by C. C. Ekeke
“I remember,” Quinn said. Every new Vanguard member got a press conference and tour over a few major US cities. “I figure life in a nunnery didn’t allow much travel.”
Seraph’s laughter was like melodious bells ringing. “Not much. When the tour ended, Titan, Wyldcat, Kurt and I wanted to visit New England. But Titan had to go stop a tsunami threatening Madagascar. So it was just three of us. I have to return someday.”
Quinn glanced at Colin behind his camera. His thumbs up meant they were already recording. She smiled and continued.
Quinn and Seraph then discussed several topics. Like their shared love of New England summers and obsession with the show The Visitor about a superhero lost in time.
“I’m not caught up, so no spoilers!” Seraph cried. “Trying to make it last as long as possible.” She was kind and humble yet self-possessed, her gaze rarely wavering from Quinn. Seraph spoke generously of her teammates, referring to them by codename, but she called her fiancée “Kurt”. Religion was discussed, but Quinn didn’t dwell. Seraph was wittier than expected and sometimes wiser than her twenty-three years. Then she'd seem so childlike and animated. The interview became a discussion between friends, with Quinn ad-libbing questions instead of using her list.
The jovial mood dimmed when Titan came up. “Not saving enough lives weighed on his soul, despite the millions he’s protected,” Seraph said with a sad smile.
“Was Titan religious?” Quinn asked.
The superhero shook her head. “Titan couldn’t bring himself to believe in a God that allowed such tragedies. I’d say he was a spiritual man.”
Quinn pulled one hard question from her list. “Do you feel Titan was wrong to believe Lord Borealis had reformed?”
“No.”
Quinn wasn’t surprised. “Even though it cost him his life?”
“Titan believed in humanity’s ability to change.” Seraph sighed. “Sometimes that faith was misplaced, but he wouldn’t have been Titan without his faith in the world. As for Lord Borealis…” Seraph looked directly at Colin’s camera, her face luminous with righteous anger. “God is love. He is also wrath. And you will face His judgment for your sins.”
Quinn gulped. That took a turn. She steered the discussion to Seraph’s relationship with Sentinel, reciting a summary of their courtship and Seraph’s chastity vow. Quinn dug into their two failed weddings. One got delayed by a world-threatening catastrophe, another interrupted by an attack from the Ministry of Synn.
Seraph laughed it off in good humor. “The Lord had other intentions for us. When the time is right, we’ll exchange vows with God’s full blessing.”
“How’s Sentinel been since Titan’s passing?”
“Kurt is Vanguard’s rock,” Seraph said. “The most decent, dedicated man I know. Kurt carries more responsibility than he should. And would give his life for those in need.” Seraph’s eyes fell. Sorrow gripped her. “A superhero's life can be…consuming. But the world is safer, thanks to his dedication.”
Seeing an opening, Quinn pounced. “Is making time for each other hard, given your demanding vocations?”
Seraph met Quinn’s gaze. “More than you know.” Heartache roughened her voice.
Quinn fought down surprised delight. “Care to elaborate?”
Instead of deflecting, Seraph leaned in. “Kurt’s attention is like sunlight on cloudless days. That was how I could best describe things when we first began dating.” She shook her head. “When you’re not the object of his attention, it’s…lonely. He casts a long shadow.”
Quinn’s eyes widened. She’s actually telling me this? This was a huge departure from Seraph’s interviews where she spoke glowingly about Sentinel. Quinn, knowing a deeper dive was a no-fly zone, gave Seraph an out. “How do you and Kurt keep the sparks flying when off-duty?”
Seraph laughed bitterly. “It’s been ages since Kurt Weston was off-duty. Titan never stopped being Titan. Kurt’s the same.” She leaned back, no longer smiling or pleasant. “He’s Sentinel when he wakes up and when he goes to bed. It’s what he loves the most.”
In seconds, Helena and Jono appeared behind Shelley, gesturing for Quinn to wrap things up. Their expressions looked worrying.
Afterward, Quinn, Jono and Helena stood in a small conference room getting screamed at by Benjamin Crane in his ugly green suit. “You were supposed to present The Vanguard in a positive light!”
