The Loop

August 3rd

“Mommy, mommy! Come look! They’re flying!”

Kayla peered around the corner into the playroom where Micah was seated in the corner, watching T.V. Her first thought was that he was watching some cartoon, but then it hit her like a truck: the knowledge that the world had changed. That knowledge kept leaping into her brain at unexpected moments, leaving her lost and scared until she pushed it away again.

On the screen was a news program, and on the news program was a man flying circles around the Empire State Building. He was dressed from head to toe in tights and a mask that were all covered in American Flag patterns. On his back, he wore a cape that was a single red stripe on the left, a single blue stripe on the right, and a large white star in the middle. Over his chest, he wore what looked like a tight-fitting bulletproof vest, also colored like the American flag.

Next to the man, flying in tandem with him, was a woman wearing a very similar outfit, except her cape had a stylized torch in place of the star, and she had no bulletproof vest. She was carrying what looked like an unlit torch.

The ticker at the bottom of the screen announced: “Brigadier and Mother of Exiles announce plans to clean up the city — Politicians and Police Reps Express Concerns.”

Great, Kayla thought. Just what the city needs. A bunch of costumed assholes getting in the way of the police.

But then, the police weren’t really doing their jobs, at least as Kayla saw it, so maybe the costumed assholes couldn’t do any worse. Maybe if more cops were like detective Gonzalez … But he was the exception, not the rule. And, she thought, it’ll be just the same with these ‘Hyperhumans’. Most of them will be power-tripping asses and the rest will be left to clean up the mess, and regular people will be the ones who suffer through it all.

But she didn’t have to let her kid be exposed to it more than he already would be. She picked up the remote and changed the channel. An old black and white movie? Pass. Another news station showing a similar story? Nope. Then: there, she thought. Perfect.

“Hey! Why’d you change it?”

“This is ‘Kan the Conjurer’. You love this show.”

“Moooom, this show is for babies. Everyone knows magic’s not real.”

This was news to her. A month and a half ago, Micah couldn’t get enough of Kan the Conjurer. He was one of the biggest comic heroes of all time—right up there with the likes of Red Ronin, Justice Hawk, PowerBoy and GigaGirl. His cartoon had been one of the most successful kids shows of all time. For babies? she thought. Just last week Kan was shot in the chest and nearly died.

Truth be told, until recently, she wouldn’t have wanted Micah watching ‘Kan the Conjurer’ because it was too violent and grown up. Now she just wanted him watching anything other than the news, anything other than reality.

“What do you mean, for babies?”

“Because, mom, there’s people who can really fly out there and you want me to watch some dumb show about a magician?”

And there was the crux of it; in the face of the new extraordinary reality that everyone was experiencing, escapist fantasy didn’t hold the same appeal. Not even for seven year olds.

“Well, it’s this or that old movie.”

“Never mind. I’m going to play outside.” Micah got up without waiting for a response or permission. He was lacing his shoes by the door before Kayla called after him.

“Just stay within sight of the house!”

“Fucking kids,” she muttered to herself. “Fucking powers. Fucking Kan the fucking Conjurer.” She took a deep breath, tried to steady herself and change her perspective. “And fucking me for having this weekend with my kid and wasting it complaining about what he watches on T.V.”

Kayla had a habit of speaking aloud when no one was around. She’d been told it made her seem crazy, but she didn’t much care. It helped her organize her thoughts in a way that nothing else did.

Ever since Micah was four and Michelle had left her, Kayla had needed a way to organize her thoughts. Otherwise they became very disorganized, very quickly.

“Probably why she left,” she said to herself, lacing her own shoes and heading out the door with Micah’s favorite ball in hand. “At least, it was his favorite a week ago. Now? Who knows?” She added an exasperated flair to her voice for no one's benefit but her own.

She watched as Micah’s face lit up and she smiled, both inwardly and outwardly. Still his favorite ball, then, she thought. She wished she could speak the thought aloud, but she was trying hard to restrain herself when other people were around. Especially Micah.

After what had gone down at the shelter the previous night, she knew she was lucky to have Micah at all. She wouldn’t have blamed Michelle if she’d insisted that Kayla needed some time to herself, that the night’s events had her too shaken up to look after a kid.

But Michelle had surprised her by saying how scary it must all have been and telling her maybe exactly what she needed was to spend some quality time with her kid. And some time away from that damn shelter.

