JLU 2001 Fanfiction -JSA #7

wizard The All-Star Squad...

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JSA #7 - FEBRUARY, Year 5 by Bertram Gibbs

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Mister Terrific Michael Holt	Dr. Mid-Nite Pieter Cross	The Flash Jay Gerrick	The Sentinel Alan Scott	Power Girl Karen Starr	Wild Cat Ted Grant

SEVEN

“YOU!” spat Karen.

The Wizard grinned, this time making a half-bow to the woman.

“Fate did say that the Golem’s binding spell was beyond Savage’s capability,” remarked Cross.

“Ah, that would be my work,” said the Wizard his black eyes twinkling in the light. He swept the long black cape behind him majestically and paced in front of the JSA. “Vandal, in his defense, comes up with great ideas (well, having lived for centuries in various military factions, it stands to reason), but he has this problem about giving credit where credit is due.”

“Not to mention conjuring up the Eye of Darkness,” said Holt, his T-spheres silently hovering behind his shoulders. They appeared to be waiting for their master’s command.

The Wizard’s face darkened and his smile widened. “Yes,” he said. “That was one of my last spells.” His eyes became distant when a memory crossed his mind. “Yes. It was.”

“Look,” snarled Grant. “We can all sit down and have tea later. GET HIM!”

The JSA charged as one and got only three steps before they came to a frozen halt. All heads, except for Alan Scott’s, turned on their respective necks and looked down at themselves and around to the others. Their bodies were frozen in mid-run, but their heads were allowed to move. Even Michael Holt’s T-spheres hung immobile in the air.

The Wizard walked over to where Scott stared into space and walked around him, his white gloved fingers playing with the man’s golden hair. “Apologies to Sentinel,” said the Wizard. “I know that the Starheart is powered by his will, so to avoid any interruptions to my talk with you; well, you see.” He spun on his heel and cast his eyes to his surroundings. He stopped and his cape wound itself around him. “This is very bland, don’t you think. Let’s give it a little atmosphere!”

The Wizard grinned, the waxed ends of his moustache almost reaching his wide wild eyes. He held his hands out in front of him and leaned back extending them outwards. Everything around them changed.

Grant was the first to look down. “Holy $#%!”

Cross bent his head forward. “I concur.”

“Looking up isn’t a slice of Heaven either,” said Jay.

Above their heads were clouds of fire, rolling flames covered the skies. Little pocket explosions of flame burst through the fiery ceiling, sending small chunks of matter past them and into the spinning black hole below their feet. The flaming debris fell into the black hole, slid across its sides and into oblivion.

But in front of them, there were walls of blinking multicolored lights, spelling out WILLIAM ZARD: THE WIZARD! on angles, some small; some large, some big enough to exceed your entire range of vision. The music playing in the background was very showy; very Siegfried and Roy. Sitting on a the third strobe-lit step on a raised stage in a director’s chair, his top hat gleaming and his cape draped artistically around his shoulders, was William Zard. He sat back comfortably with his legs crossed at the knees, and used one hand to cup the elbow of the arm connected to the hand that cupped his chin.

“That’s better, isn’t it?”

“Better is putting you in traction, Zard!” spat Karen.

Zard smiled. He looked to his left, then his right and raised a finger. Twin Power Girl’s appeared on the blinking stairs next to him. Both were wearing small triangles of blinking lights, and stiletto heels.

There was a sudden intake of air from the JSA, followed by a low, but audible growl.

“Bad move, Billy,” groaned Grant.

“What do you want, Zard?” asked Holt.

The Wizard grinned and spread his arms wide at his sides. “Simply a moment of your time. Nothing more. I am actually here to say thank you.” He stood and stepped down the stairs to the lip of the stage and leaped off, landing in the nothingness above the black hole. He returned to his pacing, but this time he weaved through the motionless bodies of the JSA. “After our last battle, as you so well know, I was held captive in the rags of that infernal tatterdemalion. To this day, I do not know if it was a tear in the fabric of magic, or me using a combination of spells, or both, but I escaped.” A bitter chuckle filled his narrow chest. “Escaped. What a word. Yes, I escaped the sounds of hundreds of souls; many darker than my own, screaming, pleading for release, all experiencing a pain so deep, vast, so personal, many begged to be sent to Hell. Yes, I escaped his damned rags, but I still heard the screaming! Day in, day out, the screaming reminded me of my captivity and I brought myself low in order to make it stop.” He roughly pulled up his sleeve and revealed rows of healed track marks. “Very low,” he hissed, his eyes staring daggers of hate at the JSA members. “They stopped for a while, then returned anew and refreshed. And louder. So I continued to . . . well, I continued, and the screaming would stop for a little while. Then Vandal Savage found me and helped me, and showed me that the screaming wasn’t the voices of the dammed; it was mine. And he made me understand the origins of my pain.”

