TITAN

While Jim was recovering from his “operation,” Eric returned to school. He did not want to go. He was worried that while he was away, whoever took Jim would try to hurt his parents. Tim had said in his typical cavalier fashion, “They know where to find me. They always have. Clearly.”

Besides, Tim and Nancy did not want Eric to give up his life for this—they had never wanted that for him. Eric did not want to either. But something gnawed at him—either his gut or echoes of his connection with the deep sense. Whatever it was, Eric suspected there wouldn’t be a choice.

Eric pulled into the school parking lot like he had done for almost four years now. Everyone looked the same and so did the building. He knew it was silly, but he felt like something should have changed. Eric’s world had just been turned upside down and he expected everyone else to know. They didn’t. His classmates still hung out with their friends, played video games, played sports, watched TV, and did everything else they had done before, without the slightest inkling that the world was different. Except the world wasn’t different. The world had never changed. It had always been this way. Only now, Eric knew it. And he was different.

Eric’s first step out of the car reminded him of what it was like going back to school after Sarah died. His whole life had been built around her, who needed her family for everything. His parents did their best to give Eric a “normal” childhood, but there had been only so much they could do: theirs was not a normal family. Less so than initially thought, after all.

When Eric went back to school after Sarah died, he realized that life had gone on without him. His friends were sad for him—pitied him, maybe—and so were his teachers, but they went home to their mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers and spouses secure in the knowledge that someone they loved hadn’t died. Eric’s grief was little more than a footnote in their lives. Meanwhile, Eric had felt like a fault line had opened up in his living room beneath the couch. Nothing was the same.

The darkness that preyed inside him was still there, but it seemed somehow less important. Eric had loved Melanie, but she didn’t mean anything compared to Jim. Besides, she had decided to leave. Jim had fought back only to see his family murdered. This only made Eric hate Melanie even more.

At the same time, he wished desperately to hug and kiss her and to hold her against him like he used to. It was a schizophrenic, childish, immature love, but it had taken root in him like a weed. It was not easily forgotten. He and Melanie shared much together; it was that first tentative, “burn you up inside” love. Despite the fact his parents were there for him, Eric felt alone. It weighed on him. He wondered if all of the Titans before him, like his dad or Grandpa Art, ever felt this way. The one person in the world he would have confided in about this was in the hands of the enemy. Or dead.

Drew was a good friend, but he was not the kind of friend you confided in for something like this. Eric knew Drew wouldn’t believe it. He’d demand proof. It felt important that Titan be accepted through faith. Proving it with a show of armor did not feel right.

Drew was not a man of faith. He could not believe in the fantastic. He was one of those Catholics who was devout, but who would probably denounce Jesus today as a kook or a nut. He believed in Biblical miracles, but he wouldn’t know a real one if he saw it. He wouldn’t let himself see.

But Eric hadn’t forgotten that Drew was the only friend who stuck with him when everyone else had jumped ship, but that didn’t change Drew’s nature. The most honest reason why Eric did not want to tell Drew was that he didn’t trust him with the secret. Drew was a good buddy, a fun guy to pal around with, and a good ear when times were tough, but he was not the “trust him with the fate of the world” type of guy. Many of Eric’s confidences had escaped to others through Drew with the words, “Now don’t tell anyone you heard this, but…” And those secrets had been bullshit compared to this. Eric was seeing devils and wearing metal skin. He didn’t want anyone he didn’t trust to know. Hell, he wished he didn’t know it.

As Eric passed the cliques, he had to chuckle. Everything they talked about was so “urgent.” So “important.” The annotated bibliography was due in two weeks! A math test on Wednesday! Scott called Suzy fat this weekend! God, I don’t have my prom dress picked out yet!

None of it mattered.

Eric was ashamed that he had ever been like that. Once upon a time, the annotated bibliography seemed like a mountain looming over him. It was nothing, really. A few sheets of paper stapled together and grouped in a folder. It occurred to Eric that he had earned an insight into high school—and life, too—that he shouldn’t have yet. High school and all the drama therein seems like the most important thing in the world when you’re there. But once you’ve seen the real world, high school seems so small and unimportant. Eric knew that now.

But oh God, he wished he could go back to that blissful ignorance. Eric wanted to un-see his sister’s hellish face and un-hear the awful groan that had risen up from her throat, piped in straight from Hell. A sticky, black ichor had stained his insides and nothing could remove it. The mundane high school bullshit was so insignificant that it frustrated him to think about how seriously he took it.

“Whoa, Steele,” laughed a voice to Eric’s right. It was Sam Thacker, one of Eric’s hockey teammates who had a perfect hockey name. Sam was a stout, bullish hunk of a guy with a big Santa laugh. “You been workin’ out, kid? Looks like you could pick up Karen Stein! Ha!”

