by C. C. Ekeke
The Midnight Son stood motionless, an unyielding shadow completely surrounded. And unconcerned.
He cracked his neck. And then the vagrants charged.
Quinn swallowed a scream and was about to look away. But her gaze lingered as Geist moved.
Sure, the vagrants swung crowbars, thrust knives, or threw punches at Geist. None of their attacks landed. They seemed to be standing still compared to Geist’s blur of violence, a shadow moving like lightning. He ducked, weaved, and dodged, landing vicious flurries of surgical yet brutal blows before his foes even thought to attack. Quinn lost count of how many times she heard ribs crack, bones outright snap, or cries of pain during the thirty-second skirmish. At the end, Geist stood unharmed and surrounded by a ring of brutalized bodies.
Quinn gawked at the aftermath. Geist strode past her and hauled an equally stupefied Herman to his feet.
“Leave San Miguel tonight,” he growled. “Never return.”
Herman whirled and raced toward the backdoor without a second prompting.
Geist then grabbed Quinn’s arm and dragged her in the same direction. “We’re leaving.”
She said nothing on the motorcycle ride racing at insane speeds through back alleys.
Her mind was a mess from what she’d witnessed. Geist’s insane interrogation? A telepath messing with people’s brains. This murder was more complex than Quinn conceived, sinking its claws into her. She barely noticed them arriving in an alleyway behind her apartment. As she fished through her purse for housekeys, Geist wrapped an arm around her waist. He pointed some kind of grappling hook at the roof and fired. The next thing Quinn knew, she was flying upward in his grasp, wind buffeting her face.
Once they’d reached her apartment building's roof, Quinn yanked away from Geist and put considerable distance between them.
As much as the reporter wanted to solve who’d killed Titan, she knew one thing couldn’t continue.
“Those homeless men who attacked,” Geist growled, unbothered by her distance. He was silhouetted against the dark skies, trench coat billowing out around his legs. If not for his red eyes, the vigilante might’ve been invisible. “Whoever altered Herman’s memories must’ve brainwashed them—”
“I can’t do this.” Quinn waved her hands in protest. “I didn’t sign up to torture people.”
That won a scornful noise from Geist. “This is war, Quinn,” he threw back contemptuously. “Someone powerful killed Titan and framed Lord Borealis. They will kill whomever to cover their tracks.”
Quinn couldn’t believe her ears. “What you did to Herman isn’t how I get stories!”
Geist’s eyes narrowed in disgust. “You wouldn’t even get this far without me.” He inched forward, emphasizing their vast height difference. “Want my help? This is what my help looks like.”
Quinn stepped back, forcing herself to remain brave and hold his gaze. “Then I don’t want your help.”
The vigilante said nothing, a cold and dark statue. His red eyes bored into Quinn so intensely, she averted her gaze and backpedaled farther.
“Fine,” Geist grunted. “Your funeral.” He turned, stepped forward, and hopped off the rooftop—as Quinn watched in horror.
For several moments, she stood paralyzed. The vroom of a motorcycle jarred Quinn out of her stupor.
“Sweet merciful CRAP!” She raced to the building’s edge, half-excepting to see the Geist’s corpse splattered on the pavement.
Instead, Quinn saw nothing on the pavement or anyone rappelling down this apartment building. No “Geist” cycle either.
Quinn slumped to her knees in confusion. He disappeared? She scanned around the neighboring buildings, hearing that same motorcycle vrooming farther off.
The Midnight Son vanished like a ghost.
“Good riddance.” Quinn stood and headed to the rooftop entrance. The last thing she needed was some psycho vigilante leaving a trail of bodies during this investigation.
“Guess I’m alone,” Quinn said, opening the door and descending the stairwell. But after tonight, that solitude frightened her more.
Chapter 7
“Oy vey.” Greyson’s chest tightened while sitting in rush-hour traffic, coordinating with his team.
Unlike his last mission, this one struck closer to home. And if he failed, everything fell apart. “I’ll contact Sara’s friends,” Greyson reiterated. “Dad handles the venue, you’ll handle food?”
“Correct,” his mother replied over the Bluetooth speaker. “Sara’s got so many friends all over, it’s hard to keep track.”
