made his purchase. I held it for him all this time, thinking he was coming back, but I doubt that now. I feel you should have them.” He opened the package, adjusted the elastic strap on the goggles, and handed it to Apollo. “Try these on, and then tell me how you feel.”
Apollo slid the goggles around his eyes, and the world tinted a shade darker. “Yes!” Apollo said, adjusting the lenses so they were comfortable around his eyes. “This is perfect!”
The shopkeeper chuckled. “I’m glad you like them. They do fit perfectly with the mask you’re wearing.” He held up the mirror for Apollo to see.
Apollo reached into his pocket for his wallet. “Okay, how much?”
“Don’t bother,” the shopkeeper shook his head. “Like I said before, a gentleman came into my shop and left them here. I don’t sell goggles, but I feel it’ll do you some good in the near future.” The shopkeeper’s smile reappeared as he folded his hands on the counter.
Apollo removed the goggles from around his eyes and looked at them long and hard. “I have a feeling you’re correct.” He headed for the exit.
“May the winds guide you on your travels, young sir,” the shopkeeper said, waving.
Apollo smiled and returned the gesture. “Thank you, and you be safe as well.” He exited the shop, and the door’s jingle rang behind him.
#
Dark gray skies loomed over the city, teasing a highly possible thunderstorm. For all Apollo cared, it was probably a sign from the Universe warning him that dark times were ahead. He took the last sip of his delicious peach green tea, watching the television mounted on the wall.
Why did most cafés and food shops have to have their channels turned to the news? They could’ve watched plenty of other things on the television; why always the news? How could people sit down and inundate themselves with death, sorrow, and misery, which was all the mainstream media reported? If there wasn’t a fatal car accident on this freeway, someone got hit by a car, or there was a homicide in a particular neighborhood, and police were looking for suspects. Something Apollo could relate to at the moment.
It was good that the volume was muted, and there weren’t too many people inside paying attention to the closed captions at the bottom. The elderly gentleman seated in front was reading a newspaper, a group of females around his age hid in the corner behind the barista bar, too busy snapping photos of themselves with their smartphones, and a college couple to his left, quietly enjoying whatever it was in their mugs.
Apollo couldn’t help but take sidelong glances at them, watching how they smiled at each other. He noted how the man’s tone rose whenever he said something interesting and how his lady friend ran her hand down his arm whenever he made her laugh. His jokes probably weren’t even that funny, but she laughed all the same, and that’s all that mattered. It had nothing to do with how he looked, how much money he had, or what sort of car he drove—if he even had a car, to begin with. It had everything to do with how he made her feel, and right now, he was doing a heck of a good job at making her feel good—great even, judging by the number of times she laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.
It must’ve been nice knowing there was someone else out there in the world who cared about you. Someone you could spend your time with and talk to about anything, regardless of how embarrassing or personal it might’ve been. Someone who had your back irrespective of the situations in which you happened to find yourself. Someone you could rely on or even seek guidance from when you needed them the most.
Watching them brought back memories when he had lunch with that girl in Toronno. If Apollo recalled correctly, she even visited him at the hospital. I wonder what happened to her. What was her name again? It was a bit upsetting that her name slipped his memory. Her face was memorable, though, and she possessed an unforgettable spirit. She would be a nice person to have around.
Apollo slouched in his seat, bowing his head low. Where the hell did everything go so wrong? Why couldn’t he live like a normal child his age, with friends and two parents who loved him? He would be seventeen in a few days and was already considered a fugitive, at least by definition.
This rat race wasn’t going to last forever. Something was going to give, whether it was him getting caught and being placed behind bars for the rest of his life or him fighting back against the people who tried to take his freedom away. One side would lose, and it was even probable that blood would be spilled. A harsh reality Apollo couldn’t escape or deny.
Apollo glanced at the television and quickly sat up, blood running cold at the photograph displayed. It was just as I thought! His stomach churned, tasting bile at the back of his throat. It was a photo of himself scowling at the camera with his name right beside it in big, bold white letters. Just beneath the photograph read:
police search for murder suspect in Sauga school shooting
Apollo silently read the captions to himself as they appeared at the bottom of the screen: Apollo is described as a 16-year-old male from Sauga who is black, 5’8” tall, weighing 141 pounds. He’s thin with a dark complexion and has black dreadlocks styled hair down to his shoulders, and is right-handed. Apollo is considered armed and dangerous. If seen, do not approach and call the police immediately.
“Armed and dangerous?” he muttered, squeezing the sides of the table so tight his knuckles were screaming through his hands.
Apollo shifted his eyes around the café to see if anyone else noticed. Forget all that and run! He was frozen in his seat. All Apollo could do was watch as his scowling face stared back at him and everyone watching the news at the time. That photograph was probably circulating across every news station in the country. Apollo gagged, choking back some of the peach green tea he drank. Run, you idiot, RUN!
The young gentleman to his left glanced at the television, then to Apollo, back to the television again, and then back to Apollo, his girlfriend now catching on to what he was doing. She, too, did the same about three times before gasping. Apollo wanted to plead with them so badly, even though he knew his plea would fall on deaf ears. Nobody in Ontario would believe him, especially not with the photo they used. It’d be hard to convince anyone he was innocent with a scowl like that.
Now, the two baristas were looking at him. One of them pointed at him like she had seen a ghost, her eyes peeled as far back as they could open. Shit, shit, shit! Get up and run! Get up and fucking RUN!
Apollo sprang to his feet and bolted through the exit, sprinting across the sidewalk and back to the hotel for his belongings. It was time to get the hell out of Windham, provided the police hadn’t gotten to the hotel first.