A Dad in a Cape (Mr Wonder Book 1)

by Sean Stansell

  “Your wife convinced the manager of the store not to press charges, tough guy,” Officer Jaded interrupted. “That’s the only reason you’re getting out of here. Now go, before I put you on our ‘Banned Shoppers’ list.”

  “You actually have a—“

  “GET. OUT.”

  Chuck closed the passenger door, bracing for an unpleasant conversation. He had tried to explain everything to Penny when they left the security office, but she shot him a look that screamed “zip it, asshole”. He guessed that she was waiting for the privacy of the car to comb through the events that led to his detainment.

  He was right. As she closed the driver’s door, Penny sighed. To Chuck’s surprise, she didn’t look angry. Just tired.

  “Fun fact, Chuck,” she started, “right now I have 3 ‘Little Miss Devil Red’ piggies. The one that didn’t have roast beef and the one that went ‘wee wee wee’ all the way home feel left out. Poor little guys. At least they match the whole other foot.”

  “They can come visit my pen, Pen,” Chuck said. “I’ve got ten piggies that they’ll fit right in with.”

  “I can only imagine what the ladies at the nail salon were saying about me when I ran out of there. They probably don’t get too many people leaving in the middle of a pedicure.” She paused, looking at him closely. “You didn’t bring your keys, Chuck. What really happened?”

  He took a second to collect his thoughts. He loved Penny, and he trusted her more than he trusted himself. So, he wanted to explain as clearly and honestly as possible.

  “Most of the story I gave the security guys was true. A woman yelled ‘shoplifter’. I chased him. Couldn’t catch him. That part is real. When I realized I wasn’t going to catch him, I stopped, focused really hard, and tried to shoot lightning at him. Only lightning didn’t come out. A fireball did. It missed, and hit the window.”

  Penny closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You tried to shoot lightning at another human being?” She opened her eyes. Her calm demeanor began to slip, her voice rising. “Putting aside how crazy the fact that you actually think you can shoot lightning is, you honestly tried to hurt someone like that?”

  Chuck looked her in the eye. “He was a bad guy, Pen. He stole something. I needed to catch him.”

  “You’re sure he was a bad guy? You saw him steal something? If you did, you know why he did it? You know that he wasn’t put up to it by some idiot friend? Or to impress a girl? Or some other reason that maybe wouldn’t excuse what he did, but might just make it so he didn’t deserve to get fried to a crisp for it? Chuck, you played judge, jury, and maybe executioner, without the facts, on a guy that stole something at the mall.”

  Chuck closed his eyes. She was right, of course. The last time he shot electricity out of his hands, the TV exploded. What would happen to a person if they got hit by that? Would it knock them out? Burn them? Stop their heart? Could he live with himself if he had seriously hurt the guy, guilty or not?

  After what seemed like an hour, he leaned forward in the car seat, and pulled the cape off. He folded it, smoothed out the wrinkles. Then he opened the window, and dropped it on the pavement.

  “Let’s go get the kids,” he said.

  Most of the ride passed in silence. Chuck didn’t have much to say. He had acted without thinking, got lucky that there weren’t deeper consequences, and Penny had rightfully called him out on it. He wasn’t upset with her; he was disappointed in himself. The day’s events left him physically and mentally exhausted. And that didn’t put him in the mood to chat.

  He replayed the scene over and over in his mind: the feeling of pride as he picked up the guy’s trail after losing him, the sense of exhilaration, the calm that came over him when he decided to stop and try to zap the guy. He kept coming back to that part, wondering how he could be so calm when trying to injure another human being. That didn’t match who he thought he was. And it was making him ask questions of himself that he wasn’t sure he wanted to answer.

  “Asshole,” Penny said, swerving the van back into the left lane, after trying to merge right. “Guy just flew up out of nowhere when I tried to merge.”

  Chuck snapped out of his introspection, opening his eyes to take in the scene. “What guy?” he asked.

  “He’s gone now,” she said. “I didn’t get a good look at the car, but it was flying.” She completed her merge and stopped at a red light to turn.

