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The Cape and The Mask

April, 2019

0802 (8:02 AM St. Louis civilian time)

“Am I gonna die?”

Rusty clung to his father, Oliver, like leaves hang on a branch.

He sniffed.

Oliver tried rocking back and forth a little. The motion seemed to calm Rusty down a little.

“Don’t be silly. By tonight you’ll forget that you had a cold.”

“Are you sure. I’m gonna die.”

Rusty sniffed again.

“Munchkin, if everyone died whenever they felt bad, there wouldn’t be anyone alive.”

Rusty pushed his head against his father’s neck. Rusty’s forehead felt clammy and feverish.  

“Stowy time now?”

Oliver hesitated. He had work in an hour.  Traffic was bad– it always was– and, unlike some people in the house, he didn’t have wings.  Well, just Hunter.  Rusty looked completely like a normal 3-year-old human.  Hunter tried explaining that a few times but used an hour worth of weird, made-up phrases like “forced cellular restructuring.”  Oliver was a fighter, but his eyes glazed when he heard “anthromorphic simulcrum” followed by strings of six-syllable words he couldn’t repeat.  Eventually Hunter compared it to the Terminator that made himself look like a human.  It took them an hour to struggle to a twenty-second solution– that’s government work for you.  

“Sure, a short story.”

“The spaceship stowy?”

“Not short enough. How about the one about capes and masks?”  Hunter’s explanation of the origin of human superheroes and fashion genuinely interested him.  The whole story was insanely long, though.  It was part of a vast story  that he compared to a encylopedia-length version of the Marine Hymn.  Supposedly every dragon that mattered memorized it.  

“OK.” Rusty’s head nodded slightly into Oliver’s chin– it felt like his son hadn’t slept soundly last night. 

“Long ago, the civilized regions of a planet far, far away– the planet where Uncle Hunter was born– were manned by an advanced race of Creators and their dragon servants. The Creators were fragile and unique…”

“Like a snowflake!” 

“Mmm, very good.  The dragons were hard and virtually identical.”  Rusty was clearly thinking of another good comparison.  

“Like death,” I said.  That one actually came straight from Hunter.  “They had each been designed as worthy servants, and one what made one servant worthy of one master—loyalty, selflessness, competence—made him worthy of any other.”

Every other time Oliver had told this story, Rusty had interjected here that it wasn’t ‘nice’ that a species had been created to serve. Rusty’s indignation was endearing in a way, although well besides the point. In any case, Rusty was now silent. He must have been pretty sick, Oliver thought.  

“Over some time, the Creators began to get really sick with a bad illness, one even worse than the one you have.  Every cure failed.  The Creators withered and perished, but no dragons got sick.”  

“The Creator John–” Oliver had forgotten what Hunter had called him… it had a lot of slithery sounds.  “–himself sick with the plague, called his five dragons before him. He was almost dead and his civilization was on the verge of annihilation.”

Rusty murmured something.

“Annihilation means destruction.”

Rusty nodded into his chin again.

“John reprogrammed his dragons to create a new civilization.  He unlocked special traits within each. But he knew that a civilization of servants could not last without instructions, and so he gave them a final set of commands so that they could learn to serve each other forever.”  

“The first dragon accepted his assignment to break the land and bend it to the will of the whole. To complete his task he was blessed with uncanny empathy and patience. He prepared his Lifebenders to act as the community’s farmers and engineers.”  He told Hunter that that name sounded pretty stupid.  Hunter thanked him for his input and gave him a look that said go jump off a bridge.  

“The second dragon accepted his assignment to make everyone smarter and find better ways to do things. To complete his task he got relentlessness and curiosity. He prepared his Seers to act as the community’s artists and eggheads.  Err… intellectuals.”  At least that career title wouldn’t make anyone laugh.  

“The third dragon accepted his assignment to make more of the world safe.  To complete his task he was given uncommon selflessness and ferocity. He prepared his Reavers to destroy the community’s enemies, the terrasques and mind flayers, wherever they were found.”  Ryan suggested calling these guys just soldiers, but Hunter looked even more upset.  So ‘Reavers’ it was.  

