With the rings off of Levi's fingers, his hair slowly shifts to its normal orange hue. His motionless body gives me enough courage to exit my greasy bastion and approach The Phantom's equally motionless side.
"Are you alright Phantom?" They don't answer, instead meeting the question with a deep inhale. "Phantom!"
"Ha!" They explode. "The hero wins again!" They pump their fist into the air triumphantly signaling to me they were ok. "Although I can't use my left arm."
"And that's fine?"
"Give me a day and I'll be fine. Just gotta walk it off!"
If you say so. "Will Levi be alright?"
"He'll be fine. If Astahe's good at one thing, it's regenerating, he won't let his host die. Give him a day or two and Levi'll be good as new!"
Regenerating? Host? I'd say what they said is unintelligible if I didn't just see it for myself. Even with the front-row seat I had, there's still things I don't get. "Who the hell is Astahe and why does he want to kill me? Why does he think I'm someone named Aeter? Who even is Aeter?"
"That's a lot of questions for a recovering superhero Ren, but curiosity is one of the first signs of a fledgling Curator! Long story short, Levi's Antique is
Antique #41-A: Astahe
Two rings collectively housing the soul of Astahe.
Astahe claims that he's an immortal being with superhuman abilities and that he used his villainous strength to rule as a tyrant centuries ago. That is until a courageous hero named Aeter freed the people he was subjugating and sealed his soul inside these two rings! And now Astahe lives inside Levi's head and can only be released if Levi puts on both rings."
"So he thinks I'm a centuries-old warrior who killed him, and he wants revenge against me?"
"Seems like it. You should be honored to be associated with a hero so great!"
"And you believe everything he says?"
"No, I don't think you're Aeter. His description of them is completely different than what you look like. But we already have the Antique Aeter used to seal him at HQ and his story lines up with historical evidence, so it's more than likely the rest of his story is true. But then again, villains are known for their deception so I wouldn't believe everything he says!"
"My first week here and I'm already hunted by a superhuman psychopath." Technically a second one if you count Victoria.
"As long as Levi doesn't put on the rings Astahe can't take over. And Levi's smart enough to use it only when it's necessary. Although a thief might not have called for Astahe. I'll talk that over with him later. Either way, wherever Astahe or any villain may show their wicked face, I will be there to shine bright on their darkness!"
I appreciate the sentiment. "So it's over? We're done?"
"With that part at least! All we need now is to recover the Antique you were sent here to get and that will be your first mission done!" They sit up, sweat droplets soaking into their face mask and injured shoulder probably not in its designated socket. But they're still smiling through the pain I know they must be feeling.
"Wait, Catherine!" I nearly forgot about the whole reason I fought so hard for this!
"Who?"
"We need to find that Antique and the things Ashlyn stole!"
"That's the spirit! Initiative and curiosity! You have some amazing prospects!"
Even injured The Phantom springs to their feet and follows as I lead them to the Antique. Where I expect to be bodies left from Astahe's path of destruction I'm pleasantly surprised by unhappy, but still very alive students being cared for by the EMS. The only one who hasn't immediately recovered is Ashlyn, who's still incapacitated in a pile of glass, with a lump crowning on her head.
"Did Astahe kill her?" The Phantom wonders.
I crouch next to the paramedic treating her and press my fingers over her wrist, feeling two faint beats from it. "No, she still has a pulse." I don't even try to hide the disappointment in my voice.
The Phantom slides the shoes off her static feet. "Mission complete!" They proclaim.
"What about everything she took?"
"That's a job for the police. I have to leave something for them to do!" They chuckle.
"You don't get it. She stole something very important, and I need it back!" I plead.
"If you don't mind the idea of looking through a teenage girl's dorm room at your age, then that's where any good criminal or normal young lady would hide the fruits of their villainy! And while you handle your business, I'll take Levi and the Sneakers back to HQ." They take a few steps away from me before their cape whips into an unnatural breeze as they turn around to say, "And good job today! If you keep this up, you'll be a great Curator someday!"
