[size=20][u][b]Chapter 1: An Informal Meeting[/u][/b][/size]
It started on a Thursday. The rain stopped around noon; it had rained the past two days. Thomas Christopher Ward, TC to his friends, woke as the commuter bus hissed to a stop. It was four blocks from the bus station to his mom’s house, but he felt none of the tension walking through Clarkstown that his fellow passengers showed in their nervous glances and unconscious closeness around the station. He stepped off the bus to wait for his battered green duffle along side the shell-shocked tourists.
They came from all over the country, as if mutants, aliens and people in robot armor didn’t live in their own home towns. TC shook his head, sighing. No, that wasn’t the point. Titan City was the heart of the hyper-normal, a zoo of the impossible and the strange. Other cities in the country might have a couple guys in costumes hold up an armored car, and they might even have some home town hero making everyone feel safe, but nowhere in the world had the mystique of “The City.” And so, they would come. The planes and busses and cruise ships would funnel them into Alexandria to see the plaza and check into overpriced and closet-sized hotel rooms. They would glimpse Downtown, Stoneham and Old Bradford from the comfort of an air-conditioned coach bus while some history grad gave them the highlights of a hundred years of history to pay back his student loans. They would talk about a real battle breaking out in the streets during the tour, and their guide would promise them it happened all the time in Titan City, and all of them would secretly hope never to see it. Then, inevitably it seemed, one of them would have the bright idea to go off the beaten path, to break from the routine of safe tours and manicured lawns. Let’s see the historic districts, they’d say. Let’s go see how the lesser half lives, is what they’d mean. The danger of the idea would excite some of them, and the rest would follow suit, and soon they’d all be standing in a dirty run-down bus terminal, huddled together like sheep.
“Have you folks ever been up to Highpoint?” TC said with a friendly smile. The out-of-towners just looked at each other. “Oh, it’s just a quick cab ride around the Bay.” He pointed vaguely in the direction of the neighboring city and its luxury stores. “They have great restaurants and live music over at Carla’s every night. My mom takes her bridge club over that way at least once a week.” TC shrugged dramatically, playing his part. “She says it’s the real heart of the City, not like the touristy stuff up north.” Smiling again he grabbed his bag. Murmurs turned into chatter and, by the time he pushed his way through the crowd and towards home, they were insisting that Highpoint had been their destination all along. And it wasn’t their fault, not really. They were on vacation. No one visits Flint or Barstow or any of a thousand worn out towns across the country to watch normal folk eat tacos or buy milk on script. They want to escape all that; they want an adventure. Hell they were probably from those other run-ragged towns and, after tonight, they’d have to go back and buy their own milk. TC walked slowly down the empty street. A couple of boys and a girl were chasing each other somewhere down the road; their echoed voices rang eerie and sharp in TC’s ears.
Puddles hid the bigger cracks and potholes of the battered asphalt. Memories of battles and scars of neglect. There was a fadedness to his hometown, as if the builders of Clarkstown had spilt the same pot of grey into everyone’s paint. The yellow-white grey of wet trash clung to the dark metal grey of concrete and chain-linked fences. The reddish-grey brick buildings with their blue-grey and green-grey overhangs clung to dark grey windows but often holding nothing more than muddy-brown plywood, these days. The sun hid behind grey clouds in a grey sky but the world struggled to be crisper, higher contrast, now that the rains had stopped. Even after a bath, his city couldn’t look fresh, or clean. It all just blended—until it didn’t— and it took TC a moment to register what he was seeing.
A smear of bright red.
It was splashed against the Alterations store window, like a thrown water balloon, and smeared its way around the corner of the building. Already it was fading into concrete and puddles; becoming part of Clarkstown. He should have kept walking. His mother would be waiting and he still wanted to meet up with Enzo and Alexia, his friends. But his body was moving before he could decide, before he could ignore so much fresh blood. This wasn’t the first bad thing he’d seen growing up, wasn’t even the worst, but something in him was shifting rapidly as his feet slapped the pavement. He wanted it to be the last.
