Everyday (superhero fiction)

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Here's an early draft of my attempt to make a superhero story. It's...rough. Just the first third of the first chapter. Maybe if I'd read more comicbooks I'd have gotten around to finishing it. But not all is lost - it gave me one of my favorite characters, Mercedes Renault! If ever a character were crying out for a story...well, at least she found a life in my Neverwinter Nights game.

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"Everyday!"

"Yes, miss," said Thomas calmly, approaching the receptionist's desk. "That's me."

"I can't believe it's you!" whispered the receptionist, paralyzed with awe, looking up at the man casually towering over her desk. He looked just like his newspaper photos - tall and lean, face sharply defined, thick black hair cut short. "Everyday...I mean, Mr. Lincoln...I mean..."

Suddenly she noticed the horde following Thomas - reporters armed with notepads, photographers armed with flashbulbs, and a policeman armed with a gun - each trying to crowd into the narrow receptionist area of the Thornheart Software lobby.

"Oh no," gasped the receptionist, turning sheer white. "It's me, isn't it? Something's going to happen to me, isn't it? Oh no, oh no, oh no..."

"It's all right, miss," said Thomas gently, patting her on the shoulder. "You're fine."

"Oh, thank you, Everyday...I mean, Mr. Lincoln," said the receptionist, almost crying. "I'm sorry...I thought that you had come here and maybe..."

"Everything is all right," Thomas assured her. "But could you please call your security manager to the front desk?"

The secretary dropped the phone three times before finally connecting.

"He's here...he's here, the lobby...Everyday...he needs to see you right now...Everyday...yes, that Everyday...yes, he wants to see you, personally."

"He says he'll be right down," smiled the receptionist, beaming. "Wow, I've helped Everyday! I'll have to tell my kids! Can I...can I have your autograph?"

"Of course," said Thomas graciously, pulling a pen out of his light jacket to sign the proffered notepad. He was dressed in business casual, personally tailored - but anyone who could afford to buy ten percent of Thornheart Software's stock could surely afford a personal tailor. "And maybe another for your kids?"

"Oh, thank you, Everyday!" said the receptionist, handing him a stack of pages, each preprinted with the Thornheart Software logo.

Thomas had flourished a dozen autographs before the receptionist interrupted him to ask, "Do you need anything? Coffee? A doughnut? I have a yogurt I was going to eat for breakfast, but..."

"No, thank you," said Thomas. Then, as an afterthought, he asked, "Actually, may I use your phone for a personal call?"

* * * * *

Mercedes groped along the night table, trying to reach the ringing phone.

"Renault residence," she mumbled sleepily, morning sunlight streaming past the sills and just catching her careless blond hair.

Then she suddenly sat bolt upright.

"Spend the whole day with you? Well, of course, that would be lovely...yes, there's a new museum exhibit in town, just opened, we could...yes, that would be perfect...you'll call me later, after I get ready? Yes, that'd be fine...I love you, too...goodbye."

* * * * *

The security manager arrived, rushing and out of breath, just as Thomas hung up the phone.

"Good morning, Mr. Lincoln," said the overweight manager, extending a sweaty hand. "Should we evacuate the building?"

"Oh no, oh no, oh no..." whispered the receptionist.

"No need for that, sir," smiled Thomas, vigorously shaking the man's hand. "Everyone's safe. But perhaps you could give me the key to Mr. Thornheart's personal office?"

"Oh no, not Mr. Thornheart," gasped the receptionist. "Is he going to have a heart attack?"

"I don't believe the CEO is in the office today," said the security manager. "It's his day off."

"He's here, Everyday. I mean, Mr. Lincoln," said the receptionist. "He signed in ten minutes ago."

"He'd told me he was going to be spending the day with his family," protested the security manager.

"Please," said Thomas, without a hint of impatience. "If I could please have the key?"

"I'll do one better, Mr. Lincoln," said the security manager. "I'll escort you there myself."

