Dr. Maniac vs. Robby Schwartz Page 3

  I pulled Brooke aside. “No one believes me,” Brooke said, her voice cracking.

  “No one believes me, either,” I said. “But I know I’m not crazy. The Purple Rage was on TV. I saw him.”

  Brooke shook her head. “Maybe we are crazy. I mean, comic characters coming to life?”

  I started to the front door. “Are you coming with me?” I asked.

  She held back. “Huh? Where?”

  “To the TV station,” I said. “The Rage might still be there.”

  “Huh? The TV station? Robby, do you know where it is?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Remember? Our school went there last year to be on that kids’ show?”

  I pulled open the front door. Bright sunlight poured over me. “Are you coming or not?” I asked Brooke.

  She thought for a few seconds, biting her bottom lip. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  We took a bus to the Middle Meadows Mall. The WSTR-TV station was in a big green-glass building behind the mall.

  Brooke and I stepped up to the green-glass door at the front. I pushed the bell.

  The door buzzed. I pulled it open, and we walked into the reception area.

  A blond-haired woman with bright orange lipstick sat behind the front desk. She wore a black business suit with a crisp white blouse. She had a sparkly starfish pin on her jacket.

  WSTR is the “Starfish” Station. Don’t ask me why.

  My throat felt tight as I hurried up to her desk. And my hands were sweaty. I tried to brush down my wild and woolly hair to look more businesslike.

  “Can we see Red Martinson?” I asked.

  She studied me, then Brooke. “Do you have an appointment?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “No. But it’s really important,” I said.

  “We just want to ask him one question,” Brooke said.

  “Are you with your school newspaper?” the woman asked. She tapped a pencil on her desk.

  “Uh … yes,” I lied. “We want to interview Mr. Martinson for our paper.”

  “Well, you need an appointment for that,” the woman replied.

  “But —” I started. “I —”

  “Was the Purple Rage here?” Brooke asked. “We just want to know if the Purple Rage was on his show.”

  The woman stopped tapping her pencil. She took a clipboard and ran her eyes down the top page. “Is he a chef? You might want to try the cooking show.”

  I let out a sigh. “You don’t understand,” I said. “He isn’t a chef. He’s a supervillain. I thought I made him up. But I saw him on TV. So maybe he’s real. And if he’s real —”

  She squinted at me. “Are you making any sense? I don’t think so.”

  I heard someone coming down the metal stairway right behind the reception desk. “Hey!” I cried as Red Martinson stepped out.

  He wasn’t dressed like he was on his show. He wore jeans and a black-and-red T-shirt that said CLEVELAND ROCKS. His red hair still stood straight up like an evergreen tree on his head.

  He waved to the receptionist and started to the front door. But then he suddenly stopped and turned around to face us.

  “Hey, I like your hairstyle, kid!” he said to me. He laughed. “Are you copying me?”

  “Yes,” I blurted out. “I mean, no. Mr. Martinson — we came to see you.”

  “Sorry,” he said, “I left my autographed photos up in my dressing room. Can you come back? I’m in a rush.” He pulled open the front door.

  Brooke hurried after him. She grabbed his arm. “Was the Purple Rage just on your show?” she asked.

  Martinson nodded. “Yes,” he said. “At first I thought it was a joke. But he proved he was really a supervillain, so I put him on the show. Did you enjoy my interview?”

  My heart started to pound. “Where is he?” I cried. “Is he still here? Where did he go?”

  Martinson shrugged. “He had to fly somewhere,” he said. “He went up to the roof to take off.”

  I didn’t wait. I spun around — and ran. I brushed past the startled receptionist. I grabbed the metal banister and began running up the winding staircase.

  “Stop!” she screamed. “Hey — stop! You can’t go up there!”

  My shoes clanged on the metal stairs. I heard Brooke running right behind me.

  Where were we headed? Could we get to the roof from here? Was the Purple Rage still up there?

  “Stop!” the receptionist screamed. “Security! Security! Stop them!”

  I reached the second floor and kept climbing. The stairway straightened out. The stairs were concrete up here.

