The Edger Collection

by David Beem

  My scalp and neck prickles. My chest tightens. Even my heart doesn’t have room to beat. I can’t inflate my lungs!

  Clench my eyes. Focus. Breathe.

  Too tight!

  Focus. Breathe. Calm.

  It’s like before. When they kidnapped me. I’m in over my head. Left to face him alone…

  Bang!

  My eyes open. Black supersuit metamaterial hyperspeeds past—a gleaming blade!

  Bang, bang! Thud!

  “Uhn…”

  I crane my neck to inventory my surroundings. A red-and-gold wall, an oval window. Sword displays. Shuriken. And, in front of me, a grinning dragon. I clench my arms and fists, push, flex, no room!

  I swallow. Don’t panic.

  I crane my neck again, this time to scan the seam along the side of my sarcophagus… A latch, a combination lock. I relax and peer straight ahead at the grinning dragon.

  Focus. Breathe.

  My chest relaxes a little. Air squeezes into my lungs.

  Breathe. In…out… Seconds tick by. My chest relaxes more. Air flows in…out…

  My heart still banging against the wood, the dragon glides to the right as my sarcophagus scrapes to the left. I’m turning… An oval window goes by, swords, shuriken…

  Mikey.

  He’s sitting in a bloodred armchair. No supersuit. No Willie. No apparent attributes from any of the other sundry people he’s been throughout history. This is Mikey as I knew him. Black T-shirt, blue jeans, one leg crossed as he casually flips through the pages of a Better Homes and Gardens magazine.

  “You’ve been a troublesome truck,” he says, not looking up.

  “And you’ve been a straight-up dick!” exclaims Fabio.

  Fabio!

  My jaw presses against the hardwood neck of my sarcophagus as I strain to glimpse him in a second sarcophagus, his featuring green-and-brown bamboo trees.

  “Hey, buddy,” I manage.

  “I really hate this guy,” he replies.

  “You know you didn’t have to follow me up here, right?”

  “What?” He scoffs. “And miss casting the Ring of Power into the fires of Mount Doom? Never!”

  “Did you know you can now book tea in the Kensington Gardens?” Mikey licks his thumb and turns another page.

  “You can have tea whenever, with whomever, and wherever you want.” With the backs of my hands, I push against the wood, straining. Man, my shoulders feel like they’re going to pop. Nothing. Not even a little budge. I relax my arms and pant.

  Mikey doesn’t look up, but that Mr. Cool Forbes-magazine-cover smile curls his lips. He thumbs to the next page.

  “True. But this magazine was published before all that. It’s comforting reading magazines. There’s nothing new under the sun anymore. Nothing surprises me. Except you, of course. Sadly, that ends today.”

  “Does it, though?”

  “The birds and that pig.” He shakes his head. “Inspired.”

  “You liked that, eh?” Birds and pig? I try to keep my face neutral.

  “And of course, now that I know about the animals,” he says, “I can take my time sorting all that out once I’m done with you and your friends.”

  “I feel like we usually get to banter a bit more,” I say. “You seem on edge.”

  “The problem is you’re boring.” He looks up briefly, then back to the magazine. “It’d be cool if you weren’t. You have no idea what it’s like. I could always see the future, but after taking control of billions of people, I began to see infinite alternate timelines.”

  “Bet you didn’t count on the Bunker Buster, though!” cries Fabio.

  Mikey lazily glances Fabio’s way, rolls his eyes, then thumbs to the next page of his magazine.

  “Having all these people in my head has upped my game, Edge. You and your friends are playing tiddlywinks.”

  I frown. “Yeah, I don’t know what that means.”

  He waves this away and goes back to his magazine.

  Edge, Fabio, says Caleb. Can you hear me?

  My jaw drops open, and I do a literal double take against the hardwood collar of my sarcophagus. Pain flares through the top of my head. Mikey’s still buried in his magazine. Did he see?

  I don’t think so, says Fabio. Wait—I can hear you! Can you hear me?

  How’re you in my head?! I ask.

  We set up a closed circuit, bro, he says. Remember? In case he pulled this shit.

  He’s got our medallions!

  We know, says Caleb. Just hang on. Mare?

