by Jenn Gott
So Jane swiped hurriedly at her face. But the harder she tried to suppress it, the worse it bubbled up. True grief never really gets better—this is the uncomfortable truth that weeping widows bring to light. The best you can hope for is that it doesn’t hit you as often, or that when it does, you’ll be able to ride it out without breaking down.
Without a word, Amy sat down next to Jane. She did not tell Jane that everything was going to be okay. She did not say, again, that she was sorry. She did not offer up any platitudes.
Instead, she put her arm around Jane’s shoulders. Leaned her head against Jane. It was the same move that Clair would do, when she was trying to comfort Jane after a particularly bad day, and feeling it again in the midst of this grief should have been even more heartbreaking—but it wasn’t. It was the one thing that she’d wanted, for a year and a half, every time that she’d been crying. Jane tucked herself into the sideways embrace, folding underneath Amy’s arm. Amy kissed the top of Jane’s head, smoothed out Jane’s hair.
It didn’t solve anything. Nothing would ever solve this. But for the first time in a year and a half, a tiny fraction of Jane’s heart felt soothed. They just sat like that, for several long minutes, as Jane listened to the beating of Amy’s heart. Steady and working.
Finally, Amy brushed back Jane’s hair. “Come on,” she said, gently unfolding Jane from the crook of her arm. She gave Jane’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “It’s time to be a hero.”
* * *
The first problem with their grand plan is that Jane couldn’t ride a motorcycle.
“You didn’t think to mention this earlier?” Marie snapped, as the group stood around in the underground parking garage of their headquarters. Low-slung cars and bikes in sexy shades of black and red and yellow filled the spaces underneath the buzz of movie-filter green light. Jane had always taken special care in drawing this place: she followed the blogs of car enthusiasts to learn how to capture the beauty and grace of the cars’ angles, the hungry curves and vicious slashes that made up their design. She’d developed an appreciation for them over the years, though she’d significantly toned down her drawings of high speed chases since Clair’s accident.
“It . . . didn’t occur to me,” Jane answered truthfully. In the early years, when the Heroes of Hope were still just a pet project and Jane didn’t have to make them appeal to key demographics, vehicles had featured very little in the drawings that lined her portfolios. She’d only given them special thought once she’d gotten serious about pitching it to QZero, and by the time she started figuring out exactly who would be driving what, Captain Lumen was already a man. It was his signature arrival, to come streaking in on a yellow bike, the squeal of brakes a terrible omen to the bad guys. Jane would draw him kicking the bike sideways, tearing off it and letting it slide into position without him.
Several of the Heroes exchanged a meaningful glance, but Amy stepped right into the middle of them. “Hey now—it’s not like Jane could have learned how to do the captain’s moves in such a short time even if she did say something, all right? So let’s just deal. She can hitch a ride with me if she wants to.”
For a brief moment, a queasy flutter stirred in Jane’s stomach. She pictured it: Amy’s bike, vintage like everything else about her aesthetic, rumbling underneath them; Amy’s hair flapping in Jane’s face; Jane’s body tucked up behind Amy, thighs clutched tightly around hips to hold steady. Jane blushed and looked away, to where Cal’s car stood open and waiting.
Cal nodded. “Amy’s right. We don’t have time to worry about this. Jane, come with me—we’re supposed to be the first to arrive anyway. Tony, Marie: keep a wide perimeter, in case UltraViolet has any surprises planned. Dev, Keish, you’ll approach from the roof. Scout out the building. Meet up only once you get the signal—we don’t want UltraViolet figuring out what we’re up to. Amy—”
“I know,” Amy said. Was it Jane’s imagination, or was there a touch of petulance in her voice? “Hang back. Don’t worry, I know the drill.” She was already stuffing her helmet on, her hat tucked away in a bag on her bike. Jane’s heart warmed at the safety gear, though she’d never drawn it in the comics for aesthetic reasons.
“Okay,” Cal said. He clapped his hands together, and for a moment Jane almost forgot that he wasn’t Captain Lumen, that it was supposed to be her giving out the assignments and rallying the troops.