The Wizard now stood in front of the JSA, his eyes wide and mad. “It was you. It was you all along.”

“Now don’t take this the wrong way, Billy,” said Grant. “But I think yer a shoo-in for a spot on Dr. Phil’s.”

The Wizard’s arm shot out and a bolt of black light came from his fingers and struck Ted Grant in the mouth. His lip was torn and bleeding, but he grinned back at him with bloody teeth.

The Wizard closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, he had relaxed considerably.

“Despite the fact that Savage is a pompous egotistical ass, he would make a great psychoanalyst.” He took a step forward and his face turned deadly serious. “He made me admit to myself that every great plan I’ve had was ruined by you. Every great idea, every magnificent concept, were all ruined by you. And you never simply arrested me or took me to jail or the asylum; you always had to humiliate me in the process! I was a joke to you and you beat that punchline – over and over - into the ground!” His eyes narrowed and a smile spread across his face. “Now I am going to return the favor. You’ll be humiliated. You’ll be discredited. You’ll be dehumanized. Everything you’ve done to me will be returned a hundredfold! You see, my friends, killing you would be too easy and too quick. I want you to end your days knowing that William Zard; the Wizard brought you low.”

“We’ve kicked your butt before,” said Karen. “We’ll do it again.”

Zard shot Power Girl a toothy smile and the Power Girl twins did a bump and dip. You could hear Karen grinding her teeth. “Yes. Maybe in the past, but not now. I’ve more power than your imagination could conceive.” He reached into his pocket and extended his arm, holding a small red stone between his fingers.

“I think you got gypped on that last box of Cracker Jacks, Billy,” said Grant.

A small prism of light poured from the bauble and shone on Ted Grant’s head. The light began to solidify and harden, forming an airtight shield around the Wildcat’s face. Ted’s eyes bulged and the others began to scream and curse at the Wizard. Suddenly, the light turned off and Grant’s head lolled on his shoulders, gasping for breath.

“You. Will. Be. Quiet.” Zard seethed for a second then regained control. He closed his eyes for a moment and felt the pulse of pure uninhibited black magic flow through him. He eyes glowed as he cast his gaze upon the Society.

“This is the Luck Stone of Bel, and it, and who is contained in it, gives me unlimited access to the dark arts.”

Holt frowned. “Who?”

William Zard proudly held the red pulsing stone between his first two fingers and his thumb for them to see. His right eyebrow went up as their expressions of confusion. He over-dramatically leaned around and looked at the stone from the other side, then back to the JSA. “Well, I see him? Don’t you?” He snapped his finger and dug inside of his jacket. “Maybe you’re eyes are too weak. Allow me to show you!” He pulled out a jewel studded magnifying glass and held it in front of the stone. Suddenly the glass widened to over ten feet round and, like looking through a fisheye lens, they saw a woeful, shattered looking figure pounding against the inside wall of the stone.

“Faust!” whispered Cross.

“Yes,” replied the Wizard. “Felix and I entered an agreement of sorts, but – as you can see – things did not turn out the way he expected.” The glass returned to normal size, and Zard flipped the stone in the air, caught it and placed it into his pocket. “His loss - my gain. All his powers of the dark arts are now at my beck and call. My powers are now beyond your understanding; even beyond the levels of that golden masked charlatan, who will be my next target! There is no way in Heaven or Hell you can defeat me!”