Eric laughed along with him. Karen was an obese girl in their class. The kind of person whose rolls had rolls. There was a time when Eric was younger when he might have laughed harder or made his own joke as a follow-up, but now he felt sorry for Karen. He always wondered how a person could let themselves get so bad without trying to stop it. It was hard for him to imagine going down a path he knew was wrong without doing something different. Maybe, he supposed, you don’t actually see it until it’s too late and by then it’s too hard to change. It’s easier to give in.

Maybe Eric was made of sterner stuff or maybe he was just raised by stubborn, can-do parents. Tim Steele, former hero and father of two, could be a real stubborn asshole. Eric wanted to knock his block off sometimes. But that pigheaded stubbornness was actually an asset in many ways. Tim never let Eric say the word “can’t.” He absolutely forbade it. Tim always said, “Don’t ever say ‘can’t’ son. Ha. You can’t say ‘can’t’. Most things in this world are mental. If you think you can do something, then odds are you will. For short guys like you, ‘can’t’ isn’t a word you need in your vocabulary.” In the end, ol’ Tim was right. So when Eric thought of big Karen looking at herself in a mirror and thinking that she can’t stop, his pity diminished. Having recently learned about Titan and Evil, Eric thought, more than ever, that choice was very important. If she wanted to, Karen could choose to eat a salad instead of the big Tupperware container of pasta she brought to lunch every day. It would be hard, but not impossible. Hard is better than a heart attack at age twenty three, which was where she was heading.

“Or maybe you,” Eric shot back with a grin. Sam wasn’t so much fat as he was just burly.

“Heh, I don’t think you’re that jacked,” Sam said. “Really though, man, too bad this was your last season. You woulda kicked some ass.”

Eric hadn’t really noticed how cozy his shirt had become. The soft cotton, wrapped around his shoulders and curved over his chest, was stretched. The outline of his pecks was clear. He was suddenly self-conscious and embarrassed. Is this why women are self-conscious about their breasts?

Eric stuck his hand out and jokingly said, “Whoa, Sam… don’t get the wrong idea. I don’t swing your way.”

Sam roared with laughter. “Right… everyone knows Steele loves the cock.” Sam blew Eric a kiss, which Eric waved away as though it was an actual thing.

Eric walked off as Sam clapped him on the back. Once upon a time, Sam’s muscled strike might have stung Eric between the shoulder blades. But not anymore.

Drew’s car swung in front of Eric with the passenger window rolled down. “DUDE! Have you seen the news?”

“About what?”

“Jim’s house burned down Friday night. His parents were inside. The police think it was on purpose!”

Eric put on a good game face. “What?”

“Hold on.” Drew whirled his car around and slid it into his parking spot. He popped out of the driver’s side as if on springs. “Yeah! Jim’s little sister is missing. And getthis: no one knows where he is. Didn’t you see him last week? I thought you were hanging out for your birthday.”

Shit. “I didn’t see him Friday… He couldn’t make it.” It was all Eric could think to say. Best of all, it wasn’t a lie.

“Man, what is goin’ on, huh?” Drew asked to no one in particular. “Jim’s school in Wyoming said they didn’t know where he was. How was he here if they didn’t know he was gone?”

“I dunno.” Eric felt sick. Jim was being framed. Why else would there be all these questions about his whereabouts? They would only ask if they thought he was hurt or if they thought he did it.

“Have you tried his cell?” Drew asked. The question struck Eric and needled him—why, no… I didn’t try the most obvious way to contact him…

“No, uh, after Friday we hadn’t spoken. I was caught up in my birthday stuff, I guess.” Eric found that lying was becoming easier with practice.

“Try it.”

Eric hesitated. He was afraid to call Jim’s cell phone. A few possibilities occurred to him: whoever had Jim could answer. Then what? Jim’s cell phone could still be in Wyoming. Also, wouldn’t the police have already tried his cell phone? Surely, they could get a hold of the number. Eric’s last thought scared him the most: what if Jim answered?

They’re killing me, Eric! Help me!

He couldn’t help. Eric didn’t know where Jim was and he doubted that Jim knew either. Plus, these bastards wanted him. Going to Jim was exactly what they wanted. And Eric was no warrior yet. He could barely wear the suit without summoning Hell into his heart.

Eric’s response turned out to be honest. “I don’t have my phone on me.”

“I do,” Drew said. Eric wanted to protest, but he couldn’t think of a sane reason why mild-mannered, regular ol’ Eric Steele would do that. Superhuman, hero-in-training Titan had some reasons, but not plain, uninteresting Eric.

