by Pab Sungenis
“This killer not only knows our identities,” Morgaine confirmed my fears, “but he knows our weaknesses too.”
“Oh, shit,” Sarah blurted, and I wasn’t going to argue with her. Neither, it seemed, was Clytemnestra, although she did glare at her sidekick’s choice of words.
“But who could possibly know all our weaknesses?” I honestly had no way of answering the question and looked to the others for some help. “I can’t imagine any of our villains knowing just how to take each of us down. No one has fought all of us enough to know where we’re weak.”
“No, none of our enemies do,” Clytemnestra considered. “But there is at least one person who does have that information.”
“Who?” All three of us asked simultaneously.
“Mister Mystery.”
I’m surprised I didn’t collapse in a heap on the floor at the suggestion. “Why do you say that, Clytemnestra?” A look at the others confirmed they had the same question.
“He’s paranoid. He’s beyond paranoid. He likes to prepare for every possible situation. Including one of us turning traitor. His worst nightmare has been that something would end up possessing one of us, or we might somehow get corrupted by the power at our disposal. Years ago he started compiling information on all our weaknesses and how he could take each of us down if he needed to.”
“But where would he even get that information? How could he know how to take you down?”
“In my case, I told him.” Another round of silence, broken only by Clytemnestra’s next confession. “I’ve shared his fears, especially about myself.”
More silence followed. Not judgmental silence, either, since we could all appreciate where Clytemnestra’s fears came from, but silence born out of the realization we might be up against the sneakiest one of our bunch, which is a situation none of us wanted to be in.
“But I can’t understand why Mystery would do this!” I will admit that I was a bit flustered with all the death, sex, and romance (not necessarily in that order) in my life over the past couple of months, but I still couldn’t wrap my brain around anything even starting to resemble a motive.
“Since when have any of us ever understood Mister Mystery’s reasons for doing anything?” There was more than a hint of disdain and frustration in Clytemnestra’s voice. “Even so, can any of you find a reason not to at least investigate the possibility? Or offer a more likely answer?”
I couldn’t, and the silence from the others suggested they couldn’t either. I stood; there was no use delaying further. One way or the other, we needed to confront Mystery, and the looks the others gave me suggested they realized it, too. “We have to get there quickly.” I split my attention between Clytemnestra and Sarah. “Which one of us can fly faster?”
“I can,” Morgaine announced, then grabbed my hand and Clytemnestra’s. Sarah grabbed hold of my other hand as the sorceress chanted her incantation. “Konduk nin al Sinjoro Mistera kuŝejo.”
In the blink of an eye, we were off.
***
I’d never traveled by magic before. It felt kind of like teleporting, but less painful. If anything, fizzling out of one location and sprizzling into another kind of tickled. Definitely a good way to travel if you need to get somewhere quickly.
As Mister Mystery’s lair warbled into focus, I found myself duly impressed. Rick had made a big case about how he thought my base was so much better than Mystery’s hole-in-the-ground, but to me the two looked almost identical. His was a little smaller, or it might have just seemed that way because he kept one wall full of trophy cases stuffed with mementos of the villains he’d fought. Personally, I’d never felt like keeping stuff around to remind me of the guys Uncle Jack and I wound up smacking around, but it didn’t surprise me that Mystery had.
The four of us split up, each going in a different direction but staying within earshot of the others in case of emergency. At first, the layout of the lair seemed familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on why. It was only after I opened a heavy, metal door and walked into what was obviously a morgue that everything made sense. The lair was in the basement of an old, disused hospital—the perfect place for a hero with an MD to operate out of, in a number of different senses of the word.
I suddenly felt naked standing there in nothing but sweats and a tee. If Mystery was behind all of this, he’d be able to jump me with no warning and take me down without even having to think about it. When you’re not prepared for a confrontation, all you have are weaknesses.
Phoebe’s body was laid out on a table in the morgue, apparently being prepared for an autopsy but not having been cut open yet. That threw me for a bit of a loop. At least a half hour or so had passed since Mystery had jumped out with her body, and while he could be slow and methodical, he was not known to waste time. It didn’t make sense for him to set up for a project as important as an autopsy, and then wander off. Then it hit me: why would he autopsy her? If he was the killer, he would already know how she’d died, and it wasn’t like any of us would have asked to see (or even be able to understand) the autopsy reports. So why go through the motions?
Before I could call out to the others to see what they could make of the situation, Clytemnestra’s voice rang out with a summons.
“Blood.” Then a few seconds later, “Fresh.”
I turned and walked briskly back into the main lair. Amazing how few words are really needed to get some messages across.
The three of us converged on the main room at the same time. Clytemnestra was kneeling in front of one of the trophy cases, checking a small pool of blood that appeared to be oozing from underneath the case, or more likely, behind it. I looked at the case carefully and could see a thin gap between it and the ones on either side. A hidden door? Made sense. I was about to check to see if I could open it, but I wasn’t properly dressed for the job; a t-shirt wasn’t exactly the best protection I could ask for if whatever was behind that door was waiting to attack me. Bobby Baines rarely traipses through hidden doorways. The Scarlet Knight, however …
“Uh, Morgaine? Can you do something about my costume?”
