Hero Worship (8 page)

Dr. Klaus shrugs. “There was an amendment passed to the Clean Powers Act that puts a quota on how many IWPs can be classified as clean.”

“Why's there a quota?”

“It was done to curb unfair competition between people with powers and normies.”

This feels more disillusioning than when I found out that Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy weren't real. I'm beginning to suspect that everything I've been led to believe about dirties is a lie.

“Trust me, it was better than some of the alternatives,” Dr. Klaus says. “There were other options being considered on how to thin the herd of IWPs.” She unscrews the needle and plunger from the syringe and places the chamber of blood into a cradle on the table. When she presses a button, the chamber of blood is sucked into the device. The equipment revs to life, flashing a series of lights and chirping. “This will analyze your blood and tell us what's what. Now, I need you to power up. We're going to measure your power.”

“Measure my power?”

“There are categories for measuring power,” Eliza says.

“It's measured on a scale from one to ten,” Dr. Klaus explains. “But there are dozens of variables that determine where you might land.”

“Mercury is an eight,” Eliza says.

“Wait. Lieutenant Mercury is an eight? If he's an eight, who's a ten?” I ask.

Eliza picks up a syringe that has a thick blue gel inside the chamber, and, holding it up to the light, inspects it. “Actually, there's never been anyone documented as a ten. But there have been a couple of nines.”

Dr. Klaus snatches the syringe from Eliza and sets it back down on the table. “There was a woman in Utah who was a nine. And do you remember a guy called Bird?”

I shake my head.

“He was a little before our time,” Eliza says. “But he was a nine.”

“What are you?” I ask, looking at Eliza.

“I'm a five.”

“That's it?”

“Hey, being a five is nothing to be ashamed of,” she says. “Mystic is a three.”

“Marvin, power up so we can find out where you land,” Dr. Klaus says.

Both women step back and stare at me, waiting.

“There's a problem,” I say. “I need fear to power up.”

The doctor writes this down on the clipboard. “Interesting. Very interesting,” she says, scribbling more notes.

Eliza smirks and says, “Lady, I might've let it slip to a couple of people that you agreed to perform this test on Marvin.”

I see fear rising in Dr. Klaus. Her eyes are like daggers. “What?”

Ignoring her, Eliza looks at me and asks, “How's that?”

As I feed on the doctor's fear, power courses through
me. I jump high into the air and land right behind the two women. “What do you want me to do?”

Motioning toward the conveyor belt on the floor, Dr. Klaus says, “Stand on that.” I zip over to it and position myself in the middle. It jostles beneath my weight. “I need you to run on it. Start out slowly, then build to full strength. It'll measure how fast you run.” I begin to jog. I remain in a stationary position as the conveyor belt moves under my feet. The doctor presses a button and a thick Plexiglas blast shield rises out of the floor, separating her and Eliza from me on the conveyor belt. Jotting notes on the clipboard, she says, “A little faster.”

As I run faster, the conveyor belt begins to vibrate and groan. “Am I going to break this?” I ask.

“Streak has gotten it up to 788 miles per hour,” Dr. Klaus says. I stop running, but the floor under me keeps spinning and I'm tossed like a rag doll to the floor, landing with a thud.

Eliza tries to stifle laughter. “Marvin, are you okay?”

“You can't stop running like that. You have to slowly
bring it to a stop,” Dr. Klaus says.

“Is Streak here? At the mansion?” I ask.

“He hasn't really left his room since the jewelry store incident,” Eliza says. “Between that and getting drugged at the park, I think he's trying to avoid people.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Dr. Klaus says. She pulls a folded piece of paper from her lab coat pocket and hands it to Eliza. “I ran a report and got the names of IWPs that might match the person who drugged Streak.”

Eliza unfolds the paper and inspects it. “Great. Thanks, Lady.”

I strain my neck to get a look at the names on the paper. Both the doctor and Eliza turn to look at me. “Go ahead, Marvin,” Dr. Klaus says.

As I get back on the treadmill and begin to run, I curse under my breath that I didn't even consider the possibility of seeing Streak here. I hope I don't bump into him. But if I do, I pray that he doesn't recognize me. More importantly, I pray that Yvonne's name isn't on that list of possible suspects. What will I do if it is? If they can link Yvonne to me, will that keep me from being extended an invitation to join the Core? I'm mad at myself for even thinking this, but still …

“You're up to 178 miles per hour,” Eliza says, peering at a display. She takes the pair of earmuff hearing protectors the doctor offers her. They both put them securely over their ears.

I kick it into overdrive, digging down deep and giving it all I have. The conveyor belt whizzes faster and faster. I feel like a super-powered rodent on a running wheel. The digital display on the speedometer flashes
698
. I know I can do better, so I run as fast as I can. The speedometer clicks faster, slowly ticking higher and higher. Smoke begins to rise off the conveyor belt. The smell of burnt plastic fills my nostrils. I push myself to go even faster. When the digital display clicks on
768
, a large sonic boom explodes. The shockwave erupts off me. Both the doctor and Eliza grimace, but they remain unharmed behind the blast shield.