"Thank you," said Thomas, motioning for his retinue to follow them to the elevator. "Oh, and miss? Could you please contact the vice-president of development - Mr. Felix, yes? - and ask him to meet us at the CEO's office in exactly fifteen minutes?"

The receptionist fell out of her chair.

* * * * *

"What's this all about, Mr. Lincoln?" asked the security manager, huffing and puffing down the hallway to CEO Thornheart's personal office. As they walked, the collection of hangers-on grew larger and larger, steadily augmented by staffers and programmers as word of Thomas' arrival spread. "Someone gunning for Mr. Thornheart?"

"You'll know in three minutes," said Thomas, stopping at the end of the hallway. "This is the office?"

"Yes, this is it - takes up almost the entire floor," said the manager, testing the door. "Hmm, I'd thought it would be unlocked - good thing I came along."

He fished through his pocketful of keys and came out with the right one, opening the door to a spacious office, tastefully decorated in an Italian Renaissance style, with works of art across each wall. Huge windows gutted into the walls sprayed morning sunlight across the center desk, coated with paperwork.

"Excellent decor," nodded Thomas respectfully. "Mercedes would approve."

"The chief's not here," said the security manager, looking around. "Must be somewhere else in the building."

"No, he's here," said Thomas, trying to listen above the rumbling noise of the dozens of people crowding into the office. He picked up a family photo from the desk, showing a tall, bearded man with a middle-aged wife and five children. "Maybe in the back room?" he asked, pointing to a side door.

"The back room?" asked the security manager, before it dawned on him. "Oh, the personal bathroom-sauna-gym-whatever. Yes, maybe there."

The security manager tried the door, but it was locked shut.

"Deadbolted from the inside," he apologized. "Mr. Thornheart has a sauna in there - did he maybe spend too long in there and faint? The place is soundproof, so we wouldn't hear him if he were calling for help or...I can call for a cutter and..."

Without warning, Thomas spun and side-kicked the door, busting it open.

Someone in the growing audience screamed.

Inside the bathroom, a mostly-dressed young woman was leaning terrified against the tiled wall, under the glare of a suitcoated man and his pistol.

Another person screamed.

"If you could please ask everyone to stand back, that would be very helpful," asked Thomas calmly, directing the security manager.

"What in the..." swore the older man, bearded mouth agape, staring through the mangled doorway at the sudden crowd of people inside his office.

"Mr. Thornheart!" smiled Thomas cheerfully. "Good morning, sir!"

"What in the name of torn trousers are you doing here?" demanded Thornheart angrily, not lowering the gun. The temperature in the personal sauna was still set relatively high, and Thomas could see the sweat beading on his face. Given that the CEO still had on his suitcoat, he guessed that the pair had only been there a few minutes.

"My name is Thomas Lincoln," said Thomas, extending his hand, even though several yards separated them. "You don't know me - well, maybe you've read about me in the paper."

The man's gunhand began shaking.

"I do know you," said Thornheart, still pointing his gun at the woman. "You're that Everyday. I'm today's villain, aren't I? Is that what you think?"

"Help!" screamed the woman, twisting violently. "He's going to kill me!"

"I said, don't move!" the CEO demanded, steadying the gun with the other hand.

Dozens of flashbulbs went off at once, capturing the intense scene for the next day's papers.

"Mr. Thornheart, we need to resolve this," said Thomas patiently. "Please put down your gun."

"Oh, you think I'm the villain, don't you?" the CEO shouted. "I'm the bad guy for tomorrow's edition, is that how it goes? But you don't know the truth - the truth about her! What about Alicia, hmm?"

"Just let me go," Alicia whimpered.

"She started as my secretary just this year," continued Thornheart. The heat was causing sweat to build up on his hands. "I've built this company from scratch over a decade, and she only came at the end. To ruin me!"

"Mr. Thornheart, we can talk about this later," said Thomas soothingly, taking a step forward. "Please put the gun away."

"I have a family!" he yelled furiously. "I have a career! I have a place in the community! And this little stripper thought she could destroy all of that! She hates me!"

"That's not true," Alicia wept. "I love you!"

