The Good Fight 3: Sidekicks

by Pen

  “Hi, mom,” I mumbled, waving with my left hand. I smiled, tasting fresh blood from the split lips. I was trying to look friendly, but I figured out that it didn’t work when all the color drained from her face.

  “Wh-What?” was all she could manage.

  This was the moment I had dreaded, but knew would one day catch up with me. Luckily this was my mom and not Henry Hell or Masquerade or Rageborn or some other villain. I still had options. I mean, nothing said she would believe the truth anyway. I took a chance.

  “Costume party?”

  I meant it to come off as some kind of excuse or explanation, but the way it came out made it sound like a question. That doesn’t go a long way toward reinforcing a story, but just outright lying to her? I’m supposed to be fighting for a moral code, and part of that is truth. It’s bad enough that I have to hide who I am. I can’t just look her in the eyes and lie. I sighed.

  “Fine. You caught me. I’m Voltage.”

  There was a deathly silence in the room after I made the announcement. From down the hall I could still catch Janis, but nothing here. I couldn’t even hear my own breath or hers. A drop of blood inched its way across my upper lip and into my mouth.

  “Voltage. You’re Voltage?”

  “Ummm . . . Surprise?”

  “You wipe that smirk off your face right now, Edward! This is not funny!”

  “I’m not laughing, Mom. I promise. It’s not a smirk. My lips are swelling up.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “Peanut allergies?”

  And just like that, the attitude had reappeared without conscious thought. It was my refuge on the street, used to deflect anger as well as incite mistakes in an enemy. When I saw the look on her face, I decided I had definitely managed the inciting part. Her eyebrows darted toward the center of her face and her lips tightened into this thin little slash of pink. The last time I saw that look, she had just kicked Dad out the door. Definitely time to get that redirection thing going. I pointed to the aching lips and broken nose.

  “Hammerhead got me. He swings a right hook that’ll crack a cinder block.”

  I swept a hand down my chest, pointing to each of the purpling bruises there. Two of them were bigger than my splayed hand.

  “Mako’s handiwork. Seven shots from a pistol and two from a shotgun.”

  “A shotgun?” she asked, her eyes widening into giant circles of black-irised fear.

  “Yeah. On the plus side, GW went after Mastermind and not me.”

  “GW?”

  “Great White,” I clarified. I wiped at my nose and in so doing rubbed a fresh scarlet streak onto the uniform top. It was going to get washed anyway. I tossed it onto the bed and took a couple steps forward, sitting on the edge. The maneuver let her relax a bit and she walked around to the foot of the bed so she could keep me in her direct view.

  “The Loan Sharks,” I told her. “Well, three of them.”

  “You said Mastermind? The hero? The one that flies?”

  The one that flies. Of course. Like there’s only one flier out there. I tried to grin a little, and the lips split again. The insults and the jokes that could have easily rolled off my tongue were replaced with a simple answer.

  “Yeah. He’s my boss.”

  I let her stand there for a moment. Soaking it in, as it were. It wasn’t something she was just going to accept out of thin air. I can remember feeling that way the first day I realized what I was, when I just kind of sat there, staring off into space for about three hours. As she processed, I popped open the cell and made sure there were no new messages. A couple of police alerts, but nothing I needed to worry about at the moment. It went back into the belt pouch.

  “Want some coffee?” I prompted, and Mom nodded. I jerked my head toward the kitchen.

  “I’ll meet you there. Let me clean up a little and I’ll answer your questions.”

  I followed her out of the room, stopping at the bathroom. I ran water in the sink and waited until I could hear her rattling the coffee pot. I looked into the mirror, seeing the sharp plains of my cheeks streaked with blood. My nose tilted abruptly to my right just past the bridge.

  Slow, deep breaths, Ed. Get it done.

  I raised my hands and placed the edges of my fingers on either side of my nose. Bloody flesh peeked out from between my yellow gloves. The sound grated in my head like a rake across concrete as I jerked my nose back into place. I staggered, leaning against the sink for support as I hyperventilated. Fresh blood ran out and dripped into the water, spreading slow red clouds. For now I ignored it as I dipped a washcloth into the cool water and wiped at the blood that had spattered my body. The bruises were already tender.

