Unidentified Phenomenon

by Damien Benoit-Ledoux

  “I don’t think the city would have been annihilated, Quinn,” Dad said, his voice sounding gravely.

  “You don’t think that wouldn’t have been a freaking disaster, Dad?” Quinn asked, exasperated and frustrated that he couldn’t share details about the plane’s malfunctioning flight control surfaces.

  “I didn’t say that, Quinn,” his father answered, uncrossing his legs.

  “Wow, you’re really passionate about this guy, huh?” Daddio commented, leaning forward.

  “He’s a superhero, dads! He saves people and all they want to do is stop him. It makes no sense.”

  “Do you know him?” Daddio asked.

  “What?” Quinn asked. Whoops, calm down, Quinn.

  “You’re really worked up about this. Is it Keegan?”

  Quinn burst out laughing and then looked his dad in the eye. “I don’t think the guy I’m dating is a masquerading superhero.”

  “You just seem like…you have a vested interest in this, that’s all.”

  “Daddio, you’ve bought me comics since I was a kid. We’ve watched all of the superhero movies at least ten times each. Why would I not want the world’s first superhero to succeed?”

  Daddio nodded in agreement. “When you put it like that, you have a point.”

  “Maybe he should just go on record and talk to someone,” Dad commented. “He might be the world’s first superhero, but he’s also the world’s biggest secret next to the country’s nuclear launch codes.”

  “Or hang out and talk with people,” Daddio added.

  “He needs a costume, too,” Quinn said. “I bet he can’t get close to people—they might see his face or something.” I wonder when Camilla will broadcast my interview?

  “A costume with a mask, then,” Daddio said, “Like Batman or the Flash.”

  Quinn smiled. Now that would be really cool.

  ❖

  Blake

  After work the next day, Blake met up with Quinn at the employee door on the side of Breaking New Grounds. Quinn had agreed to talk with him on his break, so the boys walked up Daniel Street toward the Memorial Bridge while Quinn wolfed down a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

  “I still can’t believe you landed a freakin’ fuel tanker yesterday,” Blake exclaimed, shaking his head with disbelief and admiration.

  “Neither can I,” Quinn answered, half-smiling through a mouthful of PB & J.

  Though cheerful, the air between them remained tense. Blake could tell Quinn had lost trust in him, but he wasn’t sure if it bothered him or not. Although their differences regarding Victor Kraze and The Order seemed to be driving a wedge in their friendship, Blake knew he could count on Quinn to do the right thing and help him derail—if not stop—The Order.

  “I know we can do this,” Quinn said. “Mr. St. Germain gave me a great idea…”

  “You told him?” Blake asked, shocked.

  “Of course,” Quinn said, looking at him with a confused face. “He’s our mentor, remember?” Quinn took another bite of his sandwich.

  “Right, sorry,” he responded, deciding to avoid an argument about Victor’s ability to help them more than their comic-loving science teacher. “So, this idea of yours?”

  “Yeah, remember in the second X-Men movie when Magneto used his powers to rearrange the plates in Cerebro and it completely changed its functionality?”

  “Yup.”

  “That’s what we need to do…well, you need to do it with your telekinesis power since I can’t. The reactor core walls are lined with those hexagonal plates. Mr. St. Germain thinks that if we shift a bunch of them around, it could be disastrous for the reactor core—assuming each panel is in a specific spot for a reason.”

  “What exactly does he think that will do?” Blake asked, unconvinced of their brilliant plan. Do I really want to destroy the facility? Is that what Victor truly wants me to do?

  “The chamber focuses and converts orgone energy. Shifting the panels around will disrupt that process and effectively reprogram it to scatter the energy all over the place. Basically, the next time they power it on, it will become unstable, short circuit, and hopefully fry itself. I don’t intend to leave it to chance, though. I intend to figure out how to power on the chamber and watch it fry.”

  “Uh-huh.” This sounds too easy.