“The fourth and fifth dragons had already proven themselves very obedient and loyal.  They were assigned the task of keeping everyone working together by finding out what everyone wanted done and making sure it got done.   The fourth accepted and was made very diplomatic and friendly.  The fifth, Bahamut, refused.”  Bahamut actually was the name Hunter used.  Ryan remembered it because he thought of a Chihuahua, namely, a ‘Baja mutt.’  Given the deferential tone Hunter took on when speaking of Mr. Bahamut– he closed his eyes when saying his name– Ryan didn’t it feel wise to bring that up, though. 

“Bahamut said ‘Father, I was created to be the perfect servant. I’ve always acted as the guardian of your interests at the peril of your displeasure. You have ordered me to do things that might be desirable but harmful to the community.  That is as much an attack on me as ordering a Lifebender to butcher plants, a Seer to give up the search for truth, or a Reaver to ignore our predators where he finds them.”  Hunter admitted that he actually took a lot of that language from the Federalist Papers, go figure.  So Ryan felt uncomfortable editing that out. 

“The other dragons, who had grown jealous hearing how loyal he was, got really nasty with him now.  Even John was upset– he was so sick that he had no mind for disagreement.  Every other dragon said that Bahamut wasn’t right, that he couldn’t be absolutely sure how to secure the common good.”  

“Bahamut couldn’t prove that he was the wisest or smartest. But he stated that he acted with honor and integrity, which he did.  Not even they thought otherwise.”  

“Finally John asked him how he could be so sure he’d remain pure and committed to the community, even though he’d be acting of his own will on their behalf.  Bahamut said that his independence would actually improve his integrity by making it less tempting to do what is popular instead of what is right.”

“Then John let Bahamut prepare his Guardians to preserve the community from any threat to its wellbeing.  But John made Bahamut wear his cape, which looked pretty silly on a guy with wings.”  From Ryan’s wingless perspective, they looked pretty ridiculous on everyone.  But green berets looked pretty ridiculous, too– Army Special Forces put those on to look different.

“He also made Bahamut mask his face all the time, to remind everyone that a Guardian was always on his own and should not look like other dragons.  Finally, Bahamut was blessed with firebreath, a power that could be used for tremendous good, destruction, or both.”  Hunter suggested that Bahamut’s descendants actually got different superpowers besides fire-breath.  When Oliver asked what Hunter’s was, he said that he was ‘really good at filling coffins.’  He wouldn’t elaborate.       

“Bahamut accepted his commission with these words, the last said to Thanethope before his death. ‘By your command.’”

Rusty didn’t say anything.  Oliver wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep.

“Christ, the fifteen-minute version of your creation story knocked you out.  Your vote of confidence in your species and my story-telling ability is overwhelming, munchkin.”  If Oliver had to memorize around a straight week of these oral histories– 200 hours of straight talking–like Hunter had had to, he’d have jumped on the nearest spaceship, too.  

END CHAPTER

__________________________________________

If you have any questions or concerns about the chapter or the work as a whole, please leave me a comment. I’d particularly like to know if something is confusing or unclear. Thanks.

Now then. Before tonight, I had planned to make Chapter 1 an account of Rahul trying and failing to study. I’ve since decided that I hate Rahul and he may be taken out of the story entirely.

The main, overriding problem I had with Rahul was that I don’t know India well enough to make anything I write about an Indian believable. Everything about him– how an Indian might plausibly interact with his family, what he might say, what he might see or hear in a given day, what his government might do or think– was something very difficult for me to puzzle through. I could (and did) get a lot of help from Indians living in the US on this, but I feel like the best I could have done was parroting what they said. Working with an American setting, I can wildly spin vitality and my own dangerous vision into whatever I like and no one can claim that “That McKenzie fellow obviously knows nothing about America. He is completely off-base and a racist.” Whenever I tried to write a chapter set in India, I found myself censoring my writing way too much. “No, that probably doesn’t sound real enough.” At least when writing about the US, I understand when I’m venturing into the realm of fantasy and implausibility (this is about superheroes, after all).

