Beacon of Hope



Chapter Three

DISCLAIMER :: This fanfiction is based on Superman from DC Comics. All rights reserved. Art by CWBlaine on Deviant Art.
Author's note: Perhaps it is the start of a new collaborative universe or a standalone project for myself. I don't know, yet.

Waking up the next morning, every fiber of my being wished the prior evening and night was all one long dream. Maybe I fell asleep on the plane? Once I opened my eyes and shifted, reality set in. Laura was nowhere to be found. There was a thrown aside comforter and an indentation in the bed where she slept. The call of nature forced me out of bed and toward the bathroom. The act of relieving myself confirmed yesterday was no dream. The corroborating second source was the mirror.

Much like the vanity on the back of the sun visor in the car last night, I got a good look at myself. The wavy, dark chocolate brown hair was in disarray from a restless sleep. My brilliant blue eyes stared back at me, albeit with dark circles under them. My nose was basically the same, albeit smaller. My jaw had lost all pretense of masculine angular profile and become more rounded, even streamlined. My chin was more of a point than before. My lips seemed a little more plump, but basically the same. The wrinkles on my face were completely gone. There was almost a bioluminescent sheen to my skin. The overall shape of my head was smaller. At least my ears didn’t change much. My neck was smooth and thinner than it had ever been. Two mounds tented my t-shirt but I couldn’t see much of anything else with how loose the shirt and sweatpants were. I was glad for that.

Hannah was right, though. The girl in the mirror did look like her, but only in age range and familial resemblance. Thus, like her but me but female. There is no self-respecting editor that would ever allow a sentence like that to reach a page.

Turning from the mirror, I ventured back into the bedroom Laura and I shared to make the bed. Once it was tidy, I ventured further into the house. All the family bedrooms were upstairs. Laura and I had our own ensuite bathroom. The girls shared a bathroom in the hallway. They each had their own room. Descending the stairs brought on sensations I was not ready to face right now. At the bottom of the stairs, the living room where my own personal nightmare began was to the left. I rounded the corner and followed the hallway to the kitchen near the back. There was a good cup of joe calling my name.

Even as I went through the motions of pouring cold coffee into a mug, popping in the microwave, and waiting a couple minutes, there was the feeling of isolation. The five bedroom and three bathroom house felt like an enormous cavern. All that space for one person. Laura had probably gone to work. The girls had already gone off to school. I glanced at the digital clock on the coffee pot. Eleven twenty-two in the morning. I hadn’t slept in like this since my raucous college days. At the microwave beep, I grabbed my now hot cup of coffee, added some sugary liquid creamer, stirred it, and padded my bare feet on the laminate wood flooring we’d had installed to replace carpet a few years back.

The only activity that came to my mind was to watch the news. I’d missed a lot overnight, so it was time to catch up. Entering the same living room where everything happened last night gave me momentary pause, but I slowly overcame it. Finding the remote in the same place I left it last night, I tapped the power button. In much less than a second, the TV was on and still tuned to the same channel.

For the next few hours, I lost myself in the stories of the day: Russia v. Ukraine, Israel v. Palestine, Sudan v. itself, and the President v. everything else. Unfortunately, those pertinent issues are relegated to side stories. The breaking news was all about yesterday’s events. Per usual, most of the “reporting” was speculative. Nobody seemed to have any hard facts to report. They were making it up as they went along. Such is the nature of 24-hour news. Real journalism requires time. Time to investigate, time to corroborate, time to organize into coherent reality, and time to actually inform people.

Frustrated, I decided to check for any local news coverage on the situation. I managed to catch the WCIU broadcast. They were also talking about this breaking story. However, they decided to interview a scientist rather than talking heads with national scope. The anchor was the usual late-20s pretty boy. The interviewee was a Hispanic woman that appeared to be a little older than him. She was dressed very well in her suit jacket but looked uncomfortable wearing it. Her dark hair was tied back in a tight bun and black plastic rim glasses sat atop her nose.

“Here with us today is a researcher from the University of Chicago, Dr. Isobel Marquez. As the world has been trying to sort out what exactly happened yesterday, Dr. Marquez has been at the forefront of solving that puzzle. An astrophysicist and cosmologist, she has dedicated her life to discovering the mysteries of our universe. It’s an honor to have you in our studio, Dr. Marquez.” the anchor introduced his guest.

