Everyone in Neptune High had well-off parents. If not filthy rich, at least rich enough to pay bail. It was cheaper when it was for an attempt rather than a successful crime, allegedly. That’s what she saw on a shady website that offered law advice. Even if it wasn’t cheap, Josh’s father was one of the principal shareholders of Trident Tech, unarguably one of the largest companies in the city, and could effortlessly pay just about anything the court could throw at them.
Despite his wealth, Mr. Gibson couldn’t compare to Giselle’s father, though. At least when it came to shady dealings like bribing the court, as it was quite apparent that Mr. Miller wasn’t exactly clean. No innocent man would have more than a dozen small businesses under his name and somehow make more money in a month than they could possibly generate.
It was evident that Josh would be sentenced unless they got their hands on concrete proof, which testifying wouldn’t be.
That is… unless Isabella did something.
So there she stood, facing the door that led to Mr. Gibson’s. On the door was a stainless steel plate with the number ’37’, which was more difficult to find than Isabella hoped it would be. Apartment complexes were always complicated and her math expertise failed her thanks to each floor not having the same amount of doors.
Some had four and some had two, for some odd reason. Her assumption was that they’d be uniform, with the exact same number of apartments on each floor but after running up and down the stairs several times, she realized that the fastest method was to check each floor individually.
For some reason, they lived in an apartment rather than the suburbs.
If Isabella could afford it, she’d be instantly outside the city even if she had to wake up thirty minutes, or god forbid, an hour earlier to get to work on time.
If she even needed to work if she could afford that.
There was no peephole in the door so it was only possible to see outside with the electric doorbell attached to the wall. It had a camera so that was what Isabella assumed its purpose was and it most likely had a microphone as well.
Before entering the building, she had to have someone from inside remotely unlock the door for her or use a chip. Isabella did neither, though. She followed someone in when they were entering which perfectly coincided with her arrival.
That meant the conversation she should have had outside would happen outside the door of their apartment.
Awkward.
Maybe calling him or sending it online was for the better but Isabella never liked online interactions. It stole away all the magic that came with having conversations. Video calls were a thing but calling someone she hadn’t even met and then requesting to turn on the camera would be ruder than visiting them out of nowhere.
So here she was, standing outside their door, having chosen the lesser evil.
Isabella tapped on the square, black button —the only one on the electric doorbell, and she could hear it ringing inside. Right from underneath the lens came a dim, white light, as if telling her that the camera was finally on.
“Mr. Gibson, I assume,” said Isabella, staring into the camera, hoping there was a microphone somewhere on the doorbell, “I’m Isabella Blair, Josh’s math teacher. May I speak with him?”
“I’m afraid not. He’s locked himself up in his room and you’re the third one today. He said no to all three,” said a grainy voice, coming from the doorbell’s speaker. It was undeniably male but nothing else could be said about it due to the poor quality.
“But he’ll want to see me,” said Isabella.
The microphone clicked, seemingly turned off from the other side. Then she could hear a faint unintelligible yell from inside, and soon after, the microphone turned on again.
“Why’s that?” asked Mr. Gibson.
“Because I happen to be the only one that won’t persuade him to confess,” said Isabella and after a second, she added, “Among staff, that is.”
The microphone turned off again but this time, the light from the camera faded as well. The lock clicked and a man with enough gel on his hair for its smell to overpower his cologne opened the door. He was wearing a pink office shirt and jeans at home for some reason, perhaps because he was in an online meeting moments prior and hadn’t changed into anything comfortable yet.
“May I?” asked Isabella as the man stood there, the door half-open.
“Go ahead. If you can drag him out of his room, he’s all yours,” said Mr. Gibson and stepped back after pushing the door open all the way. He locked the door after she walked in, as it was the type that didn’t lock by itself if not done so manually.
“Have you gotten a lawyer yet?” asked Isabella, “For his upcoming trial, I mean.”
“Well, yes, but he said it’d be an impossible case. It seems that there’s no real way for him to be declared not guilty but reducing his sentence is a possibility,” said Mr. Gibson as he walked past her and into the house, then he clicked his tongue, “The system is screwed up. There’s no concrete proof and they just throw the blame at the boy instead of the girl.”
“So you don’t think he’s guilty?” asked Isabella, an eyebrow raised.