I think that it would be far easier for me to stick to what I have an intimate knowledge of. American political theory buffs might recognize some parallels between Bahamut’s story and the Federalist Papers. In Federalist 79, Hamilton says “it is the duty of those appointed to be the guardians of [the public] interest… to serve the people at the peril of their displeasure.” I like that line very much, and Bahamut quotes it pretty much verbatim. I’d be disappointed, though, if only political scientists could enjoy my work. I hope to argue about power and virtue in a work accessible to pretty much anyone that likes superheroes and combat.

One motif of superheroes is the cape and mask. Masks might make sense because they can hide your identity. Capes make no sense whatsoever– they’d get caught on everything (especially flapping wings) and they’d build air resistance. I interpreted both capes and masks as part of an effort not to hide a hero’s identity, but to create one distinct from the rest of society.

1320 (1:20 civilian St. Louis time).

Jay sat dutifully at the security desk. Most of the time, he sat and looked at cameras, waiting for something to go wrong. He wasn’t sure what might require his attention. The laboratory might be attacked by animal-rights activists. To his relief, the laboratory didn’t have any animals (keeping the pests from infecting someone would probably drive him crazy). That probably wouldn’t stop someone with a dangerous combination of idealism, stupidity, and liquor. Or robbers might try the building, which had a lot of computer equipment and looked pretty stylish from the parking lot. Or a janitor hurting for hours might get some crazy ideas about covering his bills.

He spent the most time, and the most boring time, enforcing hundreds of policies on every conceivable workplace behavior. Windows had to be closed at all times (to lower air-conditioning costs). Camera-phones and other forms of data-storage equipment couldn’t be brought in or out (to help workaholics relax).

Of course, the building had to be secured at all times. He wasn’t sure how to ensure that, given that three nights a week he now worked completely alone, but he did the best he could. He figured that if that wasn’t good enough, he’d be given backup or be replaced (not likely, because there was hardly anyone alive who was more capable).

The nights were the worst, he thought…

“Mr. O’Ryan…”

That was unusual. Everyone in the security office called him Jay.

He swivelled around to find the laboratory chief, Dr. Mallow, peering down at him through scratched-up glasses.

“Dr. Mallow! Jay O’Ryan–” he thrust his hand out– “I don’t think we’ve met.”

Mallow’s grip was surprisingly firm for such an old man, Jay thought.

“I’ve seen you at lunch. If I remember right, you always sit with Mr. McMahon.”

Jay nodded. It wasn’t just Mallow’s grip that was impressive.

“I noticed that you spoke for a few minutes with Dr. Fox at lunch.”

Jay nodded gingerly. Had Fox, the damn prima donna, complained about the conversation? Why else would Mallow care?

“More importantly, I guess, you survived the encounter,” continued Mallow. “I’d like you to help us complete an ongoing psychological profile of Dr. Fox.”

“Sure. I’m hardly a psychologist, though.”

Mallow dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand.
“It doesn’t take a psychologist to tell that Fox is, frankly speaking, full of himself and a bit insecure. He is also extremely bright and I don’t think that we could replace him readily, if at all.”

“He’s leaving the firm?” asked Jay, barely able to conceal his glee.

Mallow drew closer to Jay and his voice grew softer. “There have been rumors, some hushed whsipers that he’s suicidally depressed.” Mallow drew back. “Of course he’s prickly and hard to work with, but that’s probably a function of him being on a different mental level than many of his peers.”

“So what am I supposed to do?”

Mallow handed Jay a thin manila envelope.

“Inside is a list of questions we’d like him to answer. You can add whatever you’d like to strengthen your rapport.”

Jay didn’t say anything.

“You look nervous.”

“I don’t think that I am.”

“Maybe uneasy?”, Mallow probed.

“Well, this isn’t the kind of thing I’m particularly well-suited for. It worries me slightly that I might be the best person for this.”