What Michelle couldn’t understand was that if it weren’t for shelters like St. James’s, Kayla wouldn’t even be alive. How could she know other kids were out there in the same circumstances she’d been, and do nothing to help them?

Micah threw the ball with more than his usual level of intensity while she was lost in thought, and it struck her in the face.

“Micah!” she shouted.

“Sorry, mom!”

She’d at first interpreted the intensity of the throw as anger boiling over, but his genuine concern made her rethink that assessment.

“What the fu— What was that about?”

“I was just … trying to be like the people on T.V.”

“Like the Hyperhumans?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said, looking at the ground.

She sighed and took his chin in her hand, raising his face up to look straight at her. She was in a constant contradictory state of marveling at how fast he was growing up, and being surprised by how much of a child he still was.

“Micah … There’s nothing wrong with being powerful, but seeking power for its own sake is … Having power doesn’t automatically make you right, or good. Do you understand what I mean?” Of course he didn’t; he was seven years old. Why am I telling him this? Why do I have to make everything a lesson? Why can’t I just let my kid fantasize about being a superhero?

“I think so,” he said, surprising her. “Like when bad teachers punish kids who didn’t do anything wrong, and there’s nothing they can do to fight back?”

She laughed, in spite of herself. “Something like that,” she said. It was a surprisingly astute observation. Of course, teachers weren’t shooting students with lasers or blowing them up or setting fire to them just because they could.

“You’re not talking about your teacher, are you?” she asked. She’d always thought Ms. Bannon was a solid teacher. Maybe I’m not paying enough attention.

“No,” he said. “Ms. B is awesome. Just things I’ve heard.”

Despite his confirmation that she was right about his teacher, the anxiety that arose from the thought that she didn’t notice him enough, didn’t pay enough attention, didn’t follow what was going on in his life closely enough remained with her. It was a worry she came back to, again and again, and it never failed to sour her mood.

The problem was distance. And time, of course. But for her, mostly distance. Michelle had no problem with her dropping in to visit Micah, even on nights that weren’t Kayla’s, but Michelle lived in Mount Vernon, and Kayla lived in Long Island City. The time it took to get from one to the other, combined with the fact that between work and volunteering at the shelter, Kayla didn’t really have any time, meant that her nights were the only nights she could get there.

And there were problems with that line of thinking, of course. There was an implication that her work was more important to her than her son, or that her volunteering was. And if asked, she’d have denied both things, and she’d have meant it. But balancing every important thing perfectly all the time is impossible, and she always worried about the one she thought she was falling behind on. And usually that was Micah.

“Is your face okay?” he asked her, and his voice was all sincere regret and bashfulness, his emotions as plain and obvious and complete as only a seven year old’s can be.

It simultaneously broke and warmed her heart.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, smiling at him in a way she hoped would reassure him. “Well, maybe I’ll be fine after some ice cream.”

His face perked up.

“Ice cream? Really?”

“I said I’d be fine after ice cream. No one said anything about you, kiddo.” He looked momentarily devastated until she broke out into a wide grin and started giggling.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“I don’t know. Race you to the freezer and let’s find out?”

Running inside with him just ahead of her, she caught sight of the Empire State Building and shook her head, feeling all of her anxieties hit her at once. No one was flying in circles around it right then, at least not that she could see at this distance, but they were still out there, not far enough away. If, in that moment of heightened worry, she could have just magically taken Micah and herself out of the city, she would have.

But, as Micah had pointed out to her, everyone knew that magic wasn’t real.

——————

She just didn’t want Micah to be like she had been. It was a thought that hit her upon walking into St. James’s every time. And Felipe, bless his soul, was exactly what she thought of when she imagined Micah going down that path. No fault of his, of course, but she couldn’t help thinking about it. Couldn’t help imagining that Felipe was up to all the things she’d been up to at his age: drugs, sex, sex on drugs, sex for drugs, petty—and sometimes not so petty—crimes.

For her, there’d been a reason, not explored nor diagnosed until later on. And when she realized her childhood trauma was at the root of her anxiety disorder, which was at the root of her self-medicating tendencies, her acting out, her recklessness, it came as no surprise, but knowing it also did nothing to help her.

