Supervillainess (Part One)

by Lizzy Ford

  ***

  Despite the strange woman in his house, Kimber slept deep and late, not waking up until his phone rang and pulled him out of sleep.

  “Hello,” he said groggily into the cell.

  “Kimmy, this is Julian.”

  “Oh. Hey. Are you getting ready to leave home?” he asked.

  “I’m standing outside your building waiting to come up. Your father isn’t used to being outdoors, so can you ring us in?”

  “Yeah. Sorry.” Kimber was out of bed before his stepmother finished her sentence. “How was your trip?”

  “Great until the airport. Did you forget about picking us up?”

  That explains one of the calendar alerts I missed. He glanced at the time on the screen and grimaced. It was past ten in the morning. He had either slept through his alarm or forgot to set it. “It was a late night, Julian. I’m sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay. We had trouble finding someone to bring us here with your father’s equipment.”

  Guilt slid through him. Tugging on jeans, Kimber exited the hallway and stopped, blinking away sleep from his eyes as he stared at the front door. “Hey, Julian, I’m ringing you up now but it might be a minute.”

  “We have nowhere else to be.”

  He rolled his eyes at her tart response. “Let me know if the elevators are working. If not, I’ll come down and help.”

  “All right.”

  “See you in a few.” He hung up, hating the disappointment in her tone but more confused by what was in front of him.

  At some point during the night, someone – he assumed Keladry – had moved most of the furniture he owned in front of the door to blockade it. If that wasn’t enough, he spotted rope stretched taut a foot above the flooring across each doorway, including the opening to the hall.

  Kimber bent and touched the rope he recognized from his mountain climbing days. She had to have found it in one of the boxes. He stepped over it and followed it into the living room, where it wrapped around a precariously balanced box on the kitchen table. He went to the box and peered into it. It was filled with fragile glassware.

  “What the hell?” he stood back to decipher what Keladry had done. “She booby-trapped my home?” Or rather, she had created a rustic alarm. If anyone tripped over a rope, it would send the glassware smashing to the ground and awaken them both. He didn’t have time to ask her what was going on, not with his family headed up to his floor.

  Kimber quickly unwound or cut all the rope in the house and tossed it into a box. At one point, he glanced at the hammer resting on the windowsill. Certain he hadn’t left it there, he paused by the window.

  Someone had nailed it closed.

  His eyes went to the neighboring window, which had also been nailed closed.

  He stood in place for a long moment, uncertain how he had slept through the racket. What the hell Keladry was thinking when she decided to fuck up his apartment? Bloodied carpets weren’t enough? She wanted to make sure he never saw a penny of his deposit?

  A knock at the front door drew his attention back to the blockade of furniture.

  “Just a minute!” he called. Kimber hurried to the foyer and began tugging the loveseat back into the living room.

  Ten minutes later, with the house almost back the way it was, he ducked his head into the guest bedroom.

  Keladry was sound asleep. The blinds were drawn again, and more blood was on the carpet. She’d ignored his advice to rest, along with his suggestion not to wear the makeshift mask. Kimber snatched towels from his bathroom and covered the rusty maroon trail on the already stained carpet.

  He answered the door at last, breathless and sweaty from his rush to undo what Keladry had done.

  “Kimmy!” his stepmother beamed and held out her arms. Tall and slender, with gold-brown hair and heavy makeup, the middle-aged woman smelled of lilac and wore her signature color of blue. Mist sparkled in her coiffed hair.

  “Hey, Julian,” he said and hugged her. “You look great.”

  “It’s this diet we’ve been on. I’ve dropped ten pounds, and your father’s lost five,” she said.

  His gaze slid to the unmoving man in the wheelchair behind her. Kimber released his stepmother and went to his father, crouching down in front of him. As always, any excitement he experienced seeing his father was stolen by the condition his father was in. James Wellington had been confined to a wheelchair or bed for three years. His head drooped, and his once muscular body had turned frail with lack of use and age. Even so, he was dressed in trendy clothing, and his eyes moved to find Kimber when he knelt.

  From his work with the permanently disabled, Kimber was able to recognize the amount of time and care it took to keep his father appearing healthy. His stepmother, as much as he didn’t like her, truly cared for her husband.

  “Hey, dad,” Kimber said and took his father’s hand. He squeezed it. “Looking good!”

  His father blinked. For his sake, Kimber smiled, troubled at his father’s appearance but genuinely pleased by the visit.

  “Kimmy, show us your new place,” Julian said.