I appreciate the compliment but there are bigger things to worry about than a future in Curating.
So, after asking the security officers about where Ashlyn stays, they finally do something useful and unquestioningly give me her room number and a master key to get in. One of the very few perks of being a Curator in training I guess.
Catherine being so close reignites the strength in my legs and arms past their limit, and I eagerly sprint my way to the dorms and down the hall until I find the fourth door on the right. This is her room. I shove the key into the hole and nearly bust the door down when entering.
The girl's room is an average cookie-cutter dorm room. String lights are shoddily taped close to the ceiling, a pink tapestry covers the wall, and a computer desk sits next to her hot pink bed. Nothing that would signify she's a criminal. But if it's anywhere, the large wooden drawer sitting in the right-hand corner of the room is going to be it. That must be where she's keeping her treasure trove!
I open the first drawer, nothing but shirts.
The second drawer, pants.
The third, the fourth, the fifth it's not here!
Then I jump from the drawer to look under her bed, then under her mattress, and even under her pillow. Everywhere I looked I turn up with nothing. Nothing, until I pull on her closet's sliding door.
It doesn't budge like it was being blocked by something.
Another pull and still nothing. "Damn it you're going to open!"
I summon the strength in my legs, back, and arms and tug the closet open, almost busting it off its hinges. And from it, a mountain of purses, wallets, bags, and other objects avalanched down on my head. While buried, I reach around and feel for the distinctive texture of my wallet. It's got to be in here somewhere!
After wading my way through the sea of missing items my head finally peeks out from under the waves and only then do my eyes pick out a familiar object within the waters of phones and bags. An all-black wallet with a white kitten sticking its pink tongue out on its face sitting like an idol on top of everything that had poured out. It's another birthday gift from Catherine that I proudly carry with me. It's cute, it has an animal on it, it screams her.
But the wallet is only half the battle, because if the photo isn't in here then all I have left of her is mementos and keepsakes, I'd have done this for nothing. So, I swan dive over the pile towards the wallet, carefully rip off the Velcro strap, and open it hesitantly. And there it is.
A small picture she'd taken using a Polaroid camera she brought with her on our first date. Her body squished against mine as the flimsy chair I'd been sitting on the whole time struggled to support our combined weight. Her radiant face and pillowy cheeks pressed against mine, flooding me with euphoria.
I don't care that every cent I had inside was stolen and that Ashlyn probably sold my credit cards to someone ready to commit identity fraud. I have what I need. It's not a picture on my phone or a pair of penguin sweatpants. It's my special piece of her I can feel. Holding it in my hand feels like I'm holding her again.
Remembering those moments together crowds my head with a feeling I thought I had forgotten. For the first time since she died, my cheeks rise and a simple sense of happiness infests the air in my lungs.
I smell the small square and almost catch a memory of her. I press the plastic close to my chest and I can almost feel her arms squeezing back. Closing my eyes almost brings her back just like I remember.
And it's enough. This is what I miss. Catherine, I love you.
...
"Damn it." I say after breaking out of my love-induced trance, "I've been sitting here for an hour?" I realize after checking my phone as I sit up from Ashlyn's bed. "I probably should go back to HQ before they think I ran away and send a search party after me."
But with no money for a bus and no way to contact Ghislain, the only thing I can do was walk back. How far is the college from HQ?
I pull out my phone and put the address of Headquarters into my GPS. It's a fifty-minute walk through D.C. My body is going to kill me tomorrow morning.
I stroll out of Ashlyn's room, back down the hallway of the dorms, and down the long path of damaged restaurant windows and sections taped off by the police for safety. Over the bridge of cars rushing past the college, past the wreckage of Moreau Hall, back up the hill me and Carly fearfully ran down, and past the students getting treated for their glass wounds.
I find my way out of the college grounds and onto D.C.'s streets and continue staring at my phone to find my way back. Then I stop, take a look around me, and absorb in the new city. I just realized that it's my first time in D.C. and I've never stopped to take in the city. I've been too busy keeping up with Victoria and fighting to get Catherine back that I didn't get the chance.
