by C. C. Ekeke
Cellphone vibrations disrupted his morbid thoughts. The Samoan reached for his cell, glimpsing a new text. Hugo's anger deepened, drowning out the misery. “Can you believe this? She’s texting me like nothing happened.” He shoved his phone in Simon’s face.
Brie: Missed you at school today. Where were you?
“That girl’s a sociopath,” Simon decided, grimacing when Hugo began typing. “Please don't answer!”
The Samoan shook his head, tempted to type Fuck off. “Nope. Deleting.” In fact, Hugo erased his whole thread of Brie texts. It stung. Like ripping off a Band-aid. But he couldn’t look at those friendly exchanges anymore.
Simon was visibly relieved. “Heard about Abby Dunleavy?”
Hugo eyed his friend knowingly. “Who hasn’t?” Tall and curvy blonde bombshell with legs for weeks, a pin-up poster made flesh. Abby, a junior, also had a reputation as Paso High’s village bicycle. “Easy Abby, Easy A, Easy Dunleavy, Easy D, Easy Does It Plenty. I know the nicknames.” Those were just the clean ones.
Simon nodded. “Know how she got the nicknames and reputation?”
Hugo already knew. “The girl whose name sounds like a cheese?” Brie’s hatred for Abby was no secret.
Simon nodded again. “In eighth grade, Abby slept with DeDamien Harris, who was dating Jordana Buchanan, one of Abby’s close friends. Jordana finds out, is heartbroken, ends both relationships, and tells Briseis. Then Brie epically slut-shamed Abby on social media, using memes and posts with private details about guys she’d screwed.” Simon gestured spiritedly whenever he told stories. “Queen Brie enlisted the rest of the Sinister Six to do the dirty work lowkey using fake social media accounts so it never blew back on them. Abby got branded with a scarlet letter at Paso High.” Simon took a deep breath upon finishing.
Hugo was awestruck by Simon’s gossip capacity…and horrified by Brie’s actions. “So half the varsity football team passing around Abby like a bucket of chicken isn’t true?”
“That’s mostly true,” Simon countered.
“How do you know all this?”
Simon smirked. “I know people who know things.” His smile faded. “Plus, when Abby nearly changed schools after the cyberbullying got bad, I overheard Brie bragging lowkey to some friends.”
Hugo’s breath caught in his throat. He knew what happened when someone crossed Brie. “You two stopped being friends around then.” Brie and Simon were friends until late eighth grade. After that, they despised each other.
“Yep,” Simon confirmed. “I saw her true self. A nightmare wrapped up in a daydream.”
Hugo snorted in amusement. “You're quoting Taylor Swift?”
Simon shrugged. “My musical tastes are diverse.”
“Ha!” Hugo clapped the shoulder of his ride-or-die. A sad smile graced his lips. “I should’ve listened to you, man.”
Simon scoffed. “No worries. You were in love and had to see on your own.”
Hugo was tired of talking or thinking about Brie, pushing her from his thoughts. “Alright,” Hugo popped upright with forced enthusiasm. “Let’s go over the costume again.”
Simon was about to reply when a pinging alert from his phone interrupted. He grabbed it, scrolled and gawked. “WHAT?” Hugo peeked over Simon’s shoulder at the headline on the Superhero Daily App.
The real Titan exposed? Leaked SLOCO Daily Footage confirms. The headline was probably clickbait bullshit, but Hugo needed a good laugh.
He and Simon knew all things Titan. Origin, archenemies, start date on the Vanguard, storied romance with Lady Liberty. No matter how world famous he became, Titan remained humble, well-mannered, and friends with every civilian he met. A true superhero.
Yet Hugo sometimes felt Titan came off rather unknowable, his square-jawed determination hiding a lot. “Let’s watch.”
Simon clicked the link, revealing shaky zoomed-in footage from what looked like inside Vanguard HQ. The video already had 45 million views.
Must be good, Hugo mused. Two people appeared in hushed discussion, some spiky-haired white guy Hugo didn’t recognize and Robbie Rocket.
“Titan was the greatest," Robbie admitted. “A legend. But this talk about him being this epitome of virtue is bull crap.” He huffed in irritation and tossed back his shaggy mane. “Titan was no Boy Scout.”
