Orlando | 2009
Bradley's POV
My left hand continued to graze the pages of my notebook as I continued to document the vacation joys I had experienced so far. It was hard writing, the muscles still remembering the grueling drills, but I was determined to do it. Meeting Elon Musk, Maverick, and Iceman was the epitome of this trip.
The fact that I had used some of my future knowledge from my engineering prep days in my past life to shine in front of Elon had been a bonus. I saw the look of genuine shock on my dad's face; it was the first time he'd seen that part of me, the part that existed beyond basketball and schoolwork. The internship offer was an unexpected but welcome venture for the future. Seeing that satellite launch had been pure adrenaline rush, seeing it on TV and seeing it from the operating room was a completely different and novel experience. I was pumped up well into the night after that. Elon Musk sure knows how to celebrate.
Maverick was still the same as I remembered him from the movies but seeing him in person was different. The famous charisma was there, but underneath it, there was a deep, persistent melancholy. I could see he was still reeling from the death of Goose, an old wound that had never truly healed, leaving him with an aloofness and a polite but limited way of speaking to everyone. After I'd gotten over my initial fan moment, I had tried conversing with him, but there was something strange in the way he looked and spoke to me, as if he wasn't actually seeing me, but someone else.
I could make a wild guess as to who that was. It was the name, wasn't it? Bradley. A ghost of another boy, another pilot's son. But I didn't dare say it, didn't want to come off as spooky by talking about things I shouldn't really be in the know of.
A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts. It was Mom. "Ready to go, honey?"
I closed the notebook. "Yeah lets go" We were headed to the Museum of Illusions today. I made my way down from the room to the lobby with Mom.
The lobby of the Ritz-Carlton was calm this morning. Sunlight streamed through the tall, arched windows, glinting off the polished marble floor where my family, along with Uncle Greg, was assembled near the entrance, a small, waiting platoon.
"Is he here yet?" Erin asked for what must have been the fifth time, tugging on Mom's sleeve.
"Soon, sweetie," Maggie replied, her voice patient as ever.
We were waiting for Maverick to show up so we could all head out to the Museum of Illusions. I watched the revolving door, a part of me still slightly incredulous that this was our life now. When he finally emerged from the elevator, he looked less like a fighter pilot and more like a man trying to disappear. He wore civilian clothes, but the intensity in his eyes remained. He gave us a quick, almost apologetic smile. "Morning, everyone. Sorry if I kept you."
"Not at all, Pete," Dad said, stepping forward to clap him on the shoulder. "Just in time. Erin's about to turn into a pumpkin if she doesn't get to see some optical trickery soon."
Maverick offered a small, polite laugh. He looked at each of us in turn, a brief, assessing glance, before his eyes lingered on me for a fraction of a second longer. That same strange, distant look was there, as if he were trying to superimpose another image over my face. I knew it was the weight of his past, the ghost of his fallen RIO, and it was a heavy burden to carry, even for a legend. I offered him a small, reassuring smile, hoping it conveyed some unspoken understanding.
"Alright, team," Mom announced, gathering us up. "Museum of Illusions, here we come!"
And with that, our slightly oversized, incredibly unconventional family vacation unit moved out into the bright Orlando morning.
…
We arrived at the museum, and as soon as we had our tickets, Erin bolted off with Dad and Uncle Greg running behind to keep watch over her. That left Mom, Maverick, and myself as a trio looking to explore.
"Are you excited about exploring the museum, Captain Mitchell?" I asked, falling into step beside him. I had decided to be bolder, to probe.
He held the pamphlet that housed the museum map, his smile polite but reserved. "Yeah, I think so. I've been to Florida many times, but this is the first I'm actually touring places."
"Did you come here with family?" I asked. His expression morphed slightly, a flicker of something guarded in his eyes.
"No, it's always been me," he said, his voice a little clipped. "The job makes it harder to travel with family."
"Oh, what's your family like? Do you have kids, can we be friends?" The questions were a deliberate, calculated risk. His face ticked and tensed as I finished my last word. He was uncomfortable. I knew I was pushing, but I felt the need to help him out. I remembered he and Goose's son would solve their problems in the future, but that was thirteen years down the line. If I could do something to speed things along, I would.
