Chatterbox: Inkwell

Short Story!

I wrote a short story for my creative writing class last year, and I was going through old documents and found it. It's not the best, but it's an interesting concept. I might draw out the characters later. Hmm. (Hopefully it all shows up correctly?) (And to those of you who frequent the Art Thread, this is the story behind a drawing I posted a lot of pages back that I mentioned I might post the story to.)

~~~

I frown as I inspect the hot dog stand on 42nd Street. Rather, what used to be the hot dog stand on 42nd Street. Now it’s a charred pile of rubble, still slightly smoking from whatever fire ravaged it not too long ago.

“Must have been a helluva fire,” says my coworker, Inspector Dodds. He takes a step forward and stands at my side, looking at the rubble with me. “I just don’t see how anythin’ coulda been that hot. Musta’ been a freak grease fire or sommin’.”

“Or something,” I echo. He chuckles.

“Inspector Dodds!” comes a call from the other end of the scene. “Can you come sign off on this?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he calls back, and turns to me, tipping his hat. “Good luck, Inspector. Tough scene for your first case!”

He laughs again and walks off, leaving me gritting my teeth. I’ll show him. This may be my first real case, but I’m going to solve it.

I bend down to take a closer look at the rubble. Maybe there’s something the investigators missed. But I don’t see anything out of the ordinary. I run my gloved fingers through the ashes absentmindedly, thinking about how I’m going to solve this. There are no witnesses and no suspects. There are no leads and no fingerprints that haven’t been burned already. In short, there’s nothing usable.

All of a sudden, my gloves encounter a strange sensation. It’s almost like heat, but I’m certain all the ashes are cold. In fact, this sensation is too.

I brush away the ashes, revealing a small circle of…

“Ice?” I say aloud. I brush my gloves over it, and they encounter the same cold sensation. It’s definitely ice. As I look, I spot another circle of ice, and another. It’s like a trail leading away from the scene.

“What the…” I whisper. Should I follow it? I tug at my gloves, thinking. It’s the only clue we have, but generally, following strange trails away from crime scenes alone isn’t a good idea. It may be my first real case, but even I know that.

I look up at the rest of the scene. I don’t want to ask Inspector Dodds to come with me, and everyone else is busy.

“Guess I’m going by myself then,” I mutter, and stand up. Then I start walking, following the trail of crystalline droplets. No-one even notices as I follow the trail away from the scene and down 42nd Street. The droplets stop just in front of an alleyway.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” I say to myself, peering down the alleyway. “I wonder if--”

Before I can even finish my sentence, a hand emerges from the alleyway and yanks me into the shadows.

I try to scream, but the person clamps their other hand over my mouth.

“Don’t,” they say. Their voice is low and deep-- a man. “I don’t want to hurt you, but they can’t know I’m here. Nod if you understand me.”

I nod.

“I’m going to let you go now,” the man continues. “You have to promise not to scream, though. Nod if you understand.”

I nod again. The man removes his hand from my mouth and waist. As soon as he does, I spin around, hand going to the holster at my hip.

“Don’t shoot,” he says hurriedly, seeing my actions. He raises one hand above his head and keeps the other clamped on the bicep of his raised hand.

“Who are you? Why did you pull me in here?” I demand, hand still on the gun by my side. This man is unlike any I’ve seen before. He’s tall, a little taller than me, and has clear blue eyes and a shock of white hair that’s darker at the roots. Despite the hair, however, he’s not much older than I am, maybe 22 or 23.

“My name is Glaciero,” he says.

“What did you have to do with the hot dog stand on 42nd Street? Are you the one who burned it down?” I ask him, taking my hand off my gun and pulling out a notebook to record what he says.

He winces at the mention of the hot dog stand. “I’m sorry about that stand,” he said.

“So you’re the one who burned it down?” I ask, holding my pen over the page. This could be just the evidence I need!

To my disappointment, Glaciero shakes his head. “No, I didn’t,” he says. “Seriously, with a name like Glaciero, you think I burned a hot dog stand?”

I shrug. “Honestly, it was worth a try. You’re the only lead I have.”

Glaciero smiles. “That, I can help you with. I know who did burn the stand down.”

I perk up. “Great! Who was it?”

“Well, that’s the problem. It was my arch nemesis, Electroblaze.”

“Who has an arch nemesis nowadays?” I scoff. “I thought most heroes just fought ordinary criminals?”

Glaciero shrugs. “I have an arch nemesis in Electroblaze, and she has one in me. I’m a classic superhero-- it’s kind of what I do.”

