And I’d seen the full truth at her house weeks ago. He was still up to his old tricks, still laying his hands on her. He was clearly drinking again. And now she was pregnant. The task of trying to convince her to leave Bruce had just quadrupled in difficulty. She wouldn’t want to leave the father of her child. She’d stick by his side forever, and he’d take all the stress and frustration of fatherhood out on Bethany.
And maybe even out on the kid.
The anger I’d felt the night I’d left their house boiled up again, only stronger. I tasted metal in my mouth and realized I was biting my tongue. I swallowed the blood and pasted a smile onto my face.
I’d let her have this moment. She deserved that much. Besides, he wouldn’t dare lay a hand on her during her pregnancy. That bought me a little time to come up with a plan to get her out.
“That’s great,” I lied. God, I was getting so tired of lying, especially to her. But this one… this one was a necessity.
“I know!” She grabbed my hands and jumped up and down. Her long blonde hair bounced around her shoulders. “I’m so excited! We’ve been trying for so long. I can’t believe this is finally happening!”
Seeing her this happy was enough to make me genuinely smile. Bethany was born to be a mother. No matter what happened with Bruce, it was going to be amazing to witness her greatest dream come true.
The elevator doors opened, and we walked out into the lobby together. I caught the eye of the receptionist who’d helped me and gave her another thumbs up, and she clapped. If Reed actually called me and we went out on a date, I owed that girl flowers.
I gathered the courage to ask Bethany the important questions as we passed through the hospital’s main doors and headed for the train.
“When are you due?”
“October seventeenth.”
“Does Bruce know?”
“Not yet.” The light radiating off her faltered for a moment, and she stared at the ground. “I uh… I wanted to wait until after I had my first appointment and had a due date and everything. And I want the announcement to be special. So… can I ask a favor?”
“Sure, anything.”
We stopped to wait for a light to change so we could cross Trident Avenue, and she turned to face me.
“Will you come to dinner at our house tomorrow? That way… you can be there when I tell him.”
I stared at her. She chewed her bottom lip and kept clasping and unclasping her gloved hands. She wasn’t saying it—because she would never say it—but she was nervous. She hadn’t forgotten the early years of her marriage any more than I had, and this was the closest she’d ever get to admitting that sometimes… her husband still scared her.
“I’d love to,” I said. “Now come on. I can’t think of anything more worthy of celebrating than this. Bruce doesn’t get off work for a little while, right? Let me take you out to lunch.”
Bethany grinned and looped her arm through mine. “Thanks, that sounds really nice. You sure you don’t mind paying, though? After all, I’m eating for two.”
I laughed. “I have the feeling that’s going to be your favorite joke for the next nine months.”
“Eight, actually. October will be here before you know it.”
“Wait a minute.” I counted back the days to the last time I’d seen her, at Tavern. “Weren’t you drinking a cocktail the other day?”
A triumphant grin spread across her face. “I beat you to the bar on purpose so I could order a virgin cosmo.”
“You tricky woman. Well, come on, then. We have to start thinking about a baby shower.”
We changed course, and I steered us to an Italian deli down the street. Bethany leaned her head on my shoulder as we walked, and I tilted my own toward hers.
“You’re going to be an awesome aunt, Tess,” she said.
You’re damn right I am, I thought. I’m going to make sure Bruce never has a chance to hurt you or your baby.
Founders Square, the sunken plaza between City Hall and police headquarters, was packed. Thousands of voices echoed off the stone walls and pillars of our city’s oldest and grandest buildings, creating the illusion that there were ten times as many people in attendance than there really were. And easily five thousand people had actually shown up.
As I stood on the stairs and looked over the sea of bodies, a strange feeling came over me. My entire life, I’d never done anything that mattered. I’d never been a part of something amazing. But here I was, about to join in an event that would go down in history: the first-ever rally in support of a real-life superhero. And nobody in this entire crowd but me knew the real score. The Fox wasn’t just some vigilante. He had superpowers, and so did I. My chest swelled up like a balloon.
