Rise of Heroes

by Hayden Thorne

  Thank God Althea didn’t bug me that evening. I probably would have thrown my computer out the window had she possessed it again, and I needed the stupid thing despite its age and outdated programs.

  It was about nine—an hour before my usual lights out—and I lay sprawled in bed, restless and irritable. I wondered if this was what PMS felt like though with a touch of gluttony thrown in. I stumbled out of bed and groped my way to the bathroom, took a piss, and groped my way back.

  Did I notice my bedside lamp had been suddenly turned on, with the intensity of the bulb dimmed to a comfortable and sleep-inducing glow? Did I realize I’d left my window open and my bedroom, being a converted attic, was kind of out of reach from the people downstairs?

  No. No, no, no, a thousand million billion times, no.

  I shuffled back to bed and flopped down, staring bleakly at the ceiling.

  “I think we really need to talk.”

  “Jesus!” I yelped, sitting bolt upright in bed.

  Peter sat in the corner, on a scruffy old chaise that I’d found at a garage sale and had begged Dad to buy.

  And, yes, he was in uniform—as in, well, Shadow Boy get-up. That was the first time I’d seen him dressed that way, all the other times having been limited to glimpses in the night, with him moving away at such a rapid speed.

  His half-mask was black, and with it following his hairline, it appeared to blend in. The only distinction between his hair and the mask was the faint sheen of the strands that dipped over his brows. The cut below his eyes followed the lines of his cheekbones and covered his nose. They emphasized his features even more, which I’d always thought to be some of his strongest (his cheekbones were crazy humpable). His mask matched his elbow-length gloves and boots, which ended just a few inches below his knees and tightly hugged his calves. His bodysuit didn’t mimic Magnifiman’s bottle-green shade. It was a reddish-brown thing, the exact color difficult for me to pinpoint since the light was set at a very muted brightness. There were, however, very thin, very faint designs on the fabric.

  When I squinted my eyes for a better look, I found the designs were really accents in gold—squiggly lines that converged and diverged here and there, their overall appearance mimicking capillaries in a human body. I think I’m using “capillaries” right—can’t even remember where I learned that word. Probably somewhere online because, you know, Internet weirdness…

  Unlike real capillaries, though, the lines were uniformly fine, barely visible in muted light. When illuminated from certain angles, I was sure they must have looked pretty impressive, giving off a faint shimmer against their red-brown background.

  Peter also didn’t have a mark or symbol on his chest.

  I could only assume it was because he’d yet to be identified the way Magnifiman was. Not that Peter wanted to, from what I could see. Magnifiman didn’t seem to mind public attention and in fact appeared to use it as a silent deterrent against crime, and he’d also been pretty protective of Peter’s identity—always fielding Bambi Bailey’s questions. He reminded me of…

  “An older brother,” I whispered, stunned. “Oh, my God.”

  Peter was quiet for a time, sitting in the corner with his legs crossed—knee-to-knee, thank you—both hands resting on his lap. We stared at each other for a time in silence before I managed to find my voice again.

  “Are you going to be abusing your powers from now on—breaking into my room like that because you can?”

  “Only when I need to see you. Besides, you didn’t give me much of a choice. And I did not break into your room. You left your window open.”

  I scooted back defensively and nearly grabbed a pillow, as if it would’ve served as a shield. “What do you want, Peter?” I asked, my voice shaking a little.

  “It’s pretty obvious, don’t you think?”

  “It’s enough that you’re violating my privacy,” I snapped. “There’s no need to be a smartass on top of that.”

  “All right. I’m sorry.” He paused—then quietly added, “I’m here because I lied to you.”

  No! Really? “Hell, yeah, you did!” I shifted on my bed and slithered cautiously toward one end—the one closest to the door. “All that crap about tennis lessons and not being available for anything—what were you thinking?”

