by J Bennett
My bruised, swollen body aches for sleep, but when I tuck myself under the covers all I can see is Shadow’s face, that hideous grin, his ax hurtling through the air, and Beacon’s hand slipping down into the grass.
I throw the covers back. I can’t sleep. Won’t sleep. Not until I’m so tired I can slip into a dreamless coma. But I can’t stay in this stifling house either, not with Sequoia’s hurt and Leo’s cams both suffocating me. Goosebumps ride up my skin as I hook the wet bra around my chest and pull my soaked t-shirt back on. I struggle with my wet pants but finally manage to tug them on. I leave the lab coat, bowtie, belt, and goggles on the floor where they fell. When I go back out into the night, I am simply Alice Hannover. By now, the rain has lessened to a soft, cold drizzle. The moon offers a pale, diffuse glow behind the clouds.
I don’t have any particular destination in mind, but I’m not surprised when my feet take me back to Iconic Square, back to The Hero statue, now crowded with thousands of townies and tourists, with more pouring in every min.
They fill the square, swamping the statue. Tears stream down their faces. They clutch replica Light Blades and Aura Arcs. Many wear t-shirts stamped with the lighthouse emblem. Others are dressed as Beacon, in cheaply printed costumes and tinny helmets. A tall, black woman next to me throws back her head and wails like it was her own sister torn so brutally from life. I can’t get close to the statue anymore, but I don’t mind. I just need to be here. To absorb and reflect the pain.
It strikes me, how much Beacon meant to this city and its people. Sure, we might be a semi-reality town, but the emotions around me are real and raw. For the first time since I moved here, I feel connected to my fellow townies. I see the true part of them in the tears on their cheeks.
I may have despised everything Beacon stood for, but her loss is like an open wound inside of me. She was part of the fabric of this place.
Big Little City. My city.
I stand in the chill, shivering for a long, long time knowing that eventually, I’ll need to turn around and go home. No, not home. To Sequoia’s house. My Band buzzes. I look down. A new message from Alby. This time it’s just a single emoji. A little lighthouse.
Growing up, we used to watch the shows that came out of Biggie LC. Alby was always a fan of the villains, but I cheered on the heroes.
Love you, Twinly One, I send back to him.
Just as I make up my mind to leave, a voice speaks near my ear.
“Alice. Hello. Wow. There are a lot of people here. It isn’t safe. Not with Shadow still at large.”
I turn to the figure who has walked up next to me. Ollie sports the black eye I gave him.
“Hello,” I manage.
“Beacon is dead,” he says and shakes his head in that strange manner that I’m starting to recognize shows his anxiety. “This is unprecedented. And it serves as definitive proof that Shadow is not sponsored. He must be a rogue agent.”
“Then why haven’t the police caught him?” I ask numbly.
Ollie nods at me. “My fellowship and I have considered this question thoroughly, and we believe he might be receiving assistance from someone with resources. Someone with the means to shelter and protect him.”
This is a new idea. I turn to him. “Who? Why?”
“I am not sure yet, but I am investigating the matter fully.”
I grimace. “That sounds dangerous.”
“Someone has to stop him.” Ollie glances at me for just a moment and then his head bobs down, but I see the conviction in his eyes. I’ve failed. I tried to scare, hurt, and humiliate him into giving up his lobotomy crusade to be a hero. But, if anything, he seems more dedicated, more fervent.
He will keep fighting, and perhaps the next wreath will fall on his grave.
I feel so helpless. So empty. All I can do is wrap my arms around Ollie and pull him into a hug. His body stiffens and he stands awkwardly.
“Please try to be safe,” I tell him.
“Ah, I see,” he says, backing away as soon as I let him go. “Then, we are friends?”
I shiver in the cold. “Of course we’re friends.”
Ollie looks past me. “I wasn’t certain. Your behavior is… confusing. And inconsistent.”
“We’re friends,” I insist.
He nods once. His face is pale in the glow of the streetlights. “Then I will give you the same warning. Be safe. If you need help, please contact me. I will protect you from harm.” He thinks on this statement. “I will try to protect you from harm,” he amends.