“Whatcha mean he wasn’t a Boy Scout?” the other man asked with a thick Irish accent. By the questioning tone, he was clearly a reporter.
Hugo exchanged an anxious glance with Simon and kept watching.
Rocket paused, considering his next words. “Whatever, he’s dead anyway.” He cleared his throat. “The Titan I knew was a major-league hemorrhoided asshole. And tired of the superhero act.”
Hugo recoiled. “WHOA.” His first instinct was to not believe this. Rocket was some jealous, D-list hero who’d been fifth fiddle to the greatest superhero ever. But the texture of Rocket’s tone, like with Brie earlier, sounded too genuine to dismiss.
The reporter seemed taken aback. “Titan showed no signs of wanting to retire,” he responded. “Or any unkindness to his fans.”
Rocket laughed heartily, leaning against a wall in the corridor. “Titan’s a good actor. I mean, can you blame him? No secret identity like other superheroes. Being Titan 24/7. Hearing people worldwide crying for his help. That would drive any sane man crazy. Never having a break from himself. Signing unending autographs, taking photo after photo at fan events. Answering the same dumbass questions in interviews.” Robbie shook his head. “And that’s not including all the lives he had to save on patrols, day after day, week after week, year after year. By the last year, Titan was empty. He wanted out.”
Hugo couldn’t believe his ears. Titan wanted out? Those words landed with startling force.
The Irish reporter looked hungry for more. “Titan worked nonstop?”
Rocket nodded, scratching his stubbled chin. “Titan had no real vices…except cape chasers.”
The reporter’s beady eyes bulged larger than Hugo’s and Simon’s. “Superhero groupies? Titan?”
“I know!” Rocket laughed. “One thing he and I had in common. The girls. I mean, I think I do well.” He whistled in slow admiration. “But Titan was the Wilt Chamberlain of superheroes. He didn’t need to do shit except float three feet off the ground, and women threw themselves at him like dogs in heat. Don’t even get me started on the crazier ones who put themselves in danger so he’d rescue and screw. Flybys, he called ‘em.”
The world around Hugo fell away, except this video of Robbie Rocket indicting the world’s greatest superhero.
Simon jolted forward, clutching his head. “No way,” he and the Irish reporter said in sync.
“Way,” Rocket replied, insufferably smug. “Titan had cape chasers in every major city. Made his flights around the globe more bearable.” The superhero’s smug demeanor sobered as he continued. “It’s why he and Wyldcat never worked. Or he and Lady Liberty. Titan couldn’t keep that Central Coast Serpent in his pants.”
Then Rocket grasped the magnitude of his revelations. “I’m gonna get in HUGE trouble if this ever gets out.” He winked at the slack-jawed reporter.
Now the Irish reporter was the smug one. “Depends on what SLOCO Daily gets in return.”
“Specifics on my Wyldcat fling.”
The reporter looked pleased. “Deal!”
Hugo pressed the close button on Simon’s cellphone screen. “I can’t listen to this.” First Brie was a fraud. Now Titan? This whole day had become a massive prank. Hugo paced back and forth, shaking his head. He couldn’t unsee that horrid video.
“Fucking Robbie Rocket!” Simon glowered. “Dude is dripping in douche oil.” He eyed his friend. “You okay?”
Hugo stopped and looked at him. “No.” His gaze fell on the bootstrapped costume they’d constructed, piled on the floor in a colorful and lumpy heap. Hugo saw his escape from today’s shitstorm. “Gotta go.”
The world slowed as he grabbed his costume a
nd zoomed toward Simon’s open window.
“Bogie!” his friend exclaimed. “Relax—” By the time he’d finished speaking, Hugo was two-and-half blocks away and counting.
Chapter 25
Greyson had sat for hours in this East St. Louis hospital's waiting room, hunched forward and still covered in Dr. St. Pierre’s blood. His worry revolved around his therapist’s well-being. Oh, and Dr. St. Pierre secretly being the Hurricane.
The one truth keeping Greyson together sat beside him, her workout tights and hoodie also splattered in his therapist’s blood. “Thanks again. For everything…”
Lauren rubbed his back dotingly. “Always, baby.” Something beyond him perked her interest.