  I’m pinned down! she replies. Trying to…get the…antiserum…

  Come on, I say. Don’t joke around, you guys. Someone just fly a squirrel in the window and stick it in his neck, for crying out loud!

  He’s really hammering away at our barrier, bro, says Caleb. Not sure how long…we can…hold him.

  Okay, okay, I say, closing my eyes, my brain whirring. He said he took care of a pig and some birds. Anna, does that mean anything to you?

  Yes, she says, her psychic sense thick with strain. We sent them to the Dudes.

  The Dudes?!

  Super Goat! cries Fabio. I just got a message in the HUD from Super Goat!

  We got it also, says Caleb. Edge, he’s got the antiserum. I’m flying him to you now.

  In the meantime, says Anna. I’ll work on isolating Tron-Tron’s location in Nostradamus’s bloodstream. Try to keep him talking.

  Shouldn’t be too hard, I reply. Megalomaniacal supervillain with zero self-awareness.

  We’ll just get ’im to tell us his evil plan, says Fabio. They love that shit!

  “So why don’t you just give up the ghost?” says Mikey. “You’re clearly talking to them.”

  “Them?” says Fabio. “Who them? What do you mean by ‘them,’ exactly?”

  “Give up the ghost,” I say. “Good one.”

  “Tell me why I can’t see inside your heads,” he says, thumbing forward another page.

  “You’ll need your supersuit,” I say. “X-ray vision function. Very handy.”

  Mikey frowns.

  “It’s impossible,” I say, figuring it’s time for a straight-up bluff. “You’ve already lost. The Collective Unconscious has known for five hundred years what you were up to.”

  He lays down the magazine, and his gaze finds mine. There’s no humor there now. No, I’d say these are the eyes of the dude who annihilated souls for five hundred years.

  Da-yum, says Fabio. Is that how he did it?! That’s some Emperor Palpatine shit right there!

  “If the Collective Unconscious knew what I was doing,” says Mikey, “they had plenty of chances to stop me.”

  “Ah, you underestimate yourself,” I say. “You did a great job. Really phenomenal. In fact, even Einstein says so.”

  His eyebrow arches. “Really?”

  “Oh, yeah. He was just saying the other day—”

  “I think you’re bluffing.”

  “Well, of course you’d think that,” says Fabio.

  Come on, guys! I say.

  We’re hurrying, says Anna.

  Super Goat to the rescue! cries Caleb. In, like, a few more minutes. Sorry. Hang on, Edge!

  “They don’t know anything,” says Mikey. “They suspected, but I—”

  “Took over the body of that tax collector?” I cut in. “All those times you left gobs of money for yourself? You’re right. The Collective Unconscious doesn’t know anything about that.”

  Mikey’s eyebrows lower. “They know about that?”

  “Oh, that’s cold-blooded,” says Fabio.

  “They know everything,” I say. “The game’s up, Mikey.”

  “If you know how I made myself immortal, then you would never have come.”

  “You think? I mean, you’re right, it’s not my cup of tea. Or…is it?”

  His head tilts back to regard me, then straightens. He comes out from behind his desk.

  “I don’t know what you’re up to, Edger, but I know you’re
not stupid.”

  “No, no, no,” I say. “I’m very stupid. I mean, look.” I widen my eyes and take in my sarcophagus before sweeping my gaze back to meet his. “You got me. And you can see infinite potential futures now, right? Mikey, a guy like you does not lose to a dork like me.”

  “Us,” says Fabio. “Does not lose to dorks like us.”

  “Right, right,” I hurry to add. “Two dorks. Two Über Dorks against the Überman.”

  He comes up in front of me, leaning in so close, I can smell the scotch on his breath.

  Scotch.

  “Hey,” I say. “One last drink? For old time’s sake?”

  He tips back on his heels so he’s standing straight again. He folds his arms, and his biceps and pecs stretch his snug-fitting black tee. “I like you, Edge. I’ve always liked you.”

  “You’ve got a terrible way of showing it.”

  “That’s not true,” he says. “Of all the billions of people on this planet, which one got their own island?”

  “I mean, technically, I never got my own island?”

  “Not my fault you turned me down.”

  I’ve almost isolated Tron-Tron, says Anna.

