The Supervillain and Me

by Danielle Banas

  “I’m looking for … uh … you know, just…” Somehow I knew Hunter wouldn’t believe a fib about a lost earring. The scales and the gills did a good job of making him look like the ultimate supernerd, but there was a sharpness to his eyes as he scanned the room, sucking in every detail before his ocean-blue gaze eventually settled on me. He was more intuitive than he let on.

  “I’m looking for…” I crossed my fingers behind my back. “Tampons.”

  Hunter paled. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Tampons,” I repeated. “My mom died shortly after I got my … you know … so Dad started buying me tampons and sometimes he … keeps them around … for me?”

  Did that even make sense? I wasn’t sure, but Hunter’s face grew steadily redder beneath his mask each time I said the t-word, so I kept at it, hoping if I said it once more he’d forget seeing me at all. “He keeps them in his desk,” I said. “The tampons.”

  “O-kay, then.” Hunter tripped over a flipper as he struggled to turn around. “Uh, okay. Right. You seem like you have this under control. I’m going back to the photo shoot.”

  “Cool.” I tried not to grin as he shuddered. “Oh, and Fish Boy?”

  “Yeah?” he croaked.

  “Can you not tell my dad or Connor about this? They get a little squeamish whenever I say tam—”

  “Okay! Yep! Gotcha! I’ll do that—or I won’t rather. Don’t worry, they won’t hear a thing from me.” With another flipper-flapping shudder, he stumbled from the room.

  “Boys,” I muttered.

  * * *

  I shielded my eyes against the setting sun as I hurried back to the bus stop. My mind was whirling. E.D.D. Who was E.D.D.? Were the letters even significant, or had I spent too many evenings listening to Iron Phantom’s vague conspiracy theories?

  I tilted my head to see the top of the nearest skyscraper, wondering if the photo shoot had ended. Connor wasn’t visible up there, but then again he never was unless it was necessary. Superheroes were champions at Lurking Creepily Out of Sight.

  The crossing signal turned green, and I jogged to the other side of the street. It was nearing that time of day when Morriston’s creepy, crime-ridden streets turned even creepier and more crime-ridden and most people called it a day and drove home. I pulled my Taser from my bag—just in case. I wasn’t crazy about walking to my bus stop in the growing twilight, but I found myself pausing on the street corner anyway, my heart thudding painfully. The quickest way to the bus was to pass the City Bank where my mom was murdered.

  I weighed the pros and cons. I could take a longer route, but if I did then I might miss the bus. I’d have to call Sarah to get me—or admit to my dad that I ventured downtown without his knowledge. No. I would have to risk it. If I held my breath and walked really fast, then the bank would be out of sight before I knew it.

  I took off at a brisk pace, trying to think of song lyrics. Feast and bury … and something else. The hulking marble building with its golden doors and tinted windows was at the forefront of my mind. Admittedly, I was far too distracted by memories of my mom to really pay attention to where I was going.

  And of course that was when I felt the hand on my arm that pulled me into the alley.

  I shrieked, driving my Taser toward the attacker’s ribs. They dodged me once, then dodged me twice when I thrust my elbow at their jaw. I aimed another attack with the Taser, but they caught me easily, clamping a palm over my lips. I opened my mouth, determined to bite their fingers in half, only stopping once they snickered and stepped back.

  As my eyes adjusted, his tall figure emerged from the shadows. The black super suit made him practically invisible, but no one else had bright green eyes like his.

  “You have got to stop trying to hurt me,” he said.

  “You have got to stop showing up out of nowhere! What the hell, Steve?”

  The super chuckled. “Steve. That sounds almost as strange as Iron Phantom.” He peeked out of the alley, looking right then left before tugging me toward a darkened alcove between a run-down movie theater and an apartment complex. “And showing up out of nowhere is kind of what I do—teleportation and all. A big, bad supervillain has an image to keep up, do I not?”

  “You’re not a villain.”

  He flashed me a toothy grin. “I have a feeling that means you got my latest note.”

  “Possibly.” I grinned back at him. “If that wasn’t you yesterday, then where were you?”

