Captain Canuck: Rise of The Phantom

[M.J. Saulnier]

 
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That little Canadian hospital was a glowing, busy place in the late summer of 1975. Doctors, surgeons and nurses dressed in white coats and blue or green scrubs worked and navigated urgently around a sea of citizens coming and going, or mingling in the crowded hallways. They wore colorful, vibrant shirts with big collars, usually wore unbuttoned with tank tops or T-shirts underneath or V neck floral pattern shirts that hung loosely around their bodies, and bell bottom jeans with high waistlines that flared wide at the knee going down the ankles. The janitor danced subtly as he mopped the tile floor while a small radio sitting on top of his utility cart played a groovey new hit song from that year.



In a stairwell leading to the second floor a male citizen passed another. "What it is, T!" He said with fondness and surprise at bumping into him here of all places. They exchanged some words as one headed down and the other up.

"Hey! What's the skinney on you and that Debra girl?"
"We're going bootin' this Friday. You should come, bring your girl. It's gonna be far out, man!"
"Groovey! Catch you on the flip-side!"



On the second floor, in the maternity unit a woman was in the middle of a difficult labor. Angela Thorne screamed in pain as her husband James held her hand while she squeezed so hard he though his hand was going to snap in two. Sweat soaked her usually pale face and blonde hair as she pushed with all her might. The doctor instructed on when to push as the L&D nurse supported her and talked her through it, reminded her to breath at the appropriate times. With one final push, she fell back into the bed, still gripping Jame's hand tightly. A calm and hush fell over the room, and although he wanted to see his child, his eyes never strayed from his beloved wife. After all the pain, instruction, and organized chaos, the sound of an infant crying for the very first time broke the silence. A brand new life had entered the world.

"It's a boy," the Doctor said with a warm smile, wrapping the child in a soft blue swaddle. He slowly, careful handed Angela her newborn son so they could spend a few moments together. She held him lovingly, smiling wide at James, tears welling in her bright green eyes.

James smiled, a giggle of amazement almost escaping his dry lips. "What should we name him?"
"I want to name him after my father," she said, a pure, maternal love directing the tone of her voice. "Owen.. Owen James Thorne."

Rise of The PhantomHe lives to serve

He'll die to protectWritten & created by Loco Mofo
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[M.J. Saulnier]

(Small scene it's taken me forever to figure out how to tackle properly because it's just one of those odd, quick scenes most people would probably scrub altogether, but it's like absolutely necessary. It's just a hump I have to get over to move on. So here it goes)






"But I don't understand why," Owen pouted softly, staring down at his lap as he absentmindedly fiddled with his hands. He was devastated that his family would be picking up everything and moving to an entirely new country. At the tender age of just seven years old, he couldn't comprehend the necessity of it all, or anticipate the situation he was going to be facing. It was like a bad dream for him. A new city, a new home, new school, new friends. He loved Ottawa, he loved Canada, and he simply couldn't get behind the idea of leaving it all behind to move to America. None of it made sense, and for him, it never would. Without knowing much, if anything, about New York, he already hated it.


He was tiny, even for seven. His skinny legs swayed back and forth as he sat on an old wooden bench adjacent to the staircase of their modest, rustic home. He wore pale blue, acid washed jeans, a bright red T-shirt with a white ATARI logo and lettering across the chest, and a pair of red Converse sneakers. He was scrawny, frail and delicate with neatly trimmed brown hair that was parted up the left side and combed toward the right. A pair of reading glasses with thick black frames rested over his nose in front of his bright green eyes that threatened to spill tears down his smooth, pale cheeks.


Angela Thorne knelt down before him, taking his tiny hands in her own, stopping his nervous fiddling as she did so. She smiled warmly, the way only Angela could.


"Oh, baby." she said with genuine compassion. "Your daddy is starting a new company in Citadel City with his new partner."


Owen wasn't convinced by his mother's explanation. He'd heard it before and it still wasn't adding up. "Can't I just stay here?" he asked earnestly.


Angela chuckled, smiling wide as James came down the stairs with several boxes in his arms. "James, explain to our son that he cannot stay here." She stood up, going back to packing boxes with their belongings.


