Superpowers (12 page)

MONDAY

Our top story again tonight is the group of costumed heroes who have become known as the Madison All-Stars. Today the governor announced plans to assemble a special team of investigators to investigate the All-Stars' identities and the motivation for their actions. Local reaction was swift, as residents who have benefited from the All-Stars' actions spoke out at a rally this afternoon:

"They're helping people. I guess it's weird that you don't see their faces, but that's not a crime. They haven't hurt anybody, and they always turn the bad guys over to the cops. I say the governor should have better things to do with his time. He should spend money chasing criminals, not heroes."

"They'll never find them anyhow. They're superheroes, man. They probably got a secret satellite orbiting Earth, with a cloaking device and all that."

"Agents of the lord's mercy have descended upon us, and we should be grateful, not suspicious."

While the governor initiates his investigation, Madison police have their hands full with a windfall of new information on old cases. Prudence Palmeiro has more on that story. Prudence?

"Dick, police in Madison and the surrounding area have received several mysterious mailings in the past few days. Police sources tell me these envelopes contain information on unsolved cases, what police refer to as cold cases, some of them apparently as much as thirty years old. Now in some cases this information, mailed anonymously in computer-printed envelopes, has been too vague to be very helpful. But in several cases the information has led to arrests, and about a dozen cold cases in Madison alone are now considered closed. Now some police have speculated that this information may have come from the All-Stars themselves, the argument being that since the costumed group appears to have some way of anticipating crimes before they occur, they may also have some way of uncovering information on past crimes. In any case, the deluge of information has effectively brought any investigation into the identities of the All-Stars to a halt, since police are working overtime investigating these new leads in the hopes of closing more unsolved cases.

"All-Star sightings are being reported constantly, but many have been difficult to confirm. It appears that they helped clear a six-car accident on Highway Twelve near Black Earth last night, rescuing two people from a car that had caught on fire and then putting the fire out. Other unsubstantiated reports range from Blue Star flying an eleven-year-old to Meriter Hospital for a liver transplant after her ambulance suffered a blowout on the Beltline, to Red Star calming some angry parents at a Little League game in Verona, to the previously unheard of Purple Star being seen in audience with the pope in the sky over the Arboretum. As has been the case since the beginning with this group, lots of rumor and conjecture, very little concrete evidence, and still no pictures. Dick?"

I think we can safely say that last sighting is a hoax, can't we, Prudence?

"Considering that the pope has been traveling in the Ukraine, I suspect so, Dick."

Thank you, Prudence. Prudence will have more on the All-Stars at ten o'clock. Also at ten, we'll have a feature on Prudence's search for the right crib for her forthcoming child. Crib safety is a big concern for new parents, and we'll have expert opinions on how to keep your baby sleeping safely and comfortably.

Right now, we've got Holly Henson with the weather. Holly?

THURSDAY

he's having a heart attack,
Charlie had said.
Her pills— nitroglycerin pills—they're in the bathroom upstairs. She's fallen in the kitchen. You have to hurry.

Jack hadn't bothered with the costume. He just pulled on the gloves and ran. Charlie was calling the paramedics, but Jack would be there before Charlie picked up the phone. He knew it was up to him. Traffic and stoplights meant nothing. He cut through the warehouse apartments at the end of Mifflin, over the railroad tracks and through a shopping center parking lot.

I call it the mindstream,
Charlie had told him.
It's like every mind on the planet is connected, even though they don't know it. I can skim along the surface and look for someone who's thinking about hurting someone or is in trouble or has a guilty secret.

So nobody has secrets from you,
Jack had said. He didn't think Charlie would take advantage of that kind of power, but it was still spooky. All the thoughts that had gone through his head, the stuff he would never tell anyone about—it was all open for Charlie to read. The things he could barely admit to himself, Charlie could know them all inside of a moment. Maybe he already did.

He said it didn't matter.
I have as bad or worse inside of me. I had to wade through all of that, come to terms with it, before I could feel comfortable in my own skin again.

Jack didn't think he could have done that. He didn't want to know that much about himself. It was hard enough to deal with the stray thoughts spinning out of him, the ones he didn't ask for, the ones that just bubbled up from some dark place inside him. He wished his father would die, so they could all start healing. He wanted to use his power to rob banks so he could stop worrying about money. He thought things that he was sure would get him blacklisted from dating for life if women ever started keeping a list of depraved men.