  Super Goat’s nearly there! says Caleb. You’re doing great!

  “You think he’d make a deal with his dad’s killer for an island?” asks Fabio.

  Mikey locks gazes with me, moves his tongue around on the inside of his cheek, and nods. “I’m going to let you have that drink.”

  “Really?” I ask. “That’s great. You’re a regular mensch. Or, Übermensch. Ooh, this is awkward.”

  He smiles. “You can have that drink after I transfer my consciousness into your body.”

  “Um. I’m sorry, what?”

  “Your scotch,” he says. “You can have it after I’m you.”

  “After you’re… Uh-huh. Yeah, that’s, ah… That’s not gonna be good for me.”

  “You got that right.”

  Super Goat’s one minute out, says Caleb.

  I’ve almost got it, says Anna. Hang on!

  “Technically, he’s not getting the drink if you’re the one drinking it,” says Fabio.

  “I make the rules around here,” says Mikey. “And I say technically he is getting the drink.”

  Dark purple light blooms in the center of his forehead, and my pulse shoots through the roof. My claustrophobia comes roaring back. My chest’s swelling up—

  What’s this? says Fabio. What’s he doing?

  I can’t breathe!

  Guys, says Fabio. I think you need to hurry!

  The light inches across the space between us.

  He’s gonna—he’s gonna—he’s gonna soul-steal-thingy me! I cry.

  Fabio, please help him, says Mary. Please! Please, I can’t… I can’t….

  Try-ying… says Fabio, his psychic sense thick with strain.

  An upwelling of telekinetic energy courses through Mary and into Fabio, and a picture of Mary sharpens in my mind’s eye. She’s spread-eagle on her stomach, Blythe’s foot on her back. Our parents are pinned against the wall again—

  Rattle-rattle—

  My vision of Mary bursts—

  The purple light touches my forehead. A bomb of white-hot agony detonates in my brain—

  Rattle-rattle, rattle-rattle—

  “What are you doing?” The purple light snaps back, and Mikey faces Fabio.

  My lashes flutter. My head lolls to the side.

  Rattle-rattle, rattle-rattle—

  Fabio’s green-and-brown sarcophagus shakes in my bleary peripheral vision…

  Rattle-rattle, rattle-rattle—

  “Fine,” says Mikey, stepping in front of Fabio. “I’ll kill you first.”

  Fabio’s sarcophagus explodes, and I snap fully awake. A shard of wood nicks Mikey. He staggers back, slips on the Better Homes and Gardens magazine, and crashes into his red armchair. Fabio steps out of the shattered wood box.

  “You, sonuva—” Mikey slashes the air.

  Fabio doubles over, lifts into the air. His back arches and arms splay. Mikey makes another slashing motion, hurling Fabio out the window—

  “No!” I yell, and Mikey raises a finger at me. His chest heaving, he lowers his finger and steps in front of me again. His forehead shines with purple light. A tendril extends toward me—touches me.

  A dagger slides between the two lobes of my brain. Someone’s screaming. It takes me a second to realize it’s Mary.

  Chapter Seventy

  Mikey’s face distorts like a lava lamp. The pain is crippling; Mary’s screaming voice is yanked down a dark well. Her presence vanishes. The purple light is blinding, twisting, stinging—

  The world flickers, darkens—

  Mikey’s eyes widen—

  The pressure on my brain disappears—

  Light floods back in—

  A swirling red cape swooshes behind Mikey’s surprised eyes—

  His face snaps into focus. He’s backing away, shaking his head, his mouth hanging open and his palms searching his body. Behind him, a baby goat is standing on his desk amidst a whirling red cape. It lowers its left front hoof, and light glints off a wristband dart launcher.

  The antiserum!

  “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” says Mikey, who’s staring at the goat. “What did you inject me with? Never mind.” His forehead creases. “Tron-Tron will sort it out.” His focus turns inward, and the dark curtain he uses to block us from the Collective Unconscious rises in my mind’s eye.

  What is he doing? asks Mary. Edger, I’m losing you!

  I grope along the curtain. Maybe it has an end. It’s got to have an end. Or maybe…?

  I lean against it, push. Heavy! Jeez, it’s like pushing steel.

