Sidekicks (27 page)

I take a deep breath and rub my eyes. “I don't—Why is he doing this?” I ask.

“The same old reasons … money. Power. He had figured out a way to get both, and still be considered a hero. We think he killed off the others to make himself more of a rare commodity. The fewer supers there were, the more in demand he'd be. We also think that as he got closer to thirty-five, he started to get a little desperate … He was afraid he'd lose his position as the strongest and the fastest, which would hurt his market position, and the bottom line. His twisted ego wasn't able to handle that … any of it.”

Jake takes a deep breath. “There's a commonly held belief that serial killers kill because they themselves are trying to cheat death. That's just armchair psychology at best, though.”

“And nobody figured this out?” I ask.

“No. Trent spent years setting up his whole ‘good guy' image. In the hearts and minds of the public, Phantom Justice was a good guy … a dark good guy, but a good guy nonetheless.”

I can't help but think of what Allison told me back in school, what feels like a million years ago. “I've spent years being a Goody Two-shoes,” she had said. “Years. So
now, when I want to do something, I ALWAYS get the benefit of the doubt. Once you have that good girl label, you're set.” Trent had proven her theory true, but on a much grander scale.

“So why me?” I ask. “Why'd he help? And keep me alive?”

“Not sure. At first you were part of his wholesome hero image—a cute young sidekick who looked up to him. You pulled in more of the under-ten crowd than he was able to get on his own. You opened up a whole new market for him. But then he realized, even before Allison, that you were becoming a threat. You were too good a person. He knew that if you found out what he was up to, you'd expose him, right?”

“Yeah.”

“That's when he started his plan to kill you…and Allison.”

Just hearing her name hurts. “But why her? She was no threat to him.”

“We think he suspected that she was a triple-plus, and would eventually become a threat to his dominance. She might not … but Trent wasn't willing to take that chance. He'd rather just … well …”

There's an awkward pause.

“We think he'd been looking for an opportunity to kill you two for awhile,” he continues. “We think the IGO Computer thing wasn't even that big a concern for him; his main goal was to set up a scenario where he could flush her out and then off you both.”

I don't even know how to react to that.

“What he didn't know was that Chaotic started working for us,” Jake says.

“When?”

“When he realized what Trent was really up to. The only thing he wanted was to protect his daughter. Needless to say, it didn't work out so well.”

“Yeah.”

“If Trent is still alive, and we're pretty sure he is, the Feds'll slow him down,” Jake says. “But only a little. He's a triple plus. He'll get his hands on whatever he needs.”

“He's going to be gunning for me, isn't he?” I ask.

“He's bound to have some nasty surprises. You really should stay put until we can put some kind of plan in place.”

“I can't,” I say. “I have to do this.”

I check the clock on the wall. Six thirty in the p.m. Time to go. I stand up.

“Here,” he says, and holds out a brown bag.

I smile. “A lunch?”

“Well, technically a dinner. Take it with you, just in case you decide to be sensible for a change.”

I take the bag. “Thanks, Mom.” I put my mask on and leap out the window. It's just after dusk, so the air is cold. I barely feel it.

In six minutes, I'm at the train station. I hide in the shadows until the few people waiting board the train. When the doors close, I hop on top of the train. In twenty-five minutes, I'm back in Manhattan. There's a homeless man lying outside the station. I leave the brown bag next to him and continue on my way.

I use my grappling hook to head up to the rooftops.

The city is quiet, just like it has been every other night. Part of me is disappointed, because I could use an outlet for this … well, I'm not even sure what to call what I'm feeling: Anger? Anxiousness? Pain? Mix in a little despair, and that comes pretty close. But there hasn't been so much as a purse snatching. And the other part of me is glad for that, because I'm not sure what I'd do to whatever criminal I came across. I'm not sure I could maintain control.

“So why are you out there?” Jake asks the inside of my head.

Before I can think of a disturbing image to force him out of my head, a scream echoes through the night.