I smile at him. The light mist of rain hides my tears. “Thank you,” I whisper.
He nods. “I must return to the pharmacy. Requests for anti-anxiety medications have been significantly above average today. My father is keeping the store open all night.” He begins fighting his way back through the crowd then pauses, turns back, and says, “Ta, Alice. I shall see you in class when school resumes.”
I hold up a limp hand. My throat is so tight I can’t speak. When Ollie is gone, I turn and begin working my way out of the crowd. Just as I finally break through the swell of weeping, shivering masses, some recording sniveling vids of themselves, I spot a familiar figure. He stands alone, back from the edge of the crowd, observing all the people.
Adan is soaked to the bone. He must have been out here for hours. His face is pale, his lips almost colorless, and he shivers. When I walk up to him, he glances down, notes my presence, and then resumes his vigil. He wears the shirt covered in zippers again. This is the first time I’ve ever seen him repeat an article of clothing.
“They really love her,” I say. The words feel drooling and inadequate.
“She was impossible to work with,” he says quietly. “She planned everything so meticulously, all the scenes of her eps, her interviews. She even gave me lines to say sometimes.” He chuckles, a soft note with no power in it. “She would go ballistic if I tried to grab too much lens time, if she thought I was preening in an interview. She was always paranoid I would spin off.”
“And you did.”
“And I did,” he agrees. “When I found out that PAGS dropped her, I knew I would be dead as steering wheels if I stayed.” He smiles, but the expression is all pain. “But then she and The Professor came up with the brawl. It was brills. She would get Ash Anders and even take down Cleopatra, for the time being, of course. She had to pull some serious strings, but she got Cleo on board too.”
“The brawl was planned?” I suddenly feel so drooling slow. Of course it was. I had known The Professor’s end, all the pings and messages and calls he made to the other vils last night. But how could Beacon have mustered all her allies unless she was in on the scheme too?
“Course.” Adan looks at me with a little pity. “Something like that doesn’t come together organically.” He gazes at the crowd. “She would have been back on top after the fight. Saving the Mayor of Chicago would have been Iconic. And all the heroes would have owed her a favor for letting them get in on the action. PAGS would have had no choice but to sponsor her again.”
“It’s like the BLC Express,” I say. Beacon made her own story, her own destiny no matter what PAGS wanted. I shake my head, impressed.
And then Adan begins to cry. He does it softly at first, his breath sending tendrils of steam into the air. Tears glisten at the corners of his green eyes, matching the raindrops already quivering on his cheeks.
“She could be kind,” he whispers. “When it mattered. When the cams were off, she could be kind. And she believed in it, you know? Really believed.”
“Believed in what?” I ask softly.
His crying isn’t quiet anymore. He tries to speak, but only hiccupping sobs escape. I open my arms. Adan folds into me as if seeking shelter. His shoulders are so broad I can barely get my arms all the way around him. In this moment I wish I were big as the billowing clouds overhead so I could wrap Adan in my embrace, so I could warm him up, so I could protect him from the pain.
He gathers himself quickly. The
sobs quiet, but his body still trembles. “She believed in being a hero,” he finally says, his voice cracking. “It wasn’t just about the ratings or the money. She wanted to give people hope.”
This is when I make a decision—one I should have made long ago.
Adan pulls out of my arms and turns his face away. Our moment is over.
“Sorry,” he says.
I look over at the statue, giving him space to collect himself. The temp is dropping fast, but more people keep coming.
“What happens now?” I ask softly.
Adan straightens his spine and pushes his shoulders back. “Now we find a new hero,” he says. His voice is still torn, but it sounds strong. “And we destroy Shadow.”
“Shining luck,” I tell him and I mean it. But I won’t be part of that mission. Without another word, I shove my hands into my pockets, turn, and walk out of the Square. I need to see The Professor. I need to tell him that I’m not strong enough to play the Fame Game. I can’t bear all this loss and pain, all the betrayal I’ve already dealt to my friends.
I have no heart to be a henchman and I never did. It’s time to quit, no matter the consequences.
