"Ben!" Michael called for the third time, "Did you hear what I said?"
"Hmmmm?" Ben's eyes never left the page he was working on. Michael walked from the kitchen to the chair where Ben sat, holding his bright yellow pencil poised over his notebook.
Michael was about to drag him away from his work when he thought the better of it. Two days had passed since Paul's memorial, and this was the first time since then that Ben had shown an obvious interest in anything. It was probably good for him to get involved in his writing again. With an affectionate look at his absent-minded professor, Michael walked, unnoticed, back to the kitchen.
What Ben had been too preoccupied to hear was that Justin would be coming by to work with Michael on their comic book. Rage had been involved in an ongoing struggle with an evil scientist, who had developed a deadly ray which targeted the gay gene, killing queers but leaving most straight people unharmed. The scientist was getting attractive offers from several right-wing political groups and, oddly enough, a pharmaceutical company. Rage had to stop him, and Michael and Justin had to figure out how.
Michael finished tomorrow's grocery list and pinned it to the refrigerator with a magnet. His gaze wandered to the pill bottles on the kitchen counter; did the prescription need to be renewed? No, he remembered; there was still a supply in the bathroom medicine cabinet. He stood for a minute staring at the bottles, at Ben's name identically printed on each one. He remembered the time he had started reading a list of the potential side effects of Ben's current medications. About half way through the list, he had set it aside and tried never to think about it again. His reflections were interrupted by a knock on the apartment door; a moment later he heard Ben's voice, followed by a response from Justin. Shaking off his rather dark thoughts, Michael went to the door to greet his colleague.
"I'm surprised you haven't heard about it already," Ben was saying. "It's an amazing article. It's going to change the way people think about gay rights."
"What's this?" Michael asked.
"That article in the Atlantic Monthly I told you about."
"Sorry, Ben," Justin said, "but I can't see a magazine article having much effect on something like that. It would take a violent revolution."
"'The pen is mightier than the sword'."
"Right," Justin snickered, "that's why I always take a pen with me if I'm out after dark."
"Don't try to make him think seriously, Ben," Michael advised, "After five minutes he goes into silliness withdrawal. He is a blonde, after all." Justin stuck his tongue out at Michael. Ben raised his hands in surrender and went back to his writing.
Work on the next issue of Rage was progressing very slowly.
"Look, Justin, we can't just have Rage hand out solutions to everyone's problems, like the Wizard of Oz. He's not all-powerful."
"But he's a super hero."
"Yes, but if he doesn't have limitations, there's no story." Michael shuffled through the sample artwork spread out on the table. "Like this picture of Rage with the Punisher. Rage uses his mind to make the Punisher destroy his own weapon."
"What's wrong with that?"
"We've just introduced the new villain, and in two issues he's been beaten, it's all over. That's what's wrong. Understand?"
"I guess so." He looked through the pictures thoughtfully. Ben walked by on the way to the kitchen. "So what should we do instead?" Justin asked.
Michael didn't reply; he was watching Ben pour out a glass of water to wash down his medication. "Michael?"
"Hm? Oh -- well, what if the Punisher threatens to use his weapon on JT?"
Well...."
"It would give Rage even more reason to hate the villain and want to stop him."
"Why is JT always the one being threatened?"
"So Rage can save him, of course. He makes such a wonderful damsel in distress."
Justin made a rude noise. The creative process was beginning to pick up.
It was nearly 11:00 before Justin left, but a lot had been accomplished. Michael talked to Ben about it as they locked up and prepared for bed.
"So we've got pretty much the whole next issue finished, and part of the one after it."
"Great!" Ben answered. "So tell me again about this villain..." His question was cut short by a sudden fit of coughing.
"Are you okay?" Michael asked. Ben was unable to reply right away. He fumbled with a glass of water, finally getting his cough under control after taking a long drink.
"I'm fine," he managed at last.
Michael frowned, felt his forehead. "Are you coming down with something?" he asked.
Ben peered at him over his glasses. "Don't start worrying. I just had a dry throat."
Michael said no more, but for an instant a picture came into his mind, one he'd imagined before. It was a train, a huge, black train which was moving along at a great distance. It was much too far away to see, but it was coming, and it was aimed directly at Ben. Once, a strange thought had come into his mind: himself, standing on the tracks and stopping the train, actually holding it back with his bare hands. Of course, that would be impossible; no mere human could do it. To Michael, every cough he heard from Ben, every sneeze, was like the faint, faraway sound of a train whistle.
Curled up together in bed, they talked, they made love, and then talked some more, this time in whispers, slowly drifting off to sleep together. Michael slept, and presently his eyelids began to flutter, his lips moved soundlessly. Michael was dreaming.
The bedroom window gave way with a crash as a lithe figure, dressed in a form-fitting costume of red and blue, sailed through it, landing on the carpet in a shower of broken glass and splintered wood. The single occupant of the nearby bed sat bolt upright, staring wildly at the debris, and finally taking in the presence of... could it be? Yes, it was!!
"Zephyr greets you, Citizen! Have no fear -- I come in peace."
The man merely stared, his mouth hanging open in amazement.
"No doubt you are wondering what brings me to your home so unexpectedly." The man nodded, glancing at the clock. "And so late," Zephyr added apologetically. "There is a simple explanation."
