Temporary Superheroine

by Irene Vartanoff

  “He pulled a sneak attack on me, too.” I exclaimed. “I woke up about to become a piece of bread dipped in a fondue of boiling chemicals.”

  “You saved me from having my brains scrambled. If I didn’t say so before, thanks,” Eric said.

  He didn’t appear bothered that a woman saved his life. A point for him. He’d given me such different signals. The talented boy from the Midwest, the striver—or was it schemer?—who parlayed his artistic career into corporate success, and, of course, the conquering lover of women. Who dumped me callously and later claimed he did it because he was confused. Not to mention the sympathetic sounding board and the sneaky man who stole into this dimension not once but twice without explaining why and without permission.

  Of course I didn’t know who he should have asked for permission. Me, because it was my amulet? I didn’t own this dimension. Diabolical Dave didn’t, either, as much as he wanted to. Did rights of possession matter? The Purple Menace was confident he could take over our own world very soon. Unless I could find a way to stop him.

  Eric was lost in his thoughts, too. We finished our subway ride without saying anything more. I should have peppered him with confrontational questions, but I didn’t have the energy.

  In midtown Manhattan, we made a last try and said the chant at the spot where Eric had arrived on this world. Nothing. I wondered if Roland had blocked the portal. Or even Dave. I dismissed the cockeyed idea. I was tired and not thinking straight.

  The streets were deserted and the stores were closed. We hiked to Times Square, which still bustled with Broadway theatergoers. We finally located an all-night drugstore and bought necessities.

  A few minutes later, we flashed a lot of cash at a quiet hotel on a side street. The desk clerk sniffed at my lack of a visible wedding ring. He eyed our makeshift luggage—paper sacks from the drugstore. Another reminder we were not in our own dimension. Eric peeled off another twenty. The man took it and handed us a room key.

  Eric ordered room service while I took a long, very hot shower to soothe my aches. I dried my hair with a bizarre piece of headgear like an overlarge shower cap with a big hose attached to it. When I came out of the bathroom, I found Eric chowing down on a burger. I grabbed one myself and took a few bites, watching the television while he got cleaned up.

  The TV was like a pipeline to the past. The Ed Sullivan Show was on. I recognized it from school trips to the Museum of Television and Radio. It featured a new host, since Ed was long dead, but the same hokey variety acts showcased fifty years ago. A man was balancing dozens of spinning plates. They were spinning, spinning, spinning…

  I woke up a little when Eric turned out the lights. Enough to crawl under the covers. I gave a sigh of contentment when he reached out and settled me in his arms. I knew no more, until the dream started.

  Chapter 21

  The dream was silent. It was night. The Purple Menace flew above a city. He carried a package, but I couldn’t get a clear look at it. He flew up to the top of a tall building, past lighted triangular windows, to a terraced metal crown. He landed, looked around a small roof area, and then placed the package behind decorative metal that stuck out ten feet from the building’s face.

  The scene faded and the Purple Menace’s silhouette reappeared in midair, headed toward another tall building. Again he flew high, passing by a viewing platform where people wandered and looked out on the dark city. He disturbed a few pigeons as he landed and deposited another package in a dark corner.

  I had a bad feeling about his packages.

  He left packages in high-up spots at building after building. They were in New York, but which New York? My dread grew. I cried out.

  *

  I tumbled out of my dream and woke, breathing raggedly. Eric sat in a chair by the window, in the semi-dark of the neon-lit Manhattan night. He stared straight at me. “Tell me.”

  “Did I scream?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  I described the dream. “Bombs?” I speculated.

  “Likely.”

  In the half-dark of the hotel room, our quiet words echoed ominously. “In which world?” I asked.

  Eric shrugged. “The Purple Menace is in our dimension right now.”

  “But this dream was different. Maybe it didn’t happen.”

  He said nothing.

  I shifted, trying to relieve my body aches. “I couldn’t see anything clearly. I’m not sure they were bombs.”

  “What else would he hide atop tall buildings?”

  “Was it New York? The obedience beam? What else do mad scientists invent in the comics?”