Quinn eyed Helena, who signaled her to reply. “I get you want to protect The Vanguard’s image. But the point of these interviews is to humanize them. As was agreed upon.”
Crane bristled. “Not if you're making Seraph look like a hair-brained idiot unhappy in her relationship.”
She IS unhappy, moron! Quinn caught herself from saying this.
Jono began to speak. “Have you watched Seraph’s other interviews?” Quinn interrupted, knowing he wouldn’t help. “They’re interchangeable! Her faith, her romance, how being a superhero conflicts with her faith,” she said. “Learning what she enjoys about America, her hobbies besides praying, and her relationship issues? Audiences relate to that. If you want a subpar interview, call Rebecca Reyes.”
Crane gasped. Quinn froze, not believing her own words. I’m so getting fired.
Crane glared at Helena, who fought down laughter. Jono sulked uselessly.
“Your team agreed to an intimate and exclusive look at Vanguard,” the Editor-in-Chief stated indifferently. “If that’s no longer the case, we’ll leave. Your choice.”
To no one’s shock, Crane folded like a menu. “I want final approval over your next questions.” He stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him.
“Mind how you talk to guys like that,” Jono said quietly.
Quinn was too hot-blooded to care. “Sorry, not sorry. That was a great interview—”
Helena raised a hand, silencing her. "Some stuff, we'll need to edit out. The rest felt natural and conversational.” She smiled, giving Quinn’s shoulder a squeeze. “Good job, QB.” Even Jono looked grudgingly satisfied.
Quinn smiled, reveling in her superiors' adulation. Before she could bask further, a blaring alarm startled the trio.
“What happened?” Quinn covered her ears from the noise.
Colin burst in, a tangle of long limbs and floppy hair. “Vanguard’s heading to North Dakota!” the videographer announced, breathless. “Underlanders are attacking a national park, I think!”
Helena nodded at Colin and Quinn. “You better go. Shelley can arrange the video drones to record aerial footage.”
Quinn remained rooted to the floor, unsure if they could join Vanguard on a live mission. Then she realized… They said full-access.
Quinn lurched toward the door as if shoved. “Let’s go, Colin!”
Chapter 18
Greyson had his sleeves rolled up and hands outstretched, levitating two boxes off the floor. “Here they come.” With a thought, he reversed the gravity of the boxes—pushing them away from himself.
Greyson felt a stitch of worry in his chest. That didn't stop him.
The two boxes hurtled at the petite Connie Ishibashi several yards away.
The grad student stood her ground with fists clenched, wearing a tank top and sweatpants.
She shattered the first box to splinters with one punch.
Grey hurled another.
Connie folded her arms, unmoving. The box struck her, exploding apart.
Greyson shielded his eyes from the shrapnel. At the first session a few weeks back, Greyson had thought the graduate student possessed super-strength.
In truth, Connie could increase her body density to become rock-hard and immovable.
She stood unharmed and unimpressed. “I’m bored over here, Hirsch!” She spread both arms in challenge. “More!” Connie’s shyness had shed to reveal a competitive firecracker.
Greyson chuckled. “Gotta save some boxes for Kathy.” He gestured at Kathleen Lang. The older social worker leaned on a wall, waiting patiently bes
ide fifteen more wooden boxes.
Connie shook her head, refusing to share. “Grandma can wait.”
Kathleen waved off the jab with a gloved hand. “I’m fine, Greyson,” she allowed. “Let the toddler have her playtime.”
Connie gave Kathleen a swift middle finger without looking away from Greyson. He snorted and hurtled three more boxes in rapid succession.
These ladies had surprised Greyson most, especially Kathleen. Before, the stern-faced older woman intimidated the hell out of him. But Kathleen was one of the sweetest, most graceful women he’d ever met. A mother of two and grandmother of three, Kathleen was born and raised in St. Louis. Kathy had manifested last year, her arms morphing into blades or bludgeoning objects. That level of control came from working with Dr. St. Pierre. Before, keeping her hands solid had taken Kathy's total concentration. Hence why she wore gloves everywhere.
Kathy and Connie had a playful rivalry, the elder an easygoing counter to the latter's youthful cockiness.