“If he was, he most certainly wouldn’t be guilty of using a gun. It’s a dead giveaway,” said Mr. Gibson and chuckled. He shook his head slowly, “No, Miss Blair. I don’t think Josh is guilty. If he was, I doubt he’d have failed. Even if he did, he’d have used something more discreet. Like a tactically placed bomb.”
That was his idea of discreet?
Without the threat of chalk, Isabella could wear her favorite blazer. It looked almost like black leather if you looked at it from the right angle, coupled with an actual leather belt tied around the waist. To complete the look, she had black dress pants and neat all-black Chelsea boots. From the inside pocket of her jacket, Isabella pulled out a flash drive and held it up between her index and middle finger.
“You’d be correct, then. This flash drive contains evidence that’ll prove your son’s innocence,” said Isabella and placed it in Mr. Gibson’s hand, “If you thought he was guilty, I’d have given it directly to him, but it seems you’ll do.”
She turned her head to the only room with a closed door.
“Is that his room?” she asked.
“What’s this? Camera footage?” asked Mr. Gibson.
“It’s a confession,” said Isabella and pulled out her phone, also from her inner pocket. Then she played the voice recording of Giselle’s monologue, “I have it on my phone and the cloud as well, in case they get lost.”
“Well, good for me. He’s taken the fall,” resounded Giselle’s mocking voice from the phone and Mr. Gibson narrowed his eyes. He took the phone out of Isabella’s hand and held it against his ears despite the fact that it was at its max volume, which would no doubt be deafening if put so close to the ears.
It was loud enough to hear from any part of the house. That happened to include Josh’s room as well.
There came a click and the door opened. It didn’t creak like the one in the classroom or the one she walked through just now. From between the small gap that the door created, Josh stuck out his head and slowly opened it after looking around.
“You recorded it,” said Josh after listening to the recording from his room for a few seconds, then he slowly walked closer to the phone until he was right next to his father.
“I anticipated that she’d start spouting nonsense the moment she started laughing like a maniac when you left. So I did what any sane person would. I recorded it,” said Isabella and gave Josh a pat on his shoulder with a smile before turning around, “You’re safe. That’s all I wanted to say.”
There was a frown on his face when he came out, which slowly turned into a smirk. Then he let out a cackle and rubbed his forehead with one hand while shaking his head.
“That’s… that’s great. It means that I don’t have to work on that. Speaking of, I should probably turn it off-” started Josh and he swiftly turned on his heels, only for the smell of burnt plastic emanate across the entire house, “Don’t mind that. I was just doing some welding and I put it on my pen, which is probably melted by now, which is why you’re smelling that. Don’t worry, though. It’s basically a glorified iron. The kind you use for ironing- Well, you get the idea.”
Welding?
Perhaps that was the project he was talking about earlier, but it seemed like he was working on it to use it in… prison?
“Thank you,” said Mr. Gibson, and after a few seconds of silence, he added, “That meant a lot to the both of us.”
“Just so you know, I was ready for prison!” shouted Josh from his room.
It seemed that she’d overstayed her welcome. Seeing people happy like that wasn’t so bad. There was a part of Isabella that wanted to help others and to see their reactions, but if she said that it was the reason she became a teacher, it would be a lie.
“It’s only natural. As a proper adult, that is,” said Isabella and flashed him a smile. Then she opened the lock on the door, walked out, lightly closed it behind herself, and let out a deep sigh. It wouldn’t get automatically locked but closing it was a reflex.
That went well.
She even made a cool exit, but she hadn’t even been in there for five minutes. Many would see it as time wasted on something that she could’ve just gotten over with in three minutes by writing an email instead of driving for half an hour, but Isabella preferred this. Talking to people in person made it feel more genuine.
The building had electric lights with motion sensors that lit up when you walked beneath them. It meant that unless no one was out and walking, they’d remain off. It also meant that whenever they were lit, someone was there.
The corridor had the entrances to all the apartments and to the left, from Isabella’s perspective, there were the stairs and the elevator. She couldn’t see whoever was there but the bright blue lights were on and she could hear people talking.
She froze.
The design of the building was so that you’d have to walk past the elevator to go up or down the stairs, as it was in the middle of the stairs that led to the floor below and the stairs that led to the upper floor.
Maybe it was just a family.
Yeah, it could be that. Just a family going out for lunch or coming home for it. That had to be it. Her luck couldn’t be that bad.