  I could hear the heavy thuds of men’s shoes behind us, coming up fast.

  “STOP!” a man yelled.

  “Security! Stop right there!”

  Their angry voices echoed in the narrow hallway.

  My chest felt about to explode. My legs ached. But I kept climbing, taking the stairs two at a time.

  The third floor went by … and then the fourth.

  Gasping for breath, I glanced back. “Brooke?”

  No. Not there. She had been right behind me. Did one of those security guards grab her?

  “Brooke!” I shouted. “Brooooooooke!” My cries echoed down the stairwell.

  No reply.

  My legs felt like heavy weights. My chest and side throbbed with pain. But I kept pulling myself up the steps.

  “Stop now!”

  “You can’t get away! Stop running!”

  The voices boomed close behind me.

  Finally, I reached the top of the stairs. A broad yellow door stood at the end. I lowered my shoulder — heaved — and shoved it open.

  With a gasp, I stumbled out into bright sunlight.

  I fell onto the flat tar-papered roof. Landed hard on my knees.

  Blinking in the light, I saw a blur of purple.

  Just a brief flash. A one-second glimpse of a purple cape.

  “WAIT!” I choked out. But my voice creaked out in a whisper.

  The Purple Rage. It HAD to be him!

  I jumped to my feet and staggered to the edge of the roof.

  “Wait!” I screamed, a little louder this time.

  I stumbled to the edge of the roof. Leaned over the side to see the Purple Rage.

  “Whoa!”

  I leaned TOO FAR!

  It happened so fast. One second I was leaning out over the edge. And the next second the roof seemed to slide out from under my feet — and I was falling.

  The buildings soared past me in a gray blur. The powerful rush of the wind chilled my back.

  I fell so fast I couldn’t hear my own scream.

  Down … down in a bright blur.

  No time to ready myself for the crash and the burst of pain that would end my life.

  And then … THUD.

  I hit hard. Pain shot through my arms, my neck, my back.

  My head bounced up. The sky appeared to wrap itself around me like a blue blanket.

  No. Purple. A purple blanket gripping me tightly.

  And then a red face with a grim, tight-lipped expression.

  Huh?

  It took me a moment to realize that I hadn’t hit the ground.

  I was still in the air. Held up in the air. By the Purple Rage!

  Yes! One arm under my legs, the other under my shoulders. Lifting me to the sky.

  His cape was fluttering noisily in the wind. His dark eyes gazed straight ahead, then down as we started to descend. His powerful arms held me tightly against his massive purple chest.

  The Purple Rage had swooped up and rescued me.

  He floated to the sidewalk, cape fluttering behind him. He set me gently on my feet.

  I was shaking so hard, I dropped to my knees. I knew my hair was standing straight up, wild around my face. I swallowed again and again, struggling to catch my breath.

  The Rage pulled me to my feet. He held me up by my shoulders. His eyes burned into mine.

  “Know what PADDLES my PANCAKES?” he boomed. H
is voice was so loud and deep, it made pigeons squawk and fly off the sidewalk. “Kids who fall off buildings! That puts me in a RAGE!”

  “S-sorry,” I stammered.

  “Were you CHASING me?” he bellowed.

  “No,” I choked out. My heart was still hammering in my chest. “Not exactly.”

  I stared back at him. Was I dreaming this?

  This wasn’t a comic strip. This was real life. But there he was in front of me. His purple gloves held me by the shoulders. His eyes glared at me angrily.

  A character I created!

  “I — I need your help,” I said, finally finding my voice. “My brother, Sam, is missing. I think Dr. Maniac took him.”

  The Purple Rage tossed back his head and uttered an angry roar. His eyes blazed red like fire, and he curled his hands into big fists.

  “MY SWORN ENEMY?” he roared. “You say your brother has TEAMED UP with MY SWORN ENEMY?”

  “No. That’s not what I said,” I replied.

  But he roared like a furious beast again and drowned out my words.

  “Listen to me —” I begged.

