Ordinary Champions

by Hayden Thorne

  I nodded, relieved. “I’m cool with that,” I said, grinning, as he unclasped the wristbands and sauntered over to Brenda, who turned over her notes to him. “I’ll have to admit, though, that this conversation we’re having is bringing back some bad memories I have about the Trill and how he wanted me to be tutored and stuff.” I paused, now totally confused. “I can’t figure that one out.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, that he’d take it on himself to continue my schooling and whatever else. It was like—he was trying to be my dad. I told him so, and he laughed at me.” I shrugged. “I don’t know. He was so bizarre. I can’t figure him out.”

  Brenda appeared interested in what I was saying and set her pen down. “A psychologist would have a field day with the Trill, I’m sure. I wouldn’t be surprised if his behavior toward you, Eric, was something that was somehow related to his own experience growing up. Maybe his parents were overbearing? Considering how badly he turned out, maybe his genetic manipulation was pretty severe on top of his nurturing.” Brenda shrugged as well. “I can’t say. I’m not a psychologist. I can speculate until I drop dead, but with the Trill gone, that’s all we can realistically do.”

  “I kind of feel badly for him in that sense,” I mused. “I mean, just like the superheroes, he couldn’t help being what he was, right? He was stuck, and he didn’t have a choice. His parents made the choice for him. I can say the same about the Puppet and the Debutantes. They’ve all been royally screwed, even if their parents’ intentions were good.”

  Brenda flashed me a reassuring smile. “Everything’s subject to abuse, hon. For every parent with honorable intentions, there’s always one with warped ambitions.”

  I fell silent as I mulled things over. Brenda was right, and the possibilities of what could have been or what should be or whatever—all of them overwhelmed me, and I wanted to move forward from there. I took a deep breath, regrouped, and shifted the subject.

  “Do I come here for my lessons, or do we meet somewhere public, like the library?”

  Dr. Dibbs seemed to hold two conversations at the same time, alternately speaking in low tones with Brenda, while answering my questions without a single glance in my direction. It was pretty impressive, I’d have to say.

  “I don’t care to be in the public eye, Mr. Eric, as I serve the community much more effectively behind closed doors,” he replied. “Tutorials here will be enough for your needs. Have you any objections, sir?”

  “No, that’s fine with me. I kind of like it here, actually.”

  Brenda looked up at me and winked before turning her attention back to my test results.

  “Excellent! We’ll have them here, then.” Dr. Dibbs appeared pleased with what I’d just said as well as what he’d just seen in Brenda’s journal. He straightened up, rubbed his hands cheerfully, and then shuffled over back to me. “All’s well, young man,” he declared. “All’s well. The only thing left is a blood test, so if you’d be so kind as to roll up your sleeve and rest your arm on the table—thank you.”

  I tried to look away when he brandished a pretty nasty-looking needle after tying a rubber tube around my arm. Not even the familiar cooling sensation of alcohol being wiped over the target area did much to soothe my queasiness over needles.

  “It’s okay to call me Eric,” I said, flinching a little at the sting and fighting against all kinds of horrible images involving blood and pierced veins and anything similarly anatomical and messy. “Actually, I’d prefer it. The Trill used to call me Mr. Plath a lot. ‘Mr. Eric’ is a little too close.”

  “I’ll remember that, thank you, Mr. Eric. Right! We’re done!”

  Dr. Dibbs nodded, pressing a cotton ball against the tiny puncture mark he’d made on my arm. He anchored it down with surgical tape and then walked off to dispose of the syringe and hand over my blood to Brenda, who promptly labeled the small glass tube with my name and other things.

  “So, am I okay?” I prodded, watching them busy themselves with cleaning up and writing notes.

  “Oh, yes, you are. The blood test is there to confirm our findings, which have been good all around. If you have a head for all kinds of sci-fi geek talk, I’d be happy to share the results with you.” The way he grinned at me when he said that pretty much convinced me he knew too well what my answer would be.

  “Uh, no, thanks. If you say I’m fine, that’s all I need. Besides,” I added, a bit smug, “if you’re messing around with me right now, my friends will find out, and you’ll be up the creek, Sentries or no.”

