The Phantom - 2. Chapter 2

"Can I stay at your place?"

"Huh?" Mark looked over at Gerry. "What-ever would you want to do that for?"

"I thought we could, you know, order in, watch a movie, just hang out."

"I'm going out --"

"Sure, that's fine, too."

"-- With a girl."

"Oh."

"What is with you, mate?" He looked back at the road. "Is something going on?"

'YES!' was what Gerry wanted to say, but everyone already thought him nuts. He didn't want to add his best friend to the list. Damn the Phantom!

He shook his head. "No, of course not. It's just, my neighbors have been partying hard all week, and we don't get an off night very often ...."

"Bruce, we spend six nights a week -- usually seven -- in each other's company. You saying you want to spend even more time with me?" Granted, he liked Bruce, as a friend, but come on, he had to have more friends than just him! Mark hadn't seen his own in too long and he seriously wanted to enjoy this unexpected time off.

No, it wasn't that, not for Gerry. He just didn't want to go home, and he trusted Mark as a place he could crash with no questions asked. As long as he was with someone, he couldn't be bothered, at least, not directly. The oblique methods were just as disturbing, but at least with someone else around, he could take his mind off them. Stop jumping at shadows. Yeah, that would be nice. Anytime he was alone, it was a waiting game, waiting for the next time the Phantom would strike.

"It's just ...."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. The party-ers." Mark frowned. "Look, Bruce, go home, mate. Get a pet if you're lonely."

Lonely isn't the half of it, thought Gerry. He sighed.

To break the oppressive silence, Mark turned on the radio. He grimaced and swore lightly in amusement as a woman's voice warbled, "... Ain't no-ooo getting o-o-o-over-rr me!" He hastily punched the presets and search buttons, but the country music classic continued to blare out of the speakers. Beginning to mutter more darkly under his breath, Mark switched the radio back off.

Making a turn, he caught Gerry's pale face in the mirrors. He gave the man a longer stare. Dark as a chocolate bunny at Easter, Gerry did not go pale like most white people did, but he was an eerie shade of greenish-gray. For the first time, Mark noticed the dark circles under his eyes, like bruises, a tautness to his skin that didn't used to be there, and a certain tension in his normally expressive mouth.

And, if he didn't let go of the door handle, he was going to break it clean off.

"Bruce?" he asked.

"It's everywhere." Gerry's voice came out strained, a strangled whisper.

"What is?" They were on a very busy street. Mark couldn't just pull over. He tossed worried looks at Gerry. "Bruce, speak to me, mate."

"The Phantom."

Mark honked the horn at a sedan with out of state plates that couldn't seem to make up its mind which lane to be in. "Talk sense, mate!" he barked.

"The Phantom!" Gerry replied. "He's here! He's everywhere! And he won't leave me alone!"

"You mean the radio?" Mark gasped out a little sigh of relief. "That's nothing. Just a glitch --"

Gerry glared at his partner with all the madness in his eyes that lack of sleep will do to a person. "Glitches," he spat, "are what got us into this fucking mess!"

"Chill out, mate, you're going to give yourself a heart attack. Or an ulcer," he muttered. "Boys'll have it fixed up again in a jiff."

"It's not a glitch!" snapped Gerry. At home he'd unplugged all his electronics, made due without his microwave or coffee, used candles or a flashlight when he needed, was this close to just having the power switched off, but was too partial to warm showers to go to that extreme.

The Phantom couldn't get him at his house, but he was a sitting duck when he went out. He tried disguises, tried varying his patterns, but nothing worked. Somehow the bastard always knew where he was and would do something, something unobtrusive and unnoticed by anyone other than him. Like the radio just now. The Phantom had been making a game, the past week, of telling him indirectly that he'd never be free.

"Okay, mate," said Mark slowly. "Just, take it easy." He peered again at Gerry. "You need to get more sleep, mate."

"Yeah." He tried. Any time he closed his eyes, he imagined the Phantom chasing him, through a series of appliances, all talking and jabbering away like a psychotic toaster in a movie he'd seen years and years ago. Mark meant well, but nobody else could see the things Gerry saw, except on the news, and everyone still thought him the culprit.

Pulling up at the next light, Mark saw the lit sign for a pharmacy. He thought a minute, drumming on the wheel, but they weren't getting back any faster. He pulled in to the parking lot.

Head in his hand, braced on the door, Gerry looked up. "Mark?" he questioned, surprised.

