by Peter David
“What do you mean, everything?”
Kelsey was relieved that Josh had spoken at all. Deciding she shouldn’t make too big a deal over it, she said, “Well, not everything. I mean, some of these threads are pretty okay. Just talking about stuff that’s happened or that’s coming up. There’s a couple about who could beat who in a fight. And here’s a long one about football, for some reason. But a lot of these guys…they just complain. They complain about writers and artists and characters and stories. They complain about the prices of comics, about how there’s not enough of one kind and too many of another. They’re complaining about their LCS…what’s an LCS?” Josh shrugged. She went back to the boards. “It’s just…I mean, it’s incredible. These are comics fans? I thought fans of stuff were supposed to be people who liked something. I’m a fan of all these guys”—and she pointed to her posters. “I buy their CDs and listen to their music. That’s what makes me a fan. If I stop liking their music, then I’m not a fan anymore. I don’t get how some guys keep reading comics and keep hating them but keep calling themselves fans. It just…it doesn’t make any sense.”
“Nothing makes sense anymore,” Josh said bleakly.
That evening Kelsey and her dad were watching the local news on television and, to Kelsey’s surprise, a picture of Mascot appeared on the screen. The TV reporter was named Alan Jackson. He was young, with a ruddy complexion and a mop of thick blond hair.
“A dirty secret that I have to admit to you viewers,” said Jackson. “This reporter is a longtime comics buff, and I’m sad to report that comic book fans are reeling over the announced impending death of Mascot. Yes, the beloved sidekick is slated to die in next month’s issue of Captain Major, condemned to death by fan voting.”
Ten minutes later there was a knock at Kelsey’s front door. She answered it and was astounded to see Josh standing there. He was out of breath. Apparently he’d run all the way from his house.
“Josh, what are you doing here?” Her father was down in the basement doing laundry. Even so, she dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’m not allowed to have friends over on a school night….”
“Or get phone calls after eight—yeah, I know. Your dad’s gotta lighten up.” He took a breath and continued, “On channel twelve they had a—”
“I saw it.”
“I’ve got to stop it.”
“Stop it? Stop what?”
There was something very different in his demeanor. His shoulders were squared, his eyes blazing with determination. His hands were on his hips, elbows outthrust, and his jaw was sticking upward slightly. “I’m going to stop it from happening. I’m going to make certain that Mascot lives.”
The dreaded Auracle, the terrifying computer entity that shows future events, spurs Mascot into action. He has seen a depressing, bleak future with him and the Captain on the run and under the gun. He has seen his own death. But if the Auracle thinks that he, Mascot, is going to be deterred by such dire prognostications, then the Auracle has another think coming. Mascot is not one to be cowed by talk of doomsday. No, Mascot will be the captain of his own future, and—
“Josh!”
Josh blinked and looked at her. “I’m going to stop them. I’ll make the publisher just…just not do it.”
“You can’t, Josh. You’re just one kid.”
“Yes. I can.” He took her hand firmly in his and said, “And you’re going to help me.”
“No way. My dad will kill me.”
“Kelsey”—there was something in his voice that hadn’t been there before—“I…look, I can’t do this without you. It’s too big. It’s…I need you,” he admitted with a huge sigh. “I need you on my team.”
He needed her. On his team.
“Sure,” said Kelsey.
CHAPTER 5
INSIDE THE HOME OF DREAMS
Paul Tinker worked in the Home of Dreams.
It wasn’t really his home, or anybody’s home. Instead it was an office building at Park Avenue South and East 27th Street in the heart of New York City.
And no one was really allowed to dream there. Paul knew this all too well, because on those occasions when he had dozed off and started dreaming, he’d been angrily shaken awake by Joe Rotone, the gray-haired man who was head of the mailroom and also Paul’s boss.
“Blast it, Paul!” Joe would snap at him, and Paul would jump to his feet. “Stop dreaming on the job!”
