Superman's Cape

by Brian Spangler

  In a vain move, almost silly he considered, Jacob tried playing with some of the settings on a monitor. He rolled a knob, tuning the crispness of the screen in and out as if missing a favorite show. The same emptiness filled his head and dampened his heart. I’ll have to wait, he thought, and then slapped the side of the monitor. He slapped it again, harder, his palm stinging and fingers tingling. The sound surprised a few around him and even surprised him. Embarrassment approached his face but then quickly faded when he heard Jill’s voice.

  “Oh here you are! What are you doing?” she started to lecture, but then wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a small peck. Her lips felt soft and her smell was good. The thoughts of the hurricane evaporated from his mind as storms sometimes do. He turned to welcome her sight and to put his arms around her middle and pull her close. He decided he didn’t care who was watching. He decided he didn’t care who at the station saw them together. Let them stare and wonder. Jacob smiled at the thought and what might be some rumors floating around later that day.

  “Couldn’t sleep and wasn’t doing anyone any good, just lying around at home.”

  Jill leaned forward, and with her thumb wiped some of the lipstick from his mouth and cheek.

  “Actually, I haven’t been able to sleep in days, it seems,” he muttered while glancing back at the monitors. He shrugged it off, dismissing it, as his attention was hers to have. With her fingers, she lifted his chin. Their eyes met and her smile turned to a frown.

  “You don’t look well,” she said, “You look bad … you do. I think you should go home.” Jill reached over and picked up one of his hands. She began rubbing the top, and told him how she felt. She told him how scared she was at last night’s follies on the floor of the ‘Rust Bucket’. How it had opened her eyes. She told him she was falling for him. And that she was afraid to fall further – especially, if it meant he might not be around.

  He tried to read Jill. He tried to listen to Jill. But the hurricane on the monitors stole his attention. Even if it was for just a second, it was a second more than it should have been. The fog in his eyes spread into his mind and clouded his thoughts. The clouds cycled around every part of his brain much like Hurricane Dani on the screens. A small storm erupted as he tried to read her.

  But there was nothing. He was drawn to the hurricane in his head. His thoughts. His feelings. All of him was caught up in the circular motion of the storm. He closed his eyes to steady the room. He reached to that area of his brain where his gift called home. He reached where his gift spread its wings and performed its magical scan of those around him.

  But the room remained empty and cold. It was dead. He tried to turn it on. He wanted to read Jill. To see her the way he’d seen her that first night. When it was special. He looked in the dark corners of the room. He kicked through cardboard boxes lying on the floor, thinking someone put his gift in one of them. He wanted to see. Not with his eyes, or his hands, but with his mind. He couldn’t. He couldn’t see anything. He only saw and felt confusion and fear as it grew in him. Jacob opened his eyes. A sudden feeling of loss overwhelmed him. The loss felt like an amputation. He could not see. His gift was stolen from him in a spiteful way that struck him with panic.

  “Jacob! You’re really HURTING ME!” Jill’s voice yelled out, as others looked up from their desks to see what was going on. Jacob jumped. Jill’s voice startled him and pulled him back from the ruins of his search. His pain and confusion was joined by awkwardness and shame as he dropped her hand.

  “I’m sorry … I am so so sorry! Jill, are you okay?”

  Jill pulled her hand back as she gave Jacob a hurt look. “You’re scaring me,” she breathed in a whisper shaking her head. Jacob’s heart sank. It sank further when he saw the imprint of his fingers on her skin.

  “Oh my God. Jill. I am sorry,” he repeated as Jill pulled her hand closer to her body and walked away.

  Jacob felt his co-workers staring. He didn’t need his gift for that. Some held faces of disbelief. Others painted expressions of concern. Some protective. Some with anger. He moved his eyes from person to person. Faces he’d known for years … faces he could always read. Any day. Any night. Any time. Jacob pulled and pushed his stares to each of his friends. With each he saw the same thing. Emptiness.