Cal nodded again, to indicate they were ready. “Let’s go.”
* * *
An aerial view of the city. Streaks of color zoom through an otherwise muted collection of cars jammed so close together that they may as well have been standing still. Close-up shots of tires, of Amy’s vintage boots kicking the gear shift on her bike, of eyes narrowed in concentration. One panel, by itself, low and wide like the car it captures.
It was easier to focus on the imagery. It helped to ground Jane as Cal’s car swerved and accelerated, each turn and pitch tightening the already queasy knot in her stomach. The reality of what they were about to do was threatening to overpower Jane. She gripped the door and the seat, her knuckles aching, as more and more panels filled the pages of her mind. Two full spreads at least, though she would never have devoted that much space to them in the real issues.
City Hall appeared in the distance as they rounded a corner, and then in the span of a blink they had shot up right beside it. The building was a piece of modern art, all mirrored windows and angled lines. A circle of police cars surrounded it like cats who’d heard a can opener. Officers held a ring of reporters and gawkers at bay. Every move was captured in flashes as Jane and Cal leapt from the car. Good thing we’re not going for stealth, Jane thought as Cal struck an unnecessary pose of bravery and heroism.
No, Jane remembered. Not Cal, not while they were in uniform. It was a piece of advice that Keisha had given her, just before they’d headed out—on the job, she’d said, it’s best to think of everyone as their superhero personas. Helps keep you from getting too emotional, she’d said. Jane tried it out, then, watching Deltaman as he accepted his accolades and applause. Deltaman . . . not having the history of the comics to draw from, that one was going to be the hardest to get used to.
Jane ducked her head and cut a straight line for the door. Her heart was pounding as heavily as the percussion of questions being lobbed at her back. There was something vaguely wrong about the whole situation, though Jane couldn’t be sure that she wasn’t just imagining it out of sheer nerves. She tried to tell herself to focus, to remember her training. As if in response, a tickle built in her fingertips as she pulled open the doors.
The sound no doubt reached her first, but it was the weight of Deltaman’s body slamming against hers that Jane registered before anything else. “Captain!”
They hit the floor as a spray of bullets peppered the front doors and windows. The sound of glass shattering and the sparkle as a wave of window fragments pinged off of the marble floor tiles. Jane’s chin hit the ground and a flare of pain sent her head spinning. She stared, transfixed, at the glittering floor, at the bullet shells littered by the feet of a turret mounted in the lobby.
A rookie mistake. Even Jane recognized that. She’d have never scripted Captain Lumen to do something so stupid as to waltz right in through the front doors, as if UltraViolet wouldn’t have some kind of trap waiting for them. It didn’t matter if this was what UltraViolet had asked her to do—she was a supervillain, so there would always be a trap.
Deltaman rolled off of her. He drew himself into a low squat, gun at the ready. His cape spread over Jane’s back like a blanket, and for the briefest moment, Jane was tempted to curl up with it and squeeze her eyes shut. As if that would help.
The turret, sensing movement, began to swivel back toward them, but Deltaman had already tossed a grenade or something in the turret’s direction. He ducked down as the shunk of the device magnetizing to the turret sounded through the lobby, and before Jane could process what was happening, the device exploded. She shr
ieked in an entirely un-superhero-like way as the turret was knocked off its tripod legs, clattering to the floor. It fritzed and sparked, its gun mount swiveling like a head trying to clear fog, and then gave up with a pitiful wind-down whir.
Gently, cautiously, Deltaman raised himself to his feet. When nothing else immediately began to shoot at them, he turned and held his hand out to Jane, still sprawled across the marble tiling.
It took every ounce of self-motivation for Jane to drag herself up. Her knees wobbled underneath her for a moment or two, and she had to grab hold of Deltaman’s arm to stabilize herself.
A projection snapped to life in front of them. It seemed to spring up out of nowhere, hovering translucent in the middle of the lobby. A square image, like a screen, like a comic panel, filled their vision.
UltraViolet’s masked face, shimmering in and out of focus. Her wicked smile was the only clear point in a sea of purples that looked as if they’d been smudged for artistic effect.