I nod, thinking this over. Superheroes aren’t too uncommon around here, but I’ve never heard of Glaciero or his supposed arch nemesis Electroblaze. There are plenty of others, though-- from bigger names like Metaltronic and Thunder Talon to smaller heroes like the two that frequent my neighborhood, Biovore and Nitrobreeze.

“What can you do?” I ask, thoughts diverted from the case. “I mean, like, what’s your superpower?”

Glaciero holds out his hand, palm up, and ice starts crawling up his wrist. When it reaches his bicep, though, he grimaces. Now that he’s removed his opposite hand from his arm, I can see a deep cut. The edges are pink and blistered and covered with a layer of frost. I wonder why, until I see a small drop of silvery fluid drop out of the slice and fall to the ground, freezing once it hits the ground. It makes a circle just like the ones on the trail I’ve been following.

“Is that from Electroblaze?” I ask, gasping.

Glaciero nods. “Yes. She has figured out how to channel her fiery powers into a focused blade. It was that that she cut me with.”

“Does-- does it hurt?” I ask, and Glaciero nods.

“Yes. It does.” He looks at his arm for a moment. “I’m so used to being invincible, of being, well, a hero, that I’d forgotten that I could bleed.”

“Well, you can, and you really need someone to take a look at that,” I say, pointing at the cut. “It looks nasty, and could easily get infected. I don’t care who you are, a hero or a civilian, but that needs medical attention.”

“Well, I can’t exactly check into a hospital,” Glaciero laughs. “I don’t have an ID or anything.”

“I’m with the police. We help victims out a lot-- I’m sure we could find you some medical attention if you’re willing to come back with me. All you’d have to do is answer a few questions about Electroblaze so we can bring her to justice.”

Glaciero hesitates. “But if I came back with you, I’d be putting all of you in danger…” he says. “If Electroblaze learns where I am, she’ll come after me, and she won’t hesitate to go through you, too.”

I wave my hand dismissively. “She won’t find you. We have an epic witness protection program set up for just that purpose.”

“To… keep arch nemesi from finding each other?” Glaciero says in confusion, and I laugh.

“Of course not! To keep the criminal from finding the victim. C’mon, the scene’s not too far from here. I’ll check in with my partner, Inspector Dodds, and then I’ll take you back to HQ. Sound good?”

“Okay, I guess,” Glaciero says doubtfully. “If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure,” I say confidently. “This way.” I lead him out of the alleyway and back down 42nd Street to the crime scene.

“Inspector Dodds,” I call as we walk onto the scene, “I found our first witness.”

Inspector Dodds hurries over, mustache quivering. “Who are you?” he asks Glaciero, blatantly looking him up and down.

“I’m Glaciero,” Glaciero says.

“More importantly, he’s our witness,” I say pointedly. “Inspector Dodds, I’m going to take him back to HQ and put him into the WPP after we find out what he knows. That okay with you?”

Inspector Dodds nods. “Sure thing, sweetheart. I’ll, eh, meet you back there, kay? I have a date with the pub in an hour or so that I’d really rather not miss.”

I roll my eyes. “Sure, Inspector. No rush.” Then I take Glaciero’s arm and lead him towards my car.

He frowns back at Inspector Dodds. “I don’t like how he treats you,” he says. “You give him respect and call him ‘Inspector’, but he brushes you off and calls you ‘sweetheart’.”

I shrug. “That’s the way it’s always been, but after all, today is my first real case. I’m sure he’ll improve once he sees what I can do.”

Glaciero shrugs. “If you say so. I do not think I got your name, Inspector…”

“Inspector Martino. Casey Martino,” I say. We reach the car and I swing open the driver door and slide inside. Glaciero walks to the other side and mirrors my actions. I dig my keys out of my uniform’s pocket and stick them into the ignition. My car roars to life and I back it out of the parking lot, taking a left onto 42nd Street.

“We’ll just have a few questions for you once you reach the station,” I continue. “Very simple. Name, address, what you saw, that sort of thing. Just be honest and you’ll be fine, okay, Glaciero?”

But Glaciero doesn’t respond. He’s staring at my keys in fascination.

“What, haven’t you ever seen keys before?” I laugh.

“No, it’s just that-- that thing you have hanging off of your key ring, that lightning bolt,” Glaciero says slowly. “It’s the symbol of Electroblaze.”

I laugh. “Oh, that? It’s just a little thing I picked up off a street vendor in Venice. A trinket, nothing more.”

Glaciero stares at me in growing horror. “Electroblaze was last seen in Venice,” he whispers. “Take off your gloves.”