  A few minutes later I joined Mom in the kitchen. I had taken off the gloves, put on a clean WarriorCat t-shirt, and jammed columns of rolled up toilet tissue into my nostrils. Mom chuckled at the sight.

  “You look ridiculous, you know,” she said. I nodded and accepted the thin porcelain mug she handed me. Steam wafted up from the inside, and I placed it on the edge of the table rather than burn my tongue so soon.

  “Soaks up the blood and keeps the passages open,” I said.

  Her eyebrow quirked. I kept talking.

  “This isn’t my first rodeo. I heal pretty quick, but I spent a couple days last year with my nose healed mostly shut.”

  “When was that?”

  “March, I think?”

  She looked into the distance as she struggled to remember the time. When it finally sank in, her eyes widened. “You told me you had a cold.”

  I grinned. “Got caught by Jersey Devil. He threw me into a bridge abutment.”

  “Threw you?”

  “Yeah. Devil’s a big fff . . . ella.”

  I could see the glint in her eyes that told me my near-slip had indeed been noticed. She let it slide this time.

  “I don’t keep up with all those hero types, Edward. Not after your father,” she said. It was almost a painful confession for her. I could tell she wanted to know about me. There were some things I could say and some I couldn’t. I smiled and took an experimental sip of my coffee. Still too hot, but getting there. “I remember that one from the poster over your bed,” she added.

  “Kid Dynamo?”

  “That’s the one. He died, didn’t he?”

  “He was . . .” I trailed off and took a chance with my tongue. Burned, but not too much. Add it to the list of things to heal.

  “He was what?”

  “I was there when Kid Dynamo died,” I told her.

  She set down her mug and I saw her swallow. I let the story come and kept my eyes on the cheap Formica tabletop. I knew if I stopped to look at her I’d quit talking, and I couldn’t do that.

  “He was a sidekick for Captain Cobalt. As cool as he could be when the press was around, Cobalt was a bad mentor for a kid. Kept putting Dynamo in situations too dangerous for him. It caught up to them when Grinder and SheFiend ambushed them. It was on that big bridge over the Jennings River. SheFiend led off with those big fireballs of hers. Blasted Cobalt back and off the side of the bridge. Dynamo just caught the outside of the blast and came up with twin lightning bolts. Grinder knew what was coming, though, and he had wired the bridge supports to absorb the electricity. After that he just charged.”

  I paused to sip again at the coffee. For some reason now, it tasted oily and bitter. I choked my way through a mouthful and swallowed hard to force it down. The memories continued.

  “Grinder hit Dynamo with a shoulder just under the ribs. Three broke right there, and two more when they hit the railing. The Kid wasn’t made for fighting and Grinder broke his jaw with one swing. SheFiend set his legs on fire and Grinder kicked him while he was rolling around on the ground.”

  My breath was coming short again. I focused on the little chip on the table edge.

  “Cobalt came up then, blasting Grinder in the face and putting a boot into SheFiend’s chest. They all fought for a minute and then it was all
bright flashing lights and sirens. Dynamo tried to stand, but there was a big explosion, and SheFiend was at the center. Cobalt was just gone. Grinder was screaming. His back was broken. That’s the only way they got him into the GiftBox,” I said. The prison for the Gifted has an official name, but damned if I know what it is. It’s one of those, ‘everyone just calls it this’ kind of things.

  “Anyway, Dynamo was blown back to the edge of the bridge. When he tried to get back up, SheFiend looked at him. She glanced back at the Response Team guys with their gauss guns and she made this sighing sound. You could tell she knew the fight was going to be brutal. When she turned back, she actually winked. ‘See you later, alligator,’ she said. I mean, of all the things she could have said, right? No monologues, no threats, none of the usual bluster you see on TV from the bad guys. Just, ‘See you later, alligator.’ Then the fireballs came, and Dynamo didn’t even have a chance to react before he was blown off the side of the bridge.”