“Certainly, dear.” She smiled and did one of those hand gestures of hers. “Kavaliro, sin vest per via kostumo kaj tenadi vian glavon.” A little more of that tickling feeling, then my sweats were suddenly replaced by my outfit, complete with helmet, and a sudden weight in my right hand told me my sword had arrived as well. I made a mental note to ask her how to do that when we both had the time.
“Stand back.” I motioned to the ladies. “I’m going to open the door.”
“No offense, Bobby,” Clytemnestra said with a hint of offense, “but you’re probably the weakest of the four of us.”
“That’s why I’m going through first,” I said pointedly. “If he ambushes me, I want the more powerful people in reserve. Let me be the bait.”
Unwilling to accept my argument, but even less willing to argue the point, they stepped away from the case, standing just enough to the side where they could be unseen yet leap in at the first hint of trouble. I felt along the edge of the case, located what I guessed was the latch, and tripped it. The case swung outward, revealing the doorway. With my sword at the ready, I jumped through to the hidden room.
As it turned out, I needn’t have been quite so cautious. Mister Mystery was there, but in the condition I found him, he was not much of a threat to me … or anyone else. The blood we had seen seeping under the cabinet was pooled underneath Mystery’s body and had started to roll down the slight incline in the floor.
“I think you three ought to see this.”
He wasn’t in his Mister Mystery costume but wearing ordinary scrubs and latex gloves. The back of his head looked like it had been caved in. Apparently, he had been getting ready for the autopsy when someone snuck up behind him, bonked him, and then dragged him to this secret room. Then, just for good measure, or maybe out of some deep-seated hatred, the thug had slit Mystery’s throat. The poor guy never even had a chance to pu
t up a fight. But who could sneak up behind Mystery, the most paranoid guy in the universe? And what could prompt such a savage attack?
Then I looked up at the walls.
“Uh, on second thought, maybe you three don’t want to see this.”
***
You ever watch news coverage about child predators? How they describe the shit hanging on the walls of their bedrooms? Well, if Mystery’s hidey-hole was anything to go by, the reports don’t do the reality justice. It turned my stomach, and if I hadn’t gotten used to seeing some pretty disgusting things dealing with the Big Bads, then I probably would have thrown up.
The photographs ranged from seemingly harmless “beefcake” shots of teen boys, to the ultimate in high-fructose porn syrup. Boys in all different stages of undress, doing all sorts of things. There was a full film-developing setup, like this room had doubled as a darkroom before all photography went digital. There were no signs Mystery had conned any of the boys into Close Encounters of the Worst Kind, but that didn’t really matter as far as I was concerned. Just having those photos was pure exploitation in my book. Rick’s remarks at my impromptu birthday bacchanal screamed through my head. There’s got to be something wrong with a man that makes a teenage boy dress like that. I turned my head, trying not to look at the tableau set up by the guy I had trusted with my life.
But something nagged at my subconscious, urging me to take a closer look. It was the feeling I got when I glimpsed a crowd shot during TV coverage of a ball game and for a split second think I’d spotted a friend or relative, even though I knew they couldn’t possibly be there. So I took a second look. It wasn’t an illusion.
There were pictures of me up there.
Revelations and Apocalypse
While my brain was trying to decide just how violated I should feel (for the record, it was “extremely”), the other three had made their way into the room, checked over Mystery’s body, and were now staring in horror at the photographic exhibit before them. I crossed to one block of pictures, drawing their attention to them.
There were shots of me in action—in costume and in street clothes—and pictures of Rick and Tommy, as well. There were shots of us playing basketball shirtless, working out … and a couple of shots of us in the gym showers. I had no idea how he’d managed to get those, and I decided I really didn’t want to know. I turned and stormed out of the secret room, not caring about Mystery’s blood all over my sneakers (I’d almost forgotten the burned-out remains of my boots were probably still wedged into the front of the El train from the night before) leaving footprints all over the main lair.
“Well,” Morgaine’s voice carried back through the doorway. “This certainly complicates the situation.”
“Perhaps. There’s enough evidence here to give a lot of people motive to kill Mister Mystery,” Clytemnestra said, “but that doesn’t mean it’s connected to the other deaths.”
“Come on, Cly! That doesn’t make any sense. How would anyone wanting revenge on the guy taking these photos know Mystery was taking them? None of us did, and we were the people who supposedly knew him best. And if they could figure out he was taking them, how would they know where this lair is and how to get here?”
“Morgaine’s right.” Sarah had followed me out of the secret room and put her arm around me, I guess hoping the other two ladies would also get the hint and carry the conversation out into the less creepy parts of the lair. “Bobby and I were never here before today. Mystery was so paranoid that I’m sure he covered his tracks about where he worked out of, even if he somehow let things slip about this hobby of his, which I find hard to believe.”
Sarah led me to a bench and sat us down. She held me tighter, seeming to have some idea of how violated I was feeling, and while I didn’t exactly reciprocate her gesture, I didn’t shove her away either. It wasn’t that I didn’t want her comfort; it was that I was too deep in thought to really appreciate it. The bags of cement were falling at an ever-increasing rate, and I was waiting for the moment when they would all start to solidify and permanently encase my brain.
