“Let’s see how you last against someone your own size,” and with that, a misshapen ball of purple light began to expand and reform until it was about Dufus’ height and size. The man, not to mention the audience, watched in awe as Pam then corrected its shape, giving it arms and legs. In the end it was a veritable Sumo wrestler she was standing right in the middle of. Pam had adopted the stance of the Telekinetic man she had manufactured, linking her own movements to those of her creation.
Dufus took one moment to size up his new opponent before taking another swing.
She blocked it easily and made a lunge at him herself. The purple figure wrapped its arms around the man and began to literally wrestle him.
On the other side, Pipsqueak had taken the offensive again, sending a spray of energy balls at Stacey. The Cockney managed to lithely dodge a couple before careening backward in the air under the force of one of the emerald projectiles.
This was going to be one interesting confrontation.
“Kristen! This is your last chance. We don’t have any more time.”
“Dad, I can’t. How could you?”
He could see Peerson was more than a little desperate. But he couldn’t just accept defeat like this. So he couldn’t stop the bomb. Maybe one of his friends could, or even himself.
“Where is it?”
Peerson looked at him for the first time, actually seeing him, “What?”
“Where is the bomb?” Russell called a little louder.
There was a horrible silence that spread through the audience at the mention of an explosive, this time the performer actually seemed to mean it.
From the looks of it, both Pam and Stacey had their hands full. It was up to Russell now. He had to find the bomb and put a stop to it.
“Mister Peerson, please. For the love of your daughter, where is the bomb.”
“I…”
The audience was completely involved in the drama. Not entirely sure what to make of it, they watched in open mouthed awe as the four people traded supernatural blows while these three seemingly ordinary people debated between the trust and love of one’s family and something they weren’t quite sure of. And where did this bomb come into it?
Kristen and Russell called out together:
“Daddy, please!”
“Mister Peerson! Please!”
He answered. He finally answered. Defeated, he mumbled, “You’re standing on it. It’s under the stage. I’m sorry Kristen,” and he bolted into the darkened auditorium.
Russell was speechless. Under the stage. Under the supports.
He had to act.
“Kristen, get out of here.”
She was staring down at the floorboard beneath her feet, captivated by the idea she was standing on a bomb. Probably not registering it as being fact rather than fiction.
“Now!”
She looked up at him, finally realising what was going on. But she didn’t move. She simply shook her head and said, “No.”
“Fine. Then help me get this up.”
The flooring had been laid in segments. Each segment was coloured with a flag of one country or another. They were only about two meters squared, but they weren’t as light as they seemed.
Russell dug his fingers into the groove and heaved at the sides. He wasn’t doing too well until Kristen came over to help. With her added effort, they managed to slide the cover aside to reveal exactly what they were looking for.
Hidden and supported amongst the suspension works for the stage - a large and very complicated piece of machinery. Its dark metal reflecting the bright lights from above, creating so many new curves and shapes to its already convoluted surface. The only thing Russell was able to identify was a bright red timer that was slowly ticking away the final few seconds on the count down.
“Run,” He said it so simply. So quietly, he wasn’t sure if she had heard.
She looked up at him. This item represented all the lies her father had been telling. The final truth to all the mess that had made its way into their lives.
“For god’s sake! Will you just get the hell out of here?”
He stood up, addressing the whole crowd.
“All of you! Get out! Get out of here now!”
There was silence. Even the fighting had stopped. Everyone’s attention was on Russell, his small figure commanding a huge presence on the massive stage. Even those sitting at the back had stopped. But no one was sure what to do.
“This is no show! This is for real! Get your arses out of here.”
He looked down at the counter. There was no time. He watched in silent horror, though his own voice was still echoing through the auditorium, as the counter reached the final count down.
And he focussed as hard as he could. There was no margin for error. He snatched out with his mind, forcing all the air currents in the building to bend to his will, his control and to do his bidding. He reached out… Out through the entrances. Out past the foyer and into the open air outside and yanked, for all he could, the currents that were dancing out there.
Before the bomb exploded, the glass wall that made up the foyer’s external wall shattered inwards under the force of the air under his control as he commanded it to come to him.
The wind was doing as he bid and it was doing it with such force even he wasn’t sure what to expect.
It started as a quiet whistle through the entrances as the first of the silver strands answered his call, but it built up in intensity so quickly, the change in air pressure in the room made everyone's ears pop.
