“What’s so complicated?”
“Just this—all this,” he replied, his voice a little tight. “I’ve never been involved with anyone before, Eric. All this is too new, and I’m never sure if what I’m doing is right for you—and for us. I’m sorry. I can be an overbearing jerk sometimes, and I can’t help it.”
“It’s okay. It’s okay,” I murmured against his ear. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Easier in theory than in practice, you know.” Peter’s arms tightened around my waist.
I winced. I knew he was right.
He gave me a friendship bracelet—or the closest facsimile of one, anyway—not long after. He’d made it himself, he said with a wary little smile. He’d looked up instructions on how to make traditional friendship bracelets, but he found them too tedious and decided to come up with his own methods. Instead of knotting individual strands around each other, he simply braided them.
The bracelet was nothing extravagant—only a thin ring of color-coordinated floss that looked pretty stark against my skin. Three shades all woven together—three shades of blue, at that. The boy knew his way into my heart. In this age of cyberspace, I couldn’t really identify those three shades by name, but I could by using that weird all-purpose non-dithering colors chart. The floss was in code numbers 000066, 0066CC, and 99CCFF. Braided together, the colors pretty much toned each other down, and the overall effect was nice and subtle. The one detail that stood out was the single gold thread that was woven into the mix. Moving in and out of the pattern, it gave the bracelet a whole new feel—like a muted accent that carried more meaning than what could easily be seen.
“So how long did it take you to make this?” I asked as I watched Peter secure it around my wrist—my left wrist, just above my watch.
“Not too long. I might suck in Art, but I’m pretty handy in some things.”
“How come I didn’t get one?” Althea demanded from where she sat, not five feet away. The three of us were hanging out at the benches of Renaissance High’s parking lot, killing time while waiting for Peter’s mother—who’d called to say she was running a little late—to show up.
Althea had been checking out the proceedings for a while now, glowering the whole time and picking away at a scab on her knee. It was disgusting, but I didn’t dare tell her, considering her delicate state whenever she was in Peter’s company. God only knew what was running through her head while he was giving me some romantic token like that friendship bracelet he’d made. I wouldn’t be surprised if I died a million times in her imagination and in all kinds of horrible, painful ways.
“I didn’t know if you were into this sort of thing,” Peter said, giving the knot he made one final tug before releasing me.
“Duh—of course, I am!”
“Okay, okay, I’ll make you one. Sorry for the oversight.”
Althea made a face as she rubbed the back of her neck. “No, that’s okay. I’m sorry I got pissy on you two.”
“I really don’t mind making you one. In fact, I’m beginning to think that it would be a good idea. It’s the only way to avoid…” His words trailed off and faded into silence.
Althea and I exchanged mystified glances.
“Avoid what?” she prodded.
“A fight—I guess.” Peter topped that off with a lame chuckle and a blush.
“Um—I’m not aiming for a fight, dude. Don’t worry about it. I’m cool, really. I was just being immature. It’s all typical crap from me, you know.”
Peter didn’t seem to be listening to her. All that time, his gaze was fixed on my wrist, and his brows were crinkled as though he were in very, very deep thought. Then again, considering his intensity, I wouldn’t be surprised if Peter were to stop and contemplate the higher meaning of friendship bracelets. Althea looked at me and dismissed Peter with a tired rolling of her eyes.
“Hey, I think you overdid the knot,” I said. I’d been lightly toying with the bracelet and had just discovered that Peter had used a square knot, and it was tightened so much that the knot itself seemed to have vanished.
I blinked and backpedaled. The knot did vanish. I brought my wrist closer to my face and stared long and hard at it.
“Where did it go?”
There was no sign of a knot anywhere though I saw Peter carefully tie one just a moment ago. It seemed to have melted, literally, so the two ends of the bracelet fused themselves into one seamless line.
“What is it?” Althea asked.
“The knot,” I stammered, showing both her and Peter my wrist. “It’s gone. Seriously, look—you might think I’m crazy.”
They both stared at the bracelet and then each other. Neither of them seemed fazed. It was infuriating and unnerving at the same time.
