by Marv Wolfman
“Frankly, no, I don’t. Either you care about me, or you don’t. Either you love me with or without my faults, or you don’t.” He stepped toward the outside door and put his hand on the knob. “I don’t understand you, Frankie. I thought we had something going between us.”
He opened the door and walked into the cold, fresh night. The wind blew his blond hair wild. Frankie Raye stood in the doorway and watched him. “I guess I was wrong about you, Frankie. Damned shame, too. I really loved you.”
Without stripping off his suit, he yelled out “FLAME ON!” His body suddenly ignited and he took to the skies, once more a comet streaking heavenward. Frankie Raye watched until he disappeared from view, then closed the door behind her and slowly walked to the couch. She fell on it and cried, long into the night.
“I love you, too, Johnny. Damn, I love you, and I can’t ever be yours, because I’m scared . . . because I don’t want a hero in my life, because I want a normal home with normal children, a normal life, and you just don’t fit in, Johnny Storm.
“You’re something special, and you can never be normal. You can never walk among people without having them stare at you. Even when you’re not the Human Torch, even when you’re Johnny Storm, you’re special.
“Oh, God, Johnny, I want you so much it hurts. I want you, but I can’t have you. I . . . I just can’t.”
Blast. Damn and double damn! What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I hold on to anybody? What am I doing wrong? Will somebody please tell me? Those were Johnny Storm’s thoughts as he flew southward over the Bronx toward Manhattan.
Reed has Sue; even Ben, monster that he is, he has Alicia. And what’ve I got? Nothing. Myself! Zero! Zilch! I lost Dorrie Evans. I lost Crystal. I’ve lost every girl I’ve ever loved. Now, Frankie. Blast!
His flame shimmered red and blue as it cut a swath across the skies. He felt alone, impotent, miserable. He was twenty years old, a member of the Fantastic Four, the premier super-hero organization of its kind. He had traveled throughout the world and to other worlds. There was little he had never seen, less he had never done, yet the blond-haired youth was not satisfied.
He was alone in a world where two was the most important number. Couples. Pairs. Man and woman. Husband and wife. And he was a one . . . a damned one.
It wasn’t his super powers that separated him from everyone else. Reed and Sue had powers certainly equal to his own. They found love and marriage and happiness together. He knew there were other heroes: Spider-Man, Iron Man, Captain America. Surely they didn’t suffer as he did. They couldn’t be as alone as he was.
His sister raised him as a child; she watched him grow. He was bright, though teachers had always said he never applied himself as he should. He went to college, then dropped out after his first year. What could they teach him? He had been everywhere, he thought, or perhaps he rationalized.
He was good with machines. He could take apart a car and reassemble it better than it had originally been. There was nothing about motors he didn’t know. He had talent, he was handsome, he was a hero.
So why couldn’t he get a girl? Why didn’t women return the love he felt? Why was he always alone?
His mind buzzed with questions and felt helpless when no answers became clear. What good was being a super-hero if his life was all screwed up?
He streaked across the skies, heading toward the Baxter Building. Maybe Frankie wasn’t feeling well. I’ll give her a call tomorrow.
When the belt radio buzzed and Reed Richards’s voice spoke, he didn’t know he wouldn’t speak to Frankie Raye tomorrow. He didn’t know he might never speak to Frankie Raye again.
He didn’t know that by tomorrow night, there was a very good chance he would be dead.
Nine
Johnny landed before the double doors to the Baxter Building and saw O’Hoolihan react instantly. The heavyset doorman opened the door and bowed. “Top o’ the eve, Mr. S. I sure do hope ye be feelin’ good.”
Johnny grinned. “Not as well as I’d like to, O’Hoolihan, but I’ll make it through the night, I guess.”
Inside the massive lobby, people hurriedly rushed in all directions. Johnny Storm moved away from the flow heading toward the elevators and stood in front of a single door set aside from all the others. His hand touched his belt, and an invisible light flashed from the buckle, striking a metal plate to the side of the door.