“It is very difficult for anyone to know what they’re really capable of. I think you have strengths that may be hard for you to perceive now. I wouldn’t worry too much… in the worst-case scenario, that he commits suicide, you’ll just come back to this desk. You couldn’t be expected to act perfectly in this case, but I am confident that someone in your position would execute even an imperfect plan better than a trained psychologist.”

Jay nodded. It gave him a cold confidence that his job wasn’t on the line, but it was painful that Fox had maneuvered himself, or somehow been manuevered, into this position where Jay’s imagined strengths were somehow his best chance. He swivelled back to the monitors. There was no telling when Greenpeace would storm the building.

“Cute kid,” said Mallow. “What’s his name?”

Jay turned back to him. “What?”

Mallow pointed at a small framed picture of Jay wrestling his son at the park.

“Oh, that’s Rusty. He’s friendly enough, but he watches way too much TV. He knows he’s been seeing more of me and he thinks that I’ve been fired.”

Mallow waved his hand again and chuckled. “The project’s costs have run a bit higher than projected. We had to temporarily cut back on hours across the board. After we conduct our first tests, we’ll get another infusion of capital. I bet Rusty will miss having an ‘unemployed’ father when the hours are back to normal.”

“Kids. They never know what they want.”

“I’d drink to that, but you’d probably cuff me for bringing alcohol.”

“You know what Pemetex says about that.”

“Indeed. But surely a bit of champagne wouldn’t hurt Pemetex after we have our first test?”

Jay only gave Mallow a thin smile. It was Pemetex, and not Mallow, that had entered into a contract of employment with Jay. Plus, it paid him.

“It was nice talking with you, Mr. O’Ryan. Have a nice day.”

Jay went back to examining the monitors.

_________________________________
I thought that I was fairly subtle in this chapter.  Here are a few things that I hoped astute readers would pick up.

• A sense of weirdness about Mallow.  He sounds much more pleasant and chatty than most bosses would be talking to their underlings.  Also, he’s physically tough  and has an eerily close eye on his employees.
• Mallow MIGHT be really friendly.  He’s chatty and seems to care about the well-being of his employees (his concern about a potential suicide, mentioning Rusty’s picture, etc).  He MIGHT be really creepy.  He seems to care about the suicide only as far as Dr. Fox would be impossible to replace and we don’t really know why he mentions Rusty.
• Jay calls idealism dangerous but is a bit of an idealist himself.  He seems to care about whether Fox survives, even though they hate each other, and even seems to blame himself that there isn’t anyone better positioned to help him.
• Jay is some combination of paranoid and driven.  He acknowledges that the chance of the building being compromised is low but still focuses on the cameras.  I added the tangential discussion about Pemetex towards the end to show that Jay regards his side of any bargain very seriously.
• Mallow is explicitly not pressuring Jay to succeed in his task of helping Fox out of his troubles.  Although Mallow does a pretty good job addressing Jay’s concerns, I hope that readers still think it is unusual to make such a request of a security guard, particularly one that has a noticeably hostile relationship with Dr. Fox.  I don’t want the audience to realize it yet, but I am gradually preparing the audience for the revelation that Mallow has been plotting to murder Fox and make it look like a suicide.   Notice that Mallow doesn’t seem to care too much about whether Jay succeeds or not, even though he says that it would be hard to replace Fox.
• The project is having some troubles.  Hours are being cut back.  Mallow gives a rosy assessment but he gives very few details (like when the tests will take place, what is holding the tests back, why the project is over on costs, etc).
• The security at the lab puts a benevolent face on Big Brother, although there is no indication that Jay senses any impropriety.  The justification that Jay cites for the ban on camera phones is helping workaholics relax, which seems plausible at first glance.  The only reason any organization has ever actually banned such devices is to prevent people from smuggling information out to competitors or the press (or, in this case, the police).  It might actually be the case that keeping windows and vents closed reduces air-conditioning costs, but the laboratory has a somewhat less benign goal in making sure that people near the building aren’t prematurely exposed to its highly illegal chemicals.  I tried to draw parallels between the security at this building and a military organization– definitely not just some cosmetic lab.  This will help keep the reader’s credibility intact for when I discuss what the project is really about.
• Jay is very close to Rusty and doesn’t try to hide that.  When Mallow mentions the “cute kid” completely out of the blue, Jay says “What?”  There’s two interpretations there.  Jay might be actually confused about what Mallow was referring to.  Or Jay might be confused/upset about why Mallow was intruding into his personal life.  Given that the picture is just out on his desk, I think the first interpretation is more plausible.  (Also, if Jay were initially angry about the intrusion, I think that the conversation wouldn’t progress the way it did).

