by Ross Buzzell
“Then take me to sunlight.”
The mystery man is gone in a flash of bright azure blue light. Natalie puts a hand up to shield her eyes from the flash. With the man gone, the bar is silent again. The occasional plank of wood falls to the ground and the rest of the structure, which had the entire roof ripped off and almost all of the far wall obliterated, falls quiet.
A few seconds pass. They feel like an eternity, but a soft glow illuminates the crater left behind by the man. Natalie climbs to her feet. Glancing down, she sees her stomach through the hole in her shirt, not even a scratch left from the near fatal injury… She does not have time for that; she needs to find out what just happened. As fast as her shaky legs can take her, she gets to the crater’s edge and looks in. At the bottom is a brilliant azure piece of cloth and a beautiful silver ring with a matching blue stone on a chain. Without a moment’s hesitation, she grabs the ring and the cape, throwing the chain over her head and letting the ring fall down her chest as she begins to leave what is left of the bar, not wanting to be inside in case it fell. Natalie reaches the front door, her dirt-caked fingers fumbling at the old brass doorknob. Her hands are shaking from fear, shock, excitement; she could not tell—perhaps one, maybe all of them. The knob finally gives way, she opens the door, and a small “ding” rings out. If she was not shaken to her core, the ding would have made her laugh; the entire building ripped in half by an alien and one of the only things standing is the tiny bell at the door.
She steps out of the bar, the door closing behind her. About that time, her legs give out as she falls against one of the few standing walls as all of the raw emotions that are just skimming the surface finally sink in. She puts her hands over her mouth and lets out a muffled scream to, at the very least, give herself a sense of control as she gradually slides down the wall and onto the dusty brown ground. Tears roll down her cheeks, blurring her vision and creating streak marks in the dirt that has found a home on her face. Her heart pounds so hard that she fears it will burst out of her chest. Blood rushes through her veins so quickly that her body temperature skyrockets, causing sweat to rapidly form all over her body. The cool night air begins to cool her; she can feel beads of sweat rolling down her back, only to be met with a chill as the temperature drops.
Through the blur of her tears, she sees two bright headlights shine on her like a spotlight. The familiar creek of an old rusty door fills the air as the footsteps of Stan grow louder with each step. She can hear him mumbling something under his labored breath as he moves faster than he probably has in years.
“Christ on the cross, Natalie. What happened? Are you hurt?”
Stan kneels down next to her. She feels his hand press gently on her shoulder. It is comforting, but not enough to quell the storm within her. Natalie tries desperately to regain control of herself as the shock to her system still has not let up. She fights to get the sentence out, but her mouth will not make the words. After a few moments, the only words that manage to stammer from her dirty lips are:
“Hurt… healed me, he-he healed me… G…get me out of here… take me home, Stan.”
She needs to say nothing more. In the blink of an eye, he hooks his arm behind her knees and places the other under her armpits. He may have been old enough to be her grandfather and has the smile of one of those arcade clowns you knock the teeth out of, but he is still very strong. Natalie feels weightless for a moment as Stan carries her to the car. His presence helps calm her mind as she begins to play the entire event back in her mind. She was cleaning; the creak of the car door echoes in the darkness; there was an explosion; she feels the old leather seat gently kiss her skin; it was not an explosion of light but of wood and nails and glass. Her three-point seatbelt clicks in at her side; there was a cloud of dust that shot from the ground as the being hit; the door creaks and slams shut; only after the initial impact does the blue wave of light slam into her; it dispersed in all directions like a ring as far as the eye could see.
She hears Stan climb into the truck; it rocks as the old shocks creak under the weight of a new person inside of it. The engine turns over, giving off a soft roar before Natalie feels the transport begin to move backwards. She plays the next few seconds over and over in her mind. “The man was hurt, he came in at an angle, not straight down. Perhaps he was altering his course not to hit me directly. He apologized and healed me… HOW THE HELL DID HE HEAL ME!?!” she screams inside of her mind. She can see Stan glance over at her out of the corner of her eye as the truck bounces down the unpaved back roads that leads to her home.
“I don’t know who he was,”
She states softly as she looks out into the black expanse of the barren desert before her.
“But whoever he was, he saved my life…”
She slowly turns her attention to Stan as she holds the cape close to her chest as if it is the only life preserver on a ship that is sinking.
“… and this stuff is his.”
Stan glances over for a moment as his headlights illuminate an old aluminum-sided house about half a mile up the road.
“An whachya plannin on doin with it?”
