Up here in the sky, ablaze as the Human Torch, he felt free and at home. Nothing could stop him now; not even the sky was his limit.
He arced over the tall buildings of the East Bronx and saw the people far below, pointing up at him in shock and disbelief. Look up, down there, he wanted to shout out. I’m the Human Torch! THE HUMAN TORCH!
Let’s give ’em a show, he thought. A show only the Human Torch could create.
From his flaming fingertips came a ball of fire which shot rocket-like into the air above him, then burst into streamers of flame which cascaded downward, then evaporated before hitting the streets below. A second fireball erupted, then a third and a fourth. Now for the coup de grâce: with both hands wide, he circled downwards toward the ground, streams of flame licking the skies behind him. He abruptly turned and headed upward, curved at places, letting the flames streak longer behind him as he flew. In a moment he was done, and the flaming words “HAVE A GOOD DAY” lit up the night sky for miles in every direction. That’s something they won’t soon forget.
Frankie Raye’s house was a white split-level with amber-colored shutters, a wide garden, and a two-car garage. Garbage cans dotted the streets; the sanitation department would be out in force tomorrow.
The Torch landed, extinguishing his flames even as his feet touched pavement. He carried an asbestos bag across his back and removed a suit Reed had sprayed with unstable molecules. Even bunched up as it had been, it wouldn’t show a crease. He’d be able to knock on Frankie’s door tailored as impeccably as if he had arrived there in a limousine rather than flying comet-like through the skies.
Frankie and Johnny were lovers. The song danced through his head as Frankie Raye opened the door. She wore a paisley dress with short sleeves which were bordered with white lace, and off-green shoes which matched her purse. A green ribbon was tied through her blonde hair, and her straight white teeth flashed an irresistible smile. “You’re right on time, Johnny.” Her voice was warm, soft. “Where’s your car?”
Johnny bit his lip. “It’s in the garage, Frankie. I was hoping we could use yours. Or, better yet, how about staying in? I’ll order us food to be delivered.”
The smile faded from the girl’s face. “You flew here as the Torch?” She waited for Johnny to nod yes. “Johnny, you know . . . you’ve got to know how I feel about that. I—I dated you months before I learned who you were. I really like you, Johnny, perhaps more than I’ve ever liked anyone else. But, God . . . I can’t take your being a super-hero. I hate it when you’re called away in the middle of a dinner to fight some ridiculous crime the police should be taking care of in the first place.
“Why do you do it, Johnny? Why can’t you be normal, a real person, like everyone else? Why, Johnny? Why?”
She paced the living room before sitting on the plump white couch. Johnny wasn’t sure how to reply. “I didn’t ask to become what I am, Frankie. You know that as well as I do. It was an accident, a cosmic joke that I’ve become the butt of.”
He saw Frankie was on the verge of tears. He wanted to hold her in his arms, to make her worries go away. Why did she fear him? What was there about Johnny Storm that made her cringe every time she thought of his being the Human Torch?
He sat beside her, took her arms, and held them with his hands. “Frankie, I love you. I’ve told you that before. I think you’re wrong, though. Yes, maybe I risk my life, but there are others who do that with less assurance of surviving than I do. Policemen take risks every day. Firemen march into blazes that could consume them at any moment. None of them have any special powers, yet they still go out and risk their lives day after day.
“Damn it, Frankie. Tell me what’s bothering you. Don’t hold it in. I have to know if this relationship is going to grow and get better. You’ve got to tell me what is coming between us. What’s driving us. apart?”
Tears rolled down her beautiful face and she took some Kleenex from her pocketbook to wipe them dry. She got up and walked into the kitchen where she took a pitcher of cold water from the refrigerator and poured some into a glass. “It’s everything, Johnny. You’re risking your life, you being who you are: a hero, the center of attention. It’s all that, and it isn’t that, and it’s a lot I can’t possibly explain, and maybe something I don’t even understand myself.”
She paused as she drank the water in a long, continuous gulp. Then she turned from the kitchen and saw Johnny standing in the doorway. “Maybe some people aren’t cut out to date super-heroes? Maybe I’m one of those people. And maybe, Johnny, maybe it’s best if we don’t see each other—at least not for a while. Do you understand?”
“Frankly, no, I don’t. Either you care about me, or you don’t. Either you love me with or without my faults, or you don’t.” He stepped toward the outside door and put his hand on the knob. “I don’t understand you, Frankie. I thought we had something going between us.”
He opened the door and walked into the cold, fresh night. The wind blew his blond hair wild. Frankie Raye stood in the doorway and watched him. “I guess I was wrong about you, Frankie. Damned shame, too. I really loved you.”
Without stripping off his suit, he yelled out “FLAME ON!” His body suddenly ignited and he took to the skies, once more a comet streaking heavenward. Frankie Raye watched until he disappeared from view, then closed the door behind her and slowly walked to the couch. She fell on it and cried, long into the night.
“I love you, too, Johnny. Damn, I love you, and I can’t ever be yours, because I’m scared . . . because I don’t want a hero in my life, because I want a normal home with normal children, a normal life, and you just don’t fit in, Johnny Storm.
“You’re something special, and you can never be normal. You can never walk among people without having them stare at you. Even when you’re not the Human Torch, even when you’re Johnny Storm, you’re special.
“Oh, God, Johnny, I want you so much it hurts. I want you, but I can’t have you. I . . . I just can’t.”
Blast. Damn and double damn! What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I hold on to anybody? What am I doing wrong? Will somebody please tell me? Those were Johnny Storm’s thoughts as he flew southward over the Bronx toward Manhattan.
Reed has Sue; even Ben, monster that he is, he has Alicia. And what’ve I got? Nothing. Myself! Zero! Zilch! I lost Dorrie Evans. I lost Crystal. I’ve lost every girl I’ve ever loved. Now, Frankie. Blast!
His flame shimmered red and blue as it cut a swath across the skies. He felt alone, impotent, miserable. He was twenty years old, a member of the Fantastic Four, the premier super-hero organization of its kind. He had traveled throughout the world and to other worlds. There was little he had never seen, less he had never done, yet the blond-haired youth was not satisfied.
He was alone in a world where two was the most important number. Couples. Pairs. Man and woman. Husband and wife. And he was a one . . . a damned one.
It wasn’t his super powers that separated him from everyone else. Reed and Sue had powers certainly equal to his own. They found love and marriage and happiness together. He knew there were other heroes: Spider-Man, Iron Man, Captain America. Surely they didn’t suffer as he did. They couldn’t be as alone as he was.
His sister raised him as a child; she watched him grow. He was bright, though teachers had always said he never applied himself as he should. He went to college, then dropped out after his first year. What could they teach him? He had been everywhere, he thought, or perhaps he rationalized.
He was good with machines. He could take apart a car and reassemble it better than it had originally been. There was nothing about motors he didn’t know. He had talent, he was handsome, he was a hero.
So why couldn’t he get a girl? Why didn’t women return the love he felt? Why was he always alone?
His mind buzzed with questions and felt helpless when no answers became clear. What good was being a super-hero if his life was all screwed up?
He streaked across the skies, heading toward the Baxter Building. Maybe Frankie wasn’t feeling well. I’ll give her a call tomorrow.
When the belt radio buzzed and Reed Richards’s voice spoke, he didn’t know he wouldn’t speak to Frankie Raye tomorrow. He didn’t know he might never speak to Frankie Raye again.
He didn’t know that by tomorrow night, there was a very good chance he would be dead.
To Be Continued...Tomorrow at
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