Un2talented (Book 3 of the Un2 Series)

Dorian sat at the edge of the well looking at the marble landing that was a short drop below him. Beyond that, a walnut-paneled stairwell traversed into the darkness. Lenny crouched beside him.

“Remember, the deeper you go the harsher the environment. Stay as close to the top as possible. Let the armor guide you. Be smart. Use your abilities first and brute force only when necessary.”

Dorian gave a thumbs up. Gary ran forward and put a paw on his shoulder. He licked Dorian’s face, which was the only way he knew to show his support. They both felt a bit awkward.

Dorian pushed off from the ledge and dropped to the landing. He looked back up to see everyone surrounding the well.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said trying to reassure everyone including himself.

Dorian began his descent. With each flight of stairs, the landings became wider until there was an open chimney running up through the staircase’s center. Before long Dorian’s surroundings took the form of an older office building. A slightly musty smell carrying a hint of cigarettes and leather lingered in the air. He pictured men in tailored suits wearing skinny ties asking their secretaries to get them a “cup o’ joe”. A few floors below him a shaft of light jutted out onto the landing. His descent quickened, anxious to see where the light was coming from.

Potted palms framed a pair of automatic doors that sat beneath a brushed steel pediment signifying that this was an entryway to “The Hall of Protracted Anticipation and Irritation”. Dorian stepped onto the black ribbed rubber actuation mat, stood in front of the glass door, and waited. He took a step backward and stepped onto the mat again which gave him the same results, or lack thereof. He stepped back once again to review the sign above the entryway, and it clicked.

“Well played!” He said out loud.

He stood upon the ribbed mats once again and waited. The doors slowly parted. He turned sideways and slid through the opening as soon as there was enough room.

The hallway was lined with mannequin-filled dioramas like the ones he remembered seeing on grade school field trips to the natural history museum. The first vignette was a classroom filled with small children seated at their desks with that year’s graded assignments and piles of well-used school supplies stacked in front of them. The sun shone brightly through the windows onto a message drawn on the chalkboard that read, “HAVE A GREAT SUMMER!”. Everyone, including the teacher, was leaning forward from their chairs, their eyes focused on the clock above the door that read, “2:59”. The plaque in front of the exhibit read, “Last Bell. The agonizing final minute that seems to take a lifetime.”

An audio clip of street noises drew Dorian’s attention. He zig-zagged across the hallway to a smaller, more intimate alcove shaped like a cut-away taxicab. A swarthy, less than hygienic driver was grimacing at the wheel. Political campaign propaganda hung from the sun visors and rearview mirror. A half-drank quart of milk sat on the seat beside him. A beleaguered passenger sat cringing in the back seat with his t-shirt pulled up over his nose. The exhibit was titled “Lactose Intolerant Loudmouth. Stuck in Traffic”. A little red button labeled “PUSH” flashed at the bottom of the plaque. Dorian obliged and regretted it immediately.

“Phrappp!”

The aroma of Eau du flatulence filled the air.

“Ugh! Why?” Dorian buried his face into the crook of his elbow. He moved quickly to the next exhibit.

The next scene was smaller, yet again. It consisted simply of a small dog seated on an ottoman looking longingly out a window at an empty driveway. The scene was titled “Please Come Back”. A tear welled up in Dorian’s eye. “He’ll be home soon,” he assured the stuffed little pup.

Dorian felt something pulsing at his hip. He looked down to see the locator ticking toward his right. He took a couple of steps in that direction and the ticking intensified. The farther he moved down the hall the quicker the gauge ticked. He continued past the “Dentist’s Waiting Room” and hung a right at “Grammar School Music Recital” which deposited him into a dead-end alcove. He pulled up quickly to avoid slamming into the wall. The gauge continued to click frantically. Dorian stepped back into the hallway and scanned the alcove. Closer inspection revealed an arc-shaped scuff leading to an interior corner. He leaned into the back of the alcove and the wall section pivoted revealing a stereotypical boiler and maintenance room.

Over the hum and hiss of the heating and cooling mechanisms, Dorian heard a voice. He listened closer. It sounded like someone screeching in distress.

“Cadence, is that you?” He called.

All he received was a wail in response. He stepped towards the shrieking and the locator’s motion accelerated. He continued to move forward through the machinery using the locator as his compass as the screeching escalated. The noise was coming from a chamber beyond a pair of partially opened rolling metal barn doors. Dorian crept up to one side of the opening and peered into the room’s interior.

The space had a different look and feel. A floor lamp threw warm light across a throw rug and an overstuffed sofa that was angled across the far corner. There were bookcases brimming with reading material. An acoustic guitar was propped against the wall. It was obviously set up as living quarters. Another squawk drew Dorian’s attention to the opposite end of the chamber.

“I bless the ray-eens down in Aaaa-free-ka…I bless the rains…”

A bird-like creature about half Dorian’s height bobbed back and forth as it brutalized the early eighties classic. Its wings fluttered in time to the music flowing through the headphones balanced on its head. It sat upon a high stool in front of a workbench covered with springs, gears, and lengths of metal tubing. Its tail wagged as it worked. It wasn’t the type of tail Dorian would associate with giant obsidian wings, but rather one that was attached to a fuzzy little corgi butt. Short tan fur covered most of the creature’s humanlike torso and continued onto its arms. It fingered the edge of the benchtop miming a run up the keys of an imaginary synthesizer.

Dorian focused his gaze around the beast to get a sense of whether he should try to avoid or interact with it. A warm rosy glow radiated from the creature. Dorian relaxed a little.

“I bless the rains!”

The creature became more animated as he immersed himself in the song. One of his wings clipped a pile of small gears near the end of the workbench sending them to the floor. He looked at them and sighed.

“Hey, kid, would you mind getting those for me?” he asked.