  “We can do this, Blake. We could also rip the chamber apart; I think breaking the tubes will disperse the energy and if we pull down that weird silver thing from the ceiling, we’ll set them back quite a bit, if not destroy the whole thing. If this is their test site, and they really don’t want to risk damaging one of their newer sites, then we have the upper hand.”

  “You know this won’t stop them forever.”

  “Right, but if you keep working with them, we’ll have you on the inside to…”

  “Who’s we?” Blake asked, irritated with Quinn’s future-planning.

  “Uh, well, I mean, you and me, and Mr. St. Germain. I just thought…”

  “I’m not your sidekick, Quinn. So, don’t go there, okay?”

  “Sheesh, sorry.” Quinn took another bite of his PB & J.

  The boys remained silent for a few moments as they passed by a family on the sidewalk.

  “Are we going to do this tomorrow or something? And how do we get there?” Blake asked.

  “Saturday. I can’t cut school this week and neither should you. We’re both going to act really sick Friday at work and then tell our bosses we plan to call in sick on Saturday; that will give us the day to take out the reactor core. As for getting there, I can fly pretty fast. I could, uh, carry you, if that’s not too weird.”

  Blake smirked. “It will look funny, but it will work.”

  Quinn smiled at him. “If we leave early enough, no one will see us.”

  “True,” Blake agreed, nodding.

  “Hey, what’s up with all the cops?” Quinn asked pointing to the check point at the Memorial Bride. It was similar to the one Blake had been processed through the day prior.

  “They’re looking for you with dogs.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, they think the dogs will sniff Blue Spekter out because you smell different or something. They ask a couple of questions on the way through, too.”

  “Why would they even think that’s possible?”

  “Well, when I walked through yesterday, the dogs were very interested in me. I’m lucky I happened to have been eating beef jerky; the cops assumed the dogs wanted the meat.”

  “Oh, wow.” Quinn shoved the last bit of sandwich in his mouth and tossed the baggie in a public trash bin.

  “Needless to say, I have no idea if they’d react the same way without the beef jerky on me. But the fact that they’re even trying suggests the police think it will work. Do they have something of yours? Did you leave anything behind at the Sheraton the dogs could use to track you?”

  Quinn shook his head. “Not that I know of…unless…” Quinn stopped walking and stared at nothing for a moment.

  “Unless what?” Blake asked, stopping and turning to face his friend.

  Quinn looked at him. “Unless some pieces of my sweatpants or sweatshirt fell to the floor while they were shooting at me. That’s the only thing I can think of that would have my scent on it…but they would have been small fragments of fabric.”

  “That’s all a dog needs. So, you better be really careful about how you get into town.”

  “Thanks for the tip. Look, I know you think Victor’s your friend and all now, but you have to realize this doesn’t stop with him, right?”

  Blake folded his arms. Dammit, I didn’t want to get into this. You just don’t understand what it’s like.

  It’s Mother Superior today, but the Archi-whatever, the investors, and whomever else is involved at the higher levels of The Order knows about the experimental mega-fusion plans. It’s only a matter of time before someone else shows up and tries to pick up where they left off at Rangeley.”

  “You
r point being?” Blake asked.

  Quinn looked at him, exasperated. “The point being, Blake, is that you’re getting wrapped up with some very dangerous people. You think you’re helping them out, but there’s some part of me that wonders if this isn’t part of a larger, greater deception.”

  Blake scoffed.

  “I’m serious!” Quinn exclaimed. “He talks about punishing those who manage to escape justice, but we haven’t seen any of that. All we’ve seen is energy research and the potential for weather manipulation. If you haven’t been paying attention, there’s a pretty big gap in his story.”

  “Don’t you fucking lecture me,” Blake snarled, surprising an elderly man walking past them on the street.

  “Language,” the man said, continuing past them in a hurry.

  Quinn smiled at the man, but Blake glared at him.

  “I gotta turn back, Blake,” Quinn responded flatly. “My break’s almost over.”

  “All right, Saturday it is. I’ll see you early in the morning, I guess.”

  “Bye.”

  Blake sighed and watched Quinn walk back down Daniel Street. If only you saw things the way I did, this would be so much easier.

