Kingdom of Heroes

by Jay Phillips

  “Shut up,” she replied in the nicest way possible. “Stop saying that.”

  With a whoosh, the doors slid open, and they walked past Peterson’s still unconscious body. She pushed the button for the ground floor; the doors closed again, and the elevator began to move in that direction.

  The Detective fell into the corner of the elevator, opposite the giant panel of buttons. He looked up at her. “I got you out,” he said with as much of a smile as he could produce. “I got you out…The Seven are dismantled…The Agent is dead…things are going to change…I did good, beautiful…I think…I deserve a nap.”

  “No goddamn it!” she yelled as she dropped to her knees in front of him. “Please, not yet.” She placed her hands on each side of his head, leaned in close to him, and shut her eyes. For a moment, he thought she was moving towards him for a kiss. Then, everything went black.

  _______________________________________________

  The Detective opened his eyes. He was in the truck, driving through the middle of Metro City. It was the Metro City of fifteen years ago, a vibrant, thriving metropolis, filled with bustling streets, busy people with places to be, crime, decadence, debauchery, the Metro City he remembered, not the broken city of dreams it had become. He was dressed in his usual clothes, his hat placed firmly on his head, his tie nice and straight just the way he liked it.

  Emily was sitting next to him, dressed to the tee, hair put up, face fixed perfectly, wearing a strapless blue dress that barely contained her cleavage and came up a foot or so above her knees. She looked out at the city streets, at the people walking to all of the thriving businesses, the restaurants, hotels, stores, none of which existed anymore.

  “Was this really what it was like?” she asked. “I would have only been about ten or eleven at this time; Pammy and I were in Shore City right now. It was nice, but it was nothing like this. All of the lights, the people, the skyscrapers completely lit up, it’s almost pretty.”

  The Detective reached across the truck and rubbed the top of her bare thigh. She giggled.

  “That tickles,” she said with a huge grin as he pulled his hand away. She grabbed it and pulled it back. “I didn’t say you had to stop.”

  “Just wanted to make sure you were real and not just a figment of my imagination,” he said as she interlocked the fingers of her left hand with his right. “Are we in your mind or mine?”

  “Kind of both,” she answered, squeezing his fingers as she spoke. “It’s a world made up of both of our thoughts and memories. I was never in Metro City before the war, so I took all of this from your mind. Fifteen years ago, where were you right now?”

  He looked at his left hand and the bullet hole that was no longer there. He looked down, no bleeding shoulder, no stab wound either. “I was out there working the streets as a uniform; I would have been about twenty, just joined the force. I had no idea what was about to come. God, I was an idiot.”

  “No picking on my man,” she said, her smile wider and more full of joy than he had ever seen it. “The last person who did that, I hollowed her mind out.”

  He chuckled. “It was impressive.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Do you know where were going or am I just driving you around?”

  “We’re on that date you promised me,” she answered. “I said you weren’t getting out of it.”

  “I’m glad you made me keep my promise.”

  “You better be,” she added. “I’d hate to have to kick your ass for standing me up.”

  He smiled. “I’ve had my ass kicked enough for one day.”

  She pointed to a large hotel. “Pull off to the right and park. We have reservations.”

  He parked the truck in front of the building. He walked around to the other side and opened her door, taking her hand as he helped her out. She had heels on that added an extra three or four inches to her height. He didn’t tower over her like he had before. They started to walk toward the front doors before he stopped, turning toward her and taking a long hard look. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

  She grabbed him by the arm and squeezed herself against him. “Do you like my outfit? I don’t normally dress like this, but I figured it was a special occasion, might as well go all out.”

  “I’m not complaining,” he said as they walked, all the while feeling almost overwhelmed by how surreal all of this was. He knew none of it was real; he knew it was all in his mind, but it felt just as real as any other day in his life. He could feel the wind; he could feel the ground beneath his feet; he could feel her hand and body pressed against his arm. And he could smell her; even in a world that wasn’t real, she still smelled like honey.

  “Do you mind if we just skip the whole checking in process and just go straight to our room?” she asked as she looked up at him with an imploring expression across her pretty face.

  “Not at all,” he started to say, but before he could get the words out of his mouth, they were already standing in front of room fifty-two, the key in his hand ready to open the door. “Well, that was quick.”

  She walked past him, taking his hand as she walked by and leading him into the room. They entered a living area where a table had been set up with plates of food and several bottles of wine, and around the corner, he could see a large bedroom. She saw him notice the bedroom. “Food or dessert, which one do you want first?”

  “Food,” he answered with a smile. “I would like to sit down with you and have an actual meal before I…you know.”

  She put her forefinger against his lips, telling him to shut up without saying a word. “We’re not going to talk about that.”

  “But---”

  “No,” she interrupted. “This is my date, and I’ll be damned if its going to be ruined by that kind of talk.”