  He and Brenda burst out laughing, with Dr. Dibbs ruffling my hair before giving my right shoulder a playful punch. “Yes, Mr. Eric, we’re very well aware of your advantage over us.”

  He went back to his work while I quietly formulated my next question. “So, are the Sentries involved with the Solstice Masque, Dr. Dibbs?”

  “I’m sorry, what? Solstice what?” he piped up, looking at me with a sincerely puzzled little grin.

  “The Solstice Masque,” I repeated, looking at both him and Brenda, who looked at me in a funny sort of way. “It’s a carnival—traveling carnival. They came here recently, actually, and it was like they didn’t follow the usual schedule—like they came out of turn, know what I mean? It was kind of strange when they showed up. They made me think they were an off-season carnival, but at the same time, there was a lot more to it that I couldn’t understand.”

  Dr. Dibbs paused and waited, a collection of notes piled up in his arms. “Hmm. That’s a curious question. What makes you think that the Sentries had anything to do with them?”

  “Well, all the carnival workers wore weird costumes, and they were masked, too, which made me wonder if they were hiding something. I mean, all the other carnivals we’ve had since I was a little kid were never like that. The Solstice Masque was the first one—okay, the only one—that made use of creepy costumes and even creepier rides. Everything was really old and surreal.” I paused and fumbled around for words, digging as deeply inside me as I possibly could to give voice to a bunch of thoughts that I’d suppressed for so long. What made this all the more frustrating was that everything I suspected about the Solstice Masque was firmly rooted in gut feelings, gut reactions. I’d long learned not to dismiss anything intuitive, but, God, it always nearly killed me, thinking of ways to communicate exactly what I could only understand on such a deep, deep level.

  Sure enough, Dr. Dibbs and Brenda exchanged glances—incredulous, amused glances. Good thing neither of them laughed at me as I was sure I was blushing so much by that point.

  “Dear Mr. Eric,” Dr. Dibbs replied, his voice booming a little. “A young person’s mind is a wonder—so fertile and rich, imagination-wise. I must admit to feeling very jealous of you right now. If I could only dredge up such colorful ideas, hypotheses, possibilities, and whatnot, I could spend my idle hours lost in one fantastic world after another.”

  I frowned. “I take it the answer’s a ‘no’.”

  “It’s a ‘no’, Mr. Eric. A most resounding ‘no’.”

  I nodded, sighing. “Okay. Sorry. I guess I did let my imagination run away with me. It’s just kind of weird, is all. Everything about the carnival told me there was more to it than what meets the eye, and that maybe it’s got something to do with the Eugenics babies coming into their powers and stuff.” I grinned sheepishly and shrugged. “Never mind. I’m just making a big deal out of nothing.”

  “It’s definitely nothing, Eric,” Brenda said as she turned off the laptop and tidied up the area. “But I can see where you’re coming from. I guess if I were your age, I’d suspect the same thing. It definitely sounds like a pretty creepy carnival.”

  “Yeah, but it was also fun all in all. The atmosphere was just a little, well, off, if you know what I mean. But it didn’t keep me from having fun with one of my friends when we went there.”

  Brenda regarded me with that funny kind of look again. It was like she was digging into me, trying to get as far as she could to figu
re out what I was trying to get at. “And what would you have done if the Sentries were involved with the carnival, sweetie?”

  I scratched the back of my head, considering. “I don’t know. I guess I wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it, anyway. If I tried to expose them, what can I say?” I paused to see her reaction, but she merely waited. “I mean, I already know the Sentries are on the side of good, even if the heroes don’t completely agree with their methods of making sure Vintage City doesn’t make the same mistakes again.” I made a face, fumbling some more, but in the end, I just gave up. “I just…have nothing to say. Pretty lame, huh?” I shook my head and simply left my thoughts dangling.

