Authors: Dean Pitchford
Captain Nobody (16 page)
“We're famous! We're famous!” Cecil whooped.
“Cecil, please!” JJ shushed him. “I want to hear this.”
“Whatâor whoâbrought traffic on the normally bustling Westside Highway to a standstill this afternoon?” Mary Myron continued. “Motorists who are bottled up in this massive traffic jam have some fascinating explanations.”
“Some little bozo was out there, waving his arms and dancing around like he was trying to bring on the rain,” said a red-faced bald man. “And you wouldn't believe the tribal costume he had on!”
I looked down at my rumpled clothes.
“He seemed to be chasing something,” said a woman holding a baby on her shoulder, “but, from my car, I couldn't see what it was. I just assumed he was an escaped mental patient.”
I winced.
“I don't care who that punk was or how many airplanes he saved,” a tattooed truck driver was fuming, while behind him his rig sat immobilized in the tie-up. “If I get my hands on his neck, I'm gonna snap it.”
I gulped.
The camera returned to Mary Myron. “Depending on who you speak to, the character who stopped traffic on the Westside Highway this afternoon is either a villain or a hero. Either way, the Appleton Police are
very
anxious to speak to him.”
very
anxious to speak to him.”
“That's
twice
!” JJ blurted. “Twice in two days you've been the lead story on the news.”
twice
!” JJ blurted. “Twice in two days you've been the lead story on the news.”
“But you gotta get your picture on TV and in the papers, or else what's the use?” Cecil asked.
“He's right,” JJ agreed. “Yesterday, the jewelry store cameras completely missed you, and today we left the scene too soon.”
“Okay, here's what we've got to do.” Cecil started to pace around the living room. “We go back to the highway and introduce that TV lady to Captain Nobody. Then she'll interview you, and you'll talk about the Captain and his trusty sidekicks, and JJ and I will be standing by, so we canâ”
“It's over,” I said softly.
They both gasped. “What did you say?” asked JJ.
“You heard the TV. The police want me for questioning. People want to wring my neck, or they think I'm a mental patient. And maybe they're right.” I tugged at my costume. “These clothes make me do crazy things.”
“Not âcrazy'!” Cecil held up a finger of correction.
“Heroic.”
“Heroic.”
“Heroic, my foot,” I scoffed. “I could've gotten shot yesterday . . .”
“But instead you stopped a robbery,” JJ interjected.
“. . . and today I missed getting run over about a hundred times.”
“While you rescued people,” Cecil said.
“
And
Ferocious,” JJ added.
And
Ferocious,” JJ added.
“My mom and dad are sick with worry, and what am I doing? Wearing a Halloween costume and pretending I can save the world, when I can't even . . .” I sighed. “I can't even save my own brother.”
And, with that, I pulled off the mask, revealing my face for the first time that week.
“No, put it back on!” JJ wailed.
“You can't hang up your cape already!” Cecil cried.
“Sorry, guys.” I shook my head sadly. “Captain Nobody is Captain no more.”
After Cecil and JJ left, I looked at the clock and groaned. It was too late to catch the bus that would get me to Chris's hospital before visiting hours were over. Besides, I had a ferret to babysit. I trudged upstairs, feeling worse than I had all week.
In my bedroom, I took off the clothes I'd been wearing for the last four days. I studied the brightly colored garments in my hands and shook my head, bewildered that these few scraps of fabric had caused such bizarre behavior. Such insane daring! Such stupendous, amazing feelings of . . .
Stop!
It's over.
I balled up the clothes and stuffed them into a dresser drawer before I could be tempted to ever wear them again.
Around dinnertime, Dad called from the hospital.
“How's it going, Captain Nobody?” he asked.
“Actually, Dad,” I said, “I think Captain Nobody's going back into a drawer.”
“Oh,” he answered. “If you say so.” He sounded relieved, but we didn't talk about it anymore. Instead, he told me that he and Mom would be hanging out at the hospital, and could I make my own dinner?
“No prob,” I assured him. This would have been the perfect time to ask him if what I'd read about Chris in the newspaper was true. But I was afraid to hear the answer to that question.