I was going to be a part of something great today.
It would probably be remembered as the strangest looking rally ever, as well. It looked more like Comic Con than anything else. I saw people dressed as superheroes from every comic book I’d ever read. Masks and capes abounded, but the most common costume was a simple set of furry, white-tipped fox ears.
“Oh, my God,” I told Angie. “Where did everybody get those ears? I need some!”
She scanned the square, then pointed to a spot on the opposite side. Between two food trucks, a tall banner displayed a blown-up picture of the ears. It was too far away for me to read any of the words above them, but it looked like our best bet.
Angie grabbed my hand and dragged me through the crowd. It hadn’t seemed possible—there were no gaps in the crush of bodies—but Angie called out, “Pardon me. Excuse me. Coming through!” in an authoritative voice and people made way. A few minutes later, we were close enough to read the sign.
“Forty dollars!” shouted Angie. “Greedy Ferengi!”
“I don’t care. I’m getting those ears.”
I wasn’t alone in my mad desire to dress like The Fox for the day. The line was long, and I amused myself by watching the people around us. Many people had brought protest signs, and words in support of The Fox were all around me. go fox go, the fox is foxy, heroes are among us. I hugged my own sign tighter to my chest. I’d hurriedly made it after work, and couldn’t wait to unroll the poster board to show my solidarity.
“Did you notice the other group?” Angie asked as we waited.
“What other group?”
She pointed to a large cluster of people on the edge of the square. None of them were in costume, and their posters were entirely different in tone.
take off your mask you coward.
leave it to the police.
can’t fool us.
There were also several with a picture of a fox behind a red circle and a slash, and one that made me dig my nails into my flesh: animals belong behind bars.
“Wow,” I said. “I didn’t think anybody would be rallying against The Fox.”
“Yeah. Just goes to show everything is divisive these days. Oh well—they’re crazy outnumbered.”
She was right. The anti-Fox crowd took up less than a fourth of the plaza. The cheering, costumed supporters of the vigilante were the clear majority, whether you measured by numbers or by volume.
We finally reached the booth, and I saw that in addition to the fox ears, they were selling matching tails. I chewed my lip for a fraction of a second before forking over eighty bucks for the full set. I clipped the ears into my hair, and Angie helped fasten the puffy tail to the back of my jeans. She wolf-whistled as I tried walking.
“Holy crap, girl. You should see the way your butt looks with that thing sashaying behind you. I think you should start wearing a tail all the time.”
I laughed. “I don’t think I could get away with it at work, Ang. But thank you.”
“Come on.” She took my hand again and pulled me back into the crowd. “Let’s see how close we can get.”
With Angie using her Moses powers to part the protesters, we were somehow able to get within a few dozen feet of the podium in front of City Hall. When we could push forward no
farther, I unrolled my cream-colored poster board and held my sign above my head. I’d recreated my sketch of The Fox’s face in four square feet of full-color glory. Above him, block letters read the fox rocks.
Around us, a lot of people were wearing bright orange T-shirts with the words “Fox Coalition” printed on them in black ink. In the days since the original security camera footage had started to go viral, a vigilante fan club had sprung up. Banners and signs everywhere encouraged the rally attendees to sign up for Fox Flash, an electronic alert system created by the Fox Coalition that let subscribers know when news or videos of The Fox surfaced. I wasted no time texting the number to sign up. No way was I going to be the last to hear about his adventures.
A tall man with thick, dark curls took the stage, wearing a pair of ears and a tail that matched mine. His thick, muscled arms stretched out from broad shoulders, and his large hands threatened to snap off the top of the podium. Something about him was familiar, and I squinted at his face, trying to dredge up a memory that was at least fifteen years old.