  She took off his coat and hat, placing them both neatly in the floor next to his seat. She pushed him into the chair and took his glass, pouring the wine halfway to the top, before sitting in the chair across from him and pouring her own glass. In front of him was all the food he could ask for and more, steak, salad, various cheeses, a chocolate pie, all of his favorites.

  “Does it look good?” she asked. “I took the liberty of going through your memories to see which foods you liked the best. Hope that was okay.”

  “It’s fine,” he answered, finding himself unsure what to start with first. “How long has it been in the real world?”

  “About five seconds,” she answered with a bit of hesitation. He could tell she had no desire to break the mood.

  He took a bite of salad. He knew it wasn’t real; he knew it was no more genuine than an imaginary friend, but it tasted real; it smelled real; it felt real, for all intents and purposes, it was real. “Only five seconds, that’s good,” he replied as he turned his attention to the steak. “The elevator will take about five minutes to get all the way down. We have time to come up with a plan to get you out of the building.”

  “I don’t---” she started to say.

  “Indulge me,” he interrupted. She took a drink of her wine and pouted. He smiled at her. “You’re gorgeous when you’re mad. Now, Peterson there is still alive, no helmet, no psychic blocking patches; wake him up, control him, you can be his ‘prisoner,’ and you can use him to walk you right out the building. After that, the truck is right down the street from The Agent’s tower; the keys are still in the ignition. Once you’re in the truck, get to the hospital. Collect your sister and the babies, the four of you need to get out of this city as fast as you can. You need to find someplace safe, someplace where you can protect yourselves. As much as I hate to admit it, the old bastard was right. Without him, this whole damn country is a giant powder keg, and the power vacuum is going to light this place up. If you can, just get out of the states completely. It’ll probably be for the best.”

  “Are you finished?” she asked, wiping her mouth with her napkin after finishing the last of her wine.

  “Talking or eating?�
��

  “Both.”

  “I’m finished,” he said as he wiped his own mouth.

  She stood from her chair. “About time.” She walked over to him and reached out for his hand. “I have a question,” she asked as he stood to his feet. “Here in about ten minutes, when I’m screaming your name, can I please use your real one or do I have to yell ‘oh Detective’ over and over?”

  He sighed. “I take it you already know what it is?”

  “I do,” she answered with a devious look on her face. “At this point, there’s very little I don’t know about you.”

  He shook his head as they walked hand-in-hand towards the bedroom. “I tell you what, you call me whatever you want. I promise; I won’t complain.”

  They stopped next to the bed. She turned around so he could access the back of her dress. “A little help,” she said, referring to the zipper.

  He took it in his hand and guided it all the way down to the bottom of the dress. She lifted her arms over her head and allowed the dress to fall to the floor. She turned around, her bare breasts in full view. He leaned down and kissed her neck as she reached up and undid his tie, taking it off and throwing it in the floor next to her discarded dress. His shirt came next, landing in a the pile with the rest of the clothes. They fell into the bed together, their lips locked in a passionate embrace. She rolled him on his back and straddled his hips with her legs.

  He looked up at her. “Be gentle with me,” he said with his usual grin. “I’m delicate.”

  “Shut up, jackass,” she said just before leaning back down to his waiting lips.

  _______________________________________________

  “My God man,” Emily said as she rolled on to her back. “I don’t know what it is you’re doing with your tongue, but I know I like it.”

  “It’s a talent.” He crawled back up to the top of the bed alongside her.

  She smiled, all the while still attempting to catch her breath. “You seem to have a lot of those.”

  “I have a few.”

  “A couple more than a few.”

  He smiled back at her. “We don’t have a lot of time left.”

  “Jackass,” she began, her pretty face covered in an angry expression, “what did I tell you about talking about time?”

  “You said not to,” he answered as he stared at her; he thought her angry face was just adorable. “But I’m getting tired; I can feel it.”

  She scooted closer to him. He could feel her bare breast and hard nipple pressed against his arm. “We have more time.”

  “Not enough,” he said in return as he leaned in close to kiss her still angry face.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she replied as she returned his kiss.

  He broke himself away from her lips, leaving his just within touch of hers. “Out there, I’m going to be completely bled out in about two minutes. How long have we been in here?”

  “About a minute,” she answered in a whisper, still sounding out of breath.

  He kissed her again, just before taking his lips away. “How long will a minute be in here?”

  “About…” she reached out for his lips only for him to deny her again, telling her without words that the kisses only come with answers. “About another twelve hours,” she finally answered.

  “Then you’re right,” he replied, finally relenting and giving her the kiss she needed. “We do have more time.”

  _______________________________________________

  The Detective stared at Emily as she looked back at him. Even though he was smiling at her from the other side of the bed, all he really wanted to do was lean into the pillow under his arm and shut his eyes. But he knew if he did, he would be shutting them for the last time. In this world built within their minds, almost twenty-four hours had passed by, and they had spent the majority of that time in the bed, taking only the occasional break to retrieve food or a bottle of wine from the seemingly always stocked table in the living area. He had tried to take a nap several times during that span, but she always found a reason or a way to keep him awake. But he knew that his time was running short, and as much as he didn’t want it to be, it was how it was. “I’m tired,” he said as he lowered his head to his pillow.

