"In other news today, Dr. Joshua Mathews was found in Central Park with an arm and leg missing. Dr. Mathews, a leader in the field of neurology, was set to operate on a young man who has been in a deep—"
"It's your move, Chris."
Chris sat in front of a wooden chessboard with glass pieces, his red and Michael's white. His brother was quite the talented player, and had chased Chris into a tight corner, having seemingly anticipated each move from the very beginning. He sat there, his finger spinning lazily around the round tip of the queen's crown. It was smooth, and felt pleasant to the touch. He looked over the board trying to find a move.
"You have no choice, Chris," Michael said, pulling the orange juice out of the fridge. He raised the carton to take a drink, but paused, his eyes staring pass it and out into the distant space as he he became lost in thought. Michael shook his head, took a light sip, and replaced the carton before continuing. "I have you in check and your king can't move. You have to move the queen to take my knight."
He was right, as much as Chris hated to admit it. He reluctantly moved the queen forward two spaces to take the white knight. His finger lingered on the chess piece for a moment, then lifted it. Chris sighed. "Your move, Michael."
Michael casually walked to the table, not even bothering to study the board. And why should he? He had been in control of the game from the very start, four solid moves ahead of Chris, and already had his move set long before it had come. In fact, it was almost as if Michael already knew Chris's moves in advance, and was simply playing out a predetermined pattern. He casually picked up his second white knight, picked up the red queen with his other hand, and sat the knight in her place. With a warm smile, he responded, "Checkmate."
Chris groaned and picked up the red king, looking deep into its body and watching the colorful designs the light made when reflecting off the piece. "Looks like I lose again," he grumbled. "Big surprise."
"But you did better this time, Chris," Michael replied, slipping his black jacket on. He sat his fedora on his head, fiddling with it for a moment until he was satisfied with it. He paused and adjusted it once more, tipping it down ever so slightly to the right. "You have definitely improved since last time. Who knows? Maybe you will beat me some day."
"Yeah," Chris chuckled, setting the chess pieces carefully into the velvet placeholders on the bottom side of the board. Chris ran his fingers against the black fabric, enjoying its softness as it brushed across his fingertips. "And maybe it'll rain Mountain Dew or beer."
"You never know," Michael smiled, picking up the last of his stuff. "Now come on, we're going to be late for school."
"What are you talking about?" Chris grumbled, still sore over his defeat. He placed the closed chess set back in its place on the bookshelf, nudging aside the leaning book it called neighbor. Chris returned to his seat and finished off his glass of orange juice, which he had scarcely touched throughout the entire match. "We still have a good ten minutes before we have to leave to make it on time."
Michael paused, shocked, and glanced at the time on his phone only to confirm Chris's statement. He had been sure—no, he knew that it had been five till, and yet, as plain as the nose on his face, the clock read a quarter till. He stared, lost in confusion, at the phone that shine brightly in his hand. What made him think it was five till? Better yet, why was he so sure of it? He had known the time, without a shadow of a doubt, without having looked at a clock once the entire morning, as if that was supposed to have been the time at that very minute. And yet, staring back at him, was a time different from what he knew it was supposed to be. "L-Let's head out anyway," Michael managed, trying to shake off the unrelenting feeling of déjà vu that was beginning to overwhelm him. "I-I've got some last minute preparations I need to make for today's lesson, so we need to head out a little early."
Chris picked up his bag with an annoyed 'okay, okay' and headed for the door. Michael, however, paused and spared a glance outside the apartment's window. Across the street stood a man, dressed entirely in black. He didn't move—and hadn't moved since Michael had first spotted him earlier that morning. It must have been one of those 'agents' people had been spotting around town, and Michael would bet anything that he would be gone by the time he got downstairs. He growled.
"You can't have him... Not again..."
"It's your move, Chris."
Chris sat in front of a wooden chessboard with glass pieces, his red and Michael's white. His brother was quite the talented player, and had chased Chris into a tight corner, having seemingly anticipated each move from the very beginning. He sat there, his finger spinning lazily around the round tip of the queen's crown. It was smooth, and felt pleasant to the touch. He looked over the board trying to find a move.
"You have no choice, Chris," Michael said, pulling the orange juice out of the fridge. He raised the carton to take a drink, but paused, his eyes staring pass it and out into the distant space as he he became lost in thought. Michael shook his head, took a light sip, and replaced the carton before continuing. "I have you in check and your king can't move. You have to move the queen to take my knight."
He was right, as much as Chris hated to admit it. He reluctantly moved the queen forward two spaces to take the white knight. His finger lingered on the chess piece for a moment, then lifted it. Chris sighed. "Your move, Michael."
Michael casually walked to the table, not even bothering to study the board. And why should he? He had been in control of the game from the very start, four solid moves ahead of Chris, and already had his move set long before it had come. In fact, it was almost as if Michael already knew Chris's moves in advance, and was simply playing out a predetermined pattern. He casually picked up his second white knight, picked up the red queen with his other hand, and sat the knight in her place. With a warm smile, he responded, "Checkmate."
Chris groaned and picked up the red king, looking deep into its body and watching the colorful designs the light made when reflecting off the piece. "Looks like I lose again," he grumbled. "Big surprise."
"But you did better this time, Chris," Michael replied, slipping his black jacket on. He sat his fedora on his head, fiddling with it for a moment until he was satisfied with it. He paused and adjusted it once more, tipping it down ever so slightly to the right. "You have definitely improved since last time. Who knows? Maybe you will beat me some day."
"Yeah," Chris chuckled, setting the chess pieces carefully into the velvet placeholders on the bottom side of the board. Chris ran his fingers against the black fabric, enjoying its softness as it brushed across his fingertips. "And maybe it'll rain Mountain Dew or beer."
"You never know," Michael smiled, picking up the last of his stuff. "Now come on, we're going to be late for school."
"What are you talking about?" Chris grumbled, still sore over his defeat. He placed the closed chess set back in its place on the bookshelf, nudging aside the leaning book it called neighbor. Chris returned to his seat and finished off his glass of orange juice, which he had scarcely touched throughout the entire match. "We still have a good ten minutes before we have to leave to make it on time."
Michael paused, shocked, and glanced at the time on his phone only to confirm Chris's statement. He had been sure—no, he knew that it had been five till, and yet, as plain as the nose on his face, the clock read a quarter till. He stared, lost in confusion, at the phone that shine brightly in his hand. What made him think it was five till? Better yet, why was he so sure of it? He had known the time, without a shadow of a doubt, without having looked at a clock once the entire morning, as if that was supposed to have been the time at that very minute. And yet, staring back at him, was a time different from what he knew it was supposed to be. "L-Let's head out anyway," Michael managed, trying to shake off the unrelenting feeling of déjà vu that was beginning to overwhelm him. "I-I've got some last minute preparations I need to make for today's lesson, so we need to head out a little early."
Chris picked up his bag with an annoyed 'okay, okay' and headed for the door. Michael, however, paused and spared a glance outside the apartment's window. Across the street stood a man, dressed entirely in black. He didn't move—and hadn't moved since Michael had first spotted him earlier that morning. It must have been one of those 'agents' people had been spotting around town, and Michael would bet anything that he would be gone by the time he got downstairs. He growled.
"You can't have him... Not again..."