My heart feels like it's going to explode, but I keep running. The speedometer reads
787
. I know I can't keep this up much longer, but I have one last spurt in me, so I spend it.

After holding the pace for a couple of seconds, which seems like forever, I gradually slow down. The speedometer is a blur as the display moves downward. Finally bringing the conveyor belt to a manageable speed, I jog casually until it
comes to a complete stop. I'm out of breath. I've never run that fast in my life.

The doctor and Eliza step out from behind the blast shield. “Very impressive, Marvin,” Dr. Klaus says.

“How fast did I go?”

“You topped out at 803,” Eliza says.

“Faster than Streak?” I say, amazed.

“How are you feeling?” the doctor asks.

“Okay, I guess.”

The doctor motions to the racks of weights and dumbbells. “Let's test your strength.”

My legs are wobbly as I head toward the weights. They don't look particularly heavy. Nothing much bigger than what's sold in a sporting goods store.

“So how strong are you?” Eliza asks.

“I don't know,” I admit.

Dr. Klaus motions to the smallest dumbbell on the rack and says, “Let's start with that one and move your way up. Okay?”

The smallest dumbbell is so tiny it looks like something a grandmother would use during water aerobics. “I could lift that without using my power,” I say.

Both the doctor and Eliza laugh. “These weights are made from a special composite that's denser than any known metal,” Dr. Klaus says. “They're extremely heavy.”

Gripping the dumbbell's handle, I yank on it. She's right—
this is deceptively heavy. I hoist it over my head, hold it for a beat, then drop it back onto the rack. “How much does that weigh?” I ask.

“100 pounds.”

Stunned, I look at the other weights. If that little one was a hundred pounds, then the biggest one must weigh over three tons. I move up the line of weights, heaving them into the air one after the other. Then I get to one I barely manage to lift off the rack, much less over my head. Giving up, I let it clank back onto the rack. “I can't do it,” I say, inspecting the palm of my hand to see if I've torn the skin.

Dr. Klaus scribbles on her clipboard. “How do you feel now?”

“I think I probably have—”

Before I finish my thought, everything goes black. My legs buckle under me and I slip into unconsciousness.

THIRTEEN

I try to raise a hand to my face, but I can't move my arms. I'm overcome with a sudden sense of dread. Sweat beads on
my forehead. I try to get up, but, like my arms, my legs feel immobilized.

“Get control of yourself, Marvin,” a woman's voice says, coming from somewhere in the darkness. “You're going to give yourself a heart attack.”

My mouth is dry and dusty, but I manage to say, “Where am I?”

The voice responds, “In the lab.”

Cutting through the endless darkness, Eliza and the doctor hover over me. I'm lying on the gurney, with a needle attached to an IV drip stuck into my arm. The liquid in the plastic IV bag empties into my body.

“I'm glad your body is accepting the supplement,” Dr. Klaus says, still clutching her clipboard. “It's a special brew I made.”

“How long have I been out?” I ask.

Eliza leans over me and says, “Only five minutes.”

“Five minutes? Are you sure?”

The doctor removes a stopwatch attached to her clipboard and holds it up for me to see. It ticks past five minutes. “I started this once you were hooked to the IV. About five minutes ago.”

“How's that possible?” I say.

“It seems that using your power takes quite a toll on you. And I'd wager that when you awake, you eat and eat and eat.” Dr. Klaus taps the IV bag with the tip of her manicured fingernail. “This is like a supercharged energy drink. Gives you a kick when you need it, or a recharge when you're spent.”

My head feels like it's encased in a block of cement, but all in all I feel pretty good. I sit up. “Can I get some of this stuff to go?” I ask.

“I'm afraid not,” the doctor says, shaking her head. “It's powerful, and I can't be handing it out to civilians.”

“Oh, well,” I say. “Maybe if I'm asked to join the Core, then.”

Dr. Klaus shoots Eliza a quizzical look. She shrugs. “You two sneak out of here,” the doctor says. “Make sure nobody sees you. I'm going to process the data, and then we'll have a better understanding of the makeup of your power.”

“What level of power am I?” I ask.

“Well, I won't know for certain until I run the battery of tests.” Dr. Klaus scans her clipboard. “But if I had to guess, I'd say you're an eight while at max strength.”

“I'm the same level as Lieutenant Mercury?” I say. “Dang.”

Eliza smiles. “Don't get cocky, Marvin.”

“Those tests weren't so bad,” I say.

Making sure the doctor isn't within earshot, Eliza whispers, “Hey, I've got a birthday gift for you. It's up in my room.”

