Ditto Brando

Echolocator mobilized the city’s mole population to erode the future site of the town’s first Walmart! The way the Police Chief went on about that one made the townspeople extra suspicious. All of the moles the Echolocator used came from Central Park, ending the infestation there. Did the Police Chief want Central Park to be mole infested and hole-riddled so that they’d have to cancel their Sunday marathons? And did the Police Chief not care about small businesses? If he did, he’d be as indifferent as them at the cancellation of the Walmart project.

Somebody decorated every tree along Main Street in various holiday themes out of season. There’s crime going on, Police Chief, did you know that? Maybe start caring more about solving those rather than acting like the president of an HOA.

The Echolocator isn’t news. He’s as unpredictable as the weather, sure, but just as fleeting.

He makes apple juice come out of every faucet for a few minutes every hour, making every citizen time their showers with care.

 (They do and effectively reduce water waste by 30% that week.)

He makes 3rd street into a giant slip and slide, shutting it down for a whole month.

(The only business on that road was closed with Mrs. Castor in the hospital so it’s not like she loses any sales. And at least the kids – on summer break – found something to do that month with the local pool closed for maintenance. )

When a movie producer comes to vet the town for the next biggest hit, he goes missing. Last spotted walking arm in arm with the Echolocator.

(The town never wanted to be a film set so that one doesn’t even merit a mention on 43.2 AM)

The Police Chief learns slowly, but he learns. When it comes time for reelection he only talks about Mr. Maxwell, the hero who found the crack in the bridge, and how the citizens were the real heroes here. He shakes Mr. Maxwell’s hand when he gives him the Good Samaritan medal, smiling for the cameras through gritted teeth.

I can play the game, he thinks to himself. He makes a show of surveying Central Park himself to verify the continued absence of moles. The real police work happens behind the scenes anyway. One day, when they need me, they’ll listen. I’ll save them. Get their trust. And then they’ll listen.

They’ll listen.

The day comes sooner than expected and too soon all at the same time. When the Police Chief vowed that he’d prove himself, he’d imagined he’d do so against thieves. A jewel heist. A bank robbery. Something dramatic and worthy of 43.2 AM.

Instead, what he gets is Coriander. An A-rank villain with the power to summon and control tiny imps that ran through people’s yards and set fire to all the houses that didn’t have any flower beds to tear up. The Police Chief watches the creatures carry their stolen flowers up and into the Gothic castle that appeared overnight in the middle of Central Park. The command center is posted right in the parking lot, as close to the castle as he dares to get without Hero Force backup.

He scrubs a hand over his face. The castle is dormant after a long night of flower looting. According to his sources, it won’t last long. Whatever spell Coriander is cooking up will be unleashed soon. He looks up to the single microphone held out to him by DJ Arthur. At least he’s on 43.2 AM now.

“Stay indoors,” he says. His voice echoes out of passing vehicles. They’ve been driving by, gawking at Coriander’s base. He closes his eyes. “I understand this town is fucked up and doesn’t care about villain activity. But this is dangerous. Coriander has a body count. We all need to bunker down until Hero Force arrives.”

DJ Arthur frowns. “Police Chief, that’s a harsh accusation. We care. That’s why I’m here.”

“If you cared, you wouldn’t be here,” the Police Chief says. He doesn’t care about reelection. He feels the last sleepless 24 hours weighing on his shoulders. He gestures to the man in front of him, tweed suit and all. “People look up to you, Arthur. They listen to you. I granted you this interview so you can tell the citizens to go home where they have a chance of avoiding Coriander’s next assault. History shows he won’t stop at fire. He won’t—”

“I didn’t come here for an interview,” DJ Arthur says, blinking. He adjusts the strap of his recorder uncomfortably. “Sorry. Should have been more clear. I was asking top be granted a spot in the command center. Up close to the action. Front row seats.”

“…What?”

“Also, please call me DJ Arthur. We’re on the air.”

“No.” the Police Chief thinks this might be what hysteria feels like. “No, that’s not—you’re not—People’s lives are at stake. Coriander’s already committed tens of thousands of dollars in property damage, six people are in the hospital—”

“Which is why I’m here,” DJ Arthur interrupts. He jerks his chin towards Central Park. The double doors of the castle are just visible through the trees lining the main path. “People are hurt. He’ll be here soon.”

 “Who—” He turns to see a man on the main path towards the castle. His cape swishes left and right as he power walks through the park to the front door. He’s got the worst kind of bedhead and his brown, curly hair looks almost like a bird’s nest from this distance. The Police Chief learns slowly. “Who is—” But he learns. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Echolocator’s arms pump. His knees jerk up to the sky in an enthusiastically uncoordinated march. His teal cape twists into a knot and swishes behind him like a tail.

“Echolocator on scene,” DJ Arthur says, his lips directly on the mic. His gaze is feverish. “He’s approaching Coriander’s castle.”