He leapt nimbly up to stand on the footboard of the bed, causing the man to edge away uneasily. "Your beauty and charm have caught the eye of Zephyr, O Comely One. And this has turned the wrath of my enemies against you. They have done you a harm, Most Alluring of Men, a harm you are as yet unaware of. But before I continue, tell me: what name may I call you?"
"Uh... Ben," he replied uncertainly.
"Most delectable and enchanting Ben," Zephyr went on, "you have been subjected to a deadly and treacherous creature which -- prepare yourself! -- lives even now within you."
Ben gasped and turned pale.
"Yes, within you!" Zephyr insisted sternly, adjusting his mask. "But remain calm. I have the means to destroy this malevolent being, and thus ensure your safety."
"You do?" Ben said doubtfully. "But what about Rage? Wouldn't he be better at... that is, I thought you always worked with..."
Zephyr rolled his eyes in annoyance, almost stamping his foot before regaining his composure. "It is a common misconception," he said coldly, "that only Rage possesses special powers. Yes, he has the ability to work amazing deeds with his mind, with his thoughts; but I," he placed his hand on his chest dramatically, "have a different power. Different, yet not inferior," he added pointedly.
Ben made a conciliatory gesture, which Zephyr acknowledged with a gracious nod.
"I fight evil through the power of my emotions, which have been mysteriously amplified, given great and tangible force. My anger or hatred toward an evil-doer, properly directed, confuses and weakens him. In the same way, my love and compassion do not merely encourage the weak, but give them strength and wisdom beyond their ability. As you shall see," he said, with an affectionate smile at Ben. "And," he said, clenching a fist, "when I raise my voice in protest against evil and injustice, while it may seem to some no more than mere...ah..."
"Whining?" Ben suggested.
"Some have called it so," Zephyr agreed, rather reproachfully, "but my grievance has the power to reach the most hardened heart, and fill it with zeal for goodness and truth."
Ben looked appropriately impressed.
"But now, to aid you, O Flower of Manhood, in your distress." With no further warning, he leapt upon Ben's reclining body. "First, we must numb your pain. This may be somewhat uncomfortable," he explained. Taking a handful of red petals from the pouch at his belt, Zephyr sprinkled them over Ben's face and chest. Ben's breathing slowed, and he seemed to fall into a dreamlike, semi-waking state.
"Now, this will be over quickly," Zephyr promised. From his belt, he drew a dagger. It was an odd weapon: bright, shiny yellow except at the tip, where it came to a dark, needle-sharp point. Zephyr grew serious and strangely quiet. He concentrated his anger and contempt for the parasite that had invaded Ben's body until the horrible being, trying to escape, gathered itself into one small spot, as if hiding in a cave. Zephyr explored Ben's abdomen and chest with one hand until he found an area, just under the sternum, where the skin was thinned and distended. With no warning, he swiped his dagger across the place. Even through his drugged haze, Ben was horrified to see a dark, hideous, tentacled thing leap from the gash in his chest and skitter randomly over the bedspread and onto the floor. It stopped, twitching unpleasantly, in a corner of the bedroom. Zephyr approached it cautiously.
"Be careful!" Ben warned, his words slurred and groggy. The creature was aware of Zephyr's approach; it waved its poison-dripping tentacles menacingly. "Please be careful! If it poisoned you... if you caught it because of me... I couldn't stand it!"
"Don't be afraid," Zephyr said quietly, concentrating. "Now, don't speak!" Focusing his mind, he contemplated the horror of this kind, intelligent, lovely man invaded with a vile, lethal parasite; emotion engulfed his heart. His eyes filled with tears. He began to approach the beast; Ben was surprised to see him sheath his dagger as he moved forward.
The creature lunged toward him repeatedly, trying to sting with its tentacles. Zephyr evaded it. Then suddenly he leaned forward and let a teardrop fall from his eye, directly onto the evil thing. It shrieked and thrashed about violently. A second drop fell from his other eye; the creature, hissing and shivering, began to melt, oozing away until nothing was left of it except a foul smell and a nasty stain on the carpet.
Collecting himself and drying his eyes, Zephyr turned his attention back to Ben, who was staring at him, wide-eyed and astonished. "You've saved my life!" he whispered. "You really are a hero!"
Zephyr returned to Ben's side, and proceeded to sweep away the petals still scattered over his chest. He gently cleansed and bandaged Ben's wound, taking great care not to hurt him any further. Ben could feel himself growing stronger, becoming filled with well-being. He realized it was Zephyr healing him with positive emotions, and looked up at him with eyes full of gratitude. "How can I ever thank you?" He asked.
Zephyr smiled warmly at him. "That remains to be seen," he replied playfully, using all the powers at his command to flood Ben's whole being with benevolence and love.
Michael opened his eyes, taking in the fact that he was at home in bed, as usual. He could feel Ben's body pressed against him, Ben's arm thrown over his chest; he heard the reassuring sound of Ben's steady breathing. He also remembered that things were as they had been; Ben was just as he had been. The train, however far off, was still moving relentlessly on its way. Michael lay quietly, and soon a tear inconspicuously dropped onto the pillow. It left a tiny wet circle on the pillowcase. But it did no more than that, as it was nothing but plain salt water, harmless and ordinary.
End of "Comic Book Hero" by Batboy -- email