“YOO-HOO! MAN-DRAKE!” came a loud nasal voice from the center of the black hole (a voice not unlike one belonging to a certain gray hare who repeatedly misses that left turn at Albuquerque), followed by a yellow figure that spun up and out of the vortex. The Creeper’s ascent came to an immediate halt directly in front of Zard. “MAKEUP!” the Creeper bellowed, and he swung a large white cotton bag from w-a-a-a-a-a-a-y back on the shoulder across the Wizard’s jaw. Zard went flying backwards and crashed into the steps, knocking over the director’s chair. His shiny top hat dropped to the spot he was standing and rolled across the invisible surface of the black hole.

The Creeper spun and waved to the JSA. “Hi, guys!” His face dipped into a frown and looked down at the bag, which appeared to be filled with a sand-like substance. “Didn’t work.” His wild eyes slid to Zard, who was unsteadily getting to his feet. He swung the arm with the bag a few times, took a step and stopped, his eyes falling on the Power Twins. His head twisted on his neck and he looked at Karen’s reddening face. “I take it you’d be miffed if I asked to keep them, right?” Karen’s teeth showed. “We’ll talk later,” he mock whispered and leaped across the stage and landed next to William Zard’s head. Zard’s eyes looked up as he tried to focus.

“MAKEUP! Take two!”

The Creeper swung again, this time catching Zard under the jaw. The man went straight up and sprawled across the steps. The Creeper looked over his shoulder at the gawking JSA, then again at the bag and sighed. He leapt off the stage and bounded in front of the team.

“Now don’t blame me. I was told that should cancel out his spell.”

“How in hell did you get here?” asked Grant.

“Truly, you were the last person we expected to see on this plane of existence,” said Cross.

The Creeper sniffed and held up his hand to show a silver ring on his finger. “Just because you got Doc Fate on your speed-dial, doesn’t mean I don’t talk to him occasionally.”

“What did you hit Zard with?” asked Karen. “And can I have the next shot?”

The Creeper looked at her, then looked back at the Power Twins and shivered. “Baby Doll; I’m takin’ that with me!” Before she could scream, the Creeper turned back to the team and went on. “Fate said to hit Slappy here with the Sand of Amon Ra and things would be back to normal.” He exaggeratedly looked around. “And unless someone’s been playing with the pharmaceuticals, this don’t look anywhere near normal!”

“Maybe it has a delayed reaction?” suggested Garrick.

“Well, it better be kicking in pretty soon,” said Grant. “Billy’s getting up.”

The Creeper did a backwards leap and bounced from hands to toes to and on the stage. He landed in a crouch, his feet flanking the man’s ribcage. “Don’t get up,” he said with a maniac grin. “You’re tired.” He swung the bag and clipped the side of Zard’s head. Zard snapped his head back, his eyes blazing.

“YOU DARE?!?!”

“Well, that should be obvious. Now hold that pose, please.”

The Creeper swung the bag again, but the Wizard’s hand snapped up and the hero slammed into an invisible wall.

The Wizard raised both hands and the Creeper rose into the air and hovered several feet above the ground.

William Zard slowly got to his feet, his eyes raging infernos and never leaving the smiling form of the Creeper. He adjusted his cape and stood before him.

“Who are you?” he hissed.

The Creeper’s grin widened. “I’m the wrench in the machinery. I’m the salt in the wound. I’m the sty in the eye of humanity. I’m the cream in your coffee,” he sang, bouncing his fists in front of him in time with the ancient tune. His yellow expression suddenly shifted from whimsical to deadly serious. “I’m a 42 regular and I hang to the left. I’m a homemaker, and was Miss Congeniality of 2001, and all I want is world peace.” His hands moved like swans and met in the center, with the tips of his pointed fingers touching into a large V. He then dropped his chin into the opening and rapidly blinked his eyes.

Zard’s mouth hung open and as he stared at the Creeper. He moved his head to one side of the floating Creeper to look at the JSA.

“Do you know him?”

“He’s one of us!” Jay Garrick’s face suddenly froze. “I can’t believe I said that,” he muttered.

“He’s like that relative that never leaves,” added Grant.

The Wizard returned his gaze to the Creeper, who was smiling down at him. He waved his hand and the Creeper slowly descended to the ground.

“You know something, Wizzy?” began the Creeper. “I never thought it would be thi . . “

A bolt of black magic struck the Creeper in the chest, sending him flying off the stage and into the immobile Alan Scott. He landed hard against Sentinel, who did not move a muscle. But being the Creeper, he recovered quickly and landed on his feet.