  “Also, why does he operate only in New York? Why doesn’t he attack Washington, DC?” Eric asked.

  “Because Diabolical Dave is a typical New Yorker who thinks it’s the only city that matters.”

  Eric nodded. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

  “We have to stop him, whatever dimension he’s in. Neutralize his actions,” I said.

  “Nothing we can do right now.”

  I heaved another sigh and sat up, bracing my still-tired and sore body with both hands on the mattress, my elbows locked to keep me upright. I wore a white men’s undershirt from the drugstore. Eric was bare-chested, wearing boxer shorts from the same drugstore. He was buff. If I touched him we wouldn’t talk anymore. His chair was positioned only a few feet from the edge of the bed. I did not reach out my hand.

  “Why did you sneak into this dimension twice?” I asked instead.

  He gave an impatient growl, as if he had expected better of me. “I wanted answers.” Eric stared at me, demanding I take his words at face value.

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “The moment I met you, I felt a connection,” he said.

  “Don’t use sex to lie to me,” I said, disappointed.

  “You don’t get it,” he said, threading his fingers through his short hair in an impatient gesture.

  “Then explain to me.”

  “The Purple Menace has been messing with my head,” he began.

  I grimaced.

  “Okay, bad joke,” he said.

  “I’ll say.”

  “You have weird dreams. So do I,” Eric said.

  “What do you dream?” I asked.

  “I dream I am the Purple Menace.”

  “Oh, dear. Oh, darn it.” I slapped the sheets in frustration. “In this dratted dimension I can’t say swear words. Rats. Go on. Tell me the rest.”

  He smiled a little. “Unlike you, I didn’t have a team of buddies helping me solve the mystery. When the Purple Menace came looking for the Amulet of Life, I finally had the answer.”

  “And once Roland and I jumped dimensions, you decided to try it yourself,” I said, still annoyed that he’d done it.

  “Darn right.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I can’t swear in this dimension either.”

  I stifled a laugh. “When you used the amulet to cross the portal the first time, where did you land?”

  “In front of the Fantastic Comics offices. Just when the two henchmen of the Purple Menace flew up in their spaceball or whatever it is. Remember how you said the Purple Menace expected someone to come rescue you? I believe he’s so closely linked with us he sensed I was around. Perhaps he hoped that with you as bait, he could grab me right then.”

  “To juice your brain.”

  “Exactly. He’s done some version of that for two months now. He’s the reason I had odd dreams. And my energy level was curiously depleted at times.”

  Lack of energy? Not that I’d noticed the other night in his bedroom, but I let that one pass. “Your energy went to the Purple Menace, making him stronger.”

  “He said he invented the DNA machine because he didn’t want to wait for his power to increase gradually through Dave’s interference with his world.”

  I shifted uncomfortably. “You never saw him on your first trip? You didn’t meet him for lunch somewhere and have a brotherly chat?” I asked.

&nbs
p; Eric replied emphatically. “No. I saw his two henchmen in their spaceball. Of course I recognized them from my dreams. After it dropped and they fell out, I grabbed one of them and held on until the police came. The other one ran away.”

  I was wide-eyed. “So that’s why they didn’t chase Roland and me on the street after I blasted the Purple Menace. We kept looking over our shoulders, expecting them.”

  “I also sent the cops to give the Purple Menace on the roof some trouble, after people pointed him out. Good thing he didn’t know. He might have built a machine to remove my brain entirely,” Eric chuckled. Considering everything, he was amazingly cheerful.

  “How can you laugh about this?” I asked. “The Purple Menace almost killed you. He’ll probably try again.”

  “If he doesn’t kill you first, girl.”

  “Thanks for reminding me,” I replied glumly. “What happened this afternoon? That was you shooting the bolts at the big steel arm, wasn’t it?”

  “I lucked out,” he said. “The Purple Menace had his own antiaircraft gun on a tractor-trailer down the street. I used it against him.”

  “How did you know it was his?”

  “It was purple.”

  “Oh.”

