Bedtime Story

Peter Clines

 

Dad set his briefcase down and stretched. He slipped his shoes off. His toes grabbed at the carpet through his socks. Fists with the toes, fists with the toes, just like in that movie. Much better than when he used to end each day with a drink. He was reaching for his glasses to set them on the hall table when Mom stepped out at the end of the hall.

“He wanted to wait up for you,” she said, “but I told him you were going to be late.”

A few more toe clenches. “And?”

“I think he’s still awake.”

“He’s a growing boy, hon. He needs his rest.”

“I know. But there are some things you just can’t get a seven-year-old to do. No one can.”

Dad’s mouth formed a half-smile. It was an expression that conceded she was right but still refused to admit defeat. He gave her a kiss, clenched his toes twice more, and headed down the hall to Bobby’s bedroom.

LEGO bricks covered the floor like so many small booby traps, and action figures sprawled across the undersized desk. A red-white-and-blue sneaker sat in the doorway while the other had made it halfway to the bed. As usual, in the last hour before bedtime, his son had displayed an amazing ability to wreak havoc and undo the day’s cleaning.

The boy himself was sprawled across the mattress, not so much in the bed as on it. A pile of sheets and blankets by his feet showed his struggle to get under the covers. One arm was stretched out toward Mister Teddy, the well-worn bear he insisted he didn’t need to get to sleep anymore.

Dad bent down and tugged the sheet up to Bobby’s shoulder blades. The blanket came up next, just a bit lower, and he folded the sheet down over the edge so it wouldn’t scratch during the night. He brushed a few strands of hair aside and kissed his son on the forehead. He lingered for a moment. The boy’s skin was warm and smooth. Still so much like a baby.

The boy shifted, stretched, rolled over. “Dad?”

He tousled Bobby’s head. Most of his hair was brown at this point, but a few streaks of towhead blond still ran through it. He looked so much smaller and younger than seven. “Hey, kiddo. What’s up?”

The little boy sat up and blinked three times. He rubbed at his eyes. “I think one of the teachers said something bad in school today.”

Dad smirked. Not a baby anymore. He’d been expecting something like this any day now. He remembered being seven, when he started to notice the off-limit words adults threw around now and then. To be honest, with the way some people spoke, he was a little surprised it had taken so long for this talk to come up. “Which teacher?”

“Miss Richmond.”

Dad tried not to frown. He’d met Miss Richmond a few times at school functions. Each time, he’d restrained himself with some help from Mom. It wasn’t that surprising to hear the young, overly-liberal teacher had let some profanity slip in front of the children.

He adjusted his glasses and glanced over at Bobby’s bookshelf. A long-unopened copy of Everybody Poops sat on one of the shelves. He looked at his son. “Which one was it?”

Bobby took in a breath and let out a loud sigh. “Miss Richmond,” he repeated. His tone said that his father had just lost a few points on the “smart parent” scale.

Dad smiled. “No,” he said, “which bad word. Was it the S word?”

The boy shook his head.

“Was it the F word?” If it was, Dad might need to have a few firm words with Miss Richmond.

Bobby shook his head again.

“Hey,” said Mom from the door, “so what’s going on in here?”

“His teacher said a bad word today.”

“Which one?”

“Miss Richmond,” said Dad and Bobby together. Bobby rolled his eyes at the realization he had two dumb parents.

Mom managed a small laugh and a smile. “Nothing too strong for his sensitive ears, I hope.”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” said Dad.

“Not the S word?”

Dad and Bobby both shook their heads. “Not the F word either,” Dad said.

Mom furrowed her thin brows. “What’s that leave that he’d know? You don’t think he knows…” She looked at Bobby. “It wasn’t the C word, was it, baby?”

“Mommmmmm,” he whined.

“You’re always going to be my baby,” she said. She leaned forward and kissed him on the head.

Dad patted his son through the blankets. “Okay, kiddo,” he said, “do you think you could spell the word she said?”

Bobby frowned and looked at the ceiling. “No,” he said after a moment. “There were a lot of them. She said a lot of things. One of the other teachers came in and yelled at her to stop.”

Mom’s brows went up. “Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

Dad looked at his wife, then back to Bobby. “Do you remember some of the things she said? The words?”

His head bobbed up and down. It made his hair flop around. He needed a haircut.

Dad sighed. “Could you say some of them?”

The boy’s mouth twisted and he studied his parents. “You won’t be mad?”

“Nope.”

“I won’t get in trouble?”

“You can say them just this one time.”

The boy’s chin dipped in understanding. “She said none of us were free and that Omnes was evil. That he was one of the bad guys.”

Mom gasped and covered her mouth. Dad sat up straight and looked up at his wife. “Are you sure?” asked Dad. “You’re sure that’s what she said?”