When Paul had been a kid, other kids had made fun of him and called him names like “dummy” and “retard.” That had lasted until middle school, when he’d started growing and hadn’t stopped until he was over six feet tall. His newfound height and great strength had put an end to the teasing. Until he got this job working for Joe.
Paul worked at Wonder Comics, the world’s greatest comic book publisher. Someone had long ago nicknamed Wonder Comics the Home of Dreams, because each of its comics represented the dreams of one creator or another. The nickname had stuck.
This particular day Paul was rousted from his nap by Joe and was apologetic as always. Joe pointed across the mailroom at stacks of comics waiting to be distributed to various editors. New Wonder Comics titles came out once a week, and one of Paul’s jobs was to sort them, bind them up with rubber bands, and bring them around to everyone who was supposed to receive them.
Paul dutifully got the stacks of comics together and piled them onto the mail cart. Then he pushed the cart out of the mailroom on the ninth floor and waited for the freight elevator that would take him up to the tenth floor, where all the editorial guys had their offices.
When the elevator doors slid open, he blinked in surprise.
There were two kids standing there, a boy and a girl. The girl was kind of chubby and was wearing a long red coat and a kerchief. The boy wasn’t chubby and had a blue Windbreaker.
“Hullo,” Paul said, and wheeled the cart in. The boy and girl stepped to either side to make room for him. The large freight elevator was kind of old and so made all sorts of noise as it rattled and shook its way up one floor. When the doors opened on the tenth floor, Paul pushed the cart out and was mildly confused to see the two kids follow him. The door to get in was activated by a plastic security card key so that intruders couldn’t just come strolling in. Paul kept his dangling on a cloth lanyard around his neck. He saw that the kids were waiting for him to slide his card through the mechanism that would unlock the door.
“Hullo,” he said again.
“Hello,” said the girl. The boy waved halfheartedly.
Paul had no clue why these two kids might be here. “Are you with a tour?” he asked.
The girl and boy looked at each other, and then the girl quickly said, “Yes. We are.”
“But we got separated,” the boy said.
“And we’re afraid we’re going to get into trouble,” the girl added.
“Oh! Well, okay! Let’s get you inside.” He slid the card key through, and the door lock buzzed. The boy and girl entered quickly while he held the door open for them.
Paul turned his back to them as he eased himself backward through the door, pulling the cart carefully. Once he was through, he let the door swing shut and then turned back to the kids.
They were gone.
“Oh well,” Paul said with a shrug and, confident that the kids would manage to hook up with their group, started making his rounds.
Luck had finally favored Josh and Kelsey, although initially matters had not been promising. When they had first arrived at the main entrance on the tenth floor, a formidable receptionist had been waiting.
“Hi,” Josh had said gamely. “We’re here to see Mr. Stan Kirby, the creator of Captain Major.”
The receptionist had glanced over the top of her glasses. “Who are you two?”
“We’re fans,” Kelsey had said.
“And I really need to talk to him,” said Josh. “It’s urgent. It’s a matter of life and death. I tried calling here, but all I got was voice mail. I couldn’t get a real person. But you’re a
real person, right?” Josh added what he thought was a winning smile.
“I’m sorry,” the receptionist had said firmly. “But you can’t just show up out of the blue and expect to see a famous man like Stan Kirby. Where are your parents, anyway?”
“They’re downstairs,” Kelsey had told her quickly, firing a warning glance at Josh.
“Well, you bring them up here and I’ll be happy to explain our policies to them,” the receptionist had said.
Their heads bobbing in unison, Kelsey and Josh had grabbed the down elevator and returned to the lobby. Once there, Josh had said, “We have to find the freight elevator.”
Kelsey had nodded and followed Josh out of the building and around the corner. There they’d found something marked SERVICE ENTRANCE. Josh had walked in with confidence and she had followed. They’d found the freight elevator, and that was how they came to encounter Paul on the way up to the back entrance of Wonder Comics.
