Unidentified Phenomenon

by Damien Benoit-Ledoux

  I’m going to make your life miserable, buddy, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.

  A moment later, the broken plastic cup flew from Darien’s fingers and smacked him in the face before falling to the ground again.

  “What the hell?” he cried out. His confused friends looked at him and shrugged.

  “Just throw it out already,” Mrs. White instructed as she walked past them, shaking her head in disappointment.

  Darien bent over to pick the cup up but it flew up and smacked him in the face a second time.

  “Dammit!” he shouted.

  “Language!” Mrs. White retorted.

  Blake chuckled and turned back to Quinn. Loren and Ravone were talking with him and not paying attention to the drama. Blake felt good about what he had done. After all, it was Victor who had confirmed his desires to hurt those who made others suffer.

  4 | Unexpected Reveal

  Quinn

  A FEW DAYS LATER, QUINN walked down State Street toward Prescott Park, a hot chocolate beverage he had picked up from Breaking New Grounds in each hand. Although the fall weather had cooled from the summer months, his palms were sweaty and he felt nervous, nauseous, and very excited at the same time for his late-afternoon date with Keegan. On top of his nerves, the long line at the coffee shop stressed him out and made him late. He hoped Keegan would wait around for him because with a drink in each hand, he couldn’t text him an ETA.

  It was four-thirty and the end-of-day commuter traffic had begun. Cars and pedestrians clogged the narrow Portsmouth streets and sidewalks. At the moment, the only thing moving on State Street was pedestrian traffic—the road had become a parking lot. Quinn surmised the drawbridge on the Memorial Bridge had gone up so a large fishing boat or cargo ship could pass under it. He crossed Atkinson Street and a moment later, he caught sight of the commotion that had stopped traffic. The drawbridge was down, but ambulance and rescue vehicles with flashing lights had blocked traffic on the land side of the Portsmouth drawbridge tower.

  On the sidewalks and in their stopped cars, people gawked at the tower while pointing at its peak and excitedly talking about something Quinn couldn’t make out. He decided to ask a bystander for details. “What’s going on?”

  A mother with two small children in a twins stroller pointed at the bridge. “A workman fell off the tower and they seem to be having a hard time getting him back up to safety.”

  “Oh wow, thanks,” Quinn responded, his eyes finding and focusing on the man in peril. Two tangled straps held him upside down in the air several feet from the topmost edge. He was trying to upright himself and climb back up to safety. Two other workmen struggled to reach him and pull him up. The two safety straps suspending the man seemed to hold him in place, but one had more slack than the other.

  Quinn’s heart sank, but his adrenaline surged. You can save him, you can catch him. But it’s daylight and there are tons of people here…what do I do? This moment will make me the world’s first superhero, whether I want to be or not…am I ready for this?

  With his super hearing focused on the top of the tower, Quinn heard a snap. People screamed as the man’s taut safety strap failed. The slacked safety strap became taut and held the man, but only after dropping him fifteen-to-twenty feet. Quinn heard the man’s head strike one of the angled bracings as he fell. Now, unconscious and seriously injured, the workman swung freely in the wind, his limp body hanging in front of the massive counterweight.

  “How did that happen?” a man shouted. “That strap won’t hold him for long.”

  “He’s not going to make it,” an older woman said, horror filling her voice.

  What the hell do I do? I can't walk away and let this guy fall to his death. I have to help him, this is way different from the red car I accidentally stopped on Daniel Street to save the toddler…

  “We’re going, kids,” the mother of two said to her children in the stroller. “We don’t need to see what happens next.” She pushed her children across the street between the stopped cars and then walked away from the commotion.

  Quinn looked around. With everyone distracted, I could fly up from right here…wait, there’s a better way. I know what I should do.

  He set the two hot chocolates down on a window sill of a shopfront and jogged back to Atkinson Street, darting through the obstacle course of bystanders. He pulled the hood of his hoodie over his head and rounded the corner. He looked around, glancing at windows for faces, but he saw no one. It’s now or never…

  Quinn’s powers ignited like never before as he pushed off the ground and flew down Atkinson Street and then banked left over Court Street. He flew between the buildings and then straight through the line of trees in front of him in Prescott Park. Then, Quinn heard people scream when the man’s safety strap failed and he plummeted toward the control booth.