“Yep,” said Bobby. “We were talking about the founding fathers, and she said that Omnes was a monster and a bad guy and he took away our ri—”

Dad’s finger rushed up and came to rest across the boy’s mouth. “You don’t have to say anything else,” he said. The finger trembled against the boy’s lips, so he reached up and mussed his hair again. He took a breath and calmed himself.

Mom wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. “We’ll have to call the school,” she murmured. “They’ll have to get rid of her.”

“I’ll take care of it,” said Dad.

“Let the school take care of it.”

Dad glanced back at her. “If the school was going to take care of it, do you think we’d be hearing about it from Bobby? They’re going to try to brush it under the rug.”

Mom stared at the floor. “I should call the other parents,” she said, “and warn them.”

“If they haven’t heard already,” he said.

Bobby set his hand on his father’s. “Is it true, Dad?”

He looked Bobby in the eyes. “Is what true?”

“What she said. About Omnes.”

The parents looked at each other. Mom crossed her arms and turned to the window. Dad took another slow breath. “Well, he isn’t a monster. He’s a person, just like you and Mom. And me.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“Than how come he can do all his stuff?” asked Bobby. “I mean, like, he can fly and see really far, and he’s super-strong and super-fast, and nothing can hurt him, and he makes lightning with his fists and all that.”

Mom’s fingers fidgeted against her crossed arms.

“No one knows how he can do all those things,” said Dad. “It’s like the old movies, where only a few people know how the superhero got his powers.”

“Is he a mootant?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Is he an alien?”

“I doubt it,” said Dad, smiling and shaking his head.

“Does he get his powers from his suit or a magic ring or something?”

“No,” Mom said. “It’s all him. No one can take his powers away from him. They’ve tried.”

Dad glanced back at her then scooted back on the bed so he could see his whole family at once. He tapped his fingers on the back of Bobby’s hand. “I think… I think it was just an accident,” he told the boy. “I think Omnes didn’t want to get powers or expect them. I think one day, something happened to him at work or somewhere. Something that wasn’t supposed to happen, like an explosion or a radiation leak. But instead of getting hurt like most people, it changed him. It gave him his powers and made him into what he is today.”

The boy nodded. “A superhero?”

“Yes,” said Mom quickly. “A hero.” She looked out the window again, up at the sky.

“The best hero,” agreed Dad. “A hero for everyone.”

Mom nodded without turning her head.

“That’s what his name means,” said Dad. “It means ‘everyone.’”

“Yeah?” asked the boy.

“Yep,” said Dad. “He saved the city a dozen times at least and the country two or three times. He even saved your mom once.”

“Really?” Bobby’s eyes lit up. He looked at his mother for confirmation.

“It was before,” she said, and Dad looked up at her from the bed. “It was a long time ago.”

“And then,” said Dad, “he decided to save the whole world. So he got rid of all the bad people and made everything safe and happy and better for everyone.”

“But if Omnes is a hero,” said Bobby, “why’s so many people scared of him?”

“I don’t think anyone’s scared of him,” said Dad. “It’s just…it’s complicated.”

“Why?”

Mom looked at Dad. Dad looked back at her. Her head trembled, just a small, side-to-side movement.

He sighed and shifted on the bed, careful not to put his weight on the small form under the blanket. “Well,” he said. He let the word hang in the air for a minute, and Mom stared at him. “Well,” he said again, “you like orange soda, right?”

Bobby’s hair flopped back and forth.

“So if I gave you orange soda, that would be a good thing, right?”

“Yup.”

“But does everyone like orange soda?”

The boy shook his head. “Kevin says it tastes like aspirin.”

Dad managed a smile. “Okay,” he said, “so if I gave Kevin an orange soda, he wouldn’t think it was good, would he?”

Bobby rubbed his ear. “But he doesn’t have to have orange soda, does he? Can’t he have Pepsi?”

Mom let out a little noise, almost a snort. Dad gave her a sharp glance and looked back at Bobby. “Okay, kiddo,” he said. “Let’s try this. You know how you can go to a birthday party and there’s lots of stuff to do, like games and sports and toys to play with?”

The boy’s hair flopped back and forth again. “Like Jack’s party last month. It was really fun.”

“Right, just like Jack’s party,” said Dad. “So everyone gets to have fun and do what they like, but then the cake comes out. And everyone has to have cake and ice cream, right?”

“Right,” said Bobby with a nod.

“But everybody doesn’t come right away. Usually, one of the grown-ups has to go get all the kids, right? They have to stop doing everything else so they can have cake and ice cream.”

Another sage nod from Bobby.

“They think that they want to keep running around or playing games or jumping in the bounce house,” Dad explained, “but the grown-up knows that once everyone sits down, they’re going to be happy with cake. So they have to give up all that other stuff so they can have cake and ice cream. Does that make sense?”

Bobby twisted his lips up again. “I think so,” he said.

Mom rubbed her temples and looked out the window again.