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[i]....Fly me to the moon and let me play among the stars...[/i]
Nice work bro, can't wait for more. :D
Behind the building was a narrow alley. Two men beat a teenager with baseball bats, while a third restrained a black-haired girl. TC knew the girl, Tanya. A few years younger, she dropped out of high school the year he graduated. The boy on the ground was probably her little brother, not so little anymore, but there was so much blood TC couldn’t be sure. He recognized the men, too, at least by reputation. The Rascal, in his Titan Heroes jersey, held onto Tanya. He was a pimp and slum lord; a lot of drop outs and runaways ended up paying for his protection. The Goons were Sax and Charlie. Sax played on Varsity with TC, before he was expelled for pushing drugs. Charlie was well known for extorting the Chow’s Convenience store. These details came to TC as he stepped into the alley but the first things he noticed were the wet and hollow thuds of the bats and the too-white shine of the Rascal’s smile.
“You don’t want to be back here, friend,” The Rascal said. TC nodded, holding his palms out to show he was no threat.
“I don’t, but this has to stop,” he said.
“Oh? Friend of yours?” Sax said, resting the wooden bat on one shoulder.
“No, Sax, but if you guys don’t stop he’s gonna die.”
“Then he dies,” The Rascal said. “Survival of the fittest.”
“I can’t let that happen.”
“I look like I’m asking permission, punk? This is MY town.” Muscles tightened on the three men. TC could feel the change in the air, in the alley; the sensation that everyone was preparing to act. “Boys, get this garbage out of my sight.” Sax stepped over the body on the ground, bat still on his shoulder; Charlie gave the boy a potentially deadly crack on the skull, then leaned on his bat like a cane, to watch. “Leave now, kid,” the Rascal said with a pitying tone, “or your momma's never gonna find the body.” TC held his ground, as Sax stalked forward.
Sax was always bigger than TC, taller and broader, but rather than training or skill, he used only his inherent mass to intimidate others. Also, TC noticed, he’d acquired the tell-tale glimmer of Dust addiction since TC had seen him last. Half a decade sampling the merchandise, probably.
He was slow.
The bat came off Sax’s shoulder and into a ready swing at TC’s ribs but the distance was poorly judged, and TC dodged simply by leaning back. He stepped into range and shoved while Sax’s arms were still twisted across his body. The larger man kiltered off balance into the wall of the alley; angry, but not hurt. Regaining his balance, Sax charged TC like a Viking raider, bat held overhead like battle axe. TC hugged the wall as the bat came crashing to the pavement. He grabbed Sax’s lank blond hair, before the bigger man could adjust for a counterattack, and brought his knee up and Sax’s head down, maximizing the force onto the bigger man’s nose. Sax crumpled to the ground as an angry howl announced Charlie’s sucker-punch long before it arrived.
TC had only seen the fat Asian once before. He wasn’t as tall as Sax, or even TC, but his extra weight disguised a powerful frame. He was a lot faster than he seemed, too.
The swing was aimed for TC’s head like a baseball on a tee. If not for the banshee howl, it would have connected. Instead, TC had time to duck and the bat struck the wall of the alley at full strength, sending sharp vibrations down to its wielder. Charlie’s howl was cut short as he dropped the bat reflexively. The weapon bounced painfully off of TC’s shoulders and head but he was already moving forward into a body tackle that pushed Charlie over the unconscious Sax and back-first into the far wall of the alley. TC felt Charlie's unprotected ribs crack against his shoulder. Charlie sagged to the floor next to Sax. Getting to his feet, TC turned at the sound of an all too familiar [i]click[/i]. The Rascal had pulled a pistol.
The old 38special looked small in the Rascal’s long hands. He was thin and wiry, with a clipped fade and a narrow moustache. And that large, too-white smile. His body twinged with energy. Nervous energy, TC guessed. He wasn’t used to doing for himself. He wasn’t local, then. Clarkstown kids grew up doing for themselves. Survival of the fittest, but the Rascal didn’t know the meaning of the words. He opened his mouth to say something, some threat or arrogant insult, but before he could make a sound, Tanya was there, a small folding knife flashing in her hand. The blade sunk into the Rascal’s side and whatever he had intended to say whispered away in a surprised gasp. Tanya, her face bruised and her makeup obliterated with tears, wrenched the blade out of her pimp and the gun fell to the slimy concrete of the alley.