Grand monuments, public arts, and the entrance to a quiet public park with lush green trees inviting visitors. The morning sun nearing its apex rousing a surge of people trying to get to work while I slowly meander past them like a zombie. Tour buses just starting to wake up take to the road and carry tourists flashing their cameras at everything that moves. Obviously, tour buses exist in Seattle, but there seem to be so many more in D.C. Like every building was something to be amazed at. Ford's Theater, The Smithsonian, The National Gallery of Art. Every building in sight has some kind of great history on its back.
I pass by restaurants, their smells enticing a groan from my stomach for food, but again no money so I keep going. My head is aching, but I'm only five minutes away from HQ, so I keep going. Not too far from me, I can see the huge green landscape of the Capitol building. I never realized that Headquarters was so close to it. I guess Victoria drives us in the opposite direction to get to her house.
Finally, exactly fifty minutes from when I left, my walk ends at the foot of the Curator HQ. My exhausted feet hike up the stairs and my arms, shaking from stress and carrying Carly, scream one more time as I push open the doors to HQ.
It's quiet inside. I don't think more than ten Curators are walking around the halls and main entrance. Maybe everyone else is out running the gauntlet like what I just went through.
"Ren!" Ghislain shouts from his round desk. "What took you so long? The Phantom got here two hours ago."
"I had to walk back from the college." He doesn't need to know that it was really a fifty-minute walk and the other hour was spent with Catherine's picture.
"Wait, what happened to your cheek!?" He yells, leaning over the desk.
Oh, the glass cut. "It's just a scratch."
"A scratch still means you're hurt!" He reaches under his desk and displays an awkward face like he's feeling around for something specific. "There!" From under the table, he pulls a box of Band-Aids and a small white spray bottle. "Come here I'll treat your wound."
"You just have those ready under your desk?" I say, approaching him.
"There will be times Curators come in after a long mission badly beaten or with broken bones and just walk it off like it's nothing. If I don't take concern for their health, even the littlest things, then no one will!"
"Thank you, I appreciate it." Ghislain holds the bottle up to my cheek and spritzes out a liquid that stings my wound.
"Sorry about the burn."
"It's fine it's not that bad."
"I love being able to serve Curators even if I can't go out on missions myself. And what's this about you walking all the way back here?" He says, wiping off the disinfectant and placing the Band-Aid on my cut.
"I don't have a way to get in touch with you and my money was stolen so..."
"If you wanted my number all you had to do was ask! I love adding new friends to my phone!" He enthusiastically slides his phone and a separate flip phone towards me.
"What's the flip phone for?"
"It's a way for Curators to directly contact me whenever they need me to use Waypoint on them. It makes it easier for me to pinpoint their exact locations since we make them trackable in our database."
"So, if I call you with this, you'll bring me back here? You're allowed to give me this?"
"Maybe not, but you wouldn't tell on me, right?" He winks.
"Right." Initially, his over-enthusiastic kindness was getting on my nerves, but I think it's finally growing on me.
"And feel free to add Levi, Victoria, and Jessie to your phone's contacts too. They should all be on my smartphone."
"Who's Jessie?"
"Oop!" Ghislain covers his mouth like he said something he really shouldn't have.
"What?"
"Don't tell Jessie I said anything." He whispers. "They're really big on the whole White Phantom secret identity thing. I've been here for years and it's the only thing I really know about them."
Having an actual name to call them feels better than the whole White Phantom thing. But that still leaves one problem...
"I defaulted to calling Jessie 'them' this whole time. Do you know if Jessie's a-"
"Nobody knows."
"You didn't even let me finish."
"You were going to ask about their gender right? I'm sorry if I assumed wrong."
"Yes... But how does nobody at all know?"
"Whenever someone asks them any type of personal question, Jessie dodges it. So, we all just make up a story in our head and move on."