  Faster!

  Quinn increased his speed and flew across the water, a wake spraying into the air behind him. At the last second, he soared up to the unconscious man and paused briefly to catch the man in his arms at the half-way point of his fall.

  Gotcha!

  He accelerated and banked right around the tower, soaring gracefully around it with the man in his arms.

  “What the hell?” the man said, regaining consciousness. His arms wrapped around Quinn when he realized he was flying through the air.

  “You’re safe now,” Quinn answered, deepening his voice in an attempt to disguise it. “I’m bringing you back down.”

  “Are you flying?” the petrified man asked, his voice shrill with awe and terror.

  “Yeah, pretty cool, huh?” Quinn asked, laughing. Around him, people cheered and applauded wildly as Quinn brought his feet down to land on the bridge deck in the center of the gathered emergency vehicles. He said nothing as he handed the man over to the paramedics.

  “Thank you, thank you so much,” the man said, giving him a big hug. “I have a wife and a newborn baby…thank you for saving me…whoever you are.”

  Quinn smiled and nodded at the man. He looked around, knowing his eyes and body were glowing blue and his face was obscured. A few stunned police officers had their hands on their weapons while others stared at him in disbelief.

  Quinn saluted and then looked up. A moment later he soared away, laughing as he looped over the bridge. He flew through the tower under the counterweight and then blasted away to the open ocean. There was no way he could return to Prescott Park with his glowing body and everyone looking for him in the sky.

  Crap…my date…

  ❖

  Blake

  Blake pedaled home after work, his thoughts returning to the unique adventure from several nights back as he entered the Atlantic Heights neighborhood.

  I should have gone after those guys…I should have made them pay for what they did. Who knows how many other women they’ve victimized?

  He took a deep breath and steered his bike down Raleigh Street and rolled into the driveway. After securing his bike, he walked toward the back door and sighed; his parents were at it again. Even without his super hearing, their voices carried through the walls into the cool evening air. He took a deep breath and opened the back door.

  Ralph rounded on him. “There he is! And where exactly have you been?”

  “I’ve been working, dad. I was at the coffee shop.”

  “The coffee shop closes at five-thirty. Don’t lie to me!”

  Blake checked the wall clock behind his father. “It’s six-thirty. It takes a half-hour to clean up and set up for tomorrow. Then it takes me fifteen minutes to bike home.”

  “Then you should have been home fifteen minutes ago,” Ralph yelled back.

  “I was talking to Marcie!” Blake exclaimed, exasperated.

  “Who’s Marcie?”

  “My boss. I was asking about working more hours on the weekend,” he lied, refusing to tell his father about his brief ride over to the Memorial Bridge to see what people had been talking about during the last hours o
f his shift. He suspected Quinn was involved, but he hadn’t confirmed it yet. He had felt depressed all day and wanted to be alone with his thoughts, not fighting with his dad yet again.

  “Oh, well, would you look at that, Stella,” Ralph said, dramatically pointing at his son. “He’s finally decided to accept some responsibility in his life. Wonders never cease! Speaking of responsibility…” Ralph walked over to the fridge and grabbed the folded Rangeley Medical bill. The plastic magnet that held it in place clattered to the floor. “You owe me some money. I want you to pay me two-hundred dollars each week from now until this fucking thing is paid off.”

  Blake’s mouth fell open with surprise. “Dad, I can only work twenty-three hours per week. At ten bucks an hour, I don’t even bring home two-hundred dollars after taxes. How am I supposed to buy anything I need since you won’t spend a dollar on me?” Blake shouted.

  “That’s not true, we buy you things.” Stella answered.

  “Like what? I bought all my new clothes for school this year. In case you hadn't noticed, I grew like three inches this summer.”

  “Don’t talk to your mother like that,” Ralph snapped.