The mass of people in the office grew even larger, pressing ominously close to the broken door.

"Please keep everyone back," repeated Thomas coolly, as the security manager radioed to his department underlings to help maintain the crowd control.

"You never cared a bit for me!" accused Thornheart. "You just wanted a bigger job, a bigger cubicle, a bigger paycheck - and then you thought you could blackmail me after..."

"I was confused," she cried, slumping down onto her knees.

"Please, listen to me, Mr. Thornheart," said Thomas, moving steadily closer to the CEO across the damp tiles. "You don't have to do this."

"Oh, that's not talk he understands," snapped Alicia bitterly, briefly coming to life. "He just likes to give orders. 'Copy this, Alicia.' 'Fax that, Alicia.' 'Kill the kid, Alicia.'"

"You miserable vixen," said Thornheart harshly, waving the gun across the length of her body. She immediately crumpled again. "If you think you can..."

"He said I had to kill it," wailed Alicia, shivering. "I thought he loved me and he wanted me to kill it!"

Behind them, in the main office, a television camera recorded all the action, uploaded to the live morning news program.

* * * * *

"In other news, today Everyday is at the Thornheart Software downtown building, interrupting an attempted murder by none other than CEO Thornheart."

"Already?" roared Mercedes, throwing a muffin over the breakfast table at the television set. "Oh, so that's why he can afford to spend the day with me, is that it? Doesn't want me along for his morning chores?"

* * * * *

"Then she asked for money," hissed Thornheart, arms trembling from the strain of keeping the gun aloft. "Wanted me to pay her to disappear. To keep quiet."

"I was wrong," she sobbed. "I didn't know how much I loved you. I never should have asked you for money."

"Mr. Thornheart," said Thomas politely, inching closer, "I hate to interrupt, but..."

"If you'd really loved me, you would've cleaned up the mess you made! Or stayed on the pill so there wouldn't be a mess to begin with! What were you thinking?"

"I don't know, I don't know," Alicia moaned. "I thought...maybe if we..."

"Mr. Thornheart, please don't threaten her," tried Thomas again.

"Me? Threaten her?" he demanded angrily. "She was the one threatening me! She came here today and said she was going to tell my wife everything - lie if need be - anything to make her leave me."

"We could've been so happy," said Alicia weakly. "What about our year together?"

"A year? My wife and I had thirty! Do you really think I would leave her for someone like..."

"Mr. Thornheart, please!" said Thomas forcefully, motioning past the broken sauna door. "In case you hadn't noticed, your family - and the entire city - already knows."

The CEO suddenly became newly aware of the huge mass of people gathered in his office.

"Oh no," he said softly, removing his left hand from the gun to cover his heart. "It's...I'm...they're...oh no, I'm ruined now. Completely. The company, my family, our...oh, you destroyed everything, you worthless..."

"No!" she screamed piteously, watching the gun shake. "Oh, I'm sorry, just let me go!"

* * * * *

"If he doesn't want to invite his fiancée along, fine," muttered Mercedes, revving the engine of her bright red sportscar. "But at least I can catch the aftermath."

"Ms. Renault! Ms. Renault!" shouted a photographer, waiting in ambush by the neo-classical fountains by the front door. "What do you think about Everyday's..."

"Don't make me run over your foot again," warned Mercedes, squealing the car into reverse as the flashbulb blasted her picture.

* * * * *

"Mr. Thornheart, listen to me," said Thomas calmly. "We need to talk."

"Not now!" he shouted, his right arm shaking violently from the pressure.

"You're under a great deal of emotional strain right now," said Thomas coolly. "But if you consider for a moment, you'll see that your position is...well, ludicrous."

"Ludicrous?" demanded Thornheart. "I'm ruined and you're laughing about it?"

"Let's retrace our steps," said Thomas, with an icy calm belying the hot temperature. Fortunately Thomas was prepared, wearing a much lighter outfit than the CEO. "You were going to take off today to spend time with your family, but Alicia wanted to confront you here at the office, yes?"

