“I will.”
She kisses the top of Madison’s head. “Love you more than Saturday mornings.”
“Love you, too,” Madison says, “more than even costumes and them other things.”
Madison grabs my hand.
“I’ll bring her back tonight,” I say, “fingers and toes still attached.”
Kennedy won’t look at me. I can tell she’s anxious, so I don’t linger, leading Madison outside. The town car is idling in the parking lot, the driver leaning against it as he waits. He smiles when we approach and opens the back door, but Madison drags her feet.
“Is he your friend?” she asks, looking at me.
“Why?”
“Grandpa says not to get in cars with strangers.”
“Oh, yeah, I know him,” I say. “He’s safe.”
She climbs into the car, and I buckle her into a booster seat as I sit beside her. As the car pulls away, I see Kennedy watching us from the front door of the apartment.
Madison chatters the entire drive to the convention center, telling stories, and I listen dutifully. She’s bursting with excitement by the time we arrive, but I’m somewhere on edge. While I was promised discretion, confidentiality agreements tossed around like candy at a parade, I know things don’t always go according to plan.
The car takes us straight to the back entrance, past the awaiting crowds. A woman meets us in an attached garage, one of the event coordinators, along with a small security detail. She smiles when we get out of the car. “Mr. Cunning! And Miss, uh…”
Madison grins. “Maddie!”
“Miss Maddie,” the woman says. “I’m so honored you could join us. My name is…”
Blah. Blah. Blah.
She launches into the spiel. It’s expected. Always happens. I vaguely listen as she babbles on about the company’s history, their record-breaking turnouts, laying the groundwork for me signing onto something in the future. Madison grows impatient and starts fidgeting, so I hurry the woman along, getting our wristbands for admission like everyone else so we can blend into the crowd.
“Security will be posted all around,” she says. “They’ll be keeping a lookout, of course, but should you need any help, don’t be afraid to ask.”
The woman leaves, and security takes us up a private elevator, straight to the main floor, letting us out inside the hall. The crowd is streaming through, rushing to get wherever they’re going.
Panels. Trivia. Shopping. Autographs. The room is filled with booths, with comics, with artists, with writers and actors and cosplayers... the whole shebang. This isn’t my first convention, you know, but usually I’m the one people line up for.
“So, whatcha wanna do?” I ask Madison. “It’s up to you.”
She clings to my hand, staring at it all with wide eyes. “Everything.”
Everything. I laugh. “We can do that.”
We start small, just walking around, taking in what we can see. Maddie’s in awe, gawking at everyone in costume, and I think she might be intimidated by the crowd, but it doesn’t take her long to warm up to things. I steer her away from autographs, since a lot of those people actually know me. She drags me from booth to booth, from table to table, excitedly announcing everything she sees, not lingering any one place long enough for me to buy anything.
“Whoa,” she says, coming to a halt in front of one of those standees, a cardboard cutout of yours truly. “Look, Daddy! It’s you!”
Daddy. Crazy shit goes down in my chest when she calls me that. It’s the first time I’ve heard her say it. I blink at her, so astounded, so enamored, that it isn’t until she repeats herself and people look her direction that I realize what she’s saying.
“Daddy, it’s you!”
Shit. I pull her away from it and kneel down in front of her when she looks at me in confusion, like she doesn’t understand.
“That’s not me today,” I say. “I’m Knightmare, remember?”
Her brow furrows. “But it’s still you for real?”
“Of course, but today we have costumes so we can play make-believe,” I say. “So technically, that’s you today.”
Her expression lights up as she spins around, looking at the booth. “Can I have me?”
“Can you have... you?”
She nods, pointing at the standee.
“Oh, you actually want one of those.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s kind of big to be lugging around.”
“I can carry it!”
I smile at the mental image of her dragging one of those damn things around all afternoon. “It’s like three times your size.”
“I can do it.”
“I don’t doubt it,” I tell her. “How about we wait until the end of the day, after we do everything else, and if there’s still one here, we’ll take it with us.”
“ ’Kay.”
That was a heck of a lot easier than I expected it to be. I take her hand again as I glare at the standee. Please let them sell out of those fucking things.
Madison drags me around again, from place to place, before we make our way to the other side of the building where panels are happening. Madison acquires a schedule and picks where we’re going. Comics in the Movies. The Art of Fan Art. Metaphors and Themes. I’m not sure she knows what half the stuff is. Hell, I’m not sure she can even read the words as she picks the panels, but she sits eagerly through them, eventually dragging me to a room with a sign that says ‘Fandom Feud’.
“I’m not sure about this one,” I tell her. “I think they’ll expect participation.”
“Oh! Does that mean I can play?”
“Sure does!” a voice chimes in, a woman walking into the room behind us, dressed like Maryanne. “We’re playing Breezeo trivia.”
“That’s me today!” Madison exclaims, grabbing at her costume to show it off.
The woman laughs. “I bet that means you’re going to know all the answers, huh?”
Madison nods. “Yep.”
The woman’s eyes flicker to me, but I avert my gaze and say nothing. We find seats toward the back of the room. They play a few rounds of trivia, picking players to face off, before opening it up to everyone and calling on people in the audience.