Eric noticed with disdain that Drew had to find Jim’s number in the contact list. Jim and Drew were both on Eric’s speed dial keys. Simply press and hold the number key and off you go. But Jim apparently didn’t rate that high on Drew’s phone. Eric wondered where he was on Drew’s phone list. It was a small thing, really—Eric supposed it was downright Seinfeldian—but Eric thought it spoke to Drew’s character. Jim was supposed to be one of Drew’s best friends and he didn’t rate high enough for one of the nine speed dial keys.

“It’s ringing,” Drew said and Eric tensed. Eric feared that a mysterious voice would answer and say: Hello. We’ve got your friend, Mr. McNulty, strung up over here. Please put your otherfriend—the superhero—on the phone.

That didn’t happen. Nothing happened. Jim’s message clicked on: “Hi, uh, yeah… this is Jim McNulty’s phone. Leave a, uh, message with your name and number. Uh, thanks.” Drew hung up.

“What a douchy voicemail message. Ah, well, we tried,” Drew said, taking his backpack from the trunk. “Damn, I wonder what’s going on.”

Me too. Eric nodded and looked worried. “Geez… I better tell the police what I know, huh?”

“I’d think so, yeah,” Drew said. “As far as we know, you’re the last guy to talk to him.”

Before mystery assassins broke in and probably beat him to death… yeah, that’s right. Eric shrugged. “I’ll call after school.”

Drew handed a piece of paper to Eric. “That reminds me. Here.”

“What’s this?” Eric looked down at what he now realized was a dirty napkin with a phone number written on it.

“Rose’s number. She asked Constance to give it to me to give to you,” Drew said with a dirty, porn director’s smirk.

Rose had been the one nice thing that had happened to Eric in a while. With everything going on, she’d slipped to the back of his mind. A girl crush didn’t seem important. Creatures from Hell and kidnapped best friends took priority.

But thinking of Rose brought a flush to Eric’s cheeks. Before, she was just a person who showed him that Melanie wasn’t the only one that could be attracted to him; now she was a link to normalcy. A way to feel like a normal man again.

“Oh.” Eric said.

Drew probably thought that the shock of the Jim news had muted his reaction to receiving Rose’s number, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Eric was afraid for Jim. He also didn’t want to be alone. And Rose was hot.

* * *

Eric discovered that learning the secret truth of high school wasn’t conducive to being there. He still had about two months to go and with all the other crap going on he’d rather have been out looking for Jim or training to use his new abilities. The literary impact of Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein wasn’t as important as it once seemed. But his parents insisted he go. Besides, Tim said that Eric was still recovering.

It was the right decision. Eric was too unfocused to go after Jim. He had Titan’s power and could “turn it on,” but he didn’t know how to use it. The example Tim used was like when Eric was learning to drive: he could turn the car on, but he didn’t have the timing down, he wasn’t used to maneuvering the big vehicle around him, and he hadn’t learned the temperament of the pedal. He remembered first learning to drive and it had scared him. Eric had wanted to drive and wanted to learn. Driving in the parking lot was okay. Eric had jerked the brakes a little bit too much and took tight turns with their lumbering SUV, but he was learning. Something inside of Eric screamed when Tim suggested that Eric drive home. They were only two minutes from the house, but the street was the real thing. Practice time was over out there. If he didn’t brake fast enough or didn’t time his turns right, Eric visualized a hundred different nightmare scenarios in his head.

“I dunno,” Eric had said.

“Nah, c’mon, you gotta do it eventually,” Tim nudged. “It’s a short drive. Just take it slow.”

The Steeles didn’t say “can’t” so he sucked it up and wheeled the car around. He brought it to the edge of the exit driveway and looked out onto the road. Eric tapped the turn signal down and heard the satisfying *tick* *tick* of the blinking green light on his display. Tim looked out his side and said, “You’re pretty good on my side… some cars off a ways.”

Eric checked his side and saw a slow moving sedan, definitely not going thirty-five miles per hour, piloted by an old man. Eric’s timing wasn’t great, but he figured that by the time Father Time passed, the cars on his right would be closer. It wasn’t a difficult turn by experienced standards, but Eric didn’t think he was ready for the road yet. Not quite “can’t”; more like “later, maybe.” The old bastard finally passed and Eric stepped on the gas. He pressed harder than he meant to and the car lurched onto the road. Their SUV was, for all intents and purposes, a truck with an extra row of seats where the flat bed would’ve been. It had a V8 engine and, when pushed, charged like a bull. Eric had cracked the whip and the truck curled out onto the other side of the road and coasted towards the stop light where, thankfully, Eric could make his turn into the neighborhood.

“Whoa, buddy,” Tim had said, slightly startled. “Ease it back a little. Just a little turn. You got plenty of room.”

“Sorry, Dad,” Eric had said. “I thought those cars were coming faster than they really were.”