I came looking for answers and only ended up with more questions. But it's none of my business. I'll just stick to what I've been doing.
"Oh, and speaking of Jessie," He continues, "they told me to tell you that you have the rest of the day off! They'll take care of everything you can just go home!"
"Oh, thanks. Could you teleport me to Victoria's house? I don't know how much more walking I can do."
"No problem, Ren!" Ghislain surrounds me in a red circle and the red light I've become accustomed to transmits me in its glimmering expressway back to Victoria's front door. Expecting to smell the pungent garbage smell that normally comes from Victoria's house, I cover my nose and crack open the door. But a new smell, a spicy yet faint and familiar scent breaches my nostrils.
Is that... Korean fried chicken?
Somehow my nose is brushing away the mountain of waste and selectively focused on the pleasant smell that's hidden beyond it. So, I followed my nose's lead and my drooling stomach, to a door along the wall I hadn't thought of opening, mainly because I didn't want to find out what else Victoria was keeping stashed in her house.
Opening the door, a downward staircase of burgundy carpet softly cradles my feet as my lips egg them on. A brick room, dimly lit and a bit smaller than the living room expands before me. But best of all, it's completely clean. No trash monsters, no dead animal smell, and not even a stain on the carpet. Victoria sits on a black couch in front of a mounted TV and a small dark blue table that held what was calling to my senses. Next to a roll of paper towels is a plastic container full of Korean fried chicken, like gold in a treasure chest.
"What is this place?" I ask.
"It's a basement. Have you never been inside a basement?" She swiftly responds before taking a bite of a chicken leg.
"But why is it so clean and the rest of the house is a landfill."
"I do everything for a reason, Ren. The Antique Credit Command requires me to pay whoever I'm controlling an amount equal to how much they expect to be paid for what I made them do. Whenever I control someone, that thing they want will get directly sent from my home to theirs and if they're homeless it gets sent to the directly. If your house was cleaner, you'd have seen a bag of chocolates the Antique gave you."
So that's what that where those came from! "So all that trash are items that someone in the future might want?"
"I pride myself on my foresight and preparation. Along with many other magnificent qualities I have."
There are several other places you could keep that junk, but sure, whatever you say. "Why are you even here, don't you still have work? And when did you have time to cook this?"
"The Chief gave me the rest of the day off since I'd been working that shitty desk job all week. And I didn't cook this, I ordered it from a Korean restaurant down the street."
Looking at the container, there's enough food there for the both of us. "How'd you know I love Korean?!"
"I didn't. I just ordered double and hoped you didn't want any or didn't come back before I finished." She fills her flimsy paper plate with as much food as it can carry before flopping onto the couch.
"Yeah, that sounds like you," I say as I grab a napkin and sit down to eat. "But thanks anyway."
"It cost 500 dollars and I expect you to pay half."
"500 dollars for chicken!?"
"That plus the delivery fee, the extra sauce fee, the basement dining fee, the I need a new car fee…" I knew it was a scam.
I pick up a piece in my napkin and bite into the buttery white meat of the chicken wing and the crackly skin covered in the perfect amount of spice. The peppery sauce tingles my lips and lights my body on fire. Every bite feels like reliving the moment with her, when she innocently laughed at my dripping nose and teary eyes that weren't ready for the amount of heat I ate. So, for the rest of the day, while I savor each nostalgic bite of fried chicken, I fiercely haggle down Victoria's made-up price to a normal amount.
And after my stomach is full, for the first time in almost a week I can sleep soundly on a clean, stainless bed. Well, not so much a bed as a couch Victoria had sitting in her basement. But it's still clean and more comfortable than the scratchy first-floor carpet.
And I don't know if it was the couch, getting my wallet back, the chicken, or all three, but when my eyes shut, I see the only thing I'd ever wanted to see. I see Catherine. Her shiny hair, her sparkling eyes, her beautiful everything.
And not only that, I speak to her, or at the very least some version of her my mind cooked up.