The Metropolis Series #2: Quinn Beyond Bounds

JULIO DROVE until we were a little bit on the outskirts of town, where a thin line between the poor and the privileged was drawn. I caught a glimpse of a church just down the street, adorned with silver and gold, but in its darkest corners, a group of children in tattered clothing ate what little they had, their hands covered in grime.

Mom always told me to avoid this part of the Metropolis. For one thing, it was hard to tell who was truly innocent. A wealthy-looking woman had just gone from church, and she snickered comments about the children to her equally wealthy-looking companion, and in a blink of an eye, one of the street kids snatched her purse and dashed into the darkness.

“Yup, this is the place,” Julio declared.

I turned to his direction to find him eyeing a small, run-down building with windows that glared an orange light. The awning was losing its color, and the paint on the walls was scraping off. The sign above the door was faint, but it was still readable: The MacGuffin. (Since we already had a Deus Ex Machina, there apparently had to be something else named after a plot device. This time, it was a coffee shop.)

“The MacGuffin?” I chuckled. “Seriously?”

“As a coffee shop run by the Author’s forgotten characters,” Julio began, “people who do buy coffee here tend to forget about its existence after a while. However, that exceptional taste of coffee would stay with them; they’ll always be looking for it, hence it is now their MacGuffin.”

Well, that made a lot of sense. Interesting branding, too. I wondered when Deus Ex Machina would live up to its name.

“Before we go, though…” Julio stared me down, disdain forming on his lips.

I furrowed my brows. “What?”

“We can’t have you just waltzing in; you look just like Cassandra. If they see you, they’ll—”

“I get it. Wouldn’t want that.”

When we were on our way to the River Lethe, Julio had told me how Cassandra was once one of their own until she raged an attack on them, leaving many injuries. They’d been trying to catch her for months, but so far, they didn’t have any luck.

“I could persuade them,” Julio said. “But there’s no telling how many of them are in there. Cassandra wrecked us pretty badly, and some are more traumatized and paranoid than others; they’d attack you on the spot.”

The two of us were silent for a while. While Julio thought of a way to safely get me into the coffee shop, I let his words sink in for a while, creating a knot in my stomach. At St. John’s, my name circulated rumors, and with Julio, I was enemy number one despite not doing anything wrong.

It made me wonder where I belonged.

Julio opened his car’s glove compartment, groaning to himself. “I should have thought this through,” he muttered, rummaging through miscellaneous items: some CD’s, bandages, a few ointments, and a pair of sunglasses, to name a few. I caught a glimpse of that group photo he had shown me on the way to the Lethe, where he stood next to Cassandra right at the center. Cassandra, as timid as she looked in the photo, had an aura of creepiness around her; she looked like she was staring right at me.

“Aha, here it is!” Julio pulled out a beanie and tossed it to me. “Put it on. Make sure to cover your hair with it.”

I examined the hat in my hands. It smelled of dust. “Why are you protecting me?”

“Simple. I believe I’ve spent enough time with you to know that you’re different from Cassandra—unless you show me otherwise.”

“How are you sure? To be honest, I don’t know what to believe anymore…”

His expression read that he wanted to tell me something, but whatever it was, he kept it to himself. “Put the hat on, Quinn. Then let’s go.” He unstrapped his seat belt and exited the car. The sound of the door closing made me wince.

I put the beanie on, tucking in my thick, long hair. The whole time I was doing so, I had my eyes closed, because, at random moments, my eyes would gaze at the rearview mirror, and I’d see red glowing orbs in place of my brown ones.

Julio waited for me at the entrance of The MacGuffin. We entered at the same time, but the crowd inside was only elated by his arrival. Julio was popular among his crew for sure. A few kids I recognized from the group photo patted him on the back, while some cheered and raised their paper cups as he walked passed them. However, Julio didn’t seem to like the attention. He gave them a few smiles, but he pushed forward to meet up with a woman behind the counter.