“Hey, miss,” said a handsome young volunteer, Carlos, as Kayla walked into St. James’s. “The chief is in the back, if you’re looking for him.”

Everyone around here called the detective something different—chief, sherriff, inspector. There was even one smartass who insisted on calling him ‘the gendarme’, a name which never failed to make Kayla laugh. None of them got a rise out of Ricky though; he took everything in stride.

There was still a squad car parked on the corner, and no doubt more officers would be in to conduct more interviews, or ask around the neighborhood to see if anyone had seen anything, but she and the other volunteers had successfully petitioned the police to let the shelter stay open, citing the urgent need for it.

Still, word got around, and St. James’s wasn’t likely to be near as busy tonight as it had been two nights ago. “Do people really think there’ll be another Hyperhuman attack?” she said aloud. Then, catching Carlos’s curious glance her way, she continued silently, what are the chances of that?

When she was younger, after she’d left home, after she’d spiraled for several years, something had clicked into place. Some sudden and profound realization that if she kept going down the path she was on, she’d never see adulthood. She’d seen a pro-bono psychiatrist, gotten medication, straightened herself out, gotten it together, and met Michelle. She’d finished her GED, gone to college, gone to law school, and until Micah was four, and she’d relapsed, lost her mind a little bit, lost Michelle, lost Micah, and found herself on the street again, she’d kept it together.

That relapse had been short-lived, a fact for which she was thankful every day, but much of the damage had already been done. She’d come out the other side with her job intact only because you’d have to be crazy to want it, and no one else was. Not as much as her, anyway.

You can’t be an underpaid, overworked family lawyer in a city like this without eventually having a nervous breakdown, she thought. Many working professionals had breakdowns and kept it together so well that no one but those closest to them even realized it had happened.

For her, breakdown was disaster. Breakdown was calamity and chaos and a return to her old ways. She’d pulled herself out of it before things went too far, but she knew now that it was a risk, would always be a risk. Work and volunteering helped to keep it at bay, helped her keep things in perspective, helped keep her head on straight.

She made her way into the back—a large storage room accessible only to those with a key—wondering at the fact that the detective was there at all. Ricky ordinarily only came in one or two nights a week. She didn’t fault him for it; any volunteering was good in her books, and not everyone had demons they needed to keep at bay.

The lights were off, except for one small desk lamp in the back corner, where a computer was situated in front of an old office chair and Jerome, the oldest volunteer and the only one with the patience to commune with the ancient machine, did the accounting for the shelter.

“Ricky,” she called. “Are you back here?”

“Over here,” she heard him say. “Is that you, Kayla?”

She navigated her way past stacked tables and chairs and boxes of shitty, broken Christmas decorations. She nearly knocked over a box full of huge stock pots and massive pans in her attempt to get to the corner where his voice was coming from in the poorly lit space.

When she got closer, she saw Ricky sitting with his back against the wall, looking like he was ready to pass out where he sat. On the ground next to him was Felipe, asleep on the floor with his head on a pillow. Her first thought was that he must have been high on something, and she hated herself for that.

“Did you … did you find him like that? Why not put him in one of the bunks?”

“We didn’t know where else to go. The people who were following us, they have resources. They must have ran my plates somehow and they were waiting outside my apartment building when we got there. Felipe doesn’t really have a home to go to, so it was here or … or I don’t know where.”

That barely answered any of the questions she’d had in mind, and neither of the ones she’d asked out loud, and it introduced even more.

“People were following you?” she asked. “What people? Drug dealers?”

“I know you always assume the worst of Felipe,” he began, and she was about to say something defensive, but he held up a finger to shush her. “And this time, you’d be right,” he said. “They were, in fact, drug dealers. Among other things.”

“He refuse to pay for his drugs?”

She wasn’t making up wild assumptions and accusations when she said things like this, despite what Ricky might have thought. She was only stating things she herself had once done.

“No. I mean, yes, he did rip them off. But not like you’re thinking. He … Well actually,” he said, glancing down at Felipe’s sleeping form, “I don’t think I’d like to tell you any more unless you’re all the way in.”

“All the way in? Into what? What does that even mean?”

In answer, he pulled something out from behind his back. Even in the dim half-light of the storage room, she could see how brilliantly it shone. She could see herself reflected in its mirror surface, and she saw that she looked scared. I should be scared, she thought. I’d be crazy not to be.

