Forced Betrayal

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  Hericane waves. "Hey, Stalwart. Mind if we talk to you a minute?"

  Stalwart waves for us to join him. "Always happy to have company! Come on down!"

  *****

  We're halfway down the aisle when the doors at the back of the auditorium burst open. Looking back, I see Mogul and CEO (in his purple rage monster form) charge in, along with three other people--heroes and Protectorate members, one and all.

  There's Thunder Perfect Mind with her giant blue head, mistress of all mental powers. Beside her stands The Jupitarian, the walking gas giant, a swirling mass of colorful streaks of cloud with a stormy red spot on his chest. Hovering over all of them is Widening Gyre, the falcon-headed bird-god with the power to sow chaos and destruction.

  Lots of muscle there, a real hardball lineup. But they don't move on us...yet. They just wait there behind the back row and watch.

  So our course is set. Nowhere to go but down front.

  When we reach the stage, Stalwart hops down with cape flapping and greets us with a big smile. "You ladies are a sight for sore eyes!" He wraps Hericane in a hug, then releases her with a quick kiss on each cheek. "It's been too long, my dear."

  He seems like the friendliest, handsomest sixty-something-year-old guy you could hope to meet. His features are craggy, his silver hair thick and wavy, his physique cut like a statue of a Greek god underneath the black leather. He could be your favorite uncle, the cool one who never does you wrong and always gives you the best advice.

  I can't help smiling when he takes my hand. And kisses it. "Enchanté, Madame," he says.

  "This is my friend, Bonnie." Hericane touches my shoulder. "She works for the Protectorate."

  "Oh, does she now?" Stalwart grins.

  "She's an investigator in the Internal Affairs Division," says Hericane.

  Stalwart holds my hand a moment longer, gazing up into my eyes. And then he gently lets go. "So what can I do for you, ladies?"

  Hericane reaches into her hip pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. "These names." She unfolds the paper and holds it out to him. "These 57 people. What can you tell me about them?"

  It's the list, the one coded into Mardi's nail bed. Hericane's cutting right to the chase.

  Stalwart takes the list, skims it for all of five seconds, and shrugs. "I don't understand. Should I know these people?" He tries handing the list back to her.

  But she won't take it. "Actually, better make it 58. I left one off." She folds her arms over her chest and stares him in the eye. "My lover, Mardi Gras."

  "Mardi Gras?" Stalwart looks confused. "I remember you brought her here once. What a sweet kid."

  "Well, she's dead." Hericane's stare is unflinching. "Murdered, along with at least half the people on that list."

  "But..." Stalwart's confusion grows. The list shakes in his hand. "Sweet little Mardi Gras? Dead?"

  "Those people. Every last one of them is dead or missing." Hericane points at the paper. "And the trail ends here." She raises her finger to point at him. "Now tell us what you know."

  Just then, CEO the hyper-muscular purple monster stomps halfway down the aisle and roars. "Don't say a woorrrrd! You don't have to tell her anyyythinggg!" Lashing out, he swats the end seat of a row of chairs, knocking down the whole row like dominoes.

  "Didn't you hear what I just said?" Hericane whirls and fires a crackling double blast of lightning bolts out of her eyes. The bolts hit CEO square in the chest, sending him crashing to the floor in a smoking heap. "My lover is dead!" Eyes still arcing with electrical current, she spins back around to face Stalwart. "I'm not leaving here until I know who killed her and why!"

  "But...but I..." Stalwart is losing his composure. "I don't know!" Looking at the gathered heroes in the back of the theater, he shakes the list overhead. "Who did this? Who killed Mardi Gras?"

  For a long moment, no one moves or says a word.

  With an angry cry, Hericane leaps into the air. "Tell me!" Her body's glowing with power. "I'll cripple you all and tear this place down! I swear to God!"

  "Tear down the Portcullis and you'll end the world!" shouts Mogul.

  "Do I look like I give a shit about the world?" Hericane spreads her arms wide, and the glow around her intensifies. "The one person in it who I cared about is dead! And I want answers!"

