Jumper
[WP] Drinking and driving can be a dangerous idea, leaving you with no memory of what you were doing, but every eyewitness of the crash you were just in has the same story: your car suddenly teleported across three lanes of traffic in an instant, and you can't prove one way or another what happened. Griffin Davies hadn't been sure of what happened, but waking up in the drunk tank only to be interrogated by the cops had been the worst six hours of his life. They'd come at him right away, as soon as he was awake and coherent enough to tell them what happened. Only he had very little to tell them. He was hungover as hell, and he had started the party early with his roommates. They had insisted that drinking at 10AM on your 21st birthday didn't make you an alcoholic, it made you a pirate. He had laughed at that, and so… They took their first shots together. He'd been slow to start, mostly because who the hell drinks in the morning? However, it had picked up by the mid-afternoon. As more people filed into the house that he shared with two close friends, Aaron and Matt, the party had picked up immensely. He remembered going to the washroom, going out for a smoke, and then… Nothing. Apparently, at some point, he'd decided he was starving. He had eaten snacks throughout the day. Random food in bowls that tons of other people had devoured, but he wanted something real. So, a quick run to the local McDick's wouldn't be a problem, right? Matt had tried to hide his keys, but he'd found them in the freezer. Walking out the door without anyone even noticing, according to Aaron. And off he'd gone. And the crash… Nothing. Still, nothing. He hadn't killed anyone, thank fuck. If Aaron and Matt hadn't come to talk to him, he wouldn't have even known about Matt hiding his keys. Or that he'd complained of being hungry. Matt insisted that he told him they were ordering a ton of pizza, but apparently that wasn't what he'd wanted. The cops had asked him questions over and over again. And he'd responded the same way every time. He'd managed to get several bottles of water from them while being interrogated at least. He desperately needed to rehydrate, and the water fountain/toilet in the cell was disgusting. It was uncleaned, with gum and loogies, he was even sure someone had pissed in it. Eventually out of exhaustion, and the hangover from hell, he'd asked to be taken back to his cell, and that he clearly needed a lawyer. It didn't matter though… He was going to fucking prison. He knew it, the cops knew it, Matt and Aaron knew it. Everyone knew it. That was… Until the cops came back with traffic camera footage, that they were unwilling to show him. And then, when they'd pulled him from his cell again, they started asking strange questions. "How'd you do it?" "The witnesses saw it. Nine different people." "How is that possible?" "You need to tell us right now, Griffin." "How did you do it?" But there was no alluding to what they were talking about. He kept repeating himself, over and over, but no one was listening anymore. They were sitting up close and personal by the time the door to the interrogation room was opened again. A black man with a well-tailored grey suit stood in the doorway. He looked at the cops, almost in disdain. With the blue eyes of a husky dog. Clear, crisp, and focused. One of the cops, Agent something-or-other, stood abruptly and glowered at the man in the doorway. "What the fuck, you blind? The lights on. The room is in use, man," the beefy man growled out. The unnamed black man flashed a badge at the man, and raised a brow without an ounce of interest in what the cop was saying. Griffin can't see what the badge says, but he sees the cop bristle. "Our fucking collar, man," he snaps at the mysterious stranger. "Not anymore. Get the fuck out. Close the door behind you, and disconnect the cameras, or you'll have no job, no life, no pension, and be spending time in Guantanamo. Away from that lovely wife of yours, what's her name again? Oh yes, Cathy. Do you understand me, Agent Meisner?" The black man's voice is cool, and calm. He doesn't seem to have a single interest in the cops. His sharp blue eyes are focused intently on Griffin. The intensity is unnerving. "Fuck," Agent Meisner cusses, and continues to curse as he exits. His counterpart follows quickly after him at a clipped pace. The door closes behind them, and the man pulls one of the chairs from their up-close and personal position and gives Griffin some distance. He sits down silently, before glancing up at the ceiling. "Turn the fucking camera off. Do you think I can't tell you're watching right now, Agent Meisner? This is your very last warning. And I am not a forgiving man," the unnamed man says looking directly into a spot in the ceiling. Griffin looks up and sees nothing. There is no camera that he can see. The man is sitting near him, but in no way