by Rhys Thomas
“Dammit,” he said, dropping his gun at his side.
“Sam.”
It was a hushed call. He turned and saw Blotchy and Tango hiding in an alcove.
“Get over here.”
All three of them were bunched tight.
“Tell him,” said Tango.
“Sam,” he said. “I don’t know why you went crazy on me in the community center.”
“Can we not talk about this now?”
A noxious plume of smoke billowed out from a pump and they all held their breath and closed their eyes.
“I want you to know that I didn’t tell anybody about your superhero thing. I know I’m a bit of a prick, but I wouldn’t do that.”
“Well, how else would they know?”
Blotchy’s face was all different colors in the dark.
“No idea.”
Sam spotted the little kid again, open and unaware that he was being watched. Sam’s laser gun was active again after being hit and he raised it up and fired off a laser beam. It found its mark and the little kid fell to his knees, as if he’d actually been shot, bowing his head.
“Nice shot, Sam,” said Tango, patting his shoulder enthusiastically.
“Cheers.”
“But listen,” said Blotchy. “Now, I don’t want you to get mad. That’s why we’ve come to Quasar. I’ve been to see Sarah.”
“You what?”
“We didn’t know where you were, and I didn’t know you’d split up. Though I guessed you had. I was trying to help.”
Sam shook his head and thought.
“What did she say?”
“Well, here’s the thing. There was this guy outside her flat shouting all kinds of shit. She was there and opened the window and told him to piss off.”
“Was he Scottish?”
“Probably, I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
“Eventually, he went away.”
Blotchy took a knee and Sam joined him, leaving Tango to defend.
“I went to visit her after he left, to check she was okay.”
Blotchy half smiled. It wasn’t like him to be brave or concerned.
“She was fine, a little shaken up. She said you and her had broken up. I’m sorry, man.” He put a manly hand on Sam’s shoulder, which felt forced and weird. “But she also said you were still friends.”
His heart sprang up.
“I just wanted you to know. So that you didn’t think I was going behind your back. I promise you, though, on my mum’s life, I didn’t tell anyone about the Phantasm.”
“Guys,” said Tango. “We can make a break. Don’t think. Just follow.”
He barged past them and ran down the corridor. A man in his forties turned to them, but it was too late. Tango had zapped him. The three of them charged past, Blotchy’s footsteps incredibly loud as they ascended a wooden ramp painted black, swung round a corner between black netting, where they dived behind a low barrier. The opposition’s base was in sight. There were two guards, well protected by a waist-high wall.
Blotchy grabbed Tango’s arm.
“Fucking brilliant work, Tango.”
They fist-pumped.
“Sam, listen,” said Blotchy. He put his hand on his shoulder, and this time it felt natural. And Tango put his arm around him too.
“I know you don’t see our friendship in the same way, but, to us, it’s very special.” Blotchy’s face shifted colors with the lights. “We’re going to be better at being there, just like you’re always there for us.”
Somewhere off in the distance they heard a skirmish.
“We never thought you’d take the leap you’ve taken, but you did it, and it’s awesome that you did. We know what it took. So. Friends?”
Nothing happened for a second. The lights stopped flashing and the sounds died down.
He did take the leap. He had done all those wonderful things with her. His eyes flicked between Tango and Blotchy in the stillness. Everything they’d been through zipped across his mind.
If you look closely, Mr. Okamatsu had said, you can see the magic.
He smiled, his friends staring back at him, their heads close together, and gave a quick nod.
“Friends,” he said.
“Now, let’s stop being a bunch of fannies. This is a war situation,” said Tango, bouncing on his hams, readying himself. “Let’s do this!”
And he leaped up, the others following, and they charged for the base. The two sentinels were caught off guard. They raised their guns, but it was too late. Blotchy, Tango and Sam were firing wildly at them, whooping with joy as the vests of their enemies lit up like Christmas trees.
THE PHANTASM #013
Bait and Switch
A misty night in a bad part of town. Candles in the apartment window flicker, but to him they appear as half-formed suns in the gathering dust of a new galaxy, for tonight there is a thick mist.
Perfect.
When cars roll past, their headlights are like the beams of a lighthouse. He waits. Been a busy few days. A deep cleansing has taken place and the horizon stretches out before him, a glorious new day. Except it is nighttime. Acceptance is the final turn of the key. Some find it easier to achieve than others. Some people need a helping hand. A hand of justice.
The target emerges from the dark maw of the block and goes out into the misty night.
Once upon a time a girl got herself mixed up with a bad person. One day she managed to escape, but the bad person came after her. Fortunately, a black gladiator was on hand and one misty night he sent the bad person back to the dark lands in the north from whence he came. Scotland.