The blade struck home three more times before TC could get to her. She was crying, but there were no tears left. Sirens echoed in the distance; distorted and strange like the wails of children.
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[i]....Fly me to the moon and let me play among the stars...[/i]
The cops asked him questions for over an hour, and still wanted him to come down to the station later. Tanya, wrapped in someone’s coat, was in the back of an ambulance racing to General and trying to save her brother. The Rascal was in the back of another ambulance that was taking its sweet time. The Police offered to give TC a ride to his mom’s place but he said no. It was a short walk.
Street lamps fought off the growing darkness as TC crossed the street to the corner brownstone he grew up in. He had only been gone a few months of the fall semester but it was enough to miss home. Just seeing the light from the front window improved his mood. TC walked slowly, savoring the unevenness of the four steps up to the door. Settling of the foundation over decades; roots digging into the earth.
Before he could knock, his mom was at the door; she knew the sound of his old shoes creaking on the porch. A wave of warm air—full of the ginger, cinnamon, cumin, and onion of her stewing Christmas Curry—rolled over him as she swung the door open and gave him a hug.
His mom always seemed shorter when he hadn’t seen her in a while. Petite and thin, a part of TC always worried about breaking her. She hadn’t broken yet.
“Heaven’s Thomas, where have you been?” She said, catching her breath from his firm hug. “I was ready to call the Hayvers and have John put out a search.” She rubbed the back of her hand against her forehead, careful not to muss her Carol Brady hair. TC smiled but only shrugged. He’d explain things later, tomorrow maybe, she was happy her baby was home and didn’t need to worry about something that was already over. “You’ve got guests waiting,” She said, “They’ve been cluttering up my kitchen for more than half an hour.” Alexia and Enzo, he was sure, knowing they couldn’t drag him away from home his first night back. TC dropped his bag inside the door, blocking the way around the couch on that side, and made his way into the unusually large kitchen his mother had insisted on in a remodel when he was eleven.
Waiting for him, were two men and two women he had never met.
They sat around the kitchen table, crowded but passive; cups of tea cooling in front of them. TC knew instantly that these were not normal people. Super human or alien, maybe. One of the women was built like Sax and probably a foot taller. The other was average height and broomstick-thin with a greenish look to her skin. The taller of the men had chalk-white skin, a long face and short, blue van dyke. The last guest was the shortest of the group, no more than five feet tall, with unruly blond surfer hair and subtly glowing white eyes. They all dressed like they’d just come from a business lunch in the 70’s: broad collared shirts, tweeds, and bright, clashing colors. TC considered keeping himself between the strangers and his mom. If they wanted to hurt her, he reasoned, they would have already and probably still could whether he was in the way or not. He walked into the kitchen, and nodded at the guests.
“Hi there, sorry to keep you all waiting,” he said. A quick glance passed between them before the short man smiled and spoke.
“Not at all, Thomas. It was our fault for arriving early. Your mother was gracious enough to let us be a nusance-”
“-Nonsense, it’s no bother at all.” TC’s mom interrupted. The man nodded to her.
“In any case, we don’t wish to keep you from your homecoming,” The short man said, “So we’ll be brief. We’ve come to access your potential.”
“We?” TC said, moving to let his mom get at the stove. The strange group stood.
“Yes,” said the short man, “This,” he pointed to the tall woman, “is Kae and-“
“Atyaoa,” the thin woman said; she sounded like she’d lost her voice, but maybe that was her voice.
“Jinm,” the taller man said, smiling with a mouth of sharkteeth.
“-and you may call me Radicus,” the small man said. “We like to keep these things rather informal, usually.” Kae and Jinm both extended hands, that TC shook.
“What [i]things[/i] are these, then?” TC asked.
“I guess we’ll find out,” Radicus said, extending his own hand. When TC reached for it, he realized Radicus was holding a gemstone about the size of an egg but flattened. The stone passed between them as they shook. At first it was clear, but as it rested in TC’s palm colors began to swirl in the stone and it began to glow. Soon the stone settled on a color between yellow and orange, like the sun on a clear day.