James was a sophisticated, old world man. His appearance was modest, ordinary, yet authoritative and quaint. He had a mildly tanned complexion, stoic brown eyes, and a strong jawline with well defined facial features. His dark brown hair was kept short along the sides and around the ears, and well maintained along the top, a slight backward motion of the comb toward the crown whilst parted on the left side. He wore a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up under a back suit vest. The shirt was tucked neatly into black slacks with fine black dress shoes. He wore a modest gold watch on his left wrist., and a wedding band on his right ring finger.


"Hey buddy," he said with a charming smile, compassionate eyes and slightly raised eyebrows as he knelt down to Owen's level. "I know this has been hard. But the people of Citadel City need me. And one day they'll need you too."


Owen glanced up from his lap at his father, still unsatisfied.


"It might be hard at first, for all of us, but in time you'l come to love it. In fact. I bet you'll never want to leave." James explained.


Owen glared at his father, tears filing his vibrant green eyes as he matched his father's gaze. "No! I hate it, and I always will!" He jumped up, running down the narrow hallway, through the kitchen and out an old screen door into the backyard. James stood up, troubled and upset by his son's unhappiness and difficulty accepting all the change that had been thrust upon him so suddenly.


Angela wrapped an arm around his waist, leaning her head against his right shoulder. "He'll come around, James."

 

[M.J. Saulnier]

Owen listlessly stared up at the derelict husk of an old brick building. It was massive, with seven stories, and a wide area of vacant lot and old rusty fencing surrounding it. The double doors on the front face and some of the windows were boarded up after years of vandalism. Colorful graffiti designs covered the old, damaged and weathered brick surface of the exterior. There was nothing impressive about this structure, this ghostly relic of some forgotten place and time. It looked to Owen as if it should be demolished to improve the nearby community, and for the safety of it's residents. James gazed upon it proudly. In this place he saw the potential to change the world. The building blocks for an empire. He would transform this dilapidated ruin into a shining pillar of hope and progression for not only Citadel City, but in time, humanity.


"This is where you're going to work?" Owen asked with a mixture of indifference and concern.


James grinned. "It might not look like much now, buddy, but in a few years, you won't even recognize it."


"I hope so," Owen said sarcastically.


Behind them a black four-door sedan pulled up to the curb and the driver killed the engine. A large, sturdy man with a serious composure stepped out of the driver's seat. He was tall and menacing. His skin was tanned, and his build was large. He had dark hair shaved down to the scalp. His dark brown eyes were stoic and his brow was thick and stern. He wore a black leather jacket over a black button down shirt tucked into grey slacks and sharp black dress shoes. He wasn't the sort of man James usually worked with.


The back passenger side door opened, and a young boy stepped out, He was seven, the same age as Owen. He had short blonde hair with blue eyes, a medium build for his age, and a kite shaped face with a broad jaw and a think nose structure. He looked rough; scrappy. The sort of kid that normally bullied and made fun of kids like Owen.


As James heard the car doors close, he turned around to examine the man.


"Ah, Mr. French!" He greeted him pleasantly with a wide smile.


The man broke character for a moment to smile back. "Mr. Thorne. It's a pleasure to finally meet you," he declared in his deep, placid voice. As they drew closer they firmly shook hands.


"Please, call me James," 


"James it is. This is my kid, Jake."


"Ah yes, this is my son, Owen."


The boys locked eyes awkwardly and Jake smiled.


"Hey, Owen."


"Hi, Jake," Owen replied with a smile, finally showing some interest in something.


"Mr. French here is going to be my," he paused, locking eyes with French with a slight smirk, pondering his wording. "Well, sort of like my own personal bodyguard." James explained to Owen.


Owen looked up at him with confusion. "Why would you need a bodyguard, dad?"


Mr. French spoke up quickly. "Well, Citadel can be a very dangerous place, Owen. In your dad's line of work, he could make a lot of enemies."


James interrupted him sternly. "Let's not get into that.. All you need to know is that Mr. French here is going to protect and look after our family," James explained, placing his left hand across Owen's shoulders.


"So this is where it's all going to happen?" Mr. French asked, pointing at the abandoned building.


"She needs some work, but it should be more than enough to start," James replied.


As the men talked business, the boys were left to themselves.There was a few moments of silence before Jake spoke up.


"You like comics?"


"Yeah," Owen replied after a brief hesitation.


"You got a favorite?"


"Captain Crusader."


Jake giggled. "Me too."