CHAPTER SEVEN:
The Impossible

Lewis hugged his hoodie closer to his body as he walked down the street. The dim streetlights overhead provided him with circles of warm light every few feet as he made his way trough the city in the dark.

His mom thought he was reviewing for his chemistry test in bed, but he finished studying hours ago. The pulsing energy in his veins hasn't calmed down since it made its first appearance days ago at the Gran's Grounds, and it made it impossible to sit still for even a minute. He attempted to ignore it and fall asleep to escape it, but his muscles itched to move. Finally, he decided to sneak out of the apartment and get some fresh air.

That's where he was at the moment; hands digging deep into his blue hoodie's pockets, hood up, old sneaker-clad feet stepping over cracks and potholes in the sidewalk.

But his legs itched for more.

Giving in to this outlandish desire, Lewis broke into a light jog. The slight wind that ruffled his hair and nipped at his cheeks felt refreshing, and his legs surprising weren't tired, even though Lewis didn't regularly exercise, so he pushed himself to go faster. And faster. And faster yet.

Arms pumping, lungs filling, muscles relaxing, mind clearing—Lewis felt alive, like he just reemerged from being held under water for hours.

He pushed himself to go faster than he thought possible. Buildings began to blur together to his left and right like he was sitting in a race car and looking out the windows.

Just as a euphoric smile started to spread across Lewis's face, a bug flew straight into his eye. He skidded to a stop and nearly fell over at the monumental change of speed. Lewis, not realizing he was on the opposite side of the city he lived on, used a finger to keep his eye open and another to dab at the bug in his eye.

"Ugh, gross," he muttered. He flicked the bug off his finger and then wiped his hands off on his hoodie.

"W—who are you?"

Lewis's head whipped up in surprise. An elderly woman stood in front of him, sitting on the front steps to a building. Lewis's eyes flickered up and noticed it was a soup kitchen. Remembering the woman asked him a question, Lewis glanced back to her. She looked up at him through thick lenses in bright pink framed glasses.

"Uh, Lewis." He cleared his throat. "Johnson."

"Are you a superhero?" she inquired.

Lewis's mouth bobbed open and closed. She thought he was a superhero? Lewis scratched the back of his head and racked his brain for any reason why she would even think that. Finally, he mustered, "Excuse me?"

"You were running like the Flash! One second you were gone, and then poof! A flash of blue, and bam! You're here. And you don't even look tired," the woman's brittle voice was pumped full of enthusiasm as she stared up at him with wide eyes, making the wrinkles framing her face deeper.

"Oh, uh, thank you ma'am, but I was just running. I'm not a hero. Like, at all." Lewis shifted his weight and held his hands together in front of him.

The woman eyed his fidgeting hands and smiled. "Mhm."

Lewis pursed his lips and surveyed the street, noticing it was mostly empty. He turned back to the woman with a small frown. "What're you—what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at home? It's pretty late."

"Home isn't a physical place, Lewis."

"Oh. Okay." Lewis blinked and tried not to appear confused. He looked back at the soup kitchen behind the woman and motioned to it. "Are you waiting for them to open?"

She folded her frail, wrinkled hands together in her lap and nodded. "Yes."

He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue and debated what to do. After a couple seconds of deliberation, he stuck his hand in his joggers' pockets and pulled out a five dollar bill and two ones.

"Here, I've only got a couple dollars on me, but this can probably buy you a meal, if you want," he said, taking a step closer and holding the money out. The woman eyed his money like she was going to decline, but ultimately ended up taking it with a shaky, wrinkled hand. Before Lewis could retract his own hand, however, she laid both of hers on top of his and held them. His eyes flickered up to meet her's.

"Thank you, Lewis. Really," she emphasized, then let go of him. He nodded and offered a small smile in return.

"Do you need anything else?" he asked.

"No, no, I wouldn't want to impose." She sat the money in her lap and smiled once again at Lewis. "You've done more than enough."

"Okay, if you're sure." He was torn—was he supposed to do more? Invite her to stay with him and his mom? Check her into a nursing home? Anything? He shook his head clear of questions. "I should probably head back home now. It was nice to meet you, ma'am." He slid his hand out of his pocket and shook her hand.

"The pleasure's all mine."

The woman beamed at Lewis as he lifted a hand in farewell, before turning and walking away. This time, on his way home, he decided to just walk and not run. He was somewhat unfamiliar with this side of the city, and was starting to question how he got this far in such a short time. Surely he wasn't "The Flash" fast, like the woman said. He might've just always been able to run but never really tried it before.

Oh, who am I kidding? Lewis admonished himself. He'd always been too slow for anything remotely active. He was wired for academics, not athletics. That's why he was nearly top of the senior class at Northwood.

So, why am I suddenly so fast?

And . . . how fast am I?

To test it out, Lewis pulled out his phone and opened Snapchat. He figured if he took a video, after about ten seconds he could stop and check the speedometer built into the app, though he wasn't so sure it would be completely accurate. He held his finger down on the red record button and kept it open in his palm. He stopped walking and stared out into the dark of the night. Bouncing on his heels in anticipation, he mentally guessed how far he could go in ten seconds. Two blocks? That was pretty lenient.

