Copyright © 2015 by Princess Jones
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Blackbelle Books
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Super
Search
by
Princess Jones
Chapter 1
“Stop, motherfucker!! Don’t make me chase you!”
I was running down 83rd Street as fast as I my tired legs could take me. There weren’t very many people on the street that late at night and the ones that were out were quickly moving out of my way. In front of me, there was a guy in all black running away from me. Even though it was a warm summer night, he was wearing a ski mask. I guess he was taking tips from the latest edition of Robbery Costumes for Dummies.
Moments earlier, he had robbed Cranky Beans, the coffee shop where I worked. I was closing up and counting down the money when he appeared out of nowhere. I refused to give him the money and he shot me twice. I guess he thought that was the end of it.
What he didn't know was that I was a Super. A through and through bullet wound only took a few minutes to heal. But even though I had the ability to survive a point blank gunshot wound, I couldn't prevent myself from being fired if I let someone take all of the money from my shift. I couldn’t afford to let him get away with that money.
He ran across Central Park West and into the Park. I followed right behind him. There were a jumble of thoughts going through my head. Some of them were about how much I disliked running, which is a problem in my line of work. But most of my thoughts were about how I’d be fired if my boss found out I’d lost the money from the day. I also thought about having to tell my parents that I’d lost another job--my second within a couple of weeks. I pulled the last of energy I had in my soul and soldiered on.
Central Park is huge and the sprawling footpaths snaking all through it. If I lost him inside the Park, I’d never catch up. Fortunately for me, he didn’t seem to have any idea where he was going. At a fork in the path, he made a right turn and inadvertently chose the way that dead ended into an observation overlook. During the day, people ate lunch on the benches here and looked out into a grassy knoll it faced about fifteen feet below it. The robber looked around and slowed, realizing that the only real way down was back down the path I was blocking.
My lungs were screaming for me to lie down on the ground and just die. But I ignored them and huffed “Give me the bank bag. Just give me the bag and I’ll let you go.”
The robber pointed his gun at me for the second time that night. He wasn’t as confident as he’d been back at the store, though. Both his hand and his gun were visibly shaking. “I-I-I shot you,” he stammered.
“Yeah, I know.” I tried to keep the irritation out of my voice but it was difficult. I didn’t feel like explaining it to this guy. Not that I could if I wanted to. I’d taken a Super oath, after all. “And it didn’t do shit then and it won’t do shit now. I just want the money back. Give me it to me and I will leave you alone.”
I wasn’t lying but I was hoping that he would put the gun down. He could have shot me as many times as he wanted and I would have come back from all of them. But it would have hurt like hell.
The robber lowed his gun. “What the fuck are you?”
I ignored his question and took a few steps closer to him. “Just. Give. It. To. Me.”
He didn’t make a move to hand over the bag. He looked around again, calculating his options. I took the opportunity to lunge at him and grab at the bag. I got a hold of it but he was still holding the other side. “Hey, get away from me!” the robber yelled.
I tried to yank it from his hands. “No! Give me the bag. I can’t lose another job, man!” We played out that tug of war for a few seconds.
I used whatever energy I had left and wrenched the bank bag from his hands. The burst of euphoria I felt at finally getting the bag was cut short by the realization that the force of my final yank caused me to lose my balance and fall right over the railing.
As I fell the fifteen feet to the pavement below, one thought bounced around my head:
FUUCCCKKK!!!!
I hit the ground with an unceremonious thud. Pain shot through my most of my lower body, forcing a scream from my throat. I felt like someone had ripped off my legs. I took a few quick deep breaths and look down at them. Both of them were crumpled in sickly positions that legs just don’t make when there aren’t multiple broken bones. Through the bloody fabric, a shard of bone stuck out of my right leg. It almost hurt just as bad to look at it as it did to actually feel it.
I looked around. This area of the park was deserted. No one saw my spectacular fall from the overlook above. I took a few calming deep breath and leaned toward my legs, pushing my legs back into their normal positions. If I could get the bones to line up again, the whole thing would go faster.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the bank bag and remembered that I had successfully gotten it back. Even though I was still experiencing intense pain while my bones fused back together, I managed a smile. I had lost the battle but I had won the war. Now if I could just walk again, I’ll be back in business, I thought.
Twenty minutes later, I was limping my way back to Cranky Beans with bloody, ripped pants. By the time I made it back to 83rd and Amsterdam, my limp was gone. Not bad for a girl who was basically crippled half an hour ago.
The store was just as I’d left it when I ran out to chase after the robber. The fact that no one had wandered into the store while I was chasing the robber was another piece of good fortune. I quickly put the bank bag back into the safe where it belonged, turned off all of the lights, and locked up. I needed to get home, get cleaned up, and get some sleep for the job interview I had in the morning.
Chapter 2
I was flying.
But I wasn’t just flying. I was soaring. I was doing every trick I’d ever seen in any movie or cartoon that featured a cape--loop-the-loop, barrel roll, power dive. The wind blew my hair in every which direction and the world was at my feet. I had never been happier.