The howling as it belted through the door became nigh unbearable, but still Russell pushed on. Or rather, pulled. He drew it all to him, gathering all the air he could, feeling the strain in every fibre of his body as his mind scooped it all up. He could feel the veins in his neck and temple flaring as he squeezed even more juice from his very body.
The air raced at him like an invisible tidal wave, food items, papers, tickets, hats all came with it, swept up in the torrential gusts. And when they reached him they continued to race around, knocking Kristen away, sending her sprawling across the stage. He didn’t have time to be concerned about her now.
When that timer hit zero, he had to be ready.
Screams were coming from the audience as the realization that this wasn’t part of the show set in. People began scrambling over chairs and other people in an effort to make their way to the exits. It was fruitless. With his own power, he had all but prevented anyone escaping through the sheer tunnels of wind that continued to blow through every exit, every orifice from outside.
And when the final red digit flickered out, Russell was ready.
With all his remaining strength, he enveloped the device in his own private silver cocoon. Only Russell himself saw the near blinding flash of light as the bomb went off. A split second later and he felt searing heat. Ignoring it, he sent the force of the explosion, driven by the very winds he commanded straight up into the sky. Bracing himself against the sheer power of both bomb and air, he watched as it punched its way up and through the ceiling of the theatre. The lighting rig, support beams, construction pieces didn’t stand a chance against the brunt of this directed assault.
Bright orange flames, along with its poisonous orange smoke was sucked upward and out of the building, debris from above going with it, rather than falling down, protecting the stunned crowd.
In seconds, his outer clothing had been scorched away and he did his best to redirect the gusts he controlled. His cape unfurled and began to billow out behind him. It had to be an impressive sight, but he wasn’t in the frame of mind to think about it.
It felt like an eternity as, along with the raging storm of flame and smoke went the last remaining ounce of strength in Russell’s body.
And in only a few seconds more, it was over. No longer was the theatre lit by the bright orange aura of the bomb. All there was was darkness as the Centre’s lights faltered under the onslaught of Russell’s powers.
A
nd he finally let go.
His legs gave way and he felt himself sink to the floor.
All the pent up energy he had left, encircling himself and the bomb, was released, sending a shock wave of fresh air out over the audience, who were finally free to breathe. And darkness claimed him once more.
CHAPTER TWENTY
People were evacuated faster than was expected. All they wanted to do was get outside and away from whatever it was that had happened.
Russell awoke to Pam’s smiling face. His head cradled in her lap. Looking to her side, Stacey was squatting; his own costume was showing a little beneath tattered and scorched clothing.
“Did we make it?”
“Damn right we did, lad. You were brilliant!”
“And Kristen?”
Pam shook her head, “Gone after her father, along with the police. We won’t have to worry about him anymore. He’s their problem.”
Stacey put his hand on her shoulder and she looked at him. Russell couldn’t read it from this angle, but there was something in her expression.
He didn’t want to think about it now. They had won. Instead, he smiled, enjoying the moment, unable to do much else, “So I can go home now?”
“Sure can. Here, let’s get you up,” Pam provided support as Stacey reached underneath his arms and hauled him to his feet. Russell winced in pain as every bone in his body seemed to crumble to dust.
“A few days hard rest and you’ll be good as new,” Stacey joked. Russell could only chuckle. Anything harder made his chest hurt.
“And Dufus?”
Pam shook her head.
“They got away, just after your spectacular light show. They’re still our problem. I think they always will be.”
“We can handle it,” Russell offered.
“Damn right we can!” Stacey yelled as he helped Russell out of the now empty theatre. Leaving behind only several policemen who had already gathered statements and the debris that had fallen after Russell had ceased his assault on the roof. ‘Maybe it’s time for an open air theatre,’ he thought to himself.
Stacey wrapped his coat around Russell trying to conceal the costume and prevent any further attention.
Outside there was just the hint of a breeze – the air itself seemed to be tired, worn out.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Friday night.
The safe house had become a party house. Surprising Russell and Stacey both, Pam had organised a party in one of the lower ground rooms. It had somewhat spread out from there, however, into some of the other rooms, though Pam had locked those doors she wanted kept shut.
The front rooms on the ground floor were actually rather spectacular. They were styled as Victorian ballrooms complete with bar, some tables and chair and a separate dance floor on a lower level. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling and the rooms seemed to take up both the ground and first floor space.