  Kimber rose and stepped behind his father’s wheelchair, pushing him into the apartment. “Come on in,” he said.

  Julian followed. She was unusually quiet, a sign she was trying not to reveal her true thoughts.

  “It’s, uh, well … temporary,” Kimber said, embarrassed by the condition of his sparse apartment. Before Keladry’s comment about it being a shit hole, he hadn’t paid much attention to the condition of his place. He looked around anew, imagining what his parents saw. The paint was peeling in places, and water damage marred one corner of the living room. The windows were small, the carpet older than he was, and cracks extended from the ceiling towards the floor in almost every room. None of the lights managed to illuminate the corners or ceiling completely, and since the skies were constantly cloud covered, natural light did nothing to help. It was dark and dingy.

  “It’s nice,” Julian managed.

  It wasn’t, but he didn’t object to her attempt at being pleasant. Kimber wheeled his father in to the living room and the window overlooking the street.

  “Are you unpacking or repacking?” Julian asked from the kitchen. She was peering into the box of glassware on the table.

  “Oh, um … reorganizing,” he said. He joined her. “How’s Dad doing?”

  “No change, really,” she replied with a meaningful look towards her husband. “He’s having more trouble lately and the doctors are worried. But, Kimmy,” she gave him a warm smile, “I’ll take care of him. You’ve got a lot to deal with on your own.”

  Kimber’s cheeks felt warm. Julian turned away and went to the living room. He put on a kettle for tea and mentally prepared himself for the conversation certain to come. He would never feel ready for it. Just as he left the kitchen, the front door opened.

  “Knock, knock!” someone called cheerfully.

  Kimber’s stomach twisted into knots. He faced the pretty woman walking through the door and glanced towards his stepmother.

  “We’re not the only ones worried about you,” Julian said with a wink. “Suzanne insisted on coming.”

  Kimber said nothing in response. His eyes went to Suzanne’s left hand. He was almost surprised she no longer wore the diamond.

  “Hey,” said the pretty woman, stopping in front of him.

  “Hey,” he replied and cleared his throat.

  “Julian said they were coming to visit, so I decided to tag along,” Suzanne said and studied him. Her lips were smiling – but her eyes weren’t. “Hope that’s all right?”

  Not really. Kimber wasn’t ready for everyone from his past to confront him at once, but neither was he going to re-injure the feelings of the woman he had already caused so much pain. “Sure.” His response sounded forced, even to his ears.

  “Of course you’re welcome, Suzanne,” Julian said. “I’m dying to hear about this new job of yours, Kimber. It’s a charity
hospital, I read online.”

  “Yeah.” Kimber glanced at his father, wishing he could trade places with him for once.

  Suzanne sat beside Julian on the couch, and both women gazed at him expectantly.

  I’d rather be covered in blood in the ER, Kimber thought.

  Three: Every villain has a superpower

  Keladry “Reader” Savage was hurting more than she ever had before. Her brother had been serious about trying to kill her this time. It was supposed to be a game, a competition, a way for them to push one another to grow.

  Was this new, strange pain why she hadn’t escaped when she had the chance? Because, for a captor, Kimber Wellington didn’t know shit about how to keep someone imprisoned. He hadn’t even locked the front door last night, and his horrible little apartment didn’t exactly have a security system.

  She could’ve walked out at any time.

  She didn’t. The part of her that hurt the most wasn’t her body for once, and she didn’t know how to handle emotional pain. To make matters worse, she was healing slowly, probably from the extent of the damage sustained. Normally energized when night fell, she was sluggish instead this night, her body barely responsive.

  Lying in the dark room, Reader couldn’t recall the last time she had wanted to hide and nurse her wounds instead of charging straight into her brother’s house and challenging him to another round in their ongoing battle to win their father’s favor.

  The door cracked open, and light from the hallway spilled into the storage/guest room. She snapped her eyes closed and listened carefully. Voices from elsewhere in the apartment, muffled by the walls, had been talking most of the day. Tensing, in case her brother’s men had found her, Reader waited.

  “Sorry about this. Ignore my other guest,” Kimber whispered to someone. “This is temporary while we rearrange the house so you can all sleep here tonight.”

  He walked past her, and she peered at him through her eyelashes. He was pushing a slumped man in a wheelchair to the window.

  Kimber opened the blinds and positioned the man before the window. “Keladry, are you awake?” he called quietly.

  My name is Reader, she corrected him silently.

  Kimber hesitated, as if uncertain he wanted to leave the other man in the same room as her, before he left and closed the door.