She looked like she was in her late twenties. Her dark brown hair was tied loosely into a ponytail, while a green tennis cap donned the top of her head. The sides of her little headpiece were decorated with what looked like Girl Scout badges, which looked pretty bizarre paired with her black shirt and green apron with a happy coffee mug on it.

“Julio, hey…” The lady grinned. She poured some coffee into a mug. “Haven’t seen you here in a while.”

“Hey, Ms. Louise,” Julio replied. “Is Takahiro here?”

She pointed to the corner of the room with her lips. “Over there. Nose in a book as usual.”

On a lonely table at The MacGuffin, a skinny teenage boy sat eerily still. Only his eyes moved, reading an insanely thick novel in his hands. His hair was black and silky, and his bangs were too long that it slightly covered his eyes. (How did he read comfortably with all that hair in the way?) He also wore the same uniform as Ms. Louise: a black shirt and a green apron. He didn’t have the tennis cap, though.

“Who’s this?” Ms. Louise asked. She pointed her coffee pitcher at me.

“Oh, this is Quinn,” Julio replied.

“Haven’t seen her before…” She eyed me suspiciously. “Has the Author been busy?”

Julio lowered his voice. It almost sounded like he was growling, like a dog on the verge of a bark. “The Author had dispatched many of us, Ms. Louise. There are more of them out there than you think.”

“Oh, so like how the Author dispatched you and brought Rachael back?”

He glared at her without saying a word, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth; a soft spot had been hit.

“Hey there,” I butted in. “Julio, he—he found me. Wandering around—on the streets! He brought me to this place, said that I could have some hot chocolate here.”

Julio gave me a nervous look, later fixing his gaze back on Ms. Louise.

“That’s right,” he said. “It is our responsibility to look after each other, Ms. Louise. You of all people should know.”

Ms. Louise stared blankly at him. “Will that be a double espresso for ya?”

“Please,” he replied. “It’s been rough.”

“I can see that. I’ll have your orders in a few minutes.”

“Add in two sandwiches.”

“What kind?”

“Surprise me. What will it be for you, Quinn?”

I gazed at the chalk-written menu. “Grilled cheese,” I said. I just took the first thing on the menu.

“Alright,” Ms. Louise said. She then disappeared into a door behind the counter.

Julio then turned toward the tables, dragging his feet on the floorboards. He hung his head low and kept his hands in his pockets. It was evident that he was still hurt over what Ms. Louise had said about Rachael.

“Hey, what was up with that lady?” I asked.

“Who, Ms. Louise?” he scoffed. “Oh, don’t mind her. Rumor has it that she was some Girl Scout the Author created back in his third grade.”

“Seriously? How long has the Author been writing?”

“We can’t say for sure. But people like Ms. Louise have grown up to be pretty cranky.”

“I see.”

Julio approached the table where the boy named Takahiro sat. The young lad seemingly looked up from his book at the sound of our footsteps. His eyes widened, and a look of fear washed over his face. He hurriedly got up and began sprinting for the door—but Julio tugged on his collar before he could go anywhere.

“Not so fast…” he smirked. “Coffee Boy…”

Takahiro scowled, prying his collar out of Julio’s grip. “Ugh, don’t call me that. And what do you want from me?”

People stared at us, and Julio’s expression grew wary.

“The notebook, Takahiro,” he said, lowering his voice. “You’ve read it, right?”

Sweat ran down Takahiro’s forehead. “Well, yeah, a little. But what if it isn’t hers, Julio? You would have just forced me to read some girl’s diary. It’s gross!”

“Hold on,” I interjected. “Julio, what is all this? What notebook are you talking about?”

“Show her, Takahiro,” Julio said.

Julio had brought me to The MacGuffin to talk about one thing—Harumi. At the mention of a notebook, I feared that Julio was the mysterious culprit responsible for stealing Harumi’s school notes.

And that was the very item that Takahiro pulled out of his bag.