  “Like what? You’re more rude to her than I ever could be.” Ralph fumed and glared at him, but Blake pressed on. “You’re only going to use the cash for booze or for when you want to get smashed at the lodges. You’re already known as a drunk to the popular downtown bars so it’s not like you could even…

  “You little shit,” Ralph spat, raising his hand to strike Blake.

  Blake narrowed his eyes and grinned wickedly. Bring it on, dad.

  Ralph’s left hand swung through the air and made contact with the right side of Blake’s face. Blake’s head turned slightly with the blow, but otherwise, he didn’t move. He continued to grin as his father howled with pain and fell to his knees, holding his left hand against his chest with his right.

  “What the fuck?” he yelled, anger and wonder on his face.

  Blake smirked, stepped closer, and bent over, his eyes inches from the pain-filled eyes of his father. “I will not pay you to get drunk. We’ll figure out some other way to pay it back.” Then, he walked down the hall and made his way upstairs.

  “If you don’t pay me, I’ll throw your ass out on the streets, do you hear me?” Ralph screamed. “Do you hear me?”

  Blake slammed the door to his room and slid his backpack off. It fell to the floor and he threw himself onto his bed and hugged one of his pillows, hands balled into fists.

  The only reason I don’t hurt you more is because mom’s right…you’re still my father, even if you’re the world’s biggest asshole.

  A moment later, he let the tears flow.

  ❖

  The microwave beeped when Blake’s frozen dinner finished heating, but he didn’t hear it. He was distracted by the evening news on the television in the living room. His parents had polished off a handle of cheap scotch and drank themselves into a sound sleep in the living room. He ran upstairs and grabbed his cell phone from his bed. He called Quinn, switched on his television, and shut the door to his bedroom.

  “Hey,” Quinn answered.

  “Put the local news on, right now. News Nine.”

  “Uh, okay.

  “Do it alone. Don’t watch it with your dads.”

  “Oh, right, that…hang on.”

  Blake waited quietly as the commercial ended and the news program returned. “It’s back on.”

  “Just getting to the channel now,” Quinn responded.

  Blake and Quinn—each from their respective homes, watched the news anchor report the sensational story.

  “Earlier today in Portsmouth, tragedy nearly befell Hector Rodriguez, a NHDOT worker who slipped off the Portsmouth tower of the new Memorial Bridge and nearly plummeted to his death. Although his safety harnesses initially held, they snapped, leaving him tangled and precariously suspended in midair as he tried to climb up to safety—until he was saved by what authorities are calling an unidentified phenomenon. More with this story is News Nine’s own Camilla Brenhurst.”

  The news program swapped to Camilla, who stood with her back to the Memorial Bridge, currently bathed in purple and pink uplighting, her straight, brown hair blowing in the gentle seacoast breeze. “Good evening. That’s right, Paula, this evening what could have been a tragic accident was narrowly averted by an unknown flying object police and emergency workers have labeled an unidentified phenomenon. Several eye witness accounts confirm unusual reports that a blue-glowing, human-shaped being flew up from the harbor waters and caught the man as he fell to his death, circled the drawbridge tower, and then returned the man safely to the ground where the emergency vehicles had gathered. Thunderous applause broke through the surprise and awe as the mysterious figure flew downriver to the ocean.”

  “Was that you?” Blake asked.

  “Mmhmm,” Quinn answered.

  “Holy shit!”

  “Shush!”

  “Camilla, have authorities been able to speculate as to what the unidentified phenomenon could be?” Paula asked.

  “Unfortunately not,” Camilla answered. “Police and local authorities remain baffled over the mysterious event. One young boy that we spoke with earlier, however, believes he has the answer that adults simply refuse to believe.”

  “Oh no, here it comes,” Quinn said, laughing. Blake could hear the amused horror in his voice.

  The news program cut to an earlier interview Camilla and a ten-to-twelve-year-old boy had recorded at dusk.

  “Hello young man, could you tell us your first name?

  “It’s Oliver.” The boy’s blue eyes sparkled in the camera light and his spiky brown hair was slightly brushed over to his left side.