“You,” said Zard, gliding forward above the floor, “I will kill.”

“Oooo!” squealed the Creeper. “I love it when you talk dirty!”

He leaped forward just as the Wizard swept his cape aside and released ten razor sharp daggers flying at him. The Creeper bounced once and flipped over the knives, grabbing two out of mid air. He landed on his toes and threw the daggers directly at Zard. The Wizard walked forward and the knives turned and flew past him.

Just in mentioning, the other eight daggers flew directly at the frozen JSA. The daggers suddenly struck an invisible wall with audible THUNKS, followed by multiple vibrating hmmmmmmmm’s.

“Oh, he’s getting’ a beatin’ for that,” muttered Grant.

The Creeper leaped and dodged the axe, the mace, the cat-o-nine-tails, the ball of flame, the scythe, but was nicked in three places by the hail of bullets from the floating Uzi. He went down and rolled away from the giant spear. He came up a foot away from Zard, who aimed his hand at him. The Creeper leapt over his head and kicked back, hitting Zard squarely against the shoulders, sending him forward. Zard spun around, his teeth bared.

“Give up now and I will make your death as painless as possible!”

“Weren’t those your last words to your mom?”

Zard’s eyes widened and he spread his arms wide and brought them together in a loud clap. A sudden wind came from nowhere and swept the Creeper off his feet. When his back hit the cascading surface, a metal band materialized and wrapped itself around his middle. The Creeper strained against the bond, but couldn’t move. He used both hands to try to slide out from under the metal circle, but the band tightened holding him in place. The Creeper glanced at the sack of sand tied around his wrist and frowned. Suddenly, his eyes widened. He looked up as Zard rose in the air and floated down in front of him. William Zard’s eyes were ice cold and matched his thin smile.

“You come to me in ignorance. You thought you could defeat me without knowing the levels of my powers or what I am capable of doing to you. You are what you appear to be; a fool. And you shall suffer a fool’s death.” Zard raised his hands above his head and stopped. He lowered himself to the ground, leaned forward and said in a dark whisper, “Do you have any last words?”

“Aside from the fact that you do the worst Bill Bixby imitation I have ever seen,” grinned the Creeper, “Only one: MAKEUP!”

The Creeper grabbed the sides of the sack with both hands and pulled the material apart and up, sending the powder into William Zard’s face.

Zard’s hands went up a second too late and his face and upper chest were covered in the fine white sand that stuck to him like miniscule drops of glue. As he tried to rub the sand from his eyes, the each individual grain of sand began to shimmer in a rainbow of colors, each pulsating in its own luminescence. William Zard’s spine straightened from the base up to the back of his neck and he released a small pained cry, like a little boy first realizing shame.

And everything changed.

With all the subtlety of a jackhammer, the rolling sky of flames shifted into a normal overcast sky. The spinning black hole blinked out and was replaced by concrete and grass. The wildly blinking walls showing William Zard’s name turned inside out and became mortar, brick, windows and needed-to-be-trimmed hedges.

The stage and steps were gone. The Creeper looked up and saw the Power Twins smiling back. As his smile widened, they both dissolved into sparkling mist and disappeared. “Awwww,” he moaned.

Alan Scott was the first to regain control of his body. He blinked and looked around, spotting the Wizard only twenty feet away.

Doctor Mid-Nite, Flash, Power Girl, Mr. Terrific and Wildcat all moved forward a foot, their original momentum still in place. Karen snarled and dove forward, but Scott was faster.

William Zard scraped the clinging sand from his eyes and focused on whatever was in front of him. Unfortunately, it was a giant flaming green hand, rearing back and swatting him like a fly. Zard spun on his toes and performed three neat revolutions until his body came in contact with the building’s wall. He bounced off and tottered on his feet for a second before Power Girl struck him with an uppercut that sent the back of his head into the brick. As he slid down, Jay Garrick delivered three hundred punches that brought him upright. Grant moved forward and sent several hard fists to Zard’s midsection, knocking him into the sparking and laser firing T-spheres. Screaming in pain, the Wizard walked into Pieter Cross’ wheel kick.