“Holy crap!” The words were louder than I’d intended, but nobody around me seemed to take any notice. They were too busy clapping and screaming support for the guy behind the microphone, the man who’d once been a hyper little Greek boy who’d chased me around my backyard when I was a child. My mouth hung open as I stared at the boy who’d been my first kiss, and who’d grown up to look… well, about as far from a tiny, wiry kid as I could imagine.
“Hello, Weyland!” His voice boomed out over the crowd, and he was greeted by another swell of cheers. “My name is Anatolya Katsaros, and I’m the founder of the Fox Coalition.”
The orange-shirted throng around me screamed and stomped their feet in support of their leader. Their energy was contagious, and I throatily shouted along with them. After all, Anatolya had been my friend, and now here he was, leading the largest rally Weyland had probably ever seen.
“Look at all of you out here today! Thousands upon thousands of us stand with The Fox. They can’t ignore us now!” He pointed behind the stage, toward police headquarters. “They say The Fox is a criminal. They say he’s a danger, a threat, a menace to society. But we know better! He dares to do what the police can’t, or maybe what they don’t want to do. How quickly did they point the finger at The Fox and suggest he might be in bed with the criminals who terrorize our city? Too quickly, if you ask me!”
The crowd roared in agreement. Angie and I exchanged glances. I knew in my heart The Fox wasn’t a criminal, but I thought suggesting the cops were on the wrong side of the law was a bit… much.
“No matter what obstacles the police or City Hall throw at The Fox, we know his true colors. We know he fights for the weakest among us, that he is truly a hero. And with us behind him, they can’t stop him. Keep fighting, Fox! We stand with you!”
His passion was contagious, and maybe my obsession with The Fox made me extra susceptible. But I wasn’t alone; as I screamed my support, I heard a thousand voices screaming with me. I felt like part of a one giant organism, one huge mass that wanted to make sure The Fox got to keep going. My emotions felt amplified. They felt powerful. They felt right.
I finally understood the draw of being part of an angry mob.
“That was amazing!” Angie’s face was flushed, and she danced a jig down the sidewalk after we left the rally. “I feel so alive! Let’s go kick some criminal ass, man!”
“Yeah, it was pretty mind-blowing to see so many people there,” I said. “It was almost perfect.”
Angie stopped dancing and started walking backward so she could face me. Her smile was a little too knowing, and I looked away from her, focusing instead on the traffic beside us.
“Almost perfect? I bet I know what was missing. It was that hottie Reed, right?” Angie heard some rhythm I couldn’t, and began moonwalking down the pavement. “You were hoping for a passionate smooch in the middle of Founder’s Square. Face it, Tess. You’re a total romantic.”
Damn. How did she know? The cold air around us pricked my cheeks, but they felt warm nevertheless.
“I’ll tell you what would’ve made it perfect for me,” she went on. “Can you imagine if The Fox had shown up, stood behind the podium, and ripped his mask off? Holy shit! I would’ve died on the spot!”
“What if he did show up? Except, you know, not in his usual costume.” I wagged my butt back and forth, making my tail swing. “Maybe he bought one of these sets and just sort of blended in.”
“Or maybe he has an ironic streak,” she countered. “He could have been holding one of those ‘the fox sucks’ signs.”
Laughing at the idea of the anti-vigilante crowd’s numbers being boosted by the masked man himself, we stopped off at a bar for a nightcap. We got a couple of bottles of beer, sat on tall stools, and faced out the window, watching our fellow Fox supporters parade down the sidewalk toward the Fishbone. Some of them shared our idea of warming up with a drink, and before long the bar felt like a massive after-party.
“How’s your mom doing?” I asked.
Angie shrugged. “Good, as usual. She’s got the busiest restaurant in the whole Trident, and she loves it.”
“I need to send her a card or a gift basket or something.”
“For what?”
I lowered my chin, looking up at Angie with raised eyebrows. “Are you serious? She barely even knows me, but she’s never hesitated to help me out, like having you take me to the hospital that day.”