"Got to make a stop," Mark lied. "For my date." Hopefully, if he was able to catch the girl in question. It was hit and miss lately. He carried a condom in his wallet for that spur-of-the-moment kind of thing, but Gerry didn't need to know that.

He pulled the keys out of the ignition. "Coming?"

"Yeah, sure." He certainly didn't want to wait alone in the van. He cruised the aisles of potato chips and junk food and thought about gorging on the huge bag of giant, fruit chews in the shape of gummy bears, but eventually passed them by. Last thing he needed was to be kept awake by a stomach ache.

Glancing over the aisles to see Mark leaving the section of condoms and going over to the pharmacist's window, Gerry wandered over that way. He was interested to find out what wasn't in the condom selection that Mark would need to ask for specially. If he could find out, perhaps he could pay the reporter back for the giant shark animation cell hanging in their office. Bruce the shark. Really? Were they twelve?

The pharmacist was a handsome young man, though he seemed a bit reserved. As Gerry drew closer, he noticed an intriguing accent in the pharmacist's voice. It almost sounded familiar. His nametag said Mihail. That explained the accent. Partially, anyway.

The box the pharmacist set on the counter was not condoms. In fact ....

"Hey!" He reached over and plucked the package out of Mark's hand, glaring at the much shorter man. "What do you need these for?"

Mark sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "They're not for me; they're for you."

"What?"

"You're right," Mihail added. He peered up at Gerry through square-rimmed glasses. Damn, but he looked familiar, too.

"Right about what?" asked Gerry lowly.

"That you need sleep, mate," said Mark, looking completely unrepentent. He turned back to the pharmacist. He tossed a thumb in Gerry's direction. "Friend here thinks he's got a stalker."

The pharmacist made as if to step back, uncomfortable with the situation.

"That's because I do!" Gerry glared at the back of Mark's head.

"Yeah, mate. So these'll do the trick?"

"Um, yes, should." He swallowed his unease. "How much do you weigh?"

"It doesn't matter," said Gerry, dropping the box onto the counter. "I don't need them."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

"You've got to sleep some time, mate!"

"Sleeping doesn't keep the Phantom away!"

"Wait," said Mihail, breaking into the argument. "Did you say 'phantom?'" He glanced from Mark to Gerry and back again. "Are you two some kind of superheroes?"

Mark burst out laughing, leaning against the counter. "Don't you watch TV, mate?" he asked. "I'm Mark, and this is Bruce. We work for Channel Eleven. I'm a reporter, for the Supers-Watch. We report on those guys, try to catch 'em in action."

"Oh. You're those two." Unobtrusively, he shoved his hands in his pockets, leaning slightly away. "So, is this Phantom a story you're following?"

"Just a private joke."

Gerry scowled. "It is not a joke, Mark! I am seriously being harassed."

"Sure, sure, by something nobody else can see or hear." He scowled at his friend. "For someone so good with a camera, you don't have any pictures to show for it."

"Cameras just don't work," Gerry snapped. "He makes them not work!"

"Ah, guys, do you have to do this here?"

Mark whirled on Mihail. "Tell him!" He pointed at Gerry. "To take the damn pills and get a good night's sleep for once!"

"Ah, really, that's not my place to say."

"You're the doctor!"

"Shut it, Mark, or you'll need the doctor!"

"You're so damn paranoid, Bruce! Will you lighten up? We ALL know it's you, so stop pretending!"

"I AM NOT THE PHANTOM!" The box of sleeping pills crushed in his fist. Only the cardboard pressing into the palm of his hand kept him from grabbing Mark and shaking him or slapping him around until either his head popped off or he started being more understanding.

He hunched his shoulders, leaning forward to snarl, "Why the fuck would I be doing this to myself, Mark? Send myself text messages? alter the footage? keep my car from starting? I'm a good cameraman! I've worked hard for the station and I was making it on my own. I certainly don't need parlor tricks and special effects to prove myself!"

"You have a film degree!" Mark shot back. "They taught you how to do all that stuff! You told me that digital film editing and special effects was what you liked to do. You would have minored in it if they had that option, so don't give me this shit! You're jumping at shadows, mate. There's nobody in this whole god-damned world that cares so much about you to follow you every second of every day and make your life hell, so take the god-damned pills and get some rest!"

"I'm not making this up!" Gerry shouted, shaking his fist under Mark's nose. "It's NOT me!"