“Is that what I think it is?” she asked, hardly able to believe what was going on right in front of her.

“Felipe’s not a bad kid, Kayla. And I’m not a bad guy. And you’re … Well, you’re one of the best people I know. I wouldn’t have come to you, except … I know you care about this city, the people in it. You haven’t told me everything about your past, but I can piece two and two together; wouldn’t be much of a detective if I couldn’t. The thing is, it speaks to me, tells me I have to find three others. So I’ve got Felipe and me, and we’ve got a whole situation going on, and, when I thought of who else could help, you were the first person to come to mind.”

She was strangely flattered, despite how crazy everything he’d just said was.

“This situation, would it involve doing anything against the law?”

“I can’t rule it out.”

“I appreciate your honesty. I’ll leave you to it.”

She turned to leave, but as she took a step away, she was hit again by the knowledge of what the world had become, of the madness that was happening everywhere that everyone seemed resolved to ignore, to keep on going like everything was normal. Her knees went weak and she almost fell, catching herself on a stack of chairs.

If I let other people take all the power, can I complain about how they use it?

“Can I trust myself with it?” she whispered.

Can I trust anyone else?

Can I trust Felipe?

“Maybe if he has someone in his corner, keeping an eye on him, looking over his shoulder.” She spoke aloud, aware that she was vocalizing her internal monologue again, but not giving a shit about it in the moment. At least she spoke quietly enough that the others probably didn’t hear her.

She turned back toward the detective.

“By the way,” she said, stalling for time while she worked through the problem in her mind. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

“It doesn’t seem that dark to me, not anymore. Not since … Well, I’ll tell you if you’re in.”

“All the way in,” she repeated his words from earlier.

“All the way.”

Did he know how tempting I would find this? Did he understand why? Could he know so much about me from what little I’ve mentioned of my past, my views, my frustrations?

“Okay,” she said. “I’m in. All the way. What do I do?”

He didn’t answer; the orb did.

Reach out your hand, Kayla. Touch my surface and realize your potential. Be a better person—friend, volunteer, champion of the city and the downtrodden … a better mother.

She needed no more convincing. She reached out a hand that was much steadier than she’d expected it to be, and touched the orb.

———————

“So this is an ordinary street gang, and we’re three Hyperhumans, and yet we’re hiding out in fear of them?”

“None of us have particularly offensive powers,” Ricky pointed out, “and Felipe is a kid. What would your recommendation be? An all out assault? One cop and two civilians storm the headquarters of an organized drug ring?”

“Well, when you put it like that …”

“I agree we can’t just go attack them,” said Felipe, “but I also can’t live in fear of them forever. We need to do something.”

“There’s something you’re not telling us,” said Ricky. “There’s something you’re afraid of happening … to them? To this other gang you were a part of. The Murphys, they’re planning an attack on Sammy’s brother’s crew?”

Ricky had explained his power to her after she’d touched the orb, but it was still unnerving how he kept making these leaps of logic that led him straight to correct conclusions based on almost nothing. It was like his well-honed instincts and intuition from being a detective for years had been dialed up to eleven. No, she thought. Way past eleven. It hardly seemed like a power at all, until she saw it in action.

He’d also received a massive buff to his hearing and vision, allowing him to see in near complete darkness, to hear and pinpoint faraway sounds in a loud area and correctly interpret what they were.

“They’re … Yeah. With the guns I stole for them. It’s their way of sending a message,” answered Felipe, starting at the detective in apparent astonishment.

“And you feel guilty about that?” Kayla guessed, no super-intuition required. “You actually want to warn Sammy’s brother, don’t you?”

“How can I not? After all the bad shit I’ve been a part of. To get out by pulling one last job that ends in more bloodshed than anything I’ve done before … It feels worse than anything. Worse than … than when I let my best friend die.”

They were standing on the rooftop of a twelve storey apartment building across the street from one of the Murphys’ old safehouses—the very one that Felipe had been staying in for years before he came to his senses and resolved to get out of the organized crime game. Her own power had gotten them there.

She kept the doorway open behind them, leading back into the storage room at St. James’s.

Felipe was bending the light in such a way that anyone looking up at the roof wouldn’t be able to see them, but without sacrificing their ability to see down or across the street.

