Today’s the day of Marcus’ funeral. His is the latest, but not the last—the near-endless list of dead kids causing a town to be stuck in a gruesome loop. The only family that has a reason to celebrate is the Williams. They own the only funeral home and are working overtime to coordinate every single last rite in town. Today will be a valuable learning experience about etiquette for these kinds of events. The only other funeral I’d ever been to was my mother's, but I was too young to remember it. I didn’t cry, but I kept my face neutral and melancholic. Marcus’ funeral will be the only one I will attend; I kept to my group and didn’t interact with other cliques much.
Daniel and I arrive early. He hasn’t let me out of sight today and is circling me. Losing someone I was close with won’t break me; I’m not you. Maria’s SUV is sitting in the parking lot. I’m not surprised to see her here after ignoring her and leaving her asleep in my room. Maria was never really a part of our four-person friend group, more like a plus one attached to me. None of them dislike her, but I believe they think of her as my girlfriend, not one of us. She and Marcus got along fine, but I don’t know if she’s here for him or to corner me.
I’m wearing the face I practiced last night for hours. The trick is to react lethargically to things and pretend that your cheeks weigh a ton. So if someone tries to tell a joke to cheer you up, you pause before faking a chuckle. I’m wearing a black suit with a dark purple tie Maria bought me for our junior prom. As she exits her vehicle, I see she’s coordinated her outfit to match with me. Maria’s wearing a modest black dress and a shawl the same color as my tie. She has nicer or more flattering dresses she could’ve worn but chose not to; I would know I bought them for her. Bravo, my dear Maria. Now it looks like we did this intentionally and presented as a united happy couple. She comes right up to me and hugs me. I can’t rebuke her here because it will cause a scene.
“I’m here for you,” Maria said.
“Thanks. I’ll need it, especially today.”
I keep my eyes closed and slow my breathing. Today I have to act upset. Be withdrawn and find a point to cry silently. She releases me from her grasp to say hello to my father. Before I can take a step, she interlocks our hands. I doubt she’ll let me go even if the place goes up in smoke.
“Everybody else is inside. I waited for you two to get here before going in.”
“I hope we aren’t late. I could’ve sworn that we weren’t starting til two,” Daniel said.
“No, you made it in time. Everyone else is just early,” Maria said reassuringly.
I decided before we left that I’d be solemn and reserved. Practicing so late gave me some bags under my eyes, making my act even more believable. Not that anyone would have any reason to suspect I’m faking it. The Williams Memoritorium is a white granite building with four large pillars supporting the overhanging roof above the entrance. We enter, and the atmosphere of the room is heavy. Faint organ music plays in the background and the air smells of cotton balls and lemony cleaning products. Plush velvet carpet covers the floor, and the lights' soft glow gives the room an eerie quality. Flashes of childhood memories of my mother’s funeral come flooding back to me; relatives and neighbors repeating the same phrases about their condolences and how young I am to be motherless. These memories might bring me to tears if I wasn’t the way I am.
Jean-Luc and Aubrey stand off to the side while the adults all talk. There are many people I don’t recognize, most likely Marcus’ extended family members. The adults I do know are everyone’s parents. The Duponts fled Paris due to a Neuvohuman terrorist attack and are trying to share coping mechanisms with Marcus’ parents. Aubrey’s mother attempts to console them, but nothing hurts quite like losing a child. My parent heads over to join them while Maria and I approach my friends. Gone is the flamboyance and style they both usually have. Muted greys replace it. In fact, Maria and I are the only ones with any color. Sensing my mood, Maria takes the lead.
“Hey, how are you guys holding up?” She asked.
Her question startles Jean-Luc, but Aubrey tenses in anger for a brief moment. You’re so angry, Aubrey, at everyone and everything. After seeing it’s just us, they relax and try their best to smile. One single action of mine has changed so many lives forever. It reminds me of exploring outside as a kid and finding a spider’s web. Sometimes pulling on a single string will snap it, and other times it can cause the whole web to break. I won’t be here to see which one Marcus’ death becomes.
