Over the Top Secret - Chapter 13
AKA What’s HapPENning?!
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Start at the beginning (Prologue - AKA Mission Report)
Read previous chapter (Chapter 12 - AKA Crème Brûlée)
Greyson presses a button on the side of the gun and bends his knees, bracing for impact. But instead of KABOOM, the bazooka makes a delicate beeping sound.
“Aww hell,” Greyson gravelly voice scrapes out. He stands straight and lowers the weapon from his shoulder, flicking a tiny switch before returning to his firing position.
“Julie, get down!” Eric yells. He rushes at Greyson, shoving the food cart to his side and right into my gut. I collapse on the floor as plates of delicious food rain down. A steak knife stabs the wooden floor just beside my head with a loud THWACK!
Through my stringy wet hair, now covered in Eric’s Crème Brulee, I watch as Eric flies through the air and smacks into Greyson, knocking the bazooka out of Greyson’s hand. It slides across the room, scraping the stained hardwood floor.
Eric lands a punch right in Greyson’s chin, but the man barely flinches. Eric smacks him in the neck, the groin, the side, and every single pressure point a person could have in a flurry of motions so fast that even Jackie Chan would be impressed.
Greyson just stands there and takes it like a brick wall, laughing that creepy laugh, his deep voice reverberating through the room.
In one forceful movement, Greyson grabs Eric by the neck with his meaty paw and raises him off the ground. Eric wriggles and kicks, but to no avail.
Eek, I remember what that felt like. Not fun.
I hastily grab the nearest plate fragment off the floor and haul it at Greyson.
But my aim is just a little bit off.
The sharp piece of plate smacks Eric in the side of the head, breaking into a bunch of smaller pieces just over his eye.
“Agh!” he gargles. Greyson tightens his grip while laughing at him.
Greyson throws Eric into the wall. The ornate mirror in the entrance foyer shatters and falls to the ground with Eric as he gasps for air.
I frantically search for anything to help the situation.
The knife! I pull the steak knife from the ground next to me and scramble to my feet. This time I don’t rely on my aim. Instead, I ram it right into Greyson’s side. The sharp blade bends against his body like it’s made of plastic.
Is this giant made of bricksl?!
Eric raises his legs and locks Greyson in a chokehold around his thighs.
“You just couldn’t stay dead, could you? You had to come back for more,” Eric says through gritted teeth. Greyson lets out a roar, and I jump out of the way just as Eric unleashes another round of karate moves on the beast.
They attack each other in a twister of punches and kicks and grunts and groans. The two men clash into every ornate, expensive thing in the entire suite. The vase, the curtains, the tables, the flowers, the mirrors— all destroyed by the giant wrecking ball bulldozing the whole place apart.
Eric rips the fancy curtains off the wall and wraps them around Greyson’s head with a triumphant, “Ha!”, but Greyson picks him up like a twig and sends Eric flying into the glass chandelier above the bed. It rains beautiful tiny shards of glass above him and all over the floor.
Greyson grabs the bedside table, raising it high above his head. He steps toward Eric, crunching the tiny shards of glass into silvery dust beneath his immense weight. In one fluid motion, he heaves the heavy drawer system down on top of Eric.
Probably, I should do something.
I grab the nearest thing that isn’t destroyed— a heavy-looking table lamp— and run into the bedroom with it held high above my head. My floppy over-sized slippers lose their grip on the glassy powder covering the floor, and I slide across the room. Right into Greyson.
Using my momentum, I swing the thing at the back of his giant head. It bursts on impact (score!), but Greyson barely twitches. Jeez, this guy is barely human! He turns to me, snarling like a feral dog.
I notice a tattoo on the side of his neck. It looks similar to the silhouetted mouse from the computer virus.
Within seconds of laying eyes on it, the oppressive sensation rushes at me. I grimace. Though I’m not eager for what’s about to strike, it’s the whole reason I'm here.
I hold my breath and let the onslaught of convulsions take over as colorful, foreign images race through my mind in a flash of light and emotions.
Speak to me, McGuffin!