“It’s nothing,” Isabella quietly said to herself with closed eyes, “You have powers now, Bell. It’s no longer scary. You shouldn’t be scared.”
She opened her eyes and gulped, trying her best to calm her heart running a marathon within her chest. The only thing she could hear was her heartbeat, the steps of the people around the corner completely drowned out by it.
Slowly, she placed one leg in front of the other and kept repeating that same action, trying not to think about the past. Thinking about that made her nauseous, and vomiting what little breakfast she’d gotten didn’t bode well with her. The aftertaste was disgusting and she had no gum or mint in her pocket, courtesy of not wearing the suit to work as much as she wanted to. Both the gum and the mint were in the pockets of her jeans.
That stray thought considerably calmed Isabella down and with her newfound clarity, she gathered herself and fixed her tie —it was a reflex. She did it whenever she felt like her hands weren’t busy enough.
“You’re a Super now,” mumbled Isabella, and that was the last push she needed.
Her heart was back to beating at its normal rate, its sound fading back to the background as it should be. She could finally hear the steps around the corner and stifled speech. Then she could smell the smoke of a cigarette.
That explained why they were there so long.
Probably some kids smoking out in the corridor so they wouldn’t be caught. It was common practice in sour neighborhoods but Isabella expected more from a fancy place like this. Seemed that everywhere was the same.
Isabella turned and took a look at the elevator, which was on the 4th floor, not even paying any attention to whoever was standing there. That proved to be a mistake when someone placed a hand over her mouth and pulled her aside.
“Thank you,” said Mr. Gibson, “That meant a lot to the both of us.”
She was back.
She was back.
Isabella took a deep breath and turned around, just like before.
“It’s my responsibility as a teacher,” said Isabella and gave him a nod, but the smile she gave him last time wasn’t present. Her mind was elsewhere.
But she couldn’t have died so easily.
What caused the rewind? Could she possibly trigger it with something other than death? If so, it’d make it easier for her to loop back. That... didn't even cross her mind during the few tests she did back home. It didn't hurt but suicide was suicide. Did it even count as 'suicide' if she wasn't truly dying, though?
It was a can of worms that Isabella wasn’t willing to open right now. She had to know if whoever did that was related to Giselle and her father or not. If they weren’t, then she had to evade them. If they were… she’d do something.
Somehow.
Or not.
Isabella didn’t care if they were related to Giselle. Whoever did something like that was trash —trash that didn’t deserve to be walking around free, or walking at all. If she looped back, it had to have been something dangerous. If whoever was standing there did that despite not being connected to Giselle, then they’d be far worse than people following orders.
She was a Super now.
“Ah,” said Mr. Gibson after a few seconds of staring at her, “You’re a Super.”
That was the side-effect of using powers. Whenever it was used, the Super’s eyes lit up. That made it almost impossible to hide when you were using your powers unless you wore shades. Whenever she jumped back in time, her eyes would start glowing.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
But that didn't matter.
This was a throwaway loop. Even if he knew things he shouldn’t, it didn’t matter. Next time, she wouldn’t make the same mistake and as long as the end result was Mr. Gibson not knowing about her powers, the path there didn’t matter. It’d get wiped from their memory. Rather, in the only timeline that would be solidified, he wouldn't even manage to see her eyes glowing.
Isabella decided what version they’d remember.
“I’ll be taking my leave now, if you won’t mind,” said Isabella and left the apartment. This time, she closed the door slightly harder than before.
She didn’t freeze up.
Not this time.
The only fears that Isabella suffered from were fear of the unknown and her severe case of arachnophobia, and whoever was around the corner was no longer unknown.
That meant she was no longer afraid.
She walked faster now, almost stomping on the ground with each step. It was like she wanted them to know about her approach, as easy as it would make it for them to capture her. But not being caught wasn’t the goal right now. Catching a glimpse of them was.
Her goal was clear: figure out who they were and where they were standing so she could make her escape during the next loop.
After getting to the opening, Isabella pounced out, her head turned to the right. There, she spotted the familiar visage of Mr. Green now wearing a suit rather than his security guard uniform. Almost taken aback by her sudden appearance, it took him a few seconds to react to that.
That was more than enough time to let her spot the other one standing on the opposite side: a shorter man that Isabella could probably take down if she jumped him. Just like his partner, the stranger wore shades.