"No, I don't have kids," he replied calmly, his voice perfectly even, a wall of professional composure. "I do have one sister, though, but she lives in New York."
"Well, then this must be new for you, to go on an outing with kids and family?" This ought to catch him.
He looked at me then, and I saw something like nostalgia in his eyes, a deep, painful memory. "There was a time when I used to hang out with a family," he said, his voice distant. "But it's in the past."
"Oh, what was that like? Who was it?" I pressed.
"Bradley, honey, that's enough chit-chatting," my mom interjected, her voice a smooth, graceful rescue. She gave an apologetic face to Maverick. "Why don't you come along with me and see this tilted room?" I had time. I didn't need to push it all at once. I went along with her.
We spent the next hour exploring multiple rooms and exhibits, a barrage of optical tricks and sensory illusions. We occasionally met the other trio, a laughing Erin always dragging Dad and Uncle Greg toward the next marvel. "This is the best place ever!" she would gush, before running off to explore more.
The energy was light and fun, but a quiet, unresolved tension lingered between me and Maverick. Eventually, after Erin had dragged her exhausted caretakers toward the gift shop, Mom excused herself to join them, since I hadn't done anything out of line the entire time she let her guard down, leaving me and Maverick standing at the entrance to a new exhibit. The sign read: "The Infinity Room."
We stepped inside. The door closed quietly behind us, and the sounds of the museum vanished. We were suddenly alone, standing on a narrow walkway in a room of floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Our infinite images stretched out around us in every direction—a thousand Bradleys and a thousand Mavericks, silent and watchful in the dim, atmospheric light.
"Ah damn I've always hated these" I said, my voice sounding small in the vastness.
"Mirrors? Really?" Maverick askedhis tone lightly amused as we traversed deeper into the room.
"Its scares me," I admitted, looking at a version of myself ten feet away. "The thought of having infinite versions of myself. When I think about how different their lives could be… one of them could be a taller me, the other a little sturdier, or fatter" I smiled.
Maverick smiled back "So you're afraid of getting fat huh?"
"Yeah, I am. Being a pro baller means being the fittest," I said, then let my expression darken. "I am also afraid of the darker possibilities. What if there is a me who has no parents, no sister? Or a me that is injured... or suffering through some disease that can't be cured? Would I be happy? Would I be the way I am now?"
I saw Maverick's concerned look reflected back at me a hundred times.
"It's scary, you know," I said, carefully prodding him. "Not knowing how things might turn out for you and your loved ones. Don't you ever feel scared for your family, Captain Mitchell?"
He looked at me deeply his eyes sifting through many emotions at once, "Bradley", he said with the same sombre tone "You're a kid you shouldn't be worrying about things like these, you should focus on enjoying life the best way you can. These problems of life will always be there for you to tackle when you're an adult, for now you can relish being a child"
"I know", I said infusing positivity into my voice "But I also can't help but think about these things. I don't let myself drown in them if you're worried about that. Its just being here made me feel those concerns again, on any other day they're an afterthought, today isn't that day"
"I see. You're quite the child, aren't you, Bradley?" Maverick said with a tinge of genuine amazement. "Thinking so maturely while being so young."
"Thank you, Captain Mitchell," I said. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Why do you seem so sad, sir?" The question was a direct hit; it was like a punch to his gut. I could see how much it affected him.
"What do you mean?" he asked trying to feign ignorance.
"Well ever since you joined us that day during breakfast I noticed that you always stayed silent and distant from everyone. I can understand it with me and my family, but you were the same way with my Dad who you've saved from certain death and Mr Kazansky your friend" I said probing but cautiously.
He sighed, a weary, defeated sound. "You noticed that, huh?" He pinched his nose for a moment. "It's usually much less toned down when I'm around people, but you made it harder this time around."
"I did?" I asked with some added incredulity.
