The Quiet Place
My name is Charlie Burlingham and I have a problem. Well, a decision, really. Since I've already kidnapped someone, I have to decide whether to commit cold-blooded murder as well. I'm also a superhero, which brings its own set of problems. The screaming guy I'm dangling over this cliff isn't a supervillain. He's actually a kid my own age, give or take a few months. Maybe I'd better start at the beginning. Going back through it all might give me some fresh perspective. At the very least it'll be better than listening to the begging of the guy I'm dangling over this cliff.
*****
It all started this afternoon. Actually, that's not true. There were other things that happened to set things in motion, but I need to start the story somewhere. I guess I should have expected it to happen sooner or later. It's not like Mick and the 89ers have gotten better over time.
I guess I'd better explain about them, too. The 89ers are a bunch of racist bullies who pretty well seem to run the school. Even the teachers shy away from them. I'm a black guy (a real one, unlike some people I could name) and Hallie's Asian. She's also partially paralyzed on her right side from when she got killed by being shot in the head. She's a superhero too, called Jolt. Superhero life can throw you some messed-up curves sometimes.
Fortunately, superhero life has a few compensations, too. Hawkeye got a hold of Iron Man, who also spent some time paralyzed. Iron Man and MACH-2 (who's the "false" black guy, but still okay) modified some circuitry and build Hallie this leg-brace thing to help her walk. She controls it with this glove she wears. She can't go faster than a slow walk and she has a lot of trouble keeping her balance, but at least this way she won't need a wheelchair. She still cries a lot, though. I hear her at night.
I know I'm jumping around with this story, but telling it is harder than it sounds. For one thing, Mick just wet himself and the smell is getting to me a little. For another, I'm just not used to sharing thoughts and such with other people. I learned early on that the best policy for dealing with others was to keep my mouth shut unless ordered to speak. It's a hard habit to break.
Before I became a superhero, I was a supervillain, believe it or not. All the Thunderbolts are, except for Hallie. I wasn't a supervillain for very long because I messed up my first job, which was to help the Secret Empire take over this town. The Thunderbolts came in, and sent me and my bosses in the Empire running for the hills. That's one reason I decided to join them when I ran away from the Empire to keep from being tortured any more. I figured that folks who were that tough could probably protect me. It didn't work out completely that way, of course, but that's another story and I want to tell this one.
Anyway, Mick and company didn't like Hallie because she was Asian, because she wasn't scared of them. The fact that she was pretty much helpless outside of her "Jolt form" probably encouraged them. It's been my experience that bullies prefer to target folks who can't (or won't) fight back.
*****
When I mention that to the dangling Mick he cries and pleads a little more. I guess he just doesn't appreciate irony.
*****
Forget it. I better get on with this. I was late to meet Hallie after school because I had to get some make-up assignments. I'd missed some school due to a bad cold. Actually, it was because we had to go to Latveria and rescue somebody, but that's yet another story. I'd just gotten the homework assignments and gone outside. I knew there was trouble because of the laughter.
There's a lot of differences in laughter, did you know? There's the giggle kind, where you hear something funny. There's the screaming, gasping kind when somebody tickles you. There's even a full-blown bellylaugh. I laughed like that at the psycho-dog scene when Atlas rented There's Something About Mary. Hallie tried to tell us how gross and disgusting it was, but we didn't buy it because she laughed some too (even though she did try to hide it). She doesn't laugh much anymore.
This laugh was a sniggering chuckle. It was the laugh of somebody who was hurting somebody else and enjoying it. It was easy to recognize because I heard it a lot when I was in the Secret Empire. Sometimes I even laughed like that myself.
Around the corner of the building I saw what was so funny to them. Mick and two of his pals had surrounded Hallie. They looked a little like a wolfpack about to bring down a newborn fawn, except that I've learned in Biology that wolves are generally more decent than these guys could ever hope to be.