“And if I'm not home by the time you're in bed,” Dad was wrapping up, “I'll catch you in the morning.”
“Okay.” I tried to sound cheerful. Before he could hang up, I blurted, “And Dad?”
“Yeah?” he answered.
“Tell Chris âhi' for me.”
Dad cleared his throat and snuffled before he said, “I'll do that, kiddo.” And then he added a quiet “G'night, Newt.”
I stood looking at the phone for a long time.
I wasn't hungry myself, but I fed Ferocious from a can of cat food that Darryl Peeps and Colby Bryn had given me. When he was done, I carried his cage upstairs and let him loose on the floor of my bedroom. He didn't show any interest in exploring, though. Instead, he jumped into my lap and shivered.
“I know,” I murmured, stroking his long, slinky back. “That was pretty scary, huh?”
I could've sworn he nodded.
That night I dreamed I was back on the freeway, desperately dodging cars as I had done that afternoon, except that now every vehicle zooming toward me was painted either orange and green . . . or red and white.
Weird,
I said to myself.
Those are Fillmore's and Merrimac's colors.
As soon as I made that realization, the cars' front hoods morphed into shiny plastic helmets, the cars' bodies became football players, and once again, my dream was a replay of the Big Tackle.
I said to myself.
Those are Fillmore's and Merrimac's colors.
As soon as I made that realization, the cars' front hoods morphed into shiny plastic helmets, the cars' bodies became football players, and once again, my dream was a replay of the Big Tackle.
This time, though, everything was in slow motion. As Chris sailed into the end zone, behind him I could see all the players' faces through their face masks as they tumbled after him: Merrimac tacklers followed by Fillmore linemen, pulling each other down and slowly collapsing. And yet I could still see Chris's helmet, sticking out in front of the mountain of bodies that was piling on top of him.
Suddenly, soaring over the heap, here came . . .
Darryl Peeps
?
Darryl Peeps
?
How'd he get downfield? Didn't he get tackled on the twenty-yard line? Apparently he had picked himself up and continued running, because here he was, flying up, up, up over the stack of bodies and then plunging down, down, down . . .
. . . until his helmetâ
whomp!
âmet my brother's.
whomp!
âmet my brother's.
“DARRYL PEEPS?” I shouted, and the next thing I knew, I was wide awake and breathing hard. From the floor next to my bed, Ferocious squeaked in his cage. I looked down to find him staring, as if demanding an explanation for my outburst.
“It wasn't Reggie Ratner,” I whispered. “I remember now. I saw it happen. Darryl Peeps put Chris in a coma!”
19
IN WHICH REGGIE RATNER DECIDES TO END IT ALL
For the rest of the night I tossed and turned, and when I finally stumbled down to breakfast in my blue jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, I found Mom puttering around the kitchen. She looked like she hadn't slept well either.
“G'mornin', sunshine,” she said hoarsely. Just then, the toaster popped up two pieces of bread, and Mom flinched.
“Now, who put those in there?” she wondered.
“It wasn't me,” I mumbled. I kissed her on the cheek and set the ferret cage on the butcher block.
“My stars!” Mom exclaimed, peering in. “Is that Ferocious?”
“Sure is.”
“Did you two have a sleepover?”
“It's a long story,” I groaned. “But he's going back today.”
She looked me up and down.
“It's good to see your face again.” She smiled.
When she turned away to butter her toast, I took a deep breath and said gently, “I read what that doctor thinks. About Chris having six days before we'd have to worry.”
Mom stopped buttering and slowly set down her knife.
“And today's the sixth day?”
She nodded.
“Are you worried?”
Mom squeezed her lips like she was wrestling with the words in her mouth, and then she said, “We're . . . hopeful.”
For a long moment it was so quiet I could hear the ticking of the kitchen clock. Then I surprised us both by announcing:
“I'm coming to see him after school.”
When I ran up to my bedroom to grab my backpack, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I had forgotten how small and skinny I look in everyday clothes. I know I vowed never to wear that costume again, but even so, I opened my dresser drawer and ran my hand over Captain Nobody's clothes. Just touching them made me feel less upset about Chris. More powerful somehow.
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