A week later, the boy read in the paper that the seven-year-old girl, Bethany Givens, had passed away despite the fire department’s valiant efforts to save her. That same week, he learned his teacher was going to have a Future Jobs day in class and Chris knew exactly what he wanted to be.
Nine: Now
The firefighter draped his heavy coat around Harold’s shoulders as a paramedic wrapped a cuff around his uninjured arm, slipping a sensor on his finger. Another paramedic inspected his injured arm, taking care not to move it too much.
“Can you move your fingers for me?” the paramedic asked.
Harold gritted his teeth and wiggled his fingers. The dull pain had been replaced by the sensation of a thousand needles, all poking his skin. His arm was turning a light shade of purple where the plastic partition had pinned it to the seat.
The Hero Worshipper appeared behind the kneeling paramedic. He leaned over her, looking down at Harold’s arm. “Hey looks like you’re going to be okay. Glad we got here in time.”
The paramedic finished taking his vitals and pulled the blood pressure cuff off his arm. “Blood pressure is good. Heart rate’s a little elevated, but considering what he’s been through, I’m not too worried about it. Are you wanting to go to the hospital today?”
Harold shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”
The paramedics moved away, leaving Harold alone with the firefighter.
“Thanks for getting me out of there,” Harold said.
“Hey, no worries, bud. All part of the job. Hell, it’s not very often I get to use those things.” The firefighter motioned to the street behind him.
Harold looked past him to where the Jaws of Life lay on the ground next to the wrecked cab. He grunted. “Probably not a whole lot of opportunities with all those damn heroes flying around. Fat load of good they did today.”
The firefighter shrugged. “They can’t be everywhere all the time. You were lucky we were just down the street.”
“I guess he had better things to do than help little ol’ me.” Harold stood, pulling off the fireman’s jacket with his good hand. “Here.”
“Thanks.”
“Tell me something,” Harold said, probing his injured arm.
The firefighter pulled on his coat, adjusting it so it hung correctly. “What’s up?”
“Why do you wear that?”
The firefighter looked down at the silver pin on his jacket’s lapel. “The pin?”
“Yeah.”
“A long time ago I needed a hero. Blaze was there, he saved my life.”
Harold sniffed, trying to think of something to say. Finally, he held out his hand. “Well, I’m glad he did.”
The firefighter pumped Harold’s hand, hard. “Me too. That’s kinda why I do this, you know? Try and repay that debt.”
He let the jacket fall back into place and Harold read the name stenciled across the chest pocket, C. THURMAN. “Thank you, Mr. Thurman.”
The firefighter laughed. “Ha, that’s my father’s name, call me Chris.”
Harold smiled, then a thought struck him and he looked down at his watch. He grunted. “Well, I guess I’m not making my interview.”
“What interview?”
“Council position for the city,” Harold said. “My interview started 10 minutes ago.”
“I’m sure they’ll reschedule, considering,” Chris said, motioning to the wreck. “Hell, if they do, you’d kinda be my boss. Hey, if you make it on to the Council, remember me when salary talks start up again, would ya? We’ve been kinda overlooked for the last few years.”
Harold chuckled. “Well, I’m not sure about that, but I’ll do what I can. Heroes like you deserve better.”
A Word About Josh Hayes
Hi, there! I hope you liked my little story “Hero Worship.” It’s my first foray into the super hero genre and I wanted to do a little something different. I wanted to write a story about the people that sometimes we forget about when others seem to be doing extraordinary things. I believe there are heroes around us all the time, but most of the time we either don’t see them or don’t relate what they are doing as heroic.
I have four other short stories published in three anthologies and one I’ve published on its own. I have two other books published, Breaking Through and The Forgotten Prince the first two books in my Second Star series, a sci-fi re-imagining of Peter Pan and Neverland. The third book Shadows of Neverland will hopefully be out the summer of 2017.
In addition to writing and having a full-time job, I also run a live interview show and podcast with fellow authors Scott Moon and Ralph Kern, Keystroke Medium. We talk with authors of all sorts, finding out what makes them tick, what excites them about their stories and connecting them with new readers. Please check us out at www.keystrokemedium.com.