  But he lifted himself off the ground. He spun around and kicked a store window with the toe of his purple boot.

  I ducked as the glass shattered and flew everywhere.

  The Rage kicked out a few more store windows. Then he turned back to me, his big chest heaving.

  “How could your brother team up with that MANIAC?” he screamed. “I heard that Dr. Maniac teamed up with the SCARLET STARLET!”

  “I — I don’t know,” I stammered, backing away.

  The Scarlet Starlet? I drew her in my very first comic strip. Was she real, too?

  I took a deep breath. “Are you going to help me?” I asked.

  That sent him into another rage. His face turned as purple as his costume. He grabbed the front of my shirt and lifted me off the sidewalk.

  “Dr. Maniac sent you to spy on me — didn’t he!” he boomed. His hot breath burned my eyebrows.

  “No — no —” I said.

  “LIAR!” he screamed.

  He gazed up to the top of the building. “Wonder if I could toss you back up to the roof,” he said.

  “No — please!” I begged.

  His fist tightened on the front of my T-shirt. He raised me above his head.

  “Please — I only want your help,” I wailed. “Don’t throw me. Don’t —”

  I glanced around. Wasn’t there anyone around to help me?

  No. The street was empty.

  “Looking for your friend Dr. Maniac?” The Rage cried. “Sorry, kid. He’s too late to save you!”

  He pulled back his arm — and heaved me with all his strength.

  “NOOOOOOOO!” I screamed again as I went flying up to the sky.

  My scream caught in my throat.

  I couldn’t breathe. The wind rushed too hard against my face.

  I sailed straight up, my arms and legs thrashing.

  I shut my eyes — and slammed hard into the side of the building.

  THUDDDDDD.

  My breath shot out in a whoosh. Pain swept over my chest. I choked and gasped for air. I kept my eyes shut and waited to die.

  I counted to myself. One … two … three …

  On three, I felt another hard THUD. I opened my eyes. And saw the red-faced supervillain staring at me.

  The Purple Rage had caught me. He saved me again.

  As he flew, he held me in front of him like a loaf of bread.

  “Changed my mind, kid!” he shouted. “But it was good to see the old arm is still in shape. I could probably throw you to the next town.”

  “Uh … you’re not going to — are you?” I asked.

  He floated to the ground and set me down again. I bent over, grabbed my knees, and waited for my breathing to return to normal.

  I tried to brush down my hair with both hands. But it sprang right back up. After today’s adventures, I knew it would probably never come back down.

  “Does this mean you’ll help me find my brother?” I asked.

  The Purple Rage nodded. “I will make it my mission. I cannot leave him in the hands of my sworn enemy.”

  “Awesome,” I said.

  “Yes, I AM awesome!” he declared, sticking out his big chest. “Do you know what really SNAPS my SHORTS? When other people tell me how awesome I am. Because I ALREADY KNOW IT!”

  He grabbed a lamppost and bent it in two.

  “Sorry,” I murmured. “This … this is all so totally weird.”

  He squinted at me. “Weird?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Do you know that I created you?”

  “NOOOOOOOO!” The Rage bellowed furiously. “YOU LIAR! I was created by a SCREAM from the mouth of the ancient god THOR!”

  Before I could move, he grabbed me up with both hands. Holding me in front of him, he took off.

  The wind blew against my face. Behind me, I could hear his purple cape snapping against the air. He soared higher, above the cars, above the buildings.

  “Where are we going?” I screamed into the wind. “What are you doing?”

  We flew toward the sun, into blinding white light.

  I shielded my eyes with one hand. I tried not to look down, but I couldn’t help it.

  Far below us, a freight train rolled by on the North Hills tracks. It looked like one of those toy trains people set up in their basements. The buildings all looked like dollhouses.

  “Please —” I begged.

  Why was he so angry? What did I say to put him in such a rage?

  Then I remembered — he was ALWAYS in a rage!

  We neared the edge of town, and he suddenly swooped lower. A building came into view, hidden by tall evergreen trees.

  It was a round stone building, shaped like an igloo. No windows. A low door in the front.

