Supervillainess (Part Two)

by Ford, Lizzy

  He listened for any sound of an ambulance.

  Nothing.

  Making his decision, Kimber leaned his body weight against the car and pushed. If the car weighed more than him, he’d be shocked. It required less effort than pushups!

  Kimber carefully rolled the car onto one side and then planted his hands on the roof. The broken frame bit into his palms as he pushed the car upright. Blood streamed down his forearms, but he ignored it, more concerned about the girl trapped inside the mangled vehicle.

  Too irritated by the cheap car to heed the looks he was receiving, Kimber stood on the jamb of the door and gripped the roof. He tore it off with ease that disgusted him. Dropping back to the ground, he leaned in and bandaged the girl’s bleeding arm with her sweater before bracing one leg against the engine that had pinned her legs. Grunting, he pushed the metal mass away, stopping when her limbs were clear.

  Kimber yanked her seatbelt loose and bent, lifting her out of the car. He rested her on the ground, away from the broken glass, and propped her head up with his leg.

  “Hey – prop up her legs,” he called to one of the people standing around without looking up.

  A teen boy hurried forward to help and carefully lifted her bloodied legs.

  “Hang in there,” Kimber whispered, worry sliding through him as he gazed at the bones protruding from her lower limbs. He pressed one hand to the wound in her side. With her wounds addressed to the best of his ability, given his circumstances, he could do little else but wait.

  Relief flooded through him as the sounds of the sirens neared and then grew abruptly louder as the first responders turned onto the street in the middle of which he sat.

  He checked her pulse, unaware of the strange silence around him until he looked up, in the direction of the sirens.

  The crowd had gone still and was staring, some at the car and some at him. Kimber’s brow furrowed. He glanced at the car he’d disassembled with his bare hands, realizing how strange it must have seemed to the onlookers. But if they felt what he did – the absolute flimsiness of the vehicle – they’d understand. Anyone could’ve done what he did.

  Dropping his gaze, he checked the girl’s pulse again and then turned his palm to face him. The pain from metal tearing his skin had vanished, and so had the wounds. He didn’t dare reveal this to the people already regarding him as some sort of freak, so he kept his palm facing away from the crowd.

  Seconds later, the crowd parted for two paramedics and two firemen to rush through. The girl was whisked onto a stretcher and rolled towards the waiting ambulance. The paramedics communicated rapidly about the girl’s condition.

  Covered in someone else’s blood and shirtless, Kimber stood somewhat awkwardly. His eyes didn’t leave the girl until the ambulance doors closed, and it pulled away. He wiped blood on his pants and glanced around. The attention of the onlookers was split between the puzzled firemen standing before the dismantled car and him, with more than one person pointing and whispering.

  Kimber took a step back, then another, not at all interested in remaining long enough to talk to the firemen. If they discovered who he was, and worse, that he had been publically shamed and fired for being a drug addict, he’d be run out of town again. And this time, he’d have nowhere to go.

  Sidling through the crowd, he broke free and hurried back to the alleyway. Ducking into the narrow space, he paused to lean over, overwhelmed by the rush and the worry that characterized working in an ER. He was almost giddy from adrenaline, and the muscles of his legs and arms trembled, as if he’d spent two hours at the gym instead of a couple minutes lifting a toy car. When his breathing steadied, he pushed away from the wall and began jogging again. He circled the accident area, which was soon blockaded by police, and ran home.

  When Kimber walked into his house, he was careful to close the door softly enough not to alert anyone who might be present. He took the steps two at a time to the second floor and dashed to his room. The rush hadn’t yet left him, and he stood in the center of his room, reliving the incident with a combination of disbelief and pride. He wasn’t as useless as he’d felt since leaving Sand City; he could still help people, still save lives.

  Shedding his bloody clothing, he took a quick shower, mind racing. The accident had given his confidence a booster shot, and he began to consider all the ways he might make a difference here. Maybe Igor was right; maybe he should do volunteer work for a while, until he found the right path. Helping others recharged him, and he preferred this rush to the depressive stage he’d fallen into since returning home.

  His mind decided, Kimber left the shower and dried off before wrapping the towel around his waist. He reached for the toothpaste with one hand and the faucet handle with other. Buoyed by the prospect of helping others, he was deep in thought when the handle broke off in his hand.

  Kimber looked down with a frown. It had snapped right off, leaving only a small ridge he could use to turn on the water.

  “This place is falling apart,” he said, aware his father hadn’t been able to work on the house during the past three years. He set the handle down and made an attempt to grip the ridge, so he could turn on the water.

  The metal crumpled between his fingers.

  Okay. That shouldn’t have happened. Kimber dropped his hand. “Unless it was rusted out.” Ready to brush his teeth in the guest bathroom, he shook his head and grabbed the tube of toothpaste.

  It exploded in his hand.

  Kimber opened his grip and stared at his hand.

  “Kimber?” Igor called and pushed his bedroom door open.

  Kimber turned and nudged the bathroom door closed. “Igor, we need to talk about knocking,” he called. “Or better yet, why don’t you just wait for me to come downstairs?”

  “It’s okay. I’m a eunuch.”