He wove between the cars on Regent Street and down Lake. Exhaust fumes plumed motionless from tailpipes, solid cobwebby clouds. A running boy hung in midair, a geosynchronous sidewalk satellite.

Jack ran.

He was a superhero, but it wasn't quite what he had thought it would be. It felt good, helping people, but it never stopped. He couldn't stay awake more than eight or nine hours in a row, and he was eating eight big meals a day, and he couldn't afford it. He went to All-You-Can-Eat buffets and gorged himself, and two hours later he was ravenous. He was losing weight.

What bothered him most was that he didn't feel like he was doing enough. He ran all day, between classes and shifts at the lab and the job he'd taken at a sandwich shop on State Street for the summer. (The manager loved having him there during the lunch rush—he could make a cold sandwich in thirty seconds flat. He could have done it faster, sure, but not without drawing lots of attention.) He'd helped hundreds of people, maybe thousands. But he felt like he was always letting someone down.

He took Drake Street past the zoo and turned off into a little neighborhood surrounding a park. The house was brick, very nice, well-kept garden. Too big for one person. The doors were all locked. He shoved a rock through a pane of glass in the back door and waited an eternity for the shards to fall. Then he reached through and opened the door. If there was an alarm, so much the better. He'd be gone before the security guards were in their car.

She lay next to the refrigerator. She didn't look that old. Her hair was faded brown, and she didn't have a lot of wrinkles. Maybe she'd had work done. The house was nice enough, she probably could afford it. She wore a steel gray skirt and jacket. The skirt had hitched up nearly to her hips when she fell. Jack looked away and ran upstairs.

Fine woodwork on the banisters and rails. Depression glass in cabinets on the landing, flanking a bay window crowned with stained glass. Silk wallpaper.

The pills were in an opaque white bottle. He read the directions as he went downstairs.
Place under tongue and let dissolve. Do not take with water.
He sat the woman up and opened her mouth, slid the pill under her tongue. Her eyes were closed. She was breathing, but only barely.

It wasn't that his family was broke. His father was smart, and he'd been lucky. In the forty years he'd worked that land he'd made a profit in all but a handful. He had insurance, and it was paying for his medical expenses, even more than what they had expected. They had to pay out some, but not more than they could handle.

But after. . . Jack had no idea what would happen then. He didn't know if his mom would want to stay on the land. If she didn't, what would happen to it? He'd already told his dad he couldn't do it. He just wasn't ready to take that on. His older sisters and their husbands were settled in Racine and Appleton; he didn't think they would move back. Lloyd was anchored in Chicago. Grace had two more years of high school—what if she didn't want to move?

He should talk to them about it, but he couldn't. When he called he asked his mom how Daddy was doing and promised he'd tear down the old garage next week. Always next week. Then the two of them fumbled for a topic for ten minutes before hanging up.

The woman wasn't waking up. He took off his glove and looked under her tongue—the pill was half dissolved. He felt for her pulse. It was very faint.

He couldn't do CPR on someone who was still breathing, could he? He sat down and held her hand. It was cold.

"Come on," he said. "Come on back."

She made a high-pitched noise in her throat and stopped breathing. He lay her down and lifted her neck. He wondered if he should take what was left of the nitroglycerin pill out, but decided to leave it in. He held her nose closed and took a deep breath.

Blow. His heart was racing, he wondered if he could have a heart attack. He was different now, his heart was stronger, worked faster. What was normal for him was fast for anyone else. He willed some of his strength to the woman.

Blow. He was starving. He smelled meat—there was a package of salami on the counter, maybe she'd been making a sandwich. He tried not to drool, swallowed the saliva that flooded his mouth.

Blow. No sirens. No security company, no 911. His CPR certification was lapsed. He wasn't sure he remembered everything. He hoped her heart kept working.

Blow. He had to check the heart. He unbuttoned the suit coat, listened through her shirt. He didn't hear it. He checked her wrist, her neck. Nothing.

Don't break her solar plexus. Elbows locked. How many compressions? He couldn't remember. He tried not to rush, tried to remember the old rhythm of his heart, before everything changed. She couldn't keep up with his heart. He had to bring her back at the right pace.

He stopped after ten, checked her pulse again. Nothing. He breathed for her, twice, again. Nothing. He started the chest compressions again.