The scientist walked into Mallow’s office without knocking.

“I want to talk about my role here,” he said.

Mallow nodded. “Of course, but let’s not talk about this right here.”

Fox didn’t say anything as Mallow led him to the testing site.

“You were brought on to the project because your work on the interplay between probability mechanics and biochemistry is cutting-edge. Absolutely brilliant.” Mallow wasn’t sure whether he was overplaying the flattery, but as far as Fox was concerned, it couldn’t hurt.

“Obviously. I’ve been working on my assignment. What I’d like to know is how regulating the body’s response to chemicals that would cost thousands of dollars per dose at any meaningful concentration ties into the FACM sunscreen project.”

Mallow didn’t like where this was going. The calls from security didn’t portend a happy ending to this conversation.

“Why do you want to know that?”

“It’s likely that Lindley’s conception of the project is dead-wrong. It’d be easier for me to correct his laughably juvenile mistakes if I knew what everyone on the project were attempting to accomplish. Besides, it’s only fair that a scientist of my calibre should have some input in the foundation of our strategy.”

Mallow’s eyes narrowed. “You bring up some good points. FACM will probably never be commercially available, for the private sector at least. The Department of Defense has contracted us to provide a permanent sunscreen. They expect that, at a cost of roughly $500 per soldier, they would save considerably and avoid the logistical nightmare of distributing hundreds of thousands of bottles of sun screen each month.”

“Their math is ill-founded and, if you think we can sell this at $500 a dose, yours is too. The amount of chemicals necessary to ensure that the body actually takes to the skin-transforming vehicle is prohibitively expensive. I could probably reduce the cost per dose considerably if I could perfect my work by examining the work on the vehicle, butLindley has stonewalled my requests for that information.”

Mallow could scarcely stop from wringing his hands in frustration or screaming. First the setbacks, then the inpatience from the project’s benefactors, and now Fox. At least he could limit the Fox problem.

Fox stared at the vat of FACM before turning back to Mallow.

“About that, Dr. Fox. It has come to my attention that you attempted to look at the files related to the vehicle.”

Fox’s eyes widened. Even though he wasn’t a master at computer hacking, it gravely surprised him that anyone on the project was good enough to catch him.

“Like I said, it would have enormously bolstered my work to facilitate the vehicle if I understood how the vehicle operated. I assumed thatLindley had misconstrued my requests as an attempt to second-guess his work and I acted accordingly.”

“Didn’t it occur to you that we might have some reason to segregate that information from your aspect of the project?”

Fox’s expression changed like he had been forced to drink lemon juice.

“No? No. I haven’t before worked on a project– or even heard of one– where the flow of information between scientists working towards the same goal was deliberately inhibited. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Actually, it makes quite a lot of sense. I’m going to have to get rid of you.”

Fox’s features hardened.

“You’re firing me?”

“Something like that.”

Mallow whipped out a silver tranquilizer gun. Before Fox could react, he had two darts protruding from his chest. Fox slumped to the ground as numbness and paralysis spread through his body.

“I had hoped that I might be able to include you in the FACM project. But when you violated the trust between us, it was clear that it was either you or the project. Goodbye, asshole.”

The only thing the groggy Fox could think of as he was effortlessly tossed into the dumping mechanism was how weak the villain’s victory speech was.

Twenty-five seconds. That’s how long it took for the container to be lifted over the vat. At that point the container slowly began to overturn. The last thing Fox saw was the blue, bubbling acid.