Greyson’s mission, which he had to accept: Sara’s thirtieth birthday in three weeks. For the Hirsch household and her circle of friends, Sara’s birthday was an annual “birth-week” celebration on par with Hanukah. Greyson and his parents were planning a surprise Extreme Teens-themed party with close family and friends the day before—a birthday’s eve.
“Alright.” Greyson sighed, loosening his green tie. “Once I call her friends, I’ll send out RSVPs in a few days.”
Greyson’s dad, on speakerphone with Mom, spoke. “Still coming tomorrow night for dinner and then the Cardinals game, son?”
The question caught Greyson off-guard. He’d suggested watching baseball at family dinner a few days back, not knowing Dad had taken him seriously. “Yeah,” Greyson stammered after brief, tongue-tied silence.
He blinked, thoughts in a snarl of surprise, anticipation, and worry. After so many years of open contempt and barely veiled hatred, he was still adjusting to Dad actually trying to mend their relationship. Greyson could hear Mom’s barely contained joy in the background.
“One more thing.” Dad’s voice sobered, a usual precursor his favorite topic: superhumans. “You heard more about those vigilantes who saved the community center? I thought we wouldn’t see another St. Louis super team since that Paragon bloodbath.”
“Aaron…” Mom warned.
“What?” Dad threw back. “I can’t ask questions?”
Greyson stepped in with his practiced response. “Never heard of this team until the community center incident. I’m just glad they arrived.” Simple and concise. No need to end the conversation on a sour note.
Dad grumbled something under his breath before replying. “So am I. Glad someone thrashed those superpowered thugs.”
That shocked Greyson so much, he nearly missed his turn. “You and me both, Dad.” Mom had known about his powers from day one. She’d have a stroke if she knew he was leading a superhero team. And Dad would disown Greyson on the spot. But a more immediate concern dominated Greyson’s mind as he entered his condo parking lot.
Lauren’s car filled one of their spots. Cold shock flushed through Greyson. Her being back early meant he had zero time to prep an apology. “I’m home,” Greyson said, parking beside Lauren’s car. “Call you guys soon.”
After spending five minutes calming his racing heartbeat, he emerged from his car. “I’ve faced murderous supers wanting to rip me in half,” he told himself on the elevator ride up. “Facing Laurie after lying should be nothing.” But it wasn’t nothing. Lauren meant the world to Greyson. The last thing he wanted was her not trusting him. Or worse, leaving him because she couldn’t trust him. He opened their condo door, steeling himself as he entered.
Lauren was curled up on the couch channel surfing. She looked so sexy wearing baby-blue sweatpants and a Northwestern t-shirt, ash-blonde hair up in a sloppy ponytail. As Greyson approached, she didn’t rise to smother him with hugs and kisses after being gone longer than a day.
Instead, Greyson found her face blank and unwelcoming. He gulped.
“Hey,” Lauren greeted with a sliver of warmth and turned the TV off. With only the hallway light on, the living room remained in semi-darkness.
“Hey, Laurie,” Greyson replied with a weak hand wave. Dropping his bag near the dining table, he sat on the other side of the couch. Fear clotted up Greyson's innards. Fear of Lauren’s disappointment. Fear of losing her i
f she rejected his apology. Greyson fought to remain composed.
Lauren leaned back, eyes widening as if to keep herself awake. “Wanna start, or should I?” She always dove right in whenever they had a disagreement.
Greyson appreciated that about her. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about moonlighting as a superhero,” he stated, meaning every word.
Lauren was unmoved. “You said it was a one-time deal.”
Greyson winced. “I meant it then.”
The wordplay visibly annoyed Lauren. “What changed?”
Greyson scooted closer, never breaking eye contact. “The Hurricane asked for my help.” He raised his hands then let them drop. “How could I refuse when this city needed me?”
The question sat Greyson straight up in his seat. “Jesus, I just said that.” He smiled to himself. “Like an actual superhero.”
Lauren frowned, scooting closer. “Well, you are.” Anger cracked through her stony façade. “And lied about it for days.”
Greyson’s head drooped in shame. “I didn’t know how to tell you…” He wasn’t proud of that cowardice. Some superhero.
