TITAN
Back to the World

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

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

Eric pulledinto 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 hefelt like something should have changed. Eric’s world had just been turnedupside down and he expected everyone else to know. They didn’t. His classmatesstill hung out with their friends, played video games, played sports, watchedTV, and did everything else they had done before, without the slightest inklingthat the world was different. Except the world wasn’t different. The world hadnever changed. It had always been this way. Only now, Eric knew it. And he wasdifferent.

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

When Ericwent back to school after Sarah died, he realized that life had gone on withouthim. 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 andspouses secure in the knowledge that someone they loved hadn’t died. Eric’sgrief was little more than a footnote in their lives. Meanwhile, Eric had feltlike a fault line had opened up in his living room beneath the couch. Nothingwas the same.

The darknessthat 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 sametime, he wished desperately to hug and kiss her and to hold her against himlike he used to. It was a schizophrenic, childish, immature love, but it hadtaken root in him like a weed. It was not easily forgotten. He and Melanieshared 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 onhim. 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 aboutthis was in the hands of the enemy. Or dead.

Drew was agood friend, but he was not the kind of friend you confided in for somethinglike this. Eric knew Drew wouldn’t believe it. He’d demand proof. It feltimportant that Titan be accepted through faith. Proving it with a show of armordid not feel right.

Drew was nota man of faith. He could not believe in the fantastic. He was one of those Catholicswho 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 Erichadn’t forgotten that Drew was the only friend who stuck with him when everyoneelse had jumped ship, but that didn’t change Drew’s nature. The most honestreason why Eric did not want to tell Drew was that he didn’t trust him with thesecret. Drew was a good buddy, a fun guy to pal around with, and a good earwhen times were tough, but he was not the “trust him with the fate of theworld” type of guy. Many of Eric’s confidences had escaped to others throughDrew with the words, “Now don’t tell anyone you heard this, but…” And thosesecrets had been bullshit compared to this. Eric was seeing devils and wearingmetal skin. He didn’t want anyone he didn’t trust to know. Hell, he wished hedidn’t know it.

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

None of it mattered.

Eric wasashamed that he had ever been like that. Once upon a time, the annotatedbibliography seemed like a mountain looming over him. It was nothing, really. Afew sheets of paper stapled together and grouped in a folder. It occurred toEric that he had earned an insight into high school—and life, too—that heshouldn’t have yet. High school and all the drama therein seems like the mostimportant thing in the world when you’re there. But once you’ve seen the realworld, 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-seehis sister’s hellish face and un-hear the awful groan that had risen up fromher throat, piped in straight from Hell. A sticky, black ichor had stained hisinsides and nothing could remove it. The mundane high school bullshit was soinsignificant 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 hockeyteammates who had a perfect hockey name. Sam was a stout, bullish hunk of a guywith a big Santa laugh. “You been workin’ out, kid? Looks like you could pickup Karen Stein! Ha!”

Eric laughedalong with him. Karen was an obese girl in their class. The kind of personwhose rolls had rolls. There was a time when Eric was younger when he mighthave laughed harder or made his own joke as a follow-up, but now he felt sorryfor Karen. He always wondered how a person could let themselves get so badwithout trying to stop it. It was hard for him to imagine going down a path heknew was wrong without doing something different. Maybe, he supposed, you don’tactually see it until it’s too late and by then it’s too hard to change. It’seasier to give in.

Maybe Ericwas made of sterner stuff or maybe he was just raised by stubborn, can-doparents. Tim Steele, former hero and father of two, could be a real stubbornasshole. Eric wanted to knock his block off sometimes. But that pigheadedstubbornness was actually an asset in many ways. Tim never let Eric say theword “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 shortguys 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 amirror and thinking that she can’t stop, his pity diminished. Havingrecently learned about Titan and Evil, Eric thought, more than ever, that choicewas very important. If she wanted to, Karen could choose to eat a salad insteadof the big Tupperware container of pasta she brought to lunch every day. Itwould be hard, but not impossible. Hard is better than a heart attack at agetwenty three, which was where she was heading.