  “Way too much information, Igor,” Kimber replied. What was it about Sand City villains that they never understood appropriate boundaries?

  “It’s important.” Igor pushed the door to the bathroom open.

  Kimber started to object, but Igor thrust his smartphone into his face. Kimber blinked and watched the images of him tearing apart a car. It had been uploaded to YouTube – and already had five hundred views.

  On the surface, it looked really weird, as if he’d been possessed by super strength.

  “It’s not what it looks like.” He sighed. “Out,” he said firmly. “This is my personal space. I don’t want you in it.”

  “But, Kimber –”

  “Out!” Kimber closed the door. He locked it this time and returned to the sink. Wiping his toothpaste-covered hand on the towel, he picked up his comb. It bent beneath his grip, and he quickly gentled his touch. What the hell was wrong with everything in his life that even his comb freaked out around him?

  He finished with his hair and opened the bathroom door to see Igor seated at his desk.

  “I set out your clothing,” Igor said and motioned to the jeans and t-shirt on the bed, beside a folded pair of boxers. “I ironed everything.”

  “Igor,” Kimber began with some exasperation.

  The nanny looked at him, waiting with a smile.

  He’s as lost as I am, Kimber reminded himself. “From here on out, I can handle picking out my clothing, okay?”

  “I just want to help.”

  “You do more than enough – more than I do – around here. So, no more stalking me to the bathroom and no ironing my boxers,” Kimber said gently, hoping the overeager nanny got the point without being offended.

  “Okay.”

  Kimber waited for Igor to leave so he could change in the privacy of his own room.

  Expectant, Igor remained where he was.

  “What?” Kimber asked finally.

  “Is that you?” Igor held up the phone again.

  Kimber turned away. “Don’t start with the hero shit again.”

  “Even I can’t rip apart a car, and I can pick up a dumpster.”

  “The car was really
poorly made.”

  “So it is you!”

  “I don’t want to talk about this, Igor.”

  “But, Kimber, don’t you know what this means?”

  Kimber closed and locked the door to his bathroom. In truth, a tiny voice was whispering the words Igor was going to say. Kimber didn’t want to hear them. He tested his unusually charged body. When he snapped his toothbrush into four pieces, he was forced to admit that something about him was very different. He tried to lift the toilet seat, only the porcelain crumbled to dust under his fingers. It took effort not to crush things when he touched them, and he tested and adjusted over and over, until he could lift his shampoo bottle without hurting it.

  Resigned, furious, confused, he left his bathroom half an hour later. To his relief, Igor was gone. The door was closed – but the window overlooking the rose garden was open. Unable to guess why Igor opened a window when the air conditioning was on, Kimber crossed to it and closed it too hard.

  The glass cracked.

  “Fuck,” he muttered and stepped back, eyeing the spider webs snaking through the pane. What was wrong with him? He understood the boost adrenaline gave someone, how it could appear to give someone superhuman strength. But this was something else entirely.

  “So you’re the new guy in town.”

  Kimber whirled, shocked to find someone else in his room. He stared at the man dressed in blue and red spandex and wearing a cape and mask. His eyebrows shot up as he tried to figure out whom he was staring at.

  “I’m just here to remind you of the agreement among our kind,” the stranger said. “I know you’re new in town, so maybe you didn’t know I’m here. I’m cool with that. But now you know.”

  “I’m sorry. What?” Kimber asked, feeling as if he’d missed out on half the conversation.

  “The Superhero Accord. Only one hero per major city, or did you not go to your training?”

  What the fuck? Kimber’s mouth dropped open. Nothing came out.

  “Again. I just wanted you to know I’m established here. It’s been approved by the Supervillain Council, and you didn’t submit an application for Chicago, to my knowledge. So, stay under the radar and move on,” the masked, caped stranger said. “We cool?”

  “I have no idea what’s going on,” Kimber managed.

  The costumed trespasser studied him. “You didn’t come here with the intent of taking over my city?”

  “I came here because my parents live here, and I had nowhere else to go!”

  “I was wondering why someone your age lived in a room like this.”

  Heat crept up Kimber’s neck. “You’re trespassing in my parent’s house. I’ll have to insist you leave immediately.”

  “I don’t want trouble. Just a friendly reminder about the Accord.” The alleged superhero held up his gloved hands. “But … do you really not know?”

  Kimber crossed to the door and opened it. “No. Now leave. Please.”

  “I don’t need the door. I’m the Ghost.” He pointed to the symbol of a G on his costume. “I walk through walls.”

  Kimber couldn’t help thinking he had left this nonsense in Sand City.

  “Stay quiet and leave soon, okay?” The Ghost turned around and approached the wall.

  Kimber watched in anticipation.

  The costumed superhero smacked into the wall and stumbled back, surprise on his features.

  What is it with super-people not being so super around me? Kimber thought, amused. But the Ghost was so shocked, Kimber took pity on him. “Um, I’ve been told I block the abilities of other … super people.”

  The Ghost faced him, and relief crossed his features. “Makes sense. I thought I’d lost my ability for a second. Two gifts make you rare. Usually, our kind inherits one skill. You’re very fortunate if you have this strange blocking power and super strength. You’ll be more effective at protecting do-gooders and annihilating supervillains.”

