Richie 'Blue' has always been 'popular'. He wore the 'right' kind of jacket, greeted the 'right' kind of people, and had learned the 'right' kind of things. Mikey 'Gray', his younger brother, however, was a 'disappointment'. Bookish, withdrawn…'boring' and unnoticed.
They both had plans, both wanted 'out' of the neighbourhood, and both were determined to succeed. Richie was an above average student and although he wanted to go to college he just wasn't sure if it was the right place for him. While he was good at various sports he didn't want to make a career from any of them; he did, however, enjoy being creative and had a curious imagination. Mikey excelled in academics and, although a good sportsman, he didn't like getting his hands dirty. He knew college was for him, he just wasn't yet sure whether to go in the direction of the sciences or to follow a different path.
After Bibbo had bought the Ace o' Clubs, one of the things he started work on was to expand the premises and have a family-friendly area. His drinking buddies scoffed at the idea but Bibbo…well, he loves family and the idea of having a place of his own that families would gladly go to was not something he would let anyone put him off from achieving.
And boy did he achieve it! Within weeks of opening, the Ace o' Clubs diner was a neighbourhood hit! Wholesome cross-ethnic food was offered and certain television networks soon sent a few of their presenters down in order to check out the diner's offerings. Viewers across Metropolis saw glee in their faces as they tried mouthfuls of shawarma, haloumi, matzo ball soup, tagine, fried fish, butter balls and bolas, haleem, phad thai. Bibbo wanted 'basic food without any fancy-shmancy stuff' but he wanted to be internationally inclusive as a way of reflecting his own views of life as well as the multicultural diversity of Metropolis and all-embracing approach of his 'favr'it'.
Richie and Mikey had been coming to the diner since they were in their early teens and could often be found enjoying root beer floats on a Saturday evening. At other times, Mikey could be found in the library and Richie having impromptu baseball sessions in the middle of the street. Like dozens of other kids, they laughed, played and lived.
They had laughed and played…now, Mikey read and experimented and was almost invisible; and Richie played, his bright blue eyes now dulled. It wasn't just them, though. There was a general sadness in the neighbourhood…a year wasn't enough to dull the pain.
A year wasn't enough to bring the smiles back.
A year ago, Brainiac attacked. Superman had rallied together heroes from across the world, sovereign nations sent in their armed forces, and although the world (and the human race) was saved, tens of thousands of lives were lost. Trying to handle attacks on several thousand fronts, Superman wasn't in Metropolis when Brainiac unleashed a previously unknown weapon – a weapon that drew in the bio-energy of humans. Brainiac had decided to, for now, only draw on the energy of those aged between 30 and 45, and targeted the most densely populated area of Metropolis: Suicide Slum.
Silent death.
As the citizens fled in terror, as children clung on to the hands of their parents, or hid their faces in their protective embraces, hundreds fell to their knees…lifeless.
As children fell to the ground, dozens were crushed in the stampede.
As the streets of the Slum ran red, the buildings remained intact. The weapon was designed to only draw on human bio-energy.
Superman eventually arrived and placed his invulnerable body in front of the invisible beam.
And screamed.
Windows shattered, ear drums perforated, and roads cracked as the red and blue figure in the sky turned white. According to the news reports, it was half an hour before the white figure turned black and fell from the sky.
As he fell, hundreds of those who had been affected by the beam – killed by the beam – awoke. Somehow, Superman had guided an elite team through the orbiting weapon and had shown them how to reverse the effect of the beam…all while shielding the Slum with his body.
Some, however, remained dead. Among them were Richie and Mikey's parents. Among the other dead was their little sister.
"His eyes are bluer than Superman's, man." whispered a roughly dressed man. His jeans and shirt were torn, the soles of his boots almost worn through, and he looked like he hadn't shaved in weeks. "That's why we call 'im 'Blue Eyes', see? Anyway, you seen that show with that chemistry teacher? Yeah? Well, it's like that only there's no teacher – at least none that we knows of. And the productssss are awesome."