“And now we’re here.” Lauren sighed sadly.
“My fault.” Greyson would apologize sixty times to regain her trust.
After several moments, Lauren’s expression softened. “I know you and Heroes Anonymous—”
Greyson bristled. “Really?”
“Your unnamed team,” she corrected with a teasing smirk, “is keeping the peace while Hurricane recovers.” Lauren stopped smiling. “But the danger…”
“I know,” Greyson interjected with a raised hand, expecting that. “Hurricane’s training us to ensure we’re ready out there.”
Lauren looked a fraction less worried. “Truth now, Grey. Is this superhero gig ongoing?”
Greyson knew his wants meant zilch without Lauren’s input. “Are you okay with that?”
“I asked first,” Lauren snapped.
“Your opinion means everything to me.”
Lauren’s brow raised. “Oh, now it does?”
Greyson recoiled playfully. “I deserved that.” The mood began lightening.
Lauren made a shrinking hand motion. “A tad. Honestly, I don’t like this,” she declared sharply. “In fact, I hate this with the passion of a thousand suns.”
Greyson leaned away from the heat rolling off her. “Please, don’t hold back, babe.”
Lauren kept gesturing with her hands as her rant continued. “I hate you risking your life against people who could snap you in half. I hate that you could get captured and get exposed by the authorities. I hate worrying what shape you’ll come home in or if you’ll come home. But.” Lauren took his hands. Her adoring smile nearly ended Greyson. “I get why you’re doing this. To protect St. Louis in Hurricane’s absence. And for that, I love you.”
Worry flooded Greyson. After her rant, how could he put Lauren through such anxiety long-term? All he could do was be less selfish going forward. “I love doing this.” Greyson admitted, squeezing her hands affectionately. “Using my powers to help others feels right. But this isn’t just about my feelings.” He shook his head and kissed her knuckles. “When Hurricane fully recovers, I’m done.”
Lauren’s expression was a mix of hope and doubt. “Promise?”
Greyson nodded. “Promise.” With that, they exchanged proper greetings, a long hug, and an even longer kiss. Plus, some fondling. Greyson was just happy things were resolved.
“Babe?” she said after some time, her voice muffled by his mouth.
Greyson pulled back. “Yeah, babe.”
“I’m starving.”
Greyson laughed and stood. “Me too. Wanna order from Gino’s?”
Lauren’s delighted grin was everything. “Totally.” She rose and moved to the kitchen countertop for her cell. “And I need to talk about my girls’ trip.”
“Can’t wait.” Watching Lauren’s hips sway as she walked, Greyson reached down for his work satchel to place it in the bedroom.
His buzzing phone jarred him out of his contemplations. Pulling away from Lauren, he raised a finger and fished the device from his pocket.
The caller ID evoked waves of excitement and exasperation. “Dr. St. Pierre.” A rogue super could need to be stopped. More lives could need saving…
Greyson fought the urge to answer, looking to Lauren for silent approval.
She wasn’t happy. Still, his saintly girlfriend waved him off. “Go ahead.”
Greyson’s heart swelled. I gotta get a ring on this one. “Love ya.” He headed to the bedroom and closed the door, answering the call in his most superhero-like voice. “Hello, Doctor.”
Chapter 8
Several Paso High sophomores gathered on the outer balconies of Hearst Castle’s Neptune Pool, oohing and awwing at the ocean.
Hugo watched with arms folded, mildly impressed.
“Titan did it faster,” he murmured. What annoyed him were classmates and teachers on this fieldtrip acting like they’d never seen a superhero before. This was San Miguel. Superhero sightings were as common as surfer competitions.
Today, Mr. Allocco’s three US History classes were visiting Hearst Castle a few miles from Paso Robles. The tour, supplementing their study of American Dynasties, was on lunchbreak. Except everyone fixated on the silhouette of an Arleigh Burke-class warship off the overcast coastline. Drawing more attention was the tiny figure flying several feet ahead, towing the warship singlehandedly.