She got grabbed from behind by Mr. Green and everything went dark.
“Thank you,” said Mr. Gibson and nodded his head, eyes closed, “That meant a lot to the both of us.”
Would she need to loop again?
Maybe not, or maybe she’d need to. Regardless, she couldn’t leave loose ends in the reality that would solidify. Before Mr. Gibson opened his eyes, Isabella shut her eyes, concealing its glow. In uncertain situations, it was better to act reserved.
“It’s only natural,” said Isabella and turned around, her eyes still closed. After a good twenty seconds passed, Isabella finally opened her eyes and walked out.
Her eyes glowed for approximately ten seconds. She’d come to that conclusion after testing the extents of her powers before leaving her house. It was unknown how far into the past her power could throw her, but it was evident that it didn’t extend past ten minutes. Her maximum when she was testing it out at home was only four but back at the school, Isabella was sure that she jumped back at least eight.
“I wish you luck,” she said while she lightly tapped the door closed. She wanted this time to count. Running past two of them wouldn’t be troublesome if she caught them by surprise. Even if she wasn’t fit, how hard could it be?
She’d have a head start.
Just like before, Isabella walked over to the opening that led to the elevator and the stairs. The thick stench of cigarette smoke hung in the air and she suppressed the urge to cough. She silently took a breath and dashed out, and unlike before, her purpose wasn’t to take a look at them but to run away.
Isabella succeeded in passing by and made her way to the halfway point in only two leaps. Beyond the halfway point, there’d be a 180-degree turn and that’d lead to the lower floor. As if only realizing it was their target that ran past them, the duo that grabbed her before broke into a run.
The adrenaline made her palms itch and her heart pump faster.
She successfully made her way to the lower floor but just when she was descending the next flight of stairs, something heavy crashed on top of her. Presumably, one of the thugs jumped atop her, and that was when everything went blank.
“Thank you,” said Mr. Gibson.
What the hell happened?
Jumping after her like that was crazy. Even if they were built like bricks, something like that would hurt her. If they were supposed to catch her without injuring her, they’d fail at their objective. It meant that they wanted to catch her regardless of the means, which made running from them difficult.
If they had guns, they wouldn’t hesitate to use them on her, most likely. Even in the middle of the city. Even if she did manage to avoid them, they’d come for her when she was home.
This was a debacle.
Absorbed in her thoughts, Isabella forgot to close her eyes and only managed to get a grasp of herself after Mr. Gibson pointed it out.
“Ah,” he said softly.
“Yes, I’m a Super. I know, I know,” hissed Isabella. She didn’t say it loud enough for Josh to overhear it from the other room, though. Within a moment, a plan started to formulate within her mind. Finally, she added, “It seems I’ve wasted too much time with the theatrics. Mr. Miller’s men are already near the elevator.”
“So ugh, what… are your powers exactly? For you to know that. I thought Warpers had more dramatic effects,” said Mr. Gibson, his head slightly tilted to the side.
Isabella didn’t plan for that.
Having her powers known to others didn’t exactly endanger her, but she didn’t want to do that. Even if her powers were effective despite others knowing of it, that’d make it seem far less intimidating or perhaps far more intimidating: knowing your enemy would never make a mistake was terrifying, after all.
“I don’t think that’s your business,” said Isabella, lips pressed shut. After a few seconds of thinking, she turned to Mr. Gibson, “I think I saw a fire escape. How do you get there?”
“You’ll have to get past the elevator to do that,” said Mr. Gibson.
Isabella stood there, staring at an empty spot on the ceiling.
She had to think and blank slates helped that.
That was when Josh came out of his room, having taken care of whatever he had to do. She would have already been outside the apartment by the time he got out if not hindered, but there were two obstacles standing between Isabella and her freedom.
“Jo, go back to your room,” said Mr. Gibson as he stared at Josh, his eyes steeled with resolve.
“Huh? What happened?” he asked, and without missing a beat, he added as a grin popped on his face, “Am I getting a new mom?”
Mr. Gibson opened his mouth but closed it, then he closed his eyes as well. After taking a deep breath and letting it out, he answered, “There’s something I need to take care of.”
“I can help,” said Josh, his cheeky grin still on his face. Isabella never saw him smiling like that at school.