“I think that’s enough,” the woman, Atyaoa, said in her breathy scratch. Jinm and Kae seemed to agree as the three worked their way towards the door. Radicus thanked TC’s mom for her hospitality and put on a raincoat and picked up a tweed trilby hat from the table. Numbly, TC followed the strange company to the door, still holding the glowing stone. As he and Radicus stepped outside, the small man looked up at him.
“Thanks for your time, son. Hopefully everything works out.”
“I don’t…” TC shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, “I don’t know-“ Radicus smiled.
“-Can we ever truly [i]know[/i]?”
“I mean, I don’t understand. What is it I’m supposed to do? What is this rock? Who are you people?”
Stretching onto his toes, Radicus put a hand on TC’s shoulder and it calmed TC’s confused mind. Radicus buttoned up his coat.
“If you’re meant to understand, I guess you’ll figure it out.” He set the trilby on his head at a rakish angle and strolled down the steps towards the others waiting on the sidewalk. “As for the stone, keep it close.” Standing with the others, Radicus held his palm out, showing a blue-white stone of his own. TC noticed glows coming from Jinm, Kae and Atyaoa’s closed fists. “I’ve always found it comes in handy,” he said, touching his empty fingers to the brim of his hat. As if on queue the blue, green, teal and white glow from their stones ran up their arms, illuminating spots on each shoulder and in the middle of their chests. “Oh, and don’t worry about your Mother, she won’t remember this little meeting.” With a gust of wind and a blink of light skyward, they were gone.
“Heaven’s Thomas, where have you been?” TC turned around to see his mother standing in the doorway, Indian spices from cooking the Christmas curry drifting in the warm air.
“Sorry, Mom, it’s a long story,” he said with a wry smile before giving her a big hug.
“Well, come on, you can tell me over a hot cup of tea,” she said, brushing the back of her hand against her forehead and heading back inside. TC took one look up into the night sky. The smoke from Ironport blocked out the stars, but he found himself imagining which ones had life spinning around them.
A yellow-orange stone glowed in his closed hand.
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[i]....Fly me to the moon and let me play among the stars...[/i]
[size=20][b][u]Chapter 2: On a Clear Day[/b][/u][/size]
In the morning, TC’s mom was up early. She didn't sleep well; TC heard the creaking floorboards above him all night as she tossed.
TC didn’t sleep at all. Or, if he had, he couldn’t remember. He had laid on his bed, turning the strange stone in his hands, grappling with his informal meeting in the kitchen. He didn’t consider himself a Hero-phile by any stretch, but he could pick most of the usual suspects out of a line up. Not Radicus and his companions, though. They were something new. And it couldn’t be a coincidence, them arriving the night TC returned home, the night he… saved Tanya and her brother. No, not a coincidence.
TC turned the stone, held it between his thumb and forefinger, weighed it on his palm. The stone was a color like amber, yellow at one angle and orange at another. Now that the color had stabilized it was nearly transparent. It was the size of a playing card and shaped like a guitar pick; thicker at the middle and rounded end. Otherwise it was flat and perfectly smooth. It would be perfect for skipping up on Lake Wampanoag, if he ever went back there. Downstairs, TC’s mom was brewing coffee and the smell alone made his stomach growl for a home cooked breakfast. The doorbell ran.
TC’s mind raced. It could be Radicus, again. It could be the cops, they said they had more questions. Or— TC threw on his rumpled jeans and a clean t-shirt— it could be Sax and Charlie, or some of their friends. Someone looking to pay him back for what he'd done the night before. His mom was opening the door as he made it to the landing, halfway down the stairs, the stone still gripped in his fist.
“Thomas!” she called. He hopped the last three steps and turned the corner to face the door. “Oh, there you are,” she said, surprised. TC could see his concerns questioningly reflected in his mother’s face. “Lorenzo and Alexia are here.” Tension drained away as TC looked past his mother to see his two best friends on the other side of the security door.
“Heya TC,” Enzo said with a smirk, “Can you come out and play?”
“I don’t know,” TC said, playing along, “I’ll have to ask my mom.”
“Why don’t you three come into the kitchen and get some coffee and cinnamon toast, first?” his mom said, opening the security door for them. Enzo and Alexia came in and followed TC into the kitchen.