Chapter 29
You’re a henchman. You will lose. ~ Tickles the Elf, The Henchman’s Survival Guide
~
When I return to Sequoia’s home, I find my friend asleep on the couch, softly snoring. No surprise that he left the guest room open for me and took the couch. I douse the light from my Band, and my heart cracks a little at the thought of leaving him. Will we still be friends when I’m no longer part of the henchman team?
He doesn’t want to be your friend anymore, anyway, a nasty thought whispers in my mind. That’s right. I’d almost forgotten the hurt in his eyes this afternoon, the coldness in his voice.
Worry drips through me as if the chilling rain found a way into the hollows of my bones. Sequoia will need to toughen up now that I won’t be around to look out for him. How will he survive with Gold and Mermaid scheming around him, grabbing all his lens time? Would they push him out? No, more likely they’ll use him to forward their own ends.
I look at Sequoia’s sleeping face, all those freckles, that big warm heart filling him up. I need to find a way to repair our friendship so I can keep teaching him, keep guarding him against Gold’s and Mermaid’s worst instincts.
I cross the living room meaning to head straight to bed in the guest room. I’ll speak with The Professor in the morning. But as I tiptoe down the hallway, I see a soft spill of light flickering from beneath the door of the master bedroom. Should I talk to the boss now? Probs not, but I find myself at the door, fist raised to knock. It’s better to just get it over with, or I might chicken out tomorrow morning when I consider the empty depths of my bank account.
My fist raps softly on the door.
No response. I’m just about to turn and slink to the guest bedroom when a voice says, “Come in.”
I turn the knob and enter the room. The Professor sits on the big bed on top of the covers. His goggles are gone, but he still wears his damp lab coat and even his scuffed black boots. Light flickers across his face, and I see a Pod sitting on the floor projecting a holo-screen on the wall.
The screen shows a closeup of The Professor’s face. He wears a wicked grin and a huge pair of goggles that blink with spastic colors. The cam pans downward. A small, slender boy with black hair and identical goggles says something, and The Professor laughs and ruffles his hair. There is no volume to the video so I can’t hear his words.
Matthew. The boy is Matthew. No, not Matthew. Energy, The Professor’s child sidekick. On screen, The Professor frowns and turns his head. The cam pulls back. I recognize the old antiques sitting in large cases on pedestals. They’re in the Grand Museum. The Professor clutches some old relic, one of those laptops, under his arm. Now the cam swings to the entrance of the museum. A figure stands, silhouetted in the doorway. Back to The Professor. He says something and pulls a strange, disc-like contraption from inside his lab coat.
The figure steps out of the light. It’s Beacon. Her costume is generations old, a pale yellow crossed with pinkish slashes, so different from the rich scarlet and gold hues of her most current costume. That lighthouse emblem on her chest is as recognizable as ever, though.
“I’d almost forgotten about this ep,” I say to The Professor.
“It wasn’t one of our more noteworthy clashes,” he agrees. On screen, The Professor throws the disc, and it begins to pour clouds of gas as it whirls through the air. Beacon clutches at her eyes and falls to her knees.
“That gas was harmless,” The Professor says and chuckles, “but Beacon came up with the idea of it blinding her.”
“That’s right,” I say, remembering now. “She was ‘blind’ for a few months. The docs told her it could be permanent.” It’d been big news at the time, splashed across all the gossip Streams. By then, I was old enough to know those stories were mostly fake, so I hadn’t paid much attention.
On screen, Beacon waves away another person who stands uncertainly in the doorway of the museum. I think it might be Bright, her sidekick who eventually turned into Cleopatra. Now, Beacon unties the pink sash from her waist. She wraps it around her eyes and beckons The Professor forward.
“It was her idea for the brawl today,” The Professor says. “Brilliant of course. In the past, our teams would spend months haggling over the details, but she contacted me directly.” He shakes his head with a shadow of a smile. “Don’t even know how she got access to my private Stream, but she did and she knew about Ash Anders even before we released the hostage video.”
