The Dummies Guide for Superheroes: Introduction
Chapter 7

Morning over Santa Clara was clear and beautiful, without a hintof an afternoon storm. Joachim watched the city pass outside the bus windows.He’d made it to his apartment in time for a shower and change of clothes. Whenhe went looking for his car, he couldn’t replace it. He tried to ask the apartmentmanager about it, but she opened the door, went pale, screamed, and slammed thedoor in his face. He realized he was going to have to take the bus to get towork, something he loathed. It made him even more determined to press everycharge he could dig up against Ray and the monks.

The bus stopped two blocks from the precinct and Joachim gotoff. He headed up the sidewalk to the front doors. Before he reached the doors,he met several officers and greeted them with a smile and hello. The ones thatknew him stopped and gawked, but Joachim was too angry to notice.

He walked inside and stopped at the front desk, waiting for theofficer-acting-as-receptionist to look up.

“Can I help you?” the officer asked without looking up.

“I need buzzed in. My wallet and badge were stolen.”

The officer looked up and his eyes bugged. He leapt to his feet,knocked over his chair, drew his gun, and aimed it at Joachim. It signaled moreofficers to do the same.

Wind began blowing around the station, and above it cloudsstarted to form – but the weather remained localized around the police station.The strange weather phenomena intrigued people’s curiosity and drew them out ofoffices and stores to watch.

“Jeff, I’m tired, my head hurts, and it is going to take all dayto get arrest warrants for a bunch of monks. Just let me in.”

“Who are you?” Jeff demanded.

“You know who I am. Let me in now or I will have your badge,rookie.”

“WHO ARE YOU!?” Jeff demanded.

“Joachim Yardam. Who the hell do you think I am?”

Jeff vehemently shook his head. “Uh-uh. Detective Joachim Yardamis dead. Who are you?”

“I am Detective Joachim Yardam,” Joachim snarled through grittedteeth.

“No you’re not. We all went to his funeral,” someone behindJoachim said.

Outside the wind had increased to a dangerous gale, and while itcaused some breezy blowback in the streets and buildings around it, the focuswas the precinct. The clouds overhead were dark and heavy with rain. Outsidethere was a low rumble of thunder. Traffic came to a standstill as peoplestopped and stepped out of their cars to watch the peculiar, choleric stormfoment.

Inside, Joachim turned and was grateful to see his partner, GaryTipton. Until he noticed that Gary’s hand rested on his sidearm.

“Gary, I’m not dead. If I were dead, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Joachim is dead! Who the hell are you?”

“I want to get back to work, Gary. I—”

“Detective Joachim Yardam is dead! Who areyou?”

Joachim looked at each face around him. They all believed he wasdead but he found that impossible. All he remembered was being shot, and howmuch it hurt. He didn’t remember dying.

“I am Joachim Yardam,” he told them, turning back to Gary. “Youand I go off to Reno every J month of the year. I puked all over the limo atyour bachelor party.”

“You are not Joachim Yardam. He is dead.”

“I am!”

“Prove it.”

The storm found an open window and as it drifted into thebuilding, it expanded into every room it found. Police, victims, and criminalsran into offices and slammed doors behind them, or dove to hide under desks andcounters. Inside the building the thunder was a deafening, crackling roar.Lightening sparked across the clouds, occasionally zapping items, and killinganyone unlucky enough to be hiding in the wrong place, or caught in the open.The strong wind blew papers easily, toppled heavier items, and rattled anythingbolted down.

The officers in the lobby didn’t notice the encroaching storm.They were focused on an imposter that looked and sounded like the deceasedDetective Joachim Yardam.

“Like what? You want a DNA sample? I can give you that.”

Joachim reached up to pull hair from his scalp. A nervousofficer across the room pulled his weapon’s trigger.

“HOLD YOUR FIRE!” Gary screamed.

Joachim felt the bullet go between his shoulders. He stumbledforward before he toppled over. The pain was incredible. It felt like someonewas holding his left lung in a fist, slowly suffocating him.

The storm intensified to mini-hurricane strength, although therewas nothing mini about the devastation it was causing to the property andpeople inside.

Blood began to fill Joachim’s throat. It trickled over histongue, leaving a sweet-metallic taste. He saw his blood ooze around him. Itcoagulating quickly at the edges and ran over the concentric lines as itspread.

Joachim stared at the lines as his heart drew out its finalbeats. It was hypnotizing. It allowed his mind to relax and he could clearlyrecall his last life, and first death.

Joachim stopped his car outside a dark, condemned, apartmentbuilding.

“Are you sure this is the place?” Gary asked him. “It doesn’tlook like there’s anyone here. He’s probably lying.”

“Donald wouldn’t lie to me.”

Joachim grabbed his flashlight off the seat and got out. Hewaited until Gary walked around to join him before locking the car. The twostarted across the empty street.

“Where is everyone? This place is usually crawling with druggiesand homeless,” Joachim said.