We stand next to each other in the Plexiglas service elevator as it goes back up. The floors pass, one after another, until we come up to the ground floor. Eliza motions behind me and says, “Look.”

The elevator continues to climb upward, revealing the vast Grand Hall below. It's all white marble—the floors, walls, and giant pillars that rise up to the ceiling like majestic redwoods reaching toward the heavens. The shine reflected off the marble is blinding. I press my face against the Plexiglas as I try to take everything in. I'm sure I look like a chubby kid gazing through the window of a candy store, mouth salivating as every last ounce of self-restraint vanishes like snow in spring. I've been given a glimpse of heaven, and I want to sear this vision into my brain so I'll remember this moment forever.

An enormous fresco adorns the ceiling. It depicts elaborate scenes of muscular men and beautiful women in flowing gowns mingling in a palace high atop a mountain. “Those are the Twelve Olympians,” Eliza says, motioning up at it. “In Greek mythology, they're the gods who reside on Mount Olympus.”

Surrounding the base of the mountain in the painting, a sea of men, women, and children bow their heads in reverence. “What's the deal with all the people below?” I ask.

“They're basking in the patronage of the gods.” Eliza shrugs. “Hey, it's Mercury's thing.”

“Do many people come to the mansion?” I ask.

“Sometimes a head of state will pay a visit, but that's not too frequent. We all kind of like having a place away from the hard glare of our public lives,” she says. “And absolutely nobody but the Core is allowed on the upper levels.”

“What about me?”

She flashes a devious smile. “That's why we have to be sneaky.”

The elevator slows to a stop at the top floor, offering a perfect view of the fresco. As the elevator door slides open, something catches my eye. I'm staring at a figure in the painting who I assume is Zeus, the king of the gods who oversees the universe. He's perched on a throne. But even the bushy white beard and hair can't disguise Lieutenant Mercury's blue eyes.

Eliza stands in the doorway of the elevator, holding her hand against the frame to keep it from closing. Following my gaze, she says, “Mercury thinks he's Zeus.”

“Where are you in this mural?”

“I don't want to be painted up there until the day I'm
the one sitting on the throne.” She peeks out of the elevator, checking to make sure nobody is around.

Whispering, I say, “If we're going to get in trouble—”

She silences me with a finger to her lips. I try to keep up as she scurries down the hall. Motioning to a large door with elaborate engravings in the wood, she says, “That's our fearless leader's room.”

Instinctively, I take a step back. My breathing quickens and I become lightheaded. Dizziness overtakes me. It feels like my legs are going to give out from under me. I stagger forward and reach out, but when I realize that I'm actually going to touch Lieutenant Mercury's door, my hand recoils. It would be like manhandling a priceless piece of art hanging in a museum.

Eliza shoves me and yells, “BOO!”

My face smacks hard against the door.

She howls with laughter. She can barely contain herself. “You should've seen your face. Classic.”

From the other side of the closed door, a booming voice says, “What?!”

Grabbing my hand, Eliza pulls me away. “I thought he was gone.”

“Lieutenant Mercury?” I say.

We race to a closed door farther down the hall. She pulls a key out of her pocket.

Behind us, Mercury's door is being unlocked, which sounds like Saint Peter opening the pearly gates.

Eliza fumbles to slide the key into the lock.

I watch in horror as Mercury's doorknob slowly turns.

Eliza swings the door inward.

The door down the hall cracks open.

Right as she pushes me into her room, I hear, “Eliza, what's going on?”

She responds with, “Nothing.”

There's a stretch of silence, as if the man who's the greatest hero to walk the earth is trying to figure out what's really going on, sensing that something isn't quite right. I curse myself for getting into this situation. I consider stepping out into the hall and coming clean with Mercury.

“Try to keep it down, for fuck's sake,” Mercury's voice booms. His door slams.

Eliza hurries into her room and locks the door. “Oh man, he almost caught us,” she says.

“He swore.”

“Huh?”

“Lieutenant Mercury swore,” I repeat.

“And?”

“I don't know. He's just so … I just wouldn't think he'd swear.”

“Oh boy, you've got it bad,” Eliza says, toggling through the music library on her MP3 player.

“Got what bad?”

“Hero worship.”

“No I don't.” But this denial sounds hollow to my own ears.

Finding the song she wants, she presses
play
and turns up the volume. I don't recognize the song, but the singer sounds a lot like the front man of my favorite band.

“Who is this? It sounds like Schluffer,” I say.

“It sounds like them because it is them.”

“I've never heard this song before.”

“You like Schluffer?”

“I love them.”

“This song's going to be on their next album, which I think drops in August.”

“How'd you get your hands on it?”

“They heard I was a fan,” she says, “so they sent me a couple of their new tracks.”