  “Would you believe me if I said I was at home, thinking up really cheesy superhero one-liners that I can use the next time I stop a mugger from attacking a pretty girl?”

  “Oh?” I felt myself blushing. “And what have you come up with so far?”

  He cleared his throat. “Well, this one is my big opener. I think it’s important to knock their socks off right away. So here it is.” He cleared his throat again. “Hey, you. Stop.”

  “Wow. I’m shaking. You’ve put me on the straight and narrow with that one. Never will I have dreams of thievery again.”

  “Hey, you’re the one who said supers were lame.”

  I shrugged, sheepish. “Maybe I changed my mind.”

  “I’m really glad to hear that.”

  “Me too.” I scanned the seemingly deserted streets. “Someone could see you around here, you know.”

  “Then what a lucky day it would be for them.” We ducked into another alley, but if someone crossed our path, a six-foot-something guy wearing a mask would be hard to miss. “Maybe they won’t try to kill me when they see me.”

  “You’re so full of crap.”

  He nodded. “I’m just emotionally constipated. It’ll pass.”

  I laughed, causing his fingers to tighten around mine. Everywhere he touched tingled, like I’d shot myself with my Taser by accident. The skin on my palms, the back of my hand as he grazed his thumb over my knuckles, my hip bone when he brushed against me while moving farther into the shadows. Each point of contact. I was on fire because of him.

  “I … I…” And I stuttered. Fantastic. “I was in city hall’s makeshift offices today,” I told him after I regained some composure. “Snooping. I might have found something.”

  “You did?” His voice leapt in excitement.

  “Possibly. Do the letters E.D.D. mean anything to you?”

  “Ed?”

  “No, E.D.—”

  “I know. I’m just saying it sounds like Ed. Not that I know an Ed. Or an E.D.D. Is that a person, do you think? Or…?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I was thinking the same thing. I’m not even sure if it’s relevant. No one at my dad’s office was acting weird—well, no weirder than usual.”

  “Hmm…”

  “But I am wondering if there’s a connection between whoever ordered the microchips and the person who’s framing you.”

  Iron Phantom pointed a finger in my face, less than an inch from the tip of my nose. “See, Abigail? That’s how I knew this arrangement would work. You’re smart.”

  “Are you saying you’re not?”

  He rolled his green eyes. “Not at all—”

  “Thank you for your modesty.”

  “—but it’s nice to have someone on the inside, you know? So … has your dad said anything, uh, off-color recently?”

  “Not that I’ve noticed. We barely talk. He’s working all the time. He’s freaking out, thinking you’re to blame. He has no clue what’s going on.”

  I peered out of the alley. We were only a few doors away from the dreaded City Bank, and I didn’t feel like having another freak-out about my mom in Iron Phantom’s presence. He pulled me back into the shadows, out of sight of a mother and daughter standing in front of the bank’s ATM machine, frowning while he watched me.

  I gulped. “Things have been different … since my mom died. He tries to act otherwise, but I can tell he’s still hurting.”

  “You all are, I’m sure,” Iron Phantom said. He crouched against the brick wall behind us, watching the bank.
The mom was still pressing buttons at the ATM while her little girl tossed a teddy bear in the air, then spun around to catch it.

  I nodded. “I guess he’s under a lot of stress.”

  “I suppose. But…” I watched as he wrung out his hands. “Maybe—and don’t get mad at me for saying this—but maybe your dad is just…”

  He fell silent. Blinked.

  “Just…?”

  “Abigail, maybe he’s just—”

  The rest of his sentence was left hanging in the air when a silver van screeched around the corner and opened fire on the City Bank.

  Bullets shattered the glass front door. They left deep grooves in the marble face of the building, making pinging sounds as the shells bounced along the ground. I felt hands press my body into the sidewalk, Iron Phantom’s heavy weight on top of me before he disappeared and materialized in front of the bank. He’d wasted time protecting me, I realized with a sharp twist in my gut. But I wasn’t the one who needed saving.

