Hero Status

by Kristen Brand

  I reached Elisa’s high school much later than I’d have liked and walked straight into the main office.

  “I’m here to check out Elisa Belmonte Del Toro,” I told the receptionist immediately. “I’m her father.”

  I showed my ID and filled out the appropriate paperwork. Then the door opened, and I instantly looked up, but the teenage girl wasn’t Elisa. I took a deep breath and reminded myself to stay calm.

  The newcomer walked up and set her books on the counter as she wrote her name on the sign-out sheet. I didn’t pay her any mind until I noticed the cover of her notebook. It had a big red heart on it framing a picture of Mr. Tomorrow. Thank goodness Elisa had never gone through an Idols phase. Was it her villainous upbringing that had done it, or did I just make all superheroes seem uncool?

  The door opened again, and this time Elisa slid quietly inside. She was hunched over, and her face was pale, but she wasn’t dying, glowing, or covered in scales, so I could rule out my worst-case scenarios at least.

  “Come on,” I said gently. “Let’s go.”

  It took a lot of self-control not to immediately assault her with questions, but the school office wasn’t the place for it. We walked back to the car, and only after she had set her backpack down and buckled in did I allow myself to speak.

  “What happened?”

  “The worst day of my life,” she grumbled. “I was just sitting in class, and then…”

  I waited for her to find the right words, the car running idle in the parking space. There was no way I could pay attention to the road at a time like this.

  “I could hear everything,” she finished, then added, “It sucked.”

  “Other people’s thoughts?” I asked. “Or sounds in the room?”

  Oh, Lord, please don’t let her have developed super-hearing. That was practically a ticket for a life-long migraine.

  “Thoughts,” she said.

  I sighed in relief. So she’d gotten Val’s powers after all.

  “Okay,” I said. “Telepathy we can deal with. It’ll be tough, but you couldn’t have a better teacher.”

  “Who’s in jail right now.” She groaned and clenched her eyes shut. “Why did this have to happen today?”

  “Breakthroughs happen when people are under stress, and heaven knows you have enough reason to be stressed about right now.”

  She didn’t reply. The hard part over, I put the car into drive and started home. She’d do better there, with only two or three other minds around.

  “How is it right now?” I asked.

  “Better.”

  Probably because I was the only one close to her, and I was shielding my thoughts.

  “Yeah, probably,” she said.

  ….And she picked up on that. I was going to have to be more careful.

  “When we get home, I’ll teach you some tricks to block people out,” I said. “If that’s not enough, we’ll call your Aunt Bianca.”

  “Oh, joy.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Would you prefer one of your other aunts?”

  “Nooo thank you.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Your mom will be back soon. I’m sure we can hold out until then.”

  Elisa immediately sat up straighter. “You mean you found something to clear her?”

  She looked at me with such a hopeful expression that I nearly lied to her. “Not yet, but I will.”

  “Oh.” She sank back down in her seat, and a moment later, she scowled. “Then what have you been doing all morning?”

  I scowled back. “I was a little busy getting beaten up.”

  “No way. Who could beat you up?”

  My scowl vanished. Maybe I was just easily flattered, but it was nice to know my little girl thought her dad was invincible.

  “You don’t look beat up,” she said.

  “It was a psychic battle. I have bruises on my brain.”

  “That sounds like something you should go to the hospital for.”

  “I’ll walk it off.”

  “Hilarious.”

  She rolled her eyes and turned on the radio, and I kept my thoughts carefully focused on nothing in particular. Thank goodness I’d had all those years of practice at it. The first time I’d realized my mind was being read, the image of a freaky three-way involving lime gelatin and my fourth-grade science teacher had popped into my head, simply because it was the worst, most embarrassing thing my brain could come up with.

  “Have you seen the news?” Elisa asked, watching me like she was afraid to know the answer. I was stopped at a traffic light, so I could afford to look back as I replied.

  “No. Why? Is your mom on it?”

  “Yeah. It’s all over the Internet.”

  The light turned green. “That’s funny. I seem to remember telling you that if you kept surfing the Internet during class, I’d take away your phone.”

  “Dad. Focus.”

  I frowned but decided to let it go. “Your mom will like the publicity. It’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Yeah, but they weren’t just talking about her. They broke the news about—”

  She broke off with a pained cry.

  “Elisa?”

  I turned to her, forgetting all about the road. She was bent over double and clutching her head.

  “Shit,” she hissed. “Shit shit shit.”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Everyone’s so loud.”

  “I'll try to pull off somewhere less crowded. Hold on.”

  Her range must have been farther than I thought if she was picking up thoughts from the other drivers. Add that to road rage and the excitement of the festival… Elisa made a whimpering noise, and I frantically turned down a side street, but there were still people everywhere. Why hadn’t Val and I retired to the countryside?

  “It hurts.”

  “Hang in there, sweetheart,” I said.

  I’d never been claustrophobic before, but suddenly, the city was like a cage. There was nowhere we could go to escape all the people. They closed in on us from every side. I had to get Elisa out of here.