  Gazing up at her, I wonder how far she'll take this. Would she end the world to avenge her lover? Then I think of Jimmy and the kids. I think of how I felt seven years ago, and I know.

  Yes, she will take it all the way.

  Another moment passes. Finally, Mogul walks forward with his hands in the air. "All right already. Sheesh." He walks down past CEO's unconscious form, then sits on the arm of a chair and shrugs. "Since you ask so nicely."

  "Tell me!" howls Hericane.

  "What the fuck? Why not?" Mogul pulls out a doobie and lights it. "Not like it'll change anything. Not like you can do anything about it."

  *****

  Mogul takes a drag on the doobie and holds the smoke in his lungs. Then slowly exhales. "What if the world was ending, and somebody gave you a machine that could save it? Only the machine required...special fuel. Like...gasoline with lots of lead in it. Or..." He takes another drag, holds it, exhales. "Or people."

  Everyone in the auditorium hangs on his every word. Especially Hericane, who's still hovering overhead, glowing with power--and Stalwart, whose eyes are as big as hubcaps all of a sudden. The muscles of his jaw work under the skin as he grinds his teeth; the list of victims is crumpled in his fist.

  "What would you do?" Mogul holds both hands out with palms facing up, like the trays of a scale. "Give the machine the people it needs? Or let the world end, in which case all those people and everyone else dies anyway?" He lowers his right hand, dropping it down to his knee. "Couple billion lives?" He lifts up his right and lowers his left just a little. "Or a couple dozen? Which do you choose?"

  "I don't understand." Hericane looks down at Stalwart. "Are you telling me he uses human lives as fuel?"

  "Not fuel, so much," says Mogul, talking through his latest lungful of smoke. "More like fun. Addicted type fun." He laughs and taps some ash off the tip of his doobie. "Is there a word for that? Like nymphomania, except with tearing people apart in cold blood and devouring their organs?"

  I look at Stalwart, and he's staring into space. So much for the favorite uncle routine.

  "I wasn't always like this," he says quietly. "That thing..." He points at the movie screen, and his voice suddenly jumps. "The Manifestation. It corrupts you. You've felt it, haven't you?" He shoots a wide-eyes gaze in my direction. "You know what I mean."

  I have to admit, that monstrosity played some games with my head--and that, after just a minimal exposure. But I don't answer him.

  "Every time I fight it, that thing burrows a little deeper inside me," says Stalwart. "Every day, it makes me a little...a little sicker." His voice fades, and he stares at the floor. He mutters something to himself that I don't hear.

  Mogul rolls his eyes. "So back to the story." He gets up from the arm of the chair and moseys toward us. "You've got this machine, and it's the only way to save the world, but it needs its special fuel. So what do you do?" He puffs on the doobie and smirks. "Think about this. We're talking about the whole world here."

  "So the 57 people on that list," I say to him. "They're all dead. Sacrificed to keep Stalwart happy so he'll keep fighting off the Manifestation."

  "Did you say 57?" Mogul shrugs. "Not sure where you're getting your info from. I thought it was more like 257."

  Holy shit.

  I look at Stalwart, and chills race through my body. That man, that hero standing there--did he really slaughter 257 people and devour their organs?

  "Our information?" Hericane's voice is cold, as in absolute zero. "It came from Mardi Gras, whom I'm guessing you murdered."

  "So what if we did?" Mogul's doobie is down to a roach now. He huffs it once, holding it gingerly between his fingertips, then drops it
and grinds it into the carpet. "She was taking it public. Can you imagine? There'd be mass riots. The end of Western civilization. Either that, or everyone would be just fine with it. End of the world versus a paltry few lives, remember?" Again, he raises his hands, palms up, like the balances of a scale, and dips one down just a little. "But we couldn't take that chance. Would you?"

  "You make me sick." Hericane's voice is a hiss.

  "Don't give me that shit!" Suddenly, Mogul goes from goofy stoner to outraged prick. "You self-righteous fuck!" He stops at the end of the aisle and glares up at her. "If you were given the same choice, only that was some stranger about to blow the lid off, not your girlfriend, you would've done the exact same motherfuckin' thing, and you know it!"