“Not well. Something about being here today is making it all…real in a way it wasn’t before. Marcus is truly gone,” Jean-Luc said.
“He’s gone but not forgotten. Marcus lives on inside all of us,” I said.
“You’re right. And I’ll spend the rest of my life doing everything I can to honor him,” Aubrey added.
“Yeah, and you guys still have each other.”
As soon as Maria finishes her sentence, Aubrey freezes and looks at her. Aubrey is a giant ball of tension, homing in on Maria as an outlet. It makes sense. She’s the “outsider” as opposed to everyone else here. Still, there’s never been any problems between the two, at least that I know of.
“Is that meant to make us feel better?” Aubrey is on the warpath. The signs of impending conflict require my intervention, so I pull my hand out of Marias and grab Aubrey in a one-armed bear hug. My other arm stretches out and pulls Jean-Luc over.
“I know today’s tough, but don’t let it get the best of you. We’ll get through this.”
They both embrace the group hug, and Maria stands awkwardly on the side. Aubrey is too volatile currently, and Maria is making it worse. Getting through today is going to be annoying. Loud sobbing breaks up my thoughts, and Cheryl wails as her husband holds her. Thank you for the distraction, Cheryl. What a fantastic segue you’ve given me. The group hug ceases as we all look over at the emotional scene.
“I can’t imagine what the Briggs are going through,” I said.
“My mom’s been stopping by their house on her way to work, and they've gotten a lot better recently,” Aubrey said.
My lie helped a lot more than I thought.
“While you were gone, Eryk, they didn’t even leave their house. All of our parents, including your dad, brought groceries and meals over. They wouldn’t even come to the door for like two weeks,” Jean-Luc said.
“I had no idea. My dad never said anything. I visited them a couple of days ago. We talked about the party and Marcus for a while,” I said.
“That was nice of you, Eryk. I’ve done my best not to think about the party at all. It’s too hard for me,” Jean-Luc responded.
Maria stays silent during the exchange, but her hand has rewrapped itself with mine. As we’re talking, in walks the funeral director Mr. Williams. He’s old, but time has been kind to him. His hair is salt and pepper, and he has a simple, thin mustache. Marcus’ family aren’t religious, so the funeral will be more of a formal grieving party than a full ceremony. Mr. Williams leads everyone into a room where the actual services will happen. We all sit down on long wooden benches facing the front of the room, where a casket is on a raised platform. We're having a closed-casket funeral because the BNA couldn’t recover Marcus’ body. Maria is on my right, Jean-Luc is on my left, with Aubrey on his other side.
“Today, we gather to mourn the loss of a child, friend, and son of the community. But we also gather to celebrate someone precious to all in attendance. Marcus Edward Briggs was a young man on the cusp of adulthood, and he was taken from us too early, like so many others. This pain is fresh and potent but, with time, will fade. I ask of you not to let his memory fade. Ernest Hemingway once said that every man has two deaths: when he is buried in the ground and the last time someone says his name. I’d like everyone to stay silent for a moment and think of him and the times you shared,” Mr. Williams said.
Everyone’s eyes close as they each reminisce about Marcus. My own thoughts drift through our adventures as kids. The first time I saw him, and mistook him for an ignorant jock type. My initial hypothesis proved false, and he turned out to be a genuine, wholesome individual. I may have never felt anything toward him, but he was an objective force of good in people’s lives. As we grew older and our group of four became inseparable, his presence was so dynamic among us. Marcus was the one who first noted my lack of romantic pursuits and questioned my sexuality. I do not doubt that if I had proved to be homosexual, his opinion of me wouldn’t have changed. I don’t regret my actions; his death was necessary. His death woes don’t haunt me, and his blood doesn’t stain my soul. Maria squeezes my hand, and I open my eyes to see Jeff Briggs on stage talking. He’s cleaned himself up since I saw him, and his eyes aren’t hollow anymore. Cheryl is standing at his side, ready to support him.
