Pulse of Heroes

A. Jacob Sweeny

Copyright 2010 by A. Jacob Sweeny

Published by Thalamus Press at Smashwords

Print Edition released October 2010 –
the Virgin
Version

Cover Design: Christopher Cummings

Photo: Todd D’Amario

All rights reserved. All characters (excepting those
of a historical nature) are wholly fictitious and are the exclusive
property of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal
enjoyment only. No portion of this book may be reproduced, copied,
distributed or shared in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means without express written permission from the
publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ISBN 978-1-4661-3210-8

www.ThalamusPress.com

To my Mother

“And he said to him, “I have begotten a
strange son, whose form and type are not like the type of a man.
His color is whiter than snow, and redder than the flower of the
rose, and the hair of his head is whiter than white wool. And his
face is glorious and his eyes are beautiful like the rays of the
Sun, and when he opened them he illuminated the whole house.

And it seems to me that he is not sprung from
me but from the Angels, and I am afraid that something
extraordinary may be done on the earth in his days.”

—Book of Enoch, 106:5-6

She couldn’t believe how disgusting the stuff
was now that it was cold. When she had first started, she wasn’t
sure about sticking her hands in it, but once she took the plunge
she actually enjoyed the warm sticky goop running between her
fingers and up her forearms. It was like overcooked oatmeal or
tapioca pudding, and she took pleasure in kneading it and feeling
the curds seep in between her clenched fists. But it was late now,
and it stank, and she wished she were done. She felt the dry paste
everywhere, from her forehead to her chin, and even in the lines of
her neck, crusting like peeling skin after a severe sunburn. She
didn’t want to touch her hair, but she was sure that it too was
covered in sticky clumps. She needed a shower.

Michelle scrubbed herself under the hot
steamy water, watching her skin turn a bright shade of fuchsia. She
shampooed her hair twice, until she was satisfied that there was no
papier-mâché residue stuck to any unruly strands. Once she felt
clean, she relaxed, head forward, letting the water stream down her
neck and shoulders. Michelle reflected that this project with its
insipid adhesive was like a manifestation of her life; pathetically
late, unbearably slow, and mostly bland with a few snippets of
Weekly Highlights. She wasn’t sure if it was plain tiredness that
planted her in this current mood of dissatisfaction, or whether it
was the fragment of depressing editorial she had read about the new
private school while shredding the last of the newspapers into the
plastic bowl. But whatever the reason, she was worn-out and sick of
feeling this way. She just wished something would change.

It was the night before Halloween, and
sixteen–year–old Michelle Andrews was franticly slaving over her
Queen Nefertiti costume. She had originally planned to go as
Cleopatra, but then remembered seeing a reproduction of the famous
Nefertiti bust in a museum while on a class field trip and decided
that Nefertiti never got enough face-time, so she was going to help
make that happen. If she hadn’t been so stressed out she might have
actually enjoyed doing this little crafty project, but
unfortunately she had put it off until the last moment and, just
like her mother had warned her, it was taking much longer than
expected. There was so much more to do, and it was nearly 10:00 PM
by the time she emerged from the shower. When her mother walked
past her room to say goodnight she saw a pajama-clad Michelle
blow-drying the paint on her almost perfect replica of the queen’s
famous blue crown. She looked at her half-asleep daughter, then at
the clock, and decided to give her a hand with the rest of the
costume. Both mother and daughter spent hours sitting on the floor
sewing and gluing; it felt like old times.

Hallows Eve was Michelle’s favorite, as far
as evenings went. It was a couple of hours before nightfall and the
excitement was settling over the town like a humming buzz. The
smell of pumpkin spice, the crunchy leaves blowing on the ground,
and the first few chimneys spitting out smoke into the sky. It felt
like magic every year and it didn’t matter how old she got. Her
father came home early so he could help with the pumpkin carvings
and her mother was busy putting the finishing touches on the scary
decorations outside. Upstairs in her bedroom, Michelle stood in
front of the mirror looking at her reflection as objectively as
possible. Would she pass for a real queen? Michelle turned around
to look at her backside, hoping it didn’t appear too big because
she always gained a few extra pounds in the colder months, and
especially this year because she wasn’t dancing like she had done
in the past. Michelle, like all her girlfriends, was afraid that
she might lose one too many battles to the bulge. Her extras always
showed on her lower half, and she hated that. It made no difference
that her great aunt had told her that men like women with hips and
thighs. She still couldn’t see any redeeming qualities to what she
considered her genetic flaws. It might not have mattered in some
old-world Hungarian culture, but in the US it was B A D spelled
with all capitals. At least her gown was long enough to cover up
her imaginary faults.

The sun made its way westwards and
disappeared behind the mountains. The youngest of the
trick-or-treaters were marching up and down the streets with the
watchful eyes of their parents only a few steps behind. There were
many princesses and armies of stormtroopers, while the youngest
ones were in fuzzy costumes of bees, ladybugs and dinosaurs. They
all looked so cute, Michelle thought, smiling from her upstairs
window. Yet she still anxiously awaited the familiar and unmistaken
reverberations of Sam’s VW bug engine. Michelle looked at her cell
phone to check the time, even though she had done so fifteen
seconds earlier. At last, Samantha’s car pulled up to the house.
Michelle’s mother kissed her on the cheek lightly, careful not to
disturb her meticulously applied makeup, and her dad made sure to
remind her one more time that he would be staying up until she got
home. Her parents had raised her well and trusted her; they had no
reason not to. Still, her mom asked her to be careful.

