A Dad in a Cape (Mr Wonder Book 1)

by Sean Stansell

  Chuck sprinted down the stairs like an over-caffeinated nine-year-old. Less than 10 minutes later, a steaming pile of flapjacks sat on a plate, freshly ground coffee waited in a French press, and bacon sizzled in a skillet. He was cracking a few eggs into a pan when Penny trudged in.

  “Screw Folger’s, the smell of bacon is the best part of waking up,” she said. “This looks amazing baby. Seriously though, where is all this energy coming from?”

  He didn’t look up from his omelet, not wanting to miss its split second of perfection. “A good night’s sleep, great sex, and a quiet house, I guess. You want ham and cheese in your omelet?”

  “Yum. Yes please,” she said, taking a seat at the kitchen island. “Whatever is behind this burst of energy, I’m a big fan. If I get a breakfast like this every time I rock your world, you better start working out.”

  “Challenge accepted,” he said, setting down her plate. “Coffee’s fresh too. Do I get extra credit for that?”

  “We’ll see. Leave the cape on and we’ll see what we can work out.”

  It was a rare Saturday where the weather was good and the kids weren’t home. Chuck examined his extensive honeydo list and decided to knock out as much as he could. He could probably mow the lawn, put in that new flowerbed Penny wanted in the back yard, and maybe tidy up the garage. He grabbed his headphones, queued up his “Get Shit Done” playlist, and headed to the garage.

  C’mon, you piece of shit. Let’s do this, he thought, giving his silent lawnmower a stare that would kill a less spiteful piece of equipment. He couldn’t remember the last time it started without requiring some piece of the engine to be disassembled. After eighteen failed pulls, he gave in and admitted this was no exception.

  He checked the gas, made sure the blade wasn’t bound, and figured it was the spark plug. After rummaging through his messy toolbox, he found the right socket and popped it off.

  Doesn’t look too bad, he thought. He gave it a thorough scrubbing anyway, and screwed it back in. As he connected the wire to it, he felt a jolt, and yelped.

  “What the hell?” He’d changed plenty of spark plugs before, and never had that happen. Must have been static electricity or something, he thought. Getting to his feet, he gave the cord a pull, and it started right up.

  “Suck it, stupid machine” he yelled, louder than he had planned. He wheeled the lawnmower out of the garage and into the front yard, barely noticing the gentle tug of the cape blowing in the breeze.

  I’m pretty sure that’s record time, Chuck thought, wheeling the mower back into the garage. Normally he didn’t finish the yard until “Detroit Rock City” or “Fell in Love With a Girl” came on his playlist. But today, he’d gotten done just as “Livin’ on a Prayer” had gotten started, several songs before the others. His accountant’s mind kept track of inane things without conscious effort, and he was sure this was a personal record.

  Man, I need to get more sleep, he thought. I’m a totally different person today. I wonder how quickly I can knock out this flower bed. Maybe I can get done early and go pick up some steaks to grill.

  “Seriously, Pen,” Chuck yelled through the screen door, “I can’t believe how much I got done today. I’m starting to think you cast some kind of spell on me last night with your magic lady parts.”

  “If I had some kind of spell that made you get chores done faster, don’t you think I would have used it before now?”

  “Fair point…” He dumped charcoal into a chimney starter, lit the paper underneath, and watched the fire catch. He waited until the fire was going strong, then turned to head inside. WOOSH. Turning quickly, he saw the fire had gone out. Not even a whisper of smoke remained.

  Dammit, he thought, I thought I had that lit. Never seen a fire go out that quickly.

  He grabbed another match, lit the chimney again, and waited for it to catch. This time he backed all the way to the door, watching it closely. It kept burning, so he headed inside.

  “Are you really still wearing that thing?”

  “Yes, and I like it,” Chuck replied, sticking out his tongue.

  Penny shook her head. “I’ll never understand boys,” she said, for neither the first, nor last, time.

  Penny bent over to put the last of the dirty plates in the dishwasher when Chuck’s hands grabbed her hips.

