Marshall Conrad: A Superhero Tale

by Sean Cummings

  The attacker groaned as I grabbed a handful of his trench coat and lifted him off the ground. “Where’s the other body, you son of a bitch?” I pulled his face about two inches from my glowing eyes. “Tell me where that other body is or I’ll tear your head off right here and now!”

  “W-W-Who are you?” he blubbered loudly. “I d-don’t know what y-you’re t-talking about? Please don’t kill me!”

  “I’d be doing society a favor. If you want to live longer than the next ten seconds, you’ll tell me where you hid the third body.”

  “I-t-told you I d-don’t know anyth...” he whimpered, as he passed into unconsciousness. His body went limp and he slid out of his trench coat, landing flat on his back.

  “Shit,” I muttered as I handcuffed him to the sewage grate bordering to the pathway. I checked his pockets for identification and found a crumpled piece of paper. I opened it up to find a hand-drawn spiral on one side. “Goddammit,” I whispered, as I turned over the paper to see a wrinkled photograph of Marnie Brindle.

  “M-M-Marshall? Is t-that you?” asked Marnie, her voice shaking. “Y-you saved me...”

  I didn’t give her a chance to utter another word.

  “Fly!” I snarled, and hurtled into the blackness.

  Chapter 13

  “We’ve got a problem,” I said abruptly, as I locked the front door of The Curiosity Nook. “Lots going on, we need to talk.”

  Stella stood on a chair watering a cactus whose shape resembled a crucifix. “Probably do,” she said, as she looked at me through the corner of her eye.

  “Busy night last night. Someone spotted me.”

  “I’d seen you once. It stands to reason other people might see you as well.”

  “No, this is different,” I said, as I sat down in the leather chair beside to the front counter. “This one knows my name. She’s my upstairs neighbor.”

  Stella stepped down from the chair and pushed it against the wall. “I see. Now you’re worried that she’ll identify you, is that it? How far away was she?”

  “About ten feet.”

  “I’m going to assume that she required your unique assistance.”

  “Yeah, it’s a long story.”

  “She’s got a hate-on for you?”

  “No-no, nothing like that,” I said, as I slowly massaged my temples. “She had a stalker, and I’ve been letting her hang out in my apartment until we figured out the creep’s identity. I was out on another matter last night and then my stupid migraine revealed that her stalker was going to kill her outside the Humanities Building at Chesterton College. Anyway, I flew over there as fast as I could and the guy was just about to slice her face off when I nailed him.”

  “It looks to me like you’re still dressed for battle,” said Stella, as she poured a cup of coffee and handed it to me. “Nice costume, by the way.”

  “It’s an outfit,” I said, grabbing the mug. “I couldn’t go back to my apartment because I know she’ll be knocking on my door as soon as the police are done with her.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I interrogated her stalker about the third body the cops don’t know about while I was beating the stuffing out of him. She recognized my voice.”

  “Did she see your face?”

  “No, I had my back to her.”

  “Is her stalker the killer?

  “He was a killer—just not the one we’re looking for.”

  “That’s too bad,” she said, as she knelt down behind the counter and then reappeared with a Buster Brown shoe box in her hands. “It’s not the end of the world. You can always deny, deny, deny.”

  “She identified me. She even said my name.”

  Stella looked unimpressed. “Big deal—nobody will believe her.”

  “Really? You don’t think the cops are going to be interested in her story when it’s corroborated by the guy who tried to kill her?”

  “What are the police going to do? Start a task force to search for a superhero with glowing eyes?”

  “I am getting too old for this crap,” I said quietly.

  “On the subject of law enforcement, how did your meeting with the Sheriff go?”

  “That’s another kettle of fish,” I said. “They’ve got some expert from the FBI flying down here and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that I fit nicely into the killer’s profile. Single white male, lives alone, antisocial.”

  “That was to be expected.”

  “By the way, that letter from The Guild I received was a bill for my membership dues. Apparently I owe them twenty three grand dating back to nineteen eighty-eight.”