  Chuck eyes were drawn to a man sitting on a bus stop bench at the corner. He guessed the guy was in his late 50s, maybe early 60s. He wore bright red running shoes, plaid shorts, and a “Too Funk to Druck” t-shirt. His left hand clutched a brown paper shopping bag. Something about the guy looked familiar. Before Chuck could place him, the light turned and Penny hurried off.

  Chuck closed his eyes again, and resumed his introspective beat down. He hadn’t struck another human being in anger since elementary school. Firmly believed that violence was never the best way to solve a problem. He considered himself a borderline pacifist. Yet, in the span of just a few days, he had hit one man with a heavy glass bottle and tried to electrocute another. What the hell was coming over him? Was this some kind of early midlife crisis? Were the kids safe around him? Surely he wouldn’t hurt anyone he loved, right?

  “Damn red lights.” Penny stopped the van behind a line of other cars. Chuck opened his eyes and looked out the window again. He blinked. There, leaning against a mailbox, was a man in a “Too Funk to Druck” t-shirt. Plaid shorts. Red running shoes. Brown paper shopping bag.

  “I’m coming completely unglued,” Chuck said under his breath. “Pen, how far did we go since that last light?”

  “Huh?” She seemed confused by the question.

  “I had my eyes closed. How far back was the last red light?”

  She thought for a second. “I hit a couple greens in a row. So, I don’t know, a half mile? Why?”

  Chuck shook his head. “No reason.”

  The light turned. Penny accelerated away. Chuck kept his eye on the man, who didn’t leave his spot at the mailbox. I’m clearly imagining things, he thought.

  “Are you ok, Chuck? I didn’t mean to send you into some kind of shame spiral. It just didn’t seem like you had realized what you’d done.”

  “I wouldn’t say I’m ok, but I’m not upset with you. You were right. I hadn’t thought about what would have happened if I had hit the guy. And now that I’ve started thinking about it, I can’t stop.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up too badly. You’re dealing with a lot of stress. And you don’t know what’s going on with that cape. Real or not, it’s messing with your head.”

  “I think I’ve either started having psychotic episodes, become a sociopath overnight, or I have a brain tumor. I guess they’re not mutually exclusive, but I’m pretty sure the answer is in there somewhere.”

  “Overnight?” she asked, sarcasm edging into her voice. “You’ve been a sociopath since I met you. It was part of what made you attractive. I loved your bad boy image.”

  “I know what you’re trying to do, and I appreciate it, but I’m not in the mood right now.” He turned back toward the window.

  “Do you mind if I stay here while you go get the kids?” Chuck opened his eyes as Penny pulled into her parents’ driveway. “I’m not feeling terribly social. Your dad can help you get them out here or something.”

  “Sure thing,” she said, “if you promise not to keep raking yourself over the coals while I’m in there.”

  “No promises, but I’ll try.”

  She disappeared into the opulent house. He wondered for the thousandth time if she cared that he would never be able to afford one like it. Their house was fine, and it fit their needs. But she had been raised with higher standards, and he was never sure whether she felt like she was settling with him.

  “You dropped this.”

  Chuck jumped. He had been looking out the passenger window the entire time since Penny left the car, and hadn’t seen anyone.
But now, suddenly, there was a face only inches from the glass. A familiar face.

  “What the hell? Who the fuck are you?”

  The man chuckled and turned his eyes toward the brown paper shopping bag he was holding up next to the window. “Just a guy who wanted to return something you dropped.”

  Chuck was leaning heavily toward the psychotic episode theory for what was happening to him. Full-on hallucinations. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and opened them again.

  “Your still here?” He was thoroughly confused.

  The man looked back at him, equally confused. “Where else would I be?”

  “How did you get here? Where did you come from?”

  “I came from the mall,” the man said patiently. “I followed you because I saw you drop this out your window. And I figured you might need it.” He gestured to the bag in his hand again. “Now open up, and I’ll give it to you, and I’ll be on my way.”

  “No way I’m opening the fucking door for a creepy mall stalker.”

