Comments to imagineer47@yahoo.com
"Ken, not since George Clooney donned a rubber suit have superhero fans been so disappointed. Oak Valley police today announced that the Avenging Angel, known to her fans as Sapphire, is a hoax.
"Despite vehement protesting by the crimefighter's fans, police and city officials carefully laid out the details of the hoax in a press conference earlier today. Both Sapphire and her nemesis the Black Widow were fake. After what appeared to be a spectacular and selfless display of heroism defeating both a cold-blooded serial killer and a terrorist attack at the Alluring Enduring Party Saturday night, several accomplices came forward today describing their roles in an elaborate hoax, perpetrated against this city and its residents since the Avenging Angel first appeared some two months ago. Trapeze harnesses, several costumes, and boxes of blank cartridges were seized from a warehouse early Sunday morning, said to be the base of operations of the phony philanthropist of justice and her cadre of cardboard criminals. The accomplices showed off stunt cars with carefully prepared damage, a collection of skintight body-colored padded suits, and several costumes for both the heroine and her arch-villain, and described in detail how each Sapphire and Black Widow sighting had been orchestrated. Doubters who claimed to have seen Sapphire fly had no response to police explanations of simple acrobatic wirework.
"Indeed, upon closer inspection city officials uncovered an extensive network of cables and pulleys in and around all credible Sapphire sightings. City Utilities Director James Randi noted that most Sapphire appearances took place at night, when such wires would not be visible to the casual observer.
"Sapphire fans were quick to point to the extensive body count racked up by the Black Widow as evidence this summer's events were more than a hoax. Police described an opportunistic band of pranksters who took advantage of a real serial killer to lend drama to their tale. While there was a real serial killer roaming the streets of Oak Valley this summer, neither the fixation on local shipping magnate Gerald Bates nor any of the supernatural activities attributed to the Black Widow legend could be connected to multiple murder suspect Valerie Strain, who was found dead at an undisclosed location this morning.
"Accomplices who came forward said the joke simply got out of hand, and as soon as the convention center event had concluded, their consciences demanded they turn themselves in. But several others are still at large and may never be identified, including the actresses who played the furious females on both sides of the law. Those in custody said they never saw either woman out of costume and were always contacted and paid anonymously.
"And what of the sapphires that gave this heroine her name? Simple tinted plastic cast around blue LEDs, powered by common watch batteries. This reporter managed to secure this photo of one of the Black Widow's many costume necklaces; Sapphire's adornments were of identical design. Seen up close, the pedestrian nature of these baubles to which so many ascribed mystical powers is obvious.
"Even the bomb which rocked the convention center Saturday night was a fake. Though real explosives were in fact used, Oak Valley's lead explosives disposal technician described the device as a harmless showpiece not unlike those used on Hollywood sets, generating a huge fireball but little more than cosmetic damage to the convention center, scheduled to reopen in time for the annual auto show.
"Who would perpetrate such a scam on the people of this city? Though police speculate the hoax was perpetrated by Gerald Bates himself to garner sympathy among the voters before tough new racketeering legislation comes up for vote in the state assembly next week, the trail of evidence falls short of implicating any particular man or organization. Bates himself offers no comment. So whether nothing more than a cheap summertime thrill for a few rowdy college students or something more insidious, a strange episode in Oak Valley history comes to a close with more questions than answers. But one thing is clear: someone has cheated the people of this town, building a heroic legend to lift the spirits of our citizens only to dash them on the harsh rocks of reality. It is a lesson this reporter will not soon forget. Ken?"
"Thanks Barbie. This summer's strangeness goes beyond a superheroine hoax, to killer coffee. Can coffee kill? It appears to have been fatal for one woman. Police have identified the woman who was found dead outside a Strong Oaks warehouse two nights ago as Ms. Gladys Barrett, a 40-year-old waitress from Heartwood Gardens -- the same Gladys Barrett whose house mysteriously exploded just hours before her death. We now go live to correspondent Mercedes Mirada-Cordoba for an update."
"Thank you Ken. It's business as usual here in Strong Oaks. Unfortunately, that business is murder. And drugs. I'm standing in front of the empty warehouse where frustrated drug dealers took Ms. Gladys Barrett two days ago, interrogating her for hours in a futile attempt to discover the location of a shipment of cocaine before gunning the woman down as she tried to escape. But was Ms. Barrett a drug smuggler caught in a deal that went bad?"
