Shadow of the Knight
Page 2
"You okay?" she asked, seeing the distress on her friend's face. "What happened?"
That's when Mickey realized how tensed up she was over this silly little encounter. She saw him every day practically. It wasn't as though she'd never see him again. She'd just have to try tomorrow.
No! screamed the clowns in her head. He'll never come back! What if he gets hit by a bus? What if he meets someone else and falls in love and gets married and has babies and moves to Greenland? Or what if he quits because he's been embezzling or gets fired because the company is downsizing or his department is shut down and he packs his desk and he leaves and he never says good-bye and he is just gone? What then?
"Mickey?" Patty called again.
Mickey shook herself, pushing the clowns to the back of her brain, where they were sure to regroup and return somewhere in the middle of the night. "It's okay, Patty. Sorry. I just... I just... Never mind." She turned her attention to her computer where there was nothing urgent waiting for her.
Patty wanted to push but she knew what Mickey had been through and she knew sometimes Mickey processed things differently than the rest of the world. So she let this incident go but made a mental note to keep a better eye on her friend.
• • • • • • • • • • •
As much as she loved the night, it could also be torture for her. The darkness held secrets she didn't know and whispers of things she couldn't see. Night was filled with unanswered questions and unresolved longings. Sadness and pain lived in the dark, and she often wrapped herself in it as she sat alone in her apartment, staring out into the thing she loved and hated the most in the world.
Four a.m. often came with her sitting in her window, looking for something in the dark because she wasn't finding it in the light.
It had been just after four a.m. when they found her that night. Patty had known something was wrong and had been trying to reach her, but hadn't been able to, and was concerned. She had had reason to be concerned. She had used the spare key she had and was just in time. By four thirty a.m., there would have been no more Mickey. Timing is everything, Mickey thought this four a.m., while she sat in her window, trying not to be dragged back to that four a.m.
She convinced herself to get away from the window and maybe forage for something more productive in the fridge. She tried to ignore the bottle of whiskey on top of the fridge. She had been in that bottle that night and, instead of throwing it away, she kept it to remind her to never get inside that bottle again.
She grabbed a bottle of Coke instead and wandered back into the living room. She knew the caffeine was stupid this late at night but it was what she wanted. She flipped on the TV, started up Netflix and began trolling for her next binge.
Batman watched her from above. Or at least her favorite maquette of Batman watched her. Large enough to be impressive but not embarrassing, it was one of her most prized possessions. She loved the dark growl that seemed to come from his morose features. It spoke to the growl inside of her. Several people had found the figurine creepy, but she found it weirdly comforting. When all else failed, Batman would protect her.
Well, okay, he didn't do such a good job that one terrible four a.m. but, hey, maybe he was out fighting the Joker or Bane or someone who was going to destroy Gotham and that's why he let her almost die.
She knew he had better things to do. But next time, something deep inside of her whispered, next time, he will. Rescue or let her die, she wasn't sure. She opted to choose the first option.
She found herself with her sketch pad and a piece of charcoal in her hand without any thought of picking them up. She drew quickly and confidently and soon there was a sketch forming of a woman - her, obviously - cowering from something dark and dangerous. But behind that dark, dangerous thing, there was something darker and more dangerous - Batman. She didn't realize that the face she drew on her hero was Rick. Exactly Rick. The Rick she wanted Rick to be.
Once that was out of her system, sleep seemed to be invited back in and she soon was lost in her own slumber on the couch, lulled by the burble of something on Netflix.
• • • • • • • • • • •
Mickey returned from her usual weekly lunch/comic book buying binge to utter chaos. Unhappy client, serve crashes, changed deadlines and two designers out sick.
"Fuck," she cussed not-so-under her breath as she tossed her comic pile on her desk and settled in to read the more than a hundred emails that had arrived in the past hour. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck fuck fuck."
"Yup," Patty's voice agreed from the other side of the cube wall. "Mass panic, mayhem and end of the world. In other words, Tuesday."
Her own panic began in Mickey's belly. The clowns loved these days because it gave them plenty of shit to throw at her mentally. But Jerry had given her an amusing technique to deal with them.
So she put on her headphones, flipped on her Pandora to something loud and raucous, and started taking deep breaths. Then she imagined a line of hot air balloons lined up in wait at the top of a long ramp rising from a train track. On the track was a train filled with boxcars filled with clowns. As the clowns climbed up the winding ramp, they were loaded into the hot air balloons and released into the sky. Only their little red noses peering over the basket could be seen as the balloons soon filled the sky, taking the clowns away into the heavens and hopefully depositing them somewhere far, far away where they'd have to hitchhike back and maybe die.
That made Mickey smile, the thought of clowns dying at the hands of serial killers who picked them up. Morbid, maybe, but it worked.
Her brain quickly cleared and she started trolling through the plethora of bullshit in her email box. One by one, she handled the panic, the terror and the random crap by soothing her clients with just the right turn of a buzzword, the right bullshit, the right offer to give them something they didn't need.
This was the real Mickey, the Mickey she had been before the world crashed down on her.