She nodded cordially to him. “It’s my pleasure to offer insight into the truth of what we’re all experiencing, Mr. Olsen. Thank you for having me.”

He shifted his posture ever so slightly as he began the interview proper. “Dr. Marquez, the elephant in the room is obvious: what, exactly, happened yesterday?”

“I’m glad someone finally asked that question. It’s simple, really. A wave or pulse of energy was detected by the Gemini Observatory in Hawaii several days ago. Many astronomers and cosmologists have been hypothesizing what it could be because we’ve never witnessed anything else like it. We believed it to be a novel astronomical phenomenon. As we observed it, we became aware of its blueshift wavelength.”

“Mind breaking that down for our viewers, Doctor? What’s a blueshift wavelength?”

“A blueshift wavelength refers to the frequency of the light getting shorter. Adversely, a redshift wavelength refers to the frequency of the light getting longer. In astronomy, these denote an object or phenomenon moving closer to the observer or further away. It’s called the Doppler Effect. You can observe a similar phenomenon watching a video of a semi-truck blowing its horn or in person. The horn seems to increase in pitch as it approaches you and decrease in pitch as it moves away. We have observed many of the galaxies in our cluster moving away from us. The light coming from them is in a redshift wavelength pattern. However, our neighbor the Andromeda Galaxy is moving toward us, its light emitting a blueshift wavelength.”

“So, you’re saying that this unknown thing was moving toward us?”

“Oh, yes. Observatories all around the world were confirming it within hours. We had no idea what it was but it was, by all calculations, going to hit our planet. We were able to deduce that it was, in fact, energy rather than a solid object, which brought immense relief. There was no use tracking its speed as it was the speed of light. At first detection, it was well outside the solar system; approximately twenty-five times the distance from the sun to Pluto. We didn’t have much time to really study it before it was going to hit.”

“The public was notified that some disruptions to our lives may occur mere hours before it happened, but why weren’t we notified much sooner if you and your colleagues knew it was going to hit a full six days in advance?”

The good doctor clenched her jaw. “National Security.”

This kid was really asking some hardball questions. I had underestimated the guy.

The anchor, now identified as Jakob Olsen on the screen, nodded quickly. “I see. What do you make of the reports of ‘people with powers’ coming in? Could this be linked to your phenomenon?”

“My hypothesis on the topic is this phenomenon originated from interstellar space. It could perhaps even have originated in a neighboring galaxy. I’ll have to retroactively track its trajectory to be certain. As a cosmologist, I know that there is still quite a lot we don’t know about the universe. What I won’t do is respond to speculation and rumor.” Dr. Marquez stated plainly.

The anchor smiled. “I think we’ll punctuate with that. Thank you, Dr. Marquez.”

The broadcast moved on to the weather afterward. Why had I never heard of this guy before? Who was this Jake Olsen person? What was readily apparent was that he was quite the journalist. He wanted the truth. He danced around the speculation, but wasn’t concerned with it. Good, solid, honest reporting. The good doctor handled herself well opposite such a journalist. She kept to the facts without veering off course. She never took his bait. This interview could go national.

A phone rang. The sound hit my ears as muffled. I started searching the couch cushions to no avail. It rang again and I did what I could to discover its location. Slightly frantic, I rushed upstairs, but had to stop myself. I had just ascended the stairs in less than half a second. I looked behind me to marvel at the achievement for a moment before the phone rang again. It was coming from mine and my wife’s bedroom. I once again experienced myself move at incredible speed and heard the tail end of the ring. It was coming from the hamper. I dug into it and discovered the pants I’d worn yesterday with my phone still in the pocket. Pulling it out, the screen read “Mom and Dad”. Without thinking, I answered the phone.

“Hello?” I greeted.

“Hannah? Madison?” My mother’s voice wondered. “Why do you have your father’s phone?”

The realization of what I’d done hit me like a ton of bricks. I answered honestly, “It’s not Hannah or Madison, Mom.”

“You sound too young to be Laura. Who are you, young lady?”

“Mom… it’s me… Christopher.”