  “Is my damsel in distress again?” He smacked her playfully on the butt.

  She stood back up and turned to face him. “Not tonight tiger. I’m beat. All those chores kind of did me in. I’m looking forward to a glass of wine, some trashy TV, and another night of sleep without the kids waking me up.”

  “C’mon Pen. How you can resist a man in a cape?”

  “When he’s been wearing it all day, doing yard work in it, cooking on the grill in it? Pretty easily, actually. It kind of smells like smoked armpit at this point.”

  Chuck mocked a pouty face. “You don’t have to be mean about it. If you’re going to go watch Real Skanks of Somewhere I’ve Never Been, I’m going to go watch football.”

  “Sounds like a plan. I might put a load of laundry in before I start. Want me to wash that thing?”

  “Nah, I’ll hand wash it tomorrow. We don’t know what it’s made of, and it doesn’t have a tag. Don’t want to ruin it in the washer.”

  Penny snorted. “Oh no, we wouldn’t want that.”

  Chuck ignored the sarcasm, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and headed down to the basement to find a game to watch. To call the basement a “Man Cave” wouldn’t be totally accurate. “Small area of the basement that a man occasionally gets to use, surrounded by toys, exercise equipment, and everything else that didn’t have a proper storage spot” would be closer, though a bit of a mouthful. Still, there was a nice TV, a good sound system, and a comfy couch. It was enough of a Man Cave to him.

  He plopped onto the couch and started surfing for a good game. He found one between two top 10 teams, just starting, and settled in.

  I can’t believe she doesn’t like the cape anymore, he thought. How could she not see how awesome it is? And how awesome I look in it?

  His focus snapped back to the game as the home team’s QB got pummeled out of bounds. He didn’t have much of a rooting interest in this game, but being a big football fan, it didn’t take much to get him into a game.

  Surprised they didn’t throw a flag there, he thought, taking a sip of his beer. I guess the cape did get a little dirty today. But that’s no reason to make fun of it.

  “What?” he said, louder than he had intended, watching a replay of a clear fumble that wasn’t called. “You’re looking a little shaky already refs”.

  He took another sip of his beer and let his mind wander again. This was a pretty awesome day. Can’t believe I got so much done. And I’m not even tired. Actually, I feel just as good as I did this morning. I need to get more sleep. And have more sex. As much as I love the kids, they might be killing me. Hopefully they’ll grow out of this tag team late-night-early-morning stuff before —.

  “What the fuck, ref? How can you call a penalty there?” His voice was louder now, verging on a shout.

  He took another sip of his beer, trying to calm down. Rationally he knew he shouldn’t get this worked up watching a bunch of men he didn’t know, representing schools he didn’t care about, play a silly game. But that didn’t stop him from flying into a blind rage over the littlest things. Still, it wasn’t as bad as when his alma mater was playing. More than one remote control had met its maker as a result of an unjust call against his boys.

  He managed to slow his breathing a bit and get lost in his thoughts once more. I wonder why the old man never wore this cape. I’ve only had it one day and I kind of never want to take it off. It’s so damn comfy. And warm. But cool too. How does it do that? Must be some kind of cool new material. But then how did the old man get it? Who cares? It’s mine now, and it’s never coming off. At least until Penny makes—

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! Get off your kne
es ref, you’re blowing the game! Jesus. How can you be that bad?”

  Deep breaths, he thought. In. Out. In. Out. Breathe. Just a game. Just a game. Just a —

  A blinding light broke his thought, followed by a loud pop as the TV exploded into a mess of glass and smoke. Chuck jumped off the couch and over to the TV. It was totally ruined.

  “What the hell was that?” Penny yelled down the stairs. “Did you throw the remote through the TV?”

  Chuck looked down at his hand, seeing the remote still in it. “No, it’s still in my hand. The TV just exploded.”

  “I was sitting here, on the couch, watching the game,” Chuck told Penny, both trying to understand what happened. “The refs were terrible, and I started to get more and more worked up.”