  ❖

  “I don’t care what the letter said, you little shit, you owe me two-hundred dollars a week!” Ralph shouted.

  “The bill was paid, dad, I don’t owe you anything.” Blake screamed back, his temper flaring with newfound confidence. All he wanted to do was go running, but his drunken father had intercepted him.

  “I lost four days of work because of you, how do you think I’m going to recoup that money?” Ralph yelled back.

  “You should have used sick days, dad. You could have had it paid for.”

  “Oh, well, la-di-da! Would you listen to this know-it-all, Stella? He thinks just because he has a job, he understands how the world works!”

  “Ralph,” Stella said, her tone pleading for him to stop, but he ignored her.

  “I don’t have any sick days left, Blake! I’ve used them all up, so I lost those four days and it’s all your fucking fault, do you hear me?”

  “Well, maybe if you weren’t completely wasted and hungover at least once a week, you wouldn’t have needed to take so many sick days. I am not paying you because all you’re gonna do is buy beer and get wasted at your stupid bars.”

  Ralph lunged at him, but at the last second, Blake slapped him away with his mind, redirecting his father into the refrigerator. He crashed into it and in his drunken stupor, smashed his nose on the stainless steel. The lights in the kitchen flashed and Blake felt himself warm up.

  “Don’t you fucking touch me,” Blake snarled, raising his fists in defense—not that he needed them. But for now, he decided to keep up appearances in front of his sloshed parents.

  Ralph put his hands over his face, blood leaking through his fingers from a sudden nosebleed. “You little shit,” Ralph spat.

  Stella screamed and over-dramatically gasping in drunken horror. “Oh my gosh, Blake! Don’t you hurt your father!”

  “Mom, stop enabling and defending him. He’s not even going to remember this in the morning.”

  Ralph stumbled to the kitchen sink and clumsily swiped at the paper towel holder, pulling the entire thing off the counter. “Dammit!”

  “That’s not the point!” his mother fired back as the paper towel holder clattered to the floor.

  “Then what is the point?” he yelled, raising his voice to his mother for the first time in a long time. “All you two do is drink and drink and drink. When was the last weekend when you didn’t have at least one drink in you before noon?”

  “Don’t you lecture me, young man,” Stella said, her face twisted with guilt and denial. “I’ll have you know we’re very responsible drinkers despite what you think. It’s like you can’t even handle the sight of a few liquor bottles or something.”

  Ralph squatted and leaned against the counter. He watched their argument, his hands stained red with blood as he pressed a wad of paper towels against his face. “Look at what you did to me!” he shouted, but Blake ignored him.

  “A few liquor bottles? Look around you!” Blake gestured to the kitchen counters and the table. They were covered with cheap vodka bottles that held varying levels of booze in them and a number of overfilled ash trays.

  “It’s disgusting in here, and the living room is no better. Dad’s side table is covered with crushed beer cans.”

  Stella dismissed it all with a wave of her hand. “Pssht. That’s nothing. You’re just too young to understand.”

  “Then recycle them. Tomorrow’s pickup day.”

  “No! What would the neighbors think of us if they saw so many empty bottles in the recycling at once? Absolutely not!”

  “For crying out loud, mom; the neighbors already know.” Blake turned and stormed out of the house. He put on his earbuds and ran hard into the night.

  ❖

  Blake ran past Hislop Park on Preble Way and turned right onto Irving Way, the road that passed the oil storage area on the other side of Interstate 95.

  “Finally, that’s him,” a gruff voice said behind him. Blake heard the voice through his headphones and the music pounding in his ears. He glanced over his shoulders and saw two men running after him. He stopped running and turned around, unsure of what they were doing.

  “What do you wa…”

  Several gunshots rang out in the cool night air. Blake cried out in pain as sharp pinches dotted his torso.

  Oh crap, I've been shot. Blake fell backward, stunned at the intense pain across his chest. Holy shit! How is this even possible? Who are these guys? Why did they just shoot me?