The Police Chief is frozen. The Echolocator is annoying, but he doesn’t deserve to die. His hands tingle and his heart beats against his ribs. Should he draw his weapon? March right up the trail and drag the Echolocator back? It’d put him in proximity to Coriander and he’s seen videos in the Academy of how that ends. But isn’t that his job? Isn’t that what he’s been trying to show the people he’s willing to do? Die for them? His numb fingers find the latch on his gun.

“The Echolocator is knocking on the door,” DJ Arthur says. Metal on metal sings across the park and the DJ’s voice fills with mirth. “No one answered. The Echolocator is using the brass knocker on the front doors to get Coriander’s attention. Come on, Coriander! Open up. It’s not polite to keep the Echolocator waiting. Open up! Open up!”

A roar of honking fills the streets behind them. The Police Chief jumps, heart leaping into his throat. His hand falls off his weapon as he turns to find they’re no longer alone in the parking lot. What seems to be every vehicle in town is in the lot and spilling out onto the street. He can see people banging on their steering wheels, shouting along with DJ Arthur.

“Open up! Open up! Open up!”

They’re crazy. The Police Chief tries to get enough moisture to wet his lips. “Go—” No, his voice breaks and he has to try again. He tries to be heard over the din. He waves his arms over his head. “Go home! It’s not safe! This is an active battle zone! You need to—“

An unholy cheer crashes over his pleas. He stumbles back as it reverberates through his bones. Townspeople lean over steer wheels and pop through sunroofs, all with the same feverish gaze as DJ Arthur.

“Watch, Police Chief,” DJ Arthur says. His hand is gentle but firm as he drags the Police Chief back around. He guides him to the command chair and sits him there. Leans over his shoulder. Whispers into both the mic and the Police Chief’s ear. “Watch our villain at work.”

A terrible rumbling shakes the ground, coming from Coriander’s castle. The Echolocator is still standing on the front step, hands braced on his hips. The castle doors shiver and the very air seems to ripple as Coriander’s forces race to answer the provocation. Booming footsteps fall like the howl of a bell.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

Echolocator starts. Looks over his shoulder with a frown. He contorts so he can untangle his cape. He smooths it along his shoulders. Looks back at the crowd as the cacophony of footsteps swells. Rolls his eyes as if to say Oh brother.

The doors fly open and there’s Coriander. Long, black hair writhing like the black mass of shadow behind him. Silver robes flapping in maelstrom of power. Eyes and fingertips sparking with furious magic. His voice is a lightning crack. “HOW DARE YOU—"

The Echolocator grabs Coriander by the throat. The supervillain chokes and his hands go to scrabble at the lesser villain’s wrist. Magic sparks and chews the air with an audible crackle. Echolocator hardly seems to notice. He forces Coriander back into the castle ahead of him. The doors swing shut the instant they’re over the threshold.

The screams start up a beat after that.

The tingling in his hands has spread to his legs. The Police Chief feels completely robbed of strength. He’s heard screams like those in training. He knows what they mean.

“Boo,” DJ Arthur says into the mic. His arm is tossed carelessly over the Police Chief’s shoulders. “No audience today. Echolocator has hold of Coriander and it doesn’t seem like he’ll be letting the villain leave without paying for poor Ms. Ethel’s broken leg. And Mr. Castor’s concussion. And Savannah’s contusions. And—”

The Police Chief barely processes DJ Arthur’s recitation of civilian injuries. He’s watching the doors, every scream seeping through his ears and sloshing around his brain. There’s something wet slipping out from under the double doors. Something that shimmers a brilliant red under the late afternoon sun.

He’s seen that liquid in training too.

When the tallest tower of the castle loses the first of its shingles, the crowd starts to drift away. The screams are thin now. A breeze through winter-stripped branches. A stone falls next. Then another. And another.

The Police Chief doesn’t stir even when DJ Arthur packs up his microphone and mutters about heading home to write the transcript. He sits in the command chair, elbows on his knees. Tripod position, that’s what it’s called. He’s trying to suck in enough air to chase away the feeling of suffocation. But no matter how wide he flares his ribs, he still feels short of breath.

Coriander’s castle dismantles painfully slow. It shrinks like melting ice, tucking itself neatly into the earth. There’s no other way to explain it. Each stone sinks and dissolves against the ground as if they very foundation of the town is trying to destroy it.

When the sun sets, it’s on an empty field. No, not quite empty. Mounds of flowers lie in the shape of Coriander’s castle’s footprint. But Coriander is gone. Echolocator is gone.

The Police Chief nods slowly. He nods and nods and nods. The streetlamps flicker on. He stands and sways, blood rushing back into his legs. He nods at this too. Circulation will return. He has no doubt.

Other things will return too.

He hobbles over to his polka-dotted car on pins and needles. The bridge project – the Mayor promised before the holidays. It’s behind schedule. If he diverts some man hours, he can help get it back on track.

A safe bridge is the best sign of a safe community. He’s glad he finally sees that now.

He listens to 43.2 AM on the way back to the station.

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