I’m transported to someplace wet and dim. Rushing water fills the background from somewhere in the not so far distance. The cobblestone walls flicker with candlelight. I take a tentative step forward, my foot splashing in a thin layer of water. Silhouetted figures dance on the walls of a long tunnel in front of me. Cries of pain echo down my way, making my stomach lurch.
Is this some kind of medieval torture chamber?
The image transforms into a room with cheap wallpaper and a sink that looks like it hasn’t been given a good wash in a few years. As I turn on the faucet, the wall transforms into a secret tunnel. I take a step forward and fall into the dark rabbit hole. Then I land crisscross-applesauce in front of a pedestal, on top of which sits a tiny USB drive. Lights shine down on it from everywhere, and the whole room turns to gold before another flash of white takes over.
A moment later, I’m transported back into our suite at “Le Maison Sur.” Grunting finds its way to my ears, and I bolt upright to see Eric in the middle of another twister of fight moves with Greyson.
He seems like he’s got this handled.
Breathing heavily, I try to trap the images in my head while the convulsions slow down to random twitches.
I need to write this down before I forget.
Eric watches from the corner of his eye as I scramble across the floor toward his duffel bag. I rifle through his things, surprised at the amount of underwear he decided to bring (and somewhat relieved I’m not the only one who overpacks on the essentials).
“Where are all the pens?” I shout, shaking the contents of his bag onto the bed. Mostly underwear falls out.
“In the pen bag!” Eric says, dodging a punch. He makes Greyson’s movements look like slow motion.
The reflective surface of the silver pen bag catches my eye from Eric’s heap of underwear. “Yes!” I rip it open, and pens fly across the bed, mixing with Eric’s delicates. I grab the pen closest to me, click the clicker to start writing on my palm, but there’s no ink.
“Oh, come on—” I start, cut off by a FLASH! And a BANG!
An explosion of light floods the entire suite with blinding brightness. A solid two seconds go by before everything returns to normal.
“Julie!” Eric yells. I blink away the remaining brightness in my eyes. He’s rubbing his eyes while Greyson inspects his hands as if he’s seeing them for the first time. “What the hell are you doing!”
“I thought it was a normal pen!” I yell back, but I don’t think he hears me over Greyson’s battle cry.
Greyson launches another attack on Eric, who is now fighting temporary blindness and an abominable beast. Greyson grabs him in another chokehold.
Eric sputters out, “Hurry up and do something, Julie!”
I grab another pen, shake off Eric’s silky drawers, and point the tip at Greyson. I sure hope it’s something useful and not another flash grenade. I click the little clicker, and a tiny red dart flies out, stabbing Eric right in the ass.
Eric lets out a yelp. “Julie!” he gurgles.
“Sorry!” I yell, already grabbing another pen and clicking the clicker. Nothing happens at first. I inspect the tool and notice the hotel logo scrawled in cursive on the side of a black pen.
It’s the hotel pen—an actual pen!
I frantically scribble some notes on the inside of my arm. When I’m done, I look up to find Eric passed out, and Greyson headed right for me.
I scramble to my feet, totally unprepared and underdressed, as he lunges for me. I duck and slide between his legs, surprised at my own agility.
Search the room for a weapon, any weapon, I think. I curse myself for leaving the bag of pens behind. Greyson is already halfway to me. I decide to go for the shock factor and jump on him.
I put my foot on the ledge of the open window and leap on Greyson’s face. He claws at me, but I hold on tight and wrap my arms around his torso.
Greyson twists his enormous body around and smacks me into the wall, hard. All the breath in my lungs lets out in one quick grunt. My grip loosens, but damn it if I’m going to let go.
I re-grip right as he smacks into the wall again, snatching around back at my waist with his giant heavy hands. He gathers a big chunk of my robe in his hand and yanks me to the ground, hard. I clamber to get away, flailing my arms around desperately to catch hold of something to pull myself away faster.
My fingers catch on something substantial and metallic.
I heave it onto my shoulder, bucking at the weight. The giant weapon is pointed straight at Greyson. He freezes in his tracks.
“You don’t have the guts to pull that trigger, girl,” he growls.
“Where’s The McGuffin Backup,” I demand with a shaky voice. Greyson bursts into laughter.