“But there’s always a couple kids who don’t want cake,” continued Dad. “Maybe they just want to keep jumping in the bounce house or maybe they don’t like the flavor.”

The boy gave a sage nod. “Nancy doesn’t like chocolate cake,” he said.

“Right,” said Dad. “But the adults still make her stop playing and sit at the table with everyone else, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Because they know that once the cake and ice cream’s there in front of them, the kids will want it. It may not be the flavor they want, but it’s still cake, and they’ll all be happy. They’ll be upset at first, but then they’ll see it’s all for the best.”

Bobby shook his head and his hair swished to either side. “Nancy’s illergic,” he said. “She’s not s’posed to have any cake.”

“But they still make her sit down, right?”

The boy considered this. “Yup.”

“Even though she can’t enjoy it.”

“Yup.”

“Because it wouldn’t be fair to the other kids. They’re not going to enjoy their cake as much if someone else is running around and playing with all the toys. And the adults try to find something else for her, right?”

Bobby thought about it for a moment. “At Jack’s party, they got her a slice of banana bread I think,” he said.

“And was she happy?”

The boy shrugged. “Guess so.”

“See?”

Mom made another noise, and Dad shot another sharp glance at her.

Bobby weighed all the examples in his mind. “So Omnes gave everyone in the world cake?”

“More or less,” said Dad. “And it made all the good people happy.”

“Very happy,” added Mom. “We were all thrilled.”

“But Miss Richmond isn’t happy,” said the boy. “She’s mad.”

Dad pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Well,” he said, “sometimes, good people do bad things. They only think about themselves and not everyone else. That’s when they get scared of Omnes.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re being bad. And bad people don’t get cake.”

“But you said he got rid of all the bad people.”

“Yes,” said Dad, “he did.”

Mom sniffed. She reached up and wiped her eyes. She sniffed again and then walked out of the bedroom.

Dad set a hand against the boy’s shoulder and guided him back down. The blond-streaked hair spread out on the pillow. He really needed a haircut.

“Why’s Mom crying?”

“Because…because she’s so happy.”

Bobby tugged at the sheet and twisted it between his fingers. “Omnes didn’t give everyone real cake, did he?”

The corners of Dad’s mouth went up a little. “No, he didn’t.”

“Was it something just as good?”

“Even better. He gave everyone peace.”

“Peace?”

“It means no more wars,” said Dad. “No more problems. Resources get spent on all the right things. Everyone has fun. Everyone gets cake.”

Bobby yawned. “Even if they think they don’t want it?”

“Yes,” said Dad. “Even if they don’t want it. Everyone gets cake because he knows it’ll make them all happy in the long run.”

The boy rolled onto his side. “Why’d he do it?”

“Do what?”

“Give everyone peace?”

Dad smiled. “Because someone had to.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Dad paused to organize his thoughts. “I think it’s like in the old comics. ‘With great power comes great responsibility.’ And Omnes is very, very powerful. So he feels very, very responsible. For everyone.”

Bobby yawned again, and his eyes fluttered. His head shifted on the pillow. “Okay,” he said.

Dad bent down and kissed him again. Bobby smiled, and his face relaxed. His breathing sank into a smooth rhythm. Dad stood up, looked down at his son for a moment, and then took a few gentle steps into the hall. He tugged the door shut behind him.

The smile fell from his face as soon as the latch clicked. He walked down the hall to his study. Mom was there waiting for him.

“You’re still angry,” she said.

“Of course I’m angry,” Dad said. He slid his glasses off his nose and folded them flat. He only wore them for show, but he treated them as if they were real. “Can you believe that bimbo’s saying stuff like this, let alone in a classroom full of kids? Exposing them to dangerous ideas like that?”

“Please,” she said, “just let the school deal with it. They’ve probably disciplined her already, docked her pay or—”

“Discipline?” said Dad. He set the glasses down on his desk next to the photo of his family. “If there was any discipline at that school, this wouldn't have happened in the first place.”

“But just this once,” said Mom, “we could let someone else handle it.”

“I said I’d take care of it. None of the children will know.”

Her face dropped.

Dad unbuttoned his cuffs and pulled his shirt off over his head. It was an old habit from when he’d have to change in a hurry. It had been years since he’d had to rush like that.

The shirt slid off to reveal the blue and gold uniform. He rolled his shoulders, and the cape unfurled, spreading behind him like angelic wings. His hands tugged at the belt, and his slacks and the last of his secret identity fell away.

“He’s a good boy. He understands these things need to happen sometimes.” He walked past her, through the kitchen, and out the back door.

“But she’s his favorite teacher. I think he even has a little crush on her.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but we can’t allow this sort of thing. You know where it leads. You remember what happened to China.” It wasn’t a question. No one would ever forget what had been done to the Asian nation.

Omnes rose into the air. He circled the house once then headed for the west side of town, over by the community center and the graveyard. He knew that was where Miss Richmond lived.

He knew where everyone lived.