My mother has always been a pragmatic, facts-oriented woman. It was never a mystery where I inherited those traits from. She was quite skeptical at first. As I explained the events of yesterday, she began to understand more. I told her about the trip, the airport, the pulse thing, the ride home, and the rest of the evening. I left nothing to speculation. Just the facts, as Joe Friday used to say. She asked a lot of probing questions and I answered honestly. Our conversation carried on for over an hour and I still wasn’t sure whether or not she believed a word she was hearing. She then asked the one question I didn’t expect.

“What’s the family secret? Christopher would know this.” She asked firmly.

Caught off guard, I didn’t know how to answer at first. My mind searched for the one fact she was looking for. When my mind finally reached the answer, I breathed a heavy sigh. “We’re Jewish. Grandma barely escaped Europe after being planted with a Catholic family in the Netherlands when she was six, just before the German invasion. They hid her until the liberation, when she met an army corporal, fell in love, and moved to his hometown: Sheboygan. You found her original birth certificate hidden in a letter written in Yiddish in her cedar chest. You also found her Dutch passport with her assumed name: Mieke Keller. Most people called her ‘Marie’, though. We don’t talk about it because grandma was really traumatized by it all.”

The sound of the phone dropping on the ground was rather loud, to my ear. It had never been that loud before, but I guess this is part of that “super hearing” Madison was talking about. Noises denoting she’s fumbling with the phone followed before it was back up to her ear. Strangely, I could hear her heart rate increase.

“Christopher…” She breathed shakenly. “...is… is it really you?”

Not that she could see me, but I nodded. “It is, Mom. I can’t explain how at all, but it’s me. I don’t even know how to tell you how alien this voice is and I’m not even going to entertain the idea of my body, right now.”

Her voice was still shaking and her heart rate was up. “How… how did this even happen?”

“It happened right here in my living room in front of my wife and children last night. We went to the hospital, but all they could tell me was that I was a perfectly healthy seventeen year old girl. All the parts and everything. It’s all the same thing we just spent the last hour discussing.” I sighed, emotion climbing and causing tears to build up in my eyes.

“Your father and I have been hearing about that pulse on the news. It tripped his pace maker.” Her heart rate remained high.

It was my turn for a rise in heart rate. “Oh my god! He’s okay, right?!”

I could hear her skin glide against the phone. She was nodding. “Yes, honey. Your father is fine. It was only a few seconds.”

The well of tears increased in volume. “Geez, Mom… please don’t scare me like that.” I swallowed a knot in my throat. “Yea, so… there’s a correlation between the wave and what happened last night. Nothing definitive whatsoever.” I let out a groan sigh. “I wish I still had a newsroom full of people to work the angles with.”

I heard my mother nod again. “We noticed that, too. There’s a lot of talk on the news, but very little being said.” She took a moment to think. “Have you heard them talking about people with powers? What kind of nonsense is that?”

I hung my head and closed my eyes. “That one is probably true, Mom. I’ve had some really strange experiences since last night.”

“Christopher, I need to be honest: I still don’t know what to say about all this. I know my son to be a forty-five year old man. He’s a good husband to his wife, a good father to his children, and a positive member of his community. He makes sacrifices that might harm him but lead to a good life for his family. He’s engaged in his children’s lives. He’d give the shirt off his back or the last dollar in his wallet if he felt someone needed it more than him. I know it’s you, but… it’s really throwing me off that I think I’m talking to Hannah or Madison in the back of my mind.”

“I know, Mom. Can you imagine what I’m going through, right now?”

“Oh, HEAVENS yes. What are you going to do? Are you even going to be able to go back to work? How are you and Laura going to work? What about the girls? There are so many unknowns right now.”

Tears finally began to fall. “I don’t even know, Mom. I’m scared. I don’t know what I’ll do to provide for my family and back Laura up on the bills. She seems so withdrawn, Mom. This is probably just as confusing and scary for her. And the girls…” I sobbed. “Olivia wouldn’t even look at me, last night. Wouldn’t make eye contact.”

My mother’s voice shifted to a tone I’m convinced only mothers can achieve. The soft, comforting, soothing tone they adopt when their children are in crisis. “Oh, sweetheart… I know it’s bad now, but it can improve. A lot of people are going to doubt you. Honestly, right now, I do. You have to hold your head up and show us who you are, honey.”