  “No, not lame, but I agree that there’s nothing you can do. If anything, snooping around will put you in a lot of danger, if that were the case. The Sentries have their methods, and they don’t take to interference very well, no matter how well-intentioned it might be. Eric, it’s not your place. Don’t even think about getting tangled up with them. Your involvement with them, with me and Dr. Dibbs right now, has everything to do with the Trill’s manipulation and the danger you were exposed to.” Brenda smiled—a vague, somewhat distant kind of smile that gave me pause. I swear I heard the wheels turning crazily in her head. Did I just plant weird ideas in her brain? “Trust me, the Sentries have absolutely no connection with that carnival—or any other weird traveling show that catches your eye. They wouldn’t have any reason to masquerade around like that, seeing as how they’re an underground operation. Don’t you think they’d prefer to remain anonymous? A masked carnival sounds so—promotional—know what I mean?”

  Brenda broke off and laughed lightly, the sound easing my doubts a lot, and I relaxed in spite of myself. I guess if one were to put things that way, it would make my suspicions sound really crazy. I gave myself a mental kick. What was I thinking? Was I simply trying to prove something to Althea when I asked her to dig around online for leads? Was I trying to prove that I could do just as well as my superhuman friends in solving mysteries—or at the very least helping them with clues that could lead them to the truth?

  “I’m sorry,” I said, mortified, as I stared at my shoes. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing half the time. I…really thought I had something there, that I could be just as helpful as my friends without being, you know, genetically beefed up.”

  Brenda’s voice was gentle and kind when she spoke.

  “I can’t imagine the kind of pressure you must’ve felt, Eric. I was never in that situation when I was your age, but I did feel the pressure of being almost superhuman from my dad.” She nudged my chin and forced me to look up. “You responded to some kind of gut reaction, and you convinced yourself that you might’ve stumbled across something pretty significant. With your buddies coming into their powers at the same time, you felt left behind…unimportant. From what I can see, you clung to this strange idea of yours with all your might because of that.”

  I nodded, hating the feeling of being stripped naked psychologically. “Yeah. That sounds about right. Now that I’m hearing you explain what might’ve been happening to me, I feel really stupid. It’s so simple. Not to mention obvious.”

  “You know, kiddo, sometimes the most obvious thing is the one we can’t see.”

  “Funny you say that,” I replied. “After the Trill kidnapped me, he made everyone think his plan was so simple and obvious. He rigged my glasses with some kind of radio thingie, and we all thought that that was all he could do. Turned out to be way more complicated than that in the end.”

  “He was playing with everyone’s minds. That was what he was best at. I’m sure you’ve got tons of stuff to share with me regarding your life with him, when you’re ready to talk about it, of course.”

  I smiled at her. “I really don’t know if I’ll ever be good in figuring out what’s real and what’s not. Just about every choice I’ve made has backfired on me in one way or another. My judgment sucks.”

  “Come on,” Brenda said, giving my back a gentle pat. “Want some tea and cookies like before? I wasn’t able to stock up on the same cookies you really enjoyed, but I think you’ll really get into these ones.”

  “I guess I could do with some comfort food.” I sighed as I shuffled along behind her. “The more fattening, the better.”

  I sure got my wish. Brenda served me shortbread cookies, and they were the serious kind—like, made with enough butter to kill off an entire city with clogged arteries with just one serving. I dug into them, my mood somewhat deflated after my disappointing conversation, but it sure didn’t take long for unhealthy cuisine to distract me from my embarrassment. Brenda’s jasmine pearl tea balanced everything with its gentle, spirit-cleansing brew.

  Chapter 23

  Dad was nearing the end of his one-week leave—or whatever it was called in the workplace—and we’d pretty much exhausted all our board games. He asked me more than once if I were interested in going out with him to buy a new, updated, way cooler one that I’d like, and I just smacked my head against my breakfast.

  “How about some lunch out, Dad?” I offered instead, flashing him my most winning smile. “Acid rain’s not in the forecast. We can chill somewhere if you want.”

  He nodded, his brows furrowed as he seriously considered the choices. “I suppose we can do that. You sure you’re up to walking around a lot, Eric?”

  “Um, yeah, I’m sure, Dad. Thanks for asking.”

  “Good! How about pizza and then some coffee?”

  Across the way, Liz looked like she was in the middle of an apoplectic fit. Stabbing her tater tots with her fork several times over, she listened to my exchange with Dad with a face that shifted from white to red to green to yellow to blue—and then back to white, repeating the process.