  “Sounds great.” Kimber had the sense of slipping into a dream. He motioned to the door, uncertain why he was panicking inside at the idea that what he learned about the super community from the Savage family was true outside of Sand City as well.

  “So, if you’re the superhero here, who’s the villain?” he found himself asking.

  “The Melty.”

  “Sounds like a sandwich.”

  “It’s no joking matter.” The Ghost shook his head. He moved to the door. “He’s called the Melty because he can melt all the bones in a man’s body in two seconds.”

  Kimber grimaced.

  “If you really don’t know what’s going on, and you need someone to explain it, you know where I’ll be,” the Ghost said.

  I can’t begin to guess where that is. But Kimber said nothing as the Ghost walked into the hallway and down the stairs.

  Kimber stood in disbelief for a long moment. Today had been beyond weird, and he could think of two people who had the knowledge to answer his questions.

  A little shaken, he left his room and locked the front door to the house. After a quick look around to ensure the Ghost had left as promised, he went to the study and stopped in the doorway.

  His father was facing the door rather than the window, his naturally bowed head tilted to the side so he could see, and a half smile on his face.

  “Ready to talk, son?” he asked gruffly.

  “Not at all,” Kimber said. “But today has been too weird for me to avoid this.”

  His father nodded.

  Kimber entered and sat down on the couch near the bay window, afraid to touch and break anything else. “What’s happening to me, Dad?” he asked at last.

  “Your superpowers are manifesting. That means you have a city that wants you.”

  Kimber’s heart skipped a beat. “My, um, application was approved?” he asked, ready to laugh this all off if his father suddenly did.

  “It was. Reader called this morning to tell me.”

  “Why do you talk to that lunatic?” Kimber snapped, unable to help it.

  “I like her.” His father smiled. “The game is addictive, son. Talking to her reminds me of a happier time.”

  “I’m happy for that, but this is crazy.” Kimber rose and paced, pausing to stare blindly at a shelf of books.

  “Want me to explain it?”

  “No. Yes.” Kimber rubbed his face. “Dad, I don’t know. It’s not real, is it? It can’t be real.”

  “But it is,” his father confirmed. “Superpowers are inherited. Whether they’re used for good or evil usually depends on the family. Our family has always fought for good. The Savages have always fought for evil. It’s this way in every major city. To my knowledge, Sand City is the only place where the super community is out in the open.”

  It sounded like the latest installment of lunacy – and yet, made sense deep inside of him, in a place Kimber didn’t know existed. He was enlightened to understand his purpose in the world after nearly destroying himself, and not quite able to escape three decades of social conditioning that told him magic and superpowers were works of fiction, not reality.

  But when he thought of his ability to heal, of his strange super strength, of Keladry and her family and everything he’d learned and seen in Sand City …

  The only rational explanation was that which his father and Igor clung to.

  “My father was a superhero,” he murmured.

  “Yes. Before I retired, my name was Einstein, and I could move as fast as light.”

  Kimber faced his father, hearing the pride in his voice. “Did Mom know? Does Julian?”

  “Your mother knew, yes. Julian doesn’t.” His father motioned to the couch again. “Sit down, Kimber. Let me tell you about the true Wellington legacy.”

  Kimber obeyed slowly, afraid to learn more about the super community but also unable to deny its existence any longer, not when he was developing super strength and his own father insisted it was all true.

  Two: Superheroes are reluctant saviors

  Two days of
experimenting, and concentrating harder on controlling his body than he ever did studying, Kimber was able to eat without mangling his silverware and drink coffee without crushing his cup. The key, he discovered, was to not let his mind wander when he touched anything.

  On the third day after his super strength manifested, he made it through his morning routine without crushing, deforming, or breaking anything at all. After his breakfast, a long run and second cup of coffee, he sat with his father and Igor in the rose garden. Igor was reading, while his father listened to audiobooks via wireless headphones.

  Kimber carefully set his mug on a side table and relaxed, content to enjoy the peaceful morning surrounded by fragrant roses and review everything he’d learned about himself and his family the past two days. When he stopped fighting the idea he had superpowers, or that there were special people like him in every city, his mind became more peaceful, even if he wasn’t quite to the point where he was convinced the existence of a community of people who had superpowers was normal.

  As long as no more surprises popped up, he was convinced he could live with his freakish abilities quietly for the rest of his life.

  The doorbell rang, and he glanced towards the two men occupied with their books.

  “I’ll get it,” he offered and rose.

  Kimber trotted through the house to the front door and opened it, taking great care not to squeeze the doorknob too hard.

  “Just need a signature,” said the FEDEX delivery person at the door.

  Kimber complied and was handed a thin envelope. He checked the addressee information as he closed the door. It was addressed to Doctor Kimber Wellington from the Sand City Council.

  He opened it with mild apprehension, uncertain what the Council could want with him. Two sheets of paper were inside. The first was a copy of his Superhero Application with a huge, red, rubber stamp across it that read, APPROVED, and was dated two days before. The other was a short letter typed in red on expensive, black linen paper.