Natalie looks down at the alien objects in her possession. Her eyes lock on to the Lorian family crest engraved on the side of the ring. Part of her tells her to throw it away, to bury it, to destroy it, and to not tell anyone about the events that have just transpired. Deep within her, like the gravity well of a dead star, she feels a primal pull to hunt the man down who saved her life, wherever he is, and return to him what is rightfully his. Her fingers grip the fabric tightly; it is smooth like silk and soft like satin and yet it is undamaged and unsullied from the fall. The cloth is just as bright a blue as the man’s eyes were. The truck slowly rolls to a stop as Stan parks on the far side of a barbed wire fence that surrounds the small house. A beat-up truck, older than even Stan’s, sits in the gap of the fence for the driveway.
“I don’t know how, but I am going to find him and give this back to him. Keep the car running I will be right back.”
She reaches for the old dented metal door latch, giving it a tug. It feels loose. She worries for a brief moment that she may accidentally break it. The door creaks as it opens once more and Natalie hops out of the truck before placing the cape back in and shutting the door behind her. Exhilaration grips her; she is finally doing it. She is finally leaving, and most importantly, she has a true purpose to do so. Her dirty hair bounces with each confident step as she approaches the tattered old house that has not had any upkeep in years. She cannot afford it and her boyfriend would spend all of his money on beer and fights on the TV.
Her boots clomp loudly as she climbs the three deteriorating steps up to the screen door that is barely on its hinges. She grabs the cheap aluminum and opens the door. Instantly, the smell of beer and the sound of fighting bombard her senses. She does not have time to deal with this tonight. The sight of the stranger standing before her with the glowing eyes has ignited something within her and she is not going to quell the sensation. Without breaking stride, she walks over the forty-year-old carpet, through the living room with twenty-year-old furniture and Justin, her bum of a boyfriend, sits in one of the old recliners, a beer in his hand and six more empty bottles next to the chair. There is a fight on the TV, which is enormous and state of the art, and took up an entire paycheck.
“Hey, babe! While you’re in there, could you get me some food!”
His words are slurred. He is drunk again. She does not respond; instead, she goes into the bathroom and turns the shower on. The stained metal showerhead shakes and groans before finally producing water that has a brown tint to it. She groans at the sight of the rusted water before turning and leaving the shower to meet equilibrium. With a swift turn, she enters the bedroom, grabbing a small bag from her closet. She begins to place as many pairs of clothes as she can into it. She hears Justin call out again, but the sound of the fight and the water drown out his words. Undoubtedly, it was about her getting him food.
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nbsp; She looks down at her bag. With a smile, she nods. It looks like she has everything. Zipping it closed, she slides over to the side of the bed and lifts up the mattress. There is a small stack of money hidden between the box-spring and mattress itself. She has been saving it for almost a year now and knows this is a safe place. Justin never cleans, so he would never find her stash and spend it frivolously. Grabbing her bag, she picks up a small pile of clothes on the floor, the ones she had to change out of in a hurry for work before going into the bathroom to shower. She shuts the door and tries to lock it. The lock breaks off into her hand. Natalie rolls her eyes and gives out an exhausted sigh before placing the piece of broken metal on the counter and removing her filthy, ruined clothes and dropping them to the floor in favor of the now properly colored shower water.
She wastes no time in getting cleaned up and is out of the shower just moments later, drying herself and putting her fresh clothes on. The jeans are a little snug, but that is only because she has just gotten them out of the dryer earlier that day. She pulls her arm through the sleeves of the blue plaid button-up shirt and fumbles with the buttons for a few moments, her hands trembling as the terror and fear of almost dying is replaced with the prospect of adventure, and finally, she can be free. She stops three buttons from the top before she wipes the mirror of the condensation that has built up on it. Picking up a hair tie, she places it in her mouth before tugging her long locks back behind her head into a high ponytail. She frees the holder from her mouth and ties her hair up. She leans forward slightly and peers into the mirror to make sure all the dirt is off her face. The ring swings away from her body, water drips off of it, shimmering a little as it hits the white sink below. Grabbing deodorant and her toothbrush, she stuffs them into her bag and opens the bathroom door. Standing before her is her overweight, drunk, deadbeat boyfriend, the likes of whom she was not sure why she was still with.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
He glances at her breasts and gives an immature chuckle before his face darkens. He points at the ring.
“Who the hell’s is that?”
Natalie does not respond; she only rolls her eyes. He was always jealous, even in a town where the person next closest to her age was two and a half times older. She grabs her bag and pushes past him. He roars after her.
“HEY! I’m talkin at you!”
She does not break stride; she should have done this months ago. The sensation is empowering as she yells back, not even turning her head to look back at him.
“Away from here!”
She opens the front door and begins to walk down the front steps.
“And away from you!”
“HEY!”
he yells out as he stumbles to the front door.
“Don’t you walk away from me!”
Natalie’s adrenaline is pumping; this has been the most exciting night of her life. Typically, that would be saying something, but she met someone that shook her to her core and she HAS to know who it is. She throws up a middle finger as she looks at Stan’s truck. He is bent over, shuffling for something under the dash.
“WATCH ME!”