Instantly, the door slid open to reveal a private elevator. Johnny entered and pressed the bottommost button. The first floor that housed the headquarters of the Fantastic Four contained their bedrooms, dining room, visitors’ reception area, kitchen facilities, and day-to-day living space. These were all kept separate from the other four floors, which housed the F.F.’s intricate science labs, vehicle hangars, and observatory.
All five floors, the tower of the Baxter Building, were owned by the Fantastic Four and paid for by the money Reed Richards earned from the patents on his incredible inventions.
He entered his private bedroom, removed his clothes, and took a shower. Perhaps, he thought, it was time to move out. Get his own apartment. After all, Reed and Sue had their own place, though they spent most of their time in the Baxter Building and still had bedroom facilities there, along with a second room for Franklin.
And Ben had another apartment across town, a three-room bachelor pad he could call his own. Only Johnny Storm lived full-time in their skyscraper headquarters. Yeah, perhaps its time to move on.
He stepped out of the shower and ignited himself. His flames could dry him off faster than any towel. Within moments he was dry and dressed for action. Reed had said he wanted to speak to Johnny about something that had come up. He told him to be ready for travel if he agreed to come with them.
He sauntered down the hall and knocked on their bedroom door. Inside, he could hear the shower running as Reed opened the door, his hair still wet. “Come on in, Johnny. Sue will be right out. We’ve got a problem.”
Johnny was interested. “Lay it on me, leader-man. What’s up?”
It took less than a minute to explain the situation, and Johnny listened quietly, attentively. At long last he let loose with a long whistle. “Whew! Dr. Doom. Doesn’t sound good, Reed. Any idea what he’s up to?”
Reed shook his head. “None. That’s what bothers me. I know Doom too well. Yet he’s given his promise to the others. He guaranteed their safety, that nothing would happen to them, and that he’d have them all back by Sunday night. I know this sounds strange, Johnny. But Doom doesn’t lie. He’s too proud, too sure of himself. If he says the people will not be harmed, despite all his evil, despite everything he has ever done to us in the past, I know he’s telling the truth.
“But the problem is, I also know he would never do anything unless he means to gain something by it. I just can’t analyze this situation. I can’t figure out what he wants.”
Johnny arched his brow. “Maybe he’s telling the truth when he says he’s changed his ways. Maybe he’s reforming? It’s happened before.”
“What’s happened before?” They turned to see Sue dressed in her bright blue action garb, her long blonde hair flowing free to her shoulders. “You said it happened before. What?”
“Johnny thinks Doom may have changed his spots. But like the proverbial leopard, I doubt it. No, he’s up to something, and frankly, I think it’s best that we go along to figure out just what it may be.”
Sue combed out her hair as she spoke. “I agree with Reed, Johnny. You had to be there to understand, but Doom hasn’t changed—not one whit. I sensed he relished it when Ben attacked him. I think he may have provoked the fight.”
Johnny laughed. “I can see it now. My blue-eyed buddy winding up and letting go with a one-two punch, and there goes Doom’s head. It must’ve freaked out that poor orange slob.
“I just wish I could’ve been there. I wouldn’t’ve stopped laughing till tomorrow.”
“Oh, I think you woulda stopped, junior . . . When I laid one o’ my knuckle san
dwiches on ya.” Ben Grimm stood behind Johnny. “ ’Sides, you woulda done the same, unless you let that robot punch you out.”
Johnny spun, ready for a verbal battle. “Yeah? Listen, big shot, at least I can tell the difference between a man and a robot. Then, again, looking the way you do, I’m surprised you didn’t start a fight with the cappuccino machine. You know how nasty those little buggers can look.”
Ben thrust his head closer to Johnny’s face. “Says you, matchstick. All yer good fer is settin’ off fire extinguishers. Or don’t ya remember what happened at that movie ya went ta last week? Ya almost caused a panic.”
Johnny pushed even closer to Ben, their noses virtually touching. “I wouldn’t talk if I were you, Quasimodo. One look and half the folks ran out of the picture before it began. And they were playing The Monster That Ate Trenton!”