  Guys! Help me!

  We’re losing you, bro! calls Caleb.

  Tamping down my panic, I double my effort. Push! No good. It’s too solid.

  You can do it, Edge, calls a voice, dimly, as if from another universe.

  Dad?

  Push. Nothing. Guys, I call. I can’t do this on my own!

  We’re with you, Edge, says Bruce from far away…

  I take another deep breath. Focus.

  PUSH.

  The curtain…budges.

  Oorah! cries Killmaster. The only easy day was yesterday, sir! PUSH!

  Edger? asks Mary. Edger—I can sense you again!

  I’ve got Tron-Tron, says Anna. Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it!

  PUSH. PUSH.

  Brilliant, mate! cries Nigel. You’re doing it!

  PUSH. PUSH.

  “Stop it!” yells Mikey. “Stop that!”

  Ja, good boy! cries Einstein.

  Kick his ass, says Ronald Reagan.

  I’ve got it! cries Anna. I’ve got Tron-Tron!

  Mikey grabs the back of his desk chair. He shakes his head. “What’re you doing?”

  “Kicking your ass,” says Fabio, flying through the oval window on the back of a lion.

  It’s coming out! says Anna.

  Mikey’s finger rubs under his nose. “Don’t—no, you can’t…” He takes a deep breath…sneezes.

  The curtain drops—

  Telekinetic power floods into me—

  The clones on level one drop, unconscious; Anna’s gaze lifts to peer through the hole in the ceiling—

  Kate collapses; Caleb wraps her in invisible cords—

  Blythe collapses; Mary kicks her gun away, and then wraps her in the hangman’s ropes—

  “I got Tron-Tron!” cries Fabio, and a glimpse of the nano-artificial intelligence surfaces in my mind’s eye just as he snaps shut something like a ring box seemingly over thin air—

  The lock on my sarcophagus thuds to the ground. The doors creak open. Mikey drops into his chair, his empty gaze slackening. Super Goat leaps from the desk, bounces once on Mikey’s head, then lands spread-eagle on the Better Homes and Gardens magazine. My veins tingle as I float the baby goat to his feet again. He bounds over to Fabio,
who dismounts from the lion. I cross to Mikey.

  “What’ve you done?” he stammers.

  I lean over him, peer into his eyes, and probe his mind. There’s fear. Lots of it. But there’s also a lot of empty space.

  “I can’t feel anyone! Edge! I can’t feel anyone!”

  Rage flashes through me. I’m trembling with it. My fists are shaking with it.

  He raises a hand. “Edge—I know you’re mad…”

  I raise my fist. His eyes widen, and the Collective Unconscious itself seems to hold its breath.

  I take a deep breath, release it.

  The Collective Unconscious relaxes too. Mikey lowers his hand.

  “Maybe we can make a deal,” he says.

  I raise two fingers and gesture with them over his eyelids. “Sleep.”

  Mikey slumps to his side in the seat, and I take a deep breath and force it out. All the tension leaves my body. All the stress, the go-go-go, the not sleeping at night and the worry the world’s gonna end and what’ll happen to everyone I love, and, and… And everything just seems to click to the next channel between one heartbeat and the next. A hand closes on my shoulder. A supersuit glove. I let him turn me around, and Fabio peers up at me through his supersuit visor, the goat and lion on either side of him.

  “Do you remember that Friday night?” he asks. “That Friday night at the Palace?”

  It takes me a second. “Yeah. Yeah, buddy. Yeah.”

  “I told you this would be the single most awesome thing in the history of awesome things. Do you remember that?”

  I nod.

  “And you told me I must not’ve heard the part about how you could die.”

  I shrug, and nod again.

  “I’m so glad you’re not dead, dude.” He pulls me into a hug, and we slap each other’s backs.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  “Guys, they’re just sheep,” says Wang, his fists clenching the railing on the landing inside the warehouse door. The others push into him, and he shoves back to get some breathing room. He leans to the side and peers around Yourmajesty’s shoulder pads, but the stairwell door is still shut. Not that he expected it to be open. It’s just… Let’s just say if by some miracle that door were still open, he wouldn’t be pissed about it.

  “No.” Ralph shakes his head. “No. I don’t like it.”