“Still, it doesn’t mean Mystery wasn’t—”
“Mystery isn’t the killer, Clytemnestra.” I told them about what I had found in the morgue and the conclusions I’d drawn from it. “So no matter who killed Mystery and why, I don’t think Mystery killed the other three.”
“So we’re back at square one?” The annoyance in Clytemnestra’s voice had a chilling effect, dropping the temperature in the lair from nippy to absolute zero in a matter of seconds. It was that moment the last bag of cement went “plop,” and I was finally able to get what just might have been a full picture.
“No, we’re not back at square one. And that’s what worries me.” I gently shook off Sarah’s embrace and stood; I always think better while pacing. “Let’s look at the information we have. The killer was known to Mr. Zip and probably recognized me. That means there’s a good chance he knows the rest of us, and we know him. He knew some of the weaknesses of the first Scarlet Knight, Mr. Zip, and Prism, enough to get them all killed. He knew Prism’s identity and where she lived. He knew where Mister Mystery’s lair was, or at least how to get here. And considering where he stashed Mystery’s body, he knew Mystery’s dirty little secret.”
“And if he knew that secret,” Sarah picked up my train of thought, “then chances are he was … ” she paused, apparently not too thrilled with continuing the thought, “either an accomplice or a victim.”
Clytemnestra nodded. “There aren’t that many people who fit that profile.”
“Exactly. Now factor in the fact that Mister Mystery had files on all of us, knew all of our weaknesses, and had strategies ready if he ever felt the need to take one of us down. It’s safe now to assume he wasn’t the killer, but … ” a lump fought its way up my throat as I considered the possibilities, “what if the killer was someone who had access to Mystery’s files?”
“Bobby,” Morgaine said, “are you saying—”
“Oh, Bobby!” Sarah sounded heartbroken once she figured it all out. “It can’t be.”
“I hate to say it, but right now the main suspect has to be—”
“Hello!” A familiar voice thundered down a set of stairs at the far end of the lair. “Who’s down there?”
We fell quiet, not willing to give anything away. Apparently, neither was the newcomer, as there were no follow-ups to his first question. Footsteps echoed softly down the stairs. True to our training, we hunkered down, ready to spring into action. Morgaine motioned us to move behind her, and we did so as quietly as we could. Finally, just as the feet of the new arrival came into view, Morgaine pointed and shouted.
“Forto kampo, ĉirkaŭigas la entrudinton!”
A stream of what looked like liquid gas shot out of her fingertip and rocketed toward the stairwell, knocking into its target. It quickly formed into a bubble around the newcomer, cushioning him as he bounced down the remaining stairs and onto the floor. I’d seen some of Morgaine’s force fields at work in the past and was pretty confident this one was going to hold. Still, the four of us remained on our guard, and I walked over to confront a very good friend.
“Hello, Rick. As I guess you’ve figured out by now, we need to talk.”
***
Rick let loose a string of profanity so vehement and innovative there was no chance in hell I’d remember it all. A lot of stuff about what kind of person I was, what kind of activities I engaged in with which relatives and which species of small furry animals, that sort of thing. If it weren’t for the compliment he paid me by being so creative, I might have been hurt.
“Now that you’ve got that out of your system, how about I take my turn? I can understand—not justify, mind you, but understand—why you offed Mystery, but why did you—?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” The anger was still there, but a bit of incredulity had wormed its way in as well. “What’s this about me offing Mystery? What have you—?”
&
nbsp; “Come on, now. After discovering what’s in the old darkroom, I can’t imagine someone like you not wanting to—”
“Again, Dude, Whiskey Tango Foxtrot! We don’t have a darkroom in this crypt! And why would you think that I—?”
I tightened the grip on my sword. I didn’t really want to hear any answers or justifications from him; I just thought it would be the decent thing to do to let him get a couple of words in edgewise before I turned him into a sidekick-kebab. If it hadn’t been for the force field, which protected us from him but had the unfortunate side effect of protecting him from me, I don’t know if I would’ve allowed him as many words as I did. Fortunately for both of us, those additional words gave Sarah time to come up behind me and stop what was likely to have been a very loud and very messy scene if it had been allowed to continue.
“Wait a minute. Rick, are you saying you didn’t know about the hidden darkroom?”
“I not only didn’t, I still don’t! Whatever you’re up to, you’re barking up the wrong tree! Can you can the bubble-boy act here,” he knocked on the force field, “and please tell me what you’re talking about? And what’s this about Mystery?”
Sarah looked at Morgaine, pleadingly. Morgaine looked at me, inquiringly. I thought about it for a moment, then lowered my sword. “Go ahead. But he makes the wrong move, and I might do something I won’t regret.” With my blessing, Morgaine waved her hands, and the force field dropped.
Rick picked himself up, dusted himself off, and nodded in silent thanks to Sarah and Morgaine. The look he gave me suggested there weren’t any thanks in the pipeline for me. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped when Sarah pointed to the still-open secret door in the trophy wall. He walked over to it very cautiously and peeked inside the room.