  Iron Phantom bent over the woman as the dented van screeched around the corner and raced out of town. A shredded teddy bear rolled into the center of the street.

  Murder.

  As the sticky puddle of blood spread along the sidewalk, I doubted the victims would make it. A child and a … a mother. Dead in front of the City Bank. Two innocent people murdered in cold blood. And for what? The criminals hadn’t taken any money. They fled like cowards instead.

  I suddenly couldn’t breathe. I was frozen.

  The woman’s limbs were sprawled at awkward angles, her blond hair fanned out like a halo. Was this how my mother looked when she died?

  Iron Phantom’s lips moved, but I couldn’t hear his voice. My eyes had shifted from the mother to the little girl’s fingers as they twitched on the concrete toward her teddy bear.

  She was still alive. We could save her.

  Seeing her move broke my trance, and I raced down the sidewalk. Connor would be here soon. And the police and the media were never far behind.

  “You can help her, right?” I knelt next to the girl and examined her fragile body. So much blood. Far too much to tell the extent of her injuries. But judging by the way her chest barely moved, I knew she was moments from death.

  Iron Phantom turned away from the woman on the ground by the front door. She wasn’t moving. We both knew she was already gone. “What?” he asked, his voice cracking.

  “You can heal people! You can heal her! You have to do something!”

  The girl’s eyelashes fluttered open for a second, and her tiny fingers splayed across the sidewalk. “Mommy?” Her voice was a whisper, barely there.

  I squeezed the girl’s bloody palm and looked up at my superhero. Another life couldn’t be taken outside this bank. He had a chance to save somebody—that’s what he was supposed to do. He was one of the good guys. I knew he was.

  Blood oozed over the girl’s white sweater, staining the knees of my jeans. I opened my eyes wide, pleading.

  “Abigail,” Iron Phantom said. “I can’t fix this. It’s…” He gestured at the dark puddle of blood circling the girl’s body. “It’s too much. It won’t work. I—”

  “Can’t you try?”

  Iron Phantom bit down hard on his bottom lip, turning it bright white where teeth met skin. Before I could beg again, he dropped to his knees, his hand hovering over the girl’s chest. Clenching his fingers into a fist, he slowly lowered his hand into the blood.

  When he had used his healing powers on me, it seemed easy. Over in a few seconds. But now coming in contact with such deep wounds caused his entire body to seize up. His hand shook violently, smearing his glove with blood. He held in his pain for only a moment before it burst forth. His screams bounced off the buildings, howling as if he was being subjected to torture. His skin was paper white. Tears trickled down his mask, falling onto my fingers.

  The little girl sat up slightly, sucking in a deep breath of air. Her big brown eyes opened wide, but she just as soon collapsed in my arms. I felt for a pulse, dizzy with terror. A faint thump-thump greeted me. She was still alive. But only just.

  Iron Phantom cradled his hand to his chest, leaning down to rest his head on his knees. Hesitantly, I placed a hand between his shoulder blades, where the stickiness of sweat seeped through his suit. A distant cry of sirens grew closer. Connor and Hunter would be here any second. They couldn’t find Morriston’s supervillain crouching over a crime scene on the sidewalk.

  “Red Comet is bound to show up soon,” I said.

  “I know.”

  “You need to get out of here.”

  “I know. It’s a bit … difficult … at the … moment.” I couldn’t see his face, but a soft weeping met my ears. I settled the unconscious girl on the sidewalk, using my jacket as a pillow under her head before standing over the super.

  “Come on, you need to get up!” I pulled at his arm.

  “Abigail, I—” He couldn’t catch his breath. “I don’t think I can.” His right hand—the hand he placed over the girl’s chest—still shook uncontrollably, like he had been electrocuted. He took another deep breath and managed to flex his fingers.

  “Please help me. Please,” he said. I started to pull him up by his underarms, but stopped when a soft whimper escaped his lips.

  It sounded like Mom.

  I pulled him a little straighter. “Stay with me, okay?”

  He continued to mumble as I dragged him, his boots scraping across the sidewalk, to the side of the bank. Two words, over and over and over again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  “I know,” I tried to console him. “It’s okay. I promise it’ll be okay. Please, just move. It’s not safe.”