  Panic continued as the surrounding world disappeared and became sightless to him. Uncertainty and dread soon followed, breeding across his skin like a rash. It grew red on his neck and threatened to close his airways. A siren warning plagued his ears and swelled his eyes. A constant smell of burn filled his nose. A gunpowder burn, he thought. The kind he remembered smelling at the ‘Rust Bucket’. He pushed the thought out of his head and tried to shake all that was strangling him. Some of his co-workers went about their business while others continued to stare. All of them might as well have been ghosts. They were life-size figures dressed in mannequin clothes that could move and talk and eat.

  He wondered if the tumor had somehow padlocked the door to his gift? If that was it, then why now? Why right now, and not weeks ago, he argued. Jacob thought about the last thing the Doctor said to him. It’s over a decade old, but the tumor did grow. Substantial growth, he heard the doctor say, or rather, sensed that was what the Doctor wanted to say.

  “OK folks, heads up! We’re on in a few minutes!” Andy’s voice bellowed out over the cubical walls. Upset and agitated, Jacob put his hands down. He turned his chair back to the weather maps and stared at Hurricane Dani.

  “Listen folks, opportunity is knocking! I need a field report for this afternoon’s broadcast,” Andy started to announce. “I need someone out in Maysville. We’re pulling a report on a boy lost in Croatan,” he finished.

  “Maysville – Croatan,” Jacob mumbled. His gift might have been playing a game of hide and seek but a sudden and urgent need to be at Croatan replaced the loss he was feeling. It might be temporary but it was something to grab and hold onto. It wasn’t his gift at all, or maybe it was. He pushed against the confusion. He only knew there was something in the name and the need to be there. Jacob rose to his feet and turned in Andy’s direction.

  “Jake,” Andy posed, looking surprised. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be home.”

  “Couldn’t sleep --” Jacob started, “-- I’m fine.” He let his eyes wander around the room, they’re still strangers, he thought. His knees went weak as he grabbed the top of his chair to steady himself.

  Andy hesitated, “Are you sure?” he asked.

  Jacob let go of the chair and struggled to stand up.

  “I’m sure,” he answered, mollified. And pushed to stand a little taller.

  Andy gave Jacob an uncomfortable look. “You know I already have someone slotted to take your spot for the weather today … I mean nobody is expecting you to work …” Andy started to say.

  “… It’s all good Andy. Someone else can do the weather,” Jacob interrupted. Something compelled him to go to Croatan. It demanded him to be there.

  “Andy … I’ll take it,” Jacob exclaimed before Andy could field a volunteer from the office.

  “Take what?”

  “The piece … the field report with the lost boy in Croatan.”

  Andy nodded a confused look. He paused a moment, and the look turned to one of concern.

  “Jake, come on, …” he started to say, shaking his head.

  “… Andy, No. Let me do this. I can do this. It is a small five minute piece and we’ve talked about my going out into the field,” he explained and realized his voice was growing louder as Andy stepped back. “It’s perfect,” Jacob pleaded in a softer tone.

  “And you’re sure you’re up to it?” Andy questioned.

  “I can do this!” Jacob exclaimed, as the strength trickled from his legs. He leaned into his chair. “I can do this,” he said again, but this time could only mumble the words.

  Andy shrugged his shoulders and looked around the room once more as though hoping someone else would volunteer. N
o hands went up. Andy motioned the go-ahead sign to Jacob, but his eyes remained fixed in saying no.

  “Just remember,” Andy began, “this is only a five minute report. We were going to go live on it, but I think we’ll just tape it. Bring it back and we’ll air later during the afternoon show.”

  “Thanx, Andy,” Jacob added, as his strength weakened and a cold sweat made him shudder.

  “Jake, take van number 2. And grab Steve for your tech. Oh, and take Jill with you.” Jacob looked up when Andy gave the last part of his instructions. He saw a similar question from Jill as she turned around.

  “If you feel sick – IF you feel sick at all,” Andy demanded, and then looked at both Jill and Jacob. “Anything at all … then I want you to give the piece to Jill. Understood? Just feed her the sheet and let her take the story. No negotiations on this. Got it?” Andy finished, and nodded his head until Jacob nodded a reply.