  Reader opened her eyes and turned her head towards the window. She sat with difficulty, ignoring the pain floating through her. Instead, she focused on the man in the wheelchair and tilted her head, listening.

  At least this one faces the park, the man was thinking.

  She released a controlled sigh, relieved the effects of the mind-altering meds were gone. Her superpower was returning. Her mask started to slip, and she tightened it.

  “Are you another of the doctor’s projects?” she whispered.

  No one can fix me.

  “Why not?”

  Silence.

  “Yes, I can hear you,” she said, accustomed to the initial incredulity experienced by someone exposed to her power for the first time.

  You’re one of them. Which side?

  “Does it matter, old man? You’re stuck in a chair either way.”

  It wasn’t always this way. I played the great game once.

  Reader’s eyebrows shot up. “Did you now?” she asked. “What team?”

  The good one.

  “Then we are at odds, I’m afraid,” she said. “The doctor isn’t quite as innocent as he seems, if he’s collecting us.”

  My son doesn’t know.

  “Interesting.” She gripped her midsection and rose, teetered, and then deliberately crossed to the man in the wheelchair. Reader gazed down at his bent, hunched form. “Not so spry anymore.”

  Neither are you at the moment.

  She grimaced. “Yeah. True.” She studied him. “What happened? Were you in some great battle with your arch-nemesis?”

  Unfortunately no. It’s a long, boring story.

  His mind fell silent.

  “Okay,” she said, taking the hint. “Does your son know you aren’t as crippled as you pretend to be?”

  You can see that? The wheelchair bound man lifted his head several inches to peer up at her.

  “Yeah.”

  What exactly is your power?

  “It’s complicated.”

  I’m retired.

  “I’m not.”

  Ah well, then, keep your secret.

  Another silence. The wounds in her stomach began to bleed through her clothing.

  I’m sick of being cooped up, the man complained. Can you open the window? I rarely get fresh air.

  “I nailed them closed,” she said. “Just in case.”

  No need to explain. I hunted your kind down once.

  “So that’s why you’re here,” she said with a small smile. “One last adventure, tracking the enemy, before the cancer takes you.”

  You can see that, too.

  “And the fact no one else knows.”

  Clever girl.

  She looked out the window. It was rare for her to spend the night inside. “Fresh air sounds like a good idea. I’m sure this building has an accessible roof. Want to go out, enemy of mine?”

  I do.

  “You trust me not to kill you?”

  I’d welcome death at this point.

  “Me, too.” She said and held her stomach. Reader crossed to the door and opened it, listening. The others were in the living room, on the other side of the apartment.

  She heard the words funeral and planning and closed the door.

  Kimber had been lying about why he brought his father here. Perhaps it was her weakness, but she found herself genuinely interested in taking the crumpled old man to the rooftop, not just so she could feel the night breeze, but because she suspected it might be the last time he ever did.

  Or maybe she just wanted to give Kimber a heart attack when he saw his father was gone. Either way, going to the roof sounded like a good idea.

  “You’ll have to keep quiet,” she warned Kimber’s father.

  My lips are sealed.

  She chuckled, enjoying the man’s subtle sense of humor. Reader returned to the bed and sat heavily. Warm rivulets of blood trickled down her sides. She ignored it and grabbed the knife she’d hidden beneath her pillow. Ripping the white sheet, she fashioned a cape out of the fabric and drew a deep breath, preparing herself for the effort required to stand.

  “You can’t be seen like this,” she told the man and wrapped the cape around his shoulders.

  I haven’t worn one in too long, he replied.

  Reader opened the door and returned to the wheelchair. She turned him with difficulty but soon discovered the chair was a welcome support for her battered body.

  Pushing him to the foyer, she pursed her lips when she saw the front door was unlocked again, as if the doctor either forgot or was ignorant of how dangerous the city could be. She opened the door. The poorly laid out apartment was such that the door wasn’t visible from the living room, and they escaped without alerting anyone.

  More blood trickled down her torso and legs, creating a spattered trail of red behind her.

  Five minutes later, she pushed the wheelchair out of the elevator and onto the uneven expanse of the roof. Several tenants appeared to be using one part of it for storage, and someone else had tried to grow a garden in another area. Reader chose a vacant spot and stopped walking. The evening mist clung to her eyelashes and skin.

  The second she tried to step away from the support of the chair, she dropped to her knees with a grunt of pain.

  “I think I’m dying, too,” she said mirthlessly. The blood was coming faster, as if she had ripped every last one of the stitches the good doctor had sewn into her.