His hands shook as he raised them to his brow. He widened his fingers slightly and showed the others at the table two small packets, one containing a fine powder and the other a pill. He reached out to stroke the leg of one of the women at the table, and she flinched. He turned his hand slightly to show her a small packet. His chapped lips cracked a little as a smiled and licked his lips. "Just a sample for you babe. Don't worry." His voice was a whisper and the others at the table strained to hear him above the noise in the bar. "Try it out and let me know if you want more."
The old man at a nearby table frowned at the yellowed teeth and bleeding gums. He closed his eyes and took a breath through his nose. He paused, opened his eyes, and watched the roughly dressed man with increased curiosity.
"How long have you been using?" asked the woman.
"About two months. Was hooked almost-"
"No thanks."
"No?"
"No. I'm just looking for fun, not…" she looked him up and down. "Not this. Sorry." She sat back and crossed her arms.
The roughly dressed man rasped a little as he laughed. "I've looked like this for years. This stuff…this stuff takes away the horror and…it takes away the horror…"
Everyone at the table looked down sadly.
"I don't want to forget my sister," whispered the woman. "Not for an instant. I'm sorry. I thought-"
He waved dismissively. "It's okay. I understand." He pocketed the little packets and stood up to leave. "You know how to reach me."
The old man shuffled along the street. Five blocks ahead was the roughly dressed man from the bar. The man paused for a few seconds near an ATM before crossing the street and heading down in to the subway. He opened a maintenance door and made his way to a makeshift sleeping area. A few seconds later, the old man was looking in to the wall by the ATM machine. In a niche were sachets of fine powders of a range of colours, and pills that looked like children's sweets.
The old man continued walking up the road. On his left a woman sat on some steps, reading a copy of The Daily Planet. "Oh, Clark Kent, how are you able to see what so many can't?" The old man glanced at her as she wiped away a tear. The article she was reading was Clark Kent's exposé on the dispossessed of Metropolis, their emptied shallow graves and the recent revelation that a pharmaceutical company was using the bodies for drug testing.
The old man looked down and carried on walking, kicking up papers with his worn out shoes.
In a small room overlooking the street a woman lay curled up, crying silent tears. Today is her birthday. She's now 30. The other side of the bed is empty and by the far wall is an empty cot. The room was supposed to be a nursery but now it's where she spends almost every minute of every day.
An elderly looking couple stand in the doorway; although only in their 50s this past year has aged them dramatically.
"Sue? Honey, your parents will be here soon. Maybe you should freshen up?"
Sue nodded quietly and the older woman walked up to the bed and stroked her hair. The man looked at the empty cot and choked back tears. Excusing himself, he turned to go to the kitchen and caught himself looking at a picture of Sue and his son on their wedding day.
The roughly dressed man lying on the make-shift bed in a maintenance room in the subway station has a name – for the past year he has been trying to forget it. Last year he had died. He was 32 and had been dead for almost an hour. Ordinarily, that would be a medical miracle, but the manner of his death had not been normal and neither was the manner of his resurrection. For the first few months, after S.T.A.R Labs and LexCorp R&D had given him and hundreds of others the 'all clear' a week or so after their deaths, things had been 'normal'. For the past three months, however, at the start of every hour he had been reliving the deaths of every person who had died as a result of the beam.
Every single one.
When he had been introduced to Blue Eyes he had been at the end of his tether. Jobless, broken, exhausted and alone, he had been so close to drawing the final curtain. Blue Eyes gave him he means of having things normal, even if it was only for four hours at a time.
Now it was only for two hours at a time.
Cassie couldn't cry any more. Instead, she sat in front of seven screens and watched and listened to footage of her sister. She couldn't understand how her parents were so…accepting…of Tania's death. How they could smile at her memory. It wasn't right.
She couldn't understand how they could forgive Superman for not being there when Tania had needed him.
Richie frowned as he looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot and made the blue irises even more vibrant. He hadn't shaved for a month and his beard was patchy. He stretched and breathed out heavily.
