My limbs were reawakening and I found myself finally able to move again. “I’m real sorry to have let you down, Morrie, you just don’t know.”
“Yeah, right. Okay, get out of here, kid. Yer welcome to hang around the complex whenever you want, but I ain’t gonna need you again until Tuesday. That’s when you start training for your next show.”
“Shift again?”
“I don’t think so. Time you tried on a different Mask.”
“Got you.” I stood up and turned towards the door, but that Rush... that feeling I was still getting from Mental Maid... it was just too intoxicating not to try.
Not really understanding how the power worked, I thrust out at Morrie and I felt. I felt the truth. Morrie was mad at me, to be certain... but I’d also impressed the hell out of him. I was still uneasy as I left the office, but carrying that knowledge made me walk just a little taller.
REWARD
Hotshot was waiting in the hall when I came out. “How was the riot act?” he asked.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” I said, exactly as snappish as I’d intended. I headed towards the lounge, but Hotshot cut me off -- he pulled a plastic shaft from a pouch on his belt and used his power on it. Since the shaft had a focal point, he was able to fire an ion stream into the air, blocking my way. If it had been an object with no point, such as a ball or a particularly regular stone, it would have continued to break down until it finally exploded, like a grenade.
At any rate, the result was an ear-splitting energy beam lancing in front of me as I reached for the door, only millimeters from branding a streak across my chest. It was enough to get my attention.
“What did I ever do to you, Josh?” he said. “I’ve tried to be a pal to you from the minute you walked into this complex, I even took you around like I’d known you all my life, but you treat me like something you’d pick out of Doctor Noble’s ingrown toenail. Why?”
I gave him a stare colder than anything even Mental Maid could conjure up. “Lionheart isn’t around,” I said. “Somebody’s got to be disgusted at what you’ve done to his city.”
Before he could babble out another word, I shoved past him and into the lounge. It was mostly deserted now, but Animan and the Conductor -- Ted, I had to remind myself -- were waiting for me.
“You still got your brain?” Ted asked.
“As much as ever,” I said.
“Good.”
“So... Have you seen Miss Sinistah here?”
“Wondering if she’d heard about your impromptu heroics, huh?”
“Aw, no,” Animan said. “Don’t tell me we got another one with a crush on Miss ‘I’m-Slow-Dancing-With-the-Scum-of-the-Earth-and-I-Deserve-It’.”
“You’ve seen it before?” I asked.
He pointed a thumb at Ted. “Hey I lived through it with this one.”
“She’s not here,” Ted said. “She left a few minutes ago to make a phone call.”
“Not Doctor Nimrod again--”
“Family emergency this time. I tell you, bro, this should blow her mind.”
“Actually,” Animan said, “I think she’s back already. Feast your eyes, man.”
He pointed over to the television area, but Miss Sinistah was already racing towards me. I didn’t even get to blurt out a “hello” before she hit me with a flying hug at breakneck speed. If not for the stamina I got from her powers, she probably would have knocked me down. Her arms wrapped around me and hugged me tighter than I’d ever been held in my life. I decided that if there was a Heaven, I didn’t want to go if those arms weren’t waiting there.
“You...” she said, her voice cracking. “You are so... incredible. Do you know that?”
“Lil’ old me? What did I do?”
She pulled her head up and kissed me firmly on the cheek. When I finally saw her eyes, they were red and puffy. “Hey... hey, have you been crying?” I wiped a tear from her face (Lord, how could invulnerable skin feel so soft?) and pulled her in for an even tighter hug. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I’m just... I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks, Sindy.”
She squeezed harder. “It’s Annie,” she said. “My name is Annie.”
Geez, even her name was cute.
“Okay, then,” I said. “Annie.”
“I can’t stay,” she said. “I have a family crisis to get back to. But... when I heard what you did for that little boy...” her eyes welled up again and a fat tear rolled down her cheek. “I must be a mess.”
“I think you’re beautiful.”
“I know you do.” She kissed me again and finally took her arms away. I never wanted anything as badly as I wanted them back around me.
“Thank you,” she said, and she was gone.
“What was that about?” I asked Ted.
“I don’t know, man, but if you don’t use this...”
“Are you sure there’s something to use?”
“God, even I’m not that stupid.” He wrinkled his brow. “You want to hear the music she was giving off?”
I didn’t even answer, the tune simply welled up within me. It was a soft piano riff, quiet, gentle and majestic. The kind of music you only hear in movies. The kind of music you fall in love to. Ted smiled.
“Nice, isn’t it?”
“Beyond nice. But why?”
“Hey, rookie!” Nightshadow waved at me from a computer terminal across the lounge -- there was an entire bank of them we could use to access the Internet or the Simon Tower media archives.
“No rookie over here!” Ted shouted back. “We got a grizzled veteran, I’ll have you know!”
“Josh, then,” Nightshadow said. “The first newsfeed from your little tango just showed up on the web. Come take a look.”