  Hericane's aura glows brighter. "You don't know anything."

  "Oh, okay. So I'm the big dumb fuckin' idiot." Mogul makes a face and flutters his hands. "The big dumb fuckin' idiot who kept the world from ending by keeping big boy there stocked up on human happy meals. What've you accomplished lately? Alienate your supposed girlfriend to the point where you didn't even know she was in imminent danger?" He waves a hand dismissively, voice dripping with disgust. "Please. Go fuck yourself, lady."

  Hericane sets her jaw and drifts toward him. I think she's getting ready to fry his ass. Permanently.

  I think he knows it, too. I think he's playing her. Before she can lash out, he flings up a hand and shouts at her. "Now." He holds that way for a moment, gaze locked with hers, frozen on the brink of potential annihilation by any of a dozen different powers she could possibly unleash at him. "You have a decision to make."

  "A decision." Hericane stops drifting. Her glow dims the slightest bit.

  "You want him?" Mogul points at Stalwart. "You want to make him pay? Go ahead. But let's be clear about this. Without him manning the Portcullis, the world will end today. The Manifestation will come through and lay waste to the planet."

  Hericane is silent. She turns to stare at Stalwart.

  "The Refraxus opens in--let's see." Mogul checks his watch. "Less than five minutes from now. So the end of the world, the real Armageddon, will finally kick into high gear in less than five minutes. Or..."

  "Or what?" I ask him.

  "Or, we keep the status quo," says Mogul. "We all walk away and forget this ever happened. Because we know what's at stake, and we're all grown-ups here."

  "And how many more people will die?" I say. "How many more will you have to sacrifice to him to keep the Manifestation at bay?"

  "It. Doesn't. Fucking. Matter!" Mogul claps his hands together. "If the world keeps turning, we're still out of the red. We're still coming out ahead!"

  "Not Mardi Gras," says Hericane. "She's not coming out ahead."

  "You and that fucking Mardi Gras!" Mogul grabs his head and spins around in frustration. "Look, I'll give you the guy who killed her, all right? Justice will be done! It's him, right there! Bird boy!" He points at Widening Gyre. "Happy now? Do you think you can play ball like a big girl?"

  Hericane glares and doesn't answer.

  "Come on, will ya?" says Mogul. "We're saving the world here! It's what super-heroes are supposed to do!"

  Still, Hericane remains silent.

  Mogul lets loose a huge sigh and points at his watch. "We're running out of time here, my friend. The Refraxus will be opening any minute now. What'll it be?"

  Hericane hangs there a moment more. Everyone watches, wondering what she's going to do.

  But I think I know. I think I know what I would do in her place.

  "Well?" says Mogul.

  That's when Hericane announces her decision. She does it with actions, not words, so there's no misunderstanding.

  And her message comes through loud and clear.

  *****

  It happens so fast, I can barely see, she's mostly a blur. But the steps she follows are methodical and logical. She's thought this through.

  She goes after Widening Gyre first. The man who killed her lover. She flashes across the auditorium and blows through him like a cannonball. The falcon-headed chaos god explodes in a burst of flesh and feathers. As his remains shower down over his comrades--Thunder Perfect Mind and the Jupitarian--Hericane zooms after her next target.

  This time, it's Mogul, but he knows she's coming and kicks into hyperdrive. She chases him all over the auditorium at super-speed, racing through every inch of the place, even vibrating through every obstacle.

  And eventually, she catches him. I see a flare of lightning from the blur of motion, and then Mogul's charred body hurtles to the back of the auditorium.

  The smoking corpse lands in front of Thunder Perfect Mind and the Jupitarian, who jump back when it hits. They gape at the body, then at each other, and then they make a run for it, charging out the double doors into the lobby. They flee just in time; seconds later, the blur of Hericane's unstoppable flight punches through the spot where they were standing.

  That leaves just one more stop. She flies past CEO, who's still out cold, and lands in front of Stalwart.