Zard rolled across the concrete and quickly pulled himself to a standing position. Several parts of his face were bruised, bloody and swollen. He used a gloved finger to wipe a droplet of blood from under his nose. He looked at the JSA and smiled.

“You still do not understand, do you? It is over for you. The world has seen the JSA running amok, destroying public and personal property, hurting civilians and breaking laws. No one in this world will ever trust you again! You can beat me into a pulp and it will not matter. I have still won! I have finally won!”

“It wasn’t us and you know it!” said Holt taking a cautious step towards Zard.

William Zard pulled the Stone of Bel from his pocket and held it in front of him. A prismatic wall of magic surrounded him in a circle. A T-sphere struck its side and immediately melted.    Scott, who was in front, raised his hand, halting his teammates.

Zard grinned. “Yes, I know it. But only you, Savage and I know that.”

“The public are not fools, Zard,” said Cross. “They will eventually find out and our names and our reputations will be cleared.”

The Wizard stood tall and proud behind the multi-colored wall of magic. He adjusted his tuxedo jacket, then his cape and held both hands at his side. Like a shade being pulled upwards, he became clean and pressed, his top hat forming in one hand and his ebony cane with the ivory tip in the other. He placed his hat on his head and gave it a tap, then ran his finger under the tips of his waxed mustache.

“The public are fools who will believe only what they see. Even given proof that the JSA they saw creating chaos were my Golems, they will still see you as enemies.” He grinned. “First you, then the other heroes. And then we shall take over.”

“We?” repeated Jay.

“Yes. We. You see, Savage’s therapy gave me an idea. How many other villains felt the same as I did? That their lives were in tatters because of people like you? A lot I found. There are so many of us that hate you. Hate you for what you do. Hate you for what you are. And now that hatred has spread to the civilians. They will eventually come to us to destroy you, and that is a day worth waiting for; striving for. And once that day is done, my people and I will rule.”

“Yeaaaah, I think that’s enough,” said a voice from over Zard’s shoulder.

Zard turned to see Jack Ryder leaning against a broken doorframe.

“And you are?” asked Zard.

Ryder grinned. “I must have a long talk with my PR agent. Jack Ryder. Reporter.”

Zard’s smile widened. “Ryder. Ryder. The reporter that covers sensationalistic stories. Don’t tell me you are going to expose me?”

Ryder grinned. “Yeah. I am. And a few of the guys.” He flipped open a cell phone and tapped a number with his thumb. “Oh, guys?” he said, his eyes locked with Zard’s.

News trucks pulled out from behind the hedges, small satellite dishes spinning on their roofs. Several reporters with headsets and men and women with tape and digital cameras came from behind Ryder from the remains of the building and focused on the tableau in front of them.

The JSA were looking around and collectively smiling. The Wizard stood, mouth agape, his eyes saucers as he blinked from the flashing cameras.

“And just to let you know, the guys also have live footage of the battle between the JSA and the Golems,” added Ryder.

“That’s impossible!” cried Zard.

“Not really,” said Holt. Zard spun completely around and faced him. “I rigged my T-spheres to hover in different corners of the facility and transmit a live feed to the local office of Associated Press, who then sent the feed to all the news stations around the world, which were then broadcast on the airwaves to the viewing public.”

“One of those ‘We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming for a SPECIAL BULLITAN’ kinda things?” Grant grinned. He glanced over to Zard. “So, the revolution was televised, eh, Billy?”

Zard was speechless. He turned back to Ryder who had not left the doorframe.

“Just something a photographer buddy of mine does when he needs front page shots. But we took it to a whole new level!”

William Zard’s eyes flickered and his body flinched. A stabbing chill went up his back and he felt his insides contract. It was back. And so was the screaming. So was the voice begging Ineedahitit. Ineedahitsobad. Ahitwilltakeitaway. The Wizard ground his teeth as his desire to fill that raw gaping maw with poisons filled his chest. He forced it down with complete and total anger. His eyes wide and insane, he spun on the JSA.

“My army will befall you,” he hissed. “They will pick you apart like carrion on a corpse. And once your pieces are scattered to the wind, it will only be then when I return. And when I do, your souls will be mine!”