“We had a drug sweep through here today,” Gary answered. “Didn’tyou get that memo? Joey, Donald might not be here because of that sweep. Let’sgo and catch up with him tomorrow.”

Joachim shook his head. He reached down and unfastened thesafety strap on his gun.

“You won’t need that,” Gary told him.

“No chances,” Joachim said. “This isn’t the kind of place Donaldwould pick unless something was really wrong.”

“Joey, I really think this is a goose chase. I mean, I knowQ.E.D. isn’t squeaky clean, but do you really believe they’re bribing policeofficers? And they’re using corpses for computer parts? Maybe in some horrormovie that works, but this is real life, and besides, how does that have anybearing on dirty cops? Donald’s been hitting the meth again, Joey. You can’ttrust anything he tells you.”

“You’d be surprised how reliable he is.”

At the bottom of the apartment stairs, Gary grabbed his arm andstopped him. “Donald would lie to you. He’s done it before. Let’s just go getsupper and focus on that stack of cases sitting on our desks. Besides, even ifyou could replace a lawyer dumb enough to take on Q.E.D., their mob squad oflawyers would bury you in miles of red tape before you lost everything you haveto that company.”

Joachim pulled away, starting up the stairs. “You have beenagainst this meeting since I told you. Why?”

“It’s a complete waste of time. None of it makes any sense.”

“Does to me.”

Gary followed Joachim. They squeezed through the door into adark hallway. Joachim turned on his flashlight, shining it on the first door.Gold aluminum numbers read 101.

“Gotta replace 105,” Joachim told Gary.

He started walking, his feet crunching and grinding against thetrash and used hypodermic needles on the floor. It made walking a littledifficult, but he stayed focused on the door numbers.

His flashlight found number 105. He drew his gun, passed hisflashlight over the top to rest on the barrel, and pushed the door open.

Abandon broken furniture and trash filled the room. Then thebeam of the flashlight found a man in his late twenties on the floor in his ownblood. Donald the Informant had been murdered.

“Shit,” Joachim said. “Gary, call an ambulance and backup.”

Gary said nothing.

Joachim turned to call for him and found four revolvers aimed athim. He couldn’t see that they had the serial numbers filed off them. Hecouldn’t see that the hands holding them wore gloves. All he could focus on wasthe faces of three uniformed police officers and one Gary Tipton, his trustedpartner of twelve years.

“You should have taken the hint, Joey,” Gary told him, “becauseI won’t let you ruin my retirement plan.”

The four emptied their guns into Joachim.

Joachim looked up. Gary was crouched beside him.

“You… Killed… Me,” he whispered.

Gary started to shake his head. Joachim snapped his hand aroundGary’s throat and with his superhuman strength, drug him close enough to hearhim. Gary gagged and struggled to get free.

“You… Are a... Murderer.”

Gary struggled to get free. Joachim smiled, showing teethcovered in blood. He looked insane, psychotic – dying twice can do that to aperson.

“Gary,” Joachim crooned, “I did die. I came back. Now…” Joachimgagged on his blood until he cleared his throat long enough to tell hispartner, a man he never dreamed would turn bad, “Gary… Look… What I… Can do.”

Joachim ordered Mother Nature to send a bolt of lightningthrough Detective Gary Tipton’s heart. And then he let the dead detective go.

As his last breath exhaled, it seemed to blow the freakstorm away with it. The wind, thunder and lightning stopped abruptly and thestorm escaped back outside. Over the precinct, the clouds dissipated, returningto a clear and beautiful day, without a hint of an afternoon storm.

Luke kept his head down, hiding most of his face in the hood ofhis jacket. He entered a nursing home through a rear entrance to avoidencountering the staff. One day they might discovered that the back door didn’tlock, but he doubted that would happen until a resident found it and someonewho cared enough missed them.

He made his way through the halls. The geriatric patients andtheir underpaid, bitter caretakers paid little attention to him. He hated thisplace but it was all he could afford. Most of the people here had beenabandoned and already looked dead. Life left them when the people they caredabout had stopped caring about them.

Even though he despised his father, Luke couldn’t abandon theold man. Like other things in his life, he held onto the relationship with hisfather despite there was no logic. Perhaps it was because this man was the lastrelative Luke had, his last attachment to a life that had been good for awhile, until his mother vanished, until his father decided Luke’s brother wasthe good son and only he and his comic books deserved his attention. He’dforgotten about Luke long before his memories faded.

Luke pushed his hood back as he entered his Tackett Peterfeso’sroom. The old man sat by the window in his rocking chair. He spent his wakinghours staring out the window, waiting for something or someone.

Luke crossed the room and crouched beside his father.

“Dad?” he said.

The man’s eyes turned to him, but there was no light ofrecognition.

Luke didn’t care. He had to tell him what had happened.

“Did the nurses tell you I’m… That your son, Luke, is dead?”

“Luke isn’t dead. He’s just late, as usual!”