Mallow heard Fox hit the acid. He had a vague notion of what to expect.  Fox hadn’t completed his part of FACM, the Fast-Acting Chemical Mutagen. Even so, the brew was corrosive enough that full submersion would probably kill him even before he drowned.

Mallow definitely hadn’t expected a sizzling sound and then crackles. Crackles followed by gradually larger explosions. Acid came lapping over the vat’s sides. Mallow didn’t think long before running out of the laboratory, careful only to avoid the facility’s 38 security cameras before leaving.

_____________________________________________________________

Jay heard something that sounded slightly like a hail of artillery. The guard station’s security monitors didn’t show anything unusual.

The sounds continued. Definitely explosions of some kind, he figured. He examined the facility’s map and concluded that the explosions must be near the only high-hazard room without security cameras, the testing grounds.

As Jay approached the doors, thick and acrid smoke filled his nostrils. The door and even part of the wall had been compromised by the fire.

The electricity in the room had already failed. Jay probed around with a flashlight, looking for anyone knocked out by smoke inhalation or falling debris.

The floor was slicked with blue liquid. His beige combat boots now had a nasty stain that he knew would never come off. Curses.

He came across an enormous bucket, more of a vat, maybe, that had large holes ripped through it. It looked to be the epicenter of the destruction.

Jay caught a glimpse, through a large tear at the bucket’s base, of something black bobbing in the cerulean liquid.

On closer inspection, the object appeared to be some animal. Definitely not human and maybe not even an alien. It was a purplish mess, with wings hanging awkwardly off the back and fingers that looked more like prongs. It looked to be (barely) alive, given that its chest still expanded and contracted with shallow breaths.

Across the room, a ceiling light fixture shattered as it hit the floor, sending sparks flying. The bucket itself looked shaky enough that it might collapse towards one side or another. Jay slung the creature, heavier than its wiry frame indicated, over his shoulder and ran for the exit. By the time he had gotten to the lobby, the building’s power had completely failed*. He had to force his way outside by kicking the door down.

Jay placed the thing in his backseat, even though it would definitely make Jay’s beautiful leather seats look like a quart of liquid detergent hit them. Under the car’s lights, Jay looked a bit more closely at the creature. In his admittedly limited journeys through the cosmos and northeastern Missouri, he hadn’t seen any extraterrestrials that looked even vaguely similar. He vaguely remembered that other lifeforms lived in this quadrant, namely the moonbats of Milky Way-7 , but he was fairly sure that they were not remotely close to interplanetary travel. Or weren’t, at least, circa 1915. Humans themselves had advanced considerably over that time, he reminded himself.

Jay thought about driving to a hospital. The lifeform might have benefitted from proper medical care, although he seemed to be breathing more steadily now. On the other hand, hospitals were built, drugs were developed and doctors were trained with humans in mind. He doubted that they could offer any genuinely helpful medical care.  They might easily attempt something that was helpful enough to Earth’s humans that actually proved lethal for the moonbats of Milky Way-7 (what was that, Saturn?). His contract, his word, bound him to provide for the security of everyone who came in the facility. Sending his charge to a hospital would be at best a dereliction of duty and maybe a virtual death sentence. Additionally, it would be hard to correct human misconceptions of extraterrestrial physiology without answering some awkward questions about what qualified him to speak on the matter.

At a red light, Jay heard sirens as a slew of emergency vehicles rushed past. The security system alerted the fire-department as soon as smoke was detected. That’s a response time of what, 15 minutes? It’s a good thing the project security team hadn’t been cut back as much as management had originally calculated, he figured.

Crickets chriped as Jay came in the door. Clarissa, his babysitter, was inside and witnesses might be problematic. He slipped inside, only to see his favorite babysitter locked at the lips with a male companion he hadn’t seen before.

“Hello,” he said. The lovers awkwardly broke their embrace. “I’m Jay. Nice to meet you… I just thought I’d give Clarissa a break by coming home early tonight.”

The boy, blushing a deep scarlet, mumbled something about how he thought it was her house. Jay had never seen two people flee so quickly. Clarissa hadn’t even remembered to ask for her payment. Jay made a mental note to come home early more often.