“It’s no problem, kid. All in all, not too bad. Just remember, when you’re driving this baby, she’s got a lotta juice under the hood. It don’t take much to get ‘er goin’.”

A lotta juice under the hood… Eric remembered thinking that he’d slammed his foot down on the pedal, but he hadn’t. It was just a little pressure, but the ol’ girl was running on eight cylinders. A little pressure was all it took. He never forgot that there was a lot more juice under the hood there for him. When he had learned to drive better and was comfortable on streets and highways, Eric always remembered the extra juice under the hood and how much he got out of a little pressure.

Eric caved to his parents’ wishes and gone back to school. Maybe he could run fast and kill demons, but Tim and Nancy Steele were still his parents; even Superman obeyed Ma and Pa Kent. He was eighteen now, but he still lived at home and didn’t feel like an independent adult yet. Eric knew he wasn’t a child anymore, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready for the next step. He knew he was hurtling towards something much bigger than he had ever imagined. Those mountains in the distance were closer than ever.

There would come a day when Mom and Dad wouldn’t hold such sway over him, but for now, it was comforting. He wasn’t in this completely alone. They couldn’t fill all his loneliness, but they did what they could. Besides, as his mom had said, “Just another two months and you’re done. Make the most of the time you have left.”

When Eric and Drew entered the school on that first morning back, Eric felt big. He hadn’t grown hardly at all, but he felt light and strong. His backpack hung on his shoulders as lightly as the clothes he wore; it had no weight insomuch as he knew it was there like he knew his shirt was on. Drew walked ahead of him to his locker and squeezed past the daily traffic of the morning period. It was, of course, made worse by Simon Calloway blocking the hallway with his friends.

Not today.

Eric didn’t move an inch and walked right him, spinning him around and into his friends on his left. They cried out and Simon spun around to see who walked into him. He got hit so hard that he was looking up high to see who hit him; it took a moment to realize that the shove had come from the kid with his back turned walking away.

“Hey!” Simon called out. “Watch where you’re goin’!”

Eric turned around. He walked back over and looked up into Simon’s eyes. “If you stand in traffic, you’re gonna get hit.”

Who the fuck does this little twat think he is? Simon looked back at his friends and was mildly aware of the fact that some of the others in the hall had noticed the kerfuffle. “I don’t get out of the way. You do.” Simon poked Eric in the chest.

“We all pay the same tuition you do, buddy,” Eric said, ignoring the finger in his chest. His gaze never wavered. “You don’t own the place, your parents’ generous donations notwithstanding.”

Drew clapped his hands. “OH, Snap!”

Eric sighed.

Simon was stunned. He couldn’t remember the last time someone talked to him like that, let alone some little midget, middle-class douche. The gall of this little freak. He was nothing.

“Shut your face, bitch!” Simon’s hand lashed out. But no one ever saw if it was going to be a slap, punch, or push because Eric met it in the air with his own. He caught Simon’s arm by the wrist and stopped it dead.

Simon hesitated because his brain didn’t comprehend the fact that his arm had been caught and held in place by some little shit. Simon played football for chrissake! He tried to pull his hand free, but Eric’s fingers clamped—a little pressure—around his wrist. It was almost funny because Eric’s grasp barely went halfway around Simon’s wrist. Simon looked into Eric’s face and didn’t like what he saw there. Not one bit. The piece of shit wasn’t even trying! He had Simon’s arm locked in a vice grip and he looked like he was sleepy. This had gone on long enough. His parents could deal with Mr. Gibson; this little shit was going to lose his head. Simon came around with his other arm, ready to bat Eric’s head into the stratosphere, when Eric’s other arm snapped across Simon’s. It happened so fast, Eric’s movement was like a whip crack.

Or maybe that was the sound of Simon’s other arm fracturing.

“SHIT!” Simon screamed. He dropped to his knees. His bad arm dangled from his shoulder like he was doing “The Robot” and Simon wriggled like a child to free his other arm from Eric’s grasp. “Dammit, man, let go! I think my arm’s broken!”

Eric didn’t just let go, he pushed—a little pressure—into the length of Simon’s arm and sent him sprawling. Eric expected a satisfying sound but instead got a flat bump. Simon accidentally rolled onto his bad arm and cried out again, tears in his eyes. Simon wiggled onto his other side and hugged his arm to his body, cringing with pain. “You little faggot, God, I…”

Eric took a step toward him. Simon waved him back, “Okay! Okay, geez, I’m sorry. Just get away, dammit.”

The hallway was dead silent, save for some mumbling in the back and Simon’s groans. Eric realized that everyone was looking at him. Their expressions were a mix of awe and fear. Behind him, Drew couldn’t believe what he had just seen.