“Captain Lumen. How good of you to come.”
In comics, this would be a moment for a brave or witty comeback. You didn’t leave me much choice, perhaps, or We have to stop meeting like this, or It’s over, UltraViolet. Speech bubbles floated around Jane, begging her to strike a pose, to pluck them from the air and slap them over her head. She knew what she would have Captain Lumen do, if she was writing this. The real Captain Lumen, as far as Jane was concerned, the one that lived in her art—Cal’s Captain Lumen, who knew what to do when facing down a maniacal supervillain.
But that person didn’t exist, even here. All that they had was Jane, and Jane’s throat was dry, her knees locked in fear.
As if on cue, Deltaman stepped forward. Positioned himself just in front of Jane, blocking a portion of her body from UltraViolet’s view. Jane peered around his shoulder, where the shimmering projection continued to taunt them from above the broken turret.
“If you have something important to say, UltraViolet, just say it,” Deltaman said, and Jane cursed herself for not thinking of that line on her own. “Otherwise, let’s get this over with. I believe we have a deal to complete.”
UltraViolet’s smile snapped off. “Very well. First, though, I want proof that you’ve brought me the rest of my demands.”
Deltaman tapped his earpiece. “Bring it in.”
Jane turned. Beyond the glass doors of City Hall, a SWAT van had pulled up at the base of the stairs. Its back doors flew open, and a half-dozen policemen—unarmed, unprotected—started hauling out black crates stamped with government seals. Deltaman directed them inside, pointing for them to line everything up in front of the projection. Jane watched the stacks grow taller, the row wider, her heart thundering loudly in her ears. She knew that the acid UltraViolet had asked for had been replaced with a dud version, that the AF-72 assault rifles were missing a key component, rendering them harmless. That the hundred-dollar bills in the duffel bag that they brought in next were marked, and even if UltraViolet tried to spend them, the police and the Heroes would come down on her in an instant.
None of this settled her stomach, as the sound of a helicopter approaching began to beat overhead to match the pounding of Jane’s heart.
The police retreated. The crates formed a protective wall between Jane and the projection of UltraViolet, who’d been studiously watching the whole process.
“Very good,” UltraViolet said, as Deltaman stepped forward to open first one crate and then another. Guns and chemical canisters filled the padded lining, each one deadly in its own right.
UltraViolet gave them a slow-clap, her purple gloved hands looking only marginally more solid than her face.
“I’m impressed. I honestly thought you might let your mayor die, rather than give in to my demands. I hope he appreciates your loyalty—assuming that you get to him in time. Which reminds me . . .”
In the projection, Jane could see UltraViolet reach out for something, a nearby button or a switch. The elevator light snapped on, a cheerful ding! breaking through the hush of the lobby.
“It’s time to come and get him, Captain Lumen.”
Jane’s depth of field collapsed. All of the lobby fell away, leaving only the gaping maw of the open elevator doors. The inside gleamed of orange and brass and red trim, glowing like the pits of hell. Jane would have drawn it with gently luminescent tendrils stretching out, twisting through the air as if trying to ensnare her in their grip.
The plan felt feeble, suddenly. Something to be played out with paper dolls, not real and breakable people. Staring at the elevator, Jane felt her body in a way that she never had before. All the interconnected parts, each frail joint, each snappable bone, the delicate network of veins and nerves stringing it all together. UltraViolet could kill her in a thousand different ways.
Deltaman’s hand on her shoulder made her jump.
“Easy, Jane,” Deltaman muttered, low enough not to be overheard. “It’s just an elevator.”
UltraViolet laughed. “Tick-tock, Captain. Your mayor doesn’t have long now.”
Jane swallowed down a heavy lump in her throat. Somehow, mechanically, one of her legs moved forward, and then the other. Deltaman’s hand stayed heavy and supportive on her shoulder.
“Ah-ah-ah,” UltraViolet tutted. “I asked for one Hero, not two, remember? And while I’d love to believe that you’re just surrendering yourself as an added bonus, Deltaman, I’m not stupid. Stand down, or the deal is off.”