She yells back before dropping her hand. A small burst of light flashes around Natalie briefly, so quickly, in fact, she is unsure if she has actually seen anything. The sound of shattering glass accompanies the flash she may have seen. Natalie turns to see a broken beer bottle on the ground in a semi-circle a few inches behind her and Justin passed out on the front steps. She is baffled for a moment; he actually threw a bottle at her. With a scoff and an eye roll, she gets back to Stan’s truck.
She gives the window a soft knock. Stan sits up, holding a pack of dip in his hand, having found the treasure he was scrounging for. He gives her a mostly toothless smile as he puts some dip in. Natalie grew up in the south; dip is not a strange concept to her and while she has indifference to others doing it, she would never touch the stuff. She gets into the truck and puts the bag on her lap. Unzipping it, she grabs Konner’s cape and places it in the bag as well before closing it back up again.
“You okay there, sweetie?”
Stan’s voice is soft as he looks at her with a bit of concern. Natalie nods briefly as she grips her bag in anticipation of what is to come.
“Yeah, I just need to get out of here.”
Stan shifts the old truck into gear. It lurches backwards as the sound of gravel being crushed under its weight reverberates through the cab. The truck rolls to a stop before Stan puts it in drive and begins his journey back down the gravel driveway to the dirt backroads. After a few moments in silence, Stan finally speaks up, not taking his eyes off of the dark road ahead.
“Y’know, I knew your mother when she was ‘bout your age. All she ever wanted to do was leave this place but never got ‘round to it… She’d be proud to see you following your dreams.”
“Thank you, Stan, but I’m not following a dream. I am not leaving to pursue my own goals but to find someone.”
Stan’s grey, unruly eyebrows raise further, wrinkling his aged forehead.
“Oooo, you talkin’ ‘bout that alien boyfriend of your? One that hit the bar?”
Natalie can’t help but give off a soft chuckle at the comment. He always busts her chops over small things, but he makes sure she knows he is only kidding.
“Whoever he is… Whatever he is will need what he left behind returned to him… I intend on doing that.”
There is a moment of silence before the thought finally strikes Natalie. She laughs and looks over at Stan, slightly befuddled.
“Wait… when did you start believing in aliens?”
she asks as Stan pulls onto a paved road, heading the opposite direction of the bar.
“Oh, I’d reckon the same time you did… I was less than a mile away when it all happened. Saw the whole thing and turned around just as soon as that strange blue wave got outta sight. I’m just worried ‘bout you, though. How’d you know he’s friendly? I mean, he could be here to hurt folks. Ruined my favorite bar, nearly kill’d you…”
Natalie shakes her head, the idea that whomever she saw was bad just did not sit well with her. If he had come to hurt people, why would he save her?
“He didn’t destroy the bar on purpose, Stan. He fell from the sky. Plus if he was here to take over, don’t you think he would have let me die rather than heal me? Which I don’t know how he managed; plus he looked hurt as well, so wherever he disappeared to, I hope they can help him because it looked like he had lost a lot of blood.”
Natalie lets her view move back to her passenger window. The truck rattles as it transitions to a bridge. A sign is illuminated briefly. “Now Crossing Green River.”
“Where you headed, then?”
Natalie lets her mind drift back to her childhood, when she and her family were still whole. Her little brother would always be reading these grand stories of superheroes overcoming evil and saving the day and they always seemed to take place in New York. The words of her high-school English teacher ring through her mind. “Write what you know.” Super powers are real. Do people actually know that or do they just get lucky? Either way, what she knows is that New York is a common trope for the comics her brother would read. It is a world hub for everything, and in this country, it is the best place to start.
“New York, I think.”
“Well, how’d you know he’ll end up there?”
Stan asks as the car bounces while exiting the bridge.
“Write what you know. My English teacher used to say that. A lot of comic books with heroes in it take place in New York. Seems like as good a place as any to start.”
Stan begins to laugh and shake his head as he exits to the outskirts of Green River, Utah, pulling into a bus station there. It is dimly lit with old lighting that flickers with even the slightest breeze. Bugs swarm the light as a lonely bus sits under a lamp by the converted 1950s gas station where they now sell bus tickets. Stan puts the truck in park and turns to Natalie, his arm resti
ng on the top of the seatback. His face is somber and serious, the light from the lampposts starkly lighting one side of his face, which emphasizes the folds of wisdom in his skin.
“Look here, missy, you’re a smart gal and I told you that if you ever left, I would help you put this town in your rear view. The day I made that promise, I bought you an open ticket.”
He reaches into his old worn out denim jacket and pulls a piece of paper out that was wrinkled and bent in some places from staying in his jacket. Extending his arm, he offers the old ticket to her. This is too generous. Natalie cannot accept this gift, but it would be insulting her only friend if she does not. Gradually, she reaches out, letting her fingers grip the wrinkled ticket she graciously takes as he continues.