Drew was a numbers guy and if the statistics say that the New England Patriots are better than the Miami Dolphins, well, to Drew, the Patriots should win. Similarly, Eric was five feet five and Simon Calloway was over six feet and well-muscled, so it should’ve been Eric on the floor with a broken arm.

Fortunately, the growing uncomfortable silence was broken by Will, who was passing by at the end of the confrontation. He laughed like the bully, Nelson, from The Simpsons and patted Eric on the back. “Whoo, went down like a ton o’bricks, he did! Good one, Steeley. Keep hittin’ the gym. See ya at lunch.” Will walked past Simon and joined Frank on the other side of the crowd like nothing unusual was happening.

And like that, the discomfort lifted and others laughed too, even some of Simon’s friends. Eric gave Simon one more glance before leaving. The hallway was open now. He found Drew standing near the back of the crowd, which was now dispersing. A few hands patted Eric on the back, though he never turned to see whose they were.

“Eric, how’d you do that?” Drew asked. “I mean, he’s like three feet taller than you.”

Eric jerked a thumb over his back. “Now he’s shorter.”

Drew didn’t see the humor in it and eyed Eric as he pulled his locker door open. “Dude, that was some crazy fluke.”

“Why are you such a Doubting Thomas? Just because he’s bigger than me, he automatically wins?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Drew said, placing several books into his locker and fishing new ones out.

“If I went through my life that way, I’d be afraid of everybody.” Eric said.

Drew closed the door, slid the books into his bag, and slipped the bag around his shoulders. “Not afraid, but geez, dude, that was nuts. Gibson is gonna nail you for that. Somehow you broke the kid’s arm.”

“No problem. I’ll get away with it for the same reason you can’t believe I did it. That kid’s a fucking giant next to me. Self-defense, pure and simple. He started it.” Eric cringed at how childish the last bit sounded.

“You started it when you bitched at him about the hallway. Besides, doesn’t the defender usually have some marks on him?” Drew gestured at Eric.

Eric shook his head as if it would rattle the frustration loose. “You’re kidding, right? I started it? You hate that kid as much as I do. Every day he stands in everybody’s way, making an ass out of himself because he’s a big, tall, douche. All I said was he needs to move and he started marking his territory. Why is it whenever somebody points out rules or common decency, that person is the asshole? Shouldn’t the guy breaking the rules be the asshole?”

Drew headed for the stairs. “You somehow broke his arm because he was blocking part of the hallway.”

“No, he broke his arm when he took a swing at me. I just protected myself,” Eric said. “Maybe he should drink more milk. Clearly, he needs more calcium.”

At that Drew laughed. “Alright. Whatever. Traffic jam averted. See you at lunch?”

“Nah, we don’t have it together today,” Eric said. His frustration had subsided and so had Drew’s fear of the unexplained. Things were back to normal between them. They were guys and that was how fights between guys ended—ignored, forgotten, or both.

“Okay, I’ll see you this afternoon then. Later.” Drew disappeared behind the stairway door and left Eric standing at the end of the hallway alone. Eric looked back to where Simon had crumpled to the floor and saw Simon’s “friends” helping him to his feet.

They’re all assholes, he thought.

…a lot more juice under the hood…

Eric frowned. He couldn’t stare at Simon anymore. The kid was hurt because of him.

No, he’s in pain because he’s a fuck, a voice whispered. A mean-spirited entitled prick. It wasn’t his voice, but it sounded familiar and soothing.

…you haven’t learned the temperament of the pedal… just a little pressure… there’s a lot of juice under the hood…

Eric’s throat ran dry and he regretted what he had done. Nausea soured his stomach. I hurt someone. Sure, he was an asshole, but… I broke his arm. I could’ve just pushed him. I could’ve just let his arm go. I could’ve just kept my mouth shut. I could’ve just not bumped him.

No. Eric didn’t regret that. If no one else was going to stand up to Simon, then Eric had to. But would he have done it without metal pistons for bones? Eric had plotted the tactical options of a fight with the guy before he turned molten, but that was meant only as a last resort. Only a way to survive if attacked. Would Eric have done the same thing without Titan—without a lot of juice under the hood?

…a little pressure…

He didn’t know and that sent a chill through his bones.

* * *

Rose Foote had a bad habit of chewing pencil erasers when she was nervous. She didn’t know when it had started and most of the time didn’t know she was doing it until someone else pointed it out. Stress translated into nervousness and Rose was close to swallowing the end of the pencil in her hand. Rose was in the middle of the trigonometry homework that was part of her preparation for a big test coming up. The material on the homework, and ultimately the test, would make up a big part of the final exam. None of her other classes worried her like Trig did.