Across the room, several black clouds exploding across the warehouse marked Tom teleporting. He’d finally mastered keeping his clothes on. Now, Dr. St. Pierre had him teleporting inside the warehouse with a full camping backpack. It had taken a few tries to teleport with the backpack attached to his back. Like everything else, Tom attacked the task with unshakeable gusto.
Israel, or Big Izzy as he preferred, needed more help with his abilities. He worked alongside Dr. St. Pierre tonight like the last two sessions. The two black men faced a row of five squares, each with a different texture. Birchwood bark, rusted iron, orange plastic, a block of ice, apple juice. Big Izzy’s powers allowed him to take properties of organic or nonorganic matter by touch. That blew Greyson’s mind. Izzy could revert to human form from whatever properties he’d mimicked with no issue.
Now Izzy worked on switching to different properties without reverting to human form. By the constant swearing, he wasn’t having much luck. St. Pierre was at his side, wearing a button-down with a vest and no tie, calm and measured as his patient vented. The therapist never mollycoddled anyone but offered encouragement when needed.
Greyson turned back to Connie. “It’s Kathy’s turn, Connie.” He waved her aside.
She scowled but did as requested.
Greyson thoroughly enjoyed these group sessions. Now he could manipulate the gravity of heavier objects for longer. And Greyson discovered how to alter his own gravity field.
“Holy shit!” Lauren had exclaimed when Greyson revealed this new trick last week. “You're flying?”
“Yup.” He had gloated while floating a few feet off the ground.
Dr. St. Pierre had been correct, as usual, about the benefits of this group sessions. Greyson looked forward to therapy more than the community center.
One drawback to attending Dr. St. Pierre’s solo and group therapy had been the traffic surge, thanks to Excessive Menace's crimewave. They made the local news daily while national news remained Titan obsessed. Hurricane had fought most of them before, and they didn't bother hiding their faces. So, Greyson Googled these C-list rogues with ease.
The leader, ShocKing, aka Jordan Anthony, had electric powers and a shitty codename. Lean and handsome with a short afro, ShocKing had been a Hurricane rival for years. His partner in crime was The Illusionist, aka Wayne Peters, pudgy, pale and red-bearded. Peters could create hardlight illusions of anything he imagined. This usually included Voltron or Transformer-sized robots. Mr. Silk, aka Troy Scott, was a young man with heightened speed, agility, the ability to stick to any surface and shoot venomous webbing from his wrists. Silk, a sadistic little fucker, loved torturing and beating victims to death. Excessive Menace’s final member was its only female. Brickhouse, aka Marlowe Francis, six-feet, one-hundred-eighty pounds of sheer power. Greyson wasn’t sure whether to be scared or aroused by her. Vicious and superstrong, Brickhouse was Excessive Menace’s enforcer, sending cars flying with one punt. The quartet regularly posted YouTube videos bragging about their crimes like degenerate teenagers. Their rallying cry was simple:
“Who are we?” ShocKing asked at the end of each video.
“Excessive Menace!” Mr. Silk and The Illusionist shouted.
“What do we do?”
“Beat up and break your heroes!” Brickhouse sneered. Unsurprisingly, the Twitter hashtag they’d started, #BeatUpandBreakYourHeroes, had caught on.
Excessive Menace’ path of destruction these last few weeks had been disturbing. So far Hurricane had only checked their violence but not stopped them. Neither could St. Louis PD.
Greyson frowned, wondering how far Excessive Menace would take their anarchy. He idly shoved boxes in Kathleen’s direction as she sliced through them with blade arms.
The Hurricane was overwhelmed. But who would help before Excessive Menace’ body count rose too high?
“Alright!” Dr. St. Pierre’s bellow jolted Greyson from his musings. The therapist stood in the center of the warehouse gesturing everyone forward.
Greyson was approaching when Kathleen caught his arm. “Everything okay, young man?” she asked with concern. “You zoned out on me the last few minutes.”
Greyson smiled. “Nothing. Just saw some craziness on the news.”
“Everyone’s making great progress,” St. Pierre commended once everyone had gathered. “I’m proud of how hard you’re pushing yourselves.”
“Wish it showed more,” Big Izzy complained, hands on his hips.
St. Pierre studied him thoughtfully. “You’ll get there, Israel. Keep doing the work and being consistent.”