“Excuse me?” I say, pulling over the car. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating here. You think I’m a supervillain?”

“Take off your gloves,” Glaciero growls. “Do it. Or I will.”

I shrug, seeming nonchalant. “Fine, whatever.” I pull off my left glove and show him my hand. “There, are you happy?”

Glaciero shakes his head. “No. Show me your other hand. I blasted Electroblaze today with ice on her right hand. It blackened and blistered. Let me see your hand.”

“I-- I really don’t see the point of this--” I start, but Glaciero cuts me off.

“Let me see your hand!” he roars.

Shaken, I pull off my glove, showing him my perfectly fine hand. “Are you satisfied?” I snap.

Glaciero nods and sits back. “Fine. Just take me wherever you’re going and then leave me alone.”

I drive the rest of the way in silence. We pull up in front of HQ and I slam my door open, get out, and slam it shut again.

“Let’s go in,” I say, not looking at him.

Glaciero trails after me in silence. I take him into the main hall and explain to the guard what’s going on in low tones. He waves me on and I grab Glaciero’s elbow and pull him forward.

“Ow, hey, what’s going on?” Glaciero says, trying to get my hand off his arm. But my grip has become like iron as I yank him into the elevator and insert my key into the keyhole. When I twist it, the elevator starts to descend, lower and lower and lower.

“Where are we going?” Glaciero asks me, but I ignore him. The elevator’s bell dings and the door opens. I tug Glaciero behind me through the underground complex that has just been revealed.

“Where are we going?” Glaciero repeats, but I just tighten my hold.

“Come on,” I say instead. “It’s not too much further.”

But Glaciero digs in his heels and refuses to move. “Where are we going, Casey?” he says for the third time, a hard edge entering his voice. “Or is that even your name?”

I sigh and turn around. “God, I’d hoped you could have held on just a little bit longer, Glaciero. It would have been so much easier for the both of us.”

“What-- what do you mean?” Glaciero asks.

I rip off my police badge and toss it into the air. It expands, lengthening and stretching, until it lands on the floor. “It” isn’t the right word anymore-- it’s a person. A female.

“Thanks, Shadowmorph,” I purr, and she bows. She’s dressed all in black, lithe and muscular like a cat.

“Who is she?” Glaciero demands, but I laugh.

“Oh, Glaciero, the question you should be asking yourself is-- who am I?” I take off my left glove and then my right, holding both hands out to Shadowmorph. She rests her hand on mine for a moment, and when she takes it away, my right hand is blistered and blackened. Glaciero gasps.

“Ah, yes, the effects of frostbite,” I say, turning my hand this way and that. “Quite hideous. That’s why I had Shadowmorph hide it. Can’t have that to ruin my image, now could I?”

I snap my fingers at Shadowmorph, and she hastens forward again. This time, she waves her hand over my entire body. The mousy brown hair and navy police uniform of Casey Martino melts away, replaced by the fiery red hair and black, white, and gold uniform unique to one person.

“Electroblaze,” Glaciero gasps.

I wave my hand in the air, summoning black-clothed guards that pin Glaciero’s arms behind his back. “Yes, yes. I had this whole dramatic reveal planned, but alas, you ruined it. Ah well. I’ll have to save it for the next one.”

“The-- the next one?” Glaciero says, fighting against my men.

“Yes, the next one,” I purr, stepping towards him. “You didn’t think you were the only young superhero who thought Electroblaze was their arch nemesis, now did you?”

I gasp in delight at the look on his face. “Oh, you did! How sweet. No, Glaciero, darling, you’re not the first, and you won’t be the last. Take him away.”

The guards turn and start to drag him away, but Glaciero pulls against them. “Who else knows?” he calls to me. “Is that inspector in on it? Is the entire police force in on it?”

I inspect my crimson nail. “Hmm, no. Inspector Dodds knows what he needs to know. And if he learns anything else, well, it’s quite easy to just have him disappear.” I flick my hand in the air.

“Why are you doing this?” Glaciero shouts as the guards prevail and yank him down the hall.

“Why, dear,” I purr, “I’m a classic supervillain. It’s what we do.”

Glaciero’s shouts fade as he’s dragged further and further down the hallway. I inspect my nails once more, thinking of how many others he’s going to join. Falcon Burn. Fortune Tracer. Megablast. A hundred or more superheroes who thought they could stand against me, all because “good always wins”.

“Well, sweethearts,” I chuckle to myself, “There’s your lesson, right there: good hasn’t won around here. Not for a long time. And it never will.”