Six Superhero Stories

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  "They're not superhumans." I walk up close to the wall, blocking the projector so the victim's faces appear on my back.

  "Probably," says Tank.

  "And they're all missing persons or victims of unsolved murders," I say, moving out of the projector's beam. "So what else do they have in common? What's so important about them that Mardi Gras would put all their names on a secret chip the Protectorate was willing to kill for?"

  Gary keeps typing away on his laptop. "I've got nothing so far. None of the cases is cross-indexed with any of the other cases in any law enforcement database."

  "Wait a minute." I point at what's bothering me--a lone street address at the bottom of the table, entered twice. "What's this?"

  "Unmatched data point," says Gary. "It was presented that way without comment in the code. Every other address accompanies a person's name and a date."

  "It's up here twice." I point at each of the two versions in turn. "Mistake?"

  Gary shakes his head. "Not by me." He looks at Hericane.

  She's been pretty quiet since she finished reading the code off the fingertip. She isn't ready to talk yet, either; she just folds her arms over her chest and casts a steely glare at him without saying a word.

  So what then?" says the douche. "Why was it in there twice?"

  "Because it's important." I run my finger down through the list of 57 and stop at the bottommost address. "Everything else is leading up to it." I smack my palm against the wall over the duplicated address. It reappears on the back of my hand. "It's like she put it in boldface and circled it with red ink. It's the most important thing on the chip."

  Gary taps and types on his laptop, and the view on the wall changes. He's called up a search engine and is entering the address. "So where is this place?"

  Tank scowls. "Beats me."

  I think hard and come up empty. "Doesn't ring a bell."

  Gary's search delivers zero results. "Nothing. Let me run that again."

  "Don't bother," says Hericane.

  All eyes swoop over and land on her at once.

  "Why not?" says Tank.

  "Because I know where it is," says Hericane. "I know exactly where it is."

  I take a step toward her. "Then why don't the rest of us know?"

  "Because." Hericane sighs. "You're not supposed to."

  Gary's still typing furiously on the laptop. "And why do all my Internet searches keep coming up empty?"

  "It's a secret," says Hericane. "A great big superhero secret."

  "How big?" asks Tank.

  "Bigger than you can imagine," says Hericane. "And I guess you're about to find out for yourselves."

  Tank's already out of his seat, charging for the door. "Sounds like my kind of evening!"

  "No, trust me." Hericane's voice is grim. "You won't like it. You won't like it at all."

  *****

  We get out of the car on Main Street, which is pretty empty this time of night. It's that golden hour between 3AM and 5AM, when most of the drunks have staggered home and before the early shift workers have started their morning commute.

  "So what is this place?" Tank pumps his double-barreled shotgun, ramming shells into the chambers. The douche is armed to the teeth. "What's the deal here?"

  It's a good question. Standing on the sidewalk, all I see in front of us is a row of old brownstone office buildings. Scattered windows in the upper floors are lit from within--by cleaners or workaholics, I'm guessing--but not many.

  "Like I said, it's a super-hero secret." With that, Hericane strides across the sidewalk, heading for the building we're parked in front of. Tank and I follow, but she's two steps ahead of us, rushing toward that building.

  Then, suddenly, she veers hard left. And disappears.

  Tank and I stop in our tracks and stare. She's just gone.

  "What the fuck?" Leveling his shotgun at the empty space where Hericane vanished, Tank circles around it. "Where'd she go?"

  For a minute, I think maybe we just got played. Maybe she had no intention of letting us in on the big secret.

  But then, without warning, her hand shoots out of nowhere and grabs my arm. Before I can say a word or make a move, she yanks hard, pulling me toward her.

  As I go, my head spins, and a wave of vertigo rolls through me. My stomach lurches, and I think I'm gonna be sick. Feels like the whole world shifts and folds and turns at once.

  Then, it all unfolds around me and straightens out again. I'm left swaying on the sidewalk, shivering, gaping at my surroundings.