  “Well, I did tell you they were a regulatory body,” she said. “Anyway, the last time we talked I told you the killer had something to do with the unseen world, remember?”

  “Yeah.”

  “There’s someone here to see you.” She handed me a pair of sunglasses that looked like they’d come out Elvis Presley’s attic. “Put them on.”

  “Sure, but can you answer a couple of questions first?”

  She nodded.

  “Did these sunglasses once belong to the king of Rock and Roll? And why do I have to wear them?”

  “Yes, they’re worth a few thousand dollars, so don’t break them,” she said as she grasped to lid of the shoebox with both hands. “You need to wear them so your optic nerves don’t melt.”

  “What’s in the box?”

  “Someone who dislikes Vanguards, so don’t piss her off.”

  “This is going to freak me out, isn’t it?” I said, as I tentatively slipped the sunglasses over my nose.

  “Probably... Just don’t be rude.”

  “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  She slowly lifted the lid off the shoebox. A brilliant green light blazed up to the ceiling and shook the room, causing a number of shelved curiosities to fall onto the floor. I heard what sounded like wooden wind chimes clattering away from the center of the shoe box, and the glow produced a mild heat that warmed my face.

  “Is he here?” asked a female voice that sounded eerily similar to Oprah Winfrey from inside the box.

  “Yes, he’s here, Ingrid,” said Stella.

  “Nobody else is there, yes?”

  “It’s just the three of us,” Stella said reassuringly.

  “Tell the Vanguard to look inside the box. I must regard his face before I choose whether to disclose what I know.”

  “I have a name, whoever or whatever you are,” I said impatiently.

  “Tell the Vanguard that I don’t talk to strangers,” the voice warned. “Tell him that he’d better mind his attitude lest he be transformed into a snail. Tell him that I’ve turned many Vanguards into snails over the past three hundred years, and that snails are quite tasty with garlic and butter.”

  Stella placed a cautionary hand on my shoulder and squeezed hard. “You’re pissing her off, Marshall. Apologize.”

  “For what?” I huffed. “I don’t even know what she is!”

  “I’m a Fata, you moron,” said the voice. “Castalia, I’m certain that you said he was rather bright?”

  “What’s a Fata?” I asked the box.

  “Spirits bless all of us. Am I to believe that on this creature our collective fate rests? Look inside the box, you idiot, I need to see your face.”

  “He’s a good man, Ingrid, you have my word.” Stella gave me a sharp nudge in the rib cage with her elbow. “He’s going to apologize for being rude. Aren’t you, Marshall?”

  I mustered the best polite voice I could think of and adjusted the Elvis sunglasses. “I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any grief. I’m new at all of this and I’ve only recently learned that an unseen world exists.”

  “Apology accepted, Vanguard. Approach and take heed.”

  I hunched myself over so I could see inside the shoe box. The green light that had shot up to the ceiling receded into a warm yellow glow as a gentle wisp of warm air caressed my face.

  “Oh, you’re a hands
ome one. Castalia, you didn’t tell me that he was a cutie.”

  “Don’t say that too often, Ingrid. It will go to his head,” Stella laughed.

  As I looked inside the box, my jaw dropped at the sight of a tiny child’s face with piercing green eyes staring straight up at me. She was dressed in an elegant white gown that somehow produced vaporous white tendrils flowing gently around her small body, leading to a pair of wings that resembled those of a dragon fly.

  “Y-you’re a fairy?” I asked in an astonished voice. “Y-you’re b-beautiful.”

  “I am indeed a fata or faerie as your kind would call us. My name is Ingrid and I know the being responsible for these unresolved deaths in your world.”

  “What being?” I asked innocently. “The person I seek is a man, from what I can tell.”

  “Far from it.” She began to walk around the interior of the shoe box. “Reach inside so I may read your palm.”

  Stella nudged my ribs again. “That means stick your hand in the box.”