“In the comics, Maryanne is a nurse,” the moderator says. “What does she do in the movies?”
“Oh, oh, oh, me, me!” Madison yells, waving her hands wildly, trying to be seen, but the guy in front of her is too tall, so she climbs right up on the chair, standing on it. “Me! Me! I know!”
Muffled laughter flows around us when people notice her.
“The little Breezeo girl in the back,” the moderator says, calling on her. “What does Maryanne do in the movies?”
Madison beams, shouting, “Nothing!”
More laughter.
“I’ll accept that,” the moderator says. “She’s still in school. Come pick your prize, little Breezeo.”
Madison jumps down, walking proudly to the front. People ohh and ahh over her, and she plays it right up. A lollipop, it turns out, is what she wins. Returning, she shoves it at me.
I open it for her and try to hand it back, but she makes a face at me, like I’ve fucked up. “What’s wrong?”
“You gotta taste it first,” she says.
“Seriously?”
“That’s what Mommy does,” she says, “in case it’s poison, ‘cuz it came from a stranger.”
“Oh.” I lick it before handing it to her. “Like that?”
She nods, popping it right in her mouth.
I blink a few times, watching her. That’s one of the strangest things I’ve ever done in my life, taste-testing potentially poisonous candy.
Trivia is over after a few minutes. I lead Madison through the crowd, out of the room, fielding a few compliments from people about how adorable she is.
I probably look like an asshole, just nodding in agreement.
“Are you hungry?” I ask her once we’re away from the crowd. “I’m
sure there’s something around here that you’ll eat.”
“Hot dogs!”
Hot dogs. I find them easy enough, but the line is crazy long. We wait damn near twenty minutes to buy some hot dogs and chips, and goddamn it she wants soda so I buy it, but there’s nowhere to sit inside, so we make our way outside to a small amphitheater.
A crowd is gathered in Knightmare cosplay. They’re putting on a show, having some sort of sword competition.
“What are those guys doing?” Madison asks before taking a bite of her hot dog.
“Looks like LARPing,” I mumble.
She looks at me like I’m crazy. “Like what?”
“LARPing,” I say. “Live-action role play.”
“Oh, I wanna play! Can I?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. Because you’re just a kid sounds like a shitty excuse to deny her some make-believe fun.
She eats her lunch as the knights battle it out, getting into it like she’s watching a movie, even picking a side—the one whose armor is trimmed in blue, unlike his opponent, who wears all black.
Picking up the schedule, I flip through it. “So, looks like we’ve got a choice—either The Consequence of Alternate Universes or Exploring Headcanon.”
“What do those mean?”
“I think they both deal with fan-fiction.”
“What’s that?”
“When fans make up their own stories,” I say, shaking my head. We sat through a panel that explained that to her, but I’m pretty sure it went right over her head.
“Can we do that? Make the fan-fiction?”
“Thought you already were,” I say. “You said you were going to fix the end of Ghosted.”
“I am.”
“Well, there you have it. So which panel would you refer?”
“The consequences of the cannons,” she says, mashing them together. I start to correct her, but she’s not paying me attention, on her feet and cheering. “Go blue guy!”
The blue guy, in fact, loses—if there’s such a thing as losing in what they’re doing. The guy in all black takes a bow, celebrating, while Madison loudly boos, drawing their attention.
“You, young Breezeo,” he says, still playing the part as he points his sword at her. “You have the gall to boo me? Me, the villainous Knightmare?”
“You’re not the real Knightmare,” she says, hands on her hips. “My daddy is!”
She motions to me, so there’s no mistaking who she’s talking about. Shit.
The man eyes me with a look of disgust. “Him? Ha! He’s not the real one! He doesn’t even have the gloves!”
Madison glances at my hands. “So? He doesn’t always gotta wear them.”
“Fair enough,” the man says. “But if your father is the true Knightmare, perhaps he’d like to come down and stake his claim.”
He points at me with his sword.
I shake my head. Not happening.
“He will,” Madison says, contradicting me.
“It seems your father disagrees,” the man says. “I suppose he’s afraid of being exposed as a fraud.”
“Nuh-uh! He’s not!”
The man laughs.
Madison’s getting heated, and seriously, fuck this guy. I’d never begrudge someone their act, wouldn’t demand they break character, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let someone antagonize me in front of my daughter. Broken wrist or not, I’m defending her honor.
“Fuck it.” I get to my feet, marching straight down to him as I say, “Someone give me a sword.”
Right away, half a dozen guys offer theirs up. I grab the one closest to me, trying to get a good grip on it with the cast. Mister Antagonizer has the nerve to look concerned, whispering, “You know we’re just playing around here, right?”
“Are we?” I ask. “I wasn’t sure.”
Look, I’ll be honest. Filming most of the second movie was a blur, but the lead-up to it, the endless hours of training for the fight scenes, is ingrained in me to the point that I could do this with my eyes closed. So while I’d probably die gruesomely if I lived back in the days of King Arthur’s court, a fucking Knightmare LARPer is nothing.
“Feel free to kneel at any time,” I tell him. “I’ll accept your surrender.”