“No, you can’t. Go, or no allowance for a month,” grumbled Mr. Gibson and his insistence forced Josh to walk away after rolling his eyes, or maybe it was the threat that worked.
“They couldn’t possibly break into your home, could they?” asked Isabella, unsure if the metal door helped.
“Doubt it. They wouldn’t make such a scene. I could call security but I doubt they’ll be much help. They’re only good at telling off outside kids when they’re playing around in the villa,” said Mr. Gibson and a deep sigh left his mouth.
“Great. Now I’m stuck here until I call the cops and scare them off,” said Isabella and shrugged her shoulders.
Just her luck, it seemed.
She couldn’t reasonably make Mr. Gibson believe that there were others trying to kidnap her waiting outside without revealing that she had powers. Even if she did manage that, it’d make it seem like she came here because she was in trouble.
That was unacceptable.
She had to look perfect, like she had everything figured out —like a proper adult.
“No,” said Mr. Gibson and he leaned in. Then he whispered in her ears, “We bring the fight to them.”
He gave Isabella a wink after he pulled away. Then he gestured with his finger and a coin started to float up from inside his pocket, seemingly out of his wallet. It started to contort and bend until it formed a thin, metal mask that reeked of metal.
“I know you’re a Super, you know I’m a Super. We both go hush-hush, deal?” asked Mr. Gibson and turned his head slightly, as if looking at her with only one eye. They glowed bright red —the hallmark of a Manipulator.
Isabella nodded, a frown on her face.
The only one that knew that she was a Super was Mr. Gibson and she finally had assurance that he wouldn’t let everyone know about it. Even if the reality consolidated with this try, she had no complaints.
“Where were they?” he asked, the metal mask muffling his voice to make it sound far more threatening due to the lack of a mouth: it only had two holes for eyes.
“Right next to the elevator,” said Isabella and rubbed her forehead, “One of them was to the left and the other one to the right. So… you’re sure you can take them both?”
How the hell did she get into this mess?
If you tracked it to its root, it ended up being when she failed that brat. It was because she never attended class and only visited the teachers’ room almost at the end of the semester with a thousand dollars in hand for each teacher.
Being the responsible teacher that she was, Isabella refused.
That ended up being a bad move, but she didn’t regret that.
Not one tiny bit.
“You know my power now so mind telling me yours after we’re done? It’s fine even if you don’t but it’s only fair,” said Mr. Gibson with a shrug, and despite him trying to seem threatening, his broad shoulders and height made him seem far more intimidating than he should be, “They had guns, right? If they did, I could scare them off. But I’ll have to see the guns first. If they don’t have it, it’ll be a lot messier. And that means the elevator door has to go somewhere.”
“Guns, huh,” said Isabella and pursed her lips. She then added, “I’ll check. Don’t worry, I can run away if push comes to shove.”
That was a lie.
“Hey, wait-” started Mr. Gibson but Isabella was already too far away. Just like before, she jumped out into their sight and glimpsed at them: both had guns.
Then she came back.
“Thank you,” said Mr. Gibson, his eyes only starting to close. Isabella didn’t bother to hide her eyes from him this time. She had to replicate everything that happened before so he had to see her eyes, but an idea popped into her head.
Mr. Gibson gasped lightly but Isabella raised a finger, halting the part where he remarks about her being a Super.
“Now you know. I’m a Super,” she said softly, almost a whisper, and took a step forward, a thin smile on her face. It was the kind with an open mouth. Then she tapped on his chest once, “Just like you.”
Mr. Gibson raised an eyebrow.
That was when Josh came out of his room.
“Josh, go back to your room,” said Isabella.
“Oh,” he said and let out a snort. He nodded a few times and walked backward until he was in his room, closed the door, and locked it.
“Don’t eavesdrop,” she said loud enough for Josh to hear. Finally, she turned to Mr. Gibson and whispered, “I need your help.”
“Help? I’d be happy to help, but please,” said Mr. Gibson and held his hands in front of himself, as if in a pose to push her away if she got too close, “Not that kind.”
“There are two of Mr. Miller’s men near the elevator. I want you to take away their guns and point it at them,” she said as she promptly turned around, “That’ll give them enough of a fright.”
“Take away? Me?” asked Mr. Gibson and chuckled once. He slowly shook his head, and he said with a wry grin on his face, “I can’t. You said there are two of ‘em. There’s one of me. I can’t.”