I look at my boss’s face. His eyes are red. So is the tip of his nose. The lines of his face seem carved more deeply in his skin. There is no maniacal laughter inside of him. No gloating. No evil schemes hatching. I see only pain. A friend lost. And maybe I see a little fear as well.
“It was a grand fight, wasn’t it?” The Professor looks to me, a strain of desperation in his voice.
“Yes, it was.”
“Everything was going perfectly. We agreed that I would get away, but she would rescue Mr. Anders. And I believe she had some ongoing negotiations with Cleopatra about a different storyline.” His voice meanders off. “It was all going so well…”
On screen, The Professor points a gun at Beacon and shoots. She falls to the floor, clutching her shoulder. The Professor shoots again and she curls in on herself. And then suddenly, her sidekick—yes, it is Bright—cartwheels through the museum entrance, over Beacon’s shivering body on the floor. Bright wears a pair of goggles. A henchman’s goggles, I realize, and now she kicks the gun out of The Professor’s hand.
“I remember how this one ends,” I say. “You and Bright tussle. She’s about to beat you, but then Energy throws you his ray gun and you stun her. You think you’ve won and start gloating…”
“But then Beacon stands up. She’s weak, shaking, but she holds the laptop in her hands,” The Professor says, his voice raw and catching in his throat. “She threatens to smash it.”
“A stalemate,” I say.
“Yes. She trades me the laptop for Bright.” The Professor closes his eyes, “and she’s holding her Light Blade in one hand. I decide the fight isn’t worth it, so Energy hops in my arms, and I use my copter blades to rise up and crash through the skylight to freedom.”
I find myself smiling. In Beacon’s episode, the last scene of the ep showed her standing over Bright, heaving in breaths as blood trickled from beneath the sash tied around her eyes. It was beautiful, epic, and perfectly planned—just like everything Beacon did.
“She was amaze,” I say.
“Yes. A worthy opponent in every way and a good friend.” The Professor’s eyes are glazed, and they look past me to the screen where the action continues to unfold. “It should have been grand. The fight today. A pinnacle for us both.”
He looks so lost. So sad. Like he doesn’t recognize the world any longer.
“Goodnight, Professor,” I say softly.
“If only it were, my element. My girl of the iron will,” he says.
My will is anything but iron, which is why I turn away with my own words unsaid. I will give him my notice tomorrow when the sun finally washes away this terrible night.
After I close the door to The Professor’s room I only make it two steps toward my own when a voice speaks up.
“Where did you sneak off to?”
I turn. Leo leans against the doorway of the office. Of course he would be here. His apartment is compromised, just like my own. Shine’s escape feels so long ago and so small.
“I went back to The Hero. As myself. I wanted to do that alone.”
“A shame. If you’d kept on your costume, that might have been good footage,” he says. “I could have caught your sensitive side. Viewers like that about you.”
“That’s all you can think about? The show?” I’m too tired to even feel angry. All I dredge up is disappointment.
“The viewers appreciate that you’re complex.”
Leo’s changed into new clothes, a simple green shirt and jeans. Sequoia must have printed them on his 3D. He’s also grabbed a shower. He looks clean, fresh, and handsome, but that doesn’t mean anything. It can’t mean anything.
I wrinkle my nose. “I hate what you do.”
“But you don’t hate me. That’s an improvement.” He gives me a small smile.
Heat kindles in my chest and it humiliates me. I imagine running my hand through Leo’s honey-brown hair, kissing the smooth skin of his jaw. How can I even be thinking these things after everything that’s happened today? When Beacon is dead and legions of her fans are shivering in the rain just three kilometers away?
“I have something for you,” Leo says and retreats into the office. I move across the hallway toward his door. Inside, three holo-screens hover above his desk, each filled with multiple tiles. Cam angles, I realize. There’s a frozen shot of The Professor laughing. Another of Ash Anders pointing a gun at The Professor. I even see one of myself chasing Anders, my braid suspended in the air, mid-stride. One still image in the far corner draws my eyes. In it, Beacon stands on the rooftop of the bank. She looks strong and beautiful.