  Mom was sitting in silence as I got near the end of the story. I took one more sip of the nastiness that was my coffee. It was time she knew.

  “The river was cold that night, and it was a long drop off the bridge. When I hit the water, I decided that Kid Dynamo was over. Let the world think I was dead,” I said. After that I just waited for her response.

  She sat and stared at me as if I had suddenly sprouted horns. Come to think of it, that might not be the best thing to say when it comes to the Gifted. I suppose I could have done exactly that.

  “Surprise,” I whispered again.

  “So you were—”

  “I was. As far as the world is concerned, he died with Captain Cobalt on that bridge.”

  “So this is what it’s always been? When you said you fell down the stairs, you . . .”

  “Ghost Dancer. Dude can hit, like, ten times to my every one swing.”

  “And the hair thing.”

  “Flare. He hit me with a plasma blast. Even took my eyebrows. Flare has a horrible mean streak, but you gotta give it to him. I mean, he could have done a lot of damage, but he burned off my hair just so he could point and laugh at me. Kind of a dick move, really, but that’s his style.”

  “How long, Edward?”

  “Was about four, maybe five inches when he hit it. Burned smooth off.”

  There was the look again.

  “I first channeled back when I was thirteen.”

  “Is that when it started?”

  “Yeah. I brought a little force up back then. It was usually just simple spark things.”

  “Not that.”

  “Not what?”

  Her voice cracked. “How long have you been lying to me?”

  Ouch. That one hurt. I was expecting more of the usual ‘what is it like’ questions that people always ask. I hadn’t stopped to consider that angle, and suddenly I felt about two inches tall for having neglected it. I forced another swallow of coffee down as her words ripped through me like a blade in the gut.

  “I never told you any of it,” I said. God, the tone of my voice was so flat and dead. “I was hoping you’d never find out, to be honest.”

  “Honest,” she scoffed, folding her arms over her chest. There was that knife twist again.

  I stood up from the table, carrying the coffee cup to the sink and rinsing it with a splash of water.

  “I wouldn’t expect you to tell me all of it,” she said. Her voice was little more than a whisper. “But you could have trusted me.”

  “I trust you,” I said, and it was true. At least, I think it was. “I didn’t want you to know. There’s a difference.”

  “Oh, that makes it better.”

  “Yeah. Well, I’m not real good at the interpersonal thing.”

  I’m actually supposed to be working on that. Mastermind wants me to go hang out with therapy groups and speaking forums and so on. Not sure where I’m supposed to find the time, between classes and fights and the endless practices he makes me go through.

  “But, Edward, I’m—”

  “I know,” I said. “You’re my mother, and you deserve better.” I kept my back to her, and the words were thin, hollow things.

  “Well, I can tell you, things are gonna change. For starters, young man, you’re going to tell me everything, and then I will see where we go from there.”

  “There are things I can’t tell—”

  “Everything, Edward. Every last bit.”

  She held out her coffee cup, never breaking eye contact with me, despite the way I avoided her gaze by looking at the sink. I could still see her out of the corner of my eye, and she had that you’re-going-to-lose glare.

  “Look. I swore that—”

  “You’re underage,” she interjected, waggling the cup to indicate that she was tired of waiting for me to fill it. “You can’t enter into a contract on your own, no matter who says otherwise. The courts will disallow it, especially if I press.”

  “Oh yeah? You’re gonna take me to court?”

  “If I have to. I’m going to have the truth.”

  “You out me in court, and every hammer in the northeast is going to be kicking down the door to come take you prisoner. You want your kitchen blown to scrap by Kid Vicious? I’m telling you, he’ll do it, and just for fun.”

  “I’m not scared.”

  I whirled to face her directly. “Look him up. You will be. I’m not kidding.”