Also, Rose had just given her phone number to Drew via Constance the other day. She had kicked herself when she realized that she hadn’t given Eric her number or gotten his. Rose wanted Eric to have it.

He’s not interested. If a guy’s interested, he gets your number. If Rose was one thing, it was a worrier, so this perceived faux pas needled her. But she remembered how well she and Eric had gotten along. He didn’t seem to be feigning interest. His eyes drifting along her body hadn’t been an illusion. But he’s a guy, the negative witch muttered. He’d check out Rosie O’Donnell’s boobs out of curiosity. Rose frowned around the eraser she chewed at the edge of her mouth. Plus, this fucking trigonometry! Rose was mad at herself for taking it in the first place. Why did I?

You’ll be a more well-rounded and attractive college candidate… Ah. Her mother’s voice. There was nothing subconscious about that voice. It sounded a lot like the negative witch. It was always just below the surface of her mind, sneaking around. It hunted imperfection and weakness. When it found them, well… that’s when the voice, as real as if her mom had whispered it in her ear directly, began chatting away. Couldn’t you have done better on that test, hon? Isn’t that skirt a little tight? Are you sure you should eat that? Dontcha think your hair’s getting a bit long? Endless questions when what she was really doing is needling. Not asking: saying. Stating. Ordering. There was never any question. It was just phrased like one to make it seem like a conversation, give and take. So when Rose’s mother had said, “Wouldn’t it be better to have a complete education?” Rose selected Senior-level Trigonometry. She regretted it from day one. It wasn’t like she was stupid, but Rose hated math. She did okay in it and when she buckled down high “B’s” were attainable.

That wasn’t the point, though. It was her senior year and Rose wanted to do what everyone else was doing: coasting. The college that Rose applied for didn’t require a fourth year of math and she had already been accepted.

But wouldn’t your application be that much better with it?

Dammit, Mother.

Rose slammed her textbook shut and leaned back, but didn’t relax. The Fraggle Rock theme song sang out of her phone and startled her. It had been eerily quiet until the cheesy, cheery tune erupted from the tiny speaker. Putting a hand to her chest, steadying her heart, Rose looked at the display. She didn’t recognize the number. Rose considered ignoring it or letting it go to voicemail; solicitors had recently been calling her at weird times. The callers always spoke Spanish and sounded like they were on a sales pitch. She had taken Spanish class, but school and talking were different. She couldn’t say why, but a slight flutter in her stomach urged her to press the accept key. “Hello?”

“Hi, uh, is this Roselyn?” a male voice asked. He sounded nervous.

“Yeah, this is Rose. Who’s this?” She readjusted herself cross-legged in the chair.

“Oh, hi, Rose… this is Eric. Eric Steele. I met you the other night.”

Rose didn’t know it, but her face turned the color of her name. The thoughts of Trig and her nattering mother faded away. “Hey. What’s up?” It was the only thing she thought she could say that she wouldn’t stutter over.

“Ha, well…” Eric began. Rose could hear his smile. That handsome, mature smile. “Drew gave me your number and, well, I thought of you when I got out of school so I figured I’d call you.”

Thought of me?

“What did you think of me?”

Eric laughed. “I think know if it was anything specific.” He chuckled, nervous. “Just thought that it was nice talking to—with you that night.” He paused. It was the kind of pause that courting young men and women everywhere dread.

Rose rushed to fill it. “I liked talking with you, too. You’re not at all what I expected.”

“Oh? What did you imagine?”

Rose blushed again. “I don’t know. You’re friends with Drew and he’s… well, I shouldn’t say…”

“I know what you mean. Drew’s something else. Not everyone gets him. He’s a good friend.”

“You’re right. I don’t know him as well as you do. I’m probably misjudging.”

“No, you’ve hit him right on the nose,” Eric laughed. “But you get used to him is all I’m saying. There’s more there.” Rose wasn’t sure if that was sincere. It came off more obliging.

Rose giggled. “If you say so.”

“Rose, look… I was wondering if you’d like to go out.”

Rose knew she should have taken a breath. She should have at least sounded like she was thinking it over. Instead, she blurted, “Yes.”

“Good. Ha, I mean… well, no… good. I’m glad. I think you made the right decision.”

Rose felt laughter blossom out of her belly. “You make it sound like I’m voting.”

“I stand for honesty, integrity, and if you put me in office, I’ll buy you dinner,” Eric said in a deep announcer’s voice. Rose laughed again and Eric joined her. When the laughing subsided, Eric continued, “When is good for you?”

Rose thought about it and frowned, “Damn, I can’t do anything until next Friday. I’ve got a bunch of tests coming up. Is that okay?”

“That’s fine, but I’ll warn you, I think you’re gonna jinx it. Next Friday is April Fools’ Day,” Eric said.