  Which, weirdly enough, look pretty much the same as they did before the fun house ride I just went through. Street, sidewalk, street lights, office buildings...

  Wait. Not the same after all. There's...

  Holy shit.

  There's an extra building.

  "Oh my God," I say as I gape at it. "Where did that come from?"

  "It's been there for ages," says Hericane. "You just never saw it before."

  *****

  We stand in front of an impossibility. A building that shouldn't exist.

  And it's a big building, impossible to ignore. Except...

  I've driven past this spot a million times--make it a billion--and I've never seen it. Hell, I've walked past it a million times. But she says it was there all along.

  A chill courses along my spine as I stare. It's an old-school theater, complete with a big marquee--two white display boards framed in brass and light bulbs, angling from the building's façade to meet in a point over the sidewalk. The marquee's dark tonight, the boards are empty, but the name of the place curls in unlit neon letters atop each side. And it's spelled out in block letters on a tall neon sign that is lit, glowing dim red, mounted along the side of the building.

  Atlas. That's its name.

  I've never even heard of it.

  I'm awestruck, to say the least. I can't take my eyes off the place. "How...how long did you say this has been here?"

  "Since the 1920s," says Hericane. "Vaudeville acts played here, jazz bands, you name it. They converted it to a movie house in the 50s. By the 70s, it was a porn theater." She sighs softly. "Then, in 1986, the Surrogates took the place over."

  I nod. That name, I recognize--the most infamous team of stop-at-nothing super-villains ever to terrorize Isosceles City.

  "In 1987, they succeeded in opening the Refraxus here. They were looking for unlimited power--and they found it. The kind of power that could end the world." Hericane turns and gazes through the front doors at the darkened lobby. "And they almost did. Some good men and women died trying to stop them."

  I search my mind and frown. "Why don't I remember any of this?"

  She gestures at the Atlas Theater. "Same reason you don't remember this place. It's been hidden from you. From everyone...almost."

  This sounds insane. I'm an internal affairs investigator in the Superhuman Protectorate. I'm supposed to know everything. "Hidden how?"

  "There's a team," says Hericane. "Blindspot, Concealer, Lethe, Retcon, a few others. Professionals at this kind of thing. They adjust memories, scrub records, construct elaborate sensory illusions. They keep this place--and events connected with it--under wraps."

  I feel like the ground is shifting under my feet. Not literally--but the situation is changing. Hericane's describing a cover-up of monumental proportions...and her lover died investigating a cover-up. Coincidence?

  I've thought of Hericane as a victim, an ally, maybe even a friend. But now I wonder if she's in this deeper than I imagined. I wonder if her motives in bringing me here are darker than I've considered.

  Maybe I'm in way over my head here.

  She turns and walks toward the front door. "Come on. Let's get this over with."

  I look behind me, where I see a ghostly figure of Tank. He's standing on the other side of the illusion field, waving his shotgun, screaming his lungs out.

  I can't believe what I'm about to say. "Aren't you bringing Tank in, too?" I never thought I'd actually as
k to have him with me in a danger zone.

  Hericane glances over her shoulder and shakes her head. "Trust me, he'll just get himself killed." She reaches for the door. "Get us all killed, probably."

  Reluctantly, I leave him there and follow Hericane. "Are you sure about that?"

  She steps inside and holds the door for me. "This place, these people--they were hard enough to deal with before all this. Now, with what happened to Mardi, and what we've learned since...I don't know." She shakes her head slowly. "How much do you hate that guy? Because whoever walks through this door right now, I have a feeling they might not be coming back out."

  I look back once more. Then, I swallow hard and nod. "All right then." And I think of Jimmy and the kids and I walk through.

  I'm not afraid. Not so much. Because being dead isn't the worst thing I can imagine. Seeing my precious boys sooner rather than later wouldn't be so bad, when you get right down to it.

  *****

  At first, the darkened lobby of the Atlas Theater looks empty. But no sooner do we take three steps over the threadbare red carpet than two guys walk out of a door over by the concession counter.