"Yes. I have a nephew of sorts, he is the son of my deceased wingman. His name's Bradley too and you reminded me of him. Seeing you made me reminisce the past when my best friend was alive and I used to tag along for almost all the trips he and his family took. I used to carry that young boy on my shoulder, handing him a beer pitcher to carry for me, play ball with him. My friend's death changed all that" there was sad melancholy in the way he smiled while recounting.
Maverick continued, "In one fell swoop all the joy in my life was replaced by sadness, responsibility and guilt. I escaped it by diving into the work but more than myself it cost the young boy. I was always away and never there when he might have needed me, my absence fuelled his resentment, he even came to blame me for his father's death. I could have rebuilt my relationship with him but I had to do something that shattered his faith in me, it was selfish but it was something I couldn't say no to. We haven't spoken in years now. So yeah seeing you brought it all back, seeing your family gnawed out the past from within."
I walked over to him, patting his arms "I'm sorry Mr Mitchell".
"Oh its okay, just an old man and his heart. I'll get better now why don't we find a way out of this infinite hell" he said prying a smile on his face.
"Mr Mitchell maybe you should talk to the other me. Who knows he might be waiting for you to come to him first? When I get angry at Mom or Dad I just close myself in my room waiting for them to come talk to me" I sported a cheeky smile "60% of the time it works every time"
Maverick looked down at me, his grief-stricken expression faltering. A slow, incredulous smile spread across his face, followed by a real, genuine laugh. It was the first one I'd heard from him. "Oh, really?" he chuckled. "Maybe I'll give it a try."
Maverick's laugh subsided, but the heavy, melancholic weight he'd been carrying seemed to have lifted with it. He looked lighter, the haunted look in his eyes replaced by a thoughtful clarity. We got out of the room and found our way back into the bright, noisy bustle of the museum.
We made our way to the gift shop, where the rest of our group was waiting. Or, more accurately, where they were still actively acquiring merchandise. Mom and Erin had amassed a small mountain of bags filled with puzzles, books, and optical illusion toys.
"There you are!" Mom said, her voice bright and cheerful, completely oblivious to the profound, soul-baring conversation that had just taken place. She immediately began handing us bags. "Perfect timing. We're all done, but we need some strong men to carry the things we've bought."
I looked down at the colorful, crinkling bags now filling my arms, then over at Maverick, who was being handed a similar load. He caught my eye and gave a small, resigned shrug, a flicker of genuine amusement on his face.
We all then headed back to the hotel as the evening approached, the setting sun casting long shadows across the parking lot. The day had been a strange, unexpected journey, and I had a feeling that this vacation was turning into quite the spectacle.
The days went by after that in a blur of sun and activity. The morning after the trip, Maverick found me by the hotel pool. He was wearing a navy jacket and sleek jeans. He gestured with his thumb toward a sleek, black motorcycle parked near the entrance.
"Ever been on a two-wheeled rocket, kid?" he asked with that signature, charismatic grin.
My answer was an immediate, unequivocal "Yes!"
"No!" Erin said from the poolside, her eyes wide with fear.
"Absolutely not," Mom fussed, her voice laced with worry. "Mark, it's too dangerous."
I turned to her, deploying my most earnest, responsible expression. "Mom, please. It's Captain Mitchell. He's one of the best pilots in the world. I'll be completely safe." After a minute of my pleading, she finally, reluctantly, convinced to let me go.
The thrill of riding that motorcycle was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. The roar of the engine was a deep, guttural vibration that I felt in my bones. When Maverick opened it up on a long, empty stretch of coastal highway, the world dissolved into a breathtaking blur of speed and wind. He even let me steer once, my hands on the handlebars, feeling the immense, terrifying power of the machine beneath us as I faked riding it. It was a taste of the kind of freedom he lived in every day.
The next day, Maverick left, a quiet, respectful goodbye and a promise to see Dad back on the West Coast. With the "official" part of the trip over, the family set off to Disneyland, and Uncle Greg tagged along with us.
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AN:
And we are back. So guys with this chapter we cross the threshold of 85K words I would really appreciate if you guys reviewed the work, since at this point it can be considered to be a standard novel of around 320 pages. AND POWERSTONE THUNDERSTORM.