Wilson Cooper

I know what’s going on exactly when I wake up. As soon as my mind clears of enough sleep to register your presence, I do. So, hello there. Welcome to this portion of my story. Sorry if I seem out of it or awkward or something, I wasn’t expecting to entertain company today. I wasn’t given much warning. If you could give me a couple minutes of privacy to shower and properly wake up, that would be appreciated.

I sit up in bed and toss the covers off my body. I swing my legs out of bed and they slam directly into an open drawer of Wilson’s nightstand. Evidently he’d been so eager to sleep the night before that he’d neglected to properly shut the drawer so this very thing didn’t happen. Like an idiot. Ugh, really? That’s just low. And I know for a fact that I didn’t even open the drawer!

The wound to Wilson’s legs must be so severe that it’s messing with his mind. In his addled thoughts he’s clearly forgetting that he’s the one to have opened the drawer to oh no you don’t! This drawer contains accessories and an emergency stash of late night snacks! Neither of which I would have needed last night! Why would I have opened the drawer? Wilson berated himself, cursing his own stupidity.

Ugh, you see what I have to put up with, dear reader? They’re always trying to pull petty little tricks like this, like I have nothing better to do with my day then to be their metaphorical punching bag. The alarm on Wilson’s phone starts going off, signifying that he’s wasted too much time and if he doesn’t get out of the house right now he’s going to be late to work.

My eye twitches but in the end I sigh and decide to just let it go. It’s not worth it. You hear me?! You’re not worth it! With that last thought and jab I rush through my closet to get dressed. Unfortunately Wilson’s been putting off doing his laundry for so long that all he can wear is a pair of pants that are a size too small and a shirt that’s just rumpled enough for everyone at work to notice. You petty little… I did laundry yesterday! Whatever, I don’t have time for this.

I pull the clothes on, struggling a little bit with the pants, and rush out of the house. I snatch my keys off a hook by the door as I go by, locking the door behind me in a swift motion and rushing toward my car. Once in the driver’s seat I begin the long drive to work. It’s not long because of distance or anything, unfortunately. It’s because as Wilson drives he quickly encounters a new patch of road work, delaying his drive considerably. That. It’s because of that.

Whatever. I slowly make my way through the busy and cramped road, moving only inches at a time as I make my way to work. It’ll be fine. I have plenty of time.

Wilson’s car sputters once and then lurches to a stop from a piece of gravel that had bounced up into the engine. I sigh and stare at the steering wheel with what I can only describe as the look of someone who is just done with everything. My car was in the shop just a week ago after someone sawed open the hood and stole my radiator cap not three days after the exact design of cap I use was discontinued and recalled. Without any warning whatsoever the airbag popped out, engulfing Wilson in its grasp.

I groan and get out of the car. With the construction going on I can’t just call a tow truck. Even without the construction that almost definitely wouldn’t work. Looking at my phone I see I have just over an hour until I have to be at work. Without a car it’s going to be close. But I think I can make it, even when everything else goes wrong. I just need to find another way to get there.

I look around the construction site, slowly formulating a plan. Not too far from me is an excavator. I casually approach. A worker is sitting inside, idly flipping through a book. Likely waiting for instructions or he’s on a break or even just procrastinating his job. I’m not one to judge. I walk up to the side of the excavator and wave to get his attention.

“Excuse me!” I call out, my voice barely audible over the sounds of construction and traffic.

Max Clark puts down his comic and looks at the newcomer calling out to him. A distraction is most definitely welcome right about now. Max leans onto the windowsill to look down at the distraction properly. He’s careful not to touch the controls, though he can’t deny that the image of the arm swinging around and scooping the distraction up in the bucket is amusing. Seriously? Don’t make Max think like that you sadistic little “What can I do for you?” Max asked pointedly.

I roll my eyes subtly. “I’m having a little bit of car trouble,” I begin carefully. I point over my shoulder at where my car has been abandoned. “I need to call for help but my phone isn’t working right. Do you have one that I can borrow?”

“Why, of course I do!” Max declares. It’s not the best distraction out there, but he won’t say no. He pushes the door of the excavator open and hops out, digging his phone out of his pocket. “Here, call whoever you need. If you don’t have a mechanic already, I know a good one.”

“Thanks, but I have a good mechanic already,” I say, approaching Max as he approaches me. I have to have a good mechanic with the amount of times something will cause my car to break down for seemingly no reason. I meet Max by the edge of the excavator. He holds out his phone, offering it to me easily. “Thank you,” I say, reaching out to take it. “And I’m sorry about this.”

“Pshaw, don’t mention it.”

“I’m still sorry.” My hand brushes Max’s phone. My hand moves past it and grabs Max by the wrist. I tug on it and twirl around his stumbling form, hopping up onto the excavator. Max feels his very heart and soul breaking as he watches the distraction climb up onto his excavator and yank the door shut behind him.

Max had trusted him, had believed the best of him, and yet this vile fiend had tricked him. The hardened criminal turned the excavator on. The engine roared and released a puff of smoke. It started slowly rolling away from Max, retreating down the street. Max could only lay there in the dirt, watching in shock as evil incarnate left him behind. His world spun around him, breaking and fracturing and shattering into nothing as he felt all hope he ever had for humanity, the very thing that he proudly declared to be a defining characteristic, disappear into little fragments that seemed to pelt down on him from above, cutting into his skin and slicing through his body, leaving him nothing more than a hollow shell of the man he’d once okay okay, you can stop twisting the knife now!