  Both guys wear black suits and red ties, and their grooming is impeccable. If I had to pick an age, I'd say mid-thirties for either one.

  Good guess. I realize, as they rush toward us through the shadows, that I recognize both of them.

  The one with the slick black hair and the mole on his cheek is CEO, "the Chief Executive Officer of Justice." The one with the shaggy blond look, beard, and granny glasses is Mogul, another business-oriented superhuman hero.

  I've seen them often enough around the Protectorate offices. They're very active on the financial side of things and known for fighting white collar crime.

  So what the hell do they have to do with all this, I wonder?

  All I know for sure is they're surprised as hell to see us. You should see the looks on their faces--like they just got caught masturbating by their parents.

  But the stunned expressions don't last. CEO is the first to switch into unruffled smoothie mode. "Hericane! Panic Attack! What brings you here?" Suddenly, he's all smiles.

  "We're here to see him." Hericane gestures at the double doors to the auditorium.

  "That's nice," says CEO, "but no can do. Big man's in the middle of a very important meeting."

  "I'm sure he won't mind." Hericane pushes past, sending him stumbling backward.

  But Mogul jumps in front of her at super-speed, cutting her off. "Why don't you talk to us instead? We'd love to hear what you have to say." His shaggy hair frames an expression of total surfer dude sincerity.

  Meanwhile, CEO whips out his phone and hits speed dial. "Code Black," he snaps. "Code Black right now."

  "Bonnie!" Hericane shoots out a fist, which speed demon Mogul neatly ducks. "Do your thing!"

  Don't need to draw me a map. I'm already in full concentration mode, gathering my energies, picking my target.

  Mogul first. I go in like a hammerhead shark, ramming his back-brain instead of tweaking it. As panic signals surge through his nervous system, I kick the shit out of his adrenal gland, slamming it into overdrive.

  Just like that, Mogul's hyper-speed powers fly out of control. In the middle of dodging another blow from Hericane, he leaps away from her. Wailing, he ricochets all over the lobby like a pinball, smashing light bulbs, mirrored panels on the walls, and the glass of the concession counter display case.

  One down.

  Turning my focus on CEO, I see he's erupted into his raging purple monster form and is grappling with Hericane. They seem to be pretty evenly matched on the physical strength level; neither one's gaining any ground. But I can change that.

  I start to work my magic on CEO--then catch myself and switch gears. Pumping up the panic levels in a creature of pure, animal fury might just make him angrier.

  Instead, I give Hericane a push. Adrenaline floods her body, fueling a sudden burst of power that gives her the strength to break the clinch. With a loud grunt, she hurls the monster back, sending him crashing through a pillar. Then she blasts him with a barrage of lightning vision, shocking him into unconsciousness.

  As for Mogul, he just keeps ricocheting faster, gaining momentum. I duck and run toward Hericane as he rockets past, narrowly missing a collision with me.

  "Come on!" Hericane wrenches the double doors open and pulls me inside, then slams them shut behind us.

  And we find ourselves standing in an ancient auditorium, darkened except for the stage and the huge movie screen above it.

  When I see what's happening on that stage, my own body fills with panic--not caused by my power or anyone else's. Because what I see is unbelievable. It's horrific.

  Holy shit.

  I feel Hericane's hand squeeze my shoulder, my only reference point of steadiness in the face of insanity.

  "Oh my God." My voice sounds tiny and weak to my own ears. "What...what...?" What kind of nightmare is this? That's what I want to say, but the words won't come out.

  "Take a deep breath. This is that big superhero secret I was telling you about." Hericane squeezes my shoulder again. "This is what they call the Portcullis."

  *****

  What I see on the stage is a real life horror show.

  Hundreds of crimson tentacles thrash and slash from a pulsating red portal spanning the movie screen. The tentacles are covered with suckers and spines and twitching black cilia; they're tipped with claws and tongues and slobbering fanged maws and things I don't even recognize. Things that throb and vomit and slither and screech. Things that look like cancerous organs turned inside out or unborn babies and giant bugs stitched together in the bowels of Hell.