A shadow opened up beneath his feet and he slipped through and out of sight. The wall of magic vanished into the ground, following the murky shadow.

“I think this goes under the heading of being officially exonerated,” said Ryder, walking forward and to the group.

Terrific held out his hand. “Invite your photographer friend over to lunch. We should thank him.”

Ryder took it and gave it two strong pumps. “I’ll give him the message and let you know.”

Several reporters came over and shook their hands for a while and they stood in their little circle until the last newsperson drove away, leaving a smiling Jack Ryder left.

Wildcat slapped his hands together, wincing slightly. “Well, only thing left is the beer!”

“I second that one, Kitty!” said Power Girl.

“I’ll buy the first round!” chimed in Ryder.

Doctor Mid-Nite looked over at Scott. “If you would not mind a lift?”

Scott grinned and formed a glowing platform on the ground in front of them. Grant, Cross and Holt stepped aboard. Ryder ducked inside the building and the Creeper bounced out and landed next to Terrific.

Alan Scott took a deep look at Mid-Nite.

“Something wrong?” asked Cross.

Scott shook his head and pointed with his chin. “I like the half mask. Makes you look more accessible to the public.”

Cross smiled and rubbed a gloved hand across his jaw. “I would have to concur with your observation.”

“I don’t know about you,” said Holt. “But I could use a nice hot bath, a good Chardonnay and some Monk.”

“Gimme some suds and a game and I’ll be jake,” said Grant. He gently elbowed Scott in the ribs. “Take a hint lately?”

The Sentinel rose in the air and took the platform with him. Power Girl jumped into the air and kept on going, taking a left at fifteen hundred feet. Jay Garrick looked at the individual piles of dust on the ground and frowned slightly. He walked to the center of the courtyard and spun in a tight circle, drawing the piles of gray powder towards him. He made his body come to a halt and spun his arm, capturing the dust in a vacuum. He ran back to the mansion, scattering the particles behind him.

“Look!” grinned Sentinel.

Below them and around the front of the mansion was a large cheering crowd. They were not as big as the crowd of protesters that had once graced their property, but the people present were smiling and cheering their arrival.

“Smaller turnout,” muttered Grant.

Cross looked at his friend and partner. “It would smack of pure hubris on my part to agree. But they’ve been through a lot, Theodore. We’ve been through a lot. And in truth, we never completely recover from the deceit performed by Savage and the Wizard.” He looked down again, a smile on his face. “That being said, we are not in this for the applause or the glory. We are here to serve and protect, just like our comrades in blue.”

Ted Grant looked down again and shared Cross’ smile. “Don’cha hate being right all the time, Doc?”

“It is a role I suffer with daily.”

The Flash was the first to arrive at the mansion, weaving his way through the applauding crowd. Power Girl came next and Sentinel carrying Wildcat, Doctor Mid-Nite, Mister Terrific and the Creeper brought up the rear. They waved to the masses (the Creeper taking a deep bow) and after Holt disabled the force field, Scott used his Starheart to open the wide double doors, allowing the JSA entrance.

“Uh, oh,” muttered Karen as she walked into the expansive foyer. She stopped short, making Grant bump into her back.

“Maybe we should leave,” muttered Grant.

Standing with his back to them was Sanderson Hawkins, formerly known as Sandy, the Golden Boy, partner to the mystery man, the Sandman, and presently (and simply) known as Sand. He was in his military green jumpsuit and boots, his mask held firmly to his face, shielding anyone from his true reaction as he turned slowly, looking around at the rents and tears in the foyer wall. The only visible sign of stress was the constant running of his gloved fingers over his web belt.

“I was with Mason,” his soft voice said absently. “I was out of radio contact. I had no idea what was going on until it was over.” He slowly turned, his hands grasping the belt. Tightly. “I know this is not your fault, but this is Wesley’s home.”

Jay stepped forward. “With all due respect, Sand . . . “

“THIS IS WESLEY’S HOME!”

“And that is why we’re leaving,” said Scott.

Sand’s head turned to Alan and tilted slightly on an angle. His shoulders slumped and he walked closer to his friends. “I’m sorry. I overreacted. This is the JSA headquarters. This is your home as well.”