  “I kind of figured that on my own. Thanks.” I gently put my left hand in the shoe box. Ingrid’s tiny wings fluttered in a blur, making the familiar sound of a buzzing insect. She hovered over my palm.

  “Good strong hands,” said Ingrid. “Lifeline is straight and true.”

  “Uh, thanks—I guess.”

  “There is nothing to be thankful for, Vanguard. Your journey has been difficult, yes?”

  “Ummm, I’m not sure that I understand.”

  Ingrid lowered herself onto my palm and sat on her knees. She placed her tiny hand in the center of my life line and as a mild electrical charge tingled through my body at her touch.

  “You’re not sure who are you are supposed to be, that much is abundantly clear,” said Ingrid in a sympathetic tone. “You miss your mother, yes? She passed suddenly, yes?”

  “She’s been gone for a long time,” I said softly. “I think about her every day. Got a picture of her in my wallet.”

  Ingrid looked up at my face and smiled. “She watches over you and is proud of what you’ve become. You honor her with your deeds.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You miss your mate. She was taken from you. Very sad.”

  “Y-yes, she became sick and passed away.”

  The tiny faerie pursed a thin pair of lips and concentrated.

  “You could have chosen to ignore your great gifts,” said Ingrid. “Yet you help others despite the pain of your life and the storm inside your mind.”

  “I guess so. I mean, I don’t really like people, you know? Half the time, I tell myself to keep doing what I do because humanity must have some redeeming value. I guess that’s what keeps me going.”

  “Castalia, this mortal owns the strength of character to do what must be done. Has he determined the meaning behind the stones?”

  “No Ingrid, not yet,” said Stella. “Marshall hasn’t tapped into all of his abilities.”

  “Hmm... A Vanguard who does not know his place? Castalia, am I violating the compact if I emerge from this box? I should like to see the stones for myself.”

  “It’s all right, Ingrid. Marshall and I are grateful that you’re here.”

  “Well and good, then,” said Ingrid. “Vanguard ... lead me to the stones.”

  I slowly lifted Ingrid’s near-weightless body out of the shoe box and walked over to the glass display case containing the spiral engraved rocks. Ingrid sat cross-legged in the center of my palm as I knelt down so she could look at them.

  “Is this all of them?” asked Ingrid.

  “There are thirteen more of them from what I can tell,” I said. “The rocks are usually found at the scene of a murder, but Stella found these scattered all over town. There’s been another killing but we don’t know where the body is.”

  “This is not good,” she whispered.

  “It’s not just the rocks, though. I mean the spiral symbol is appearing all over the city,” I said. “First it appeared on the rocks and now it’s showing up at crime scenes. Whoever is responsible must be trying to send us a message.”

  Ingrid nodded. “You must talk to these rocks, Vanguard. It’s the only way we’ll ever know their meaning.”

  “I would, but I don’t know how,” I said.

  “Then seek the counsel of your kind. They can teach you.”

  “I don’t know anyone.”

  “I see,” she said, as she rubbed her tiny chin with an equally tiny thumb. “I suggest a period of contemplation with the stones. You must do this immediately.”

  “Why?”

  Ingrid’s tiny wings began to vibrate and she flew onto the top of the glass cabinet. “The being you seek is not of your world. That he breached the compact and entered your domain is a troubling mystery, and I suspect it is somehow connected with the murders in your realm.”

  “You keep calling him a being.”

  “That’s because he doesn’t deserve to be called a Púca,” she said, angrily. “Most Púca’s limit themselves to harmless mischief, but not this one. He’s destroyed many of my kind and captured their essence—he has many followers.”

  “A Púca?”

  “Yes, he is a powerful faerie of sorts. He possesses abilities that are beyond any magic known to exist in the unseen world. His interest in the near world is a question best left for mystics. I dare not speculate.”

  “So what am I looking for, then?” I asked, frustrated. “Does he look like you?”

  “You cannot see him because you haven’t been enchanted,” said Ingrid. “He is visible only to his host.”