  The sound it makes is like the screaming of a thousand maniacs being boiled alive. The stench it gives off is worse than the smell of a hundred corpses rotting and bursting in the sun.

  I've been around some awful things in my life, but this one surpasses them all. Something about it cuts to my core, makes me sick to the stomach. Makes me sick in my head, nauseous and drugged and unhinged. All I want to do is run away.

  And yet a lone figure dares to stand against it--one man clad in familiar black leather with a black cape trimmed in gleaming gold. He blasts the monstrosity with searing beams of power projected from his fists and eyes, crackling bolts that make it howl and flinch and pull back with each fresh strike.

  His code name is Stalwart.

  Maybe I shouldn't be surprised to see him, one of the greatest heroes of our age. After all, he triumphed over Pestis, the sentient plague, when all others had failed. He took down Big Bang and Heat Death single-handedly. Only he was hero enough to stop Mt. Slaughter from obliterating the continental shelf. And yet the fact remains.

  He disappeared thirty years ago.

  "Oh my God." I'm overwhelmed. Overloaded with the moment and what it brings up in me. So many feelings, so many questions. I can't process it all.

  "Bonnie?" Hericane squeezes my shoulder. "Are you okay?"

  I shake my head. A thousand questions well up within me, but only one finds its way out. "That thing...is Portcullis?"

  "Not the thing," says Hericane. "The place. This theater. It's where the Surrogates opened the Refraxus in 1987. Now it's a gate to keep the end of the world they summoned from getting in."

  Stalwart unleashes a flurry of beams so bright, I have to shield my eyes. "But I thought the super-heroes stopped the end of the world in '87."

  She shakes her head. "I only said they tried to."

  The creature's screams peak and oscillate. Sections of its gruesome tentacles burst, spraying pus everywhere. Stalwart presses the attack, pushing the mass of the monstrosity back further.

  This isn't making sense. "But the world didn't end in '87."

  "The process started," says Hericane. "The heroes could only slow it down." She gestures at the great beast writhing in the portal. "They couldn't close the Refraxus completely. That thing--the Manifestation of Armageddon--s
tarted pushing its way through into our world. If it makes it all the way, it will lay waste to the Earth." She gazes at the monstrosity. "What you see there is just the tip of the iceberg."

  I watch the creature thrash as Stalwart pounds it with his powerful beams. "That--is just the tip?"

  She nods. "Superhumans have probed beyond the Refraxus. They couldn't find the end of this thing. Some think it might span an entire universe."

  I feel dizzy. I'm still fighting to process everything. "And Stalwart? He disappeared thirty years ago."

  "He's been here all that time," says Hericane. "He's one of only two superhumans who've ever managed to hold the Manifestation at bay."

  "The other?"

  "My father, Epitome."

  Suddenly, the Manifestation unleashes a deafening roar, and the theater shakes. Bombarded by Stalwart's beams, the monstrosity withdraws through the portal. Stalwart keeps up the pressure the whole time, blasting it right and left, forcing it over the threshold.

  And then the Refraxus snaps shut with a great wind and a thundering crack. The movie screen looks like an ordinary movie screen again. If not for the pus and slime and twitching lumps of flesh splattered all over the stage and rows of seats, it would be like the monster had never been here.

  Instantly, relief floods through me. "It closed."

  "The Refraxus opens and closes on a cycle," says Hericane. "It stays open longer each time. Currently, it stays open fifteen minutes and some odd seconds and stays closed a minute more than that."

  "How long did it stay closed before?" I ask. "In the beginning?"

  She gives me a grim stare. "It stayed open for a minute at a time. It stayed closed for days."

  Just then, a voice calls to us from the front of the theater. "Hey there!" It's Stalwart. Even after the battle he just fought, he hardly sounds winded. "Hericane, is that you?"

  Hericane waves. "Hey, Stalwart. Mind if we talk to you a minute?"