"I miss you," he whispered.
He quickly washed himself and headed in to his 'work room'. Since his parents and sister passed away, he and Mikey and grown apart and the now 'too big' house had become divided without it ever being intended to be. There was no strict division, but both of them had come to avoid certain rooms, with the kitchen being the only 'shared' room but, even then, they used it separately.
The 'work room' walls were covered with photographs and newspaper clippings. In the middle was a large object covered with cloth. To one side was a desk with a laptop.
Malcolm Wright had been a promising wrestler, until the day of Brainiac's attack. He had been out in the streets with his father, helping people get to the shelters and to safety, when the invisible attack happened. The emergency services were stretched thin and Eben Wright and several other dock workers were tackling a tenement fire and were trying to rescue several trapped people.
The last thing Mal remembers of that day was seeing a child fall from his father's arms as he fell from the ladder Mal had been holding.
Mikey was restless. He had gone over the calculations dozens of times, had posted partial workings online to various forums for feedback, and the conclusions were always the same: it wasn't possible.
He slumped to the floor and sobbed.
Richie walked in to the Ace o' Clubs, and Bibbo frowned. He knew the kid and knew he wasn't going to be serving him any alcohol. He leaned across the bar as Richie slid on to a stool. "Root beer float?" Richie smiled and nodded.
Another man walked in wearing a hood. He stopped when he spotted Richie and, blue eyes flashing, he hurried back out. A moment later, Cassie followed.
"Excuse me," she called, breathlessly. "Excuse me. Please. Wait."
The hooded man turned around, piercing blue eyes looked at her.
"I…I…"
"Two hundred."
"T-two?"
He shrugged and began to turn away.
"I only have fifty…"
The hooded man walked on. Suddenly exhausted, Cassie slumped against the wall and sobbed, wishing tears would flow.
The room she awoke in was a strange one. Cassie quickly sat up, moaned and held her head as a wave of nausea washed over her.
"Welcome back," said a young male voice. Cassie slowly lowered one hand, squinting through the headache, and saw a young man with piercing blue guys smiling at her. Startled, she shuffled back.
"Where am I?"
"In the Ace o' Clubs. The diner. Bibbo has a small crash pad set up for emergencies."
Cassie relaxed slightly at the familiar names and looked at the blue-eyed man curiously. "You're not him," she said softly. He raised an eyebrow, confused and enquiring. "The dealer."
The young man stood up sharply. "Dealer? Bibbo and I both figured you were clean. I've done enough volunteer work at the shelters to spot an addict or a user and you-"
"No, no, I've never…I just…"
"You're Cassie…Tania's sister…"
"You knew-?"
"No, no, I…I…was obsessed for a long time…with the…"
"Who did you lose?"
"My parents and little sister."
A hooded figure walked around Richie and Mikey's house. It made its way in to Mikey's 'area' and began rifling through the various shelves. As it searched it began to behave more frantically, whereas initially it was placing things back where it found them, now it was throwing things aside. Eventually, it gave up and left, ignoring the humming device hidden under a tarp.
The old man was back at his table, much earlier than usual, and tucking in to beef bourguignon…with ketchup (he called it 'beef burgundy', though). Around him were several small piles of newspaper and he was flitting through them as he ate. At the table next to him sat a fidgeting man with his hood on. Amanda, one of Bibbo's staff, had asked him to take the hood off but he ignored her. Bibbo let her know that he was watching him and she moved on to tend to some of the other tables.
The roughly-dressed man entered, looked around for a few moments and made his way to the hooded man's table. He sat down opposite him, his limbs shaking as he took deep breaths to compose himself.
"Blue…please, man, is there any way of making the dose stronger?"
"I'm working on it," said Blue in an odd-sounding voice. "Do you have any new clients?"
"Potentially."
"And you've told them about me?"
"Only about your eyes, like you asked me to."