Ted placed a hand on my shoulder and led me over to the computer, where he started reading over Nightshadow’s shoulder. Ted read highlights from the report out loud. “Notorious thief Shift... Spectacle Six... saved the life of ten-year-old--” He audibly gasped. I thought people only did that in comic books. “Josh... the kid you saved is named Tom Harmon?”
“Yeah. What, does that mean more to you than to me?”
“Did Sinistah tell you her real name?”
“Yeah, it’s Annie. Why?”
“Annie Harmon,” Ted said. “No wonder she’s falling for you, man. As of this afternoon, she owes you a brother.”
DOWNTIME
It was about 7 p.m. when I finally made it back to the Powerlines office. Nearly every evening edition newspaper in Siegel City led with the story of the hardened criminal who saved the little boy’s life: “SHIFTING GEARS?” asked the Star. The Ledger proclaimed “SHIFT’S SAVING GRACE.” The Post even worked in a tossed salad joke. The only paper I could find with any negative coverage was the Trumpet, which practically crucified poor First Light for putting Tom Harmon in danger to begin with. It was a bit unfair, but not really unexpected, given the publisher’s well-known bias against Capes. Of course he usually reserved his ire for guys like Nightshadow and the Arachnid, rather than the high-profile, much-beloved Spectacle Six.
Sheila came by as I was clipping the article out of the Ledger. As soon as she saw me, she raised an eyebrow. “You’re in a surprisingly good mood.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, for one thing there are no circles under your eyes and you’re not drinking the annual caffeine intake of Juan Valdez in one sitting.”
“I had a good night’s sleep,” I returned.
“Since this morning?”
“Time warp.”
“You’re also smiling like a jackal on nitrous oxide.”
“It’s a wonderful, sunny day.”
“You’re humming.”
“I’ve got a song in my heart.”
“You’re humming songs from Disney movies.”
“I’ve got a sappy song in my heart.”
She finally broke. “Spill, Josh. What happened this afternoon? And why are you
clipping all those stories about Shift? Were you there when he saved that kid? Did you have anything to do with it?”
“Four questions in one paragraph. You’ll be a reporter someday yet.”
“You’re stalling.”
I was, really. Sheila was the closest friend I had, without a doubt, but somehow I just couldn’t see my way clear to filling her in on my misadventures. A big part of me was regretting even telling her I had powers in the first place.
“I was the one who tipped off the Spectacle Six,” I said. “Anonymously, of course. I knew Shift was going to try pulling a job and I knew somebody had to stop him. And the Spectacle Six aren’t listed in the phone book.”
“Well... you do look better than you did before.”
I stood up and gave Sheila a hug. “I’m telling you, I’m fine. I’m starting to learn how this whole thing works. Once I’ve got that, I can put a stop to it.”
“So why can’t you tell me any of it?”
“Because it would be dangerous for you to know too much. Look, I’m keeping a notebook of every activity that goes on there. As soon as I’ve got enough info, I’ll show it all to you and we’ll put this story together as a team. Deal?”
“All right.” She smiled and we hugged again. As we stood there, our arms around each other, she pulled her head back with a surprised look on her face. “Josh, are you losing weight?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, your pants just fell down around your ankles, for one thing.”
That explained the sudden draft I caught. I yanked my trousers up and cinched my belt. The worn notch, the one I usually used, was several inches from the one I’d unconsciously buckled that afternoon when I changed out of my Shift costume. Even the last notch on the belt was a tad loose.
“I guess it’s all the exercise I’ve been getting,” I said.
“Exercise?” she said. “What exercise?”
“Well, my trai-- um... my... um...”
“Your training? Training for what?”
“Training for... the... Olympics?”
“Josh...”
“I’m sorry, Sheila, I really am, but I can’t say too much.”
“This silent game of yours is starting to bother me, Josh.”
I patted her on the shoulder. “I don’t like it much either, but...”
She sat down and began wringing her hands in a worried, grinding motion. “You know, we never hang out anymore. We never do anything, we never see each other outside of work. Now you’re not even telling me what you’re doing all the time. You’re my best friend, but it feels like you’re cutting me out of your life.”
“Sheila...”
“I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want you to become... I don’t know... one of ‘them’.”
I frowned. “One of who?”
“You know, one of those people that works all the time and has no life and never makes time for his friends.”
“Oh. Them.” I sat back down. “You can’t really accuse me of having no life, Sheila. I’ve been keeping myself plenty busy. But I do miss you. It’s the masochist in me. Tell you what, I don’t have to do anything tonight. It’s Friday and I know you don’t have a date with Scott or Spectrum or anyone else because if you did you’d have walked in here waving a banner.”
“You see why I love you? You know me so well.”
I smiled. “So tonight, it’s gonna be us. You and me, two best buddies out for a night on the town. What do you say?”
“Sounds great.”
“I’m glad you think so. Because you’re not getting out of it. We start as soon as we get off work.”
“Okay,” she said. “And the first thing we’re doing is taking you shopping for some new pants.”
And we did. I bought three pairs that evening, a size smaller than what I’d been wearing. We caught a terrible movie and made fun of pretty much everyone associated with it, up to and including the producer’s dog. We split a greasy pizza and then we leaned back and listened to our arteries clog. It was a great time.