“My boy, Marcus, means…meant the world to me. He was so good in a way few men are. My wife, Cheryl, and I will never get to experience helping on move-in day at college. We’ll never get to see him graduate or get married. We will never have grandchildren to spoil or get to see the man he would’ve become. He knew we loved him, but there were so many things I wished I’d said. Like, does he know how proud we were? That, despite his injury, he never gave up hope. That he was kind and gentle and loved everyone and never hurt a soul, so why did he have to die? I know it’s selfish to say, but I wish he hadn’t tried to be a hero. I’d give up everything I own to bring him back. There is a hole in my heart that was ripped out of me. A parent shouldn't have to outlive their child, and I will carry this pain until the day I die. Marcus was the best thing I’ve ever had a hand in. Every father hopes to raise a son who’s a better man than yourself, and damn it; I know I did. He was a light in our lives, and things are so dark without him. I love my son and-.”
The mountain of a man is shaking as tears pour out of him. His wife holds him as he shakes with grief. Looking around, I see there isn’t a dry eye in the place, so I force a couple of tears out. Only a couple, though, don’t want to upstage the grieving father during his monologue. Maria’s head is resting on my shoulder and squeezing my hand. How very perceptive and supportive of you. It’s not needed, regardless of how sad I may look. I’m fascinated by Jeff’s display and trying to etch into my brain. His emotions are even more potent and raw than I’ve ever seen. It’s a wonderful learning moment, making me reevaluate my notions of sadness. Compared to him, my own performance at the hospital was amateurish and flat. To think that a single choice of mine can elicit such a powerful reaction. I wonder how many people I’ll affect before I’m done. Cheryl escorts her blubbering husband to their seats, and Mr. Williams asks if anyone else would like to speak.
Nobody seems to want to follow what we just witnessed. Cheryl turns around to look at our row, and her eyes focus on me. She’s sending me a pleading glance, but I’m unsure why. Cheryl waves me over, so I get up from my seat and walk over to her. Does she want me to tell everyone my story?
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Eryk, dear, it would mean a lot for you to speak. About Marcus’ last moments, we’d appreciate it. My husband needs me, or I’d go next,” she said quietly.
I wipe my face and agree. I’ll start with an anecdote, something funny to lighten the mood. Then transition into a harrowing tale of death and heroism. Should I also break down and cry at the end? I won’t. It would be too similar to Jeff’s speech. Every moment of study and experience will culminate in this. I center myself and take a deep breath as I approach the microphone. Scratch the back of my head, then cough a little bit. It makes me look nervous and anxious. Don’t forget to take pauses. I’m a high schooler, not a media-trained politician. I tap the mic and begin.
“Marcus was the first friend I ever made. Then came Aubrey and Jean-Luc, but for a bit, it was just me and him. Maybe that’s why I feel so lost lately. One of my earliest memories is when Marcus and I dared each other to race down the hill on Letterman Way. We were nine, and Marcus had just gotten a new bike for his birthday. So we decided to see who was faster. Well, Marcus wasn’t used to his new bike and ended up hitting a rock that launched him onto the road, and his bike ended up crashing into a tree at full speed. After I made sure my friend was okay, we went to look for his present, and we found it mangled. He was so afraid he convinced me to help him sneak into his dad’s toolbox to fix it. Surprisingly two nine-year-olds don’t know anything about how to fix stuff. When Mr. Briggs heard the commotion from the garage, he came rushing in, asking what was going on. And you have Marcus and me standing there, tools all over the ground, broken bike behind us, and he says definitely not hiding something. Mr. Briggs doesn’t say anything at first before he bursts out laughing at how bad of a lie that was. That story really shows what I think was his best quality; his purity. Marcus was just a great guy. He didn’t like lying, probably because he was bad at it, but also because he understood how much it hurts people. Marcus was honestly one of the nicest people I’ve ever known and the type of person who makes you want to be the best version of yourself. And I will because he saved my life.” Wait a moment for the words to sink in. Let it permeate the room.