  This is as good a place as any. We can stare at the sky and die together, two enemies locked in final combat with life, the wheelchair-bound man replied.

  “Why not.”

  And smo
ke. I haven’t had a cigarette in years.

  “You got cigarettes? I don’t.”

  My wife’s jacket pocket.

  Reader scooted on her knees to the jacket resting over the back of the chair. She pulled out a change purse and lighter. Unzipping the pouch, she breathed in the familiar scent and grinned.

  They’re medicinal. Supposed to be for her arthritis pain.

  “Superhero to the last day,” she said in approval as she pulled the marijuana cigarettes from the purse.

  She set down the cigarettes and pulled herself to her feet. Unsteadily, she wrapped one arm around his body and hauled him up. They toppled to the ground, and she groaned as he landed on top of her.

  “You can’t fool me. I know you’re not crippled,” she told him. “Move.”

  He did so and managed to roll off her and onto his back.

  Lightheaded, Reader clawed her way to her knees once more and crawled to the marijuana and lighter.

  Ah. The stars. It’s been too long since I could see them.

  She collapsed down beside the dying superhero and lit a cigarette. Only a few stars were visible through the clouds and mist, and only for seconds at a time.

  “Here.” She passed the cigarette to him.

  With a trembling arm, he accepted it and placed it clumsily to his lips.

  Reader lit one for herself next. “What was your code name, before you retired from the great game?” she asked and rested back, gaze on the same stars above.

  Einstein.

  “That’s terrible.” The drug was beginning to take effect. Reader’s body started to relax, and the pain retreated.

  It was accurate. I moved at the speed of light.

  “Horrible,” she pronounced.

  What’s yours?

  “Reader.”

  That’s no better. Sounds like you’re a super-librarian. He was amused.

  “I control minds!” she snapped. “I’m not a damn librarian.”

  Nothing wrong with books. If I had enough time left, I’d like to read again.

  “If you keep pretending to be crippled, you’ll have to settle for audiobooks.” She released a deep breath. “Anyway, all the good mind control names were taken. The Supervillain Council would only approve this one.”

  I suppose it could be worse.

  They fell into comfortable quiet, each drawing off a cigarette. The effects were more pronounced on her weak body than usual, and Reader couldn’t help feeling grateful the pain was fading. Conventional medicines, while they would relieve her pain, also masked her superpower, rendering her vulnerable.

  After her last clash with her brother, she couldn’t afford to be exposed, and if she were meant to die this night on the rooftop, she would prefer to pass away painlessly.

  How did you end up with my son?

  “Relax, Einstein,” she murmured. “We aren’t together. He found me dying in an alley and tried to rescue me.”

  He’s always tried to take care of others at the expense of himself.

  “I suppose you’ll try to tell me he’s a good guy.”

  There are few, but they exist.

  “I don’t believe it.”

  You’re alive, aren’t you?

  “Speaking of people posing as someone they’re not,” she retorted, “why are you pretending to be a veggie?”

  It seemed kinder on those around me.

  “How so?”

  My accident almost destroyed my wife and did destroy my son. But they both accepted this, and I feared causing them more pain by giving them hope right before I died of cancer. They’ll grieve less this way.

  “Kimber turned out fine,” she said. “And your wife needs to be told her perfume is too strong.”

  Kimber will struggle the rest of his life. He’ll never fully recover from what he went through.

  “Hmm.” Reader shelved this thought, unable to follow it when her mind was beginning to float towards the sky with the smoke of her cigarette. “You should tell them. Surprise them and then laugh at their expressions when they realize you can talk and walk. But wait until your last day alive, so it’s more of a shock.”

  Spoken like a true supervillain.

  She closed her eyes. “I’m not official yet.”

  Do you want to be?

  “I did, before we decided to die tonight,” she replied wryly.

  It’s a lot of responsibility, and rarely does your kind live past your prime.

  “Is being a human potato really any better?”

  I get to see my son from time to time. That’s worth any kind of pain.

  “How noble. Once a superhero, always a superhero.”

  One day, you may have something more to live for than your legacy. Friends. Lovers. People who light a fire beneath you and push you to become more than what you are.

  “Let’s hope not. Sounds awful.” But as she spoke the words, her thoughts flickered to her brother, who had been her only friend until his betrayal.

  One time, I faced the Magnifier in New York, Einstein, the former superhero, said.

  “No way!” she exclaimed. “He’s one of my idols.”

  Einstein began talking about the epic battle. Reader listened, grateful for the entertainment after a long, boring day of healing.