Let's just see, Lewis told himself, and broke off into the fastest sprint he could muster. He was so focused on a single point in front of him that he didn't look to his sides to notice that he was, indeed, running at a super-human speed.

After ten seconds was up in his head, Lewis came to an abrupt stop and accidentally tripped over his feet. On the ground, he stopped recording and held his phone up to his face. His entire body froze as he stared at the number in front of him.

There was no way in hell he was going 8,453 miles an hour.

That was almost two and a half miles per second.

Wait. That would mean I just ran twenty three miles.

Lewis's eyes widened at the realization and his head whipped up to look at his surroundings. He almost threw up in his mouth as he recognized the street he was on. He turned his head away from the road and low and behold, he was sitting in front of his local Walmart parking lot, just a mile from his own house, and a twenty five minute drive from where he was just seconds before.

"Holy shitballs," he murmured under his breath, running his hands over his hair. None of this started happening until his drink at Gran's Grounds. Did they drug him or something? Or was the water they used contaminated?

Lewis hugged his knees to his chest and buried his head in the space between them. "This is impossible."

Lewis glanced at his phone again and checked the time, ignoring the huge number staring up at him on his screen. It was nearly eleven. His mom would be checking in on him soon enough, and he knew it.

With heavy shoulders, Lewis clambered to his feet and stretched his legs. He peered down and caught sight of the small holes he'd worn into the soles of his sneakers.

"Aw man, I liked these shoes," he groaned. Not wanting to wear the shoes out any more, Lewis decided to just walk the mile home instead of run.

Four blocks away, a small figure sat on a rooftop, finding solace in the stark shadows being casted by a nearby skyscraper. Gran's Grounds stood across the street, empty and dark. The figure watched the empty streets with attentive eyes. She folded her right leg under her propped-up left leg and perched her chin on her knee. From far away she resembled a large—a very large—bird, or a hunky gargoyle statue, but close up, the soft features of a girl were barely visible in the moonlight.

Evette sighed as she glanced at her phone. Another hour flew by and still nothing. Nobody had entered or exited or even walked by the suspicious coffee shop Evette was held captive in a week ago. She just wanted answers. She wanted to know why and how she could conjure up enough heat to produce a fire.

She also wondered what else she could do.

The thundering clouds overhead interrupted Evette's stakeout. She glanced up at the storm clouds blowing quickly overhead. The wind came out of nowhere. A trashcan on the street below blew over into the sidewalk, stray garbage bounced down the road. Cars continued to drive by, but now their speed had decreased.

Evette's eyes turned from the city below to her curly strands of hair sitting perfectly still around her face despite the wind. Frowning, she twisted a lick of hair between her fingers, held it up, then dropped it. The hair fell back into place naturally.

Curiosity spiked, Evette licked her index finger and stuck it out. She could feel no wind. However, all around her, the stormy gust continued.

"How in the world— " Her words hung in the air. A sudden thought struck her. What if . . .

She stood and stepped towards the ledge of the building. Normally, Evette would've gotten queasy at the prospect of being eleven stories up, but now, an eerie calm had settled over her, relaxing her shoulders and melting her pinched expression. The sound of the wind whistled in her ears.

She reached a hand out over the edge of the building, palm up. She closed her eyes and focused all her energy into the palm of her hand. She felt the wind shift around her, slightly blowing her hair into her face and whipping her clothes against her body. Peeking her eyes open, she focused in on a single piece of paper floating down the street.

"This is so stupid," Evette muttered under her breath, but held her hand out in the direction of the paper anyways.

Much to her surprise, the paper stopped mid-air. Her eyes widened and she leaned forward to get a better look.

"Wait what the—" her voice suddenly turned into a shriek as her foot slipped on the edge. She flailed her arms and desperately tried to regain her balance, but it was too late. Evette's eyes widened and a scream started to rip through her throat as she teetered off of the side of the building and plummeted to the ground below. Her eyes clenched shut and she shoved her hands in front of her body as much as she could as she free-fell.

This is it, I'm gonna die.

But, she didn't.

Evette hit the ground, but it wasn't nearly as hard as she imagined, and rolled a couple feet onto the sidewalk. Time sat still around her as she laid there, motionless. She could hear her heartbeat loud and clear in her ears.

Am I—am I not dead?

Her eyelids parted enough to show the gray sidewalk her face rested on, but she shut them again quickly.

Don't look don't look you're just in shock, there will be blood, lots of blood, and broken bones and ambulances and crying and —

But she didn't feel any pain. No pain at all. 

Her eyes snapped open and she sprang up in a sitting position. Her eyes surveyed her body for any type of injury, but there were none. No bruises, no cuts, no broken bones. She was fine.

With shaky legs, Evette rose to her feet, slowly turned around, and watched the calm city night. The harsh wind had stopped, but the storm clouds remained. Evette craned her neck to see the top of the building she just fell off of. From that height, she should've at least broken several bones.

Evette, deciding that was enough for one night, sprinted back home without sparing a look over her shoulder.

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