Grant laid a warm hand on Sand’s shoulder. “Naw, kid. You got nothin’ to be sorry about. You were right the first time; this is Wes’ home. And you didn’t overreact.”

“And because of that; because of this, we need to find a new headquarters,” said Holt. Before Sand could respond, he raised his hand. “We talked it over along the way. If it happened once, it can happen again. It’s decided.”

“We love this place,” said Karen. “And you’re right; it is our home. And we couldn’t bear seeing anything happen to it.”

Garrick put a fatherly arm around Sand’s shoulder. “I was there with Wesley, Sandy. He would call me over when he was adding a new room, asking me for suggestions. Should he put this there or that there.” Jay chuckled. “And for a cup of his special tea from Pakistan, I was cheap labor.”

“He got off easy with you, man,” grinned Ted Grant. “I would only come over when Dian made her brisket.” He looked over to Cross, Holt and Jack Ryder with a look of orgasmic passion. “You ain’t never ate till you had Di’s brisket.”

“Why do I feel dirty all of a sudden,” muttered Ryder.

Ted grinned. “You weren’t there, Jackie-Boy! You weren’t there!”

“Dian’s Key Lime pie,” whispered Alan Scott in a dreamy voice.

The muscles in Grant, Garrick, and Sand’s legs weakened slightly.

“Every third Sunday, we had brisket, Key Lime pie, and her potato latkes,” said Sand.

“Latkes,” repeated Scott.

“With the finely chopped onion?” asked Garrick in a small voice.

Sand nodded.

Jay sighed and he stared into space. “Joan’s tried to make it like Dian did, but it always seemed to be missing . . . something.”

“A pinch of freshly grated horseradish,” said Sand.

Jay’s head turned.

“That was her secret,” Sand said in a wistful voice. “Wes and I swore under the threat of boiled and unseasoned food for the rest of our lives to never tell a soul. I think its okay to spill the beans.”

“Wait till I tell Joan,” said Jay, nearly salivating.

“Tell Joanie she’s havin’ company for dinner,” said Grant.

“Have you seen the rest of the place?” asked Karen.

Sand nodded. “What was damaged can be repaired and replaced.”

“Just give me a few hours and I’ll have this place back to normal!” said Jay.

“So, Sanderson,” began Cross, “What do you intend to do with the mansion?”

“Good question,” said Holt. “There’s a lot of memories here.”

“Going back to the very beginning,” added Jay.

“If I may make a small suggestion?” said Ryder.

“Do we have a choice?” groused Karen.

Ryder gave her a side glance. He tapped the side of his head. “Remember? I do.” He dismissed her and turned his head before Power Girl could voice what he could do with his memory. “This would make a great museum, you know? The entire history of the very first super team, all contained under one roof. Think of the story this would make!”

“I knew there had to be something in it for you, Jackson,” said Terrific.

“If I don’t, who will?”

“It isn’t a bad idea, Sand,” said Scott.

“You could charge a few pennies and that would pay for the upkeep alone!” Grant said.

Sand nodded, then his head turned slightly to the floor. “After this, do you think anyone will come?”

Garrick smiled. “People will come. By the time this place is open for business, I know in my heart, people will come.”

“Guaranteed!” Ryder said slapping his hands together and rubbing then like they were cold. “Especially after they read my story! You’ll have to turn people away!”

Grant wrapped his arm around Ryder’s shoulder. “Ya know, Jack. Maybe you’re not the one to do the story.”

Ryder’s face fell. “What do you mean, I’m not the one?”

“Like yer too close to the subject.”

“Especially after these past few days,” chimed in Karen.

“She has a point,” said Holt.

“It wouldn’t be from an unbiased perspective,” added Cross.

“It may slight the other teams,” mentioned Jay.

“It’ll seem like you’re on our payroll,” said Scott. “And after what’s happened, well, you know . . . “

Ryder pulled out from under Grant’s arm and stared at the JSA. He looked at Grant and pointed a finger in his face. “You’re nuts and it’s catching!” He stomped away, then turned back, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Well, if not me, who is right for this story?!!??”

The JSA looked at one another for a few seconds. “Clark Kent?” said Scott.

“Oh, yeah!” replied Karen. “I love his articles!”

“And he could do taped interviews,” suggested Holt.