"Guys!" Mihail broke in, looking around nervously. The store was mostly empty but the few customers there were watching the fight with wide-eyed, shocked amazement, afraid to come closer and unable to tear their eyes away.

With a hand that shook, only a little, he held out a small business card.

Mark accepted the card, but Gerry snatched it out of his hand. "Faust?" he said. He scowled at the pharmacist. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"No! I just ... thought, well, she's a psychiatrist. Doesn't take too many patients, but if you tell her you know a guy with a dog problem, then she'll see you. Talk about this there, not here, please."

"A guy with a dog problem?" Gerry drawled.

"This city's full of crackpots," said Mark amiably. "You're one now, too, mate. Should look her up."

"I am not crazy!" Gerry hissed.

Unrepentent and unfazed by the giant man shaking with rage behind him, Mark tapped his condoms on the counter. "Ring me up, please?"

"And this." Gerry dropped the squashed box on the counter, glaring at Mark.

"You broke it, you buy it!"

Mihail sighed and snatched the carton. "Forget it. Just ... forget it." He rang up the box of condoms, gave Mark his change and fervently hoped the two news guys would leave before they started anymore fights.

Gerry lingered, fingering the card. "Is she any good?" he asked, glancing dubiously at Mihail.

"I'm told so, yes." He closed his lips, not wanting to prejudice the man or make him anymore suspicious.

With a nod, Gerry followed his partner, silently pulling himself into the van. The card went into his wallet.

As usual, Gerry slept not a wink, watching the minutes and hours change on the old-fashioned alarm clock on his nightstand. He finally gave up and jogged the two miles to his gym for an early workout before showering and hunting down Faust.

He took a taxi to the address on the card. Faust's office was on the eighth floor of a glass-sided skyscraper in the heart of Necropolis. The building was home to various trades, a dozen different medical specialists including three dentists, a bank and restaurant on the ground floor, some law firm took up the top ten floors, and what looked like a daycare service on the second floor.

With so many people coming and going, Gerry was glad for his height. He sat in the restaurant, at an outside table, and ate breakfast, and then lunch, while the people flowed by around him. He twisted the card in his hand and, at last, steeled himself to ride up and inquire at the receptionist's desk.

The office was down the hall from the elevator in an unobtrusive corner and panelled a dark wood that glowed warmly under the lights. The entry held the receptionist's counter and several large, comfortable sofas, with magazines piled on the coffee table in the middle. Light jazz music came from a radio set on the counter by a large, potted fern. A closed door had a restroom sign, split men/women, and the only other door, he assumed, had to lead into the psychiatrist's office. Overall, the place was far smaller than he'd imagined. It also reeked of money.

He swallowed.

"Can I help you?"

Gerry jumped. A quick glance revealed the speaker. A young man came through the main door with a tray of coffees. The room was otherwise empty.

"I, um," he stammered. "I'm looking for Faust?"

The man set his tray on the counter, placing beside it a white paper sack. He smiled back kindly. "The doctor isn't taking any new clients at the moment."

Oh. This must be the receptionist.

"I can give you a referral, if you'd like?"

"Um." What he'd really like was to run back out of there and pretend it'd never happened, but he'd had an almost Phantom-free morning. He badly wanted to find out if he was as crazy as he feared.

"I was told," he said gamely, fishing the card out of his pocket. "To, ah, to say that I knew a guy with a dog problem?" Gerry was a long-time observer of human behavior. He caught the very brief instant when the receptionist's face froze, before he smiled again.

"In that case, let me take the doctor her lunch, and I'll see. Please, have a seat." He didn't ask to see the card, barely glancing at it before gathering up the tray once more.

Too nervous to sit, Gerry shifted weight from one foot to the other. Any conversation on the other side of that door was lost to his ears. All he heard was the jazz.

In a few minutes, the receptionist returned. He held open the door. "The doctor will see you now."

Nodding, Gerry ducked his head and followed. On the other side of the thick, wood door was a short corridor with five doors, two on either side, and one, open, directly before him. This door led into a long but narrow room with an unobstructed view of the city through the windows. The windows were tinted, Gerry knew, so that one couldn't see in from outside, but the view was still amazing. He gravitated there immediately, not seeing the older woman sipping coffee at her desk until she spoke, drawing his attention.

"It's something, isn't it?"

"Yes," he answered truthfully. From this angle they weren't even blocked by other buildings.