Like a phantom he glides through the atoms of the universe in pursuit. He knows these roads now like the back of his hand. But the target has switched it up. He’s not using the alleyway to deal his poisons any longer. There’s a canal now. One of the streetlamps is out, and in the mist it is near blackness—the ultimate environment for dark dealings. Three steps lead down to the path alongside the murky waters, and the target descends, as if into the Underworld.
Nerves? Yes. Fear? Some. But fear is there for one reason: to be overcome.
He jumps down all three steps and lands like a cat on the path.
“Citizen!”
The target doesn’t jump with shock as our hero hoped. Instead, he stops, pins his ears back and turns slowly. Not so the other figure, who is young and panics at the prospect of authority. He makes quick his escape down the canal path in the opposite direction. Hope you don’t fall off the track and into the canal, the crusader for justice calls in his mind, his eyes narrowing. Though you have already strayed far from the path of righteousness.
The champion growls, “I have a file of photographic evidence, which clearly shows you selling drugs.”
The target is just a figure.
“And you have just come from prison for the exact same offense. But let us on this night broker a deal. Leave town. Leave this place.”
“I know it’s you, Sam,” says the target. “Who do you think told the papers about you?”
The words stun the Phantasm. His mind falters. At the beginning of the sentence this man was just another hood. At the end of it he has changed. Anger burns through the vigilante like hot quicksilver. The hood is now an arch nemesis, and the anger is laced with panic.
“You’re not as good as you think you are, wee man.”
They both stand, feet planted, ten yards from each other.
“You think I don’t know when someone’s following me? You think I’ve nae been doing this for years? I knew you were there, and I followed you home. And then I told the papers so that she’d dump you.” The figure shrugs. “You’d do the same. Look what you’re doing now.”
“I’m doing this for her, not me. We’re over. I can ac
cept it. Why can’t you? Just leave her alone. She doesn’t need me in her life and she definitely doesn’t need you.”
“You’re out of your depth, man. You don’t tell me where I can and can’t live. How fucking dare you? And just remember, you send any photos anywhere, I know where you live. And I know where she lives. I don’t want anything bad to happen, but if you think I’m nae gonna defend myself you’re tripping.”
The waters of the canal ripple. So this is how kryptonite feels. He needs to regroup and think. Quick as a flash he takes a smoke bomb from his utility belt.
“Hark my words,” he says, sensing the sudden lack of power in his voice.
The dark figure of the target remains perfectly still.
The smoke rises from the path, and when it clears the nemesis will find nothing but fresh air.
35
ONLY WHEN THE mask came off did the fear flood in. But it was fear for Sarah. How could he have been so stupid? So naive. He thought of school and the old sensation of being powerless. Why did he bother doing anything? He simply wasn’t strong enough for the world—in a true, physical sense—not big enough to make a mark.
He got in the shower and thought about getting some extra security latches for his front and back doors. Anger was creeping into him again, about the newspapers. How was it fair that someone who dealt drugs, which ruined people’s lives, had the right to ruin Sam’s? Because that was what he’d done. Letting the water rush over his head and down his face, he realized at last the consequences of never again being anonymous in the one place he loved. Whenever he went to the café for his breakfasts or the pub for his lunches, or out with his friends, or to his favorite takeaways, or when he went out running, or when he went to the shops. And it was all because of Zac.
And Sam didn’t even have any photos. He’d been bluffing. After a crisis of conscience he’d deleted them from his camera, and there was no way of getting them back. Back in the bedroom, he looked out the window into his back garden. The streetlight in the alleyway behind his house was blurred by the mist. He wished he hadn’t thrown out his comics. He wished he could climb up into the attic and curl up and go to sleep.
“You’re being pathetic,” he said aloud.
In the garden the fluffy ginger cat and his smaller black-and-white friend had got over the fence, and had been joined by a second black-and-white one. They were all staring at him.
* * *
The text from Sarah came through midmorning the next day, asking if she could come over. It was Saturday and the mist from the night before hadn’t lifted. Sam sat in his living room, watching the news, with the phone held limply in his hand. Lifting it up, he replied that of course she could come over.
He ran upstairs and got ready. His heart pumped hard, partly with excitement, partly with fear. Thinking back on those words about how he would be happier without her, he hated the cruelty of them, and that he’d said them, when she had done nothing wrong.
She looked exhausted when she arrived. There were bags under her eyes and her shoulders were slumped; she didn’t look well.
“Come in,” he said. “I’ve got the kettle on.”
They went through to the kitchen and it was Sarah who spoke first.
“Did you go to see him?”
Sam put the bottle of milk down.
“Yes, but—”
“Dressed as the superhero?”
“Yes.”
“Sam.” The exasperation in her voice made him feel like a stupid child.
“Listen,” he said. “He’s bad news, Sarah. I’ve accepted what’s happened between us and I’m fine with it, but Zac is going to wreck your life.”
“You don’t get it.”
“You know, it was him who told the papers I’m the...the thing I do.”