"That was her plan," he grimaced. "If I didn't agree to her terms, she was going to tell my wife everything!"

"And when you refused her terms and she refused yours, you pulled out your gun," continued Thomas. "But you didn't really intend to kill her, did you?"

"Oh please, oh please, just let me go," begged Alicia.

"She deserves it, the tramp!" Thornheart snapped.

"But a death would've been a terrible scandal," continued Thomas. "That would obviate your original purpose, yes?"

"I suppose," said Thornheart, considering, raising his left arm to steady the gun. "But now..."

"Shooting her would create a scandal," continued Thomas, "but since everyone reading tomorrow's papers will know everything, not shooting her creates a scandal, too."

"What is that supposed to mean?" he coughed, sweating profusely.

"Either way, you end up with scandal," explained Thomas dryly. "So that consideration is no longer relevant to whether or not you murder Alicia."

"Not relevant? What are you talking about?"

"I'm going to die...I know it..." whimpered Alicia.

* * * * *

"What's he trying to get at?" asked Mercedes, listening to the live radio coverage as her convertible sped downtown, long blonde hair streaming behind her, paparazzi not much farther behind.

* * * * *

"The point, Mr. Thornheart, is that there are no good reasons to murder your secretary, and many reasons why you should hold back. For one, jail time."

"Jail? Why, how can you..."

"You'll go to court for this, certainly," shrugged Thomas, moving imperceptibly closer with each word. "You have enough money to hire an excellent defense lawyer. If you surrender now, you'll escape with minimal jail time - maybe even only community service, since you have a clean record and this is a crime of passion. But if you shoot her dead, then you'll have a murder charge - cold-blooded, attested to by dozens of witnesses. No defense lawyer could free you from that charge."

* * * * *

"Not even Daddy," said Mercedes, sighting the Thornheart Software building just ahead. "Though a client like Thornheart could buy me another one of these," she added, happily kissing the steering wheel.

* * * * *

"But the company..."

"The company will be in good hands," said Thomas. "You've done an excellent job this past decade building a strong business foundation. Your protégé will be able to take over with only a minimum of friction. He should be here, actually. Mr. Felix?"

A balding man in his early forties pushed through the crowd, as the cameras took picture after picture.

"I would like to echo Everyday's statements, Mr. Thornheart," said the vice-president, ostensibly addressing the CEO but actually posing for the media. "This company has never been stronger and..."

"Protégé, indeed! This is the last man I'd want to replace me! What kind of conspiracy is this?" demanded Thornheart. "Have I been set up? Are you all in this together? Trying to sink the stock, are you?"

"Not at all," said Thomas, pushing the vice-president of development away before he could harm the negotiations any further. Mr. Felix was an excellent manager, but had never gotten along well with Thornheart on a personal level. This was his one chance to get the top spot - over against the other vice-presidents of the other company departments, each hungry to replace Thornheart - and it would be entirely due to Thomas' help, a favor which would someday have to be returned. "In fact, I have such confidence in your company that, early this morning, I directed my broker to purchase another seven thousand shares."

* * * * *

"Thornheart Software is going to go through the roof," predicted Mercedes, as she pulled into the parking lot, followed closely by a magazine photographer, a television crew, and a news radio truck.

* * * * *

"My...my family...what will they..."

"It's obvious you care about them a great deal," said Thomas sympathetically. "A wife of thirty years, plus four sons and a daughter. This is your first affair, isn't it?"

"I...yes, but..."

The gun wobbled in his hands, as Alicia whispered incoherently.

"I can't speak for your family," said Thomas. "I've never met them. Maybe they'll forgive you, maybe not. But I know it would be easier to forgive adultery than murder."

"He wanted me to kill my baby," babbled Alicia.

"I didn't think that...at the time it seemed..."

The gun was shaking erratically, as Thornheart trembled from the physical and emotional strain.

"I picked up their picture from your desk," said Thomas, removing the framed photograph from beneath his jacket. "Perhaps if you looked at it one more time it would help you make up your mind."