Isabella closed her eyes and behind her closed lips, she grit her teeth for a few seconds. Why wasn’t he playing right into her hands? When she already gave the impression that she knew?
But no matter.
Isabella put her hand into the inside pocket of her suit and fiddled around until she found some loose change. She grabbed one coin and threw it up as if flipping it, flicking it with a thumb after placing it on her clenched hand.
“Catch,” she said casually.
It was too far for him to snatch it with his hands.
Mr. Gibson closed his eyes and the coin started to float mid-air, its motion halted. When he opened his eyes, they were glowing the same vibrant shade of red from before. He waved with a finger and the coin landed back on her hand.
“How?” asked Mr. Gibson, “You could’ve seen me on the plane but this-”
“I know a lot of things,” said Isabella and paused, as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t. She closed her eyes and after taking a breath, she asked, “But I never asked for your name.”
“It’s Edwin,” he said, “Edwin Gibson, but you know the last part.”
“Will you help me, Edwin?” asked Isabella.
“No one hears of this,” said Edwin.
“Hush-hush, I know,” said Isabella and put a finger in front of her lips.
“If I’m going out there, I need to-” started Edwin as he looked around, but before he finished his sentence, Isabella threw the coin again.
“Make a mask,” she said after Mr. Gibson caught it mid-air. The same red glow as before started to bleed out of his eyes. Just like before, Mr. Gibson created an eerie mask and placed it on his face.
“This is genius,” said Mr. Gibson.
He didn’t know it was his own idea?
“Yes, I’m a genius,” said Isabella and turned to the door, “I’ll do the talking if you won’t mind. It’s a lot more threatening when the guy with the scary mask stays quiet.”
“Aren’t you… scared?” asked Mr. Gibson, still standing there, his entire body quivering slightly.
Was it the adrenaline or fear?
“No, why would I be? I already calculated the likelihood of them winning,” said Isabella and gave him a smirk after turning around to face him, both hands on his shoulders, “Try to guess their odds.”
“None?” he asked.
“Not quite. There are exactly 54,343 ways it could go. Out of them, they only win in 7. In all of them, you talk. So if you let me do the talking, we’ll win. Understood?” she asked and in her eyes, a purple glimmer flashed. It was clear that she hadn’t activated her powers, for it would have lasted far longer if she had.
It was a lie.
Isabella didn’t even know where that came out of. It was a lie she made up on the spot, yet it sounded far too real to be a half-assed lie.
Good for her.
“How do you even know they’re there?” asked Mr. Gibson, “And that they have guns?”
“I calculated it. The likelihood of them being here is almost 100 percent. Whenever something has more than a 70 percent likelihood of happening, it almost certainly happens. When it’s above 90, it’ll happen unless an unknown variable introduces itself,” said Isabella and stared straight into Mr. Gibson’s eyes, a wide grin on her face, “It’ll be easy. Don’t worry. You can do it.”
He nodded after a few seconds of staring back at her.
“Well then, you go in first,” said Isabella and walked out, “We won’t hurt them. Just a little fright is enough.”
The handle couldn’t be turned from the outside but from the inside, it was as if it didn’t have a lock. She left the door hanging and walked out into the corridor, and then waited there. Her smirk from before was still plastered on her face.
Mr. Gibson closed the door behind himself and Isabella could almost feel the two thugs around the corner, ready to catch her. Then Edwin hesitated, which earned a reassuring pat on the back from Isabella, which stirred him forward.
The duo of thugs didn’t react when the masked man made his way out of the corridor.
They were there for Isabella so they wouldn’t touch anyone other than her. It was obvious, but the metal mask caught their attention when Edwin stood there for a few seconds, motionless.
Edwin could easily scare them off with an eerie act, pointing their own gun at them. But Isabella was a sucker for theatrics so it wouldn’t end like that if she could help it.
“Guns,” she said, her tone as it would be when she told cheaters to get out after catching them—authoritative.
Edwin complied and raised a finger, which caused the guns in both of their holsters to rise up into the air one by one and after he made a circle with his finger, the guns were pointed at their former owners.
“You actually thought that I’d be walking around without a bodyguard,” said Isabella while walking out of the corridor. She saw them with their hands raised slightly and guns aimed at their chests, “How… disappointing.”
“You bitch,” growled Mr. Green, the security guard from school.
