Halfway Heroes

by Dustin Martin

Lydia stepped back and forth, performing an unsteady two-step dance as the building groaned with every move. Although the roof was flat and easy to stand on, she knew it might give way at any moment. She ignored her senses, which told her to flee back down the attic’s trapdoor and out of the building. This ends now. Since she stood in front of the attic’s broken window, blocking off Finster’s only escape back inside, he’d have no choice. He would have to go through her to leave.

  “You’re good,” he said, taking a shaky step toward her. “Maybe with some more training, you could be a decent rival!”

  She couldn’t believe he was still on that. “I’m going to be the one who stops you, once and for all.”

  “Right,” he said, rolling his eyes. The roof rumbled and something gave way underneath them. “We’ll have to find that out another day. Step aside.”

  “No,” she said. “You’re not going to escape from me again.”

  “Kid, if you don’t stop, neither of us will leave this roof.”

  “Fine by me. As long as you don’t,” she said, choosing to embrace this stubborn path. Yet she couldn’t rid herself of all the inner voices fighting against her choice: her senses telling her the roof would cave in, her mother and Arthur rebuking her murderous intent, and her inner self screaming that this was all wrong.

  Finster cracked his knuckles. “I’m getting out of here, even if I have to go through you.” He held up his mismatched arms, with the shorter one finally lengthening to the other’s size. “It’s a shame. You’re a good fighter. Pretty brave, too. Would’ve been fun having another rival.”

  Again with the rival nonsense, she thought angrily. She rushed him, the roof weakening beneath her. But she was too busy pouncing on Finster to care. She placed a well-aimed stomp to his knee. He yelped in agony. Then she spun him around and tore at the tubes. They stayed put, so she used more strength. They began to give little by little. Finster jammed his shoulder into her chin. He wrapped an arm around her waist. Then he lifted her and threw her down onto the wood-shingled roof.

  He tried to walk away, stumbling toward the attic window. But Lydia grabbed his foot, using all her strength to wrestle him to the floor of the roof. She finally brought his lumbering body down. She delivered a blow to his head. Then Lydia threw another punch. She swung wildly and missed, hitting the roof with her fist. Pain shot through her right arm as the spot she had punched caved in. Lydia reeled back, clutching her arm. He gave her a hook on the jaw, adding another spot that would soon be tender and sore. But it was merely one among many of her welts and bruises.

  Lydia fought through the pain. She bashed both fists into his chest, winding him. She yanked on the tubes. She could feel them tearing. Finster was choking, pushing against her shoulder to try to stop her. With a cry, Lydia ripped the tubes. Copious amounts of the colorless painkiller rained everywhere, splattering the rooftop.

  Finster pushed her off and screamed. He desperately tried to reattach the tubes, but it was no use. He stood up and turned to Lydia, his expression one of pure hate. “You want a fight? Fine. I’ll squash you.”

  She tackled him. But Finster picked her up and slammed her back onto the roof. Lydia choked, her lungs on fire. She rolled over, the burn culminating with all her other aches into an indescribable agony. The intense pain threatened to black her out.

  She groaned with relief as several gunshots from below flew past Finster. Warning shots. Help for her. He backed away from Lydia. She could hear Sylvia down below, begging Lydia to flee. Something about the building about to go? But Lydia ignored her. She flopped over, wailing at the torture coursing through her. She sat up, wincing with every movement.

  Finster was panting, staring at her in disbelief. “You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” he asked, rubbing his chest and grimacing. “Why get up? You’re done.” He limped over, clenching his fists.

  I can do this. Lydia knelt on one knee. I can do this. Finster was upon her, readying his punch. Lydia gritted her teeth. She quickly brought her solid fist into his chin. Finster was knocked back onto the attic’s roof. He smacked his head on the building’s steeple.

  Yes! Lydia hobbled over, climbing onto the small attic roof. Finster was dazed, his eyes glazed over. She had won. She could end this all now. She stood above him, grabbing his shirt. Lydia raised her hand, curled her fingers, and wound up all her might.

  But, she couldn’t do it.

  All the advice, all the talks, Arthur’s unwanted advice rushed back to her. God, her parents’ faces, what they expected from her and the morals they instilled, and the story of Arthur’s frustrating past, which haunted her, all stayed her hand. Lydia willed her fist to move. It would not. It could not. It refused to be party to such an action.