But as much fun as I had with Sheila, Annie was in the back of my mind all night long.
ISSUE SEVEN
VISITING HOURS
The next time I saw Annie, she composed herself enough to inform me the kid I saved was her brother. (I didn’t let her know I’d already heard.) I smiled and asked, “Why didn’t you just tell me the other day?”
She smiled back, that tiny smile she had. “I’m not sure,” she said. For some reason, this made me feel incredibly hopeful -- almost as hopeful as a few seconds later, when she asked me to go home with her and meet Tom and her family as myself.
“You saved his life,” she said. “I think it’s only right that he see your real face. Even if we can’t tell him it was you.” It took me about half an eyeblink to agree to go with her.
“The funny thing is,” she said as we walked through Siegel to her parent’s apartment, “Tom is convinced I’m a Cape. He thinks I put on a black wig and a mask and go around as Glamour Girl. It’s never even occurred to him that his sister could be the big, bad Miss Sinistah.”
“Well can you blame him? I mean... if I didn’t know better I would never place you in the same category as Sinistah.”
“No?”
“Uh-uh.”
“What would you imagine me to be?”
I stopped on the sidewalk and looked her up and down. She was wearing khakis that day, and a cargo vest over a green top. On her feet were a well-worn pair of gray sneakers with a yellow trim. Her blonde hair was pulled back by an orange band, away from her face, and her eyes reflected the sun like marbles. She looked silly and innocent and beautiful, and somehow the first two contributed even more to the third.
“Elementary school librarian,” I said.
“What?” she smacked me with her purse and we kept on, together, walking along a concrete ribbon glittering in the sun, only occasionally broken apart into the detritus of some rumble or another.
As it turned out, Tom had long suspected his sister’s involvement in the world of superhumans. He had caught her, on occasion, using her strength to lift up her car a bit when she couldn’t find a jack, pick up a sofa with one hand so she could vacuum underneath and, on multiple occasions, utterly failing to be cut by knives and razors. Sindy -- Annie, I had to remind myself -- repeatedly denied any sort of connection to the Capes, but Tom was too sharp a kid to be dissuaded.
Like everyone else he was under the influence of Mental Maid’s citywide susceptibility field, but since he’d seen evidence of his sister’s powers with his own eyes its hold wasn’t as strong. Most people trapped in the field could no longer even fathom putting two and two together when it came to us. In Tom’s case, he knew two and two were supposed to go together, but he didn’t quite know what the result should be.
“It actually makes things a bit easier to understand,” I said, “him being your brother. I was wondering how a 10-year-old could be reckless enough to interfere with a rumble like that.”
“I suppose Tom figured, if I was part of the whole Cape and Mask crowd, it couldn’t be something that would hurt him,” she assented.
“The kid loves you, huh?”
“You’d think an 11-year age difference would cause a pretty big gulf between us, but Tom and I have always been close. He’s my little buddy. He even tries to protect me all the time.”
“Protect you? How?”
Annie bit her lip and nibbled, like she was trying not to say something. When she did break her silence, it was to indicate a three-story brownstone walk-up, with the perky announcement, “we’re here.”
The Harmon family lived on the second story of the walk-up. It was a fairly small place, with a kitchen/living room combination and a hallway that I assumed led to an assortment of bedrooms and probably just one bath.
“I could afford a better place for the whole family,” Annie whispered, “but not without letting them know what I really do for a living.”<
br />
“What do you tell them you do?”
Her lips curled into a playful smile. “They think I’m a receptionist at Powerlines.”
I stifled a laugh. “You’re kidding.”
“I figured if I ever slipped up and let out too much information I could tell them it was something I heard at the office.”
“I wish you did work there. It would make my job a lot--”
I stopped talking when Tom’s mother came in from the hall. I hadn’t bothered to examine her during the previous day’s chaos, but now that I took the time to check, she really looked a lot like her daughter. She was a small, blonde woman with only a hint of white in her hair, and she carried herself with an air of dignity. She was fairly young -- I’d guess mid-forties -- and her face was as yet unmarked by major wrinkles, the light not yet gone from her eye.
“Well, what have we here?” she asked.
“This is my friend Josh, Mom,” she said. “From work.”
“Ooooh, Josh,” she said in an “I-know-something-you-don’t-know” voice. She held out her hand and gave mine a firm shake. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Josh. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Likewise, Mrs. Harmon.”
“Oh please, it’s Cynthia. But never ‘Cindy.’ I hate ‘Cindy’.” I once again found myself suppressing the urge to chuckle. As I glanced over at Annie, she was doing the same.
“Is Tom around, Mom?” she asked.
“At the park with Quentin. They should be back soon. Make yourself at home, Josh. Would you like some lemonade? I just made a pitcher.”
“That would be wonderful.” Annie and I situated ourselves on the sofa as Cynthia went to the kitchen.
“Who’s Quentin?” I whispered.
“My other brother.”
“Oh,” I said. “Autograph Boy. Does he suspect--”
Other People's Heroes (The Heroes of Siegel City) Page 11