  She waved a hand to indicate her lack of concern. I’d seen that gesture before, and it meant I would be wasting my time if I continued. I hate the way this works. No matter what I say, she’s not going to listen and I’m going to wind up in the hot seat until I ‘fess up to everything I have going on.

  “So what do you want to know?” I asked. As she started to speak, I raised a hand. “And don’t just say, ‘everything’, either, because that isn’t the way this is going to work. You want to know something specific, then ask it, but I won’t be just babbling away.”

  She glared at me while I refilled her cup. I could practically see the wheels turning in her mind.

  “Why did you not want me to know?” she asked.

  “Part of it is an operational security thing,” I told her. “If you don’t know you won’t let any information slip in casual conversation. I mean, God help me if you’re getting your hair done and you see me on TV, right? You’ll make a statement and one of the girls will put two and two together.”

  “I can keep a secret,” she protested.

  “Yeah? Let’s look back on the past. How many birthday gifts did I know about through the years? How many of the cousins did I know things about that I shouldn’t? When my eighth grade English teacher was planning that divorce, how was it I found out?”

  “Okay, fine! So a few slip-ups!”

  “This kind of slip-up can be fatal, Ma. These guys I deal with, they love to kidnap folks and put them in deathtraps to taunt those of us on this side of the game. Now what happens when I’m not quick enough getting to you?”

  She sat there, looking at me with that slight pout that tells me she thinks I should feel guilty as hell about what I’ve done.

  “So what’s the other reason?” she finally asked.

  So many answers. I knew she would object. She’d scream at me about the risk. She’d tell me how she didn’t trust Masks—and who could blame her, really? Endless nights of worry for her, wondering if I was all right or if I was even going to come home ever again. Hell, just the thought that I wanted something that was truly mine was a reason. Everything I’d ever had was because of her, and as grateful as I am for all that she does, it feels really good to have something that I can look at and say, “That’s all me.”

  “Don’t just stand there.”

  “I’m trying to think of the best way to say it.”

  “Open your mouth and talk, Edward. Stop trying to sugar-coat everything. You’ve been hiding this for years, so why should you try to cover it up with politeness?”

  I nodded and sucked at a tooth. “Wow.
Okay. How about because I’m trying to be a nice person? I didn’t know that was a crime now.”

  She vaulted to her feet and shook a quivering finger in my face. Her eyes narrowed to little slits and her jaw tightened. “Don’t you dare get offended! You don’t get to do that!”

  “Oh? And why is that?” I shot back, my voice raised.

  “You’ve been lying to your own mother for this whole time. You’re not the injured party here.”

  I started to snap back with a comment about the Loan Sharks, but figured that would be counter-productive.

  “It’s because of things like this!” I told her, nearly shouting the words. “Because you overreact!”

  “So I’m overreacting now?”

  Now it was her voice raised. I hated that I was the cause of it.

  “It’s overreacting now when I don’t want to see you hurt? Or worse? Think about your father!”

  “That won’t happen,” I told her, but the words were stiff and wooden. I tried to avoid looking at her by filling a cup with water. Her words were clear even over the rushing sound from the faucet.

  “It could happen to you any day! You get blown up and shot and in fights and run over. So you look at me and tell me what makes you so special that this can’t happen to you. Go ahead! I’m waiting.”

  “I didn’t say it can’t. I said it won’t.”

  “You can’t guarantee that, Edward.”

  I knocked back the glass of water like a movie cowboy slamming a shot of whiskey. I’m pretty sure I even pursed my lips and grimaced like one.

  “There are no guarantees in life, Ma. We could have a quake right now and get swallowed up by the earth. Asteroids could come in and explode like over Tunguska and we’d all be vapor.”

  “Don’t make light of it.”

  “I’m not! Don’t you see? That’s the whole point: nothing is absolute. You take a chance just by living. Eat right, exercise, take care of yourself and your family, and you can still wind up like Dad.”

  Her hand would have been a blur to any normal. I saw it coming and accepted the slap rather than dodging or even rolling with it. It wasn’t like she was going to physically hurt me. It did make quite a satisfying crack of sound, though.