That was the Tomorrow Man, a square-jawed, squeaky-clean superhero for a post-Titan world. Up close, the blond-haired, blue-eyed man was the epitome of throwback Americana. His orange-and-black suit was wrapped in thick metal chains linked to the warship’s bow. He soared over the ocean tugging a 9,200-ton warship from Los Angeles to San Francisco for charity, orange cape rippling behind him. A fucking cape. Most heroes stopped wearing capes for safety reasons. And dignity.
Hugo saw and heard media choppers trailing the warship, along with speedboats to snap perfect shots of the newly-anointed superhero.
It had been impossible for Hugo to escape Tomorrow Man’s weeklong media blitz establishing himself as San Miguel’s new patron hero. Or, as some superhero pundits sacrilegiously declared, the next Titan.
“Hell no,” Hugo seethed. “There's one Titan. Period.”
Simon stood beside him, scowling at the distant superhero. “That shameless stunt queen.”
“Dude wears a cape.” Hugo gestured peevishly at the Tomorrow Man’s stupid flapping cape as he tugged the warship past Hearst Castle. “No self-respecting superhero wears a cape anymore.” He could no longer watch this eyesore and moved away from the packed Neptune Pool balconies.
“You’d mop the floor with that bootleg douchebag,” Simon murmured once they’d left the crowd.
Hugo glanced cautiously around the stunning Neptune Pool. “I'm still earthbound,” he complained under his breath. Hugo had many of Titan’s powers, but strangely, not flight. Maybe he never would.
Simon eyed his larger, more muscular friend. “Says the dude with deltoids like bowling balls.” He winked. “You’ll fly. With more training.”
Hugo smiled hearing that. Simon still believed he could be a superhero. Someone had to. Hugo’s own faith slipped more by the day.
Simon looked ready to continue when nearing footsteps caught Hugo’s ear. He made a face for his friend to table the superpower talk. Thank god…
Hugo turned as two familiar faces approached.
“Yo!” Raphael Turner advanced first, a tall and broad-shaped black student with close-cropped curls and a diamond stud in each ear. Raphael was chill, always happy. Small wonder why he could weave through Paso High’s many social circles. This new friendship was a welcome part of Hugo’s school day.
“Hey.” He received Raphael with a high-five/side-hug. “Didn’t know you had Mr. Allocco.”
“Yeah,” Raphael admitted in deep tones. He had two inches on Hugo and maybe forty pounds. �
��Me and Brent have him fourth period. Cool dude.”
While Simon boisterously greeted Raphael, Hugo turned to another arrival. Brent Longwell walked up, a basketball player with shaved blond hair.
“Hey, brutha.” Hugo came in with another high-five/side-hug.
“Whaddup,” Brent gushed, clapping his back.
This friendship surprised Hugo. Brent was once part of Baz Martinez’s asshole posse. But after the beating Baz had given Hugo last summer, Brent abruptly left that group…which destroyed his popularity before sophomore year even started. Now he’d become a pariah.
Simon still hated Brent, greeting him with all the excitement of serving a burnt casserole.
Brent addressed this immediately. “Simon. I know you don’t like me.”
Simon made a bitter beer face. “Can’t imagine why.”
Hugo silenced him with a warning look.
Brent continued, missing the irony. “I understand, man. But I’ll never be friends with those asswipers again. So can we please start fresh?”
Simon gaped at the blond teen. “I…say…asswipers.” He hastily resumed his scowl. “For Hugo’s sake, your friendship application is noted and pending approval.”
Brent brightened. “Cool. Cuz we should be bros. Not foes.”
Simon looked like his soul left his body.
Hugo barely choked down laughter…until seeing Raphael’s expression. The pair collapsed against each other with silent, shuddering laughs.
“C’mon. Knuckle up,” Brent encouraged, raising a fist.
Simon looked like a hostage while grudgingly fist-bumping Brent. That made the basketballer’s day.
“Brent, you're so corny,” Raphael said, shaking his head.
Hugo draped his arms around Brent’s and Simon’s shoulders. “I’m sensing the next great bromance!” he teased.
Brent and Raphael chuckled.
Simon pushed Hugo off, aggravated. “Pump the brakes there, matchmaker.” More laughs were belted out at his expense.
Hugo sensed an audience. He turned—locking eyes with Briseis El-Saden. And his insides knotted up momentarily.