The four of them talked around the table; such a different conversation from the night before. They each sat in their usual seats having their coffee and toast, and the oranges TC’s mom always pushed on them. They shared a language of memory and metaphor and slipped easily back into the routine of a hundred similar mornings. The questions were straightforward, about college and life around home. Nothing else was necessary.
Enzo was back working at his family’s restaurant, where he, TC and Alexia had worked all through highschool. He was working to upscale the place, keeping pace with the efforts to revitalize Southside. He shaved his head while TC was gone, probably to hide his thinning hair, and it made his face seem older and more angular. TC’s mom called it ‘adult.’ Alexia was cagey about her new job up north, and she’d always been busy when TC tried to meet up with her. She looked better than ever, still eating like a horse and looking like a model, and happier then she’d been in a long time, so no one pried too much.
For TC’s part, he was glad to finally be done with Grad School. It had been a mistake, he knew, to get his masters in cosmology. He loved the subject, but he had no interest in it as a profession. Thousands in loans he’d never be able to pay back. His friends and his mom were encouraging. There were plenty of small Northeastern groups doing work in theory, rather than application. TC shrugged. There would be time to consider his options after the holidays, he told them.
Enzo grabbed the dishes and got them washed while the others finished talking. Finally, after TC slid into a battered pair of sandals, the kids headed for the door.
“We’ll be back in a bit, Mom.”
“Thanks, again, Mrs. Ward,” Alexia said, twisting and pushing on the security door to get it to ‘click’ closed. For a while, they just walked. The gloom of the evening before was burned away, leaving only the smell of passing rain and a crisp fall breeze. Without realizing it, TC was leading his friends to the empty lot between Washington Ave and Lawrence along 12th street. Tommy Ward and Johnny DiPorto, TC and Enzo’s dads, used to take the boys to the old lot after work to throw the ball around. And when TC and Enzo and Alexia were together, they’d come here and play at being superheroes or just hang out away from adults and homework and expectations.
“So,” Alexia said to TC, “What’s eating you?”
“Wha- nothing?” he replied, squeezing under the bent chain link and into the lot. He watched his feet move through the brown grass and damp gravel. Near the middle of the lot, but closer to the drugstore on 11th, there was a gnarled old tree trunk. The branches had been cut off but whatever project called for the tree’s removal was scrapped before they pulled the rest of it out. Neighborhood kids took metal chairs from around town and made a small park out of the spot. To TC, it symbolized all of Southside, making a home out of what others were too busy to finish throwing away. He sat down on an iron two-seater with chipped white paint.
“Seriously,” Enzo said, “Dude we’re not blind. Your mom’s all tense an’ la tua testa is off somewhere in space.” Alexia sat beside TC, but Enzo used the rare chance to be taller than the two of them to stare down at him. “Spill, bro.”
“It’s just that a lot happened yesterday.” TC slid his hands in his pockets, shrugging. His hand gripped the stone as he told his friends about the fight with The Rascal. Alexia looked worried and stepped away to try and call the hospital to check on Tanya.
“Jesus, dude. And you’re ok, right?”
“Yeah, man. I think so. I don’t know. This wasn’t like high school out on the basketball courts after class. I knew Sax would have put me down, if he got the chance.”
“So you got him first. Dude, I get that. But you seem really… gone, man.” Enzo looked worried; unusual for him. TC smiled, reflexively. He pulled his hands out of his pockets, the stone caught in one fist. He hadn’t intended to say anything, but the words came flooding out in a quick hush, furtively his eyes flicked to Alexia to make sure she couldn’t hear.
“So like, part of me is thinking I’ve slipped the rail,” he said, finally, “but then this other part keeps wondering how I got the rock, then? I don’t know Enzo, I just kind of feel at peace with it all. I mean, how crazy is this city?” Enzo might have nodded, but the movement was so slight, TC might just have imagined it. They sat quietly, listening to the sounds of the city and Alexia’s voice. The storm was gone, the sky a clear blue dome, and the late morning sun blazed cheerful and warm.
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[i]....Fly me to the moon and let me play among the stars...[/i]