Having eliminated the witness(es), Jay lifted the moonbat to the basement. It was damp and chilled, but there was an old couch down there and it was the only place besides his office that Rusty didn’t go.

*– note to self: this detail means that, at some point later, the company will know that Jay walked towards the testing grounds but that the security cameras failed before they would have taped him with the creature. This is important because I don’t want the company to have a good idea of what happened in the facility, but it will give me a way to advance the plot as the company tries to piece together what happened.

I’ve been thinking about maintaining suspense without disgusting/confusing your audience.  Essentially, you want to surprise your audience but you have to tell them enough to understand what they have been shown.

There are two ways of doing this that I can tell.  I’ll call the first The Mystery.  In any mystery, the audience implicitly understands that the identity of the criminal will be revealed at the end.  The audience’s trust might be betrayed if there is some gimmick ending (”it was really the detective all along!,” assuming that the detective was the first-person narrator, or the identity is never revealed).  Although the audience knows that it will have to wait, it understands WHY it has to wait.  Certainly, knowing who the criminal is is not essential to understanding the mystery’s plot.  Discovering the criminal IS the plot.

The second way is probably more relevant to what I’m doing.  I’ll call it the Harry Potter Method.  Characters see a mysterious chain of events and conclude that they mean one thing.  For example, Ron and Hermione watch Harry nearly fall off his broom because of a curse.  They see Snape chanting during the quidditch match in Sorcerer’s Stone and assume that he cursed Potter.  Given that there IS an established history of hostility between Potter and Snape, that interpretation of what they saw makes sense.  No audience member would say something along the lines of “That interpretation is wildly off-base,” or “What is going on?” There is an underlying suspense because by the time you read two or three Harry Potter books, you figure that SOMEONE somewhere has made a crucial misinterpretation.  The audience doesn’t feel betrayed when it emerges at the end that, for example, Snape wasn’t trying to kill Harry because it had been given accurate information all along, it just hadn’t interpreted correctly (neither had the characters).

Now, to my work.  It is (of course!) a novel about superheroes.  One element of suspense, I think, should be that the audience is not IMMEDIATELY told at a character’s introduction that he is a superhero.  This might create suspense, but it might also create confusion.  I’ll show an example of this.  Let’s assume for a moment that the author doesn’t have the space, time or desire to establish Jay (who, unbeknownst to the audience, is a superhero) as a paragon of benevolence, recklessness, selflessness, or thrill-seeking.  If the audience hasn’t been shown any of those traits and doesn’t know that he’s essentially impervious to flames, they will probably be confused when Jay runs headlong into a flaming room on the off-chance that survivors are inside.  Given that the potential risks to a normal human are great and the potential benefits are relatively small, that behavior needs to have some justification to be plausible to an audience.

The audience might, however, resolve that problem by reasoning… “OK, we already knew that Jay is freakishly tough.  Therefore, he is probably a superhero and many superheroes are resistant to flames.”  At least a fraction of the audience would thus not be confused by Jay running into the building, because they expect that any superhero could do something as simple as rescue people from a burning building.  What if the situation, though, required an ability not widely associated with superheroes…  like considerable expertise with military weapons or doctrine.  Familiarity with aliens (or actually being an alien).  Tracking by smell or infrared.   Metamorphosis.  Flight.   These are all traits that Jay (Hunter) has that probably couldn’t be assumed just because you suspect that he is a superhero.

Ok, let’s go back to the two methods of building suspense and understandability.  I could present Jay’s real identity as a mystery that will be the object of the book.  The problem is that the mystery approach would prevent me from using Jay as a major narrator of the book.  Any sort of truly understandable and non-deceptive narration from Jay would lead any competent reader to understand his identity.  I’m not thrilled about this option for this book because it would be harder to tell the story without using Jay as one of the narrators.  (Also, the mystery format would probably establish Jay as the central character around whom everything else revolves.  I don’t think I want that).

The Harry Potter approach is good, but I’m still looking at ways the audience might misinterpret what it’s seeing.