"What can I do for you, Mister?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "Bruce -- er -- aw, hell, why not? Everybody else does."

"You work for Channel 11, don't you?" Her eyes were inscrutable.

"Um, yes. Yes, I do. It's, um, why I'm here."

Her tone turned chilly immediately. "I'm not interested."

"Please, I -- I think I may, that is, I'm certain that -- I might be ..." He sighed. "I think I'm going crazy."

"Interesting. And why do you think that?"

In a few, very few minutes, Faust had the whole tale from him, prompting Gerry when he paused, but otherwise making no comments. Nor did she interrupt.

She sat back when he had finished, watching him nervously murder one of her chewy, chocolate chip cookies in his big hands. Not eating the treat, Gerry just kept breaking the cookie into smaller and smaller pieces, rolling the crumbs around between his fingers.

"Gerry," she began. "You've lived in the Necropolis all your life, yes?"

"Yes."

"Hm. Is there nothing about this Phantom that seems odd to you?"

His chuckle held an edge of paranoia still, although physically he was much calmer. "Of course! I'm being followed, stalked! The police ... well, they're too busy with other things to worry about someone who can't prove any allegations, especially as my job plays up these 'pranks' as something I'm doing!"

"Shh," she murmured. "Relax. I'm not accusing you of anything. In fact, I believe you."

"You do?" He trembled on the edge of relief so strong he was afraid he'd cry.

"Yes, I do, but I confess that I'm surprised you haven't fit the pieces together before now."

"Huh?"

"This is an --" Her lips quirked. "-- An odd city, wouldn't you say? Masked vigilantes, styling themselves superheroes and facing off against crime that never seems to quit?"

Rising, she fetched a large, oversized book from one of the shelves built into one wall of the room. She opened the cover to reveal a scrapbook of newspaper clippings. Finding the page she sought, she turned the book around so Gerry could see.

"Short Fuse Short Sentence?" Gerry read quizzically. He devoured the story quickly, looking up with questioning eyes.

Flipping more pages, Faust presented another clipping, further towards the back, where there were still blank pages waiting to be filled.

"Harddrive Saves Bank One." This one regaled the tale of a superhero who could travel through electricity. He frowned. These two stories, the two supers ...

"Are you implying what I think you're implying?"

She sipped her coffee quietly.

"But ... what would a ... a super want with me?"

Shrugging, Faust reclaimed her scrapbook and rose. "I think it's about time you found out, don't you?"

"Well, I ..." He stopped. He'd never quite thought of it in those terms. "I don't know," he finished lamely. He lowered his face into his hands, feeling nauseous. If it was a super, what was he to do? How was he to get rid of it? They effectively ran rampant through the streets, with no restraints.

"Oh, God."

"Young man," said Faust, giving Gerry a comforting pat on the shoulder. "There's but one thing left to do."

He glanced up, hope shining from dark eyes. "There is?"

She smiled softly. "Ask him."

Gerry's mouth fell open. "What?"

"The Phantom talks to you, doesn't he?"

"Well, yes, in a way, I guess." He'd stopped responding, best he could, and the attempts to monopolize his attention had grown worse, rather than better, more oblique, too.

Faust waited patiently.

"Oh," said Gerry quietly in understanding. He'd only strived to get rid of the Phantom, never bothered to find out what he wanted. He was a pest ... or was there more to it?

A knock sounded on the door and the receptionist came through. "Pardon, Doctor, but your one-thirty is here."

"Yes, thank you. Take her to room two. I'll be there in a minute." She held out her hand to Gerry who took it, rising, to give her a firm, but not crushing handshake in return.

"Thank you," he said. "I've got a lot to think about."

"I'm sure you do," she agreed. "It was good to meet you, Bruce. I'll be watching." She grinned as he gave her a horror-struck look. "On TV, Bruce. I watch the news on Channel 11." Their take on the Supers-Watch was quite informative, and most amusing.

"Of course!" laughed Gerry, scratching the back of his head. "The news, right. Thank you again, ma'am."

"Any time."

Gerry returned to work that night with a lighter heart and a lighter wallet. Metaphorically speaking, of course, since he'd paid with his credit card, but it was worth it to finally have a purpose again. Even the night's camera antics couldn't return the bitter depression to his heart. He climbed into the back of the van after shooting, with firm determination.

?> he typed, once the night's usual chores were complete. He hadn't once been hassled by the Phantom, which was unusual.