But then something was wrong. I was trying very hard but I couldn’t go any higher. In fact, I was losing altitude and couldn’t control my descent. I fell out of the sky, screaming the whole way.
Just before I hit the pavement, I opened my eyes and saw my flowered bedspread. Near my left hand was the ketchup stain that had sent my mother into a rage when she saw it. Slowly I remembered that I couldn’t fly but that I did have job interview this morning, which was a crucial step toward moving me back out of my parents’ place.
I checked the time on my phone on the bedside table. According to its digital display, I should have been out of the door 30 minutes ago.
Shhhhiiiiitttt! I’m late!
I stared at the phone a little longer, hoping that my eyes would refocus and the time would read differently. No such luck. I threw the phone back on the table where my roommate and partner-in-crime, Crash, swam around his fishbowl in frenzied circles. “How could you let me oversleep, Crash?!”
I didn’t wait for him to answer. Fighting through the tangle of sheets, I rolled out of bed. When I got home the night before, I’d picked out my outfit and set the alarm on my phone which was two steps more than I normally did each night. But this job was interview as important. Since I’d moved on from my last job, I’d been working as a barista at Cranky Beans. I needed a real job and this interview was the first one I’d snagged since I started seriously looki
ng. It was a sales rep job that would come with salary, benefits, and all the honey buns I could eat.
I wanted this job.
I needed this job.
Not for the first time, I wished I had a much more practical Super power, like super speed or laser vision. Instead, I was stuck with the ability to take a firm punch--something that hopefully wouldn’t come in handy at a job interview.
After throwing on a business casual pantsuit that was only slightly wrinkled, I thought about brushing my teeth. No time, I decided. Instead I ran over to the mirror and fought my frizzy hair into a slightly less-frizzy bun. Then I popped a piece of gum in my mouth to tame my lingering morning dragon breath.
Grabbing my ratty messenger bag from the floor, I gave Crash one last stern look. “If I don’t get this job, it’s your fault!” I yanked opened the bedroom door and stalked out.
*****
Outside my parents’ brownstone, I power walked to the train station to catch the 1 train down to the 23rd street stop. I headed to the line at the turnstile, digging around my bag for my MetroCard. I found it just in time and swiped it through the card reader with a flourish. The soft buzzing sound politely, yet insistently, indicated that the credit on the card wasn’t going to cut it. I swiped it through a couple of more times in hopes that the reader was wrong or that some magical subway elf would put money in the account. The guy behind me issued an impatient grunt and I gave up.
I turned and pushed back through the crowd to the line in front the MetroCard machine. When it was my turn, I inserted my card and then dug around my bag for my wallet. The guy behind me murmured something about getting a smaller bag but I ignored him. Finally, I found the wallet and added a few bucks to my MetroCard. This time my MetroCard made it through the turnstile just fine and I took the stairs down the subway platform heading south.
It was prime rush hour so the platform was filled with office workers on their way to cubicles and kids on their way to desks. Cranky Beans was close enough that I could walk to work. If I got this job, though, I would be back to commuting on the train each morning. The train sucks but the job would be worth it.
There’s a reason the train sucks right there, I thought, giving a dirty look to a woman speaking loudly on her phone. Most of the underground subway stations in the five boroughs don’t have cell signals or Wi-Fi. It’s the one time of day people don’t walk around town talking about genital warts as if you are invisible. But the ones in the Upper West Side tend to have signal and the people around here know it.
“Well how much?” the woman went on loudly. It was really like she wanted all of us to hear her conversation. On top of that, she was wearing a pink scarf in the middle of the summer. It was one of those thin ones that’s supposed to be fashionable. And it was so long that she had it wrapped around her about a fifty times and it was still dragging on the ground. It was stupid and it made her look stupid. She adjusted it a few times and yelled into the phone “No walk-ups, either.”
It sounded like she was looking for an apartment. Join the club, I thought. I’d only been at my parents’ house for about a month but I knew I had to find a place soon. Living there made me feel like I was 15 again. All the rules and guilt without any of the financial freedom.
The woman in the dumb pink scarf caught me looking at her and for a moment we committed the biggest sin of subway commuting--we made prolonged eye contact. She scowled and walked further down the platform away from me. She continued to talk loudly on her phone but at least she was far away enough that I couldn’t make out what she was saying.
I looked down at my watch. What time is this train coming? I walked over the edge of the platform, looked down the tunnel and saw the headlight from a train in the distance. I tried to will it to move faster with my mind. It kept coming at its original pace. I sighed to myself. I can’t fly. I can’t move things with my mind. What good am I?
As I looked down the tunnel, the lady with the scarf was in my sightline again. She was still talking on the phone and still dragging that scarf around. Only this time, one end of the useless pink cloth had found its way onto the track. Why is that scarf so long? That’s the most impractical thing to wear in the world.