Greyson followed her gaze. A tall, thin surgeon approached, wearily pulling off her surgical mask. Greyson rose alongside Lauren, heart in his throat. “How is he?”
“His injuries were severe and he’s lost so much blood.” The surgeon sighed. “You got him here in time. The orthopedic surgeon is currently working on his ankle.”
A huge worry lifted from Greyson’s chest. “Thank God.” He held hands with Lauren. Recalling St. Pierre’s injuries still rattled Greyson. Broken left ankle, four cracked ribs, severe concussion, several deep lacerations, and first degree burns along his back.
The surgeon shook her head. “But how badly he was beaten…why?”
Greyson and Lauren exchanged uneasy looks. “No idea. But this is East St. Louis.”
The surgeon nodded bitterly. “I’ll update you in another hour.”
Once the surgeon left, Greyson and Lauren sagged. He wasn’t a great liar, but Hurricane’s identity had to be safeguarded.
After Lauren Ubered over to the warehouse, their priority had been getting St. Pierre out of his costume and hiding it in Greyson's car. All while keeping him from bleeding to death, of course.
Lauren had justifiably freaked out over Greyson’s therapist being a superhero. Then they’d devised a cover story before reaching the hospital. Dr. St. Pierre had been jumped, robbed, and stripped naked by local thugs. Greyson, in East St. Louis for a session, had found his therapist near the warehouse—all being true.
The doctors and cops had doubts about the story. But Lauren sold it like a pro, especially her distress.
“Does he have anyone?” Lauren glanced around the waiting room, speaking quietly. “He’s doing this…alone?”
Greyson shook his head. “We knew nothing about St. Pierre’s personal life. But if he was doing this alone…” That’s so sad.
Two figures marched into the waiting room: a chicly-dressed young black woman with braids and an older white man with fluffy red hair. When they asked for Richard St. Pierre, Greyson scurried over. “I brought him in.”
The ginger-haired man gaped at Greyson like water in a desert. “Thank you so much.”
The young woman studied him warily. “Where did you find him?”
“His warehouse.” Greyson lowered his voice. “He needed a clothing change.”
Their mood instantly shifted. The older man grabbed Greyson’s arm, marching him from the waiting room with the young lady trailing them. He wasn’t alarmed. When a concerned Lauren moved to follow, Greyson waved her off.
The ginger-haired man went from panicky to stone-faced as they stood in a corridor away from the hospital mayhem. “You know about Richie?”
Greyson swallowed a laugh hearing the nickname. “Accidentally.”
“Rod, Richard’s partner.” The ginger-haired man held out his hand, which a stunned Greyson shook.
The black woman mirrored him. “Letty, personal assistant. Who else knows?”
Greyson understood. “Me and my girlfriend.”
“Keep it that way,” Rod pleaded. “With Excessive Menace running around—”
“I understand.” Greyson recalled Excessive Menace's vicious beatdown of the Hurricane. He shuddered. “His secret’s safe.”
Letty looked him over warily. “How'd you find him?” Greyson repeated the real story. He also relayed what the police had been told to avoid any inconsistencies.
“Thank you,” Rod gushed. “We three have been a team for years and…Richie hasn’t gotten injured this bad in a while.” He trembled, holding back tears. Greyson’s heart ached for him. Rod steadied himself against a wall, hiding his grief. He looked at Greyson’s bloodied clothes and blanched. “Go home…” He fished a business card out of his wallet. “We’ll keep you updated.”
“You sure?” Greyson asked. Tired as he was, being there was no burden.
“Positive,” Letty stated curtly. Seeing Greyson’s flinch, she softened. “We’ve been doing this hero gig for a while.”
With that, the pair returned to the waiting room. Lauren passed them and frowned. “And that was?”
“Richard’s partner,” Greyson replied. “And his personal Q.”
Lauren eyed the pair in disbelief. “Really does take a village to make a hero. If that had been you, I’d have lost my mind.”
“Me, a superhero?” Greyson snorted. “Wearing spandex and a cape?”
“No capes!” Lauren whispered, giving them both a much-needed laugh.
“Besides,” Greyson continued. “Someone will take down Excessive Menace. Maybe the Vanguard or local heroes from Chicago or Jefferson City.” For now, Greyson and Lauren, who could barely keep her eyes open, had a shower calling their names. They headed for the hospital exit holding hands.