Sue's father-in-law, Jeremy, had been hearing rumours about something called 'the Soother'. He first heard (or 'overheard', rather) about it while waiting for the Metro – a couple of med students standing in line ahead of him mentioned it in relation to an old people's home they were doing a placement at. He didn't think much of it at the time, a medicine to calm old people wasn't much to write home about. It was when one of his investment banker colleagues mentioned it that it grabbed his attention. Triplets and work commitments had resulted in a lot of stress for his colleague and his colleague's wife, and they had been 'recommended' 'the Soother' by their au pair, who had, in turn, heard about it at the local playground.
Jeremy did some digging and eventually found that 'the Blue-Eyed Man' and 'Skinny Steve' were the two key starting points, and both were in Suicide Slum. He had no idea why they would call someone 'the Blue-Eyed Man', it wasn't as if having blue eyes was something strange or unique – Sue had blue eyes. Regardless, his investigations led back to the area around the Ace o' Clubs and that was where he was going to start.
'Skinny Steve' had been easy to spot and, after following him in to the bar, he looked around for the part of the equation. The hooded figure fit the bill, generally speaking, but the old man with one gray eye and one sharp blue…
Jeremy walked over, nervous, and felt his heart beat faster as the old man looked up as he approached. The old man snorted and turned back to his newspaper. For a moment, Jeremy was taken aback by the old man's indifference. His legs shook slightly as his nerves began to settle, and he realized the hooded man was looking at him…and saw the blue eyes…
"Tell me your story," said the old man, softly.
Heartache…there's nothing like it. The tug on your soul when you've lost a loved one, that split second of hope when you wake up…that it might all be a dream…it comes crashing down and you sink deeper into the awareness that it's true.
People deal with it in different ways. Richie tried to bury his by helping others and by working on his project; Mikey hid away in his work…discovering, enhancing and learning; Sue tried to dull it with sleep and apathy; and Cassie let it all flow out of her until she could cry no more.
"'Skinny Steve' said his supplier was a guy 'with eyes bluer than Superman's', and that's you, Richie. I've never seen eyes that blue."
"I'm not a dealer. No way, no how. Heck, if it wasn't for my brother's help I'd have probably flunked chemistry."
"Then? I saw the blue eyes. Eyes like yours."
"Contacts, maybe?"
"But why?"
"…I just want to help her. She's a living ghost now, and I thought that-"
"I know it's hard, but there's no quick fix for something like this. Right now she probably feels worse than ever, that if she had been a year older last year then she would have died alongside Tony. That she wouldn't be alone. That kind of realization could sink her even deeper, but it's something she needs to work through…with your help. You can't give up on her like this."
"I'm not giving up! I just…"
"I know."
The table suddenly flipped and hit the Blue-Eyed Man, sending him sprawling into the table and chairs behind him. Steve snapped rigid and began to convulse. The old man was beside him before anyone else even thought to move. He held his hands over Steve protectively as he watched the convulsions pass.
The Blue-Eyed Man whimpered and covered his bloodied face. The hood had fallen back and Bibbo looked at him, frowning, slowly recognizing the under-aged 'patron'. He turned his attention back to Steve, unconscious and with relaxed and regular breathing.
"I'll carry him to the crib," said the Old Man to Bibbo. He nodded towards the Blue-Eyed Man, "you keep an eye on him."
Mikey stood in his 'lab', his mouth agape. The hidden machine continued to hum under the tarp but the various shelves and cabinets had been emptied. He turned slowly on the spot, scanning the wrecked room and trying to figure out what someone would want in there. One name came to mind but he questioned whether it could be him.
"Mal?"
The Old Man carried Steve in to the crib-room, grunting at Richie and Cassie as he entered. They stepped away from the bed in order to give the Old Man some room.
"Is he going to be okay?" they asked in hushed tones, almost in unison.
The Old Man nodded.
"Is there anything we can do?" asked Richie.
"Mikey."
"Mikey?" repeated Richie, confused. The Old Man didn't say anything as he loosened Steve's clothing. Richie felt his mouth go dry as fear gripped him. He swallowed, nodded, and left the room.