Eliza's room had to have been professionally decorated. Everything from the paint to the bed skirt to the fish in the aquarium are color-coordinated and corresponding. The chrome stereo is positioned perfectly to shimmer under the soft lighting. The framed photos on the walls are hung to draw your eyes seamlessly from one to another. The entire room strikes me as a giant jigsaw puzzle, and every minute detail fits together to create a larger, grander picture.

“What do you think?” Eliza asks.

“It's great.”

She retrieves a photo album and sits down on the bed, patting the spot next to her. “Come here. Look at this.” I sit down, my backside sinking into the feather bed.

Opening the album and pointing out various pictures, Eliza says, “That's me with the president of Sudan. And that person I'm hugging is the heavyweight boxing champ of the world.” She flips the pages, revealing a parade of pictures of herself with a variety of actors, heads of state, and athletes.

“You know a lot of famous people.”

“One of the perks of being a member of the Core,” she says. “You'll get to hobnob with people like this if you become a team member.”

“Do you really think I'll be asked to join?”

“If you do what I tell you, then you've got a pretty good shot.”

“But why me?”

Closing the photo album, Eliza leans over and rests it on the floor. She brushes my bangs out of my eyes. “You're great, and you don't even know it.”

“I don't know about that,” I say.

She grabs my face with both hands. “I want you to say, ‘I'm great.'”

“Come on.”

“Say it.”

“Eliza—”

“Say it!”

“I'm … great,” I mumble.

“Like you mean it.”

“I'm great.”

“Louder.”

“I'm great!” I shout.

“Perfect,” she says, still holding my face. “You're perfect.” She pulls me to her and kisses me on the mouth. It's a long, wet kiss.

“Um … you didn't have to get me a birthday gift,” I say, wiping my mouth.

“I wanted to.”

I look around the room. “Where is it?”

Eliza kicks off her shoes and crawls to the middle of the bed, resting her head on the pillow. “It's me,” she says, the smile on her face like polished veneer.

I've just been given the keys to the kingdom, and it scares the shit out of me. I'm smacked with an overwhelming wave of self-doubt, a fear that I'm not worthy and I don't belong here. I jump to my feet. “Eliza, I … this is … great. But I think I should get out of here.”

“Marvin, come here.”

I hesitate for a moment.

“Please come here,” she says, her voice thick and syrupy.

Walking around to the side of the bed, I sit down on the edge of the mattress.

“Closer.”

I feel like a fly being baited to enter a Venus flytrap. When I do, the flower will lock down on me and I'll never to be seen again. I scoot toward her.

“Lie down.”

Doing as I'm told, I lie down, resting my head on the pillow next to hers.

“You need to relax,” Eliza says. “You're safe with me. I know what I'm doing.”

“I just—”

Before I can finish my thought, she sits up and straddles me. She grabs my hands and pins them above my head. “Don't you like me?” she asks.

Staring into her eyes, I feel small and vulnerable.

She bends down and kisses me deeply. I wrap my arms around her and kiss her back.

We ride down the elevator in silence. The door opens to the garage and we head toward her car. “Do you still want that photo next to Mystic's car?” Eliza asks.

“Are you sure?”

She pulls out her camera phone and holds it up. “No trouble. Got a camera right here.”

I cross my arms across my chest and try to look as if standing next to Mystic's Jet Car is the most natural place in the world for me to be at this particular moment in time. Eliza snaps the photo. She inspects the image and smiles. “Done.”

I continue to stare at the black car for a moment and wonder how I got here. Never in my wildest imagination had I ever dared to dream of this moment.

The two of us get into her car and she starts it, turning up the heater. As the car warms up, she runs her fingers through her hair. She wipes the corners of her mouth with her fingers, puts the car in reverse, and backs out of the parking spot.

We ride across the bridge. I stare absently out the window at the dark waters below. I feel her staring at me.

“Don't be that guy,” she says. “Getting all awkward.”

“Oh, I'm not,” I say.

“Uh-huh.”

“No, really. It's cool.”

“You sure?” she asks.

“Absolutely.”

“I don't want this affecting our working relationship.”

“It won't.”

“If everything goes as planned, we're going to be working closely together,” Eliza says. “I want us to be a fit.”

It's late, and the roads are empty. A light rain comes down. She turns on the windshield wipers. I listen to the sound of them going back and forth, keeping beat like a metronome. I feel that I should say something, but I'm at a loss for words. We've gone too long without talking to say something now. It would just seem strange, so I keep quiet.

Eliza drives across the Edinger Avenue overpass and pulls into the Eat-A-Rama parking lot. “Are you sure you want me to drop you off here?”

“This is fine,” I say. I lean toward her to give her a kiss, but she moves to check her reflection in the rearview mirror. I don't know if this was purely coincidental or a preemptive move to avoid being kissed. I get out of the car and stand in the rain.