The Rise of Dark Flame

by Damien Benoit-Ledoux

  When the flames were sufficiently extinguished, Blue Spekter covered the mixture of liquids on the ground with ice; he didn’t want another explosion to take him by surprise. He turned back to the police officer, who was kneeling over the man, feeling his neck for a pulse.

  “How is he? He looks pretty beat up. Smells terrible, too.” Blue Spekter commented, looking at the unconscious man. His face was unusually black and blue, like he had taken a beating. The man’s light green T-shirt had several unusually large blood stains over his chest and abdomen.

  Did the airbag do that?

  Around him, people took pictures with their cameras and smartphones. Otherwise, it was eerily silent.

  “I’m no medic, but I have enough training to know this man is dead.”

  “What?” Blue Spekter asked, his stomach knotting as he knelt down next the unconscious—or dead—man. “No,” he said softly.

  The officer looked at him with kind eyes. “I’m sorry, Blue. You did your best.”

  “But I didn’t save him.” Tears rolled down Quinn’s face, shimmering in the light of his glowing eyes. He wiped his face with his hands.

  The police officer shook his head and bravely reached across the space between them and put his right hand on Blue Spekter’s shoulder. Cameras and smartphones clicked around them.

  “Don’t you dare beat yourself up over this, son. You saved all of us from severe or mortal injury. If you weren’t here…I probably wouldn’t be alive. Neither would they.” The officer gestured outward with his free hand at the crowd of people who silently watched.

  “You’re a freak,” someone shouted, but several people shushed him into silence.

  Blue Spekter took a deep breath and stood up. The officer stood with him.

  “I have to go,” Blue Spekter said. People started clapping. Then, the entire crowd burst into applause and cheers.

  “This is because of what you did today, Blue Spekter. You saved these people,” the officer said.

  I don’t deserve their applause.

  Quinn looked up and lifted off, soaring fast and high into the afternoon sky.

  ❖

  Quinn tossed and turned all night, disturbed by horrible replays of the consuming fireball that had burned itself into his mind. Though he saved many lives that afternoon, someone still died because he hesitated to respond to the accident. His alarm clock went off and startled him.

  Already? I barely slept.

  He reached over and slapped it, knocking it off the nightstand.

  Since he was awake, he pushed off the covers and stretched. Willing himself to get out of bed, he yawned and then dropped to the floor to crank out his usual one hundred push-ups and sit ups. When he finished, he stood and stretched again.

  On the bureau, his phone vibrated. He glanced at it as he walked by to grab his towel from the hook on the back of his bedroom door, but abruptly turned around when he saw the message was from Blake.

  He unlocked his phone and read two words: Beef Jerky.

  What the heck?

  He set his phone down and shrugged, grabbed his towel, and went to the bathroom to get ready for school.

  When he finished dressing, he went downstairs to the kitchen.

  “Good morning, son,” Daddio said cheerfully, standing at the counter in a pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt as he packed their lunches for the day.

  “Morning,” he responded, chuckling at the sight of his dad’s unruly bedhead.

  “Breakfast is almost ready. Scrambled eggs okay? I added some peppers and tomatoes to use up some leftovers.”

  “Fine,” Quinn said. He sat down at the kitchen island and folded his arms on the cool granite, then rested his head on his forearms.

  “Uh, are you okay?” Daddio asked, eyeing him with suspicion.

  “Yeah, I just didn’t sleep well,” Quinn answered, not lifting his head.

  “Oh. Have some coffee or you’ll never make it through the day,” Daddio suggested.

  “That’s probably a good idea,” Quinn answered, noting his brain was still filled with morning cobwebs. He stood up and went to the coffee station to pour himself a cup of coffee. As he set the pot back in the coffeemaker, something the news anchor said on the morning news program caught his ear.

  “More with this amazing story is News Nine’s own Camilla Brenhurst, on location in Portsmouth.”