Bibbo leaned back against the counter, his huge arms crossed in front of his massive chest, distorting the S-shield on his blue t-shirt, watching the Blue-Eyed Man as he dabbed at his face with a washcloth.
"You should take yer nose off, boy," said Bibbo gruffly. "Take out yer eyes, too."
The Blue-Eyed Man looked him and tried to compose himself. There was a shuffling sound as the Old Man returned to the bar.
"You've got some explaining to do, Mal," said the Old Man as he pulled out a chair and sat down.
Mikey slumped into his chair, dazed. He had heard rumours of Richie dealing in drugs but had immediately dismissed them. As estranged as they had been this past year he knew that there was no way his brother would ever do such a thing. Never.
A sob caught in his chest and he leaned forward, trying to breathe.
"My fault," he whispered. "All mine…"
Mal leaned his head back at looked up at the ceiling. He was still on the floor, his back against an overturned table, and he turned his head and looked towards the now locked door. The bar was empty, save for the three of them.
"My memory started coming back. The kid falling. My Dad falling. The others falling. Awake or asleep…I'd see them. Over and over and over again.
"I caught the kid instead of my Dad. Don't get me wrong, I would do that again in heartbeat, but…the kid died, anyway.
"I don't know how…I mean…it was…y'know…chaos, but…I tried…I tried to save him…"
He looked down at the floor and was quiet for a few moments.
"When I woke up in that street I couldn't move my legs. That was frightening but…but more so…all those broken bodies…the little girl bleeding into my hand…"
He shook as he sobbed. Bibbo and the Old Man remained silent as they allowed Mal time to compose himself. He took a deep breath and continued:
"A couple of months after the funeral I bumped into Mikey. A lot of us had dropped out of school. It wasn't like we were quitting or anything, we just…school just…didn't seem right. Too many empty seats…too many lost teachers…
"Superman came down a couple of times but there was a lot of division…a lot of people blamed him for not doing enough."
"And you?" interjected Bibbo.
"…I don't know."
"What about counseling or support groups?" asked the Old Man.
Mal shrugged. "There were a few. I think a couple are still running. They only help deal with small aspects. They can't understand the dreams. Mikey could, though. He found a way to suppress them."
"The drugs."
Mal nodded. "He made it for himself but he eventually let me try it."
"And then?"
"Then I got lost," he whispered. "Dad was gone…closed casket…didn't even get to hold him one last time…I was alone and angry and…and then I found others who were suffering and I convinced Mikey to make more and he did but but but then he stopped and said we needed to be self-reliant and I got angry and stole the rest and-"
"How does Richie play into this?"
"Access. People trusted him so-"
"So you pretended to be him?"
Mal nodded.
"And Steve?"
"He was suffering more than anyone I had come across. I just…wanted to help him."
"What about the dealing?"
"We…we realised it would be a good business opportunity, so-"
The Old Man stood up suddenly and Mal flinched. Even Bibbo was surprised at the abrupt movement. The Old Man turned towards the door, paused for a few moments and then slowly sat back down, holding up his hand to ask for silence.
Bibbo and Mal waited.
Richie's heart was breaking as he saw his brother curled up with grief. Quietly, he entered the room and knelt down next to him. Whispering his name he gently put his arm around him and drew him close to himself. Cassie stood by the door, her throat tight with grief but tears refusing to come. The humming noise caught her attention and she made her way over to the tarp covered machine.
"It doesn't work," sniffed Mikey quietly. Bloodshot eyes looked up at Cassie. "I was trying to bring them back. Mom, Dad, Lena…Tania. All of them. It doesn't work."
Cassie tugged at the tarp and it fell away to reveal a device that looked like a rocket ship.
"After…after what happened I…I shut myself away." He squeezed his brother's arm and whispered an apology. "I didn't want to go on but seeing you working so hard to keep the community going…it gave me strength…but then the headaches started and the nightmares got worse and…"
He looked at the floor quietly. Cassie slowly walked over and sat down, cross-legged, in front of him. She took his hand in hers and said softly, "And?"