“I said,” I raise my voice, willing it to stay level, “where’s The Back—”
My sweaty finger slips, accidentally squeezing the trigger. The giant bazooka bullet flies across the room in a fiery explosion, right out the window, setting the drapes ablaze. The force sends me to the ground, knocking the gun out of my hand.
Greyson grabs me by the arm, dragging me toward the window like the dead weight that I am. He swings my body above his head.
Just as he’s about to throw me out the window, my entire body stiffens up like a wooden plank. I lose all sensation in my limbs. Greyson drops me unexpectedly, but when I hit the ground, I don’t feel a thing.
What the heck?
Greyson looks down at me, his savage face twisted in a look of raw confusion. Hey man, don’t look at me. I have no idea what’s happening, either!
The flames are growing higher now, engulfing the entire drape and spreading to the wall.
Am I dying? Is that why I can’t move? Have I already died, and my vision is the last working bodily function to go?
Greyson bends down to grab me again, but I burst into a fit of convulsions and twitches. My leg juts out, tripping Greyson right out the window!
A few moments pass until my body stops twitching. I’m flooded with feeling again, now privy to the giant bruise on my entire side.
The heck just happened?
I pop my head out the window to see how far of a fall Greyson must have had (we’re a good twenty floors up), but he’s nowhere to be seen.
Where did he go? Did I imagine it? What is it with this guy who can burst into flames and hit a mountain and still come back with gusto? Are flames and falls his thing, or what?
A loud BANG hits the wooden door to the suite.
“Monsieur! Mademoiselle! Laissez nous entrer!” someone’s muffled voice worriedly cries to us in French. “Est-ce que tu vas bien?”
Great, now security is here. That door is going to come down any second!
“Uhhh… Ca va bien!” I say, attempting to sound calm. With flames engulfing half the suite, Eric out cold, and hotel security threatening to burst down the door, I’m anything but.
We have to get out of here. Fast.
I dart back to the bed, searching through the pens strewn about. I inspect the tiny engravings one after another, throwing them aside until I find the one with an engraving that I’m hoping means Wake Up Gas and not Wacky Unhelpful Gadget.
I hold the pen under Eric’s nose and click the button. A jet stream of water shoots out, right up his nose and spraying him all over the face.
The water stream runs out as quickly as it started. I inspect the inscription a little closer this time to find that, according to George, WUG stands for Water Utility Gun. Go figure.
Eric snaps back to life in a dramatic show of shock, choking and gargling.
“Damn it, Julie!” It’s the first thing he says. He whips his head around to take in the wall of flames behind us. “Holy shit!”
“We have to get out of here!” I say.
“What did you do?!”
The door to the suite CRACKS as the French crew continues to force their way in. Eric spins around, nostrils flared. I grimace.
“What now?” I ask. He grabs the empty bag of pens, noticing our stock has considerably lessened. “How many damn weapons did you waste?”
“Just get us out of here!” I yell. He rushes to the other side of the room, the one facing away from the street and not on fire, and forces the window open. Sirens wail in the distance.
Eric grabs a pen and, without even looking to check what it does, he clicks the button. A giant grappling hook explodes out of the small tip, sinking its teeth into the side of the building just above us. Eric yanks me close to him and grips me tight.
“Hold on to me,” he says. I realize we’re about to jump from the building. A thought suddenly occurs.
“One second!” I rush over to my things, pulling them away from the flames and searching through my pile of dirty clothes until I find my trusty fanny pack, still full of Lactaid.
Whew. That would have really sucked.
I snatch all the pens I can find from the bed and shove them into the fanny pack before darting back over to Eric. When I wrap my arms around his muscular torso, I can feel every ripple in his beautifully toned body.
“Ready now, princess?” he asks.
I roll my eyes. “Just go!”
He grabs my waist, and together we jump out the window just as the hotel staff burst through the door. We rappel down the side of the building.
I don’t even question how Eric can hold our weight in the awkward grip of the tiny pen, or how Greyson managed to survive twice, or why I randomly became paralyzed.
I’m just glad to be alive and (somewhat) safe in Eric’s arms.
Bahahahaha— the PENS! This chapter had me laughing so hard that I could barely breathe, let alone write in cohesive sentences.
🤔 💬 If you could request a custom pen weapon created for you by George, what would it be? Tell us in the comments!