Chapter 1
Shing! Shing! Bryan ran his knife through his sharpener for the third time and looked at the stainless steel blade. Placing it back in its wooden holder with the rest of the set, he poured himself a glass of water. He glanced out the window and froze as he saw something, awkwardly dropping the glass on the counter, its contents spilling from the sides.
Someone was standing in the street dressed in all black clothes. They would have been impossible to see if not for the light of the street lamp. The black-clothed figure wasn’t looking in Bryan’s direction but seemed to be searching for something, slowly turning their head left to right. Bryan stared at the dark figure, getting an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach with each passing second.
Suddenly, the black figure turned their head in his direction! Bryan ducked down below the window, squeezing his eyes shut and clasping his hands together.
“Please don’t come here, please don’t come here,” Bryan whispered, panicked. He remembered his knives on the counter and reached for one, but they were too far, and instead, he grabbed a baseball bat in the corner for protection. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it, but he would defend himself if necessary. He sat there for a few minutes waiting to see if the person tried to break into his apartment, but nothing happened.
He sat up on his knees and took a peek out of the window. The person was gone. Bryan took a deep breath to calm himself down as he walked back to his room, wanting to get more sleep before work tomorrow. But little did he know that the black-clothed figure would change his life forever.
Bryan Dulan was an 18-year-old man living in Miami, Florida. For the past few months, he had worked as a line cook at a new restaurant named Gus’s Grill. The owner (not-so shockingly named Gus) was a rotund, jovial man who had taken a shine to Bryan after he interviewed the young man and said that one day he could rise to become a Kitchen Assistant. He had learned to cook from his mother when he was growing up, and even though he had burned himself many times, his skill had paid off.
Luckily, hard work, long hours, decent pay, a little help from his mother after he moved out after high school, and a few side gigs working as a personal trainer had given Bryan enough money to help him buy something he had wanted for years: a motorcycle. It was everything he had wanted ever since he was ten: the blue chrome paint job, its wonderful maneuverability, the fact that the engine was quiet yet powerful. As a bonus, it actually had storage space for things such as clothes. Bryan loved the open road as much as the next biker, but he also liked convenience.
Later on this cold January day, he headed straight home to his apartment, dead tired from training a new client. But it wasn’t over yet; he had dinner with some new neighbors in a couple of hours. They were a friendly couple in their mid-50s named Chris and Joan Hunter who, along with their eight-year-old son Tommy, had recently relocated to Miami from Portland, Maine.
Bryan had helped them move in last weekend. He had been walking by their apartment when Chris approached him and requested his help moving a couple of things off their U-Haul and into their apartment. A couple of things turned into a four-hour moving job, but the Hunter family was so grateful that they had insisted on treating him to dinner.
During the moving process, through grunted conversation, he found out more about his new neighbors.
Chris was a freelance programmer who worked with several important software companies, Joan was a fashion consultant, and Tommy was in 3rd grade. They had moved to Florida because they liked the warmer temperatures better than Maine, where they had moved from (although they disliked how temperamental the weather could be).
The Hunters were very nice people, but Bryan got the feeling that there was something more to them, as if there was a side of them that they were keeping close to the vest. For instance, when Bryan picked up a certain box, Chris quickly dropped the box he was holding, making the dishes inside clatter, strode over to Bryan, and quickly grabbed the box out of his hands.
“These are just some of my personal things,” Chris said politely, but firmly.
It was only for a second, but Bryan could swear he heard a faint clanking sound from the box, like two pieces of metal had collided.
“Bryan Doo-lawn,” said Chris, stretching out his last name, passing Bryan a sparkling water, and plopping down on their finally moved-in couch. “Never heard a name quite like it. Where’s it from?”
Bryan shrugged, taking a seat beside Chris. “It’s my dad’s name. He passed away during deployment to the Middle East when I was two, so I don’t know a lot about him except the things my mom told me.” Chris nodded and changed the subject.
“So what’s your favorite food?” It was an awkward transition.
“To eat or cook?” Bryan asked.
“Hmm, both I guess.”
“To eat, I’m kind of a breakfast guy, but if I can't get that, burgers and a side salad to balance the heaviness. To cook, well, anything that doesn’t require a dozen dishes to clean afterward.” They both laughed jovially.
It was a great first interaction.
Bryan finally opened the front door to his apartment, shielding his eyes as he saw the sun setting through the windows.
Bryan poured a cup of some of his home-made lemonade, crashed on his living room couch with a longing sigh, and clicked on his TV. After a few minutes of browsing Netflix, he decided to watch the news just to stay up to date about events going on in his city. Bryan tuned into a local news show featuring a serious-looking woman.
“The Vanishing Valder, real name Valder Dalton, has struck again,” she reported, other unrelated news banners appearing below her.
“This is the third bank he’s robbed in a week and a half. According to local officials, today’s robbery brings his theft total to 26 million dollars in just the local area.”
Bryan shook his head and took a few more sips of his drink, laughing.
“The Vanishing Valder,” he mumbled to himself. “What, did this guy escape from the circus?”
The newscaster continued. “The police chief has reported that during these crimes, the station receives calls from the bank about the silent alarm being tripped and the vault being breached,” she said, the TV image changing to show police investigating the vault. “But by the time they get there, The Vanishing Valder is already on the run with the money. The few people who have caught a glimpse of him when he runs outside after robbing a bank say that he-”
The host paused for a second to get the exact quote.
“Vanishes into some kind of black smoke or mist.” She looked back at the camera, her arms crossed on the table, her serious expression not changing, as if a person vanishing into smoke was a common occurrence.
“With only that to go on, police and experts suspect that he is a magician trying to make a name for himself, emulating movies like Now You See Me.”
“The Vanishing Valder was last seen wearing all black clothes. We are advising the public to keep a look out for this man, but do not approach; although no one has been hurt yet, he may be armed and dangerous. This is the best photo we could capture from cell phone footage.” The TV cut to a grainy, but digitally enhanced picture of a haggard, tough-looking man with piercing green eyes and stubble covering his face. Bryan noticed that he looked frighteningly like the person whom he had seen last night, but it was obviously a coincidence… Right?