  When Andy left, Jacob collapsed back into his chair. The strength in his legs was gone as a fevered sweat ran chills across his shoulders.

  “Jacob?” Jill gasped, entering his cubical, dragging a chair along from behind her.

  “Hey, are you okay?” Jacob interrupted, and reached for her hand. He was thankful she came over to his desk. Even more thankful he didn’t break her hand. He picked up her hand into both of his and pulled it close to him.

  “Just scared … and concerned.” Jill reached her other hand up and began to wipe his face.

  “You’re not well Jacob. You’re really not,” she told him, and rested her hand on his face. He couldn’t read her but he could see fear in her eyes.

  “I’m sick,” he said welcoming her touch. Senses or not, her hands to his face lifted him.

  “Jacob, I think you need to be back in the hospital or something.”

  “Please help me get to the site.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t explain it. But, somehow, I know I have to be there.”

  “Can’t you hear how ridiculous that sounds?”

  “I know. I’m sick. But, I need to go to Maysville. I need to see them.”

  “See who?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Then how do you know you need to go? This doesn’t make sense.”

  “I just know I need to be there … please.”

  “There will be other stories – after you get better.”

  “Jill, please.”

  Jill remained quiet for what Jacob thought felt like hours. He couldn’t make it there without her help. Without anyone’s help.

  “Jill please,” he whispered.

  Jill finally extended a reluctant hand. Jacob answered by putting his hand to her shoulder as she helped him to his feet.

  He struggled with his strength, but with Jill’s help, he worked in preparation for the trip to Maysville. Jacob and Jill and Steve readied themselves to visit the boy’s home. He readied himself to see them. He was going to Maysville because something inside him told him to. It didn’t matter what the story was or who it might be about. He felt compelled to answer the persistent demand that seeped through him. It directed his motivations. He was running on autopilot. It lifted him past the turmoil that was a hurricane of his thoughts. His autopilot was helping him survive a mind that continued to search for a gift that was lost. He tried to function and to steer through a storm’s eye that stole his sight.

  18

  Kyle turned his head, coughed, and then turned it again. A strange weight on his face moved apart from him. This time he turned his whole body so that he could sit propped up on one elbow. Without warning, he retched whatever was inside him. He swallowed back against the burn that stayed deep in his throat while the smell of what came up lay dead on the ground. The smell of everything was dead to him. For a moment he stared at the vomit and watched as its temperature mixed with the early air and whispered little eruptions of steam.

  When Kyle moved his head, he felt the weight of his face pulling away from him. He thought if he moved too fast his face might stay behind or even fall off and join his steaming puddle of vomit. He moved his hand over his nose and then over his eye. He remembered the bog mud. He remembered the cut on his arm. He even remembered running from the boar. He turned to see what was behind him and found he was lying at the base of a large tree. Touching the skin of his face he realized why he couldn’t remember anything after the run from the boar.

  He tried to press on his nose and was met with immediate pain that circled back behind his eyes. The pain pushed bee sting tears that tickled like spring pollen. A throb registered high in the back of his head, spread through his skull, and pressed down on the front of his face as he sat up. When he cleared the sting from his nose, he tried to open both of his eyes, but only succeeded in seeing through one of them. His right eye drank in everything around him. With it he saw the trees and the woods and the bog mud he escaped from. But his left eye only showed him blackness and sometimes an occasional gray horizon when he separated his swollen eyelids. Even then the effort to open his eye was only enough for a touch of light to peer through. He ran his fingers over the mass that was the remains of his left eye. Dried blood encrusted the lips of a large cut. The cut interrupted his eyebrow from one corner to the other. I’ve got three eyebrows now, he thought and in his mind he imagined a swollen eyelid hanging loose like a handbag. He tried not to cry. He tried to reach past the tears and continue to feel what was left of his face. Another cut ran down the outside edge of the bone around his eye. Pushing on the swelling he found more of the same pain. It turned his stomach and taunted the bee stings who screeched back and fired off more tears.