There was no reply to his typed message. Gerry frowned in irritation. Of course, the moment he wanted to talk to the cretin, he proved uncooperative. Why was he not surprised?

Shutting down, he crawled into the front of the van and retreived his blackberry from the glove compartment where the phone had been relegated for the last several weeks. Mark gave him a curious look, but Gerry ignored him.

Back home, he spent several hours plugging in his TV and computer, and anything else he'd previously unhooked, setting his coffee maker to have liquid fuel ready at the usual time in the morning. He went to bed with a lighter conscience than in many days, lying down and actually sleeping the night through.

Figured that he would oversleep, too.

He rose to cold coffee and Mark buzzing him on his blackberry, wondering where he was. He jumped into his car, praying that it would start (it happily obliged him) and got to the station just in time for the afternoon meeting.

He and Mark worked in the editing room on their weekly special feature before heading out to the streets. That night they caught Superdude in action and although Gerry braced himself, the anticipated interference never happened.

"What was all that about?" asked Mark as they got back in the van.

Gerry shook his head. "I don't know."

The silence lasted six days. Fan mail poured in, demanding the next 'misadventure,' the producers called them into the big meeting room to grill them, and Gerry actually started to worry.

Where was the Phantom? Such a staple in his life for so long, so much a part of his daily routine, that he wasn't quite sure what to make of the sudden absence. The Phantom had always contacted him, never the other way around. What was he to do?

Had it been the visit to Faust that sparked the long silence? He wasn't sure; he couldn't remember those days very clearly. Now he had the solitude and peace to sleep and he couldn't for worrying about his stalker. Where was he? What had happened?

After the ninth straight day of life as a boring reporter, Gerry lowered his camera and stared hollowly at Mark.

"Damn," he sighed.

"What?" snapped Mark, peevish.

"I think I actually miss the guy."

"Who?"

"I -- nevermind."

"No." Mark caught his partner's arm. "Wait, Bruce, are you ... moping over someone? Is that why you've stopped ... stopped everything?" For awhile he'd stopped looking so dead on his feet. He didn't whine about the Phantom anymore, though he was starting to get as jumpy again, looking around as if expecting something to occur, and looking disappointed when nothing happened.

"What?" Gerry replied. "No! I don't have a boyfriend."

Brows drawing down together, Mark stared at the puzzle that was his partner and best friend. "Then what is it, mate? Anyone can see you're not acting like you." Hadn't been in far too long, but there was a different quality to Gerry's behavior now.

"Well," said Gerry, concentrating on putting away the equipment for a moment or two. He glanced back at Mark. "The Phantom's gone."

"Gone? What do you mean, 'Gone?'"

"I don't know. I haven't heard from him in days."

Mark's eyes lit up, but he suppressed a grin. He was right! Gerry was in love and missing his lover something fierce. He should have recognized the signs. It was obvious his lover hadn't been letting Gerry sleep much recently. Had they been getting ready for a split? And that must be why Gerry had been so moody and intense! All this Phantom nonsense was a cover to take attention away from what was really the matter.

"Oh. So sorry, mate. Hey, why don't we hit up a pub and drown our sorrows in a few beers?"

"Actually, Mark, that sounds great. Yeah, let's do it."

They chose an old, seedy pub on the border of the slums. Mark drove. He fully anticipated getting Gerry roaring drunk and wheedling some real information from him. It was going to be a challenge, considering Gerry could drink him under the table on almost any occassion without half-seeming to try, but Mark was Australian. He would persevere.

It almost worked, too, until Gerry insisted that Mark share the shots. He tried to back out by plying the old Designated Driver card, but Gerry rebuffed the meager excuse by saying they'd call a cab, car-jackers be damned.

The bartender grinned knowingly and kept their glasses filled.

Staggering to the restroom to take a piss, Gerry strong-armed three desperate would-be thieves, finishing his business without further interruption, but he was awake then. He rinsed his hands and pulled out his blackberry, leaning against the edge of the sink.

A message flashed at him: <WAY?>?>

There was no sender, no to or from address. Gerry's hands shook with both anxiety and excitement. The Phantom!

<L8R> Bruce typed. <RUOK?>

<SOS>

Gerry stared at his blackberry. "What?" he whispered. In seconds, his screen filled with text: <SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS>

Then it went blank.

<Phantom?>

He waited, but there was no response.

<PHANTOM!>