Jane stole a desperate look, not at Deltaman, but at Cal hidden behind the persona. With her eyes hidden behind her mask, she tried to pour the terror into the rest of her face. Okay, Cal may not be her favorite friend, sure—but he was a steady, stable presence by her side, and, as Deltaman, he was an armed one at that. Don’t leave me, she tried to tell him, signaling with all that she had, don’t leave me, don’t leave me, don’t leave—
“I’ll be right behind you,” he muttered as he stepped away. Leaving her.
A tiny flare of light filled the space between them, a literal flash of panic before Jane could stamp down on the impulse. She just stood there a moment, twisted to look back over her shoulder at Deltaman. On some level, Jane knew that she was supposed to be leaving, that she should continue into the elevator, follow the plan. That if she stood there much longer, the whole thing was going to fall apart. UltraViolet would see her hesitation as weakness, and it wouldn’t take much for her to work out that Jane wasn’t the real Captain Lumen. Everything hinged on Jane, right here, right now, and she had to get moving, she had to play her part, but she was alone, and her chest constricted, and she couldn’t think, she couldn’t do it, she was a failure, they were all going to die, it was all her fault, and—
Clair’s voice filled her mind: It’s going to be okay, Jane.
Jane closed her eyes, just for a moment. A deep breath, held to the count of ten.
You can do this, Clair continued. You need to do this.
A memory sprang up, seizing Jane whole. Jane and Clair at seventeen, their future nothing but blank pages in front of them. Jane’s parents were in the kitchen, and Jane and Clair stood on the back steps just outside, night falling all around, being eaten alive by mosquitoes. The sounds of cooking and petty bickering drifted through the screen door. All Jane had to do was pull the handle. But she couldn’t, because inside was a conversation that she didn’t want to have, that she’d put off having for two years, and it couldn’t wait any longer, except for these few minutes that she could stand there, putting it off, getting bitten.
Clair stood, patient, beside her. They’d done her parents first, earlier that day—turns out that Mrs. Sinclair had worked it out ages ago, had just been waiting for them to admit it to her. More than anything, she was hurt that it had taken so long.
“Come on, Jane,” Clair had said, finally, the whine of mosquitoes getting louder all the time. “It won’t be so bad, you’ll see.”
Come on, Jane, Clair said again, now, the memory of her voice whispering in Jane’s ear.
Like everything else, life had been more complicated than Clair’s cheerful assurances had said it would be, all of those years ago, and no doubt it would be more complicated here as well. But it had always worked before, whenever Jane lost her nerve, and it worked here, too. Jane drew herself straight, shoulders back, and she stepped through the elevator doors.
For Clair, she could always be brave.
The doors were just closing as she turned back around, and the last thing that she saw of the lobby was Deltaman giving her a steady nod.
“Good job, Jane,” said the voice in her ear, and with a jolt, Jane realized that it had never been Clair, after all. Merely Amy, or rather Mindsight, through the interconnected earpieces.
“Thanks,” Jane mumbled, embarrassed. The elevator flipped Jane’s stomach as it set off. She watched her reflection, hazy in the polished brass of the doors. In the panel of her mind, she saw herself sketched as a child: in costume, tiny hands on her hips, standing in the vague shadow of something much larger and greater.
She counted floors. The mayor’s office was on the sixth floor, all the way at the top, but the elevator stopped immediately, just one floor from ground level. Jane gulped down her panic as the doors slid open. Because there, waiting for her, were two Shadow Raptors. Jane’s eyes widened, a close-up of her terrified face.
This is where the issue would end.
Panic.
Her training must have done some good, at least, because Jane was able to analyze the situation in an instant: the only exit, blocked by the Shadow Raptors; no place to hide inside of the elevator, not even a bench or a potted plant; trying to close the door again would take too long. This knowledge did not, however, provide her with any useful idea of what to do instead—fighting did not even enter her mind, perhaps because she was too much of a chicken, or perhaps because she knew her odds were nil—and so she leaped first to one side, then to the other, then accidentally flashed a burst of light at the Shadow Raptors, which did absolutely nothing.