I live in Kansas, with my beautiful wife Jamie, who supports my crazy ideas and ridiculous ambitions. When I’m not driving her crazy I’m chasing my four children around the house. You can check out my website for more on my books and writing at: www.joshhayeswriter.com.
AN ORDINARY HERO
A Pantheon Short
BY C.C. Ekeke
AN ORDINARY HERO
A Pantheon Short
BY C.C. Ekeke
“Special occasion?”
The question pulled Raylan Oakmont’s attention away from the grocery store’s television screen to his far right. He turned and frowned. “Sorry?”
The woman before him in the check-out line was dumpy in build, a little shorter than Raylan in height, several years older than him by the streaks of grey in her mop of curly coal black hair. “The fancy wine,” she pointed, her round face highlighted by beady light grey eyes and a big smile. “What’s the occasion?”
Raylan followed the direction of her finger down to his grocery bag and the neck of the Pinot Grigio bottle peeking out. “Oh…right. It’s the four-year marriage anniversary with my better half, Robbie.”
The woman’s eyebrows rose so high they nearly hit the store ceiling. “Oh really?” Her voice hit a hilariously high tenor, smile frozen on her face. “Congratulations!”
Raylan rolled his eyes, but bit down on the caustic remark forming in his brain. “Thanks,” was his terse reply instead.
“Is that the extent of the special night?” she continued in some semblance of her normal tenor.
“Nah,” Raylan shook his head. “A home cooked meal and some random bad films. Work for both us is so crazy that we keep it simple.” Actually it was more Robbie’s job that had the crazy schedule, involving lots of travel. Raylan’s job as a technical writer for load Hunter-Varese Manufacturing was a 9-5 job without too many late nights. The promise was for next year’s anniversary to deviate toward something more extravagant, no matter what.
“Ah,” the woman asked after a long lull in their conversation. Whether she expected more details, Raylan had no clue or concern. “Well, good luck tonight.” The woman’s turn in line to get rung up came and she stepped forward.
“Thanks,” Raylan returned his focus on the grocery store TV. Before the woman had interrupted, he’d been zoned out on a local San Diego news broadcast. With the TV screen so far away, he only saw images, which was the typical broadcast news collage of chaos. A school bus lay flipped on its side with flames shooting out of its engine area. A swarm of preteens scrambled about, some bloodied and screaming, a few bloodied and motionless on the ground. A familiar winged figure swept down for the school bus.
Seeing this type of wreckage was nothing new for Raylan. But still, he remained bizarrely fascinated by the disaster. “What happened there?” he asked a Latino gentleman behind him who looked no older than twenty.
“Some dumbass in a BMW blew a red light at 54th and University and struck a school bus full of middle school kids,” the young man spat, his dark eyes alight with vitriol. “Thank God that Red Sparrow swooped in,” the young man’s face brightened at the irony in his words. “Ha! Red Sparrow ‘swooped in.’ Get it
?”
Wish I didn’t. Right then, Raylan’s turn came up and with that came a merciful end to the young man’s bad jokes. After paying for his wine, vegetables, and turkey, Raylan lingered near the grocery store exit to keep watching the news broadcast. The footage finally switched away from the accident porn to show San Diego’s patron superhero in all her glory—the Red Sparrow.
Raylan’s breath caught at the sight of her slender physique as she pulled yet another kid from the soon to be flame-engulfed bus. Her outfit was head-to-toe, blood red spandex, flame retardant and flexible Kevlar covered all but her face. For that she wore massive opaque orange flight goggles to cover her eyes from identification and high wind shear. The sharp-looking silver wings protruding from the underside of each arm were part of the uniform, put in place to deflect gunfire and projectiles. Red Sparrow’s supersonic flight was an ability derived from her being ‘homo superior.’
Red Sparrow had just landed well away from the school bus with her passenger, a frightened young girl who seemed to be the last of kids on the bus.
With that, Red Sparrow shooed all the kids away from the bus with over-exaggerated arm movements as the bright hungry flames consumed it entirely.