  The two men ran over and stood over him, regarding Blake with evil, satisfied glares. “I guess Glow Boy isn't bulletproof,” the taller man said.

  Blake recognized the voice. It belonged to one of the two men he had tossed into the Piscataqua River.

  “What are we going to do with him?” the other man asked. Blake didn’t recognize this man’s voice.

  “The same thing he did to me; throw him into the river and leave it to fate.”

  “He won't survive with those gunshot wounds,” the man with the gun said.

  “That's the point. This freak doesn't deserve to live. Come on, help me pick him up. I know just where to throw him in.”

  The two men grabbed Blake by the arms and dragged him toward the river. Blake cried out as sharp pain radiated across his chest and abdomen. Then, a thought occurred to him.

  Wait, I'm knife proof, which means I'm probably bulletproof, too. How is this even happening?

  He looked down at his running shirt and saw four holes in the thin athletic material. There was no blood. He smiled, realizing the bullets only induced pain. Though he was not mortally wounded, he decided not to resist and allowed the thugs to drag him to a more secluded spot—the same spot he tossed the tall guy and his friend into the river.

  “This little brat threw me and Jimmy into the river and left us to die.”

  “How did he throw you into the river? This scrawny kid doesn't look like he has much fight in him.”

  “Trust me, he's tougher than he looks. He's like that glowing blue guy, but different, this one’s more evil. He’s the one to be afraid of.”

  Blake smiled at the notion he had already garnered a small reputation among a few criminals; it was the start of something greater he could cultivate with time.

  “So that's where Jimmy is? Dead in the ocean?”

  “Yeah, his body washed up a couple days ago and the police just identified him. Poor guy couldn’t withstand the rip tide.”

  That explains where the other guy is…guess he couldn’t handle mother nature’s judgment.

  When they approach the river bank, they dropped him to the ground. Blake cried out in pain, playing the part of wounded victim.

  “Please,” he begged, improvising agony and pain with a hoarse voice.

  He watched the two men survey the
river and then turn back to him, evil smirks dancing across their faces.

  “Please what, you little twerp?” the taller man snarled.

  Blake started laughing. “Please don't make me laugh, jackass.” Then, using his telekinetic powers, he pushed himself off the ground to a standing position. He turned around and glared at the guys, hands curled into fists.

  “Did you really think bullets would take me out?”

  “Oh shit, what did you drag me into?” the little man with the gun said.

  Blake looked down at his ruined shirt. “You idiots just ruined my brand-new running top. I saved a lot of money to buy this.”

  The man with the gun drew his weapon and fired several shots, each one deflecting off Blake's torso and shredding his new shirt even more.

  “Are you fucking kidding me? Did you not hear what I just said?” Blake snarled, glancing down at his wrecked running shirt.

  “What are you?” the man cried out, the gun shaking in his hand.

  The corner of Blake's mouth curled upward as his eyes glowed orange.

  “Justice.”

  Then, he ignited his hands and his torso. He burned with an intense orange and purple flame and his running shirt burned off, leaving him bare-chested and furious.

  “Scum like you don't deserve a second chance. I should have finished you off the first time I encountered you, but I was too afraid. Unfortunately for you, I'm not afraid anymore. Tonight, I'll learn from my mistake and finish the job.”

  “No, please, don’t! I just got dragged into this!” The short man begged, wetting himself and whimpering with fear. The tall man had turned pale white with terror, his face and eyes reflecting the glowing orange light of Blake’s blazing body.

  Blake pointed his hands at the two men and blasted them with superheated fire. Their momentary screams of agony echoed across the river. Blake's powers incinerated them in seconds, charring the ground beneath them and melting the gun into a puddle of hot metal. Blake yelled as he destroyed them, his anger fueling his resolve.

  Then, he stopped.

  The flames across his shirtless torso went out and the men—what was left of the men—smoked on the ground. He tapped out the embers and small flames with his running shoes, checking the area to make sure there would be no fire. He did not want to be responsible for the oil storage facility’s accidental demise. He turned and continued his run, the feeling of victory evident in the evil grin on his face.