Vs Reality by Blake Northcott Page A

cocks an eyebrow. “So just because I wished for it hard enough it came true? Wow…when I first heard about that book ‘The Secret’ I thought it was all bullshit, but maybe they were on to something.”
    Dia waves both hands in the air as if to erase the confusion surrounding her explanation. “No, no, no, it’s more than just a simple desire. If it were that easy then anyone could do it. You tapped into something primal, and the universe responded.”
    “So pain causes it?” Donovan asks.
    “Not for everyone. Look, I’m really not the best person to explain all this,” she concedes with a small shrug. “Come downstairs and meet my friends…they’ll get you up to speed.” Dia rises and starts towards the rooftop exit in the center of the terrace.
    Cole stands to follow, and hears a crunch underfoot; stone rubbing against stone, shifting beneath his running shoe. Two bullet holes are by his feet, embedded deep into the marble tiles. “Hey, check it out,” he shouts across the rooftop, pointing at the damage. “Looks like we had a closer call that we thought.”
    “I’ve had closer,” she smiles. “Come on, we have a lot to talk about.”
    As Cole follows Dia through the doorway and down the spiraling staircase, he can’t help but think about his wingman back at Platinum. Just happy to be in one piece, he breathes a small sigh of relief and whispers under his breath, “I hope Jens is having a better night than I am.”

Chapter Eleven – Circumstance
    New York City
August 26, 2011
3:18 am, Eastern Daylight Time
     
    Frigid water slaps his face, soaking his hair, dousing his t-shirt. Jens snorts and coughs, eyes snapping open. He tries to wipe his eyes but his arms are immobilized; wrists bound to cold metal, ankles painfully strapped together. He’s tied to a chair in a large empty room – an abandoned warehouse, he guesses.
    The last thing he can remember is driving to Platinum, chugging way too many Bolt and Brews, then stumbling into an alley for reasons he can’t quite piece together. And then, he vaguely recalls a massive bald guy who looked like a Hawaiian tourist, slamming a cinderblock-sized fist into his face. And then, darkness. Not the good kind, like a black-out after binge drinking, or when he passes out on his couch sprawled on potato chip wrappers and XBOX controllers. This is a new sensation and it’s not nearly as fun; like waking from a car wreck, but a lot more terrifying.
    A Japanese man stands before him, dressed in a dark suit and jacket, a gray scarf draped around his neck. He’s clutching an empty water bottle in one hand and a smoldering cigarette filter in the other, the final dying embers crumbling to the floor. Behind him is a small rusted metal table fitted with drawers and compartments, with a red tool box sitting ominously on its scarred surface. And behind it stands a man twice as large as any Jens had ever encountered. It’s the Hawaiian tourist.
    Jens shifts his jaw back and forth. He runs his tongue along the inside of his mouth to check if any teeth are missing, tasting a coppery tang that stings his scratchy throat. “Where am I?” he mumbles, not expecting a response.
    Goto flicks the remains of his cigarette away and drops the plastic bottle to the concrete floor with a hollow rattle. “Not to be impertinent Mister Jennum, but I happen to be a little short on time this evening. This conversation is going to be somewhat one-sided, with me asking the questions, and you answering in short order.”
    Jens’ eyes grow wide as a realization sets in. “Oh shit …I know what’s going on here. You guys are here for Vinnie Three Thumbs, aren’t you?”
    Goto cocks his head to the side and then glances back at Mister Heinreich, who offers a confused shrug.
    “ Dude ,” Jens pleads, “ please tell Vinnie that I had no idea Jennie was his little sister. Until I saw her driver’s license I didn’t know they were related, and that she was born in…well, it