Reed’s voice broke the string of verbal abuse. “That’s enough out of the both of you. I asked you here, Johnny, to find out if you’ll come with us. I won’t force you. I know you may have other things on your mind, but—”
Johnny interrupted. “Reed, we’re a team, aren’t we? When we were first formed, we agreed to stay together through thick and thin, and, face it, if I could put up with Ben’s ugly face peering over the morning paper before he’s had his first mug of coffee, I guess I can stand trekking over to Latveria to make sure Doc Doom is on the up and up. I’m going with you, Reed. There’s nothing else to say, right?”
Sue spoke first. “That’s better. We’ve got a job to do and we do it. Doom said his jets will be taking off in the morning, that we’re supposed to meet him at Kennedy Airport. I think it may be safer to get a good night’s sleep now. That way we’ll be ready if anything out of the ordinary does happen. Any disagreements? Ben?”
“Don’t look at me, Susie. I’m the sweet one o’ the group.”
“I agree, Sis. I’ll see you in the morning. G’night, Reed. You, too, gruesome”
“Aw, shuddup. I’m too tired ta think of a comeback.”
“That must explain you all the time. You’re always so tired you never think.”
Johnny leaped from the room and ran down the corridor screaming. Ben Grimm was close on his tail, hurling a pillow at the fleeing figure.
Sue turned to Reed and rested her head on his shoulder. “What do you think, Reed? You’ve been unusually quiet.”
Reed grimaced before talking, and when he did, his words were slow, deliberate. “I think we may be in for trouble. I think whatever it is Doom has prepared is so diabolical, he isn’t even worried that we, his greatest foes, will be right beside him all the time.
“I think we’ve got to watch him very carefully, and what’s more, I think we’re going to have to be prepared . . . for anything!
“Sue, I won’t be coming to bed tonight. I’ve got to go up to the lab and do some work. I’ll sleep on the plane tomorrow.”
Sue’s face mirrored her worry. “It’s that bad, Reed? Are you certain?”
Reed answered quietly. “With Doom you can’t be certain about anything. But I know one thing, Sue. If I don’t take the time to plan something tonight, we may not live beyond tomorrow.”
Sue shuddered as Reed left their bedroom, heading to his electronics lab two floors above. It wasn’t like him to be so pensive. He must have some idea as to what was going to happen to them. He has to know. And he has to be very, very worried.
She removed her costume and slipped into her night clothing. She threw off the bedspread and used only a thin sheet. The lights were turned off and Sue closed her eyes.
But it was many hours before sleep would come.
Ten
To anyone who looked, Latveria was a “picture-postcard” kingdom. A great golden castle sat proudly atop a high mountain peak. Small clusters of gaily colored wooden homes dotted the mountainside. Each small home had a pocket-sized garden for growing fruits and vegetables. At the base of the mountain there were several open-air markets where fresh produce and meats were sold.
There were no museums, no theaters, no sports arenas, and no churches, the latter being the only oddity that separated Latveria from the other vest-pocket countries that existed throughout southern Europe.
The humble Latverians were mostly farmers, tilling the great farm that bordered the golden castle. Wheat, corn, and barley were its principal products. Fifty percent of their gains were turned over to the castle’s lord; the other fifty percent they could sell in the marketplace.
To all intents, Latveria was just another nation, neither doing particularly well, nor starving, either. The people seemed contented, though they rarely smiled, the lot of the hard-working farmer, perhaps.
Those men over the age of twenty who were not working the farms were conscripted into the Latverian Army, where they would serve no less than a five-year term. At one other point in their lives, every Latverian male would serve at least four years. Their country was a small one; it could be gobbled up by any of the major powers at any time, or so their monarch had told them.
In truth, however, Latveria was better armed than any other European nation, as well armed as both the United States and the Soviet Union. Hidden within the mountain were missile launching sites. The great golden dome that perched atop the castle housed a massive laser cannon which could be controlled by satellites orbiting far above the Earth.