Losing his memories hadn’t made his father any less obnoxious

“That’s right. You tell ‘em, Dad.” Luke wasn’t really in themood to make it sound like a joke. Dying and coming back to life seemed to be areal humor killer.

“Luke’s a scientist, smart as a whip.”

Luke looked up at him, staring at the Tackett’s craggy face.Where was this coming from?

“Luke isn’t smart. You know that.”

“The hell he isn’t!” his father spat at him. He glared at Luke.He gripped the arms of his chair, looking like he was about to lift out of itand beat Luke into a pulp. “My boy is as smart as they come. Smarter than most.I’ll be the crap out of you if you say otherwise.”

What was his father even talking about? Luke sighed. He had comehere with a purpose, and this wasn’t it. “Okay. He’s smart, dad.”

His father relaxed, looking back out the window.

“I have to tell you a secret, Dad.” Luke reached out, laying hishand on his father’s arm. He looked down as he continued. “I did die. I wasshot and fell off a cliff. They tried to erase me but this computer brought meback to life. It’s crazy. Hey, do you remember your comic books, Dad? Thatseries Dupuis bought when I was a kid?” Luke looked up at him.

Tackett stared at him. For the first time in years, Luke saw aspark of interest in what he was saying to his father.

“Do you remember those comic books, Dad?”

“Yes. Are you a fan?”

“I will be. I remember you always complained that most comicbook superheroes dressed like fags and prostitutes. You went on for hours aboutthat. Not exactly your most politically correct moments, but you got your pointacross. Maybe I’ll take a look at them now.”

“Do you like my comic books?”

Luke smiled, squeezing his father’s arm a little. “We’ll see;maybe. Do you want to see something really weird? I’ve been practicing with itmost of the night. Here, stand up, Dad. Stand up with me.” Luke stood, holdingout his hand.

His father didn’t take it. Luke leaned over a little, holdinghis father’s eyes.

“It’s okay, Dad. You’re safe with me. You always are.”

His father put out and retracted his hand several times beforefinally placing it in Luke’s hand. Luke stood, pulling up on his father’s arm.The old man rose onto his feet, unsteady for a moment before gaining hisbalance. Luke balled his other hand into a fist and looked down at a picture onthe bedside table. It was taken when he was nine, when his family was whole,and life made sense.

Around them, the room changed to the kitchen the picture wastaken in. Luke and his brother sat at the table laughing. It was a dreary,overcast Sunday morning, but his mother somehow made it seem bright and sunny.She was making pancakes with fresh blueberries, and humming as she popped one ata time in her mouth.

Through a door, their father ran in armed with a camera.

“Boys!” he called.

They all turned and as fast as he could, he snapped off a photo.The boys laughed as their mother chased their father around the room, gettingan occasional smack on his rump with the spatula.

“Her robe was blue,” Luke’s father-of-the-present said.

Luke looked at him, then his mother. Her robe was red.

“No. It was red.”

“It was blue. I bought it for her when she was four monthspregnant with James. She didn’t have any nightgowns that fit and she wantedblue.”

Luke looked back and forth. Was his father right? Did he havethe memory wrong? Did that mean… He could manipulate memories?

Having lost his concentration, the altered room snapped back tothe nursing home room. Luke’s father pulled away, walking toward where thetable had been.

“What happened? Where’d they go?” He turned, glaring at Luke.

“It was just a memory, Dad. Mom and James are both gone. Theyweren’t really here.”

“You took them from me! Where are they?”

Luke walked toward his father. The man retreated but stoppedwhen Luke laid his hand on his shoulder.

“It was a memory, Dad. I won’t do that again okay? I have to go.I’ll try to come back again.”

Luke walked to the door.

He was reaching for the door handle when his father said, “Ifyou’re going to be a superhero, don’t forget the mask. You have to hide who youare.”

Luke turned. His father stared at him.

“Why’s that, Dad?”

“A superhero wears a mask to protect the people he loves fromhis villains. If a villain replaces out who he is, those are the people whosuffer. And remember that a good superhero doesn’t fight for the world; that’stoo big, too impossible. A good superhero fights to save a person or two, thepeople he loves. The world is an afterthought. That’s how it always was withthe Chocolate Giant.”

Luke pulled his hood up. “I’ll keep that in mind, Dad.” Heturned to wrap his hand around the door handle.

“And another thing.”

“Yeah?” Luke didn’t turn this time.

“Never, ever forget the basic rules.”

“What are those, Dad?”

“Read the books! You can’t go off being a superhero blind.Geeze. Who raised you?”

Luke looked back. His father was still staring at him. Any othertime Luke would have found this conversation ludicrous.

“For once, I’m grateful you raised me. Bye, Dad.”

Luke turned and left. In the five years that Alzheimer’s haderased him from his father’s memory, this was first conversation they’d hadwhere there was a spark of connection. He never would have guessed thatconnection would be based on comic books that Luke had never given a secondthought about.