invading his space. He seems to be waiting for something. The fuck? "The fuck, indeed, Mr. Davies," the man says to him with a small smile. "The camera is off now. We are alone together. May I call you Griffin?" Griffin's heart palpitates, and he nods ever so slightly. "Well, Griffin, my name is Ezekiel. If you'd like, you can call me Z. Many people do. I'd like to ask you a few questions." Would it matter if I actually answered aloud or not? Griffin can't help but think. Ezekiel smiles in an almost pitying manner, and clears his throat. "Probably not, Griffin. But I'd rather we discuss it vocally, so that we can interact in a way you are used to, and more comfortable with," he offers, keeping his voice and facial expression soft. "You see, Mr. Davies, I'm sorry, Griffin, we have footage from a traffic camera showing you jumping across three lanes of traffic." "I don't remember any of it," he says, his brow furrowing. "Are you my lawyer?" Ezekiel chuckles at this, and shakes his head ever so gently. He raises his eyes to Griffin once more, and those blue eyes seem to twinkle ever so slightly in their amusement. "I'm glad you're entertained, Ezekiel, but my life in a prison cell is waiting—" "I am not your lawyer, Griffin. And, there are many people who drive drunk who don't even serve time. Especially as a first indictment, and you didn't kill anyone," Ezekiel says, with a still amused smile on his face. "Sure, you're going to lose your license, but I'm sure we can work with that. I already know you don't drink often, and you've never driven drunk before. And you're right around the age of juvenile powers showing." "I'm sorry, what?" Griffin is even more confused than ever. "I'd like to show you something," Ezekiel says, simply. He opens his briefcase, and inside is a laptop and several papers for things that he can't make out. Ezekiel opens the laptop, and it's already set to where it needs to be. He simply turns it to Griffin, and presses the spacebar. The traffic cam footage begins to play. The footage of his car about to go through a red light appears and he leans back miserably. Bracing himself for the impact of whomever he'd hit. He's clenching his teeth so hard, he's sure he's going to crack his molars. His car seems to disappear, despite other traffic continuing, he shows up three lanes over into oncoming traffic. He watches as his car sideswipes a truck, a minivan, and crashes head-on with a huge Mac truck. The way his small sedan crunches underneath the front of the large eighteen-wheeler is terrifying. His car is on fire in the video. How is he unmarked? No broken bones? Not bleeding to death in a hospital? Burnt to a crisp? Dead? He should be dead from what he sees here on the video. He is wide-eyed and in disbelief. After a moment, he sees himself appear out of nowhere, nearby the wreck. Standing about ten feet away, in between the original cars that he'd hit. People had already dismounted from their wrecked vehicles, and seem confused at his appearance. If he hadn't appeared right in front of their eyes, they would have never known. He doesn't understand and voices his uncertainty. "I don't… understand," Griffin says, confused more than ever. "I don't remember any of that." Ezekiel smiles calmly, and reaches over. Closing the laptop, slowly. "Is this doctored? Photoshopped or video-shopped or… I don't understand…" "It's okay, Griffin, I need you to take a breath," Ezekiel instructs him, as his heart continues to palpitate. Griffin starts to hyperventilate. "I need you to breathe. The video is not doctored. You are what we refer to as a 'Jumper'. It usually happens at a much younger age, but sometimes for those who don't relax or focus enough on the concept, it doesn't happen until much later." Griffin gasps for breath. "I'm…I can't breathe," Griffin looks around the room almost deliriously. Ezekiel reaches out, and places a hand on his shoulder. And immediately calm covers him, like a cool soothing blanket. He feels almost elated. "I'm sorry, I don't usually do that, but these are special circumstances," Ezekiel expresses apologetically, but Griffin is grateful, and fills his lungs with air. "We will need to go soon." "Go?" Griffin asks, confused again. "I'm sorry, Griffin, their kind and our kind, we… don't mix well. You will need to start anew elsewhere, with a new identity, and in a place that you are unknown. We will erase their memories of you, from family, friends, witnesses, and the traffic cam footage. All things. You are a risk to all of those who know you, they could use them as leverage against you," Ezekiel says sadly. "I hate to disrupt your life like this, but people like us… We don't have many options." "People like us?" Griffin queries. He feels like all he's been doing is asking questions. Ezekiel smiles sadly before speaking the one word that will change Griffin's life forever, "Superheroes."