Rose couldn’t immediately tell if Eric was joking or not. He had a tone she couldn’t read. “I’m no fool, so it’ll be okay.” What does that mean?

“Okay. I’ll think of some place nice,” Eric said. “I wasted all of my resolve just getting up the nerve to call you. I need to recharge before I can decide where to go. Cool?”

Rose smiled again. He keeps making me do that… a pretty good sign… “You’ve got plenty of time. But if you like, I could think of something.”

“No, no, let’s do this by the book. I promise I’ll come up with something good,” Eric said.

“Great. Can’t wait to hear where we’re going.”

“Neither can I. Good night, Rose.”

“Bye, Eric.” She thumbed the call dead and fell back into her chair; she hadn’t realized she’d stood up. Her other hand was wrapped in her hair, where it had been twirling curly-Qs. A grin slipped around her lips as she thought about Eric. She tried not to be submissive and too quiet as a general rule, but Eric made her feel predatory. There had been cute guys before—a kiss here and there, a couple gropes—but never any real heat. Rose had only met Eric once, but she felt a white hot heat deep in her stomach. It sizzled in familiar places.

There goes my focus on Trig for the night… Hell, more like the week…

* * *

Rose was the first girl in a long while that had shown interest in Eric, but he wanted to keep his expectations low. If he did that, there wouldn’t be any disappointment when things went south. “When?” Try “if,” smart guy. Don’t bury yourself before you’re dead. Sound advice. His mental reproach stiffened his back and pushed out his chest. Eric remembered that he was Titan. He could do this.

You can’t say “can’t.”

Of course, he was so absorbed in the warm sensation returning to his heart that he didn’t see the average-looking sedan parked in his neighbor’s driveway across the cul-de-sac through the window. The grim-faced men inside wore earpieces that connected to a hand-held sound amplifier that was aimed at Eric.

They had heard his phone call and relayed it back to their boss. The man sitting in the shadows beside the radio receiver in the old plane hangar listened to the call several times. Apparently, something was funny about it because his demented smile grew bigger with every repeat. What was so funny? No one would ever really know except for the Shadow Man.

* * *

Eric was practically floating the next day. Rose’s delightful giggle followed him everywhere. Her silken, husky voice on the line turned him on just thinking about it. Having a date set with Rose frightened Eric in a good way. It meant he was alive. The part of him that Melanie stomped into the mud wasn’t dead after all. Suddenly, Eric was ashamed for feeling so melancholy and morose, like no one would ever love him. The insight he had gained into high school was now turning on him, because it told him that it was all just a bunch of childish drama. He wanted to believe that, but what happened with Melanie was real and had scarred him. It was cruelty of the kind that only someone who loves you, or once did, can inflict.

Thinking of Rose blotted that darkness from his mind. Eric might have felt like a grown man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, but he was still an eighteen-year-old high school senior. Superhero or not, he couldn’t grow up all at once. Young love was in his heart and a hint of lust was in his mind, too, among other places. If he hadn’t cared about school the day before, he barely knew he was there after asking Rose out. A part of him wanted to call her the second he got out of school. He knew she liked him; of that much he was sure. To hear her voice again, his stomach fluttered with a light, anxious feeling. But the other, slightly more rational part of him suggested that he shouldn’t come on too strong. Rose might like him, but that doesn’t mean she wanted a stalker. Also, he couldn’t forget about Jim.

Amidst the butterflies and berries and sunlight, a dark shadow clung to the back corner of his mind. In it, his best buddy in the whole wide world was standing. He looked dead, but through the dark it was hard to tell. When Eric indulged the shadow in his mind, it grew and expanded, pushing Rose away and leaving only Eric and Jim. Eric wanted to find his friend, dead or alive. The part of him that could connect with The Source hummed with warning. Eric thought it just meant that Jim was in danger… but at his core, in the heart of his intuition, he thought the warning wasn’t for Jim but about him. All of this transpired within Eric on a vague, subconscious level of which he was barely aware. He only knew that whenever he thought of Jim his bones vibrated.

So it was in Eric’s mind, switching from sun-drenched fields where Rose lounged in tastefully tight beachwear to dark, shadowed crevices where his oldest and best friend loomed with dread. He was contending with the two sides when his English teacher, Reverend Andrews, called his name.

“Eric?!” He finally raised his voice, not in anger, but in exclamation.

Eric snapped out of it and looked at the Reverend. “Oh, sorry, I… ha, I was in my own world.”

Rev, as the students took to calling him, smiled. “One of those nights, huh? Keeping you up late?”

Eric grinned with a silly smile. “Yeah, I guess. Sorry, Rev.”

“No problem,” Rev said with a laugh. “I’m asleep half the time myself.” That got some chuckles from the others. “And it’ll be gravy if you can answer my question.”