  “No,” she said in a firm tone. “You just need some food or something to drink. Do not go asleep.”

  He smiled at her. “Beautiful, we can’t put it off forever. How long has it been in the really real world?”

  She frowned, her lovely brown eyes filling up with tears. “Almost two minutes.”

  “It’s about time.”

  Tears began to trickle down her cheeks. “I don’t want it to be.”

  He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “It can’t be helped. Besides, at the rate I was burning out my organs, I probably only had another four or five years left anyways.”

  “We could have had those four or five years together,” she said as more tears began to fall. “I think I fell in love with you today.”

  “I know,” he said, his voice weak and his eyes becoming harder and harder to hold open. “You remember what I told you to do?”

  She nodded. “Yes,” she said as she cried. “I remember.”

  “It’s okay,” he said as he leaned back into his pillow. “Even if they were all in my head, you still gave me the greatest twenty-four hours of my life. You gave me somebody to fight for, a reason to come back. I’m happy.”

  She nuzzled herself against his chest; he could feel her tears against his skin. He hadn’t lied. He was happy. He had saved her; he had killed The Agent; the world outside was going to change; everything was going to be different, and it was partly thanks to him. He had gotten the chance to make the ultimate difference.

  He was so tired. He leaned into his pillow and shut his eyes. He could still feel her against his chest as everything faded into darkness.

  _______________________________________________

  Emily opened her tear filled eyes and looked at him. They were still on the elevator with at least another sixty floors left to go. She leaned into his face and kissed him gently on the lips. “Goodnight Detective,” she said as the tears rolled down her face.

  She rose to her feet, trying her best to wipe away the tears only to find herself fighting a losing battle. She looked over at Peterson’s unconscious body and felt overcome by how much she despised the man, how much she hated him and everything he stood for, just another of the many nameless, faceless soldiers hired by men like The Agent to do their bidding, and at the end of this elevator ride, a hundred men just like Peterson anticipated her arrival.

  They were all wearing their helmets, each of them protected from her powers, but she could still feel them, every single one of them. She shouldn’t have been able to; the protection built into the helmets should have made it impossible for her powers to work against them at all, and when she had been brought into the building earlier that day, the protection had worked. She hadn’t been able to feel anyone there but herself. But now, now things were different; she was different; everything was different.

  She looked down at Peterson. It was so easy to get into his head, into his thoughts. There was no protection there at all. It was like making a hole in tissue, simple, effortless. She could have ripped his mind apart without blinking; it would have been so easy, and she would probably enjoy it as well. Tearing away his thoughts, his memories, everything that made him who he was, it was so tempting, just to shred his mind into tiny pieces, leaving him as nothing more than a husk, an empty shell, living but devoid of life. The thought of doing it was beyond enticing.

  But The Detective had given her a plan to follow, and it was a good plan, a safe plan. She felt that she owed it to him, to his memory, to do it the way he thought was right. After all, he had tried so hard to keep her safe; she couldn’t risk throwing all of his actions away just to make herself feel better for the moment, but she couldn’t help but admit it was tempting.

  “Wake up,�
�� she spoke into Peterson’s mind. “And stand to your feet.”

  He opened his eyes and stood up, slowly finding a standing position.

  She looked up at the digital display above the door: twenty floors left to go. “Straighten yourself up,” she yelled into his mind. “You look like shit; your shirt’s untucked; your pants are uneven; you look like you’ve been unconscious all night.”

  Peterson began following her orders, fixing his clothes, smoothing down his hair, doing what she had told him to do and making himself presentable.

  “That’s somewhat better.” She positioned herself so she was next to him, placing his left hand around her upper right arm, so he could lead her out as his “prisoner.”

  She looked down. The Detective’s fedora still laid in the floor next to his body. She bent down, picked it and the journal up, and clutched them both against her chest with her free left hand.

  Five floors left.

  Four.

  Three.

  Two.

  She took a deep breath and silently, both mentally and physically, prepared herself for what she was about to do. She really hoped The Detective knew what he had been talking about and that this plan was going to work.

  One.

  The elevator stopped, and the doors slid open. A hundred plus guards pointed their guns directly into the elevator, directly at her and Peterson. The one in the front looked at each of them in turn, first her, then Peterson, and finally The Detective’s blood covered corpse.

  “Peterson,” he began, “what the hell has been going on up there? We were under strict orders not to do anything until we received notification from either you or the Chancellor.”

  She started to have Peterson speak, to explain what had happened, to explain that she was a prisoner, that the dead man in the elevator was of no concern, to say that The Agent was in trouble and everyone needed to head to the penthouse as fast as possible. Double time, people, double time. But as she looked at them all, as she stared at them and the guns they pointed at her, a rage began to build, a rage seemingly impossible for her to control, and the angrier she became, the easier it was to “see” each and every one of them.