George pulled out two and wiped his nostrils. He looked at the picture of the First Lady and nodded. She was six years older than her husband, but it looked like more because he was so well preserved. He’d laughed off accusations of plastic surgery more than once. “She used to be a councilwoman here in LA, back before they got married.”
“Christian Nguyen.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.” Madelyn tapped the picture of the President again. “I’m pretty sure he’s behind all of this.”
“All of what?”
“Us being here instead of in our world. You and everyone else not remembering you’re superheroes. All of it.”
George stared at her for a moment. “Okay,” he said. He balled up the tissues in his hand. “Now the President is part of this?”
“I think so, yeah.”
He dabbed at his nose again and tried to keep from sounding too harsh. “The most successful President in history? A guy who’s so universally loved there’s a bipartisan movement in Congress right now to repeal the Twenty-second Amendment so he can run for a third term?”
“Yeah. He must still have his powers for some reason. Probably because he’s the one who did all of this.”
George drummed his fingers on his leg. He’d almost bought it. He’d wanted to believe her. “So I’m a superhero,” he said, “but I don’t remember it.”
“Right.”
“And I’m supposed to be dating an Abercrombie and Fitch model who’s also a superhero. I’m guessing she doesn’t remember it, either. And you’re one, too, except you’re supposed to be dead.”
“Not like that,” she said. “That’s my superpower.”
“Being dead doesn’t count as a superpower.”
“It does in my case.”
“Right. But on top of all this, you want me to believe that President John Smith—who I voted for—is some kind of supervillain?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Something like that.” Her eyes dropped to the Kleenex in his hand.
He looked down. The tissues were spotted with thick blobs of red.
GEORGE WIPED HIS fingers under his nose. They came back streaked with blood. Across the room, Kathy’s eyes went wide.
“Oh, jeez,” he said. He grabbed a few more tissues from the box.
Madelyn leaned forward in her wheelchair. “I think your nose is bleeding because you’re fighting him,” she said. “John—Captain Freedom—said he does things like this to people.”
“He did?”
“Yeah.”
“So he remembers, too?”
She made a point of not looking at George. “Well … he told me before all this changed. Back in our world.” She tapped the image of the President and the First Lady. “It’s what Smith does,” she said. “He makes people believe things. It’s how he killed my mom and me.”
“Your mom’s dead?” asked Kathy.
“She isn’t dead and neither are you,” George said. “I saw her on moving day.”
“We’re supposed to be,” said Madelyn, “in our world. But he sent us here somehow and he made you forget you have superpowers. He tried to make all of us forget.”
He dabbed fresh tissues against his nostrils. “I don’t have superpowers. I think I might have a brain tumor or something.”
“You’re just remembering. Don’t you get it, George?” She waved her hands up and down, taking in all of him. “You’re so much more than this. Everyone looks up to you. Everyone trusts you.”
“Because I’m a superhero,” he said. He looked over at the list on her wall. “Because I’m ‘The Mighty Dragon.’ ”
She shook her head. “Because you’re St. George.”
The name echoed in his ears. It was the name from his dreams. The name he’d never quite been able to remember.
“If you don’t believe me,” said Madelyn, “believe her.”
She clicked her mouse and another window rose up on her screen. A photo of the supermodel, Karen Quilt, in the black dress. It was the same article George had been looking at that morning. The one about her being in Los Angeles.
Morning seemed like a long time ago.
“After my dad,” said Madelyn, “she’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. She’ll know what’s going on. She’ll get it.”
George stared at the picture. The woman looked so damned familiar. More than that. She just looked … right. He looked at her and felt content.
Then the pain in his head faded away, and the contentment faded with it. He was just a guy trying to buy into some fantasy of a better life. More to the point, he was a guy ogling online supermodels in a teenage girl’s dorm room.
“Look,” said George, “I know you want to believe this stuff. I’d like to believe it, too. But there aren’t superheroes or supervillains. There aren’t monsters. And women like that,” he said, pointing at the computer screen, “do not end up with janitors. Things just don’t work like that in the real world.”
“I keep telling you,” Madelyn said, “this isn’t the real world. Not our world, anyway.”
He thought about saying something, but closed his mouth. He walked the few steps to the door and opened it. “I wish I could believe you,” he said. “I really do. But I need something more than just you saying it’s true.”
“Then, please,” said Madelyn, “go talk to her. She’s here in LA this week. Find her and talk to her.”
He took a last look at her. The screen reflected on her eyes and made them look white. She stared at him like a hopeful puppy.
“We’ll see,” he said.
Her face dropped. “When my dad says that, it means no,” she said.
George smiled. He stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him. Just before the door latched he heard Kathy call out, “It was nice meeting you.”
George walked across campus, sure he was dragging a balloon that marked him as an idiot. His sleepless nights were getting to him. Madelyn’s stories were getting to him. He’d put his job at risk going up to her room. He’d done it because of a phone call that was probably a practical joke, plus a hallucination brought on by lack of sleep.
The girl was just plain nuts. She had to be. Superheroes. Epidemics. Monsters. Presidential