“Don’t worry Mom. I would never do anything
you wouldn’t do.” Michelle shut the door behind her. Freedom at
last!

‘The Little Engine That Might’, that was what
Sam called her car. Now safely engulfed in its small aquarium-like
bowels, with music blaring and plenty of candy, both girls were
happy and smiling. The dance was to take place at the
Rose &
Glee Inn
. It was a beautiful Victorian mansion that had been
donated to the town by the last title-holding heir and had since
been transformed into a heritage center that was rented out for
events such as tonight’s. In the parking lot, the girls freshened
up their makeup and checked that false lashes were still in place,
at least for the beginning of the night. When Michelle placed her
crown on her head she towered over Samantha by almost a foot.

“Wow, I hope you didn’t wear heels too,”
Samantha exclaimed. But Michelle hadn’t. It was one thing to have a
huge crown on your head, but quite another to not be able to walk
through a doorway. Samantha looked beautiful in her Queen of Hearts
costume and, after greeting the chaperones at the front door, the
two royals disappeared into the darkness, fog and flashing lights
of another world, at least for a few hours.

Inside, Michelle could hardly see where she
was going because the entire place was filled with thick fog from
numerous machines set in different corners. The sound and light
guys from the drama department were really overdoing it and people
kept yelling, “Enough with the fog,” but it made no difference to
them. They found it amusing and fun to watch everyone stumble
around. All the lights were flashing, and as soon as Michelle’s
eyes would try and focus in order to see where she was going, one
would turn off and another would turn on in a different direction.
Right away, the girls made a pact to stay close to one another so
neither would get lost. The music was blaringly loud, and they
could hardly hear their own voices, let alone each other. Whenever
the DJ played a new song, colored lasers flashed, blinding with
their contrast against the darkness. People were bumping into the
girls from every direction, but unless the light landed on them no
one could make out who anybody was. One time it was a werewolf
emerging through the fog, then a devil woman materialized right
before Michelle’s eyes. Another time it was the Phantom of the
Opera and a green witch right behind him. It was all very surreal,
spooky and perfect.

Michelle and Samantha slowly moved into the
great room where fans were blowing bubbles into the air. They were
floating everywhere and Michelle thought they were just awesome. In
the distance she could make out a raised dance floor with lighted
ropes surrounding it. Strobe lights were making the dancers appear
like animated puppets on strings. Samantha grabbed Michelle's hand
and began dragging her. “Come on Michelle, it's going to be
fun.”

When Michelle danced she felt self-conscious,
like she wasn't doing it right and everybody was staring at her.
She loved the music, but she couldn’t relax enough to let go and
really let the beat move her. It was one thing to take dance
lessons at the local studio, but it was a whole different thing to
go freestyle in front of the entire school. Of course, she
eventually realized that no one could see anybody anyway, so who
cares! Everybody was crammed together, and the smell of aerosol
hairspray and cheap Halloween makeup filled Michelle’s nostrils. At
one point somebody stepped in between her and Samantha, and when
she tried to move around them Sam was nowhere to be seen. Michelle
turned around in circles looking for her friend with no luck. She
tried yelling Sam’s name, but she couldn't even hear her own
voice.

It was around midnight when most of the fog
dissipated and the lights were turned back on. It took only an
instant for the mysterious place to transform back into the
Rose
& Glee Inn
. Michelle was exhausted and she felt gross; she
was covered in sweat and had makeup melting down her face. After
waiting in line upstairs to use the bathroom it was finally her
turn, and by the time she came out many of the students were
exiting through the back doors. Michelle still hadn’t seen Sam, and
hurried downstairs to the parking lot. She stood by the VW and
watched people shed pieces of their costumes like snakes shedding
their old skin. Eddie was the vampire dude that had stepped on her
foot, and right next to him was his younger brother Michael,
sweating profusely after taking off his rubber Cyclops mask. The
phantom wasn’t a guy at all like she had thought; it was actually
Anna wearing a suit with a sequined cape.

Still no Samantha! Should she get worried?
The parking lot was starting to empty and Michelle was not amused;
the truth was that her annoyance was a way of distracting herself
from the fact that she was a bit scared. She tried to convince
herself that Halloween was just a night like any other. Michelle
texted Samantha, and although she could see that the text went
through, there was no reply. Okay, she thought, what should her
next move be? Should she panic? Should she call her parents? What
would they think? They would never let her leave the house again!
Just then, she heard footsteps coming from around the building.
Michelle saw the werewolf from the dance floor and Little Red
Riding Hood appear, holding hands. Disappointed that it wasn’t
Samantha, Michelle watched the lovely couple as they approached a
truck. It was Tim's blue Toyota. The werewolf took off his mask and
Michelle’s fears were confirmed. It was Tim, and Little Red Riding
Hood was Bethany. The rumors she had heard were true. Tim and
Bethany were back together again, and that stung Michelle somewhere
inside her gut.