Russell wasn’t even sure who half the people were, but both Pam and Stacey knew them. He figured most of them were journalists. Maybe some were the ‘others’ they had mentioned when the couple had first approached Russell outside his apartment.
All the same, they were here for a good time. And he was going to have one, aching or not.
Even after a couple of days rest, he was totally vamoosed. But the music was good, there was plenty of coca cola, because he didn’t drink alcohol, not that he minded anyone else drinking it; he just didn’t like it, not that he felt he had to justify that to anyone. Pam gave him a little smirk when they had had that conversation.
“So. You still up for it?”
He looked sideways at her. She had nonchalantly turned to admire the view, which consisted of a number of people bobbing up and down to the music.
“Up for what?”
“Oh, come on. The whole costume deal. The heroing?”
He shrugged, “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“You’ve been hanging out with Stacey too long,” Then she turned to look directly at him, “But seriously. Are you?”
He considered the small amount of coke left in his glass, swirled it around a little and actually considered it all over again.
“You know,” he started, “You couldn’t hold me back, even with all the telekinetics in the world. Though I think we can forgo the costumes.”
She whooped for joy and punched him on the arm, sending a fresh bout of pain running through him, “Oh. Sorry. I forgot.”
“That’s cool. I guess I better get used to all these little knocks.”
They had talked for a while longer about the party, the events of the last week and about the prospects for the future. He found it hard to believe only a week before that he had been a normal person moping all the way up the stairs in a lowly car park.
Now, he was a freak of nature, who still did his moping, but had opted to keep his new orange Telstar at home before forgetting about public transport. Surprisingly, in some ways it was safer.
Right now, he bobbed to the beat, watching as everyone had a good time. It was great. The music set up, the lights. They had gone all out for this party.
And then Stacey appeared from among the dancing couples and wrapped his arm around Pam. Russell had noted that Pam had not invited her boyfriend. Was that a sign, or had something finally clicked between these two? He wasn’t going to pry.
Stacey beamed, “Hey, whatcha up to?”
“Just finishing my drink,” as if to emphasise this, Russell took the last swig of his coke.
“Well, I know someone who wants to talk with you,” Stacey pulled Russell in close and pointed through the crowd. In all the flashing lights, it was still easy to spot who he was talking about.
Kristen was standing tall and proud, looking like a million dollars. She already had a drink in hand, probably shoved there by Stacey.
What was he supposed to say? He had practically ruined her life. If he’d kept his big mouth shut, maybe she would still think her father was a good bloke. But would that be solving the problem?
She spotted the two men and made her way over to them.
“I’ll leave ya to it,” Stacey’s voice stank of alcohol. Thankfully it didn’t linger as he too was swallowed by the crowd along with a smiling Pam.
She started, “Hi.”
“Hi.”
She started again, “Nice place.”
“It’s Pam’s, I figure. Have you met Pam?”
“She’s the one who invited me.”
“Oh.”
There was an awkward silence. He didn’t know what to say. He half expected them to speak at once, like in those movies. But he couldn’t work up the courage to say anything. So she spoke again.
“Look, Russell. I’m sorry.”
“No. I am. I’m sorry it all worked out this way.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
He wasn’t sure whether she was referring to the bomb incident and her father or the date. He tried his luck, “I got the wrong idea.”
“No. You didn’t.”
What did that mean? Where was he standing now?
“Look. Russell. I do like you. I like you a lot.”
He nodded, knowing what was coming next. There had to be a 'but'. So he said it first, “But only as a friend.”
“Exactly. I’m sorry.”
“That’s cool. I deserve it after all the crud I put you through.”
She laughed, “Ditto. But that’s what friends are for, right?”
He laughed, “I guess so.”
The music changed; a song by the band Aqua began to play and Russell smiled at the idea. Then he thought about it for a moment. Then finally asked, no longer with his heart beating in his throat, “Want to dance?”
“Sure. But-”
“Yeah, I know. Friends.”
“Just that.”
The two moved further onto the dance floor and into the music.
He could be happy with that. Friends. He’d made some good o
nes this past week. Not to mention enemies, but you take the good with the bad.
He chuckled to himself and she pulled away.
He smiled, “Just friends remember.”
##
About the Author
Anthony Harwood was born in Perth, Western Australia. He now resides in London where he works as an Actor and Maths Teacher.
Cartoon Heroes: Book One of the Dark Skies Series Page 22