“What? Giselle can make people do their bidding but I can’t?” asked Isabella and with the back of her hand, she pushed the gun that floated a few inches away from him to the point of being aimed at his forehead at a point-blank range. The gun complied rather than pushing back so it was clear that Edwin didn’t mind.
“What do you want?” asked the bald man standing to the other side.
“Oh, please. Don’t act like you weren’t here to kidnap me,” said Isabella and turned to the bald man, “What I want you to do is… well, to not come after me.”
“Or what?” growled Mr. Green, “You’re just some useless math teacher. The Piper can do a lot worse.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but this good friend of mine has guns pointed at you. At my command, both of you could die. And trust me, he won’t even bother using the guns. They’ll turn into some sharp knives and make a full circle inside your skulls,” said Isabella and paced over to Mr. Green. Isabella then put her palm on his cheek. Then she slapped it, as hard as she could, so much so that her palm was stinging.
Mr. Green grunted and Isabella’s smirk from before turned into a grin.
“You have a problem?” asked Isabella and she put her hand in her pocket, and out of it, she pulled out a leather glove. She slid it on and grabbed the gun, which was aimed at Mr. Green’s forehead, and placed it inside his mouth, moving it with her gloved hand so her fingerprints wouldn’t be left on it.
There was only silence.
“Do you have a problem with it, Tony?” asked Isabella, using his first name. He had his full name on his nameplate. There was understandably no response, “Good.”
This was fun.
She shook her head and suppressed her grin, now her face a tad bit more serious. Then she caressed his cheeks.
“You come after me again, and I’ll hurt you a lot more. Oh, and I seem to recall that you have a family. I do know your name, after all. You’re employed at the school and I could feasibly get my hands on that information in what? Five minutes,” asked Isabella and half-whispered, half-moaned as she stared into Tony’s eyes, “Do you want that?”
Tony rigorously shook his head.
“Then, you don’t come after me. As simple as that,” said Isabella and turned around. But right after, she spun around and slammed her palm into his cheek once again, but this time it didn’t hurt as much.
The glove helped.
“You too, darling. Don’t come after me,” said Isabella and tapped on the bald man’s nose.
She knew how uncomfortable it was when you invaded their private space like that, especially when you held them at gunpoint. She was almost mugged once, just like this. Instead of a gun, there was a knife pressed against her abdomen, threatening to stab into her flesh if she moved even slightly.
Then a door opened on their floor.
“What are you doing? Chop chop, get lost,” said Isabella and clapped her hands a few times, and raised the hand that wasn’t gloved.
Edwin pulled the guns away, and the moment he did, both the thugs bolted. It wasn’t even a normal run, more a sprint. He tried to make a fist, possibly to smash the guns, but Isabella placed her hand on Edwin's, halting that.
She grabbed one and put it into her inside pocket.
The other gun was immediately turned into a ball of metal as Edwin clenched his fist. The gunpowder inside the bullets spilled, though. During the smashing process, he’d pulled off his mask and had added it to the pile. The process was completely silent despite the metal being smashed into a ball.
Maybe it being manipulated helped.
When whoever had opened the door came near the elevator, Mr. Gibson covered his eyes with both hands, as if rubbing them and walked past the elderly woman that came out of her apartment.
That was good.
He’d successfully managed to hide his eyes.
This was great timing. Letting them go by herself wouldn’t have been as dramatic as giving them the impression of being saved by the bell.
Isabella followed Edwin and gave him a pat on the back before he reached his door.
“I might’ve gone a bit too far,” said Isabella with a wry grin.
It was fun, though.
Very, very fun.
“Never ask me to do that again,” said Mr. Gibson, “You might start giving me ideas.”
“It’s fine. I won’t trouble you any further… hopefully,” said Isabella.
She pulled off her glove and put it back into her right pocket. Each of her pockets had one leather glove. If both of them were placed into one, then it’d bulge out and feel uncomfortable. More importantly, she’d look lame.
She placed her hand adjacent to her inside pocket and smiled. There was a gun in her hands now. It meant that she would be safer. Guns helped even the odds in most cases but in hers? It could make her invincible.
If she missed, she could always turn back time or-
Or it was better to not even think about using it unless it was a last resort.
Yeah, that made sense.
She wouldn’t use this gun unless her life was in danger.
So she’d definitely use it if she jumped back in time.