  The news program switched to Camilla, who stood with her back to the front doors of North Church in Market Square. Her straight, brown hair blowing in the morning breeze. “Good morning. That’s right, Paula, widespread disaster following a fatal accident here in downtown Portsmouth was miraculously averted when Blue Spekter, the unidentified superhero that has government and police officials confused and worried, stepped into save the day. But now, authorities claim they are much closer to identifying the vigilante after his heroic actions saved nearly one hundred bystanders.”

  What? How is that possible? I had my eyes glowing the entire time? There’s no way anyone could have photographed my face.

  Quinn’s mind raced as she explained the car accident and its aftermath to viewers.

  “Wow, that’s interesting,” Daddio said.

  “Yeah,” Quinn answered, nearly throwing up on the spot.

  As Camilla narrated what happened, the news program cut to a bystander’s video of Blue Spekter standing in front of the accident. There, in plain sight, just before he created the spectacular forcefield that contained the explosion and made his body glow bright blue, was his easily-readable maroon Clippers Pride sweatshirt. To Quinn, his choice of running gear singled him out as a high school student, which meant the authorities would be that much closer to finding him.

  The coffee-filled mug slipped from Quinn’s shaking fingers, shattering as it hit the tile floor.

  Startled by the noise, Daddio spun around from the stove and looked at Quinn, the spilled coffee, then back at his son, but Quinn’s eyes were glued to the television.

  I’m an idiot! How could I have been so careless? How could I have let them see that? What was I thinking?

  “Quinn, what’s wrong?” Daddio asked.

  Quinn pointed to the television as the newscaster repeated herself about the possibility of Blue Spekter being a high school student in attendance at Portsmouth High.

  “Oh, wow,” Daddio said, taking sudden interest in the report.

  Dad walked into the kitchen half-dressed. “Everything okay?” he asked, looking at the spilled coffee on the floor.

  Quinn’s hand was still pointing at the television. Daddio quickly caught him up as Camilla spoke with Chief Tina Applegate. The police officer who was on-scene stood next to her.

  Chief Applegate spoke. “It’s a tragedy that the man didn’t make it, but we are grateful to Blue Spekter for preventing further injury and saving lives.”

  Camilla put the microphone in front of the on-scene officer. “Do you believe the vigilante killed the driver of the sports car?”

  Why the heck would she ask that question?

  The officer eyed Camilla with annoyance. “No, we do not. Given that he arrived after the accident occurred, we cite no connection to the accident.”

  Chief Applegate raised a finger. “To be honest, we don’t believe the explosion killed the driver of the sports car. The medical examiner’s report indicates the driver was already dead or actively dying when he rolled through the stop sign. That suggests why the accident happened in the first place.”

  “So, the vigilante is not a suspect?”

  The chief sighed. “No, he is not.” That’s why she asked that question…she just made it painfully obvious to the chief that I’m a good guy…nicely done, Camilla. Maybe I can trust you after all.

  “Thank you, only one more question, Chief Applegate. Will there be any precautions or safety measures in place at Portsmouth High School today?”

  “Indeed. I can’t disclose the details, but suffice it to say, there will be a joint police and DHS presence on cam
pus this week—including canine units—until we can rule out the theory that the vigilante is high school student.”

  Beef Jerky! To throw off the dogs in case they can smell me. Right! So, why did Blake just tip me off?

  “What can students and parents to do to remain safe today at school?”

  “If Blue Spekter is a high school student, he hasn’t done anything wrong and he’s had plenty of time to hurt people if he wanted to. That said, student and teacher safety will be our first priority. Unfortunately, I cannot publicly share those protocols at this time.” Then, Chief Applegate looked directly into the camera. Though she spoke to everyone watching, Quinn knew she spoke directly to him. “I advise you to be careful, keep your eyes open, and be aware of your surroundings. That’s all we have at this time, thank you.”

  “Breakfast is ready,” Daddio said, throwing a dish towel down on the wet floor. “I’ll pick that up after you all get out of my kitchen. Grab another mug, Quinn.”

