Saving a Superhero

12: Arcades+Realizations

Dungeon Comics and Arcade was the last place I would have been found back in high school. And not just because it was at the edge of the city's most violent district.

It was wedged between a five and dime store and what used to be the Stones' fire station. I say used to because, after an arson left most of the ten-story building uninhabitable, the city's fire department had been moved further into the city. Like most of the stores and tourists, the department had taken up residence a few blocks away from Queen Plaza, which sat in the center of the city with the districts radiating from it like spokes on a wheel. The Dungeon and five and dime were the only businesses left in the buildings. Their glass front windows were the only ones not stained with black from the arson's fire.

Rory didn't seem fazed by the prospect of the red brick building collapsing on us.

She skipped in and shoved the door open so hard it banged against the wall behind it. A bell chimed somewhere in the shop, alerting anyone working in the store of our presence. Or any potential kidnappers.

Harper was the first to follow, albeit with less oomph than Rory. Kennedy was still outside when I took a step toward the arcade and comic store. She had the same look of fear on her face that she wore when I forced her to jump from the fire escape.

"Coming?" I called over my shoulder. She didn't answer. "Kennedy? We're sort of behind schedule already and staring at the building isn't going to find Grace."

The blank look finally disappeared at the mention of Grace. "She couldn't be in there, right? It's... dirty." From the inflection of her voice, it was obvious that dirty was the nice way of describing the shop. That was true. The store was a pigsty from the outside.

"I don't know. But it's where Grace wanted us to come, and I'm here to save her. No matter what."

She was starting to nod, slowly at first, then with more vigor. "You're right. Follow the clues. The faster we get this done the faster I can get back to school."

She burst through the doors like a woman on a mission. Or like she needed to do it before she could lose her nerve. I could understand her apprehension though.

Kennedy grew up in New Star, one of the wealthier districts. Not only did the residents have money for the modern apartments that littered what used to by the city park, but they had enough influence on the city council that their streets were always patrolled by the police. Like Grace--whose family was part of the top one percent--Kennedy had probably never been to Stones, let alone a grungy little arcade.

With a final breath of the smoggy air tinged with the rain that still hung low over the city, I entered the Dungeon.

They say you should never judge a book by the cover.

That was absolutely true for the Dungeon.

Inside the old carpet was freshly vacuumed and organized displays of comics and books were clean. The air was fresher than the outside. Where I had imagined dirty needles and cigarette smoke, I found only a nice old man at the register and quiet nerds.

Rory was leaning against the front desk, chatting with the old man like they were besties from elementary. Behind her the rest of our troupe stood awkwardly, trying to follow along with their conversation.

I picked up a few words here and there. Nothing that made sense. At least, it didn't make sense until I realized it wasn't in English. The man was speaking a dialect of German I didn't understand, not that I was fluent in German by any means. I had a neighbor who just moved to the States and my mother had recruited me to teach the new family English. The lessons never went well in terms of teaching. I didn't know German and they didn't understand English, Spanish, or any of the snippets of language I knew. On the other hand, I became good friends with the family and often stayed for dinner.

Their German was completely different than the one the man was speaking.

And Rory was chattering in an Icelandic-German hybrid of a language it seemed.

Whatever the language, the rest of us didn't understand it. But Rory and the old man were smiling, so I doubted that he would try to kidnap us anytime soon. After what felt like an eternity, the line of actual customers grew too long behind us and the man waved us toward the back of the store. Rory offered one last word of goodbye before leading us through the stands of comics.

Nestled in the very back of the store, in a separate room that had probably once been an employee lounge. Against the walls and in the center of the room were half a dozen retro arcade games. Most of the lighted panels on the sides of the games had burnt out, which gave the room an eerie glow. Like usual, Rory didn't care.

She plopped down on a surprisingly clean sofa in the corner and gestured for us to follow. I didn't flop as she did, but I wasn't going to refuse a seat. Kennedy and Harper perched on a coffee table opposite us.

"Now what?" I asked after a heartbeat of silence. If Rory had just taken us across the city for a nostalgia trip, I was getting on the train and heading straight back to Rhode Island.

"We look for clues. Do a little detective work." Rory pushed herself up so she sat straighter and could rest her head in her hands. "Mr. Fischer said Grace came in but didn't say anything to him, not that she ever knew German or could say anything to him. But she was alone and came back here for a good hour and looked through the comics. Then she left."

"How long ago was this?" Kennedy was looking around the arcade room impatiently, like a clue would jump out of the shadows and start singing. Goodness, I hoped that wouldn't happen. Imagine how terrifying that would be.

Rory looked away and refused to answer. No clues started singing.

Harper took her turn trying to get Rory to speak. "It's not a hard question, kid. A few days ago or is she still here?"

Without making eye contact with anything other than the clean tile floor, Rory mumbled something.

"C'mon. Answer." Without realizing it, I had slipped into my persuasive voice. The words were hard and I could feel her want to tell me. Just like the few times I had used it at college, only this time it felt stronger. But the command didn't stick.

"Don't try that crap on me, Juliet," Rory finally answered. "She was here three weeks ago. I talked to her that week. She wasn't missing then, so why would she be leaving clues around Nova City?"

We all fell silent. If Grace was in the arcade three weeks ago, that left a week before her supposed kidnapping. If she had known something would happen, she could have stopped it. Or told Rory. Or called one us. Or a million other things. She couldn't have known that she would disappear.

But what was with the clues then?

"That could mean anything," reasoned Harper. She sounded as confused as my thoughts felt. "Maybe someone else is behind this. We don't know how trustworthy the old guy and pie lady are."

Tears were misting over Rory's eyes. She was so little, so petite that it felt like watching a little kid cry. Nevermind that she was a few months older than me.

"Ya," I added when her sniffling was too much. "That robber told me something was wrong with her. He said Hudson- er, the Scholar was behind it. Grace couldn't have planned that."

Because that was the other option. If she hadn't been kidnapped, then Grace was responsible for making us abandon our lives. I doubted that her reason for disappearing was something as simple as a group vacation. I found myself hoping something was terribly wrong when compared to being deceived by one of our friends.

Rory stood suddenly. Startled by the sudden movement, Kennedy teetered and almost fell off the coffee table.

"You're right." None of us mentioned it when Rory wiped a tear from her cheek. "Something's not right here. We need to find Grace."

No more Grace is in trouble. Gone was our plan to save a superhero. It was time to find Grace and get to the bottom of this.

Whoop there it is! Is something fishy afoot or the Scholar behind it? That's the big money question, dear readers!

Anywho, do leave your theories and thoughts. I really enjoy reading them!

Remember: Don't judge a shop by its cover.

-m burton