Only then did Raylan exit the grocery store, secretly pleased. The time was 3:30PM, meaning he had about three hours to cook dinner and get cleaned up.
On the way to get tonight’s dessert, Raylan’s thoughts wandered back to six years ago when San Diego finally got involved in the American Superhero Initiative that placed at least one patron superhero with a select number of the country’s largest metropolises.
Washington, D.C. had One-Man-Militia when he wasn’t on Freedom Watch duties.
Atlanta had gotten rocky powerhouse Rushmore.
San Miguel, the so-called ‘City of Wonder’ had the cream of the crop; Lady Liberty, Titan sometimes, that psycho vigilante, Geist—unofficially—and the Extreme Teens every now and then.
San Diego got Red Sparrow, a superhero that barely stood 5’4 and had no ‘cool’ powers like shooting laser beams from her eyes. All she could do was fly really fast.
The majority of the city had been outraged, believing that they’d been cheated out of a real superhero. Red Sparrow might not have been as powerful as Titan or as statuesque and ‘pinup worthy’ as Lady Liberty. But she was spirited in personality, had courage enough for five, resourceful with her flight abilities, and effective in beating back San Diego’s gang problem. In short, she proved everyone wrong and won the whole city over.
Those other cities could keep their overexposed, overpowered heroes. San Diego was lucky to have Red Sparrow, in Raylan’s opinion.
Later after he’d returned home, boiled the pasta and cooked up goulash-style stew, Raylan showered. He looked at the ruddy, freckled face in the mirror with the green eyes cropped ginger red hair. He’d shaved and then threw on a black button down with dark blue jeans. A spritz of Davidoff Good Life, Robbie’s favorite cologne on him, and Rayland was ready to go. The first floor of their spacious three-bedroom condo was low lit. Candles for the table were lit. Balloons with ‘Happy Anniversary’ printed on them in bold pink lettering were tethered to a spare chair on the dinner table. Raylan had Robbie’s present covered in Christmas wrapping paper, which was sure to draw a laugh.
Dessert was red velvet cake with French vanilla ice cream, waiting in the fridge and freezer respectively. The crap movie for the evening was ‘Street Fighter’, which had garnered a glorious 12% on Rotten Tomatoes.
6:30PM came and went, but Raylan knew better than to serve the food yet.
7:00PM came and went. No Robbie.
7:30PM came and went. No Robbie. Raylan doused more cool water on the pasta to keep it from sticking and reheated the goulash stew before it completely cooled.
Soon 8:00PM began to approach. But Raylan was not even slightly perturbed. He expected his partner in at closer to 9:00PM. Robbie’s job was fulfilling yet excruciatingly demanding, and over the course of their marriage both of them had learned to accept that.
Rayland plopped down on the L-shaped black leather couch in the living room and flipped on the 51” plasma TV. Instead of that banal lamestream entertainment show usually on at this time, Raylan saw a special news report—and the news ticker stamped on the screen’s lower third.
He jumped out his seat. “Whoa!”
SUPERHERO TITAN DEAD.
CBS News 8 anchors, Marcella Lee and Carlos Cecchetto, appeared on the screen in all their perfectly coiffed glory wearing genuinely saddened expressions. “…was found dead in the Liberty Heights neighborhood of the Central Coast city, San Miguel,” said Michelle minus her usual camera-ready smile. “Understandably this is a shock felt round the world, as Titan was globally renowned not only for his never-ending battle against crime but his charitable acts.”
Raylan’s brain didn’t compute. Titan, dead? Super strong and nigh-invulnerable Titan, dead?
The same Titan who had saved the Statue of Liberty when Dr. Magnos had tried toppling it into the Atlantic—Dead?
News anchor Carlos shook his head more sincerely. “Indeed, Marcella. Titan was, in many people’s eyes, the forefather of America’s superhero revolution. Now at this time, San Miguel police are calling this a homicide, based on the evidence fund at the crime scene. But given the high profile of this case, we will not get official word until the FBI gets involved.”
Raylan slumped back onto the couch, jaw hanging open as the news broadcast continued. His mind reeled. Titan wasn’t just dead, he had been murdered.