“There’s a knot there. There should be one! Peter, what’s going on?”
“What do you need the knot for?” he replied. “Are you thinking of taking the bracelet off sometime?”
“Well—yeah—like when I’m in the shower.”
“You really shouldn’t be taking it off.”
I sniffed. “I know how friendship bracelets work, Peter. I’m just not keen on having organic things grow on mine because I happen to take showers every day. I mean, look—it’s thread, not stainless steel.”
“You’re a drama queen.”
“Look at it this way, Eric. You’re wearing a wedding ring sort of thing,” Althea piped up.
“Yeah. Exactly,” Peter said. “But it’s more than just a wedding ring wannabe.”
I was growing more and more confused by all this. “Then what? Look, this is starting to get a little too creepy. Where did the knot go?”
“It’s there, Eric. It’s always there. You just don’t see it.”
“Where?” I glanced down. Then I moved the bracelet around my wrist. The knot remained invisible. “Peter—”
I felt a pair of hands take hold of my head, one on each side, forcing me to look up. Immediately I was falling headlong into a pair of dark almond-shaped eyes. “Calm down, Plath.”
“But something’s not right—”
“Eric, will you trust me?” he asked, his voice low and gentle. Only sixteen, and oh, so mature. In retrospect, I guess one of us had to be.
I wasn’t exactly sure how to answer him. Something strange was going on, and it felt as though only I could sense it. I clammed up, but Peter played dirty. One way of breaking down my defenses was for him to gently trace my mouth with his thumb while he held me in place. The warmth, the soft friction, that faint smile that lightly creased his face—I was gone in seconds, and my jeans needed some adjusting.
“Eric?”
“Yeah—okay.”
“You can’t take that bracelet off. Promise me that you won’t try to cut it off or damage it in any way.”
“You gave it to me. Why would I want to mess it up?”
He smiled grimly. “I made it for you, and it’s for your own safety. Please don’t screw around with it.”
“Safety?”
“Trust me, Eric. I know nothing makes any sense right now, but it will, sooner or later.”
I swallowed, not liking the sound of that. Nevertheless, I said, “I won’t touch it if you don’t want me to.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Peter seemed to melt then, his shoulders sagging as tension left his body. He leaned forward and kissed me, his hands still securing my head. If I had my way, I’d have pulled him down in a writhing tangle on the asphalt, but we had an audience, who was probably wishing more excruciating death scenes on me. I was forced to limit my appreciation of Peter with an eager, open-mouthed kiss, a pretty restless tongue included. I guess I was getting a hang of the new, improved Peter Barlow.
“Thanks,” he whispered against my mouth before pulling away. He left me panting a little—sort of like one of those corseted heroines and their white, totally rounded, raggedly heaving boobs, virginal and helpless against the backdrop of wild cliffs and
brooding mansions. Only this time, I was skinny, flat-chested, slightly on the too-pale side of ethereal, with a creepy handmade bracelet clinging to my wrist. As for my great, romantic backdrop—it was the gray, drab parking lot of Renaissance High, a heavy canopy of dark clouds above, threatening rain and more muck on the streets.
But, hell, I didn’t care. The new Peter Barlow was growing on me, and as far as I was concerned, he could sweep me off with one mind-bending kiss on wild cliffs, in brooding mansions, or at some crummy, deserted urban parking lot.
Althea, momentarily forgotten, went back to her scab-picking, grumbling under her breath. Above us, faint thunder broke the silence, and the familiar smell of chemical-laced rain softly touched my senses. I wondered how many helpless outdoor plants would fall victim to the downpour this time around.
Chapter 16
Bambi Bailey’s beauty mark traveled all over her face. One would think it had its own GPS or was totally pro at using Google Maps. Before she appeared on camera, it had become a game between me and Liz to place bets on the beauty mark’s new “home.” Peanut M&Ms were at stake, and I turned out to be a better gambler than she. There was only one time when neither of us won, though, and that was when the beauty mark—for whatever reason—lost its hold and popped off Miss Bailey’s right cheekbone just as the camera began to roll. Sometimes I wondered if we were the only ones who noticed this new phenomenon, seeing as how these faux moles were very small and barely noticeable and would easily be invisible to inattentive viewers. It was obvious Liz and I needed hobbies—preferably a life.