  “My fault,” he mumbled, half conscious.

  “No. Not your fault. You did great, all right? Just … keep … moving.” With a final tug, I dragged him around the corner and propped him against the building. I swiped my fingers under my eyes, shocked to see tears glistening on my fingertips. I hadn’t even noticed I’d started crying. I just witnessed the murder of a woman—one who looked extraordinarily like my mother—and all I felt was numb.

  “You need to leave,” I told him.

  It looked like he was regaining some strength. His head wasn’t drooping to his chest at least.

  Clenching his fists, he breathed deep. “I don’t have the strength to teleport you with me.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll stay here.” A loud thump from the front of the bank indicated that Connor had finally shown up. Iron Phantom didn’t know it, but Red Comet was capable of taking me home too. He opened his mouth to argue, but the squeal of sirens had him backing into the shadows. “Go!” I pushed his shoulders. “Please go.”

  He gritted his teeth in pain, and soon I was left staring at the side of the building.

  When I returned, the front of the City Bank was a mess of caution tape, television cameras, and superhero spandex.

  An ambulance screamed as it fled down the street, and I said a silent prayer for the little girl inside, trying to push away the thought that she would be yet another girl who would have to grow up without a mother.

  Red Comet stood motionless on the edge of the sidewalk. I knew what he was thinking. Three years ago, it was our mom lying torn and broken at this very spot.

  My brother looked at the police and reporters gathered at the scene. Nearly twenty people surrounded the bank, but the air was frighteningly still.

  “What are you waiting for?” Connor roared. “Someone fucking do something!”

  Our eyes met across the sidewalk. I wanted to run to him, I needed to run to him, but with the crowd pressing in, I knew that was impossible. Too suspicious.

  Digging my fingernails into my palms, I desperately tried to push away the images. But the crescent moons of blood that beaded through my skin had the opposite effect. They brought it all rushing back. Blood, pain, death. Blood, pain, death.

  Mom.

  I wanted to shove the crowd aside; I wanted to wr
ap my arms around my brother’s waist and lose control. But I couldn’t. And that made the pain hurt a million times worse.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Dad sat on the couch nursing a glass of scotch when Connor and I came home. His tie dangled loosely around his neck, and the television remote was clutched in his fist. I was shocked to see him home, sitting on the couch like everything was normal after today’s tragedy. Normally he would work late into the night and barely get an ounce of sleep. He never relaxed in the living room and watched … home videos of Connor and me?

  We hadn’t seen these videos in years, mainly because they featured my mom just as much as they featured me and my brother. We couldn’t bear to see her moving or breathing on-screen when she was incapable of singing in the kitchen or even walking through our front door in real life.

  Connor looked from my dad to the television. The video currently playing featured a five-year-old Connor and a three-year-old me making mud pies on the back porch of our old brick house. As we watched, the tiny version of Connor smeared mud on both our cheeks like war paint. Or like a mask. A blue blanket was tied around his neck like a cape. Eleven years before Connor received his powers, he was still a superhero.

  “Connor, sweetie, smile for the camera!” our mother’s voice called from offscreen. Tiny Connor grinned, his mouth full of baby teeth and sticky peanut butter, and waved at the lens. Tiny Abby was busy drumming a plastic shovel on a bucket.

  In our living room, I noticed my brother’s shoulders tense under his super suit. After the scene at the bank, the last thing we needed was to hear our mother cooing like everything was okay.

  Everything was not okay.

  “Turn it off,” Connor growled. Most humans would show fear if a super angrily advanced on them, but not my dad. He crossed his legs and patted the cushion next to him. The video paused on a shot of Connor pulling his pants down and mooning the screen.

  “I’m proud of you,” Dad said. Ice cubes clinked as he twirled them in his glass. “I’m so proud of you. You are both so strong. We all miss your mom, and sometimes I wish … I wish I could be a better father. But I’m trying.” His lips quirked up in a weak smile. I wondered if he was only being heartfelt because of the scotch.