The worst part was that I understood where they were coming from. I like Hallie. She's my best friend in the world, I think. But sometimes, for brief flashes of a second, I despise her. I look at her and see this slobber-voiced, crippled thing where my friend used to be. In the Secret Empire, she would have been put down like a lame horse. The Empire loathes weakness and it left its mark on me.
"Just leave me alone, will you?" Hallie asked, although it came out more like "Jusd leeb be alode" because part of her face is paralyzed. She didn't sound scared, or even angry, just sad and tired. I hated to hear that tone in her voice.
"Whatchu gonna do if we don't? Swing down from bell tower?" Mick asked with a snicker.
"Hey, maybe she'll drool us to death!" guessed Sam, I think his name was. It's horrible to admit, but that did sort of gross me out too. She swallows it most of the time, but sometimes it'll just drip out through her lips. We all mostly pretend not to notice it at the base. She still knows we do. I lie and say it doesn't bother me, but she knows I'm lying and I know it hurts her. I wish I could make it better, but I don't know how.
I stopped to think about the drool because I had to. If I'd thought another second about those guys I'd have killed them. I still wanted to. Just go Charcoal and burn them down 'til there was nothing left but ashes and bone and a stink on the wind. I cut a couple of bloody crescents in my hand when I made a fist, but it worked. I wanted to kill them, but I wouldn't. At least not right now. Not right in front of Hallie.
"Oopsie-slantie!" called Jim as he darted up to shove Hallie books out of her arms. The wind started to blow some loose pages away.
That's when I said. "Leave her alone. Now."
In a situation like this, attitude is key. If you're angry or upset, your enemy will sense it and take advantage of it. That's why I was speaking in a calm, reasonable tone.
"Whatsamatter, Cole? You afraid I'm gonna mess up your little doggie here?" That was Sam. Sam tends to be brave in groups of his friends.
"You wish. My bite's a lot worse than my bark!" Hallie called out. In the clear, strong voice she used to have, it would been a good comeback. Now it sounded like "You wiss. By bybe a lod word thad by barg." Some spit ran down her chin, too. I felt sad and a little disgusted. I'm pretty sure she saw it too because her shoulders slumped.
"Give me one good reason to interrupt my fun, coon-boy." That was Mick playing the stateman-leader, I guess.
"Because there's still a few teachers here. Because picking on a small crippled girl is a pretty pathetic way to get your jollies," I said. I shouldn't have let that crippled girl part slip out, but I was still mad. "And because if you don't, I'm going to hurt you."
Among some of the things I learned as a "young soldier" for the Secret Empire was how to make people afraid. That was actually taught as a class there. Let's face it, jackbooted thugs are no good to the Empire if they can't scare people. Once again, attitude is the key.
After he broke my friend, Derek's, finger by bending it back until it snapped, (Derek was whispering and got noticed) Elite Watson clued us in. "First, you have to be calm. You have to make a cold, quiet place in yourself where you can concentrate. Let your emotions wither and die in that cold place. You can't be distracted by fear or anger or mercy. Let your victim know that he is nothing to you."
"You think you can take all of us?" Mick sneered back at me. There was an edge of fear in his voice, though.
"Yes, I can," I said. "If you bother Hallie, I'll come and I'll hurt you, Mick. If your friends bother her, I'll come and I'll hurt you. Do you understand?" Elite Watson would have been proud of the quiet, oh-so-reasonable tone in my voice. It sounded like I meant every word of it. Even Hallie turned a pensive, disturbed look my way.
For a second I thought he was going to push it that one last step. I almost wanted him to, but he didn't. "Screw the coon 'n' his slant. We got places to be." Mick said to his entourage. I don't think they bought his act either, but they were leaving and it was over.
Almost.
Once they got a little bit away, Sam turned, scooped up something from the ground and threw it. It looked like mud at first, where it hit Hallie on the leg, but it turned out to be some dog poop. Hallie tried really, really hard not to cry in front of me but she didn't quite pull it off.