  “You suck,” she groused, earning herself a comforting pat on the head from Mom, who’d just appeared all dressed up, ready for her appointment with the hairdresser.

  “You can always ditch your classes just for today,” I offered. Liz had a test scheduled that day, and I knew it. Sure, it was mean rubbing salt in one’s wounds, but this was par for the course between my sister and me. “Come on! It’ll be great!”

  “You really, really suck.” Bitter silence.

  “I know.” Giggle.

  * * * *

  Downtown Vintage sported scars like everywhere else. It was with some embarrassment that I recognized some of those scars as being caused by me. All right, so they were little scars except for that one building whose windows I’d totally mangled, but I did major damage for a good reason.

  Enough said.

  I kept my gaze on it, pausing in my tracks as wonder overcame me. The melted or reshaped opening had been cleared in parts, the main “prison bars” I’d hoped to achieve pretty much sawed off or something. But I could still see their source: the upper edge of the window frozen in the midst of melting.

  “I did that,” I breathed. It was insanely mind-blowing. The difference between what I was now and what I used to be felt like this yawning chasm, and I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that I was, at one point, actually capable of doing something like that.

  “Anything wrong, Eric?” Dad asked, startling me out of my momentary trance. He’d walked back to stand beside me to follow my gaze. With his old hat and his glasses on, shadows kept me from reading his expression, but he’d fallen into a grim kind of silence. He understood.

  “Nothing. Just thinking. Let’s go.”

  We went to the mall because the pizza place was packed with too many people, and Dad was too hungry and fidgety to wait in line. With the time nearing lunch, workers had filed out of their offices, making beelines to their favorite delis, coffee shops, or take-out diners. We didn’t really have much of a choice.

  The mall’s food court had enjoyed a bit of an upgrade. The tables and benches had been replaced with tables and chairs of the heavy and solid quality, movable furniture in gleaming metal with firm cushions for a swankier look, I suppos
e. Not that it did anything to improve the nasty atmosphere of mall culture. Noise, the smell of grease, elevator music, the endless swarms of tired, harried, and pissed off shoppers—because they just realized they’d spent ten times more than they planned—all desperately balanced by water fountains, new tables and chairs, and sparkly floors.

  I sat down with a tray of greasy Chinese food from the Dragon Terrace. Dad took his place across from me, doffing his hat with a satisfied little grunt and actually rubbing his hands in glee as he surveyed his food. I nearly choked on a potsticker, laughing.

  “I hope you like your food, Dad,” I quipped as he started to dig in.

  “Of course I will! I always do! The Dragon Terrace makes the best Broccoli Beef around!”

  “Watch it. I’m going to have to see Mrs. Zhang and snitch on you, you traitor.”

  Dad rolled his eyes—whether or not in mockery or in bliss, I couldn’t tell. “Eh, what’s she going to do? Come after me with an army of killer spiders?”

  A scream cut through the noise. Then another. All conversation stopped as shoppers looked around in confusion.

  “Oh, my God! What are those?” a woman shrieked from somewhere.

  The soft, steady clattering of something hard against the tiled floor reached my ears, and it grew louder. With it came more scattered cries of horror from people, and here and there, men, women, and children all leaped from their chairs, waving their arms and running from something I couldn’t see.

  “What’s happening?” I stammered.

  “Oh, no!” a girl yelled from somewhere behind me, and I turned to find her standing on her chair, pointing frantically at something on the floor.

  I looked and nearly choked.

  Spiders—an army of them. They weren’t real spiders, either. They were mechanical. The size of beagles, these things marched forward with their legs making a thousand clicking sounds, while their mechanical eyes flashed white against black, shiny bodies. The most bizarre thing about them was instead of ejecting silky stuff from their butts like when they formed webs, small holes opened in two lines that ran down the sides of their abdomens, and from there, the webby stuff was spat out. They didn’t need to stop in front of victims to cover them with white, sticky stuff as though the spiders were trapping them in rope-like webs. All they had to do was walk through the crowd and spit at random, and more often than not, they found targets. People cowered and flailed or turned around and ran, only to trip over themselves as the white, ropey things began to solidify around parts of their bodies.