“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 of 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?”
&n
bsp; “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 was 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.
2-5 | 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 New Castle 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.
“I love it,” Quinn said excitedly, without thinking. “Did you…” he asked, pointing, but stopped.
She nodded. “Do you know what happened here yesterday?”
Quinn smiled and nodded, then pointed at the art. “That happened.”
“That is a reminder that the world has changed forever. Someone flew to help someone and revealed his powers to us. There’s no going back now.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Quinn responded. “Um, not to rain on your parade, but, uh, you misspelled specter.”
She didn’t flinch. “No, I didn’t. It’s more badass the way I spelled it, don’t you think?”
Quinn smiled and nodded. “Yeah, it is.” I like that…Blue Spekter.
The woman started walking across the bridge toward Maine. She turned back and shouted, “He’s the world’s first superhero, kid…it’s either a great time to be alive or it’s the worst.”
“Which do you think?” he called out.
“I’m an optimist,” she answered.
Quinn smiled. I hope everyone’s as awesome as you are about it.
❖
“Track after school?” Dad asked, pulling the car into the drop-off zone.
“You know it,” Quinn answered.
“All right, give us a hug and have a great day. I’m really proud of you for coming out to us and I hope Keegan will be understanding. It’s not your fault you couldn’t get to him in time.”
Quinn sighed. “Yeah, I hope so, too.”
“Love you, kiddo.”
“Bye.” He hugged his father and then headed off to meet his friends.
Throughout the day at school, student conversations were abuzz with the mysterious incident that happened yesterday. Quinn was desperate to sneak out and watch the police interview, but he didn’t have to. His peers in physics class easily convinced Mr. St. Germain to tune the classroom television to the news broadcast on grounds that it was potentially one of the most important historical occasions they would all be alive for.
Mr. St. Germain winked at Quinn and set the classroom television to News Nine, where reports still covered the story but had become littered with supposed expert speculation to cover for the lack of real information. Moments ticked by as the news anchors and their guests rambled on about who they thought painted the Blue Spekter graffiti; whether it was him, someone else, and what it meant for the City of Portsmouth and the world. Even the news ticker had adopted the new spelling of Spekter.
Several moments later, the police chief approached the media podium in front of the police station and the News Nine anchor handed the broadcast off to Camilla Brenhurst, who briefly introduced Chief of Police Tina Applegate to the viewers. Then, one of the more aggressive reporters fired the first question. “Chief, can you confirm that Blue Spekter is the world’s first superhero?”
The gathered reporters and pedestrians—and some of Quinn’s classmates—erupted in a calamity of conversation and argument. Chief Applegate raised a hand to silence the group, and Quinn took a deep breath as his classmates simmered down.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming out this morning. The event that took place yesterday afternoon remains under official police investigation. At this time, we must refrain from commenting on the unidentified phenomenon that many people believe they saw. With regard to the growing notion of a superhero, I must remind everyone that law enforcement must be left to the professionals. Individuals acting as free agents will not be tolerated as vigilantism is not an acceptable or civilized solution. All citizens without proper authorization should refrain from interfering with safety and emergency situations as unexpected accidents may happen.”
The reporters burst into a volley of unintelligible questions and Quinn’s heart sank. I saved that man…how can she say those things?
Finally, one voice rose above the din. “Chief, given your official investigation, how do you account for the multiple camera angles from the handful of YouTube videos that all recorded the same event in real-time that already have several thousand views in less than twenty-four hours? Isn’t it a good thing to have someone looking out for us when emergency services are unable to respond?”
The room fell silent as everyone waited for the Chief’s next words.
“To the person, man or woman, young or old, who interfered with the emergency situation yesterday and took matters into their own hands, please stop. Though we believe at this point in our investigation that your intentions were aligned with our police and emergency response, you are not trained to respond to crisis situations and you placed yourself, the bridge workmen, and the lives of our fine officers and medical personnel in unnecessary danger. That is all I have for now, thank you.”
“But Blue Spekter saved Hector Rodriguez and…” a reporter protested, but the rest of her argument was drowned out by the shouting cacophony of her fellow reporters.
Quinn sat back, surprised and hurt. I don’t believe this. I saved those people; this is the thanks I get?
❖
Blake
It was pouring rain when Blake’s shift ended at Kaffee VonSolln. He sighed as he wiped up the counters, not looking forward to his upcoming meeting with Victor at the park bench. He decided he would not ride his bike out to Peirce Island in the rain; it was bad enough he had to ride home in the nasty weather.
“Blake, if you want a ride home, we can throw your bike in the back of my SUV,” his boss said as she
sorted through the day’s receipts.
He smiled at Marcie. “Thanks, I’m supposed to meet someone after work, but I don’t know if that’s still on. If it’s not, I’ll take you up on your offer.”
“Okay. Also, I spoke with some of my connections. If you’re still looking for more hours, I can’t legally do anything about that. However, one of my connections is looking for someone to clean her offices on the weekends. The schedule is flexible, and she said it could pay well if the job’s done well. I’m guessing it would take three to four hours to clean, but that all depends on how fast and efficient you are. You work well here, but I understand cleaning other people’s messes isn’t for everyone.”
“Thanks,” Blake said, rinsing a rag. “I’ll think about it tonight. Honestly, Marcie, I don’t know why I’m trying so hard to do what my dad wants. There’s no way we can pay off thirty grand. There has to be another way. He’s obsessed with paying it off right now…but like, can’t we sign up for a payment plan or something?”
“I’m sure you could, Blake,” Marcie said, her warm, reassuring smile meeting Blake’s saddened gaze. “Medical expenses are ridiculous these days and often unfair. Let me know what you decide about the cleaning gig and I’ll pass her information along.”
The shop door opened, and Marcie turned to greet the patron. “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re closed. I guess I forgot to lock the door.”
Blake turned around and saw Victor standing there in his usual black suit, shaking water off his umbrella in the doorway.
“It’s all right, ma’am, I’m here to pick up Blake,” he said, stepping into the shop. He closed the door behind him.
Marcie looked at Blake with confused eyes. “Do you know him?”
Blake nodded. “Yup. He’s my um, big brother of sorts.”
“Oh,” Marcy said, looking Victor up and down.
“Like the program, not a family member,” Victor commented, following through with Blake’s misdirection.
“Ah, I understand,” Marcie said, smiling.
“I’ll be ready in a few minutes, I just need to finish cleaning up.”
The Guardians Omnibus Page 22