Her eyes flicked up to him.
“He’s not a good person, Sarah. And he’s dealing again.”
“He’s changed,” she said. “This person who’s come here...it’s not him. It’s a different person. He’s meaner.”
“He’s off his face on drugs all the time. This is what happens in the end.”
She started crying, standing there in the middle of the kitchen. Her shoulders lost their tension and she stood there, head lowered, her chest heaving.
He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know if it was okay to give her a hug. Then he went to her and put his arms around her whole body.
“Hey, hey, come on,” he said. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
“It’s not.”
“Yeah, it is. We’ll make it okay.”
He felt her shake her head.
“What is it?” he said.
“He’s going to ruin my life.”
“We’ll talk to him. I’ll talk to him.”
“You can’t.” She waited. “He’s got a video.”
The words snagged, and Sam realized he’d held his breath.
“What do you mean?”
Her voice drifted up quietly.
“There’s so much you don’t know about me that I should have told you.”
His arms still around her, the embrace became lax. The kettle boiled and there was a click as it switched itself off. Slowly the pieces in the puzzle moved into place.
“Sarah, tell me what’s happened.”
He held her close to stop her shaking, but she peeled away and sat at the kitchen table.
“My family, we’ve always been dysfunctional. When I was in school, I couldn’t wait to move out and get away. And when I met Zac, I thought...things seemed so much better.”
She put her head in her hands.
“I was such an idiot. I was high for so long I couldn’t see what was happening. I can’t believe...how badly...I’ve fucked up,” she said. “Things had been bad for a while, like he didn’t care about anything, and one night we were...together, and he had his phone...”
His heart broke for what she was saying.
“I hate myself because I let him do it. I was so high, it just happened...and in the morning...it made me feel so disgusting. I told him to delete it, but he was just laughing at me and I flipped out and I just...left.”
She broke off, the weight of the words making her stop. She was trembling.
“My parents hated Zac and I always stuck up for him. God, I was so stupid. I couldn’t call them. I’d spent years telling them I didn’t need them, and by the end they never called me and so, you know, and Zac never came after me. After all that time we’d been together and he didn’t even try calling me. He just...didn’t care and all of my friends were his friends really, and then...”
“What?” said Sam. “It’s okay. You can tell me.”
Sarah didn’t look at him. Her shoulders rounded in resignation. He heard her take a breath.
“I had no money and nowhere to go... I ended up on the streets.”
Sam took a seat next to her.
“You were homeless?”
“You think there’s support, but there’s not. There’s nothing.”
Sam suddenly remembered the day he’d first met Sarah, when he’d bought a meal for Gloria. Something clicked into place.
“What happened?”
“Kabe happened. I knew him, sort of. But he found me, and he and Kristen took me in. Got me back on my feet, helped me get out of Edinburgh. And now Zac’s back I feel—” her voice shook “—like I’m back at square one.” She took a huge breath. “He keeps telling me he still loves me and can’t live without me, and then he always brings it back round to the video, and if I don’t...he’ll... I’m a terrible person, I guess I deserve this.”
He was too stunned to think straight.
“This is why you agreed to meet with him,” he said. He thought of Zac’s flat, the candlelight flickering on the walls through the window, the man sitting behind t
hat wall. “Sarah, this is blackmail,” he said. “I mean, what sort of person lets...” He stopped.
She cried some more and Sam shifted his chair closer to her and put his arms around her again until she was exhausted.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s make the tea.”
And they did, in silence, Sam sliding the cups over to her when it was time for the milk to go in. He tried to block out the images that were spiraling into his head, of her being put through that, and the person Sarah must have been then. They took their cups and went through to the conservatory, away from the world.
“Do your parents know about any of this?” he said.
Sarah shook her head. Her eyes were red, she was all cried out, but Sam was glad she was here, that the house was warm and she could feel safe.
“You really can’t call them?”
She shook her head.
“I really thought I was out the other end. When I met you.” She hadn’t looked at him the whole time, but now she lifted her head and met his eyes. “You’re such an amazing person. You have no idea how good you are.”
There was silence as these words held.
“You’re a good person,” he said. He watched the tiny nuances on her face, small defensive things; a near-imperceptible narrowing of the eyelids, a tightening of the flesh over her cheeks as she closed her mouth, a nervous swallow. “I hate that you think you’re not. You’ve been so good to me.”
“Because I love you,” she said, without thinking.
All the air was sucked out for a second.
“My dad used to say to me, people don’t change, they only change the way they act.”
“That’s cool,” she said.
“So you must’ve always been a good person. We all do stupid things. Look at me... But we’re going to sort this out, you know that? All of it.”
“He’s going to post the video on my Facebook,” she said.
“He won’t do that,” he said, knowing that Zac would do exactly that. “He can’t blackmail you. You can just delete your Facebook. He can’t ruin your life.”
