by Baron Sord
I walked toward the convention center.
When I got there, the sight of plastic tarps over the broken skylight windows came as a big surprise.
Workers wearing fluorescent yellow vests, hardhats, and climbing harnesses were roped in and hung from outside the skylights. Workers inside the lobby area stood on 60-foot scissor lifts. Both were busily affixing tarps to the open window frames in a team effort. The broken glass on the floor had all been cleaned up, but the work crews were still in the process of tarping the skylights.
If I needed proof today had happened, here it was. I was slightly surprised they hadn’t shut the Con down because of it. Then again, the show must go on. 150,000 rabid fans would not be denied their pop culture fix.
Neither would I.
I wandered the main exhibit hall and spent an hour enjoying all the eye candy. Not the cute cosplayers. The wall to wall comic art. Hand-drawn and hand-inked comic pages of yore, or original anime animation cells, or the on-the-spot sketches the artists in Artist’s Alley always drew for fans.
At some point, without realizing it, I found myself wandering past the Crash Comics booth.
“Hey! It’s the stalker!” Jeff Strickland chuckled.
“Hey, Jeff,” I muttered.
“She isn’t here.”
“Who says I came here looking for her?”
“Yeah, right,” he laughed. “You going to the Eisner’s tonight?”
“Thinking about it.”
“Good, good. So, how about that group faint earlier? Were you here for that? People have been talking about it all damn day.”
“Oh, uh… Yeah. I was here.”
“Crazy, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“People are all saying it was aliens. I say it was the military.”
“Yeah,” I grinned. “Probably.”
“You know they got top secret tech we can’t even imagine.”
“Yeah. They test it out at Area 51.” I was joking. “Today was their newest mind control machine. I hear they use future tech from the Terminators to make it work.”
“I wish,” Jeff grinned. “Probably just some nerve gas they pumped through the HVAC system that’ll give us cancer in a few years. MKUltra or some shit like that.”
“Makes sense.” To me, it didn’t make any sense, but I wasn’t going to argue with Jeff. I wanted that 2 page penciling job he’d offered earlier.
“Took ’em forever to clean up all the broken glass in the lobby.”
“I can imagine. They’re still putting tarps over the skylights.”
“Saw that. Surprised they didn’t shut the show down.”
“Me too.”
He cocked his head to the side, “You taller? I don’t remember you being so tall.”
“No. I don’t think so,” I ran my hand through my hair nervously.
“Did your face change?”
“No,” I snorted. “It must be the MKUltra you inhaled. It has hallucinatory effects.” I winked for emphasis.
He chuckled, “You said it. Listen, I hate to cut you off, but I need to get back to my hotel room and get changed for tonight.”
“Oh, okay.”
“See you at the Eisner’s?”
“Yeah.” I wanted to ask him if Lady Liberty would be there, but that would make me look like a stalker.
I said goodbye and wandered out of the convention center and over to the Bayfront Hilton where they held the awards ceremony in the Indigo Ballroom. It was already set up. Linen table cloths and candles covered the round tables that filled the huge room.
Anyone who had a Comic Con badge could get into the Eisner’s for free. The person at the door gave me a complimentary show program.
I walked inside and poured myself a cup of Coke from the no-service bar (two long tables covered in 2-liter bottles of soda and stacks of empty cups).
It wasn’t exactly the Oscars, but I was glad to be here. I sat down at an empty round table and waited patiently. Eventually, the room filled up. At 8:00pm, the lights went down and the ceremony started.
I didn’t see Lady Liberty anywhere.
I hadn’t seen Jeff Strickland walk in either, but it was a big room. I could’ve missed him.
If Lady Liberty had showed up in costume, she would’ve been easy to spot. Maybe she wasn’t in costume?
Around 9:00pm, after listening to an hour of award presenters and winners and thank you speeches, I was starting to get tired. Maybe it was time to throw it in.
The announcer at the front of the room said over the microphone, “And this year’s Russ Manning Promising Newcomer Award goes too…” He fumbled with the card as he unfolded it. “Lady Liberty!”
The crowd started to clap and cheer.
What?
Was she here?
The announcer shielded his eyes from the bright stage lights and searched the crowd. “Is she here? Has anybody seen Lady Liberty?”
“Oh my God!” LL ran right past me. That scent of hers nearly melted my brain as it wafted through the air. Intoxicating.
How had I not seen her?
How had I not smelled her?
She nearly tripped over her boots while stepping onto the low stage. The announcer marshaled her up to the podium and presented her the plaque. Camera flashes flickered as people snapped photos.
LL looked like a red-white-and-blue angel up on that stage.
Eventually, she set the plaque down and grabbed the podium with both hands like she might float away if she didn’t.
“Oh my God, thank—!”
WHINE!
The PA started to feed back but quickly went quiet as LL pulled away from the mic, “Sorry, sorry. Can I talk now?”
The announcer encouraged her to continue.
She nodded, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “Thank you so much. I… I… I… can’t believe this. It’s just… you guys have no idea how much this means to me. I’ve been drawing comics ever since I was a little girl. Ever since my mom bought me a copy of Wonder Woman when I was in kindygarden. This is… this is…” She sniffed and wiped a tear from her cheek. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Okay, okay. I won’t cry.” She waved a hand in her face and broke into sniffly giggles.