  “I must finish him off somehow. Now I have to find him again,” I moaned. “He keeps moving.”

  “The psychic link is growing, and he wants to stay ahead of you,” Eric said.

  “Whenever he returns to this world, he’ll have moved to that third hideout his men talked about,” I said. “Some special new place where he can regroup and launch his big weapon against our world.”

  We talked for a bit longer, until my exhaustion took over and I tucked back under the covers and went to sleep. I didn’t take advantage of my opportunity to have sex with Eric again. Which would have been interesting, considering what we now knew about each other. Despite his strength, Eric showed signs of exhaustion himself as he got back into bed. Almost getting killed did that to a strong man. As for me, I had been hopping all day.

  We did cuddle a bit. Okay, so maybe we played around a little to relax. We behaved ourselves, though. I had no condoms in my superheroine utility belt.

  *

  A few hours later, I was glad of our restraint. I woke up and knew Eric was gone again. He’d left me another note.

  Chloe,

  Something I must do. You go back to our world.

  Be safe,

  Eric

  “Darn him.” Why did he go off alone? Again? I wanted to trust him, but when he didn’t share his plans, how could I?

  Had I made a mistake by trusting Eric? What if that fight with the Purple Menace over the DNA-stealing machine was a setup? Could they have assumed I’d escape the boiling chemicals, and then they deliberately put on a show of being enemies?

  Or was I being paranoid because I was so angry?

  I wanted to trust Eric. I felt connected to him beyond mere girl-boy attraction. If he’d told me the truth, we shared a psychic link with the Purple Menace—and maybe with others.

  What if my faith in Eric was merely a weird transference from the Purple Menace?

  After gnashing my teeth over Eric’s newest betrayal for a while, I fell back to sleep. I dreamed again. I dreamed of exactly where the Purple Menace was, and exactly what he was doing. He was back in this dimension, in a lab in Iceland. I don’t know why I knew it was Iceland. He sat at a bank of purple computer monitors. Although I could not make out the details, I believed the monitors showed scenes of my world. I heard the Purple Menace’s voice, or maybe his thoughts, in my head.

  “My bombs will all go off at the same time. That dratted girl destroyed my DNA snatcher, but she won’t be able to foil my ultimate plan.”

  That dream faded. Another dream began. I entered a bar. I wore a fancy pink taffeta cocktail dress with a sweetheart neckline and a 1940s-style peplum at the waist. The top half of my face was alluringly covered by spangled netting attached to a tiny sequined hat perched high on my head. I wore little net gloves, too.

  I sashayed past the hostess, denying I was unescorted. I saw Eric. He’d discarded his suit jacket. In shirtsleeves, a vest, and a fedora, he stood drinking straight whiskey. A small light overhead shone directly onto him. There was no one else in the bar.

  “Eric. Why did you leave our hotel room?” I cried out. Eric turned and gave me a look of scorn.

  “I got what I wanted from you.”

  “Don’t you care about me?” I begged, catching hold of his arm. I tried to snuggle up to him. He shrugged me off, looking bored.

  “I only wanted sex from you. Go away, little girl.”

  Roland entered the bar. He sported a three-piece suit but carried a baseball cap. He put a consoling arm around me as I shrank back from Eric.

  “This is only a dream about your fears, Chloe. Trust Eric. He’s one of the good guys.”

  I turned to Roland in surprise. “I thought you were jealous?”

  Roland gave me a wry look. “You and I are friends now. Don’t worry about Eric. Get some rest and defuse the Purple Menace.”

  The room darkened, yet my eyes suddenly were overwhelmed by too much light. I woke up. It was morning, and a beam of sunlight shined directly in my eyes.

  Chapter 22

  Alone in the hotel room, I considered possible actions I could take. I needed a way to get to Iceland immediately. My new flying power was not strong enough to take me across an ocean.