  I had to stay calm.

  “Dammit!” She balled her hand into a fist and hit the dashboard in frustration.

  Her hand went right through it.

  The airbag went off, and she screamed. The car swerved as I jerked in shock. Elisa swatted the airbag away, completely destroying it. Her arm continued until she hit the passenger side door with a loud crunch. There was no telling the size of the dent, because the door broke open. Elisa screamed again, and I grabbed her arm, afraid she would break her seatbelt and tumble out into the street. With one hand on the steering wheel, I couldn’t stop the car from lurching. I barely managed to keep us from slamming into the minivan in the next lane.

  An office parking lot was ahead of us on the right. I pulled into it and stopped the car.

  Elisa was crying. I took a deep breath and exhaled everything that was worrying me, something both hard and easy at the same time.

  I took her hand. “Elisa, look at me.”

  She obeyed, her brown eyes wide and wild with panic.

  “Focus on my thoughts,” I said. “Ignore everything else.”

  “I can’t—”

  “Yes, you can. It’s like listening to a song and paying attention to the drumbeat instead of the lyrics. Find my mind and separate it from the others. It’s just a matter of concentration. You’re a smart girl; you can manage it.”

  I let my certainty that she could do it flow outward, along with my calm, meditative state. Telepaths could have trouble keeping themselves from being influenced by the thoughts and feelings of others. It could be a major life problem for some of them, but I was counting on it to save Elisa now. If my own peace of mind enveloped her, maybe she could calm down enough to get a hold of her powers.

  I focused on my breathing, just inhaling… and exhaling slowly. Nothing could be simpler. Eventually, Elisa’s near-hyperventilation slowed to match.
>
  “Good,” I said.

  She looked away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—I broke your car.”

  “Your mom will buy me a new one. Let’s just get you home.”

  • • •

  The cook and maid were like a couple of worried mother hens, flocking around Elisa the moment we got in the door. After they’d brought her hot tea, ice water, chicken noodle soup, dark chocolate, aspirin, and just about anything else she could possibly need, I sat her down to give her a crash course in shielding her mind. Looking across the dining room table at her, I felt a little out of place. I’d given lectures on this topic at the Academy, and I’d trained my old sidekick, but neither of those situations made me feel as nervous as teaching my daughter did.

  “I’m not going to lie and say this will be easy,” I said. “You’ve seen your mom and aunts deal with it, so you know how hard it can be. You’re going to have to change the way you think and keep it up for the rest of your life. It does get easier with time, but it never stops.”

  “How do you know?” She seemed to realize how rude that sounded and winced, but she continued, face red. “I mean, I’m glad you’re trying to teach me, but shouldn’t we just wait for Mom to get back to work on mind-reading? You’d be better off teaching me about super-strength, right?”

  “We definitely need to work on handling your super-strength, but it’s not as urgent as your telepathy. I’m more worried about you having another episode like in the car than accidentally breaking furniture around the house. The sooner you get it under control the better, and believe it or not, I do know a thing or two about telepathy. I’ve been trained to keep people from getting into my mind, and you want to keep everyone’s thoughts from getting into yours. Same basic principle.”

  “Okay…” she said, not looking too convinced.

  “Try to read my mind,” I said. “See if you can find out what you’re getting for your birthday.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  She narrowed her eyes and stared at me, her forehead wrinkling in concentration, and pressure built in my head as she probed it. After about twenty seconds she groaned and made a face.

  “Thanks, Dad. Now I’m going to have that song stuck in my head all day.”

  “It’s all about focus.”

  She rubbed her temples. “So I have to sing some dumb song twenty-four/seven?”

  “You can do anything. I know a guy who recites pi in his head and another who concentrates really hard on his grocery list.”

  “Then how am I supposed to get anything done? You can’t think about stupid stuff like that all the time.”

  “Eventually, you’ll learn to apply that focus to whatever you’re doing at the moment. But it always helps to have a backup for when things get tough.”

  I told her to pick out something to focus on and waited as she decided. My own thoughts were carefully controlled, since now was no time to be setting a bad example.

  “Got something?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. I’m going to start singing another song in my head. This time I don’t want you to hear it.”

  When she was ready, I began. She failed to block the first and second song… and she didn’t manage the third or fourth, either. After I suggested a fifth, her hands balled into fists, and I realized she was going to hit the table in frustration.

  “Don’t!” I said not a second too soon. “You’ll break it.”

  “Oh.” Her hand unclenched and fell gently into her lap. She looked despondent. “Right.”

  “I know it’s a big change, but you’ll get used to it.”

  “Sure.” She slumped further down in her chair with a sigh. “You know, I always thought this would be cool.”

  “It can be, once you get the hang of it.”

  “Yeah, but… Reading people’s minds, knowing all their secrets. Mom makes it look like so much fun.”

  I shook my head. “Using your powers like that isn’t fun; it’s a violation of people’s privacy. Reading someone’s mind without their permission is like breaking into their home, but a thousand times worse.”

  “But I’m not doing it on purpose!”