  He tilted his head very, very slightly to the side. “That something like this would happen, and I was right. Eric, what would you have me do? Come up to you and say, ‘You’re the reason why I came out to my family. I’ve been in love with you longer than you think, and by the way, I’m a genetic mutation’? Give me a break!”

  “You could’ve trusted me at least! Or do you think I’m too stupid to understand?”

  “Do you honestly think that telling you my situation would’ve made a difference? How sure are you that you’d have taken everything in without a problem? I mean, look at the way you’re behaving right now.”

  I frowned at him. “It’s because you screwed around with me, Peter.”

  “Oh, really? Are you sure it isn’t about my being different?” He sighed and shook his head. “Try again, Eric, because what I’m seeing right now doesn’t jive with all that ‘why can’t you trust me’ bull.”

  I pinched my mouth into a tight line, anger rising. What the hell?

  “I never asked for this, you know. Mom and Dad did. Yeah, they did—don’t give me that look. I never wanted to spend my nights answering the call of victims up and down Vintage City. I can’t even find the time to take you out on a date! How about a movie with you and Althea? Or just hanging out somewhere—a park or diner or coffee shop or something? Do something normal, for God’s sake?”

  “What about your brother?”

  Peter flinched a little, but his composure was totally perfect. “You figured it out. I guess it was a pretty easy step after finding out about me. My brother—Trent loves it. You’ve seen him. He basks in his job—like Althea. He’s made for this, not me.”

  “I’ve never seen your brother—in normal surroundings, I mean.”

  “No, he’s too busy working for Dad—”

  “How can he do that without being recognized? His pictures are all over the papers, and he’s on TV a lot.”

  Peter laughed quietly and without humor. “He doesn’t at all look like his alter ego.”

  “Okay, I don’t get it. I don’t,” I blurted out, waving my hands to end the conversation. “I just—I want to go to sleep. I’m tired. I don’t understand anything. I’m feeling a little sick to my stomach at everything that’s happened.”

  “Eric, my family knows about you. They’re also aware that you know about me—if not both Trent and me, anyway. And they want you to come for lunch or dinner sometime.”

  “What?”

  “If you want to understand, that’s the way to do it. You’ll believe my parents, not me. Will you come? For them, at least? They’ve only seen you from a distance, and they want to get to know you better.”

  It was my turn to flinch. I looked away and let my gaze move around my room, restless and guilt-ridden. Then I stared at my hands. “I don’t know…”

  “Eric, you’re not the only one who’s a little messed up by all this. How do you think I feel? I’m the one who’s a freak, not you.”

  I glanced up sharply to protest, but he silenced me with a look. What on earth was I going to do? Make him feel better by saying he wasn’t a monster? And that, after I made it very clear to Althea the previous day by telling her—oh, something along the lines of “You and Peter are freaks”? I dropped my gaze again, embarrassed and ashamed, and nodded. “Okay. I’ve got nothing special planned for a while. Choose whatever night you want.”

  “All right. I guess I’ll call you once my family agrees on a date.”

  He moved to stand up but froze when I asked, “That day at the mall—you knew I was there, didn’t you?”

  “I did, yeah.”

  “Because of this?” I raised my left hand, and he nodded. The tiny gold thread glin
ted dully against my bracelet. “You knew that I was going to recognize you when you talked.”

  “I did, but I needed to say something to all those people. Better to risk discovery by you than to just leave innocent people wondering what the hell was going to happen to them, especially when they’re all trapped like that.”

  “So this thing has some bizarre homing device whatchamacallit thingie inside?” I stared long and hard at my bracelet, turning my wrist this way and that in hopes of yanking some of its secrets out.

  “Yeah, it has. The gold thread’s like a homing device—my invention, too,” Peter replied, a hint of smugness in his voice. “It stores data and transmits everything to my computer.”

  “No kidding. That sounds cool.” I’d have asked him more questions about it, but I also realized that not only was I not blessed with the ability to understand all kinds of advanced technological stuff, but some superhero things simply should never be deciphered. The myth, the glamour, the romance—for all my teenage emo cynicism, I still wanted to cling to those.