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

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

Eric hadn’treally noticed how cozy his shirt had become. The soft cotton, wrapped aroundhis shoulders and curved over his chest, was stretched. The outline of hispecks was clear. He was suddenly self-conscious and embarrassed. Is this whywomen are self-conscious about their breasts?

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

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

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

Drew’s carswung in front of Eric with the passenger window rolled down. “DUDE! Have youseen the news?”

“Aboutwhat?”

“Jim’s houseburned down Friday night. His parents were inside. The police think it was onpurpose!”

Eric put ona good game face. “What?”

“Hold on.” Drewwhirled his car around and slid it into his parking spot. He popped out of thedriver’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 youwere hanging out for your birthday.”

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

“Man, whatis goin’ on, huh?” Drew asked to no one in particular. “Jim’s school in Wyomingsaid they didn’t know where he was. How was he here if they didn’t know he wasgone?”

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

“Have youtried 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.”

Erichesitated. He was afraid to call Jim’s cell phone. A few possibilities occurredto him: whoever had Jim could answer. Then what? Jim’s cell phone could stillbe 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 themost: what if Jim answered?

They’rekilling me, Eric! Help me!

He couldn’thelp. 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 Ericwas no warrior yet. He could barely wear the suit without summoning Hell intohis heart.

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

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

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

“It’sringing,” Drew said and Eric tensed. Eric feared that a mysterious voice wouldanswer and say: Hello. We’ve got your friend, Mr. McNulty, strung up overhere. Please put your otherfriend—thesuperhero—on the phone.

That didn’thappen. Nothing happened. Jim’s message clicked on: “Hi, uh, yeah… this isJim McNulty’s phone. Leave a, uh, message with your name and number. Uh,thanks.” Drew hung up.

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

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

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

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

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

“What’sthis?” Eric looked down at what he now realized was a dirty napkin with a phonenumber written on it.

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

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

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

“Oh.” Ericsaid.

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

* * *

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

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

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

Eric checkedhis side and saw a slow moving sedan, definitely not going thirty-five milesper hour, piloted by an old man. Eric’s timing wasn’t great, but he figuredthat by the time Father Time passed, the cars on his right would be closer. Itwasn’t a difficult turn by experienced standards, but Eric didn’t think he wasready for the road yet. Not quite “can’t”; more like “later, maybe.” The oldbastard finally passed and Eric stepped on the gas. He pressed harder than hemeant to and the car lurched onto the road. Their SUV was, for all intents andpurposes, 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 thewhip and the truck curled out onto the other side of the road and coastedtowards the stop light where, thankfully, Eric could make his turn into theneighborhood.

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

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

“It’s noproblem, kid. All in all, not too bad. Just remember, when you’re driving thisbaby, she’s got a lotta juice under the hood. It don’t take much to get ‘ergoin’.”

A lottajuice under the hood… Ericremembered thinking that he’d slammed his foot down on the pedal, but hehadn’t. It was just a little pressure, but the ol’ girl was running on eightcylinders. A little pressure was all it took. He never forgot that there was a lotmore juice under the hood there for him. When he had learned to drive betterand was comfortable on streets and highways, Eric always remembered the extrajuice under the hood and how much he got out of a little pressure.

Eric cavedto his parents’ wishes and gone back to school. Maybe he could run fast andkill demons, but Tim and Nancy Steele were still his parents; even Supermanobeyed Ma and Pa Kent. He was eighteen now, but he still lived at home anddidn’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 hurtlingtowards something much bigger than he had ever imagined. Those mountains in thedistance were closer than ever.

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

When Ericand Drew entered the school on that first morning back, Eric felt big. Hehadn’t grown hardly at all, but he felt light and strong. His backpack hung onhis shoulders as lightly as the clothes he wore; it had no weight insomuch ashe knew it was there like he knew his shirt was on. Drew walked ahead of him tohis 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’tmove an inch and walked right him, spinning him around and into his friends onhis left. They cried out and Simon spun around to see who walked into him. Hegot hit so hard that he was looking up high to see who hit him; it took amoment to realize that the shove had come from the kid with his back turnedwalking away.

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

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

Who thefuck does this little twat think he is? Simon looked back at his friends and was mildly aware of the factthat some of the others in the hall had noticed the kerfuffle. “I don’tget out of the way. You do.” Simon poked Eric in the chest.