  “Oliver, what do you think of what you just saw?” Camilla asked the boy. The background sounds of the evening traffic on State Street around them came through the recorded interview.

  “It was awesome!” the boy said, raising his hands above his head. “I mean, not that the guy almost died, but that the superhero saved him.”

  “The superhero?” she echoed, smiling.

  Oliver nodded vigorously. “Uh-huh. I saw the flying blue specter catch that man before he went splat on the ground.”

  “A blue specter?” Camilla asked, amused.

  The boy suddenly became aware of his surroundings and the tone of the reporter. He nodded less vigorously. “Blue Specter saved the man’s life. Now the man gets to go home to his family, which is a good thing.”

  Camilla nodded and smiled with the boy. “Yes, you’re right, it is absolutely a good thing.”

  The camera cut back to the live night shot of Camilla in front of the now green and red illuminated bridge. “Well, there you have it, Paula. To young people and their wild imaginations, the unidentified phenomenon known as the Blue Specter superhero saved the life of Hector Rodriguez and that's the most information anyone has tonight. Chief of Police Tina Applegate is expected to make a statement tomorrow morning. Reporting live from the scene of the…life-saving event in Portsmouth, I'm Camilla Brenhurst for News Nine.”

  Blake clicked off the television. “Are you kidding me, Blue Specter? That's freaking awesome!”

  Quinn laughed.

  “That was you, right? Please tell me that was you!” Blake exclaimed, knowing the answer.

  “Of course that was me. Who else would it have been?”

  “Oh my gosh! What happened to all the ‘I don’t want to be a superhero bullshit?”

  “Well, it’s not like I could let the man die when I could save him, right?”

  Blake detected a hint of regret in Quinn’s voice. “But?”

  “But, I missed my date with Keegan. There’s no way I could have flown back to Prescott Park with all those people looking at the sky; everyone would have seen me. I had to fly out and sneak back to the downtown area by landing near Little Harbour School.

  “Did you text him?”

  “Yeah, of course. I told him I wa
s stuck in traffic, given the events of Blue Specter and all. He didn’t respond, though.”

  Blake laughed. “I wonder if that name’s gonna stick.”

  “It’s kind of cool, actually. I like it.

  “All right, Blue Specter, I’m out. Wait, did you say Keegan didn’t respond?”

  “He did not. I think I screwed up my chances with Keegan by saving that man today. He probably thinks I blew him off.”

  Dammit. “Sorry, bro. I don’t know what to say.”

  Quinn sighed. “Story of my life. Don’t worry, I’ll live. Blue Specter out.”

  “G’Night.”

  Blake hung up and connected his phone to the charger cable on his nightstand. His stomach grumbled, and he remembered his frozen dinner was still in the microwave.

  Then, he frowned.

  I wonder what Victor will say when I see him tomorrow.

  5 | Frustrations

  Quinn

  QUINN RAN, HIS HEART POUNDING in his chest. It was five o’clock in the morning. After a restless night filled with excitement and anxiety over the world’s acceptance—or rejection—of his superhero side, he decided to take his stress to the pavement. He had already run through Newcastle and made his way across the Memorial Bridge into Maine, all the while feeling energized since normal exercise fatigue didn’t slow him down. When he ran back into Portsmouth, he stopped where he had returned Hector to the emergency workers, his eyes glued to the top of the new brick-faced condos squeezed between the bridge ramp and Prescott Park.

  I don’t believe it.

  Near the top of the building, a graffiti artist had tagged the top of the building with the caricature of a flying man glowing white and blue. Underneath, the stylized words Blue Spekter—spelled with a k— painted in dramatic blue, white, and black paints commemorated the moment the mysterious person saved Hector’s life.

  Quinn grabbed his phone from his running band and snapped a few photos of the art. He texted the image to Blake, knowing he’d see it when he woke up.

  “You like it?” a female voice asked. He looked across and saw a hooded figure on the other side of the street with a duffle bag slung over one shoulder. The gray hoodie had blue and white paint all over it.