On their way, Greyson spotted the flashing police lights outside. The car logos coupled with the officers' familiar uniforms made him pale.
“Hey.” He tapped a hospital security guard. “Why is OSA outside?”
“In case Excessive Menace appears,” the pudgy man replied. “They attacked two hospitals in St. Louis looking for Hurricane.”
Chills crawled up Greyson’s skin. Lauren’s face went bone-white. These degenerates were a pack of heartless psychopaths. Greyson didn’t want to know how much damage had been done to those hospitals.
“Smart call,” Lauren murmured after they reached his car. “Keeping him in East St. Louis.”
“Just a hunch.” Greyson got inside the driver seat. But his certainty about someone else handling Excessive Menace started feeling less firm.
Chapter 26
He’d raced around San Miguel for over two hours, passing 300 mph. Today’s anguish pushed him faster, further. He’d donned his new costume after a quick home stop to change.
Hugo couldn’t focus on Titan, his hero, being a phony manslut. Or Brie, his dream girl, loathing him. He focused on how his costume felt while zooming down city streets.
Big opaque goggles fused to a gas mask covered Hugo's mouth and nose, muting his hypersensitivity a tad but not hampering it. Black long-sleeved waterproof shirt and friction-resistant grey track pants covered his body, steel-toed running boots on his feet. Not cheap. So far, everything moved well. All Hugo wanted was to lose himself in the speed, being a superhero.
I’ll listen for trouble, Hugo decided. With Lady Liberty and Justice Jones keeping the peace, San Miguel remained safe. Regardless, Hugo expanded his senses to track what they might've missed. He heard several police cars zipping down the PCH toward some incident in Atascadero. By the back and forth radio chatter, it seemed serious.
Hugo rocketed through the affluent neighborhoods of El Marquez and Atascadero to observe and help if needed.
Then a woman begging for her husband’s life caught Hugo's ear. Her son cried out for his father, whose response came in winded grunts.
Hugo frowned, hanging a hard right in that direction. He found a secluded mansion in the hills, two stories of metal and sharp edges, a mile of grass in all directions. The houselights were dim. Closer up, Hugo heard the sounds of someone getting pummeled while the family wailed.
“You knew the consequences of not repaying your loan!” a voice growled like some distorted demon.
Hugo sped closer, staring into the living room where a family of three was ca
ptive. The patriarch was kneeling and swaying, his face a bloodied mess. His wife and small son clung to each other. Hugo gawked at what resembled a man with glowing blue eyes, lean-muscled in a black full-body costume. Whatever that was quivered at alarming speeds, like a hazy shadow.
“Now your family pays for your sins.” The blurry figure strode toward the son as his parents screamed.
Without thinking, Hugo burst through the front door. He ducked low, ramming his shoulder into the vibrating shadow. Hugo consciously pulled the blow to not shatter his foe's ribcage. The man went flying into the wall beside the kitchen, sliding to the ground.
A rough but effective entrance. Hugo whirled to face the terrified family. “Everyone okay?” The teen masked his voice behind a booming iron cadence. When they nodded, Hugo smiled under his mask and crouched beside them. Finally, a win. “Let’s get you out of here.”
“No one goes anywhere.” The growl brought Hugo back to his feet.
No longer lying near the kitchen, the shadow stood on the other side of the room.
Why didn’t I hear him move? Hugo questioned, curling his fists.
White electric currents crackled across the shadow’s lithe frame. A bright gold muzzle covered his mouth, also vibrating. Probably explained the distorted growl. Those blue pupil-less eyes glittered as he continued. “You, in that poor costume, have no idea whose business you’re interrupting.” The criminal lunged for the hostages, an electric blur of movement.
The family screamed.
Crap! Hugo panicked. A speedster. He dashed ahead, blocking the criminal’s path. “Enlighten me,” Hugo snarled. His training had paid off.
The shadow stopped ten feet away. “Another speedster,” he growled with fiendish delight.
“Something like that,” Hugo retorted. Stopping this villain might be trickier, especially if he was faster. Hugo focused his senses on the speedster for heartrate, sudden movements, and buildup of the electricity wreathing him. “Surrender,” Hugo demanded, pointing at his foe. “Or else.”