  “That part I heard,” she said. “Get to the part that explains the large, expensive smoke bomb on our wall.”

  “As I was saying, I was getting pretty pissed, and yelling at the TV. After one particularly ridiculous call, I started to scream something, but before I could get it out, there was a bright flash, and an explosion. Next thing I know, TV’s blown up. “

  “Could it have been a power surge?”

  “Maybe. We did have the weird thing with the power this morning. When I came down here all of the breakers were blown. No clue what could cause something like that. Maybe our wiring’s gone funky and it shorted out the TV.”

  He got off the couch to check out the electrical panel. He tried to drop the remote on the coffee table along the way, but he couldn’t make his hand let go of it. After shaking it several times in vain, he held it up to examine it. The remote was still in his hand, but he wasn’t really holding on to it, per se. The plastic had melted to his hand. And the end of the remote looked slightly singed.

  Penny walked over to him, head cocked to the side. “What the…?”

  “I don’t think it was a power surge.”

  It took a few minutes to peel the remote off Chuck’s hand. Oddly, his hand wasn’t injured. No burns, blisters, or even the slightest bit of discomfort.

  “Should we sue the company that makes the batteries, or the one that made the remote,” he asked Penny. He pried open the melted battery compartment and looked for signs of the batteries exploding. The batteries looked brand new.

  “Huh,” he said. “I guess both companies are safe, for now.”

  He replayed the scene in his head. Bad call. About to yell. Flash of light. Boom. Where had the flash of light come from? he wondered. It was all to fuzzy to be sure, but he thought it had come from his hand.

  Which fits with the exploding remote theory, he thought. But the remote looks fine. And how would the remote make the TV blow up? No, it doesn’t fit. The only thing that fits is…

  Panic gripped him. “Any idea where I put that comic book I bought yesterday?”

  Penny looked confused. “You bought a comic book yesterday? At the crazy guy’s store?”

  “Yeah, an old issue of Mr. Wonder. His cape matches mine, and I thought it might have some clues about where the thing came from.” He frantically searched the piles of papers on the kitchen table. He found it under a sale flyer from a local grocery store, and started skimming it. “I figured, if the old guy made the cape, it would be useful to know who he was trying to be. And if it was a movie prop or something, it would be cool to know more about the hero anyway.”

  Chuck skimmed through the comic without paying attention to the story. He stopped when he got to page 8. In one of the panels, Mr. Wonder stood on top of a car, in a blue and silver suit, cape flapping in the wind. “The main course of tonight’s feast: Crispy Critter,” the speech bubble said. On the ground, below his feet, were several large lupine animals, snarling at him. Ice blue lightning streamed from his hands.

  “There,” he said, showing Penny the panel. “In the comic, Mr. Wonder can shoot lightning out of his hands.”

  “But you’re not Mr. Wonder, Chuck,” Penny said, Patient Mom Tone sneaking into her voice. “And that’s a comic book. Not reality.”

  “I know all that,” he said, getting more frantic by the moment. “But what else fits? It wasn’t a power surge. That wouldn’t have melted the remote. The remote didn’t explode. The batteries are fine, and that couldn’t make the TV explode anyway. I know it’s crazy, but do you have a better explanation that fits the facts?”

  Penny stared at him silently for longer than he liked. He tried to ask her a question, but she held up her hand, halting it before it got out of his mouth. She closed her eyes. “I don’t. Call the crazy comic book guy.”

  Chapter Eight

  Albie sat alone in his office, three giant computer monitors providing the only light. Since Chuck came into the store with that cape, he had been obsessed with finding out everything he could about Mr. Wonder. The real Mr. Wonder. He had no doubt, of course, that there was a real Mr. Wonder. Mr. Wonder was real. And Albie was going to know everything there was to know.

  Running the world’s foremost website about real super heroes gave Albie clout in certain circles. He had contacts all over the world who were both willing and able to track down the real details of comic book characters.