  "It's almost time," he tells her, looking up at the screen. "The Refraxus is about to open."

  Hericane's eyes never leave his face. "I used to look up to you. You were one of the greats. And the way you spent so many years here, holding the line." She smiles sadly. "I thought you were like a god with the world on your shoulders."

  "More like the man who keeps pushing the same boulder up the hill, only to have it roll down again." Stalwart sighs. "So what are you going to do? Let the boulder fall one last time?"

  Hericane takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Never."

  He frowns. "You'll let me live then? You'll forgive me?"

  Her hands dart out and grasp the sides of his head. With one quick motion, she twists it hard left, facing almost behind him. The sharp crack of his snapping spine seems to echo through the theater.

  "Never," says Hericane as she lets the body fold to the red carpeted floor.

  And then she turns to me.

  "Thank you," she says, "for helping me solve the case."

  "Any time." I know where this is going, of course. She's going to do the only thing she can do. "And thank you..." For what? For sacrificing everything for the good of humanity? "Thank you for asking about my family."

  "No problem." She smiles. "I hope it gets better for you."

  Suddenly, a throbbing hum rises from the stage. Coruscating rays of crimson light erupt from the movie screen, casting both of us in shimmering red radiance.

  "You better get going." Hericane bobs her head toward the doors in the back. "The, uh--you know--is on its way."

  "Sure." My heart is pounding. I don't want to be anywhere near this place when the Refraxus opens again. But I feel like there's something left unsaid.

  I reach for the words, but they won't come. Maybe something left undone is more like it.

  So I throw myself forward and wrap her in my arms. I hug her tight, with everything I've got.

  And she hugs me back. For one precious moment, by the burning red light of another world, we press against each other--cheek to cheek, hip to hip, heart to heart.

  We know what's coming. We know I must leave, and we know she must stay. Because there was only one other hero in the world who could hold the line in this place, and she is his daughter. She's the only one who stands a chance.

  Time seems to stand still. Floating dust motes sparkle in the rippling crimson glow.

  Then, the throbbing hum becomes a thundering boom, and a hot wind gusts from the stage. I hear the screaming of a thousand maniacs, smell the stench of a hundred rotting corpses.

  The portal's open again.

  Hericane pushes me away. "Go! Hurry!"

  "Good luck," I tell her, and then I turn and run.

  And I don't look back.

  *****

  A week later, I get out of my car in St. Ignatius Cemetery. Dressed in black, arms full of flowers, I walk across the flat green lawn toward a gravesite.
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br />   It's the same cemetery where they buried Stalwart, but I'm not here for him. I wasn't invited to the funeral, which happened just yesterday. Seems I'm persona non grata in superhuman land these days; the Protectorate forced me to take early retirement and even revoked my membership from the organization.

  Nobody likes a troublemaker, apparently.

  Not that I would have come to the funeral if they'd invited me. Just seeing it on TV made me sick to the stomach--the flag-draped casket, the procession down Main Street, the weeping citizens, the twenty-one gun salute. The President of the United States--the friggin' President--reciting a teary-eyed tribute as they lowered the casket into the grave.

  What a fucking farce.

  Let's keep it all covered up. Keep everyone saying what a hero he was. Avoid awkward explanations that turn the public against him--maybe turn the public against all superhumans in the bargain.

  Cover those asses, folks. Don't stop and think about how many of the citizens standing along the parade route or watching at home are still mourning the loved ones he murdered. Don't think about how many of them are still wondering what ever happened to their missing husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, children. Fuck that noise.

  There are a hundred reasons to keep lying, and only one not to: because it's the right thing to do.

  And that's not enough.

  But it was for Hericane. Thanks to her, the world keeps turning. And I get the chance to do something I haven't done in seven years.

  I was worried I wouldn't remember where they were...but no. I see them up ahead, in a shady spot under a tree. Three stone markers--a big one flanked by two little ones.

  Oh God.

  I stop and stare from a distance, feeling like I can't go on. Feeling like I don't belong here.

  But I do. My name is on the biggest stone, and the year of my birth. Someday, I'll be here forever.