The audience chuckled with her.
This was incredible. I was in awe, inspired, surprised, jealous, excited, proud of her, and every other possible feeling an aspiring comic artist like myself could have at a time like this.
“Anyway,” LL sniffed. “Thank you, Jeff Strickland. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you giving me a chance and believing in me. And thanks to everyone at Crash Comics! And thank you, all of you! Sincerely.” She held up the award plaque. “This goes out to every girl in this room who has a dream she desperately wants to come true! This is for you, girls! You can do it! Wooo!”
The audience started clapping and cheering as Lady Liberty walked off the stage.
Man, I was ready to cry after that.
The more I got to know about LL, the more I fell for her. She was amazing in every sense of the word.
She walked along the wall at the side of the ballroom, heading straight toward me.
Adrenalin flooded my veins. I was going to stand up and say something when she passed. Anything. It didn’t matter what. Even a simple congratulations.
When she was two tables away, Jeff Strickland jumped up and intercepted her.
She instantly saw him and threw her arms around him in a huge hug. He patted her on the back in a fatherly way then pulled out a chair for her and they both sat down.
Damn it.
There were no empty chairs near either of them. I couldn’t go over there without looking like a tool. The ceremony was still going. I’d have to wait until after it was over.
Some time later, when it finally ended and the lights came up, a mob of people surrounded Lady Liberty.
I couldn’t even get close.
I waited and waited for the group to thin.
Instead, the group drifted r
ight out of the ballroom with Lady Liberty in the middle like the star she was.
What a disappointment.
At least now I didn’t have to continue the debate with myself over whether or not it would be a dick move to pop into Flashbacks on my drive home tonight. Of course I had considered it. But it didn’t matter because she wouldn’t be at Flashbacks. She would be elsewhere celebrating with her friends and fans.
Or would she?
How late did strippers work?
—: o o o :—
I walked back to my car alone.
The nighttime party atmosphere of the Gaslamp faded into the background as I strolled through the crowds on the sidewalk.
All I could think about was Lady Liberty.
I hadn’t really been planning on going to Flashbacks. I wasn’t that kind of guy. I was a gentleman who—
…No, you can’t use my phone!
I stopped short on the sidewalk.
…Would you please leave me alone?
Someone bumped into me from behind before sliding past me.
…I told you, no!
Confused, I looked around.
…Stop it! No! Let go of me!
Was nobody hearing that?
They weren’t.
Was it my telepathy?
…Somebody, help!
It was.
The words came in with a strange and distorted echoey quality, but they were clear enough. Someone nearby was in trouble.
But where?
I turned in a slow circle as people filtered past me on the sidewalk. I ignored their stares. They probably thought I was insane.
I closed my eyes, concentrating on the echoes as they replayed through my brain.
There.
That way.
I could feel the direction of the distress.
I started running. Ran right across traffic. Cars honked at me. I ignored them and jumped onto the far sidewalk. Unfortunately, it was wall-to-wall people here too, so I ended up back in the street.
Ran hard, banking as I went around a corner pistoning my legs. The next thing I knew I was passing cars. That couldn’t be right. The cars must be going slow. A block later, they weren’t.
The speed limit here was 25mph.
I was going faster than the cars.
That was ridiculous. I wasn’t Usain Bolt. I couldn’t run this fast.
But I was.
Each time one of my feet hit the ground, my body jolted powerfully forward.
…No! Stop! Please don’t! Please!
A wave of desperation from whoever it was washed over me.
Rage filled my veins and I floored it.
Ran right through a red light.
Screeching tires as a car skidded in front of me, trying not to run me over.
I hurdled over the car’s roof with ease.
More car horns blared.
I kept going, passing the cars driving in my direction. I had to be going 40mph by now.
Turned hard at another corner, my shoes slamming on the asphalt as I arced into oncoming traffic and vaulted over the length of a tall SUV like it wasn’t even there.
I wasn’t flying, but it damn sure felt like it.
…LET ME GO! HELP! STOP!
I was getting close. Very close.
I ran down an empty street of office buildings and skidded to a stop in front of an alley, expecting to see something horrendous in progress.
The long alley was empty, save for some dumpsters and some stacked cardboard boxes.
Was I too late?
Where was the person I’d heard screaming in my head?
Had I imagined it?
Was I going crazy?
At the far end a block away, someone turned down the alley and started walking toward me. With the streetlights behind him, the figure was lost in shadow, but I could see it was someone short and pudgy with a shadowy cape billowing behind them.
Two more tall silhouettes turned into the alley, following the first.
I edged back behind the corner of a building and watched closely.
“Where you going, Batman?”
“Leave me alone.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be a badass crime fighter?”
“I said leave me alone!”
“Where’s Robin?”
“I don’t know. Would you please leave me alone?”
Laughter. “You got the Batmobile parked around here somewhere? I need a ride.”
“I don’t have a Batmobile.”
“How about a regular car?”
“I don’t… I don’t have a car.” It sounded like the pudgy guy was lying, probably because he didn’t want these guys following him to his car and stealing it. “I walked here.”