He turned to everyone else. “I do have a bone to pick with one of you.” He turned to Greyson, much to the latter’s surprise.
“What did I do?"
“Greyson,” the therapist folded his arms imperiously. “You’ve come so far with your gravity powers. But you're putting zero effort into your other abilities.” That indictment drew everyone's undivided attention.
Greyson reddened and played dumb. “What do you mean?”
Dr. St. Pierre scoffed. “Your glowing ability.”
That drew shocked gasps from Kathleen and Connie.
Goddammit. Dr. St. Pierre was all about holding patients’ feet to the fire whenever they slacked off.
“Hold up.” Big Izzy raised a hand as if stopping traffic. “You can glow in the dark?”
Greyson sighed, knowing he couldn’t escape this. “I’ve tried. Many times. It hasn’t worked. And I haven’t had an outburst in weeks—”
“Bullshit.” Dr. St. Pierre got in Greyson’s face. “You’re hiding. No wonder you can’t control that part of yourself. Why?”
Greyson tensed in budding anger. “I’m not hiding—”
“Prove it,” Dr. St. Pierre challenged, stepping backwards with arms spread. “Glow.”
Greyson bucked his teeth, hands clenching. He focused internally like he’d been doing for weeks on this power within.
“C’mon, Hirsch.” Connie clapped feverishly. Her bright smile underscored how pretty she was. “You can do it.”
“You got this, my man,” Big Izzy chimed in.
Tom could have been a professional cheerleader with his enthusiasm for others’ progress. “Get there, Greyson. GET THERE!” He fist-pumped like crazy.
The cheerleading made no difference. Greyson felt the raw force of his gravity powers swirling inside. He could tap into that with ease. But a glance at his body revealed not even a twinkle. He threw his head back and stopped. “I told you, I can’t,” he explained. “I can only hold the energy in when I feel it coming.”
“When do you feel it?” Dr. St. Pierre asked.
Greyson glanced at the others warily. He’d never spoken about his family issues in group therapy. “I’d rather not…go there,” he stammered.
Dr. St. Pierre looked unmoved. “Because you’re hiding. When do you start glowing?”
Greyson squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn’t getting out of this. “When…When I have a confrontation wit
h my dad.”
The therapist’s face softened. After motioning the other patients to stand back, he advanced until he and Greyson stood nearly nose to nose. “Remember the last time you two spoke,” he whispered. “How small and worthless your father made you feel. How you longed for things to change.” Each statement carried a poisoned edge.
Greyson remembered. Dad’s face the day he started hating him. Constant insults about how disappointing he was. Greyson’s endless attempts to win Dad’s affection. Jealousy at seeing Dad dote on Sara, but never him. Greyson remembered every insult, every time his heart broke. Countless memories crawled from dark crevices in his mind. The pain swelled so much, it crushed against his chest. Soon, Greyson was shimmering.
The other patients marveled. “Dude !!” Connie exclaimed.
Panicked at their reactions, Greyson started dimming. He couldn’t erupt and hurt them…
“NO!” Dr. St. Pierre shook his head. “Don’t hide. Stay. Present.”
Greyson hesitated. Pull back. Run away, instinct demanded. Instead, he focused on St. Pierre’s voice and unclenched. Bright yellow radiance bathed his therapist and fellow patients. Greyson stood in the eye of these excruciating memories. He had to release soon…or else.
Dr. St. Pierre backpedaled. “Let the rage build. Every time he disregarded you. Every time he made you feel powerless.” He raised his hands. “Can you welcome those memories and emotions?”
Greyson dove into recollections of Dad’s hatred and neglect, into long-buried guilt held since childhood. It had been his fault Dad got sick. Everything is my fault. Tears leaked down his cheeks. Heat boiled in his gut. He felt his feet grow light, rising off the ground. Looking around showed debris from tonight’s workouts starting to float. No! Ignoring his fears, he didn’t withdraw, and he burned brighter.
“God!” he cried. “I feel…on fire.”
“You can hold back your gravity powers,” Dr. St. Pierre stated as the radiance brightened, standing tall and firm. “Don’t mind that. Focus on the pressure in your chest and the glow.”
Greyson was scared. The pressure inside demanded release. And if he surrendered… “I…don’t want to hurt…anyone,” he wept.