The Mickey she had been before THAT MAN had entered her life and convinced her that she was lazy and stupid and incapable. THAT MAN who had systematically taken away every shred of her self-esteem and dignity over the course of five years. THAT MAN who she had felt was worthy of draining her life blood for. That man, who was slowly becoming lower case That Man in her mind and not so upper case.
She was so engrossed in crisis management and with her music blaring in her headphones that she didn't look up to see whose shadow moved across her desk. "What?" she demanded crossly, trying to finish answering email number seventy-six.
A hand dropped a service issue memo on her desk, which meant one more drama to be added on top the ones she was already buried in. She skimmed the memo, noting that it wasn't a priority and shoved it aside. The hand pushed it back into her view. Pissed, she just pushed it back. When it came into her sight a third time, she yanked off her headphones and turned to the insistent hand.
"What the hell is so important about this?" she yelled at Rick.
Oh, shit. Rick. He tried to cover up how startled he was at her outburst as she tried to remove the foot from her mouth. "I'm so sorry, Rick," she managed, "it's been a crazy afternoon." Or something like that.
She was relieved when he smiled easily as he gestured to the memo. "I heard about the server crash and I know this isn't as important as that, but I'm leaving for a client meeting and just wanted to make sure you saw this before I left."
She forced a buttload of clowns into a balloon as they started to raise holy hell at her for yelling at the love of her life. As they flew into the air, she focused on the memo, noting that it was maybe a little more urgent that she had allowed. It was an easy fix and something she could slide into the queue without disrupting the vitally urgent things going on.
"Don't worry," she assured him, shifting into management mode. "I'll get this taken care of before the end of the day." The old Mickey had slid back into place and it felt good. She didn't even blush when he smiled at her again,
relieved.
"Thanks so much," he responded. "I know it's not earth-shattering in the bigger scheme of things, but it is to my client."
"No worries. I'll take care of it." She was about to put her headphones back on but noticed that Rick was still there. "Is there something else?" In that brief moment, she realized that she felt confident and in control and he was the one struggling to find something to say. His eyes settled on her comic book pile and a boyish grin slid sideways on his face.
"Comics, huh? I thought only geeky guys living in their mom's basement read comic books." He reached out and picked up the top book, the newest Batman comic book. "Batman?"
Mickey just shrugged, not sure what to say. But Patty, obviously overhearing this whole exchange, stage-whispered from her side of the wall, "She makes comic books, ya know." Rick peered over the wall but Patty put her head down, pretending it wasn't her who spoke.
"You make comic books?"
Mickey blushed furiously, her confidence quickly vanishing. She couldn't tell yet whether he would think it was cool or weird that she made comics. Especially because her books were dark and moody and not all girly and bright. "Yes," she finally ventured cautiously. "Self-published a couple."
"What're they about?"
"Um.... A woman who is a vigilante for those abused and destroyed by those who claim to love them. Mostly black and white, kind of Frank Miller-inspired." She held her breath, waiting on his verdict. He finally put down Batman and looked at her. Was that admiration she saw in his eyes? Oh, please, god, let it be admiration.
"Sounds cool," he finally said, and hot air balloons exploded in her head, taking the clowns with them. "I love Miller's earlier work, before he got into the whole black and white thing. Amazing to see someone evolve from something so complex and intricate into something so seemingly simple and basic, though probably just as intricate."
He was talking comic books with her. He was talking about her personal god, Frank Miller, with knowledge and ease and no embarrassment whatsoever. He knew her world and he wasn't mocking it or dismissing it. He was sharing it. Holy shit.
She was just about to say something clever and funny and entirely engaging when his assistant waved to him.
"I'd love to see your book some time," he said, putting Batman back on her desk and rewarding her with one more smile. "Maybe we could grab coffee and talk more about Frank Miller. And maybe some Kirby and Buscema. Or Panosian."
He winked as he walked away and Mickey forgot about everything else in the world but that wink.
"Hmmmm...." the voice from the other side of the cubicle wafted over. "Coffee. Kirby. Miller. Sounds like a match made in heaven."
Mickey crumpled up a wad of paper and heaved it over at that voice. "Shut up. He was just being nice."
"He spoke geek to you," the voice teased. "Don't tell me that didn't get you all hot and bothered."
"Seriously, stop it. Nothing will happen." Suddenly, the weight of the world dropped back on her and Mickey said with certainty, "Nothing ever happens."
Suddenly, Patty wasn't peering over the divider, she was standing in Mickey's space. Her face was kind and warm, not teasing at all. "I just thought it was nice that you had a nice conversation with a nice guy. You could use more of those." Patty leaned down, hugging Mickey with all her might. Mickey refused to acknowledge the tears in her eyes. It did feel nice. She needed some nice in her life.
"Yeah, it was nice," Mickey conceded. As Patty let go, Mickey pulled herself back together and back into work mode. "Did you finish that banner for Monarch? That's one more thing I'd like to cross off before the end of the day."
"Just about to send it to you, boss," Patty joked, heading back to her space, but not before seeing a year or two of sadness disappear from her friend's face.