“As you all know, I got hurt badly at the party. I woke from a five-week coma to find out my first friend was dead. And for everyone here, Marcus passed over a month and a half ago, but for me, it’s like it was yesterday. When Davis attacked, everyone was so frightened, me included. But Marcus stayed calm and brave despite everything. As things started to spiral out of control, Marcus whispered to me that he had a plan. I told him he was crazy and that we just needed to wait for the cops to show up. Marcus disagreed. Somehow, he knew that we didn’t have the time to wait, and that’s when he did it. While Davis’ back was turned, Marcus struck. Like a soldier in battle, he charged right up and tackled him. He fought Davis to try and buy the rest of us a window to escape. That’s why I know without a doubt that I would’ve died if not for him. Marcus was my first friend, and he saved my life; I will never be able to repay that debt to him,” I said before quickly walking off stage.
Jean-Luc and Aubrey are staring at me as I sit back down. Both of them weren’t around, so they had no idea that any of that happened. Also, it didn’t happen, but it fits his character so well that they won’t question it. As I sit down, Maria whispers in my ear, her breath tickling my neck.
“That was a sweet thing to do for them. I love you.”
What does that mean? Before I can whisper back, one of Marcus’ relatives gets up to speak, and my chance is lost to ask her what she means. Does she just mean that it was a good eulogy or something else? The language she chose is throwing me off. Why phrase it like that? It can wait. The rest of the funeral is pretty mundane as family and friends each take turns saying a couple of things about the deceased. I’m exhausted by the end of it, and thankfully there isn’t an afterparty planned. I don’t know if I could handle it after sitting still for nearly two hours listening to people repeat that Marcus was gone too soon for the thirtieth time. As soon as it ends, Aubrey follows me outside to talk.
“Hey, Eryk, you got a second?”
“Uhh yeah, what’s up?” I asked.
“Well, it’s about you-know-what. Soooo-”
“Okay. Maria, you mind giving us a minute? I think my dad plans on staying here to talk with everyone, so I was going to ask if you wanted to go back to my house,” I said to her.
She doesn’t move or let go of my hand. “Anything you want to say to Eryk, you can say in front of me, right?”
These two keep butting heads. Has it always been like this, and I just didn’t notice?
“It’s private between me and Eryk. It doesn’t concern you,” Aubrey said icily.
“He’s my boyfriend, so I think it does,” Maria fired back.
“It has nothing to fucking do with you. Don’t start with me, not today,” Aubrey said.
“Or what, Aubrey? I’m not scared of you.”
Is Davis’ rage magnifying an underlying dislike for Maria?
“What is wrong with both of you? We’re at Marcus’ funeral, and you’re going at each other’s throats. You should be ashamed. Forget what I said, Maria. I don’t want to hang out tonight,” I said.
Maria’s face transitions from indignation to sulky to acceptance. She walks away without saying goodbye and drives off. She is becoming a liability with her dependence on me. And now Aubrey is becoming a problem too.
“Finally. So I wanted to talk to you about-” Aubrey started to speak, but I cut her off.
“What the fuck was that, Aubrey? What is your problem with my girlfriend?”
“Nothing. I just didn’t like that she was butting into something that had nothing to do with her. And she was getting on my nerves,” Aubrey answered.
“No, that wasn’t nothing. Since we arrived today, you were on edge whenever she spoke. Aubrey, we’re best friends, so be honest with me. Do you dislike Maria?” There’s no way that I would’ve missed it. Aubrey fidgets with her dress and scratches her elbow, avoiding answering my question.
“My problem isn’t with her or anyone, really. I just feel so angry constantly. Things that I used to be able to ignore are causing me to explode. All it takes is a minor irritation, and I’m seeing red. It’s not just Maria, I’m fighting with my mom, and I need to do something before I explode with all this energy. That’s why I came over. I want to go out and fight tonight. I’m sure we could find some scumbags to stop,” Aubrey said.
“Absolutely not. There are so many steps before we jump to crime fighting. Rigorous experimentation is needed. We need a plan, Aubrey. Come on. I’m willing to help you but won’t rush into something half-cocked without a plan.”