“We all pay thesame tuition you do, buddy,” Eric said, ignoring the finger in his chest. Hisgaze never wavered. “You don’t own the place, your parents’ generous donationsnotwithstanding.”

Drew clappedhis hands. “OH, Snap!”

Eric sighed.

Simon wasstunned. 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 littlefreak. He was nothing.

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

Simonhesitated because his brain didn’t comprehend the fact that his arm had beencaught and held in place by some little shit. Simon played football forchrissake! He tried to pull his hand free, but Eric’s fingers clamped—alittle pressure—around his wrist. It was almost funny because Eric’s graspbarely went halfway around Simon’s wrist. Simon looked into Eric’s face anddidn’t like what he saw there. Not one bit. The piece of shit wasn’t eventrying! He had Simon’s arm locked in a vice grip and he looked like he wassleepy. 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 otherarm, ready to bat Eric’s head into the stratosphere, when Eric’s other armsnapped across Simon’s. It happened so fast, Eric’s movement was like a whipcrack.

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

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

Eric didn’tjust let go, he pushed—a little pressure—into the length of Simon’s armand sent him sprawling. Eric expected a satisfying sound but instead got a flatbump. 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 hisbody, cringing with pain. “You little faggot, God, I…”

Eric took astep toward him. Simon waved him back, “Okay! Okay, geez, I’m sorry. Just getaway, dammit.”

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

Drew was anumbers guy and if the statistics say that the New England Patriots are betterthan 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 theend of the confrontation. He laughed like the bully, Nelson, from TheSimpsons 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 walkedpast Simon and joined Frank on the other side of the crowd like nothing unusualwas happening.

And likethat, the discomfort lifted and others laughed too, even some of Simon’sfriends. Eric gave Simon one more glance before leaving. The hallway was opennow. He found Drew standing near the back of the crowd, which was nowdispersing. A few hands patted Eric on the back, though he never turned to seewhose they were.

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

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

Drew didn’tsee the humor in it and eyed Eric as he pulled his locker door open. “Dude,that was some crazy fluke.”

“Why are yousuch a Doubting Thomas? Just because he’s bigger than me, he automaticallywins?”

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

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

Drew closedthe door, slid the books into his bag, and slipped the bag around hisshoulders. “Not afraid, but geez, dude, that was nuts. Gibson is gonna nail youfor 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. Thatkid’s a fucking giant next to me. Self-defense, pure and simple. He startedit.” Eric cringed at how childish the last bit sounded.

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

Eric shookhis head as if it would rattle the frustration loose. “You’re kidding, right? Istarted it? You hate that kid as much as I do. Every day he stands ineverybody’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 itwhenever somebody points out rules or common decency, that person is theasshole? Shouldn’t the guy breaking the rules be the asshole?”

Drew headedfor the stairs. “You somehow broke his arm because he was blocking part of thehallway.”

“No, hebroke 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 Drewlaughed. “Alright. Whatever. Traffic jam averted. See you at lunch?”

“Nah, wedon’t have it together today,” Eric said. His frustration had subsided and sohad 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’llsee you this afternoon then. Later.” Drew disappeared behind the stairway doorand left Eric standing at the end of the hallway alone. Eric looked back towhere Simon had crumpled to the floor and saw Simon’s “friends” helping him tohis feet.

They’reall assholes, he thought.

…a lotmore juice under the hood…

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

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

…youhaven’t learned the temperament of the pedal… just a little pressure… there’s alot of juice under the hood…

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

No. Ericdidn’t regret that. If no one else was going to stand up to Simon, then Erichad to. But would he have done it without metal pistons for bones? Eric hadplotted 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 juiceunder the hood?

…a littlepressure…

He didn’tknow and that sent a chill through his bones.

* * *

Rose Footehad a bad habit of chewing pencil erasers when she was nervous. She didn’t knowwhen it had started and most of the time didn’t know she was doing it untilsomeone else pointed it out. Stress translated into nervousness and Rose wasclose to swallowing the end of the pencil in her hand. Rose was in the middleof the trigonometry homework that was part of her preparation for a big testcoming up. The material on the homework, and ultimately the test, would make upa big part of the final exam. None of her other classes worried her like Trigdid.