After we got her cleaned up I asked her, "So, how'd you like the bluff I ran on those guys?" I could see her relax a little when I said bluff.
"It was a pretty good bluff," she said.
We went back to the base and I got caught up on my homework. I had to because I was going to be busy tonight.
*****
There's a second part to Elite Watson's lecture on fear and threats. You see, you also have to mean what you say and be willing to follow through on it. That's harder than it sounds. See, most people aren't "natural born killers." Most aren't even "natural born hurters." Depending on your view, people have an inborn resistance (or inborn weakness) that keeps them from hurting members of their own species, especially in cold blood. It takes a lot of time, effort and patience before that resistance stops being a factor.
As I stood outside Mick's house, I reflected that it was a useful thing that the Secret Empire put so much time, effort and patience into my training.
My "superpower" (that word sounds really stupid when used to describe what you can do) involves carbon. I can harden my body to diamond hardness. I can radiate flame and fly. I can also turn myself soft and stretch my body into many forms. That means I can, oh, say, stretch up to Mick's window and look inside.
It's more than a little creepy to see a poster of Captain American side by side with one of Nathan Bedford Forrest. Forrest was a Confederate cavalry office and became one of the founders of the Ku Klux Klan. I know this because I missed that question on Mrs. Dulhicky's pop quiz and I hate to make the same mistake twice.
It's a funny thing to think about, but no house can be totally secure. Even with the doors locked and the windows closed, there are still cracks and gaps. I exploit this by gradually sliding my hand under Mick's window. It hurts a little, but I've had worse. Pretty soon I unlock and open the window. Throughout all this, Mick's been sleeping the sleep of the righteous. Well, the self-righteous, anyway.
He's wearing checkered flannel pajamas, which is good since I really don't want to touch him. Things move pretty fast after that. I reach in, grab him and yank him out the window. Before he's more than half-awake, I expand my form to create a diamond-hard "carrying case" for him. I distantly feel him pounding inside me like a dying old man's heartbeat, but I ignore it. I also try really hard not to think about him being "inside" me, because, well, it's just too gross to think about.
Pretty soon we're at the cliff and now I have to decide what to do. I think about it from within my quiet place and reach a decision. I drop him off the cliff.
Even inside the cold silent area I've made in myself, I hear that awful despairing scream he makes as he falls.
Then I catch him before he's fallen a hundred feet. As I carry him back home, he makes noise. It's funny to me. Hallie's crippled and twisted in body. Mick's crippled and twisted in his soul. I almost pity him.
Almost.
*****
Back at his house I explain the situation to him again. One nice thing about the Charcoal form is that you don't have to work all that hard to scare people. I remind him about what "Charlie" said. He says it'll never happen again please don't kill me blah, blah, blah. I say fine.
Then I gag his mouth with soft coal and break one his toes, the middle one on his left foot. It's harder to do than I thought it would be. Not physically, but mentally. Part of our training in the Empire consisted or torturing and killing animals. First lizards and frogs, then cows and horses and finally monkeys, puppies and kittens. I never liked it, but I did it. It was pretty much "you do it to Fido or it gets done to you." Sorry Fido. I guess my time with the Thunderbolts has changed me some. I'm not quite sure if that's good or bad. Somebody has to make the hard choices, after all.
"He did tell you he'd hurt you, didn't he, Mick?" I remind him.
Mick manages a nodding motion and I tell him to remember that for next time. I also explain how it'd be in his best interests not to mention this little meeting because I like my privacy. Then I leave.
*****
There's one other thing bothering me, though. I couldn't kill him. I wanted to. It probably would have been the smartest, safest way to shut down the 89ers. Without Mick the Mouth, they'd probably go back to sniffing glue or hustling lunch money or whatever it was they did before they found a Cause.
I guess that cold, quiet place inside me just isn't quite big enough to accept cold-blooded murder.
Yet.