Eric sighed. “Sorry, Rev, could you repeat it?” Eric felt silly for being so out of it. If it had been any other class he might not have cared, but Rev was an easy spirit. He always dressed in full priest garments, round, metal-rimmed glasses, and he wore a finely edged goatee “Just the Devil in me,” he’d say. One wall of his classroom looked like something out of a 1960s college dorm room than a high school class. Rev had two shelves full of old LPs: Skynard, Hendrix, Joplin, The Doors, and on the other, thick, tall beer mugs and beer steins. “I liberated them from pubs throughout Europe,” he had explained. Also, there was an old, worn couch beside the LP shelf. There was usually a race between periods to see who would get to sit on it.

Rev was always serious about his subject, but not to the extent that other teachers were. He loved it and shared that exuberance with his students. Other teachers simply impressed upon their students how important their subject was and left it at that. It helped that Eric was a good student, which helped him out of an ass chewing, but it’s not like Rev did that anyway.

Rev pushed his glasses higher on his nose and peered down at him. “Mr. Steele, you just about forgot your pants this morning, didn’t you?”

There was more chuckling as Eric thought he heard someone say, “Thank God he didn’t…”

“Just about, sir.”

“Okay. Now…” Rev spoke with his hands like he was about to describe an exciting football play. “We’re talking Frankenstein here. Eric, you still with me? Okay. Victor’s just lost his wife to his creation. The story flips on us now. Can you describe for us what that’s about.”

Eric hadn’t been doing a lot of reading these days. Fortunately, he had read Frankenstein many times and finished it long before they’d gotten to it in class. Usually, the school’s required reading was so dry and boring that Eric couldn’t read more than ten pages at a time like The Great Gatsby. Everyone else, it seemed, had loved that book. Eric wanted to shred it. He just didn’t get it.

On the other hand, Of Mice and Men was one of his favorites. But that was junior year American literature. Senior year was British literature. It was a bit dry. Lord of the Flies wasn’t as good as he expected it to be. But Frankenstein was pretty good. It was the subject of his annotated bibliography, the big senior year assignment that was the bane of every senior’s spring.

Eric called up his memory of the book and all the bullshit he could muster. “Well, before the creature kills Frankenstein’s wife, he follows the doctor around and stalks him, murdering people close to him. He’s the bad guy. By the time the monster kills the wife, the doctor and the monster reverse roles. Because we’ve been with the monster as it… he… takes stock of what he is and the horror of just being. We come to dislike the doctor because he was playing God. At the end, the doctor is the one in pursuit, crazy with hatred. He becomes the villain that the monster was and we pity the monster now.”

As Eric spoke, Rev’s eyes were closed and he was nodding as though entranced. Without opening his eyes, he said, “And take note how interesting that is… the monster or ‘creature’… Eric used both… has those names which represent to us a villain or evil. But as Eric said, at the end of the book, we understand and pity the monster if only a little. The good doctor on the other hand, he’s always been a little…” Rev twirled his finger beside his head. “…you know? But he’s almost the full-fledged villain. And as the reader, we start to think he’s been the villain all along. Bringing us, maybe… but not necessarily… to the conclusion that the ‘monster’ was a victim.”

That didn’t settle well with Eric. But he didn’t have a lot of time to turn it over because there was a knock at the classroom door. Now usually Rev was a “cool cat,” as he put it, but he hated interruptions, especially from the administration. When Rev opened the door, he saw a student standing there with a blue slip of paper in her hand. Rev’s eyes narrowed. Rev took the slip of paper and eyed the messenger until she scampered away. He re-read the slip twice. “Eric?” There was a question in his voice. Surprise, maybe. It’s not like Eric was a goody two-shoes, but the people who were called out of class were a special bunch like Antonio and…

Simon Calloway…

Eric had almost forgotten about the fight yesterday. He tried not to think about people like Simon too much. But now he was being called to the office. It might be about something else, unless it says to go to Mr. Gibson. He stood up. “Who’s it to?”

Rev handed him the slip. “Mr. Gibson.”

Well, there goes that… The class was silent, save for a few whispers that were most likely a few people updating their friends on the previous day’s confrontation. Eric wound his way down the aisle and toward the door. He wondered why Simon would have told on him. Sure he’d gotten his arm broken, but if Eric were Simon, he wouldn’t want it known that a kid half his size had hurt him. Of course, news traveled fast. Someone probably mentioned it to a friend too loudly in class and a teacher overheard or maybe Simon’s parents wondered how he fractured his arm after football season and dragged it out of him. Eric circled around to the stairs and thought it was only appropriate that the halls were empty.

Eric took the long walk down the stairs by himself.