  “Once Althea masters her powers, she could easily take control of that bracelet, too.”

  I snorted. “She’d probably try to block the data or manipulate it somehow to throw you off my scent. I’m sure she’s just dying to play a joke like that sometime.”

  “Only if I tell her what the bracelet’s about and how it works. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt you, Eric.”

  I nodded. My anger had long gone. Guilt remained, but also sadness. I was less confused than before, but not by much. If anything, my confusion had gone down a different path altogether—from him to me. Maybe Peter was right about me, but who could say for sure? Hell, I couldn’t even figure myself out most of the time. Pride, wounded, told me to brush these thoughts aside and settle on something else. My mind fumbled around the past, and an old nagging question came alive.

  “Peter, were you around when the Trill took over the theater? I could have sworn I heard your voice when I was waking up.”

  He nodded. “That was me. I couldn’t stay, obviously. I was supposed to keep the kids company for a bit while Trent snooped around, but I had to argue my way out of that because—well—I didn’t want you to recognize me when you came to. Trent didn’t put up much of a fight, thank God, but my parents chewed me out.” He shrugged, shifting his weight a little. “I’d rather be lectured by them than have you find out that I’m some kind of mutant. Stupid, really. I figured it was only a matter of time before you knew, anyway, but I didn’t want that moment to come so soon.”

  I stared at my hands, mulling over what he’d just said.

  I felt miserable—not for myself, but for him. “That night when I was walking through East 33rd Street—”

  “I took you away from that place.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “I hope I didn’t make you too sick from my speed. It’s like your whole body experiencing whiplash, and it’s—downright nasty.”

  “I recovered quickly enough.”

  “That was some gall on my part. Taking you away like that, thinking that I was doing the right thing and all—like a regular white knight you probably didn’t even want—let alone need.” He chuckled lamely. “I can be too impulsive sometimes. Well, you already know that. That was the reason why my parents took away my car for a while. I was supposed to stay close to Trent and help him out, but I didn’t. I wanted to keep you safe.”

  “Well, at least your impulses benefit someone. Mine don’t. They never do.”

  I remembered that moment very well. Maybe the one detail that kept a stubborn hold on my mind was that whispered excuse he made once he was sure I was safely somewhere else. I didn’t recognize his voice then, and knowing now who it was, I looked back at that moment with my brain melting. I’d never been good in this romance thing. In fact, I didn’t expect myself to be in love until I was—hell—thirty or thereabouts, given what I’d observed of the gay romance situation online. With Peter, I wasn’t at first sure of anything other than every moment spent in his company, no matter what we did—studying, talking, quarreling, making out—not a single moment ever felt out of place, as though it were meant to happen.

  There was no way I could fully articulate what seemed normal and natural. Doubts? Confusion? Sure. They came with the territory. They were also normal and natural. I might not have known that then, but I did now. All it took was for Peter to show up in my bedroom, clad in spandex, leather, and silk.

  “I don’t know,” he said, breaking up my thoughts, “I honestly can’t imagine you being like one of those stick-up-your-ass types.” He paused and made some vague gesture with his hands. “Your hair neat and really short, your clothes in light neutral colors, your glasses like those thin metal frames that remind me of business suit models. Uh—no. Give me character over convention anytime.”

  I made a face. “I don’t know if you really want me to get on your nerves sometimes.”

  “As opposed to what? Practically being a corpse? No thanks, Eric. I’d rather be surprised or thrown off my center. Sure, I might bitch about it sometimes, but really, I’d rather take you as you are, drama queen-ness and all.”

  He paused, scratching his nose thoughtfully despite his mask. “By the way, I know you like Trent.”

  I must have shrunk to the size of a gnat. I was also very much aware of the intense heat that bloomed on my cheeks, and I couldn’t meet his eyes. “Oh. That obvious, huh?” I stammered, and Peter chuckled.