After my near-kidnapping, The Devil’s Trill upped the ante. Another attempt at hypnotizing people took place, this time with a small, quiet retirement home being the chosen playground. The Happy Willows Retirement Home, always known for its calm and cozy atmosphere—no one in Vintage City, I was sure, could’ve imagined their frail, sweet grandma turning into a Vin Diesel wannabe, knocking down security guards with her tiny fist or swinging her walker above her head as if it were a high-tech, über-nunchuku. That was what happened, though.
“It was a pretty clever move for the Trill to choose his victims this time,” Sgt. Bone barked during an interview.
Maybe taking Miss Bailey’s cue, he’d begun to appear on camera with his splotchy face nicely powdered to a matte finish. “A group of helpless seniors—cough!—doing Tai Chi in the community room were manipulated—no, brainwashed—hrrum —by music from a radio that was left behind in the room.”
“How can that happen, Sgt. Bone, when those folks were supposed to be doing Tai Chi?”
“It was a radio, Miss Bailey—hrrum!—that was left there by another resident, but no one’s—cough!—claimed it yet. We’re now questioning whether or not someone from the—cough! hrrum!—retirement home owned it.”
“Cough drops are on sale at Dunlop’s Pharmacy, sergeant.”
“Well, good for them!”
“But I think they’re out of the cherry-flavored ones.”
“Can we get back—cough!cough!—to today’s incident, Miss Bailey?”
“Ah, yes. It could’ve been planted, you mean? The radio?”
“Exactly. According to witnesses, the radio wasn’t turned on while the residents were exercising—cough!—but sometime in the middle of everything, it did—hrrum! Damn it!—and what happened to those kids in the Elms Theater, happened to these poor seniors.”
“And they—”
“Attempted to hold the mayor and the supervisors hostage, yes—cough! ”
“What does the Trill hope to achieve, sir?” Miss Bailey quickly touched her beauty mark with a finger. I imagined that she was making sure it was still where she left it.
“Other than piss everyone off?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take over the world, I’m sure—hrrum! Don’t all master criminals want that?”
“I see. And how are the victims now, sergeant?”
Vitus Bone nodded. “Very well. They’ve been treated and—cough!—released. As a matter of fact, they recovered from—hrrum!—their hypnosis much better than the kids.”
“How so?”
He squared his thick, rounded shoulders, the air of authority thickening around him. I could actually feel it through the TV screen. “No side effects—no headaches, dizziness, nausea. That can only mean one thing.”
“There wasn’t any phlegm there, hallelujah,” Miss Bailey, looking amazed, muttered into the microphone. “And what’s that, sergeant?”
“Cough!—It means that The Devil’s Trill has perfected—cough!—his Noxious Nocturne, Miss Bailey.”
And with that declaration, he glowered at the camera, that air of authority turning into one of virtuous outrage. I swear to God, I was living out an ancient movie from, like, the fifties or something, the way adults around me acted and talked like they had a super cheesy script. Then again, hello, this dump wasn’t called Vintage City for nothing.
“All those poor Ficus trees he experimented on!”
“He’s evil—rotten to the—hrrum!—core.”
“Thank you for your time, Sgt. Bone, and good luck!” Miss Bailey then turned back to the camera and yammered on about that day’s incident at the Happy Willows Retirement Home, her beauty mark bobbing sprightly with every word. Liz had won this round as she’d guessed the little black thing to be set on Miss Bailey’s chin—a little east from the midline of her face.
Liz shook her head while idly tossing a handful of M&Ms into her mouth. “There’s no rhyme or reason to what the Trill’s doing,” she said. “He’s all over the place. Even all those so-called crimes are half-assed. I mean, like this one, for example. He’s only managed to see part of his scheme through, and the rest of it’s completely foiled by Magnifiman and his partner.”
“You’re right. The Elms Theater, the jewelry store, the bank—nothing’s been accomplished.”