“Okay, I follow all that. And I even kind of agree with your logic, kid. I get not wanting to have that on your conscience. What I don’t get is why we’re here, watching the Murphys’ hideout instead of keeping an eye on the other guys. I thought you were square with the Murphys.”

“I am. I don’t know why we’re here either.”

“Just a hunch,” supplied Ricky. “Just watch.”

They followed his instructions and watched, and after a few minutes they saw two figures emerge from the front of the building. Felipe let out a sound that started as a gasp and transitioned into a groan.

“Who are they?” asked Kayla.

“The younger one is Simon,” he said. “The older one is—”

“Sean Murphy, head of the Murphy crime family,” Ricky finished.

The two Murphys were having an animated conversation, but the sound didn’t carry to the rooftop across the street. At least, not well enough for Kayla and Felipe to catch it.

Without needing to be asked, Ricky started repeating the conversation out loud for the benefit of the others.

“Simon: ‘Dad, I swear, I thought he still lived here.’

“Sean: ‘He’s your recruit, Simon. He’s your responsibility. How could you lose track of him?’

“Simon: ‘Because he hardly speaks to me anymore. He goes on the jobs I tell him, and he does what he’s supposed to do, but he doesn’t supply any extra info willingly.’

“Sean: ‘You fucked up here, son. But we’ll worry about dealing with you later. Right now we gotta find this kid before the Novaks do.’”

The Murphys walked away down the street.

“Peter and Sammy’s gang,” Felipe muttered. “Why do they even care if Peter and Sammy find me?”

“The Novaks could get information about the Murphys’ operations out of you before they kill you,” Ricky said. “Or they could use you as a bargaining chip?”

Felipe groaned again.

“But I don’t think it’s either of those things,” said Ricky, looking levelly at Felipe. “I think Sean Murphy wants to kill you himself, and has for a while.”

“He … what?”

“I don’t think he ever planned on letting you out.”

The two Murphys were at the end of the street getting into the back of a black sedan now, and Ricky was still watching them intently.

“You can’t still hear what they’re saying, can you?” asked Kayla.

Ricky nodded and continued repeating the conversation of the two men.

“Simon: ‘What if we don’t get him?’

“Sean: ‘Then it’ll be your head. And believe me, son, I don’t want to lose two sons because of that traitorous Brazilian shit.’

“Holy shit. Shit, shit shit,” Felipe said. “Has he known all along?” He looked at Ricky as if Ricky could possibly know what he was talking about.

“I’m lost,” said Kayla. “Has he known what all along?”

“That Felipe here was the reason his youngest son was gunned down three years ago.”

Kayla’s mind flared and she took an involuntary step back from the two of them. A part of her felt a strange sort of vindication, like she’d been right about Felipe all along. But then she reassessed what the detective had said; not that Felipe had killed the kid, but that he’d been the cause of the kid’s death.

“How?” she asked.

“I … I led the bad guys straight to him. He was safe at home and I was selfish. I just wanted us to have an afternoon where we could be regular kids.” His voice was shaky and he paused for a long few seconds before he continued with more resolve. “He was my best friend.” His eyes were shining with tears, but his voice had a hard edge to it, something almost defiant, like he was daring her to challenge him on the fact that he regretted it.

“I’m sorry, Felipe. I had no idea.” She meant it, although she knew the words could never be enough.

“So we’re not just up against the Novaks,” said Ricky. “We’re up against the Murphys, too.”

“Why didn’t he just kill me three years ago if he knew all along?” Felipe was kicking the gravel beneath his feet in what Kayla supposed was a nervous reflex.

“Because you were still useful. I suspect the plan all along was to work you as long as they could, and kill you the moment you became useless or expressed an interest in getting out. Sean Murphy is a very angry man, a very violent man, and he holds grudges. But he’s also a patient man. It’s actually to our advantage that the Novaks have thrown a wrench in the plan.” Ricky rattled these facts off with the surety of someone in the know. And she supposed he would be; after all, these were high profile criminals in New York, and he was a detective. He probably knew a lot more about their dealings than most people in the city.

“That’s easy for you to say,” Kayla said. “You’re not the one they’re out to kill.”

Felipe looked at her and nodded vigorously.

“Let’s go back to St. James’s,” said Ricky. “We can talk about it there. I think I have a plan, or at least, the start of one.”