“HELP!! Somebody please help me!!”

“That's why,” I whisper.

I sprint toward the voice. It's coming from the direction of the river. The buildings are becoming a blur beneath my feet. It's only a few buildings away now. Almost there …

“Hold on!” I yell.

“HELP ME!!”

The person screaming is standing with his back to me, on the roof of
the
building … Allison's building … I stop dead. The Brooklyn Bridge twinkles in the distance. A wave of nausea washes over me.

Monkeywrench turns around to face me, wearing the same outfit from the night in Dr. Chaotic's lab. It's the older one … the one that makes it impossible to tell whether Monkeywrench is a he … or a she.

“Hello, BB, miss me?”

“That depends,” I say. “Who are you?”

“Who do you want me to be?”

I rub my eyes. “I can't do this. Are you Allison, or not?”

Monkeywrench's smile falters. He or she slowly shakes his or her head no.

“Then I don't care who you are,” I say. “I'm going home.”

“Don't I at least get a thank-you for saving your life?” Monkeywrench asks.

“Fine. Thank you. All set?” I ask. “Great. Then get away from me.”

“That may be the most horrible thank-you I've ever gotten.”

“Stick around and it'll get worse.”

“I want to talk to you.”

“Too bad,” I say, “because I don't want to talk to you.”

“What's your problem?”

“I don't know who you are, but that's someone else's outfit,” I growl, “and you don't deserve to wear it.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“How do you know what I do or don't deserve?” Monkeywrench asks.

“It's simple. The previous Monkeywrench was the most amazing person alive. Unless you were the runner-up, you need to take that costume off.”

“No.”

I walk toward Monkeywrench. He or she gets into
a fighting stance, but I just keep walking until I'm less than a foot away. I reach for the mask. Monkey knocks my hand away. I reach with the other hand. Monkey knocks my other hand.

“Take it off,” I say.

“No,” Monkeywrench responds.

“Take it OFF!” I yell, and now I'm grabbing for it. Monkey keeps knocking my hands away. I start punching. He or she starts defending, and I feel like I'm fighting Allison again, and we start getting into a rhythm of punches and kicks and blocks and parries. But this isn't a rhythm I want to get into with a stranger. It was mine and Allison's, and I'm not sharing it with anyone else.

I yell and rush Monkey, hitting him or her square in the stomach. My head is tucked under Monkey's armpit as we hit the ground. I hear the clatter of a mask as it lands on the rooftop and skitters away.

Monkeywrench doesn't move. There's no attempt to push me off and scramble after the mask before I can see. There's no attempt to cover his or her face. He or she is just lying there, waiting for me to look.

So I lift my head up and look.

Allison smiles up at me.

I fall back onto my butt and scoot away from her. My mouth is open. My eyes are filling with tears. My fists are clenched, ready to beat the snot out of her if she's a murderous clone or something.

“I'm not a murderous clone,” she says, and smiles. “At least I don't think so. Louis? Am I a murderous clone?”

Louis's voice fills my head. “Indeed you are not, Ms. Mendes.”

“Louis?” I ask, looking around.

“You can stop looking around, kid,” Louis says. “I'm in your head.”

“You're a—?”

“Yup.”

“And a—?”

“Yeah, and that too.”

I look at Allison “And you're—?”

“Alive? Very much so.”

“But the body …”

“It was a dummy,” she says.

“But I felt it. I held it. It … felt like you.”

“I know. My father built it for just such an occasion. He cloned my skin for it. Gahh. I can't think about. Gives me the creeps.” She shudders.

I look away from her, at the ground, anywhere but her face. I can't process all this. I feel my brain shutting down.

“I know this is a lot to swallow,” she says.

“Oh, ya think?”

“I'm really sorry, Scott. This wasn't my idea.”

“It was mine,” Jake says, also broadcasting in my head, “and if I knew you were going to throw it all away, I wouldn't have bothered.”