  She searched her surroundings. On the edge of the attic roof was a small weathervane, its tip pointed and sharp. She ripped it off and approached Finster. She held her instrument high, ready to pierce his heart. But now both hands resisted.

  Lydia dropped the weathervane to the roof. Then she broke down, tears falling down her face. She wanted to so desperately to return her rage and heartache tenfold in physical form against Finster. Lydia walked to the edge of the roof, turned to face Finster, and roared incoherently at him. No response. She continued yelling until she was hoarse. Then she fell to her knees.

  I. .. I can’t. The urge to kill wasn’t strong enough. It was held back, losing ground on this uphill battle. He’s evil! He deserves it! But that reasoning was torn down and swept away. She couldn’t accomplish what the vengeful desire in her heart wanted. I can’t. She moaned aloud, sobbing and hitting the roof. Lydia buried her head in her arms, taking the precious minutes she’d been afforded to release all the anger. All the revenge she had fantasized about, revenge that had kept driving her forward, evaporated. She felt drained of all energy. Her only desire was to return home and see her mother. Make sure Debra and her friends were alright.

  Once she had exhausted her tears, she looked at Finster. He was coming to. Lydia sighed and punched the roof for good measure. She threw the weathervane at his head. It bounced off ineffectively. She stood wearily and walked away, sliding down from the attic’s roof.

  “Hey,” Finster said, slurring the word. “Hey! What happened to killing me?” Lydia landed on the building’s main rooftop and walked to the attic’s window. “Can’t even finish a fight? Your father had more conviction than that!”

  She froze in her climb back into the attic. The murderous rage had only needed a breather. A reprieve from working overtime before Finster clocked it in for a second shift. It was back and ready to go twelve more rounds. Lydia scrambled up to the attic’s roof, making wild, frenzied yells. When she reached the top, Finster socked her nose. Then he jammed the weathervane through her lower leg.

  Lydia cried out, holding her leg. The sheer pain was blinding. Finster raised his leg, aiming his foot to stomp her. She sat up, grimacing through the torturous agony. She caught his foot and twisted hard. There was an audible snap! and he fell. She punched his chest, beating him back into the roof. Crack! Jagged lines appeared in the small roof. He roared, crawling on top of her. He grabbed her shoulders and slammed her into the rooftop. Larger cracks formed below them.

  The funeral home leaned far to the right. All the destruction had taken its toll. Like winding snakes, splintering cracks tunneled through the building’s exterior. The fighters saw the crevices splitting wide like yawning mouths, ready to swallow them whole. The roof beneath Lydia fell away, tumbling into the air bit by bit. Before she knew it, she was falling after the pieces. Finster was beside her. Both yelled, swiping the air for any support.

  This is it, she thought. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.

  Yet the sudden stop she experienced was far too soon and far from painful. She looked up and saw Aidan, his eyes closed. He bit his lip as he sailed upward. He opened his arms to her. She fell into his embrace and instantly wrapped her arms around his neck. He zipped around, refusing to open hi
s eyes. Finster continued to fall, crashing through the crumbling second floor.

  The bumbling flight was over as quickly as it began. Aidan was on a direct course to crash land into the neighboring building. Lydia buried her head in his chest as they headed for a window. He flew through it, raining glass everywhere. They slid across the floor, Lydia on top. A fresh wave of pain rushed through her. They stopped when they collided into a sofa.

  Neither moved for a while. Lydia eventually dared to open her eyes. I’m alive? She looked around. She was alive and in a stranger’s apartment. Lydia turned to Aidan, who was pale and shaking. She could feel his heart beating rapidly and his skin was deathly cold.

  “You flew?” she asked.

  “I flew,” he said slowly, gulping down breaths. “Told you I would under the right circumstances.”

  She stared at him, her mouth agape. Then she hugged him tightly. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you.” She could’ve kissed him. She relaxed, happy to have survived.

  “Anytime,” he said. “But try not to make me race a collapsing building again, hmm? There are easier ways than that to get me to fly.”

  She laughed weakly, her energy completely gone. He chuckled, too, trying to help her up. But she waved him off. For now, she just wanted to lie there, close her eyes, and rest.