  My dreams from last night did not fade, as dreams typically do. But then, my dreams weren’t normal dreams. Had I lived my dream of Eric and Roland in some way, as I lived the dreams of battle with the Purple Menace? Yet I experienced the bar encounter on this world, not my own. All the details fit this dimension: the custom of prohibiting unescorted females in bars, the men and women wearing hats, even my old-style femme fatale outfit was right out of a noir movie.

  I took a hot shower to get my creaky body moving again, and dressed in my superheroine costume. It had dried overnight over the shower rod. I’d remembered to wash my clothes after I woke the second or third time. I felt refreshed and ready to take on a supervillain.

  Not entirely.

  Which is why I tried the chant once more. Nothing. Okay, go with Plan B. Iceland, here I come.

  It was a Saturday. In Diabolical Dave’s dream dimension, nobody worked overtime the way they do today. Not even the big boss. I dialed Information (the phone had an actual dial) and asked for Barb’s home number. It was the same as my mom’s in my world.

  “Okay, what is it this time?” the Bodacious One asked, her tone telling me she was not pleased to hear from me again early in the morning. The sound of a cigar being lit and an exhalation of smoke came through the phone. I explained.

  “Iceland? It had to be,” she said, and coughed.

  “Why?”

  “Since Iceland legalized all kinds of gambling, it’s become a den of iniquity,” Barb said. “The Purple Menace would fit right in.”

  “What’s the fastest way to get to Iceland?”

  “The Transatlantic Skyway.”

  “The futuristic highway in the sky?” I asked. “Neato.”

  She made some calls. Thanks to Barb and a stack of Jerry’s cash, I soon had a rental car. I’d wanted to use this highway ever since the moment Roland and I spotted it on our first visit to this dimension. Only yesterday.

  Getting onto the skyway was exciting. Barb had told me where to catch the nearest ramp. It was on the west side, where the old West Side Highway had been. I found the entrance at West 72nd Street.

  Despite Barb’s tips, it was a shock to face a woman in a toll booth (yes, her perky uniform included a cute little hat perched high on her head) who asked my destination. “Uh, Iceland?” I said.

  She pushed buttons on a console and named a price. Once I’d paid, she told me, “Shift to neutral gear and roll up your windows, please.” Like a car wash. With a thunk, something attached to the underside of the car. The gate opened. I wasn’
t going to Iceland on a roller coaster, was I?

  I’d rented an ordinary car, not an outer space vehicle. It had a roof bubble, but still. I hoped I wouldn’t go into freezing outer space.

  Within seconds, my concerns were resolved. The track system sent me into a tube with its own atmosphere, high above the city. I hadn’t seen the tube from street level. I sat back and gawked as a spray of some clear liquid surrounded the car and hardened instantly. Suddenly, the car accelerated. I reached for the seat belts but there weren’t any. Another genuine mid-20th century touch. I wasn’t thrown around as the ride sped up, although I was pressed deeper into my seat. The spray must have eliminated any friction, so the car did not heat up.

  Not controlling the car was frustrating. Finding the Purple Menace and his bomb control center was urgent, but there was nothing more I could do now.

  Possibly the trip took an hour. I don’t know. Despite my antsy urgency, I fell into a dazed state once the speed was so great everything outside was a blur. Soon I was over the Atlantic Ocean. My sleep last night had been intermittent. I dozed.

  After a few minutes, my brain fired up again. Finally, I was thinking straight.

  The ride decelerated. The car was switched from the sky highway, the plastic outer coating melted off, and I exited to a regular road in one of the world’s snowiest countries.

  Which had no snow. Of course. It was July, and Iceland was a beautiful green expanse with midnight sun. Hardly any trees, but lots of bushes and grasses. Ranges of snow-covered mountains in the distance. I was at the junction of a major road system outside Reykjavik, somewhere high up with a panoramic view. The city was below me in the distance, extending all the way to the sea.

  I’d thought about my next move on the ride over. Barb had claimed we all had some kind of psychic link going. I steered the car into a convenient pull-off, and tried to make a mental connection with anyone.

  Surprisingly, my first connection seemed to be with Roland. It was vague, merely a sense that he was handling things okay back home. Or maybe I was fooling myself and there was no connection.