“Naaaaah, you’re too fat to walk anywhere.”
More laughter from the shadowy thugs.
The three figures walked under a light in the alley near one of the dumpsters. The light finally revealed them.
Sure enough, a short pudgy guy in a Batman costume was being followed by two big guys in black leather jackets. Pudgy Batman had obviously come from Comic Con.
Seeing him being bullied in his Batman costume dredged up an old memory of mine.
Middle school. I was in the 6th grade. Halloween. I had stupidly thought wearing my Batman costume to school was a good idea. It had been a hit the year before with the kids in 5th grade — except for my teacher Mrs. Hargutz, who had called it vulgar — but that was grade school. Showing up as Batman in the 6th grade was a huge a mistake. I was humiliated. All day long, the boys busted my balls for wearing it and the girls giggled whenever they saw me. I had taken the mask and cape off early on, but I didn’t have a change of clothes, so I had to wear the rest of the costume all day. I ended up hiding in the library during lunch to avoid more harassment.
What a relief it had been when the final bell had rung at the end of the day. My torture was finally over, or so I had thought. I couldn’t get home fast enough. Little did I know that 8th grader Chuck Weaver and his asshat friends had followed me home on their bikes. They chased me into an empty cul-de-sac and knocked me down in the middle of the street. I cried while they kicked me. Nobody came outside to help. Chuck sat on my stomach and shoved my cape in my mouth until I was choking on it and my tears.
Now, while one of the thugs in the alley jogged forward and spun in front of Pudgy Batman to stop him short, my old memory held me in its humiliating grip. I couldn’t move.
“Lemme use your phone, fats,” the thug said.
“I don’t have a phone,” Pudgy Batman whined.
“Yeah you do. Rich kid like you? I know you got one in that utility belt of yours. Lemme use it. I gotta make a quick call.”
“No! You can’t use my phone!”
“So you do have a phone.”
“I…” Pudgy Batman deflated.
“Thought so,” the thug chuckled. They’d tricked him into admitting it. It was bad enough when bullies were bigger than you. It was a thousand times more humiliating when they were smarter than you too.
“Would you please leave me alone?” Pudgy Batman begged.
“Listen to this bitch whine,” the second thug laughed. He was big and bald and had a huge bowling ball of a head. He stood behind Pudgy Batman menacingly.
As my own memories strangled me and held me in their grip, I slowly realized Pudgy Batman’s cries for help were now the exact same ones, word for word, that I’d heard a few minutes ago in my head. Not my memories. The telepathic cries of distress. I was stunned. Had I heard the future? Before it happened? The implications of that were mind boggling.
The thug standing in front of Pudgy Batman, said, “Gimme your phone and we’ll let you go.”
“I told you, no!” Pudgy Batman’s voice was shrill and choked with fear.
The big bowling ball guy behind Pudgy pulled Pudgy’s arms behind his back, pinning them.
“Stop it!” Pudgy cried. “Let go of me!”
The thug in fron
t punched Pudgy in the gut and he sagged in the arms of the thug behind.
I felt that gut punch like I was the one getting hit. It hurt. Man, did it hurt. The pain was entirely emotional, but it was paralyzing. Fricking bullies.
“Somebody, help…” Pudgy Batman’s words came out in a wheezy whisper.
The two thugs laughed.
Laughed.
My childhood anger exploded. I hated guys like this. Hated them. It was two against one, and they were twice Pudgy Batman’s size. Then I remembered I wasn’t a middle school kid anymore. And I had super powers. I was so angry, I would’ve helped this poor guy even if I didn’t have them. Now that I did, I was going to make these thugs pay.
I sprang into action and ran down the long alley.
The front thug pulled hard on Pudgy’s yellow utility belt.
“No! Stop!” Pudgy was now crying. “Please don’t! Please!”
Front Thug yanked again and tore the belt off, breaking it with a loud snap.
As fast as I was, they were still 30 yards away and I was still accelerating.
Bowling Ball thug behind Pudgy picked him up like a pro wrestler would, holding him up sideways over his chest like a log. Then he pressed Pudgy over his head and aimed for the dumpster.
“LET ME GO! HELP! STOP!” Pudgy Batman was scared for his life.
I hated to think what was in that grimy dumpster.
I got there one second too late.
Bowling Ball hurled Pudgy Batman into the dumpster.
“Noooo!” Pudgy cried out.
BONG!
A hollow metallic thud that sounded like Pudgy had banged his head against the interior sidewall of the dumpster boomed up and down the alley. That couldn’t be good for Pudgy.
Good thing I was about to knock some sense into the two thugs as I roared toward them at top speed.
Front Thug must’ve heard me coming because he turned around and sidestepped out of my path of destruction just in time.
Not a problem.
A split second later, I mowed over Bowling Ball. When I hit him, I was low to the ground with both my fists out like ramrods.
I swear to God, the moment before impact, Bowling Ball’s face was that of Chuck Weaver grimacing at me with wide-eyed fear.
I must’ve hit him at 40 miles an hour. I felt his entire stomach cavity caving in as I punched all the way to the back of his spine and connected solidly with bone.