Angie dismissed my words with a wave of her beer. “That’s just what she does. She’s a natural-born mother hen. Trust me, as her only daughter I can speak with some authority on this subject. She’s literally only happy when she’s taking care of somebody.”
“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t thank her for it.”
She shrugged. “So thank her. Get her a pedicure. The woman never sits down.”
“Perfect.” I clinked my bottle against hers. “To your mom.”
“Hey, we’re on the news!” someone shouted. “Turn it up!”
The crowd around us quieted, and we spun around on our stools to face the televisions that flanked the back wall. The bartender cranked the volume, and the voice of Jim Jenkins soon filled the room.
“…unprecedented numbers of protesters,” he was saying. “People from all over Weyland and the surrounding area came out in support of The Fox.”
Footage of the rally was playing, and the camera swept slowly across a sea of fox-eared and caped people crammed into the square. The bar erupted into hoots and cheers, followed quickly by shushing before everyone quieted down again.
“That’s me!” a woman shrieked. “Look, in the red costume!”
“Shut up!” a man yelled back at her.
The feed cut back to Jim Jenkins in the news studio. Beside him, a graphic featured a familiar drawing of The Fox.
“Holy moley. That’s my protest sign,” I said.
Angie squeezed my shoulder. “I told you it was the best one there!”
“…no effect on the manhunt for The Fox, however. Police Chief Steele released a statement to the press, asserting public opinion has, quote, ‘No bearing on the legality of the vigilante’s actions.’”
“Pfft,” spat Angie. “Laws can be changed.”
“Protest organizers were hoping a strong showing of support might be enough to entice the vigilante to make an appearance at the event,” Jim Jenkins continued, “but The Fox appears to have been otherwise engaged. Police received an anonymous tip about a drug shipment arriving at Weyland Harbor this evening, but upon arriving at the docks, they discovered The Fox had beaten them there.”
A patrolman appeared on screen. The faded blue and red hull of a large cargo ship was visible behind him. “All the suspects had already been subdued by the time our unit arrived on scene,” the cop said. “According to witness statements, The Fox may have been involved. That’s all the information we’re prepared to release at this time.”
I whistled.
“I guess we know why The Fox didn’t show up at the rally.”
“The rally and the drug bust come amid rising national attention on vigilantism,” Jim Jenkins said. “Eight other individuals across the country appear to be following The Fox’s lead, taking to the streets and fighting crime on their own terms. While most of them wear masks to hide their identity, one Chicago woman is crusading in the open.”
A video that looked like it was shot with a front-facing camera on a smartphone began to play. A college-aged girl with angry red skin filmed herself, speaking directly into the camera like she was declaring a manifesto.
“My name is Maggie Long. The stars have given me a gift, and I’m not going to squander it. I may walk through fire, but none can harm me.”
“She looks so familiar,” Angie said, furrowing her brow. “Where have I seen her before?”
Jim Jenkins seemed to read her mind. “You may recognize Ms. Long from the media coverage last month surrounding the leaked identities of several Solstice Syndrome survivors in Chicago. Ms. Long and three other patients are in the process of suing the hospital for breaching their right to privacy, but her legal battles are nothing compared to what’s keeping her occupied in the streets at night.”
Another video played, showing a tall apartment building on fire. A figure strode forward out of the nearly-collapsing structure, carrying a small child, seemingly untouched by the flames. My jaw fell into its now-comfortable position at my bellybutton.
“She’s fireproof,” I whispered.
Angie grinned and raised her beer. “What a time to be alive.”
The train to the south side was nearly empty on Sunday morning. A large green tote bag sat on the seat beside me, holding potatoes and gravy packets. I was in charge of sides but didn’t own so much as a single mixing bowl, so I was forced to do my cooking at Bethany’s.
I scowled at my reflection in the train’s glass window. The idea of a nice dinner with Bethany, who knew how to make all my mother’s best dishes, had the potential to be amazing. Unfortunately, Bruce would be there.
Solstice Survivors (Book 1): Superhero Syndrome Page 11