“Oh great!” I yell. “So are all the plus intelligences out to make me miserable, or just you three?”

“Well, some of us plus intelligences understand the importance of making a plan and sticking to it, even if people get hurt!” Jake yells. “We don't go around tossing away well-thought-out—and successful I might add—plans at the drop of a hat!”

“This is not the drop of a hat!” Allison yells back. She looks at me. “I couldn't do that to you, Scott. Not for another second. It—” She stops. Her eyes tear up. “I can't see you hurt like that.”

“He was
supposed
to think you were dead!” Jake yells. “Trent is most likely still alive. And whether Scott likes it or not, they share a past! They have a bond! It's that much
easier for Trent to know what Scott is thinking … and right now, Scott is practically broadcasting to the world that you're alive!”

“I know,” Allison says, and smiles at me. “It's very sweet.”

“Sweet is going to get you both killed,” Jake says.

“Nonsense,” Allison says. “Scott's already faster than him.”

“I am?” I ask.

She nods. “Yeah. We think you're going to be even stronger.”

“Eventually,” Jake yells, “but he's not there yet!”

“Please stop yelling,” Louis chimes in. “You're giving me a headache.”

“Look,” Allison says, “Trent would've figured this whole thing out eventually, anyway. Right?”

No answer.

“Then don't we stand a better chance against him if we're all together?” she asks. “That is, if Scott still wants to be near us.” She looks at me, hopeful but wary. “Near me.”

She wants me to say I do … but I just can't. I'm still reeling. “I … it's too much,” I say. “I don't know. I just don't know.”

She looks disappointed, and that hurts … but I barely know what's going on, let alone how I feel about it.

“I understand,” she says.

“I have to think about it.”

“OK.”

“And please … all of you … get out of my head.”

“OK,” Jake says.

“All right, kid,” Louis says.

“Me, too?” Allison says.

“Especially you,” I say.

She's crying now. “I'm sorry, Scott. I'm not sure you'll ever know how much.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I guess that's another ding against the nonintelligence in the crowd. I'll never know you that well.”

“That's not what I meant!”

“So what did you mean?” I yell, because confused or not, I'm angry. “You don't want a little something like lying about your death to get in the way of us trusting each other?”

“Does it have to?” she asks sheepishly.

“It crushed me,” I say, barely above a whisper.

“I know.”

“Yeah, and that kind of makes it worse. You knew
what it would do to me, and you did it anyway.” I walk to the edge of the building. “I need some time.”

“I'll be waiting,” she says.

“Don't. I don't know how long it's going to take.”

Tears are streaming down her cheeks. “Take forever. I'll be waiting.”

I give her a solemn nod, then dive off the building. I swing off the fire escape and land silently on one of the window ledges. I stand there, count to “ten Mississippi,” then quietly climb back up onto the roof, about a foot from where I dove off. Allison's back is turned to me. I can see her shoulders shaking as she cries.

“OK,” I say.

She jumps, startled. She turns around.

“I've thought about it.”

“What do you think?” she asks, between sobs.

“I think this sounds kinda dangerous,” I say, “and I don't like to do anything too crazy, you know. I'm a pretty levelheaded guy.”

I smile at her. She laughs and sprints over to me; I catch her and hold her as tightly as I can without breaking anything.

She looks at me. “You sure you're OK with this?”

“No,” I say, “but I don't want to waste any more time
trying to make sense of it. One way or another, it'll work itself out. Right, Louis?”

“Well said, kid.”

“Just please,” I say quietly, leaning close to Allison's ear, “please don't do that to me again. I can't—”

“I know. I won't.”

“Promise.”

She puts her hands on the sides of my face and pulls me in and kisses me.

“Will that do?” she asks.

“You know, I'm not sure it will,” I say. “I mean that was a pretty traumatic experience. It's going to take something a little more than—”

She grabs me, dips me, plants one on my lips, and holds it.

“Ugh,” Jake says. “I'm out.”