Of course the obligatory video package of Titan at his best rolled with an unnecessary voice discussing his legacy. The brawny 6’4 superhero soared across Raylan’s screen. The silvery white Caesar haircut, his bronzed complexion, that steely unwavering expression in the face of world-ending disaster, the instantly recognizable baby blue body suit with the silvery ‘T’ running across his arms and down his torso. Titan was ageless in appearance, relentless against evildoers, yet eternally optimistic and caring to those he protected.
Raylan felt like he’d been shot. Who could have killed Titan? Dr. Magnos? Tom-Da-Bomb? Demolition? And why?
Suddenly his eyes were watering. He, like most, had grown up watching Titan. Raylan started flipping through the major broadcast channels, then all the major cable channels. The death of the world’s greatest superhero dominated every single one.
Titan, while a bit vanilla in personality, had been one of the legitimately good superheroes.
Titan was a constant in the face of these new, corporately-backed 9 to 5 superhacks with costumes that were more and more a gross collage of sponsors.
Titan…was Robbie’s inspiration to even become a superhero.
“Oh my god…”The realization struck Raylan harder in the gut. His tears flowed freely and steadily now. Somehow a hand had found itself over his still-open mouth.
The front door slammed shut. “Happy anniversary…almost two hours late!” a high and clear voice announced.
Raylan whirled about in his seat. “Robbie!” He dove for the TV remote. His hands shook so badly it took a few frantic clicks to do switch to the blank AV screen and then turn the damn thing off.
No doubt Robbie already knew. No wonder she was late for their anniversary dinner tonight.
The anniversary can wait, Raylan told himself as he wiped the tears from his face. She’ll need you now to be a rock.
“I know! I suck so BAD!” Roberta ‘Robbie’ Corales-Oakmont swept out of the foyer and into the common room. She was a petite little thing, five-foot-three-and-a-half with a heart-shaped face and smooth olive skin courtesy of her Filipino heritage. Robbie, with her black pixie-cut hair curled and textured, wore a burgundy blouse and taupe pencil skirt that flattered her amazing figure. That face, those large dark eyes, those lips, was all so lovely, especially when she smiled. “I remembered the flowers!” she held up a bouquet of white roses, the only part of tonight that Raylan allowed her to take part in.
“Thanks,” Raylan turned away to wipe his face and then approached his wife. Robbie was probably putting on her best façade for his benefit. Best to make no mention of the anniversary.
Raylan took the flowers and placed them on the dining table so gently one might think they were motion-sensitive bombs. “How are you?” he asked after a long, full kiss on the lips.
The kiss left Robbie flushed and giggly, like always. She was putting a good show for his benefit. “Fine. Got your gift this morning. I’ll bring it out after dinner. I would have called to tell you I was running late but I’ve had my cell phones off, like we promised—.” Robbie’s adorable rambling trailed off when she got a good look at her husband’s face. “Raylan what’s wrong?!” she cried, any signs of cheeriness evaporating.
Raylan gaped. She doesn’t know about Titan. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and put on his most nonchalant tone. “Naw its nothing. Just the onions from cooking. The phones?” Raylan held out his hand expectantly, somehow holding it together.
With an over-the-top sigh, his wife handed her phones over, an iPhone 5 for work and a Nexus 4 for personal calls. Robbie worked so hard during the day and a lot of times at night. She deserved a night off, even from news about Titan.
“How was your day?” he asked, heading for the kitchen.
“Great!” she was beaming again. Good. “Just one major accident, other than that it was kinda boring.” Raylan spied her walking gingerly toward their couch, favoring her right side.
She must have re-aggravated her knee strain, Raylan realized. “Saw your save on TV.”
Robbie gazed back at him with the happiest look. “Did you?!”
“Of course,” Raylan replied. No matter how shocked and numb Titan’s death had left him, the memory of his wife in action filled with unshakeable warmth, joy and pride. “I was in the grocery store and I almost shouted out, ‘That’s my wife’ to the whole world.” He poured them both a glass of the Pinot.
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