Patrolling the border were strange, silent guards. They were an army of grim, unforgiving, merciless robots who, when given a command, could turn a human body to pulp in less time than an ordinary man could eliminate a crawling ant.
The Monarch of Latveria was Dr. Doom, the cold tyrant who would brook no revolt, permit no freedoms, encourage no hopes. Yet, the Latverians, save a few rebels whom Doom would quickly eliminate as soon as their existence was discovered, didn’t hate Doom. Surprisingly few ever thought of revolution. After all, their standards of living had sharply risen once Doom took power. They now had food enough for their family, freedom enough for their paltry needs, and unless they raised their voices in protest, Doom left them pretty much alone. What more could these people want? Their last ruler gave them none of Doom’s benefits, and had kept their lives in constant fear.
Keep in line, be humble, do not complain. Things could be worse. These were the key words for a long life in Latveria, and most of the nation zealously observed those rules without complaint.
Old Boris greeted Doom at the small airfield to the south of the castle. “All is in readiness, sire. Living quarters have been provided for your guests.” Doom nodded, pleased to see the old one.
“You are well, Boris? The medicines I left for you have cured your cold?”
“Yes, sire, they have. I no longer ache. I thank you, sire.”
“Good.” Doom turned toward the men and women scrambling out of the massive jets. “This is my homeland. It will be totally open for your pleasure. Feel free to go anywhere. Ask my people whatever you wish. You will learn that Doom is benevolent to his subjects. But, first, you may wish to freshen up. Follow me to the castle.”
Several of the older men groaned as they saw the castle high above them. God, do we have to walk up there? But Doom stepped onto a slick, rubbery roadway and indicated for his guests to do the same. “We have many conveniences here in Latveria, some of which even you Americans have never seen. Observe!”
Doom touched a ring on his metallic glove, and a light flashed from the gemmed surface, striking a steel plate that was half-buried alongside the road. The rubbery surface vibrated for a moment, then began to move. “This is a mobile road. Within minutes it will whisk us up to my castle, without any expenditure of energy to you. Man was meant to spend his time in thought and contemplation, not in the needless waste of energy.”
Reed Richards was impressed but kept silent. An incredible people-mover, but the work force it took to build this must have been equally incredible. And for what? The people here were not permitted to leave the country. Doom had probably forced them to build this e
xtravagance for his own private use.
As if sensing Reed’s thought, Doom spoke again. “It may interest you to know that my robot constructs built this roadway for me. My people are too valuable to have me waste their time. I do not demand their service to me, though I am their official Monarch.”
The crowd was buzzing with surprise. They had always heard Doom was a despot, that his reign in Latveria was tyrannical. Could all the news reports have been wrong?
The mobile road took them into the center of town, where vendors paused in their duties to salute their Monarch. “Welcome, sire. It is good to have you home again.”
A woman with a small child approached Von Doom. “Sire, I beg you to help me, to aid my son. His leg was crippled when our cart overturned. I—I cannot afford a doctor. Is there anything you can do for him, sire?”
The road slowed to a halt and Doom stepped off it. He lifted a heavy metal arm and placed it on the child’s chest. “Surely you know all medical treatments are free to the poor. Take him to my castle; demand to see my private physician. He will make your son whole once again. Doom promises that.”
The woman bowed and kissed Doom’s hand. Tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, thank you, sire. You are as good and kind as I have always heard. I will never forget this, sire. Thank you.”
The roadway moved on again, and the Americans saw Doom differently now from the way they had before. Perhaps he wore his frightening armor, but he seemed to be more of a man than they had ever suspected. He seemed to care for his people. What else mattered?
As they turned out of sight, the woman saw one of Doom’s personal guards approach. “Did I do well? I did as you demanded.” She was frightened as the guard raised his hand and struck her swiftly across the face.
“Silence, you stupid female. Now return to your hovel. We will release your husband from prison. Be happy Doom has granted you your wish. If you did not cooperate fully, your husband would now be dead. Go, and never speak of this to anyone. Do you understand?”