An image of the train coming down the track and dragging her with it by her dumb scarf flashed across my brain. I can’t say I was that concerned. She’ll see it, I told myself.
Now the train was close enough that I could hear it coming. The woman didn’t seem to be paying attention, though. She was still yelling at her broker on the phone and the end of her dumb scarf was still on the tracks.
Before I even knew I was doing it, I broke into a run toward the woman. I waved my arms and yelled for her to move away from the track. I don’t know if she heard me but she looked at me with disgusted confusion on her face and she still hadn’t put down her phone. I half tackled, half yanked her toward the wall of the platform and away from the edge, taking her scarf with us.
We were still in a jumble on the floor of the platform when I heard the train roll into the station. The woman pushed me off of her and started grabbing her stuff from the ground. “Are you crazy?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
I lifted myself off of her but I was still on the ground. “Your scarf was down on the train track. You would have been dragged down onto the tracks when the train came.”
The woman couldn’t hear me because she was screaming so loudly. “You psycho! You’re lucky I don’t call the police on you.” With that, she scrambled to her feet and ran off to board the train, taking her dumb pink scarf with her. I was still getting up when the doors closed, leaving me behind.
*****
Being a Super is not anything like what you see on the TV and movies. There is no fame or glory involved. If you get famous, you’re doing it wrong. The pay is nonexistent. And if you want to keep your license, you’ll do what the Super Council tells you to do. That includes not letting a woman get dragged to her death--even if you don’t think the world would will miss her that much.
Not all Supers are created equal. Some have bigger districts than others. Some have more impressive powers than others. In my case, I can regenerate my body tissue at a rapid rate. That’s the fancy way to say it. Mostly it just means that I get hurt and I heal faster than anyone else could. As far as talents go, it’s pretty underwhelming.
I thought about that as I looked down at my skinned palms, the only thing I’d received for saving the woman from danger. I was sitting on the 1 train, crammed between two other commuters. I had missed my train and was waiting for the next one. I turned my palms over and winced. They stung pretty badly and there was a little blood, but they were healing and would have new fresh skin within moments.
I placed my hands gingerly on my thighs and sighed. I’d taking flying over this any day of the week.
About twenty minutes later, I was at the 23rd Street station. I followed the flow of commuters off the train, up the stairs, and onto the street. Then I walked down 6th Ave toward the address the recruiter had given me. I checked the time. I was only twenty minutes late. That was basically on time in my book.
Once inside, I checked in with the receptionist. “Hi, I’m Audrey. I have an appointment for an interview with Greg. I’m sorry I’m a little late. The subway, you know?”
The receptionist’s eyes got big. “I know, right? It’s getting crazy out there. The subways are just going downhill.”
You have no idea, I thought. Outwardly, I just nodded and took a seat in the waiting area with a few more people. The receptionist called my name and asked me to follow her. “Greg is busy with another interview but Judy can meet with you.” She knocked lightly on the door of an office down the hall and a muffled “Come in,” came from the other side of it. The receptionist opened the door and ushered me inside. Seated at the desk in the small office was the woman with the dumb pink scarf.
The receptionist must not have noticed the panicked look on my face because she kept going. “Audrey this is Judy
. Judy, this is Audrey, she’s interviewing for the sales rep job.”
At this point, if I had any pride, I would have left. But any pride I’d ever had was lost years ago. I sat down in the chair on the other side of her desk and folded my hands in my lap. If she wanted me to leave, she’d have to ask me to do it.
“I’m so glad to get the opportunity to meet with you today, Judy.” I made eye contact and I used my best job interview voice.
Judy just stared at me with a combination of confusion and disbelief splashed all over her face.
“I think my past experience in sales will help me excel in this position. Also, I’ve had a lot of experience with vending machines in my life. I’d consider myself a vending machine connoisseur actually.” I laughed nervously. She didn’t join me and just continued to stare at me. “This isn’t going to happen, is it?”
For the first time since I’d entered the room, Judy spoke. “No, it isn’t. Get out of here before I call the police.”
Chapter 3
I bought a doughnut to console myself and headed back to the Upper West Side. Eating my feelings had always worked for me and today was no different. The sugary goodness pushed away any thoughts of disappointment. I’d worry about them later.
As I got off the subway, I tried to be grateful that I had a job at all. Lou, the owner of a small, boutique coffee shop called Cranky Beans, had taken me in when I was fresh from being fired and then arrested for things that weren’t entirely my fault. He wasn’t paying me much but at least I was working. It could be worse.
The first thing I saw when I turned the corner on 83rd was the red paint on the front window of Cranky’s. Shit, it happened again.
Cranky’s had its own personal graffiti artist. For the past month I’d worked there, three times someone had defaced the large picture window that lined the front of the store. I used the word “artist” literally. It was usually some complicated scene with a hint of something vulgar. This time, it was an overly ornate calligraphy version of the words “Fuck Cranky Beans.”
Super (Novella): Super Search Page 1