  “Okay,” Quinn said absentmindedly as the news program switched to a story about colorful fall foliage in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. His dads looked at each other and shrugged.

  When Quinn had poured another mug of coffee, he sat at his place and idly picked at the vegetable scrambled eggs on the plate before him with his fork.

  I can’t believe I was that careless. The only saving grace is that my name wasn’t on the back of the sweatshirt. If I had worn my other running hoodie, the entire world would know who I am, and this would be a very different conversation.

  Do I tell my dads now?

  How do I tell my dads?

  What about the questions Camilla asked? Why was she trying to prove my innocence with such overt, slap-in-the-face tactics? Why would she even insinuate I killed the man? What conclusions will people draw on that question alone? These are crazy times and some people still think I’m a freak.

  “So, uh, how does that news story make you feel?” Daddio asked.

  Quinn looked up and shrugged. “Good, I guess. I mean, he’s a good guy, right?”

  Dad and Daddio looked at one another again with confused expressions. Dad spoke next. “Quinn, you were the one defending him several weeks ago, insisting the world needed a superhero like him. Did you change your mind?”

  “Uh, well, I guess I never expected…I never thought he would be so close to me…like, at school.”

  “Ah. Shit just got real, huh?” Dad asked.

  Quinn nodded. You have no idea.

  ❖

  That morning before school, every student and teacher walked through airport-like security checkpoints equipped with metal detectors and bag search stations. Everyone—teachers and students—were searched and checked for weapons or denied entry to the school. Several students were pulled aside and held in waiting areas for more thorough searching while parents made a fuss about their teenager’s civil rights. Ultimately, they yielded to the growing paranoia over whether or not Blue Spekter was a student at the school.

  When Quinn arrived at the checkpoint, he was pulled aside when the canine units responded to the Beef Jerky in his pocket. Thankfully, the throng of students and long lines encouraged the officers who searched him to move him along when they discovered the beef jerky in his pocket. Quinn couldn’t get a sense of whether or not the dogs lingered on him for other reasons than his fingers were covered in tasty meat flavors the dogs wanted to sniff and lick.

  Quinn sensed more uneasy tension from the student body the moment he walked into the cafeteria to sit with Loren and Ravone before classes started. Keegan joined them several minutes later, and like the rest of their peers, they participated in hushed conversations. Cliques and groups stared at other cliques and groups as they all tried to figure out who among them were the best candidates to be Blue Spekter. Friends who once trusted each other now regarded one another with suspicion, and the added stress of police and DHS agents standing in the cafeteria or roaming the hallways created an intense atmosphere of trepidation and teenage angst.

  Throughout the day, moving between classes and observing different parts of the student body, Quinn noticed most students opted not to wear any Clippers apparel to school that day, probably for fear of being singled out as Blue Spekter. Quinn couldn’t get near Mr. St. Germain all day because students peppered him with questions and worries because everyone knew he was the resident comic book nerd.

  When Quinn passed Blake in the hallways between classes, he noted the subtle smirk others would never see. Blake silently taunted him and there was nothing Quinn could do or say that would stop him—not at school, at least.

  ❖

  Exhausted from a terrible night’s sleep and irritated by an exceptional day of unnecessary media-induced terror at school, Quinn screwed up one too many orders at Breaking New Grounds during his afternoon shift. At the end of his shift, Matt, his annoyed boss, told him to go to bed early that night. Rather than go home, Quinn flew around Portsmouth under the cover of dusk, hoping to sense Blake somewhere, but instead he found himself hovering over Pease Tradeport. There, he spotted the damaged U.S. Air Force KC-135 Stratotanker he had saved from crashing into Portsmouth, Kittery, or the ocean over a month ago.

  I didn’t even get a public thank you…

  Lost in his thoughts, Quinn walked along the spine of the massive plane. When he reached the damaged vertical stabilizer at the back of the plane, he turned around and made his way back toward the cockpit, his hands clasped behind his back.