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

He’s notinterested. If a guy’sinterested, he gets your number. If Rose was one thing, it was aworrier, so this perceived faux pas needled her. But she remembered how wellshe and Eric had gotten along. He didn’t seem to be feigning interest. His eyesdrifting along her body hadn’t been an illusion. But he’s a guy, thenegative witch muttered. He’d check out Rosie O’Donnell’s boobs out ofcuriosity. Rose frowned around the eraser she chewed at the edge of hermouth. Plus, this fucking trigonometry! Rose was mad at herself fortaking it in the first place. Why did I?

You’ll bea more well-rounded and attractive college candidate… Ah. Her mother’s voice. There was nothingsubconscious about that voice. It sounded a lot like the negative witch.It was always just below the surface of her mind, sneaking around. It huntedimperfection and weakness. When it found them, well… that’s when the voice, asreal as if her mom had whispered it in her ear directly, began chatting away. Couldn’tyou have done better on that test, hon? Isn’t that skirt a little tight? Areyou 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 justphrased like one to make it seem like a conversation, give and take. So whenRose’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. Itwasn’t like she was stupid, but Rose hated math. She did okay in it and whenshe buckled down high “B’s” were attainable.

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

Butwouldn’t your application be that much better with it?

Dammit,Mother.

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

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

“Yeah, thisis 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’tknow it, but her face turned the color of her name. The thoughts of Trig andher nattering mother faded away. “Hey. What’s up?” It was the only thing shethought she could say that she wouldn’t stutter over.

“Ha,well…” Eric began. Rose couldhear 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.”

Thoughtof me?

“What didyou think of me?”

Ericlaughed. “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 womeneverywhere dread.

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

“Oh? Whatdid you imagine?”

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

“I knowwhat you mean. Drew’s something else. Not everyone gets him. He’s a goodfriend.”

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

“No,you’ve hit him right on the nose,” Ericlaughed. “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.

Rosegiggled. “If you say so.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’sfine, but I’ll warn you, I think you’re gonna jinx it. Next Friday is AprilFools’ Day,” Eric said.

Rosecouldn’t immediately tell if Eric was joking or not. He had a tone she couldn’tread. “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 callyou. I need to recharge before I can decide where to go. Cool?”

Rose smiledagain. He keeps making me do that… a pretty good sign… “You’ve gotplenty 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.”

“Neithercan I. Good night, Rose.”

“Bye, Eric.”She thumbed the call dead and fell back into her chair; she hadn’t realizedshe’d stood up. Her other hand was wrapped in her hair, where it had beentwirling 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 madeher feel predatory. There had been cute guys before—a kiss here and there, acouple gropes—but never any real heat. Rose had only met Eric once, but shefelt a white hot heat deep in her stomach. It sizzled in familiar places.

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

* * *

Rose was thefirst girl in a long while that had shown interest in Eric, but he wanted tokeep his expectations low. If he did that, there wouldn’t be any disappointmentwhen things went south. “When?” Try “if,” smart guy. Don’t buryyourself before you’re dead. Sound advice. His mental reproach stiffenedhis back and pushed out his chest. Eric remembered that he was Titan. He coulddo this.

You can’tsay “can’t.”

Of course,he was so absorbed in the warm sensation returning to his heart that he didn’tsee the average-looking sedan parked in his neighbor’s driveway across thecul-de-sac through the window. The grim-faced men inside wore earpieces thatconnected to a hand-held sound amplifier that was aimed at Eric.

They hadheard his phone call and relayed it back to their boss. The man sitting in theshadows beside the radio receiver in the old plane hangar listened to the callseveral times. Apparently, something was funny about it because his dementedsmile grew bigger with every repeat. What was so funny? No one would everreally know except for the Shadow Man.