  The man took a step back from the car, palms raised. “Easy there. We got off on the wrong foot. I startled you. Sorry about that. Let’s start over. I’m not a stalker. I don’t even want to know your name. Just want to hand you this bag and leave you be.”

  Chuck didn’t hear most of what the man said, focusing instead on the man’s shirt. When the man backed up his “Too Funk to Druck” t-shirt came clearly into view.

  “You followed me.”

  “Yeah, I think we covered that. I saw you drop this.” He shook the bag. “Followed you. Giving it back to you. Leaving.”

  Chuck took a second to look the guy over. He didn’t look crazy. Or particularly harmful. The kids, he thought. They’ll be coming out any minute. This guy probably isn’t dangerous, but if he is, I need to get rid of him before they come out.

  “Ok, back up another step, and I’ll get out.”

  The man took a large step backward and extended his arm with the bag.

  Chuck slowly opened the door and stepped out of the van. He took the bag. “Thanks. Sorry I was rude. I’ve been a little on edge lately, and you surprised me.”

  “No worries.” The man kept his hand extended, a smile planted on his face. “Name’s Mickey, by the way.”

  “Nice to meet you Mickey,” Chuck said, accepting the handshake. “I’m Chuck”.

  “Good to meet you too Chuck. Glad you came around. It took you a second, but I guess the ‘Oh shit, the best way to protect my family is to get rid of this guy quickly and quietly’ instinct finally kicked in. That’s good. It’ll serve you well.”

  Chuck broke the handshake and stared at the man. “What did you say?”

  “You’re going to need great instincts to keep your family safe once you put that cape back on,” Mickey said, his smile never wavering.

  Chuck looked toward the front door. They’d be coming out any moment. He didn’t know who the hell this guy was, or how he knew about the cape, but he had to get rid of him. Fast. “I think it’s time for you to be moving on, uh, Mickey, was it?” he said, filling his voice with as much confidence as possible.

  Mickey shook his head. “Actually, Chuck, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m pretty sure you need me right now. You’re in way over your head. I’ll tell you what, invite me over for dinner, and I’ll tell you everything I know about that cape.”

  Chuck stared at him, trying to work through the situation in his mind. It was like trying to solve a Rubik’s Cube blindfolded, with your feet. He couldn’t think straight.

  “Chuck, honey,” Penny yelled from the front porch, “who’s your friend?”

  “This is Mickey. And he’s coming over for dinner.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Do you like kitty cats Mr. Mickey? I like kitty cats. Pink ones are my favorite. What color kitty cats are your favorite? You can’t pick pink, because that’s my favorite. I don’t like doggies. Just kitty cats. Do you like doggies?”

  Mickey waited patiently for Riley to finish her questions, savoring the spaghetti he was chewing. He didn’t get many home cooked meals, and some minor toddler interrogation was a small price to pay for a dinner as good as this one.

  He finished chewing, and chose his words carefully. “I do like kitty cats. More than I like dogs. My favorite kitty cats are white with brown patches. I used to have a kitty cat like that. Called him Whiskers. Have you ever had a kitty cat?”

  Riley huffed and pouted. “No, daddy says kitty cats make him sick, so we can’t have one.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe someday daddy won’t be allergic, and you can get one.”

  “Really Daddy?” Riley’s eyes brightened and her pout disappeared. “You won’t be oh-ler-dic anymore?”

  “Maybe sweetie,” Chuck said, giving Mickey a sideways glance. “But my allergies probably won’t go away anytime soon.”

  Mickey grinned a bit and took a bite of garlic bread. “Penny, I have to say, this is the best meal I’ve had in years. Is the meatball recipe a secret?”

  “You’ll have to ask the folks at Costco, I’m afraid,” Penny said. “But I’m glad you like them. Can I get you some more wine?”

  “Oh yes, please, if you can spare it,” Mickey said, holding his wine glass toward her. He hoped he wasn’t being rude. Having a fourth glass wasn’t rude, was it?

  “Do you have a wife Mr. Mickey?” Riley asked.

  “Riley, that’s a very personal question,” Chuck said, before Mickey had a chance to answer.