"I wanted to die." Richie squeezed Mikey tighter. "I missed them so much it just wasn't right to go on. But then…a few months ago…when the League found a way to return the souls stolen from the people of Kalgoorlie and Kufstein-"
"Calgary? Canada?"
"Kalgoorlie in Australia."
"And…'Cuff-stain'?"
Mikey shook his head and Richie replied, "Kufstein in Austria."
"Oh-kay. Go on, Mikey."
He sighed and she squeezed his hand. "When they did that I thought it might be possible to bring everyone here back."
"Mikey," whispered Richie.
"I know…the ones the League saved hadn't been physically damaged, but-"
"No, Mikey. Lena didn't die the same way. Her energy wasn't taken."
Barely audible to them even though they were so close to him, they heard Mikey whisper, "I know…I just…hoped…"
Mikey looked up at Cassie, "…and then I made the medicine." Her fingers loosened around his hands slightly and she swallowed dryly.
For a few minutes a told them about his analysis and dreams and nightmares; about his hopes that the medicine would help him think straight, that he would stop seeing Lena grinning at him when she showed him her homework; about how he found Steve huddled by a dumpster mumbling in his nightmares and felt compelled to help him; about how he didn't want Richie to judge him.
After he finished the three of them sat there quietly until Richie spoke. He told them how he would look up in fear when he would hear Superman fly by but remembering Lena running around playing saying 'whoosh' would temper that fear; how helping out at the orphanage had given him some sort of solace; and how every night and every few hours of every day, he would cry.
Cassie looked at them and smiled, tears running freely down her cheeks, and she told them about Tania.
The Old Man lowered his hand and sighed. "There's a lady," he said, "a psychiatrist. Her name's Dr Claire Foster. She runs a free drop-in every Thursday at the social centre. You should go see her."
Bibbo harrumphed.
"Mr Bibbowski?"
"Well, I fig'er if he wants a fresh start I culd, y'know, give 'im a job or sumthing."
Mal looked at them, confused.
"Look, Mal, this isn't a straightforward situation. You and Steve will need to give us the names, and probably the descriptions, of the people who have been taking the drug, but you and those people need help. There are people out there who are more than willing to help you, but you need to be willing to give them your time…and your trust.
"What happened was horrifying. What you've been through is unimaginable. What you're going through is terrifying, but you're not alone. Believe me when I tell you that."
Mal nodded.
"Yer need ta get rid of that nose, too."
"Sue?" whispered Jeremy as he took his daughter-in-law's hands in his. The curtains in the room were still drawn and although Sue's hair was wet after her shower, the clothes she wore were the clothes she had on when Tad had died. "Sue, we need to talk."
And Jeremy spoke. He spoke about Tad and the dreams he had shared with him when he was a boy. He spoke about their camping trips and football games, their love of hotdogs and Tad's aversion to beer. He spoke about Tads hopes and dreams of his life with Sue.
As he spoke, Amanda and Tony, Sue's parents, came in with Liana, Jeremy's wife. The listened to Jeremy quietly as he spoke to Sue, and when he finished Tony sat by his daughter, wrapped his arm around her and held her hand, and he then spoke.
For the past few weeks, Dr Claire Foster has been having extraordinarily busy Thursdays. As exhausted as she has been, though, seeing the change in her new clients has been a reward in itself.
For the past year or so, Suicide Slum has been different. Although children have been playing and people have been working and living, there has been an odd air. Recently, things have shifted, and the shift seems to be for the better.
Finally, Richie unveiled what he had been working on. It was a sculpture of a tear drop, engraved with the names of every person who had died in Brainiac's attack on Suicide Slum – the names were 'written' the way each man, woman, and child had written their name. The sculpture was placed at in courtyard where Superman had crashed to the ground after blocking the silent death in the sky.