“I’ll try, Mom. I’ve always tried to be the son you deserve. Everything’s upside down now. I don’t know which end is up and I’m the stuffing of a bratwurst in a casing that isn’t mine.”

“What was that thing your English teacher in high school would always tell you?”

She took me off guard. “Mr. Hanson? I…” My eyes wandered over the surface of the wall in front of me, searching for the answer. That particular English teacher had made an impression on me and helped make me want to be a journalist. Suddenly, the answer arrived in my conscious mind. “He said ‘show me, don’t tell me’.”

I heard the skin slide over the plastic of the phone again. She nodded. “Exactly. I still can’t believe the voice I’m speaking to is my son. Show me. Don’t tell me.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Hearing the front door startled me. I quickly sniffed back some excess mucus and wiped the tears from my face. “I have to go, Mom. The girls are home.”

We quickly said our good-byes before I hung up the phone and desperately tried to wipe the tears from my eyes and face. The phone was set upon the night stand before I exited the bedroom and entered the hallway. At first sight of me, Hannah rolled her eyes and slipped past me without a word. A soft smile was extended to Olivia, but she gave me an odd look before entering her bedroom. Standing in the hallway, I was 0 for 2. Madison reached the top of the stairs and gave me a disapproving look.

“You kinda look like crap, Dad.” She noted.

I let out a sigh. “Yea, I know.”

With a cheeky grin, she pointed finger guns at her bedroom door. “Homework.”

I meekly nodded as she, too, disappeared behind the door. Oh for three, I guess. In a bit of a sulk, I descended the stairs, rounded the corner, and headed to the kitchen to prepare some dinner. It’s an unwritten agreement between Laura and I that the first person home after work cooks dinner. Tonight, I was emotionally drained and did not possess the drive to make anything elaborate. After a quick check of the cupboards and refrigerator, it was decided that tonight would be sloppy joes and macaroni and cheese with some broccoli on the side. Once the hamburger was browned, the sloppy joe mix was released from the can, the pasta shells were al dente, the cheese sauce added, and the broccoli steamed, I called everyone down for dinner while I served up plates. The entire process took about an hour.

Though the girls and I sat at the table to eat, nobody said a word. It was a lot of awkward silence and uncomfortable glances. Glancing at the clock on the wall, Laura was working late again. When the girls finished, at least they cleared their own plates before they shuffled off to their bedrooms. The dishes were swiftly rinsed and set in the dishwasher. Yet again, I felt myself just going through the motions of life.

My mood found me moving out to the back deck, leaning against the railing. We bought this house to have room for each of the kids. The spare bedroom was a bonus that was nice to find should either of our parents visit. The deck was the icing on the cake. We could watch the kids play and have some time to talk. Hannah was only ten when we moved in. Madison was seven. Olivia was barely a year old. Watching the sunset, I was keenly aware that those days were gone. I think, on some level, all parents would wish for those days to last forever.

I could hear Laura’s car pull into the driveway. She shuffled into the house through the mudroom. I might have marveled at this new ability of mine if the acquisition of such a thing hadn’t broken my life. Laura hung her keys near the garage and set her purse on a ledge I built for her. Her tired feet shuffled on the linoleum of the kitchen floor. I didn’t leave my perch on the deck. Her footfalls started moving toward the sliding door and she stepped out onto the deck.

“Hannah? What are you doing out here, sweetie?” She asked.

I hung my head and lay it against my arms on the railing. “I’m not Hannah.”

She stopped short a few feet behind me. “Oh…”

I turned to meet her eyes. “Long night again?”

“Yea… uh… Chris, I think you should sleep on the couch.” She turned and went back inside.

She was trying to hide it, but I could see the pain and confusion on her face. Maybe she accepted a bit of a longer shift at work so she could avoid coming home. I didn’t know for sure and she wouldn’t tell me. After twenty-two years of marriage, there wasn’t much that was still a mystery between us. It was starting to feel as if a rift was forming.

Turning back to watch the sunset, I couldn’t help but note the juxtaposition between the actual sunset and what felt like the sunset of my marriage. Laura and I had always acted like teenagers one minute and a well-oiled machine of teamwork the next.

I wanted to just start running somewhere. Anywhere. Problem is: where are you supposed to run to escape from yourself?