“One on one!” piped in Jay. “Get personal overviews of the team!”

“KENT!?!?” cried Ryder. “That hack!?!?”

“Maybe we should ask Lois Lane?” said Cross. “Maybe get a woman’s point of view?”

“Oh, I like that!” said Karen, and she walked down the hall towards the living room.

“Do we have the number to the Planet on the speed dial?” asked Scott following her.

“Go through White,” said Garrick a few steps behind her.

“Jay’s correct,” said Michael Holt, slapping Garrick on the back. “White’d go ballistic if we purposely bypassed him.”

“Good one, Speedy!” called Grant. “Hey, Jay! Be a brother and make us some cold cut sandwiches!”

“On it!” said Jay as he zipped ahead of the others to the kitchen.

“Okay,” said Ryder following behind Grant. “Now you’re just bustin’ em’! I want you to know that I am not finding this amusing. Not one bit!” There were a few beats of silence. “C’mon, guys!” protested Ryder. “It was my idea!”

Sanderson Hawkins, formerly known as Sandy, the Golden Boy, partner to the mystery man, the Sandman, and presently (and simply) known as Sand watched his friends walk down the hallway to the living room. He followed then stopped and looked at the ornate foyer. He could see Wesley and Dian dressed for a night out, coming though the doorway. She would be talking up a storm, and Wes would smile silently and nod at her every word, his eyes elsewhere. He looked up at the crystal chandelier that lit the room and remembered Wesley talking to Terry Sloane, sharing a glass of cognac.

“Hey, Sand!” yelled Ted Grant from the opposite end of the hallway. “You want ham or roast beef?”

“Ham!” Sand replied. “With mustard!”

“You got it, kid!”

Sand walked down the hallway towards the kitchen and passed Wesley Dodd’s study on the way. The door was open as usual, but this time he peaked in. It was done up in dark woods and worn leather and lit by a single lamp on the corner of the desk, casting comfortable shadows around the room. Rows and rows of books on a variety of subjects filled the shelves, and small knickknacks and statues on pedestals occupied the room’s corners.

Sand could see himself as a boy sitting on the edge of the desk, while Wes applied an antiseptic cream to a cut under his eye. He remembered his gentle touch and his warm comforting smile. From behind his mask, small tears came from Sand’s eyes. He straightened his shoulders and turned to leave when a small framed photograph on the wall caught his eye. It was leaning on an angle and he reached over to straighten it, but stopped when his gloved finger touched the frame.

The Society had just returned to the mansion to relax after a battle with Per Degaton and Dian Belmont had asked to take their picture, photography being her latest hobby. She had held up her brand new camera (a gift from Wesley Dodds) and requested the men to sit around the circular ballroom table in the lower section of the mansion that also served as their meeting room. Ted Grant had snarlingly rejected the idea, and immediately went to the spare room to undress and take a hot bath. Hippolyta had left minutes earlier to return to Paradise Island (giving Sandy a memorable kiss on the cheek), while Ted Knight and Terry Sloane had jumped into Sloane’s roadster to hit a nightclub.

After several minutes of cajoling, the remaining JSA members sat around the table under the glare of the single light above them. Dian positioned the Atom, Al Pratt, Wes, the Sandman, Jim Corrigan, the Spectre, Jay Garrick, the Flash, Carter Hall, the Hawkman, Kent Nelson, Doctor Fate, Alan Scott, the Green Lantern and Rex ‘Tick Tock’ Tyler, the Hourman around the table, adjusting silver helmets, wings and capes along the way.   Dian was about to take the shot when Nelson waved his hand above the table’s surface and the words JUSTICE SOCIETY OF AMERICA burned into the wood. Even though Nelson eventually removed the letters from the rich mahogany surface, Wes never let him off the hook.

Sand chuckled. For years!

When the picture was developed in Dian Belmont’s dark room (another gift from Wesley), all saw that though the picture came out clear, the figures seated around the circular table were encased in dark shadows.

“Now you look like real mystery men!” Sandy said smiling.

“Now you look like real mystery men,” Sand repeated aloud behind his mask.

“Hey, Sand!” called Scott through a mouthful of pastrami. “Soup’s on!”

Sand smiled, took one last look around the study and turned off the light.

...Fin…