  “I’m never too far behind my brother, so I’ve sort of seen how you respond to him. Besides, one of my powers is acute hearing.”

  I coughed.

  “Eric, I don’t expect you to be a saint. I don’t. I might not like it, I have to admit, but I don’t. I can’t. It’s unfair to you. Besides, Trent’s got a pretty skewed advantage of turning into the media’s ideals of perfection. Everyone and their dog are doing cartwheels to get his attention. I don’t see why you should be immune. It’s one of his abilities to embody perfection, so don’t beat yourself over it.”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “I know. Nothing ever will, either. Trent’s straight. That’s the only thing that’s keeping me from going crazy over this.”

  I guessed as much. Shrugging weakly, I said, “I’m sorry. Fucking hormones get me all the time.”

  “Yeah, well…” Peter paused and picked idly at his gloves. “It makes for some pretty interesting superhero-brothers-working-side-by-side dynamics, let me tell you.”

  Better not to say anything to that, I told myself, and bit my tongue. I wondered how girls felt, having men fight over them. Hopefully just as badly as I felt. Then again, maybe not.

  A brief moment of silence passed between us, during which I felt the tension dissipate. Then I toyed with my bracelet, now painfully self-conscious.

  “Do you know who the Trill is?” I met his gaze, a little shamefaced, maybe, but more relaxed than before.

  Peter nodded, a faint smile forming. “That’s classified information. Sorry.”

  “Oh.” The downside to not being a superhero, I guess.

  Another awkward moment of silence stretched out. We were back on familiar ground. Then he moved to stand up, stretching a little. This blessed me with a lovely view of straining muscles against spandex, which was always a notoriously bad secret-keeper. Peter really knew how to play dirty.

  “I need to go.”

  “Well—don’t let me keep you from cleaning up the streets,” I joked, still shamefaced, as I followed him to the window.

  “If it’s any comfort, you’re one of my better motivations for keeping the streets clean.” His voice had dropped to a softer volume. Then he stopped midway, his head bent as he debated something. He looked over his shoulder and leveled me with a calm, steady gaze. “I’ll take that bracelet off you if it bothers you so much. I’m sure right now it’s nothing more than a reminder of what I am.”

  My cheeks warmed for the hundredth time that evening. My conscience was getting a serious
pummeling, and I sure didn’t expect relief to come anytime soon.

  “No, don’t worry about it. It—yeah, it bothered me for a while, but I understand now.”

  “Are you sure? Only I can break it apart, you know.”

  Yes, I knew that—too well, as a matter of fact. I feigned pure, wide-eyed innocence. “Oh, really?”

  Even with the dimmed light in my room and the shadows cast by his mask, Peter’s eyes narrowed significantly, and I saw just how much he could see right through my bull. But he said nothing and just turned around and walked on ahead to the window. I assumed then that we’d reconciled, but it wasn’t for me to force a confirmation of the matter. Besides, I was still reeling from the shock of discovering his identity as well as the serious embarrassment of realizing my own faults when it came to him—and us. I shadowed him all the while—like a kicked puppy.

  He climbed over the window sill, nearly sending my heart dropping to the ground, but then I quickly realized even if he were to tumble off, he wouldn’t be hurt with his reflexes. He moved like an acrobat—graceful and sure, quick and steady—turning around to face my bedroom and crouching down in order to look at me, with one hand holding on to the window frame.

  “So—how does it feel wearing that?” I asked, still ashamed but too curious to hold back.

  “Liberating. But it can be pretty hot sometimes. I’ve already put in a request for material that does a better job wicking away sweat.”

  I frowned, chewing on my lower lip as I fought to absorb the idea of being in a relationship with a superhero.

  All my desires, my desperate need for normalcy on many levels despite my celebration of fringe culture and of outcasts—their very foundation had been rocked, split in places with cracks that grew with every minute spent in Peter’s company. A quiet voice in the back of my mind, though, kept whispering all kinds of reassurances. Everything was okay, it insisted. Everything was as it should be. Just go with it.