Once inside, they made their way quickly through the corridors. It was lunchtime and most of the editorial staff were not around.
But it was kind of exciting to be there. Josh took in the giant posters of various Wonder Comics heroes and heroines all over the walls, not to mention the occasional freestanding cardboard cutout. And some of the cubicles and offices they passed were decorated with toys, mini statues, and action figures of Wonder’s acclaimed superheroes.
On the other hand, Josh couldn’t help but find it kind of disappointing. The comic book trappings couldn’t really overcome the fact that, well…this place was a place of business. Offices were offices, no matter how many toys they might be crammed with. He voiced his disappointment to Kelsey, who looked at him oddly and said, “What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Moving walls. Sliding bookcases. Gigantic pennies and dinosaurs and maybe a huge wall filled with screens showing all sorts of places where crimes were happening.”
Kelsey shook her head. “You’re something else, Josh. I just haven’t figured out what that is yet.”
“Come on,” he said.
Kelsey’s impulse was to slink around the office and try to avoid anyone seeing them. But Josh walked boldly, looking as if he owned the joint. The effectiveness of his approach became clear to Kelsey on the occasions when they passed people who actually worked there. Josh would nod, say, “Hi there,” even toss off a confident salute. The adults would smile and nod and go on about their business, which made Kelsey realize for the first time that it was possible to get away with just about anything if you looked like you knew what you were doing.
Mascot walks the Hall of Heroes, brimming with confidence. This place of justice is where he belongs. He has finally come home.
Josh kept glancing over toward Kelsey for reinforcement, and she kept nodding approval. He found, much to his surprise, that he kind of liked showing off for her. It made him feel, in real life, a little like he felt when he was living in his own mind.
He moved past office after office. All of them displayed the names of the people who worked there, and he kept looking for Stan Kirby’s name. But he wasn’t finding it. He didn’t recognize any of the other names, mostly because they were the names of editors, and who paid attention to those? His annoyance slowly began to transform into frustration and finally concern when he realized that he and Kelsey had circled the entire office and still hadn’t found Kirby.
“Maybe his office is on another floor,” suggested Kelsey.
“Maybe. But how’re we going to get to the next—?”
“Who are you looking for?”
Both Kelsey and Josh jumped and let out startled yelps. That guy from the mailroom was standing a few feet away, looking at them quizzically like an oversize dog.
“We’re…uh…” Josh was thrown for a moment, and then he drew himself up and cleared his throat. “We’re looking for Stan Kirby.”
“He’s not here.”
“Do you know when he’ll be back?” said Kelsey.
The young man was continuing to look at them. “I’m Paul,” he said abruptly, and held out a hand.
Josh shook it firmly. “Josh. This is Kelsey.” She followed suit.
Paul released Kelsey’s hand, and there seemed to be gears turning in his head. “You guys aren’t with a tour, are you?” he said finally.
The two youngsters exchanged looks. Kelsey shrugged, unsure of what to say or do. “No,” Josh admitted. “We just need to find Stan Kirby.”
“How come?”
“Well,” Josh began, “it’s…kind of a personal matter that—”
“He’s Mascot,” Kelsey said.
Josh looked poison in her direction.
Paul appeared confused. “He is?”
“He thinks he is. Or at least he thinks that everything that happens to Mascot is going to happen to him, too. And since Mascot’s getting killed in the next issue, Josh is worried he’s going to die, too.”
“Whoa.” Paul took all of this in and then said, “Wow. That stinks. So you want to try and stop it, huh?”
“Yeah. We do,” said Josh. “Can you help us?”
“Sure. I’ll help you.”
“Great!” Josh said, his spirits buoyed. “So if you could just tell us which floor Stan Kirby is on…”
“He’s not on a floor. Not here. He lives out in Northchester.”
Josh sagged against the wall, like a balloon running out of air. But he recovered quickly. “Do you have a phone number for him?”
Paul shook his head. “He doesn’t have a phone.”