He scoffs, those words setting him off. He takes the first swing. It’s weak, easy to block. I let him try a few more times, picking up his pattern, before I put him on the defense, something he’s clearly not used to.
BAM. BAM. BAM. Hit after hit, I go after him, following the same fight routine from the movie. It’s like a choreographed dance, one the guy knows, but he’s not quick enough on his feet to stop me. Five minutes maybe, I rail at him… he breaks a sweat, eyes wide like he’s starting to think I might actually stab him. He puts up a decent fight, enough that a few blows nearly makes me lose it, my wrist stinging, pain shooting up my arm, but I don’t stop until he kneels.
He drops his sword, dropping to one knee, and I hear Madison cheering, screeching as she runs for me. She wraps her arms around my waist, hugging me, and I laugh as I hand the sword off to whoever lent it to me.
“Man, you’re good,” the guy says with a laugh as he gets to his feet, holding his hand out. “Name’s Brad. You are…?”
“Jonathan,” Madison chimes in, answering for me. “Oh, wait, he’s Knightmare today!”
“Well, Knightmare, if you ever decide to join a LARPing league—”
“I appreciate it, but it’s not my thing,” I mumble, steering Madison away.
“Could’ve fooled me,” the guy says.
I ignore that, leading Madison back inside the convention center. “So, did we decide what we’re doing now?”
“More sword fighting!”
“Ah, I’m afraid that has to wait for another time,” I say, “but there’s still other fun to be had.”
More panels. Some shopping. Even another trivia game. She eats ice cream, getting it all over her. I buy her the Maryanne doll, so she doesn’t have to keep substituting with Barbie. It’s nearing nightfall when things start coming to a close. I can tell Madison is running out of energy. She’s quiet now, clinging to my hand.
“You ready to head home?” I ask. “I’m sure your mother must be missing you.”
She nods.
We start toward the exit, but Madison hesitates halfway there, tugging on my hand. “Wait! We forgot!”
“Forgot what?”
She doesn’t answer, instead dragging me straight over to the booth with all the standees.
“I wanna Breezeo one,” she declares, telling the worker, pointing at the standee.
“They’re $30,” the lady says.
Sighing, I count out the cash and hand it over before grabbing the standee and hauling it along with us.
We make our way through the lingering crowd and out the exit. I lead Madison around the corner of the building, lingering there as I send a message for the car to get us. It’s a minute or so out, so we wait as people wander past.
I shove the mask up off my face when I see the car coming and take a step toward it when a voice calls out, “Johnny Cunning?”
I turn, tense, and see a woman with her young son, the two of them gawking at me.
“Oh my god, it’s really you!” the woman says, grasping the kid by the shoulders. “My son told me it was, you know, he kept saying it was you, but it didn’t believe it.”
It’s always the kids.
They’re intuitive.
No matter how much you disguise yourself, kids can sense it.
“Can I have an autograph?” she asks, holding out a comic book as she digs for something to write with. “Please?”
“Uh, sure,” I mumble, taking the marker from her and scribbling my name, my eyes on the kid. He looks to be about Madison’s age, the same look of reverence on his face that she had this morning. He, too, is wearing a Breezeo costume, but his is homemade... a lot of time w
ent into it. It’s strange, after everything I’ve done, having kids look at me like I’m some hero. “You want a picture, little man?”
He nods enthusiastically, like he’s speechless, so I kneel down beside him, posing, letting his mother snap a quick photo.
“Take care of yourself,” I tell him. “Make sure you always look out for your mother.”
I stand up, grabbing Madison’s hand and leading her to the car before anyone else spots me.
The drive back home feels like it takes forever. It’s dark when we arrive, and Madison is fast asleep. I try to wake her, but she’s not budging, so I pull her out of the booster seat and carry her. She grumbles, not waking up, arms wrapped around my neck. I drag the standee along under my arm as I head for the front door, prepared to knock, but it pulls open before I can.
Kennedy stands in the doorway, looking relieved to see us, still wearing her work uniform. She steps out of the way for me to come in.
I drop the standee right inside the apartment. Kennedy stares down at it before shooting me a peculiar look.
“I know,” I mutter. “It’s probably the last thing you want to have to look at, but she wouldn’t leave without it.”
Kennedy shakes her head, closing the front door as she says, “You can tuck her in bed, if you want.”
As the students at Fulton Edge Academy take their finals, you’re driving through the Midwest, on your way to California. The girl, she sits beside you, in the passenger seat of your blue Porsche, writing her heart out in her notebook.
It’s one of the few things she brought along.
She slipped back into the house as you sobered up, filling her school backpack with clothes, packing her Breezeo comics and grabbing her cell phone before writing a note to her parents.
Mom & Dad,
I know you’re gonna be upset when you realize I’m gone, but please don’t worry too much. I’m okay. I’m with Jonathan.
Love you both,
Kennedy
Needless to say, over twenty-four hours later, they’re pretty freaking worried. She’s only seventeen. They’ve already called the police. She’s officially a teenage runaway. Her phone started going off not long after you got on the road, bombarding her with messages, begging her to come home.
The phone died after a few hours.