“Fine. You’re right. When I get home, I’ll do a deep dive into my ability and try to compile some notes about what I learn. I need a good amount of materials to build the helmets,” she said.
“Helmets? As in more than one?” I asked.
“Yes, two, one for me and one for you. If you’re going to be helping me, the least I can do is make you one. What features do you want?”
“Thank you so much. I appreciate it. I don’t need the helmet to have any offensive capabilities, just it being sturdy and able to disrupt cameras. I don’t plan on becoming a cape like you. And I don’t want anything I help you with interfering with my regular life.” I can’t believe that I don’t have to trick her into making me one. She’s willingly volunteering to make me one. She doesn’t know what I plan to do, or she would’ve never agreed. It’s good she listened to me. We need more data. Tinkering allows a person to transform mundane materials into fantastical creations. In her case, she can make helmets with abilities that seem like science fiction. Probing the boundaries of her new power is paramount to her adventures as a Cape.
“That should be doable. Should we go shopping later? Lowes is open till ten.”
“Aubrey, we can’t go shopping at Lowes, let alone any store in New Farford. What we’re talking about counts as vigilantism. The law doesn’t care about your heroic intent. You must be a member of the Heroes’ Union to fight crime legally. We can’t buy anything from anywhere in town or any place big enough to require cameras. We need to buy things in small amounts and only use cash. That way, we can prevent a paper trail leading back to us,” I explained.
“How are you so prepared for this? I didn’t even think about cameras or any of that stuff.”
“I learned it all from watching thriller and detective movies. The number one thing I learned is that carelessness gets you caught. I want you to get experience so you’re ready when you inevitably try to join the Heroes’ Union,” I said.
“Thanks, dude. Glad I can count on you and Jean-Luc. I don’t know what I’d do without you guys. You two mean even more to me now that there are only three of us. I’m sorry about what happened with Maria. The last thing I wanna do is fuck up your relationship. I’ll message her later to apologize. My mom’s leaving now, so I’ll talk to you later.”
I say my goodbyes to everyone and leave with my father. The ride home is quiet, and he’s unsure what to say. I’m positive Maria will text me later. I should ignore it to cause more strain. I’m tired after my late night and the funeral. I know I’ll sleep like a corpse tonight.
----------------------------------------
It’s been three weeks since the funeral, and tonight is the night Aubrey will be debuting as a Cape. Three weeks of telling Maria I’m busy or not feeling well to avoid her. Aubrey arrives at my house at seven; we aren’t supposed to go out till eight, but it’s clear she’s giddy with anticipation. She has a duffle bag hanging from her shoulder, which I assume has the helmets inside. My dad is home, so we head to my room for secrecy.
“Hey, Eryk, I know I’m a little early, but I wanted to make sure everything worked,” Aubrey said.
“Oh, I’m sure that’s why,” I replied.
“Fine, maybe I’m a teensy bit excited about finally being able to be a hero.”
“I thought the term was Cape,” I said.
“It is, you know what I mean, Eryk. Stop being a dick," she said, clearly annoyed.
“I’m just joking. I know what this means for you. You wanna show me the helmets?" I asked.
Her brief annoyance instantly transitions to joy. She slowly unzips the duffel bag she brought, revealing a dark yellow helmet similar to a hornet's face. Complete with antennae, mandibles, and large eyes. The face isn't rounded but full of hard angles and sharp edges. It will surely strike fear into criminals' hearts. It looks more like what a Cowl would wear. For a girl who wants to be a hero, this thing isn’t very heroic-looking.
"Wow."
"Right? Once I started working on it, I couldn’t stop. More and more ideas filled my head as my power transformed my desires into reality. With this, I will be able to stop people like Davis. I’ll avenge anyone who’s been wronged by unjust Neuvohumans. This thing has plenty of surprises for any Cowls we cross,” Aubrey said.