* * *

Eric waspractically floating the next day. Rose’s delightful giggle followed himeverywhere. Her silken, husky voice on the line turned him on just thinkingabout it. Having a date set with Rose frightened Eric in a good way. It meanthe was alive. The part of him that Melanie stomped into the mud wasn’t deadafter 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 wasnow turning on him, because it told him that it was all just a bunch ofchildish drama. He wanted to believe that, but what happened with Melanie wasreal and had scarred him. It was cruelty of the kind that only someone wholoves you, or once did, can inflict.

Thinking ofRose blotted that darkness from his mind. Eric might have felt like a grown manwith the weight of the world on his shoulders, but he was still aneighteen-year-old high school senior. Superhero or not, he couldn’t grow up allat 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 barelyknew he was there after asking Rose out. A part of him wanted to call her thesecond 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’tcome on too strong. Rose might like him, but that doesn’t mean she wanted astalker. Also, he couldn’t forget about Jim.

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

So it was inEric’s mind, switching from sun-drenched fields where Rose lounged intastefully tight beachwear to dark, shadowed crevices where his oldest and bestfriend loomed with dread. He was contending with the two sides when his Englishteacher, Reverend Andrews, called his name.

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

Eric snappedout of it and looked at the Reverend. “Oh, sorry, I… ha, I was in my ownworld.”

Rev, as thestudents took to calling him, smiled. “One of those nights, huh? Keeping you uplate?”

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

“Noproblem,” Rev said with a laugh. “I’m asleep half the time myself.” That gotsome chuckles from the others. “And it’ll be gravy if you can answer myquestion.”

Eric sighed.“Sorry, Rev, could you repeat it?” Eric felt silly for being so out of it. Ifit had been any other class he might not have cared, but Rev was an easyspirit. 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 ofhis classroom looked like something out of a 1960s college dorm room than ahigh 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. “Iliberated them from pubs throughout Europe,” he had explained. Also, there wasan old, worn couch beside the LP shelf. There was usually a race betweenperiods to see who would get to sit on it.

Rev wasalways serious about his subject, but not to the extent that other teacherswere. He loved it and shared that exuberance with his students. Other teacherssimply impressed upon their students how important their subject was and leftit at that. It helped that Eric was a good student, which helped him out of anass chewing, but it’s not like Rev did that anyway.

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

There wasmore 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 footballplay. “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 youdescribe for us what that’s about.”

Eric hadn’tbeen doing a lot of reading these days. Fortunately, he had read Frankensteinmany 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 readmore than ten pages at a time like The Great Gatsby. Everyone else, itseemed, had loved that book. Eric wanted to shred it. He just didn’t get it.

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

Eric calledup his memory of the book and all the bullshit he could muster. “Well, beforethe creature kills Frankenstein’s wife, he follows the doctor around and stalkshim, murdering people close to him. He’s the bad guy. By the time the monsterkills the wife, the doctor and the monster reverse roles. Because we’ve beenwith the monster as it… he… takes stock of what he is and the horror of justbeing. 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 villainthat the monster was and we pity the monster now.”

As Ericspoke, Rev’s eyes were closed and he was nodding as though entranced. Withoutopening his eyes, he said, “And take note how interesting that is… the monsteror ‘creature’… Eric used both… has those names which represent to us a villainor evil. But as Eric said, at the end of the book, we understand and pity themonster if only a little. The good doctor on the other hand, he’s always been alittle…” Rev twirled his finger beside his head. “…you know? But he’s almostthe full-fledged villain. And as the reader, we start to think he’s been thevillain all along. Bringing us, maybe… but not necessarily… to the conclusionthat the ‘monster’ was a victim.”

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

SimonCalloway…

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

Rev handedhim the slip. “Mr. Gibson.”

Well,there goes that… The class wassilent, save for a few whispers that were most likely a few people updatingtheir friends on the previous day’s confrontation. Eric wound his way down theaisle and toward the door. He wondered why Simon would have told on him. Surehe’d gotten his arm broken, but if Eric were Simon, he wouldn’t want it knownthat a kid half his size had hurt him. Of course, news traveled fast. Someoneprobably mentioned it to a friend too loudly in class and a teacher overheardor maybe Simon’s parents wondered how he fractured his arm after footballseason and dragged it out of him. Eric circled around to the stairs and thoughtit was only appropriate that the halls were empty.

Eric tookthe long walk down the stairs by himself.