  “It’s ok, Chuck. I don’t mind,” Mickey said. “I used to have a wife, Miss Riley, but she’s been gone a long time.”

  “Where did she go?”

  “Really Riles, that’s enough questions for Mr. Mickey,” Chuck said. “We don’t want to be rude to our guest.”

  “She was in an accident, and she got hurt very badly,” Mickey said, no hint of grief in his voice. “So badly that she never got better.”

  Riley frowned. “Did that make you sad Mr. Mickey?”

  “It made me very, very sad. For a long time. But I had a little girl of my own that I had to take care of, so I couldn’t stay sad forever.”

  “I’m sorry you were sad.” Riley slid down from her seat, walked over to Mickey, and gave him a hug. Mickey’s heart swelled, remembering when Sarah was her age and gave him hugs like that.

  “Thank you, Miss Riley,” he said, looking the girl in the eye. “That hug made me happier than anything has in a long, long time.”

  Out of the corner of his eye Mickey saw Chuck smile at Penny, undoubtedly thinking “we must be doing something right”.

  “This is a great family,” Mickey thought. “I hope Chuck manages to—“

  His thought was interrupted by something cold and wet hitting his cheek.

  “Paxton!” Penny yelled. “We don’t throw!”

  Mickey peeled the spaghetti noodle off his face. He smiled, looked at the baby, and popped the noodle in his mouth, slurping it theatrically. Pax chuckled, and Mickey saw Penny relax ever so slightly. He liked these folks. They were kind, decent people. Which only made the conversation they needed to have that much harder.

  “Here you go, one scotch on the rocks,” Chuck said, handing Mickey a small plastic cup with a cartoon princess on the side. “Sorry about the cup. The kids hog most of the cabinet space.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Mickey said. “I’m pretty sure this princess had a drinking problem anyway.”

  Chuck had suggested they wait until after the kids were in bed to talk about the cape, figuring the conversation would go smoother without off-topic questions about crayon preference or favorite zoo animals. He handed Penny a glass of wine, and grabbed a diet soda for himself. His stomach wasn’t ready for anything stronger yet, after the previous night’s misadventures.

  Plus, he was exhausted. Yesterday’s boundless energy was nowhere to be found. The strange weekend must have finally caught up to him.

  “Ok, no more questions about cats o
r favorite crayons, but I do a have few about a different topic.”

  “Yep,” Mickey said, “time to pay the piper. That was a lovely meal, and I did promise to tell you what I know about the cape. One condition though: Let me get through it, telling it my way, before you ask questions. It’s going to sound batshit crazy, but bear with me. Deal?”

  Chuck glanced at Penny, and she nodded back at him. “Deal. Go on.”

  Mickey took a long sip of his scotch. “I first met Max almost 40 years ago, when he saved my life. I was stuck in a burning building, my leg trapped under a filing cabinet that landed on it during an explosion. He grabbed the cabinet—heavy and full of documents—and threw it off my leg. Scooped me up and carried me out of the building. Then he went back in and put the fire out. All told, he probably saved 30 or 40 lives that day. But that was pretty normal for him.”

  He paused to take a small sip, paused again, and swallowed the rest in one practiced motion. “Think I could get another?”

  Penny grabbed the bottle and poured another glass, this one slightly less full than the last.

  “Thanks.” Mickey swirled the remaining ice cubes around several times before continuing. “After the dust settled, he came back by to check on me. My leg was busted up pretty badly, but I wasn’t too concerned. My bigger problem was how star struck I felt. I couldn’t believe that my idol was standing right in front of me. Not only that, but he had just saved my life. The man I had looked up to for so long, who had inspired me to take the path I had, and who I had worked so hard to emulate, was asking if I was ok.”

  He locked his gaze on the swirling ice cubes and continued. “I tried to introduce myself, but my mouth wouldn’t form any words. He told me he knew who I was, that he had recognized my outfit. The sense of pride I felt at that moment was something I’ll never forget. All of the training, all of the research, all of the missed teenage experiences, it was all worth it. Because Mr. Wonder knew who I was.”