He wished her eyes were open. At least he would have some idea. Please, cough, sit up, ask me who the hell I am and what I'm doing here. Please.

He wondered if he would know. He wondered if his sped-up eyes and ears would sense it if she died, if the instant she gave out he would see something, a flicker of movement, a change in the light. Maybe a whisper as she left, a good-bye.

Please don't die,
he thought.

More compressions, more breathing. He lost count, lost track of time, fell into a trance of compression, exhalation, interrogation.
Do you see anything?
he thought at her.
Is it safe there? Did you believe in God, and is he there with you?

Her heart didn't beat and she didn't breathe and she didn't answer. When he heard sirens and voices he put a hand on her forehead to say good-bye and ran away.

SATURDAY

Hello?"

"Why, Caroline Bloom, as I live and breathe! You do know how to answer the phone. Now if they could just teach you to dial it."

"Hi, Mom."

"Hi yourself. Why haven't you called?"

"I did call, Mom, but you moved."

"I didn't give you the new number?"

"You didn't tell me you were moving."

"Yes, I did."

"I think I'd remember, Mom. Where are you now? Butte, Montana?"

"I'm still in New York, honey."

"Eight months. Has to be a new record."

"I have a cell phone now. I'll give you that number."

"A cell phone?"

"For my new job. Didn't I tell you?"

"Mom, you never tell me anything until after the fact."

"Well, it's more exciting that way, isn't it? Are you still in Wisconsin?"

"Yes, Mom. They won't let me take my classes in Tuscaloosa."

"Did you get your check?"

"You sent me a check dated July 1999. The bank wouldn't take it. I don't think the account was open anymore."

"Uh-oh. I found it when I was moving; I thought I'd forgotten to send it to you."

"You did. Two years ago."

"Don't be snide, Caroline. I'll send you another check. A big one. I got a great new job, honey. Lots of money, great benefits, offices in the World Trade Center! Can you believe it?"

"No, I can't. What'd they hire you for?"

"To keep the books. I told you I got my CPA certification."

"No, you didn't."

"I really think I did. Anyway, I start on Monday, but I wanted to know if you'll come out for the Fourth."

"Mom, that's Wednesday. I can't get a ticket now. Not one I can afford."

"I'll pay for it, honey."

"You mean you'll pay me back. Last time it took you six months to send me the money, and it wasn't enough."

"I'm really sorry about that, honey. But that won't happen this time. I haven't been paid yet, but I'll send you the money as soon as I get my first paycheck."

"Don't you have to pay rent?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Rent, phone, heat—"

"Heat's included, honey."

"—groceries, clothes for your new job that you absolutely can't live without—"

"Stop it."

"You won't have the money right away, Mom. It's OK. I'll come for Thanksgiving."

"That's in November!"

"Mom, summer is when I make my money. And school starts in two months. I don't have money for a plane ticket right now, anyway."

"Use a credit card."

"Oh, here we go. Someone is trusting you to handle their books? Tell me the company's name, so I can tell all my stockbroker friends to divest themselves."

"Caroline, you're pissing me off."

"Mom, credit cards are how you got into trouble. I don't have money for a plane ticket now, I won't have it in a month, and I won't have money for a plane ticket plus interest every month after that. I'm not going to start with that. I'm sorry. I'd like to visit, but it can't be now."

"Fine. How's school?"

"It starts in two months."

"How's work?"

"My boss is a psycho who sees dead people."

"How's your social life?"

"Remember our deal? I don't tell you about mine, you don't tell me about yours."

"That's not much of a deal for me, is it? You'll meet someone, honey. There have to be lots of hunky farm boys there in Wisconsin."

"Most of them are working on farms. And please don't say 'hunky.'"

"This is not the conversation I was envisioning. You haven't even congratulated me on my newjob."

"Congratulations, Mom. Don't screw this one up."

"Honey, I love you, but you're such a bitch sometimes."

"Right back at you, Mom."

"I have to go. Be good."

"All right. Can I—"

"Shit, there's someone at the door. I have to go, honey. We have tickets for Shakespeare in the Park."

"Who's we?"

"Oh, you'll meet him at Thanksgiving."

"Mom, you haven't—"

"Love you, honey. Bye-bye."

"—given me your new phone number."