"I...but..."

Thomas stepped forward, photograph in hand.

Thornheart removed his left hand from the gun and reached over to take the picture. His weary right hand dipped, pointing the gun low to the wall.

"And you've read the newspapers," said Thomas, his voice low, inaudible to all but Thornheart. "You know how this works. You know that if I'm here, it's already too late."

Emotionally resigned, Thornheart's tired right arm tilted to the side, away from its target.

"Ack!" shrieked Alicia, taking this moment to bolt for the exit.

"Get back here!" the CEO yelled, abandoning the photograph and aiming for the fleeing secretary.

Every camera erupted into a blinding flash as Thornheart dramatically aimed his gun at Alicia, and by extension at every cameraman.

In an instant, Thomas whirled, chopping down on Thornheart's right arm and applying an elbow jab to the older man's chest, knocking both the gun and the CEO onto the floor.

* * * * *

"I'm here to see Mr. Lincoln," Mercedes told the receptionist. Her bright red-and-yellow sleeveless top was a stark contrast the receptionist's drab business formal. "Hello? Miss?"

The receptionist, like everyone else in the office building, was transfixed by the live radio coverage of the story unfolding on the top floor.

* * * * *

"Officer?" asked Thomas, waving the policeman forward to where Thornheart lay on the ground, weeping piteously, utterly broken. "If you could please deal with him, I'd much appreciate it."

"You have the right..." began the policeman, as the cameras clicked all around them.

"Just let me go home," whimpered Alicia, as a mob of reporters crowded around her, trying to squeeze a statement out of her.

"Any comment from you, Thomas?" asked the first reporter, as Thomas pushed his way through the mass of spellbound Thornheart employees.

"Not at this time," he smiled back, the same line he used every day.

* * * * *

"I said - are you even listening to me?" Mercedes demanded, furiously slapping the faux-marble counter. "Listen to me!"

"I can't believe it," breathed the receptionist, completely oblivious to Mercedes or her rising anger. "He was such a nice man."

"For the last time," she yelled, blue eyes blazing, about to smack the receptionist upside the head, "is Mr. Lincoln in the building or is he - oh, wait, never mind," said Mercedes, watching the elevator. "Here he comes now."

"Mercedes!" shouted Thomas, spying her from across the hallway. Behind him were two dozen staffers and reporters trying to get a comment, an autograph, a scrap of clothing, anything. "Thank goodness!"

"This way," said his fiancée, quickly opening the front door, towards where the parking lot was being flooded by media personnel. "We're just out front."

"Thanks for all your help," said Thomas to the receptionist as he ran out the door. "Very much appreciated."

"Oh, thank you, Everyday!" said the receptionist, still repeating "thank you" as she watched Thomas and Mercedes speed off.

 

Brilliant! Though from your previous works I expect no less.

 

Nice and interesting story! But does the hero have super powers or he is only a popular person?

 

See, that's the problem with only finishing a third of the first chapter - too many unanswered and unanswerable questions!

But no, he has no superpowers. That's why he needs popularity. I was thinking - what if there were a "real-life" superhero in today's world? They'd get arrested! It's not legal to do the crazy, pre-emptive things that Batman, Superman, and the like do every issue. So for this story, "Everyday" has a huge entourage - media, policemen, hangers-on - to observe and make sure everything is above-board. It's only his fame that keeps him from getting into legal trouble (and his fiancee's father, a lawyer), and it's only his fame that makes everyone do what needs to be done - for example, letting him barge into the corporate headquarters and walk into the CEO's office without any explanation.

But that comes at a price. You can see it even in this opening anecdote - yes, Alicia's life is saved, but in the process she and Thornheart are publicly humiliated. And the hero pulls a Martha Stewart by buying up stock in the company right before he does something he knows will affect its value. How else do superheroes make money, anyway?

Well...OK...he does have a secret weapon, kinda. It's not exactly a superpower, but it comes pret' close. If I ever get the rest of the chapter written - yeah, right - I'll repost the story in full. But first, Neverwinter Nights...