  “I know.” I softened my tone. “Accidents aren’t your fault. But it’s your responsibility to work as hard as you can to control your powers and keep the accidents to a minimum.”

  She gave me a look that reminded me so much of her mother. “So this is a hero thing? Right versus wrong, good versus evil?”

  “Responsible human being versus selfish jerk,” I corrected. “Sometimes you have to make the choice between what you want and what’s best for everyone else.”

  She snorted. “Okay, Yoda.”

  I sighed. So much for the wise old mentor shtick. “Right, then. How about a break, young Skywalker?”

  She jumped up and took off down the hall.

  “Slowly!” I called after her. “Run into someone like that, and you’ll break bones!”

  I leaned back in the chair and put a hand to my head. If only Val had given our daughter a few lectures on personal responsibility when she’d been younger, but Val just wasn’t the type. Then again, who was I to talk about self-sacrifice? I’d made the selfish choice: Val over the DSA. I didn’t regret it, but… but maybe I shouldn’t lecture about morals.

  It was 3:30 and I hadn’t eaten anything all day, so I headed to the kitchen. The cook, Eddy, and I got into a familiar argument where I tried to grab some leftovers from the fridge and he tried to whip up something elaborate. In the end, we compromised, and he threw together a pastrami sub topped with his homemade dressing. After the first bite, I began to wonder why I argued with him at all.

  The tablecloth had been replaced since this morning, the new one shimmering smooth and olive green, and you can bet I was extra careful not to spill anything on it. As I ate, I looked up the contact information for Harris’s ex-wife and his brother. His brother, Clifton, owned a contracting business in Coral Gables. His ex, Benita, had remarried and lived in South Pointe. Our house was on Star Island, so she was just west of us. But Harris and Benita hadn’t been on the best of terms, so I called Clifton first.

  He picked up with a questioning hello.

  “Mr. Holt?” I said. “My name is David Del Toro. I… was a friend of your brother’s. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you,” he said in a dull tone, the words no doubt spoken many times today. “I haven’t made the funeral arrangements yet, but I can forward you the information once everything is worked out.”

  “I’d appreciate that. But actually I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about Harris’s murder. I know this is a difficult time, but…”

  “Are you with the DSA?”

  “Not anymore. I’m retired. I used to work with Harris.”

  “You were a superhero? Who?”

  This really wasn’t what I wanted to talk about, but I resisted a sigh and answered, “White Knight.”

  The line was silent for a long moment.

  “Is this some kind of sick joke? What the hell are you calling me for? Your wife killed him.”

  I almost crushed the phone in my grip. “Mr. Holt, I don’t know where you heard that, but—”

  “It’s all over the news, you bastard! I’m not a moron. The DSA—”

  “Are considering her as a possible suspect, but she didn’t kill Harris. I’m trying to find out who did.”

  He threw a string of profanity at me and hung up.

  I stared at the phone. The fact that I’d married Val wasn’t public knowledge. He shouldn’t have known it, and he’d said it was on the news. Hadn’t Elisa been saying something like that in the car before her telepathy cut her off? I should’ve paid more attention.

  I walked into the living room, passed cream-colored couches and a neglected grand piano, and stopped in front of the enormous TV. I hesitated, staring at the black screen, but then I forced myself to press the power button on the remote.
A cartoon came up, and I flipped through the channels until I found a twenty-four-hour news network.

  The screen was divided in half. One side showed the standard blonde, attractive female news anchor. The other was cycling through old photos of me in full White Knight costume and the Black Valentine in all her black leather-corseted glory. The headline read “White Knight and Black Valentine: Love Affair Revealed,” and the anchor was elaborating on what scandalous details were available.

  I turned it off. I could predict the news cycle for the next several days without seeing any more. They couldn’t have many facts, so they’d fill airtime with “expert” panels discussing our history and speculating about our love life. People who barely knew me would start appearing in interviews, anxious to get their five seconds of fame by saying how I’d always seemed like the type of person with secrets to hide. Soon the headlines would read “White Knight: Traitor?” No one would remember the question mark.

  It didn’t matter. All that mattered was making sure Val didn’t get hit with murder charges. I hadn’t become a superhero so that people would like me. They could say I kicked puppies and burned down orphanages so long as I had Val safe at my side when the whole thing was over. Who needed fact-checking when you could pass off rumor and opinion as news? It didn’t matter.

  I called Benita next. It couldn’t go any worse than it had with Clifton.

  “H-hello?” The voice was female, but breathy and hushed.

  “Mrs. Herrera?” I said. “My name is David Del Toro. I’m sorry to bother you, but I was a friend of your ex-husband’s and—”

  “Oh, God, are you one of them?”

  “Um… One of who?”

  “A superhero.”

  I winced and debated lying. “I used to be.”

  “Can you help me?” she asked.

  I immediately stood up straighter. “What’s wrong?”

  Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I think someone’s trying to kill me.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  “I—No, the voices—”

  A loud bang in the background interrupted her. She gasped, and the line went dead.

  “Mrs. Herrera?”