Yes, I stole the excavator. Is it the best idea? No, not really. But it’s also the best I can do right now, okay? I know I won’t exactly get in trouble for stealing it like this. The story would get boring within a day of me being in jail. So either I don’t go there at all, or things line up for me to have a prison break story, and that would obviously end with me going free. Though, knowing what he’s like, Wilson can’t help but acknowledge the possibility that he’d break out moments before he’d have been released anyway, leading to a life on the run for no good reason whatsoever.

You’d never allow me a life on the run. At most I’d be busy a few weeks before my casefile got thrown into a fire or something. Wilson of course has no idea how to properly drive an excavator, so he bumps it against a previously excavated mound of dirt. The bump sends me bouncing around, only stopping when my head slams against the window. I groan and rub my head, but continue pressing the controls at random. Despite the bumpy ride, the excavator keeps going in the direction I want.

Suddenly, flashing red and blue lights shine against the mirrors of the stolen excavator. Sirens so loud they manage to drown out the roaring engine. My eye twitches as I properly examine the mirror. And, yep, that is a police car behind me. A police car that is soon joined by at least a dozen others, forming a veritable fleet to chase down quite possibly the worst criminal since the last time Wilson Cooper had been arrested.

Fortunately, the police have slowed down to match the speed of the excavator. None of them are making any move to overtake me, resulting in a low speed chase with very high stakes and leaving me free and clear to keep going to work.

And then the excavator runs out of gas.

As it rolls to a stop, I take a moment to examine my options. I’m not too far from work. I can definitely walk that far if I have to. But, as the police surround the excavator, I realize that I don’t have to. Because while most of the officers are driving traditional police cruisers, there is one who just has to be different. This one has one of those fancy police motorcycles.

Perched atop the motorcycle is the biggest and scariest person that Wilson has seen in as long as he can remember. He must be at least nine feet tall, and if I had to take a guess I’d say four hundred pounds of pure muscle. I’m pretty sure that bicep is bigger than my entire body. It’s not exactly ideal, but I’ll be fine, I’m sure.

I hop out of the excavator and start walking over to the horde of police officers. They scream at me to surrender, raise my hands, and even get down on the ground. I do none of those things. I just keep walking. Eventually they open fire, though I’m not worried. You want to know why? Because I know that the only thing more boring than a prison story is a hospital story where I’d have to be unconscious throughout most if not all of it.

Miraculously, the bullets all miss Wilson. Instead, they get caught in the wind and zoom around him to break through the shell of the excavator. Within moments, the bulletholes spell out the phrase “DIE WILSON DIE A HORRIBLE AND BRUTAL AND PAINFUL DEATH YOU ABSOLUTE MONSTER AND YOUR SHIRT DOESNT MATCH YOUR EYES.” I can’t deny, that last part cut a bit deeper than I’m comfortable with.

As I approach the hulking great beast of a police officer, I absently kick a rock on the ground. The rock bounces up and strikes the officer in the forehead and knocks him to the ground. It then recoils and slams between Wilson’s legs. You sadistic little— The rock drops to the ground and bounces back up to strike the same spot.

Unable to stop squeaking in pain, I still manage to limp over to the now vacant motorcycle. I whimper and tear up as I swing one leg over it. The bike creaks under Wilson’s weight, and one of the tires seems dangerously close to popping, but it holds firm.

In this moment, I decide to take the high road. Quite literally. I accelerate the bike rapidly, weaving through the police blockade and driving up a hill of dirt. The bike jumps over a line of cars and lands back in the middle of the street.

The street was empty, having been evacuated once Max Clark spread the word that an absolute monster was on the loose. A few seconds later the police pursuit, now totaling almost three dozen cars and bikes, follows up and starts to chase me at much higher speeds. They start shooting at me. I know with this many there’s no way I’ll be able to avoid getting hit, so it definitely won’t be long until I wind up in a hospital.

Wilson can see his office building in the distance, and once he gets inside then surely he’ll be safe. And with only one beat up old police car chasing him, getting there will be no trouble at all. Frankly, despite technically being a high speed chase, it’s been pretty boring so far. Definitely not a story worth telling.

Wait, no, hang on! Don’t do a scene break! That hurts like you wouldn’t—

[Wilson was once caught stealing candy from a baby]

Wilson yanks his bike to the side, causing it to go spinning around and around in an embarrassing display of control. It crashes through the front doors of the building and comes to a stop in the middle of the lobby.

I groan and flop off the bike, a sudden splitting ache in my head. I sit up and look around. Most everyone is ignoring me, long since used to my antics. But at least I made it to work, and a glance at my phone shows I even have two whole minutes to spare.

Also, for the record, I was also a baby at the time. Pretty sure I was actually younger than the other kid.

Clicking footsteps bring Wilson out of his delusional recollections of the week before. The receptionist, Amelia, has stepped out from behind her desk and is approaching Wilson. She holds out a security pass for the other person to take.

I reach up to take the pass. “Thanks,” I mutter.

Amelia gives a nod and soft smile of acknowledgement to my words, but quickly moves on. “I know you only just got in, but Mr. Collins would like to see you in his office, Miss Borealis.”

“Thanks for letting me—” I stop talking abruptly as Amelia’s words sink in. Miss Borealis? With a sinking feeling, I turn over the security pass. Printed across one side of the card is the name Aurora Borealis.

Oh come on! Aurora complains in her mind, going so far as to shake her fist at the ceiling. You rewrote my backstory? Again?!