“It’s certainly distinct. I’m happy you’ve been able to turn the party into something good. It’s too bad my power isn’t useful for fighting crime. Will it keep you safe?” I asked.
“Oh yeah. I made both helmets bulletproof and resistant to most forms of damage. A high-caliber piercing round might be able to get through it, but I doubt we’ll be engaging a sniper. Now go on and look at yours!”
She’s acting like it’s a birthday gift. I pull the bag over to me and move the towel that's covering my helmet. It’s perfect; matte black, and not a single piece of it’s reflective. Slimmer than her own and without any features, the face of it is flat and slightly curved. No adornments or anything weird; this is beyond my imagination of what she could accomplish. Aubrey, you have truly outdone yourself.
“So I know you said you needed it to disrupt cameras, but instead, I made it even better. It constantly emits electromagnetic interference, distorting your image from any video footage. You’ll appear fuzzy and blurry. Then I added a filtration system in case we get stuck in a building with a gas leak or smoke. It has enhanced optics to allow us to see in darker environments. Try it on, try it on, try it on.” She continued.
Looking at the helmet in my hands, I’m confused about how to put it on. It’s a solid piece, and the only opening is the size of my neck. My helmet is much smaller than Aubreys. After several minutes of turning it over and over, she finally interjects.
“There’s a tiny button on the inside of the face. Press it.”
I follow her instructions, and the back of the helmet splits at some invisible seam. Then the two sides begin shuffling and sliding toward the front. It compacted itself down until it was a mask-- clever Aubrey, very clever. Holding the mask in my palms, I raise it to my face and press the button again. In less than thirty seconds, my head is encased. I can see clearly, just like I could before. It doesn’t matter to me how; all that matters is that it works.
I don’t even have to lie to her. “Aubrey, this is amazing. Thank you. Wait, what’s up with my voice?” My voice comes out strange, like several people speaking simultaneously. Not in a harmonious way either, but like a group of strangers talking over each other.
“I did the same thing for me. What we’re about to do is technically illegal, so I figured this would help protect our identities,” she answered.
Truly my ability is a perfect power. It turned an otherwise useless girl into a genius capable of wonder. Nobody but I could make the best of this power. She made the helmets, but I wonder if she took my other advice seriously. I instructed her to work out, not because she’s out of shape, but because she has no stamina. She has a healthy physique, but I don’t know if she can even run a mile. Aubrey starts talking to me, bringing me back to earth.
“So I think we’ll have to go to Crimton tonight. I know it’s a thirty-minute drive, but everywhere else around here is so small they don’t even have a sheriff, let alone crime,” she explained.
“Crimton? Aubrey, that place is a fucking shithole. I get that you want to go out and fight bad guys, but maybe start smaller? Reedham is closer and won’t end in either of us getting stabbed.” This is amazing. She’s willingly picking a place that makes up more than half of all non-Neuvohuman-related casualties in our state. There’s a real chance that I’ll get to feel something tonight.
“Eryk, you’ve given me an opportunity to do something I’ve only been able to live out in dreams. I refuse to play it safe. I will make it my mission to clean up Crimton and use that as proof I should join the Heroes’ Union. We can even find out if there’s another way for you to take a person’s powers.”
I look Aubrey right in her eyes and nod. “You’re right. As your friend, I should support your goals, not crush them. I still don’t want to be a part of all this Cape and Cowl stuff, but I’ll help you the best I can.”
She squeals happily and jumps off my bed. “Thanks. Now can we get going?”
“Sure. Put the helmets back in your bag. The last thing I need is my dad seeing them.”
Today is July 6th, and the first day of class is September 8th. I have sixty-four days to get so much done; collect more abilities, pack up and move into my new apartment in Quinstin, tie up any loose ends here in New Farford, and free myself of my Maria problem. There just isn’t enough time in the day. None of that is as important as ensuring the two of us survive tonight. I stop and look at myself in the mirror. Everything is black, from my socks to my turtleneck. With gloves on, I won’t show any skin. Unremarkable and unrecognizable, nobody will ever be able to associate this person with Eryk.