  This is insane. I have no one to talk to about this stuff anymore and I can’t keep bugging Mr. St. Germain. Why the hell did Blake have to be stupid and walk away from our friendship? Maybe it’s time I told my dads, but I don’t know…that seems too risky right now, especially with the way the police are reacting at school. They’ll arrest my dads and…who knows what will happen. Still, the only thing keeping them from finding me is the odd fact that Chief Applegate is keeping her mouth shut…why? If she’s part of The Order, wouldn’t Victor have told her who we are? Unless he told her not to come after us…

  Dusk gave way to night, but a full moon illuminated the otherwise dark tarmac. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out to check the notification. Keegan had texted him: Hey, just thinking about you with lots of smiles. That’s all. XOXO.

  He pocketed his phone and smiled, absentmindedly staring at the gray metal surface of the plane as he approached the cockpit. I’m really lucky…I have to remember that, even when things aren’t going well.

  To his left, someone cleared their throat. He looked down at the ground and saw a uniformed man looking up at him, his hands on his hips. “Hey kid, would you mind telling me what you’re doing on top of my bird? Let alone how you managed to get past security and climb up there without a ladder?”

  “Oh shit.” Quinn muttered, unsure of what to do. He tensed and froze. The man’s southern drawl, combined with Quinn’s super vision, confirmed he was one of the plane’s three crew members he had saved.

  The man folded his arms across his chest. “It’s you, isn’t it? Your eyes aren’t glowing, though.”

  What do I say? Do I admit who I am to this guy?

  “You don’t look to be much older than my son, and he’s about fifteen.”

  “Uhhh…” Quinn slowly pulled his sweatshirt hood up over his head in case others were watching.

  “I know we thanked you when we climbed out of the cockpit several weeks ago, but I really want to say thank you again, Blue Spekter. This bird and its crew would have gone down, for sure.”

  When Quinn didn’t answer, the man shifted his weight nervously.

  “Well, this is a great conversation I’m having by myself. All right kid, say something and come down from there. I don’t need to make a fool of myself tonight. You have to be Blue Spekter; I can’t imagine anyone else getting in here and climbing on top of the plane.”

  Quinn jumped off the plane and floated down to the pilot.

  “Yeah, it’s me,” Quinn a
nswered, looking into the man’s blue eyes.

  “I take it I’m the first to see your face?”

  Quinn nodded. “Yeah, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “I understand. I owe you my life, so rest assured, I’ll take your secret to the grave, not that I know your name or anything about you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What are you doing up there, anyway?”

  “Thinking. I was looking for someone, but, it was quiet and I thought no one was around.”

  “There’s always someone watching this place.” He extended his hand. “I’m Captain David Prett. Call me David.”

  Quinn accepted and shook the man’s hand. “Blue Spekter.”

  David chuckled. “I take it you’ve had a long day and, well, I saw the news this morning. So, are they right?”

  Quinn sighed. “Yeah. It was pretty stupid of me to wear that sweatshirt. It was a shit-show at school today.”

  “You kiss your mama with that mouth?”

  Quinn glared at him. “I have two dads.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “I’m not.” Quinn smirked, watching the wheels turn behind the man’s eyes as he processed what Quinn said.

  “That’s not what I meant, son.”

  “I know,” he replied. Then, he jerked his head to the left wing. “When are they going to fix your bird?”

  David looked at the wing and shifted his feet. “They’ve ordered a whole new wing and a set of brand new engines. That’ll all take several months to repair in a hangar.

  “So, are you stuck here until they fix it?” Quinn asked.

  David laughed. “No, I’ve been out and back on other birds. I just happened to catch you at the right time.” He pointed to a nearby stratotanker. “I’m taking that one out in the morning.”

  “Oh,” Quinn said.

  An awkward silence descended upon them for a moment.

  “Look, I should go.”

  “They really want you, Blue. You’re all over the chatter at every level.”

  “Which is exactly why I’m not sure if I’m going to regret letting you see my face,” Quinn said, looking into the man’s eyes. They conveyed strictness and a genuine honesty Quinn saw in the eyes of Mr. St. Germain.