  When they had finished their smokes, she lit them each another. Einstein continued to tell stories, interrupted only when he paused for a deep drag from his cigarettes.

  For Reader, the night took on a surreal quality. The stars danced then disappeared, fog morphed into fantastical creatures, and the retired superhero beside her regaled her with stories of his glorious exploits fighting others of her ilk. Her pain slid away, and darkness began to edge her vision and mind.

  When her companion fell silent, she breathed a deep sigh.

  Thank you for this. It’s not like your kind to want to help mine, Einstein said.

  “We can pretend we had a battle to the death and we both lost,” she replied.

  It would have been no match, kid. How can your power stand up to mine? You just read minds.

  “You arrogant carrot!” she snapped. “I can do more than read your thoughts. I can control them, too.”

  Not impressed.

  She snorted. “Whatever. You’re lucky we’re both on this roof dying.”

  “No. You’re … lucky … bitch.” He said the words aloud in a gravelly voice that was rough from lack of use.

  “Shut up, potato,” she returned, grinning. “Are the stars getting darker, or is it just me?”

  They are.

  “Guess my brother will get his way after all,” she mused. “If I have to die, I’d rather die with one of our kind than with normal humans.”

  Agreed.

  Twisting her head to face the vegetative superhero, she tried to sit up. Her body didn’t respond, and lifting her head left her dizzy. “You have to do it, Einstein. You have to talk to your family one last time so you can die with their shocked expressions on their faces. Be just a little villainous before you go. Just once.”

  He was amused but didn’t respond.

  At the edge of her mind, Reader sensed the approach of more than one person without being able to identify them through the thick soup of her thoughts. At least, not until she smelled the stench of some kind of flower wash over her. Her nose wrinkled.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Kimber breathed.

  Someone else gasped.

  “Dying, son. Leave us be,” came the gravelly voice from beside her.

  Reader laughed hard enough in the shocked silence that ensued for more blood to squeeze out of her abdomen.

  “Did he … did you … James …” Einstein’s wife said and hurried forward. Another form was with her, and they knelt beside the old man. “Kimmy! Help us get him into his chair!”

  The darkness was closing in around her. Reader’s eyes closed, and she listened to the sound of them helping the old superhero into his chair.

  �
��Not your time, Einstein,” she said.

  “If I see you … tomorrow … I will kill you,” Einstein wheezed. “Bitch.”

  “James!” his wife exclaimed.

  Reader laughed again. “Game on, you vegetative bastard.”

  Another gasp was followed by a round of urgent whispering. She heard them push his chair away and smiled, content to die alone in the dark.

  “I’ve never met anyone as stubborn as you.” Kimber said, kneeling beside her. He pulled her mask off.

  “Noooo!” she groaned.

  What was he still doing here? Reader didn’t have the energy to reclaim her mask or push the doctor’s hands away when he began checking her wounds. She opened her eyes. As if anticipating the condition she was in, he had brought a first aid kit.

  “What the hell did you do to my father?” he asked, gazing down at her as he pulled bandages free. Kimber’s blue gaze was stormy. He was classically handsome with a square jaw shaded by beard growth, broad forehead, and a head shaved bald. “Why the fuck did you bring him up here? He’s frail, and so are you.”

  “Relax,” she replied.

  Kimber’s eyebrows went up, and anger crossed his features.

  “We’re good. He wanted some air, and I wanted to die,” she replied. “Have you ever considered wearing a mask? You would look good in one. Your jaw is really nice and you have no hair to get in the way.”

  “None of that bullshit,” Kimber replied firmly. “Why and how is it my father decided to talk to you, a complete stranger, after not speaking to anyone in years?”

  “I can read minds.”

  “Jesus.” Kimber worked to stop the bleeding and then sat back. He lifted her off the roof.

  “Leave me.” She squirmed, pain shooting through her at the movement.

  “I’m not going to let you die up here!”

  She sighed noisily.

  “You may be two kinds of crazy, but you somehow influenced my father to talk,” he added. “Even if I wanted to leave you on the rooftop for endangering him, I couldn’t, because helping you is the right thing to do.”

  “I want my mask,” she said.

  “I don’t care.”

  Reader rested against his chest as he carried her. She breathed in his scent, a combination of toothpaste and oak. Unaccustomed to being vulnerable or dependent upon anyone else for any amount of time, she found it harder to stay awake than it should have been. But something told her if there was anyone she could trust, it was probably the do-good son of a retired superhero.

  “Remember to lock the door,” she told him as she slid into unconsciousness.

  His response was lost on her, and she sank into peaceful slumber.