  “Oh, man – my face,” he mumbled, but what he heard was ‘O nan – nigh dace.’

  Kyle walked his fingers from his eye and nose to his mouth. There he found his upper lip was cut in half. The separation broke all the way through to the other side. Enough swelling hung over his mouth to kick around and bully any of the words he tried to say. When he pushed forward with his tongue he found two or three of his front teeth were gone. In their place his tongue poked through a gaping hole – hitting the underside of jagged stumps stirred a hornet’s nest. He wanted the bee stings back as he pulled his tongue from his teeth.

  “O nan – nigh eddin dace,” he tried to say as more tears from the pain and shock spilled. A sneeze tickled deep inside his face. This is gonna hurt, he thought. The sneeze bloomed and exploded his nose into a bath blood and abuse. Kyle cried harder after the first sneeze. He tried to control the crying as the sneeze gave birth to two more. He cried because his face hurt. He cried from the images in his brain that showed a boy with mutant features. A monstrosity that was ugly and scary.

  “O nan, O nan … nigh dace!” he bawled.

  With his good eye he could see he was still wearing a sleeve of blood on his arm. The blood was drying and beginning to flake little tiles of brown patches. Some of the tiles were missing while others were still moist. The cut oozed a clear fluid that reminded him of the sap leaking through the bark on the trees. Only his sap was mixed with threads of blood. He was glad it wasn’t the rush of blood spilling down his hand like he remembered seeing the night before.

  He wiped his hand at the black sleeve. He tried to clear his arm of the flakes and to uncover more of his pale skin. A fresh line of blood ran from the cut. It was warm and made small turns left and right through the tile maze. He left his arm alone fearing he could press the cut open further.

  Attempts of sunlight fell around the pine needle floor. The sun was throwing yellow rays on him and he thought the light might be getting brighter. Sun is coming up.

  “What tine id it?” Kyle mumbled to the tree tops. Through the tall green branches he saw the other side. The sky owned broken clouds that showed him a family of stars he considered to be leaving. The stars were bright enough to see, but he could also see the clouds and their fire orange and red edges. The details of color around the clouds were the kind you only saw at sunrise. Enough camping trips
told him that. Enough sleepless nights that ended in a cold damp tent confirmed it. All night, he thought.

  “I deen out here all night,” he mumbled and for a moment was thankful for the slap in the face by the tree. It knocked him out cold. And although there were cuts and bruises and some broken bones and missing teeth, the hit on the tree had literally knocked him into the next day.

  Kyle lifted his hand to his eye. He moved his fingers over the swollen tissue and the open cut. He felt the heat of the blood beneath his skin and wondered what his face would look like in a day or two when all that fever skin faded to a rainbow of dark black and blue. It’ll be a cloud of bruises, he thought, but with edges of purple and green. Kyle half smiled and then thought maybe the black eye would look kind of cool. He imagined walking in the hallway of his school – kids pointing and talking about him and the massive black-eye he wore.

  Kyle thought of his home. Where his momma and Jonnie were. He thought of how angry his momma would be at him for staying out all these hours. Or maybe she is scared – scared I won’t come back, he thought. He saw the picture frame in his head. And from deep in his gut, he felt sorry. He thought about how his mother wanted to hold him and take away the hurt he was feeling. He’d give anything to feel her arms around him now. He wanted her to comfort him past the wounds of the last hours and tell him it would be all right.

  “Momma’s here. Momma loves you,” he heard her say in his head.

  Kyle reached for the front of his neck as the burn he retched up tickled the back of his throat. He closed his good eye and listened. He heard the sounds of small animals like squirrels or chipmunks busily making their way to and from places only they know. He heard the swaying back and forth of the tops of the trees as they brushed against one another. He heard a pine cone fall and then heard two and three more join in. No birds. Still too early? he wondered. He heard none of their mocking or their scolding or even their feathered games of chase as he’d often see them do. He listened for the tree frogs, but they were also quiet. I’d eat one of them, he thought. Ummm, maybe not.