  The building was completely surrounded by trees. Was it his hidden fortress?

  I hadn’t created a hidden fortress for him. I hadn’t created any of this. It was all happening without me. Beyond my control.

  We dropped lower. I ducked my head as the Purple Rage roared into the open door. It was like a huge dark cave inside. We flew down … down…. The air felt heavy and wet.

  I blinked hard, waiting for my eyes to adjust.

  He dropped me onto my feet. I watched his cape settle behind him. He swept back his dark hair with both gloved hands. Then he pulled off the gloves and tossed them against the wall.

  “Know what really TWEAKS my TUTU?” he shouted. “Dead leaves in my hair. How am I supposed to FLY with LEAVES in my perfect hair?”

  “Dunno,” I muttered. “Where are we?” I asked in a tiny voice.

  He didn’t answer. He moved to the wall and began clicking on lights.

  I glanced around. We stood in a large underground cavern. The walls were solid stone.

  The room was filled with camera equipment and spotlights. I saw a table filled with computers. Two TV cameras stood side by side next to a microphone on a long pole.

  “Is this like a TV studio?” I asked.

  The Rage didn’t answer. He was busy fiddling with the computers. He typed frantically on one keyboard, then moved to another.

  Then he pointed a TV camera at a glass case against the wall.

  Something moved inside the big case. I walked over to it and gazed through the glass. Dozens of dark, spiny creatures crawled all over each other.

  “What are those?” I asked, pointing.

  “Scorpions,” the Purple Rage answered. “You keep a huge glass case filled with scorpions?” My voice came out shrill and tight. “But — what do you do with them?”

  “You’ll see,” he murmured. He began moving lights toward the case.

  I watched the scorpions sliding, crawling, scraping, snapping their claws at each other.

  “They look hungry,” I said.

  A strange unpleasant smile spread over his face. “I’m going to feed them in a minute,” he said.

  “
What do you feed them?” I asked.

  He tossed back his head and laughed. “You,” he said.

  “But — but —” I sputtered. “You said you were going to help me find Sam.”

  He turned some dials on a big control board. Red lights flickered. Machines started to hum.

  “I shall keep my promise,” he said. He turned to me. “Know what really HONKS my HORSE?”

  “No. What?” I said, unable to take my eyes off the scrabbling, snapping scorpions.

  “People who get tense about me keeping my PROMISES!” he screamed.

  He pulled his arm back and smashed his fist into the wall.

  The wall cracked.

  Muttering to himself, he dusted off his hands. Then he strode over, picked me up, and set me down in front of a TV camera.

  “Stand there, kid. Don’t move,” he said.

  “No problem,” I whispered. “What are you going to do?”

  He punched more keys on the computers. “I’m going to interrupt all TV channels and Web sites in the city,” he said. “Everyone will have the pleasure of watching the world’s best-looking supervillain — ME!”

  I didn’t say a word. I didn’t want to make him smash the wall again. I just wondered if he really planned to help me find Sam.

  He stepped behind the camera and raised the lens a few inches. Then he moved in front of it. He stuck out his chest, swept back his cape, and cleared his throat.

  “Hello, everyone. I am the Purple Rage!” he announced. He motioned to me. “And this is a kid named …”

  He thought hard, gazing into the camera. Then he turned to me. “What’s your name, kid?”

  “Robby Schwartz,” I said.

  He waved a fist at me. “Is your dad Bucky Schwartz, the guy who owns the dry cleaners on Spring Street? Last time I brought my tights in, he shrunk them.”

  “No. My dad is Norman Schwartz,” I said. “He’s a lawyer.”

  The Rage turned back to the TV camera. “Sorry to interrupt your day, everyone,” he said. “But I want you to watch me as I drop Robby into a seven-foot-tall case of stinging scorpions.”

  “Huh?” I gasped. “This is your plan for helping me?”

  He moved his face up close to the camera lens. “Let this be a warning to Dr. Maniac,” he boomed. “And to anyone else who dares to challenge the Purple Rage!”