“Well…what’s his address?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Why?” Josh was trying to keep desperation out of his voice. “You know it’s a matter of life and death.”
“Yeah, but I’m not allowed.”
“Just this once…”
“No,” Paul said, and although his voice never wavered from its soft, gentle manner, there was also a no-nonsense tone to it. “I’m not allowed to give out addresses. Not of anybody. I promised I never would. I don’t break promises.”
“Well, you said you’d help Josh,” Kelsey pointed out. “That’s a promise, too. Are you going to break that promise?”
That brought Paul to a halt. His brow furrowed as he tried to determine the best way to proceed, and then his face cleared. “I’ll take you,” he said.
Paul pushed the mail cart into the mailroom, then picked up Stan Kirby’s bundle of comics and cleared out his inbox crammed with fan mail. He carefully placed it all in a canvas bag. Joe, seated at his desk doing paperwork, watched him with confusion. “What are you doing, Paul?” he asked.
“I’m going to bring Mr. Kirby his fan mail and comics.”
“You usually don’t do that until the end of the month.”
Paul shrugged. “It was kind of piling up, and it’s a nice day, so I figured…unless you think I shouldn’t….”
“No, no,” Joe said, shooing Paul away. “Go ahead. It’s no big deal.”
“Thanks, Joe.”
Joe went back to his paperwork and didn’t even glance up as Paul slung the bag over his shoulder and headed out the back door of the mailroom.
CHAPTER 6
MEANS WHILE, BACK HOME…
Zack Markus, Kelsey’s father, worked only three days a week, so he happened to be at home when the phone rang. He answered it with his customary, curt “Yeah?”
“Mr. Markus? This is Mrs. Farber at the school. I’m calling regarding Kelsey’s absence today. It’s just a customary follow-up to make sure that—”
“Wait, wait.” Zack had been standing, but his right hip was starting to hurt him. He glanced in annoyance at the cane that stood upright in the corner. It was almost as if it were laughing at him. He hated using it, just hated it. He settled down in the chair next to the phone and said, “What do you mean, ‘absence’? She’s on a class trip today.”
“A class trip?” The woman on the phone sounded puzzled. He could hear her shuffling some papers a
nd then said, “Um…no. No, there’s nothing about that. She’s not on any class trip. Are you saying she’s not there?”
“No, she’s not here.”
“Mr. Markus,” said Mrs. Farber, her voice becoming stern, “if she’s cutting school, that’s a very serious infraction.”
“You’re telling me that my daughter has gone missing,” replied Zack sharply. “She gave me a permission slip to sign. I signed off on it. Now you’re saying that…what? She faked it? Lady, I don’t know who you are, but if what you’re telling me is true, then I’ve got more serious things on my mind than school infractions. Who else is absent today?”
“Mr. Markus, that’s privileged information, and I can’t—”
“The Miller boy. What’s his name…Josh. Is he out?”
There was dead silence on the other end of the line for a moment, and then she said slowly, “As a matter of fact…”
“I knew it,” snapped Zack. “I knew that kid was nothing but trouble. I’ll handle this.”
He hung up even as he heard her starting to say something more. Getting up from the chair, he turned quickly, and suddenly his right hip started to give out on him. He caught himself on the edge of the chair and groaned in frustration. Then he limped over to where the cane was propped against the wall, grabbed it, and used it to propel himself up the stairs to Kelsey’s room.
Her computer was on. Typical. She always left it on. He went straight to her Word file and called up what she’d recently been working on.
He found the file for the fake permission slip that she had generated. He shook his head, quiet fury building, and then he did some more checking around. It took him no time to find her private journal.
He didn’t have to read far.
Doris Miller staggered into the kitchen with an armload of groceries and saw that the message light was blinking on her phone. She muscled the bags onto the table, walked over, and pressed the play button.
“Mrs. Miller,” came a familiar voice that prompted Doris to flinch upon hearing it. “This is Mrs. Farber from the school, and I believe we have a very serious problem with—”