  He logged into his website and wrote a challenge to his readers:

  Research Task: Mr. Wonder

  Priority: Midnight

  Security Protocol: SHIELD

  Looking for any and all information on Mr. Wonder. Details on powers, enemies, story arcs in the books that were based on real life events, and any info available on his real identity. Forward anything you find, along with level of certainty in its authenticity.

  With that task complete, he pondered diving into the shop’s back issues of Mr. Wonder. Ultimately, he decided it was easier to let his worker bees handle that and give him a report.

  He had just started watching Ghost Rider for the 87th time when his cell phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number, so he let it go to voice mail. A few seconds later, it rang again. Same number.

  Who the hell could that be?. He was curious, but not curious enough to actually answer the phone. Answering an unexpected call from a number he didn’t recognize was a great way to get his phone hacked. He let the call go to voice mail again.

  After a minute or two, he heard the familiar sound of a light saber igniting, and looked at his phone to see the text that came in.

  “It’s Chuck. Need to talk. Urgent.”

  Chucky boy, he thought, you’re not as dumb as you look.

  He picked up the phone and re-dialed the number. It barely rang once when Chuck picked up.

  “Albie?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. What’s so important? I’m a busy man, you know.”

  “Something happened, and you might be the most qualified person to help me understand it,” Chuck said, sounding shaken.

  Albie’s curiosity piqued. “Go on.”

  “My TV exploded.”

  “Well, you’ve called the right place, Chuck,” Albie said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “I’m the best TV repairman in the area. Years of experience. No brand or model I can’t fix. I can set you up with a free in-home consultation. How’s a week from Thursday sound, between noon and five?”

  “You’re an asshole,” Chuck said. “Do you really think I’d be talking to you again if I thought I had anyone else to talk to?”

  Albie sighed. “Fair enough. Your TV exploded. How’s that involve me?”

  “Well, I’m not sure, but I think I shot a lightning bolt at it.”

  “A lightning bolt?” All traces of snark were gone from Albie’s voice.

  “I was sitting on the couch, watching a football game. I got upset. Next thing I know, there was a flash of light, then a loud bang. And the TV was smoking.”

  “Did you consider something slightly more mundane, like a power surge? Or a faulty TV?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought at first. I even started to check my breakers to see if anything blew. But then I noticed that the remote was melted to my hand.”r />
  There was a long silence on the line. “Albie? You still there?”

  “Yeah. Just trying to process that. What you do mean the remote was melted to your hand? Like a puddle of goo?”

  “Not quite,” Chuck said, “just melted the edges enough to stick to my hand. Took a fair amount of work to get unstuck. But the weird thing is it didn’t hurt. Not even a little. I couldn’t think of what else to do, so I looked through that Mr. Wonder comic I bought from you, and in one panel he’s shooting lightning out of his hand. It’s insane, but it fits. And nothing else I can think of right now fits.”

  Albie took a second to process Chuck’s story. After a moment he asked, “Anything else strange happen today? Anything you can’t quite explain?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I’ve felt great all day. Got a ton of chores done, and I’m not even tired. I chalked that up to the kids being at their grandparents, but it’s still kind of weird.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. I’m not sure ‘feeling good’ is a sign of super powers. Any other weird electrical things? Blown light bulbs? Flickering lights? Power outages?”

  “We had a power outage last night,” Chuck said. “Well, I assumed it was a power outage. But the power was still out when I got up, and my neighbor had power. When I checked the electrical panel, all of the breakers were blown.”

  “That’s more like it, Chuck,” Albie said, getting excited. “Did you try on the cape?”

  Chuck hesitated a bit. “Um, yeah, I put it on last night.”

  “Did you have it on when the power went out?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Chuck, how much do you know about Mr. Wonder?”

  “Aside from the cape? Not much.”

  “Do you know about his super power?”

  “Shooting lightning?” Chuck replied, uncertain.

  “Well, yeah, that’s one part of it,” Albie said. “Kind of a symptom though, more than the actual power. Did you ever take a physics class Chuck?”