• • • • • • • • • • •
Walking to her car that night, Mickey's world felt a little lighter.
She had managed to quell all the insanity at work, even making all her clients happy in the end. She had also succeeded in having a real, honest conversation with Rick and hadn't made a complete ass of herself. That was a major accomplishment. Maybe she could go back a real life, a life filled with friends and work and art and, yes, maybe even a guy. Maybe.
TWO
The morning came when Mickey awoke feeling good. That shouldn't be such a big deal but it had taken her just over two years to wake up feeling good. Not that she suddenly felt GOOD, but just... normal. She had started sleeping better, still haunted occasionally by the night, but her nocturnal restlessness was becoming less and less frequent. She was still inclined to wake up at four a.m., but sleep returned quickly and the clowns were getting quieter and quieter. Is this what it's supposed to feel like?, she wondered that morning as she made coffee. I forgot what real life is supposed to feel like.
Good, real life meant going to work every day and doing a good job there. Her boss, Larry Tannen, was complimenting her more and more over her work. He had been a good boss to her, keeping her position for her while she dealt with her breakdown and recovery. He had been generous with days off when she needed, whether for medical reasons or for mental health reasons or comic book reasons.
What she didn't know was that his daughter had killed herself years before and he felt that this was what he could do to fill the hole in his own heart that he could never fill. He couldn't help his daughter but maybe he could help Mickey. So he went quietly out of his way to be there for her, without her ever knowing what it cost him. Real life meant going out more with Patty and other friends. Reconnecting with people she thought she had lost during her breakdown.
But it turned out that most of them had been there, she had just forgotten. As she began to reconnect with her friends, she began to remember the kind moments of generosity, whether it had been a meal, an encouraging email or a few dollars to help her through. She realized she had been the one who had shut everyone out, not the other way around, and she was determined to let them all back in.
Especially Rick. He had been stopping by her cube more and more, and even brought her an office-warming plant when Larry rewarded her hard work with a tiny office, rivaling Rick's tiny office. Even though it was on the other side of the warehouse they were housed in, Rick found his way there often.
Rick had started working at the company after her return from her troubles and he had heard rumors of what had happened. But he didn't care. He was seeing the real Mickey and that's what brought him to her office over and over again.
Real life meant that, yes, sometimes it was boring and repetitive and not terribly exciting. But real life meant it was secure. It was safe. It was comfortable. It meant fewer clowns and more quiet in her own head. Real life meant peace.
A cup of coffee appeared on her desk as Patty dropped into the chair across from her desk. "What's this?" Mickey asked, welcoming the chance to drag herself away from the day's drama.
"Dark roast," Patty replied, "two sugars, milk and a little chocolate for fun." Patty air-toasted with her own cup. "I miss being able to yell over the wall at you so I thought I'd come in and harass you in person."
"Much appreciated." The friends shared their caffeine in silence for a moment.
"So how are things all the way over here in the corporate corner?" Patty asked.
"Quiet," Mickey responded. "There's no one yelling over my wall at me or eavesdropping on my conversations." Patty stuck her tongue out at that. "But I do miss the noise and the eavesdropping. How're things in the cube farm?"
"Boring. I miss you. Maybe I said that already."
Rick chose that moment to stick his head in the door. "Hey, ladies," he said as he handed some paperwork to Mickey. "Coffee smells good." He gave Mickey that cute little wink as he left. She had learned not to let the wink get to her. He winked a lot. He promised coffee a lot. Apparently, he was good at both winking and promising.
"No coffee invite yet?" Patty whispered as she watched his cute ass walk out the door.
"Bastard," Patty said a little too loudly, leaving Mickey to shush her. "I was hoping for something more than the possibility."
"Me, too. But that's the way it is."
Just then, Rick turned around and headed back, startling both women into silence. They held their collective breath as he came back into the office.
"Hey, I know we keep saying we'll do coffee and we haven't yet. Are you going to the comic book convention this weekend?"
Mickey couldn't find her voice until Patty cleared her throat for her.
"Uh, yeah," Mickey managed to stammer. "I'll be there. I'm actually in the artists alley for the whole thing."
"Wow, that's really cool," Rick said, sounding authentically excited. "I'll make sure to stop by and see your artwork. And maybe you can slip out of your booth to grab a bite with me."
"I'm sure I can make that happen," Mickey answered, trying to be cool.
"Great. I'll touch base with you later and we'll figure it out." He waved and left, no wink in sight. Both women finally breathed out.
"Holy crap!" Patty exclaimed when he was out of earshot. "Do you think he heard me? Is that why he came back?"
"I don't think so," Mickey responded. "He seemed genuinely interested. What do I do now?"
"I'll come over tonight and we'll pick out cute outfits for you so no matter when he shows up, you'll look amazing."
"Isn't that overkill?"
"Nope. It's underkill that I haven't been over before this to help you wow him at the office. It'll be fun, I promise."
"Okay," Mickey agreed reluctantly. "But no shopping. We stick to whatever's in my closet."
"Killjoy."
• • • • • • • • • • •
If Mickey felt at home anywhere, it was at comic book conventions. These were her people. This was her tribe.