"'That's the dumbest thing I ever heard. Gladys didn't even drink *coffee*.' So says Mel Sharp, who owns and operates the diner where Ms. Barrett worked serving patrons coffee and smiles for nearly a decade. But ironically it's coffee that connects this single mother to a new network of drug dealers the police are only now beginning to uncover.
"Police found the connection in the shipping records of the now-defunct coffee importer that until recently operated from this very warehouse. For in addition to shipping fine arabica and robusto, Valdez Imports also brought in pure Colombian cocaine by packing it in bags of gourmet coffee and shipping them directly to dealers.
"It was one of those bags that was mistakenly shipped to Ms. Barrett's home. It was when Ms. Barrett contacted the company to return the accidental shipment that her troubles began. Apparently, rival drug dealers were tipped off to the errant bean bag and rushed to recover it; the resulting skirmish combined with a latent gas leak to engulf the Barrett home in a ball of fire yesterday morning, leveling the structure and damaging neighbors' windows. Another dealer simultaneously abducted Ms. Barrett from her place of employment, hoping to extract from her the location of the coffee. After hours of interrogation, the woman escaped from the building and nearly got away when the drug dealers mowed her down in a hail of gunfire. Gladys Barrett is survived by her daughter, Angela. She will be missed. Back to you, Ken."
"Like I said. No bodies. But just look at this place. Nothing would have survived an explosion like this."
"I see what you mean."
"Well, I'll be waiting up in the car. You think you'll be long, Professor Phillips?"
"Call me Scott. No, there's not much to see here. I'll be up in a minute."
Funny; now that the sapphires were gone, details of their legend practically poured forth from his old Asian sources. The amulet's symbiotic relationship with the stones -- that explained the Hunter -- the sapphires' pictographic stories of endless suitors, accumulation of life force, and some kind of gateway or portal to... well, nobody really knew what. Where was this intel three months ago when he could have used it? Sure, he wouldn't have believed them, but at least when weird shit started happening he would have had a frame of reference. Now it was just another fantastic ancient legend -- one that only a few people still alive knew was real. He wondered briefly what Angela could have done if she'd managed to keep all eight stones.
Eric looked around. So this was where they'd done it. Opened the portal. Or tried to, anyway.
"Wherever they went, something tells me they won't be sending back a postcard."
The trees were flattened for fifty yards in all directions, arranged neatly like burnt toothpicks around the small six-foot diameter impression. It looked enough like a meteorite strike. After the winter rains, no one would be able to tell any different. And thus a bizarre and still-unexplained end to a remarkable chain of events would fade into obscurity.
Eric was about to leave when something caught his eye. There in the blackened earth, a bright flash...
He dropped to his knees and swept away the soil with his hand. There, just below the surface, was an impossibly large, impossibly bright sapphire.
Larry looked out over the maze of motels, tenements, warehouses, and dilapidated shops that was Twisted Oaks. The city seemed to be returning to normal. Police cruisers were few and far between, and mostly stuck to the main drags and the donut shops; ladies of the night were out in full force; even the pimps were beginning to crawl out from under their rocks and reclaim their old stomping grounds.
Still, there for a while it looked like things might change.
No, they had changed.
On the surface things were again as they'd been before She came. But now people whispered admissions that, sometimes, they felt as if they were being watched. Gangs were a little less aggressive about their turf. Pimps felt less inclined to beat their whores, and whores felt less inclined to take it. And everyone hurried away a little more quickly from the darkest corners.
Even if she was gone, her presence would be felt for a long time to come.
Larry heard a loud thump behind him; he recognized the sound of the stairwell door swinging open and hitting the plastic trashcan he sometimes used to prop it open.
He turned around slowly; it was a good idea not to startle anyone in Twisted Oaks.
Silhouetted in the bug-lite of the stairwell doorway was a tall figure draped in a dark-green poncho. He looked down; his visitor was barefoot.
The figure stepped forward, dropping the hood of the poncho. It took Larry's tired eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light on the rooftop; he couldn't quite make out who it was....
...until the figure unsnapped the collar of the poncho and pulled the neck open, bathing the rooftop in an eerie blue glow.
Larry smiled. "Well, look what the cat dragged in!"
The modified Chevy Impala SS rumbled up the narrow tree-lined road, coming to a stop where the pavement ended. Andrew Dean pointed to the cabin tucked away in the trees. "That's it."