“I’ll bet you, Eric, that he’s just experimenting—like on those Ficus trees. These reek of dress rehearsals, know what I mean?”
I frowned at her. “He’s practicing—or testing the waters?”
“Yup. Exactly.”
“Then what’s he trying to prepare himself for?”
“Hey, I’ve already figured out part of the puzzle. It’s your turn to find out the rest.” With that, Liz scrambled to her feet, snatching the now-empty candy bowl and then marching off to the kitchen for refills. I really should be grossed out by our gluttony, but I wasn’t. How messed up was that?
I looked back at the TV. Another reporter was now on, but I expected Miss Bailey to corral Magnifiman sometime soon, and hopefully he’d be able to answer some of our questions. What Liz had just said made sense to me. The Trill seemed to be toying with things—seeing how they worked, what kind of adjustments were needed.
We were all rats in his maze. He didn’t seem to care that a couple of superheroes kept messing up his plans. One scheme foiled? Go on to the next one. No big deal. In the meantime, quietly perfect the previous plans and then try them again later on.
I scratched my head, and my thoughts drifted to the good guys. They’d been active in bringing peace and order in the streets of Vintage City, not once choosing one kind of criminal over the other. Everything was treated as a serious threat, so much so I’d begun to hear quiet grumblings here and there about Magnifiman’s fanaticism.
I realized the good guys worked no differently from the bad ones. Their efforts at seeing justice done appeared equally “light” and not at all awe-inspiring—like the Trill’s messed up efforts at causing all kinds of chaos around the city. Were the superheroes also testing the waters? They did, after all, show up at about the same time the Devil’s Trill did. Did their simultaneous coming out mean something?
Something caught my eye in the yellow dullness of the living room. I looked down. The friendship bracelet Peter gave me was intact. It was the gold thread he’d woven into the braided floss that had caught my attention.
It appeared to glow softl
y—very softly—maybe because of the TV or even the old light bulbs in the room. I couldn’t tell. The effect was pretty. Strange though it might sound, I actually felt safe, having it cradling my wrist.
I went online afterward and lurked in different RPG communities. There was talk of world domination, yes, but what interested me the most was the sudden explosion of new villains—all senior citizens, all kicking major ass.
I suppose my favorite would have to be The Cardigan.
He was a portly old man in a mustard-colored cardigan and a black beret. He could kill at twenty paces with his exploding cigars and poisonous pipe-weed. His cane shot poison darts. It was a dead heat between him and Magnifiman, but I had homework to do, so I couldn’t watch the showdown to its finale.
A close second came The Silver Swan—a white-haired femme fatale, who appeared in a costume that was an obvious rip-off of Bjork’s albatross craziness at the Oscar Awards once upon a time. Bless the Internet and its archive of celebrity embarrassments from every generation, I’m telling you.
Only this time everything was doused in silver glitter. She sashayed around with a little compact, which she’d flip open and blow. Thousands of sparkly things would fly out and overpower Magnifiman or whoever happened to be standing within twenty feet of her. I’d have loved to see her work with The Cardigan against the good guys, but her player was all insisting on autonomy.
In the meantime, Bambi Bailey had been kidnapped, and Magnifiman was tearing the whole city apart to find her because, yes, they’d been engaged in a long, long, long, drawn-out romance marked by unresolved sexual tension. He was hopelessly in love with her, but he refused to acknowledge it. Now he was in danger of losing The Only Woman in the Universe for Him, and he was beside himself.
RPG fans, I swear to God.
His young sidekick, Shadow Boy, was being chased by Mary Sue—who actually appeared as septuplets because each fourteen-year-old player totally didn’t want to give up her character, and that was the agreement the girls had reached after a nasty flame war that found its way to The Wank House. This was an online community where people wallowed in flaming each other senseless. There were also variations of Mary Sue—all identical to each other but playing different roles. One set of septuplet Sues were from the dark side, and they schemed to turn Shadow Boy against Magnifiman while engaging in romantic trysts with the girls.
Rise of Heroes Page 10