  “His host? You mean, like demonic possession?”

  “He is unlike any demon, and he cannot control a person’s soul,” she said, as she flew back toward the shoebox. “His purpose is fear. It’s all that matters to his kind.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “Castalia will offer guidance. I must return to my realm and consult with my kin,” she said. “I shall contact you both with more information as soon as it is revealed to me.”

  Ingrid hovered back into the shoebox and looked up at me with a reassuring smile on her face. “You are a powerful Vanguard and you are noble in spite of what I said earlier. It was pleasant enough to meet you. I will not transform you into a snail.”

  “Thank you, Ingrid. “

  Stella closed the lid and slid the shoebox back under the front counter. I took off the Elvis sunglasses and handed them to her.

  “Wow.” I exhaled, questioning if I was losing my mind. “I’ve seen some weird stuff, but this tops them all.”

  “She’s pretty cool, you know,” she said. “I knew you both would hit it off.”

  I took off my leather jacket and tossed it over the arm of the chair. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Ingrid liked you. That’s surprising, given that she hates Vanguards.”

  “She threatened to turn me into a snail,” I said, sourly.

  “Yes, but she also said you were noble, and I’d have to agree with her.”

  “Thanks,” I said, as I rubbed my temples.

  “Feel a bit overwhelmed?” Stella asked.

  I yawned. “I just want to go to bed. Listen, can a witch cure a migraine? My head feels like it’s going to explode.”

  “Nope, but I do have an amulet you can wear. Not sure if it will interfere with your ability to foretell.”

  “Never mind, then—not worth the risk. Look, I’m going to head home.”

  “Come back tonight and talk to the rocks.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I groaned, as I walked out the front door.

  Chapter 14

  There was no point in trying to hide from Marnie Brindle because she had a key to my apartment, and would probably be waiting inside to grill me about the previous night.

  In the short time since I’d offered to let her hide out at my place, she’d made herself at home to the point of replacing my shampoo with a salon brand and enlightening me with new and efficient
ways of folding my laundry. I’d remind her that she was a guest in my home, but she’d dismiss my comments with a wave of her hand while telling me that her presence was karma.

  I had just walked in the door when her voice piped up from her usual spot on my sofa. It was early afternoon and the curtains were wide open, flooding sunlight into every square inch of my living room.

  “Hi, Marshall, what up?”

  “Nothing,” I grumbled, as I stepped into my bedroom to change into my sweat suit. “Why are the curtains open? Your stalker might see you lying on my couch.”

  “Ohhh, I don’t think that’s going to be an issue anymore.”

  “What?” I shouted, as a stab of throbbing pain shot through my head.

  “I said, I don’t think that’s going to be an issue anymore, Marshall. Not after last night.”

  “What do you mean by that?” I walked into the living room and closed the curtains.

  “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you since seven o’clock last night.”

  “Working.”

  “I see.”

  “What isn’t going to be an issue anymore?” I went into the kitchen and stuck my head in the refrigerator.

  “My stalker,” she said. “He’s currently handcuffed to a bed at the Greenfield General Hospital.”

  “You’re kidding. Did you finally break down and talk to the police?”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to tell me how he was arrested?”

  “I kind of hoped you might be able to tell me,” she said, as she sat up on the couch. “Where’s your leather jacket?”

  “Hanging up in the closet.”

  “I’m talking about your other leather jacket. You have two, remember?”

  “What’s with all the questions?” I sat down on my vinyl easy chair.

  Marnie curled her knees to her chest and gave me a skeptical look. “First off, I’m not crazy regardless of whether I was drunk last night, and second, everything I’ve ever known or believed has been proven false. I think I have a right to grill you.”

  I continued to play dumb while I thought of a good excuse for my missing leather jacket. “So who is he?”

  “A jilted ex-boyfriend named Kyle Peterson. I dumped him before I moved to Greenfield. Haven’t even talked to him for over a year and he was the last person I’d ever expect to be a nut job.”