Eric Lockwell opened the passenger door. "This won't take long."
Andrew shut off the engine. "Take your time."
Ricky Aquino sat under a tree, sketching on an oversize pad.
"Hey," Eric greeted as he approached.
"Hey, you found it."
"Between the two of us, we can find anyone or anything. Sometimes it just takes us a while." Eric grinned broadly.
Ricky put down his pad and stood up. He offered his hand. Eric shook it, noting with surprise the strength of the slender young man's grip. "It's good to finally meet you in person."
"You too."
Eric looked around; the cabin was small, but sturdy-looking and well-finished. There were redwood trees and ferns and soft red soil wherever he looked. The air had just a hint of the chill that signified the coming change of season. It was quite the cozy retreat.
"Nice place."
"It belonged to my mom's parents. They willed it to my dad when my mom died."
"Sorry."
"That's okay. It was a long time ago. I was just a kid."
Eric regarded the young man carefully. No, he guessed Rick wasn't really a kid anymore.
The familiar brown Corolla was nestled in the shade near the cabin. Eric noticed the elder Aquino's big sedan was absent.
"Your dad around?"
"He went into town to pick up a few things. He'll be back to drop them off, then he's heading back home. The bad guys don't take vacations."
"He's leaving you two alone up here, eh?"
"I can take care of myself."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know. It's not like that. Angela and I are... friends."
Eric was not convinced; he remembered an earlier conversation had taken a different tack. But he let it slide. "If you say so. Where is she?"
"She's inside sleeping. Hold on, I'll go get her."
"No, let her rest, Rick. It's probably better that she doesn't see us right now. She's been through hell."
"Yeah, it's been quite a summer; I think she might not come out till next spring."
"I don't know about that, Rick. She's tougher than she looks. Give her a couple of days, she'll be ready to take on the world again."
Ricky looked down to the end of the road where Andrew Dean's car sat. Andrew nodded in greeting and respect; Ricky nodded back. "So where are you two off to?"
"He's dropping me off at the airport. I need to disappear for a while. I think he's gonna set up a private shop, do corporate work."
"That's cool."
"What about you?"
"I got an offer to do inking professionally. It's just a startup, so the pay's not that great, and it's somebody else's art and story, but it's good work, and I can fit it around school. And if things work out I could get my own book when I graduate."
"Well, you certainly have a unique perspective. They'd be crazy not to let you do your own thing. I'm sure you'll be famous in no time."
"I don't care about that. I just want to tell a good story."
"I'm sure you have lots of good stories."
"One good one, anyway."
They both smiled.
"Listen, I didn't just come up here for tearful goodbyes." Eric opened the cloth sack he'd been holding, gesturing for Ricky to look inside. "I found these in the back of my grandmother's closet," he winked. "I thought you might know a girl who'd appreciate them."
Ricky saw the now-familiar tiara, wristbands, and high-heeled shoes. The four sapphires glittered brightly in the tree-filtered sunlight before Eric closed the bag up.
Ricky frowned. "I don't know if she's the big-jewelry type anymore."
"Take it from me, there are certain things about a girl that just don't change no matter what she's been through. It's called character. And Angela's got lots of it."
"I'm finding that out," Ricky admitted. "I just don't like the idea of her taking such a risk. Wearing something like that makes her a bit of a target."
Eric clapped his hand down on the younger man's shoulder. "She is who she is, kid; if you want her to stick around you better get used to it."
Ricky looked up at his new friend. He reached out and took the bag. "It's not really my choice to make, is it?"
"Not if she means anything to you."
Ricky turned, looking wistfully out through the trees. "More than you know. More than she knows."
"Oh, I think she knows."
"I hope so. She'll always be my precious Angel."
Andrew's Impala SS roared to life.
"Well, Rick, I gotta go."
"All right."
Eric began backing down the hill toward the car; Ricky watched him go.
"You take good care of her; we'll be watching."
"I will."
"See you around, maybe." Eric opened the car door, about to get in.
"Hey," Ricky called out.
"What?"
"I guess it's like they say."
"What's that?"
"Be careful what you wish for; you just might get it."
Baby I think tonight
We can take what was wrong
And make it rightBaby it's all I know
That you're half of the flesh
And blood makes me whole
I need you soSo take these broken wings
And learn to fly again
And learn to live so free
And when we hear the voices sing
The book of love will open up
And let us inTake these broken wings . . .
end.