by A. E. Clarke
“We’re gonna have to get a new railing,” I said, frowning slightly. Holly’s ears went bright red, but otherwise, she didn’t give any indication she’d actually heard me and continued with what she’d been saying.
“But if I try to do anything more than that, or in a different motion…” She lit up her palm again, like I’d shown her. I swallowed back an “Iron Woman” comment, filing it away for some time when I was around someone who would actually get it.
“…then this happens.”
She tried to shoot it out, but instead there was a loud bang, a lot of light, and it fizzled maybe a foot from her hand. It was also a lot more spread out than I think she’d intended.
Or maybe I was expecting Iron Man.
“Well, that’s something you need to practice, then,” I started, but she interrupted, raising her voice.
“What if I can’t get it, Jesse? What if I think I have it and try to do it to save someone’s life and end up killing them?” She turned to me, tears in her eyes, and I raised a finger to my lips.
“Listen, I’d love to argue with you about this, but how about we do it downstairs? I don’t even know why you weren’t down there in the first place.”
“I figured you never come out here, so you wouldn’t notice the scorch marks.”
I sighed. “I really do think it would be better for us to work together.”
“Like Batman and Robin?”
“I’m impressed! A comic book reference that was sort of relevant!”
She rolled her eyes and flipped me off. “I’m going to regret this, but—only sort of?”
“Batman and Robin aren’t really superheroes. No superpowers. They’re just heroes. And Robin is Batman’s sidekick, not his partner.” I bit back any other comparisons I could make between their situation and ours. “There’s more, but I won’t bore you.”
She gasped, mocking me. “I am shocked. Shocked! You’re—you’re learning! Wow, I—I’m floored, Jesse.”
I shook my head. “Anyway, back to seriousness.”
“Okay, now I really am shocked.”
“You’ve gotta stop hiding it from me, and we really should start training together.”
“I’ll try. I’m…I’m worried I’m going to end up being the villain, y’know? That’s what I’ve been doing so far, starting fires and killing people en masse—”
“—by accident,” I finished. “Not relevant. Don’t worry, when Marvel writes our comic books, I’ll be sure to tell them to paint you in a sympathetic light.”
She laughed. “You do that.”
I meant to grin, but my mouth decided to yawn instead. “I guess that’s a sign,” I said. “Some of us don’t have to leave for work in an hour, so some of us are gonna go to bed and curl up with their boyfriend.” I turned to go.
“Hey, you know that I’m cool with you two, right? I’m happy you’re happy.”
I smiled, my heart beating slightly faster, just slightly, and turned back. “Yeah, I know. I was never really too worried about it, but…I dunno. Family is always different. If a friend was an asshole about it, we could go our separate ways, but we live together.”
She nodded. “Makes sense, I guess. Anyway, go to bed.”
“Yes, Mom.” I wheeled around on my foot to head back indoors, looking forward to curling up with Brent again, although from the sounds of the bedroom door closing above me, he was awake again and probably wondering where the fuck I was.
I walked up the stairs, turned the corner, and felt a hand on my arm, the other looping around to cover my mouth. “Brent?” I said into his palm, but it didn’t feel right. Plus, there was an awful smell that made me screw up my face.
He spun me around to look at him. Not Brent! Someone else was in my house, and I had absolutely no idea who it was!
He was a larger man with dark hair and a scruffy beard. Before I could properly react, he’d shoved a balled-up sock into my mouth and started to tie my hands behind my back.
I tried to call out for Holly, but I couldn’t get much noise past the wad of smelly cloth that was keeping my mouth propped open.
It’s up to you now, Holly, I thought, trying to calm my breathing. Let’s go, supervillain-girl.
Chapter Thirty-Five: Holly
I was in the kitchen making my breakfast when I heard a noise over the popping of the egg white in the frying pan. I furrowed my brow, trying to figure out what it might have been.
It’ll be Jesse and Brent. With a shudder at the thought of my brother and his boyfriend making any sort of noise I could hear from the kitchen, I popped in my earbuds and turned up my music, hoping to drown them out. Singing along—quietly, so far as I could tell—I scooped the egg out of the pan and onto the toast, laying a slice of processed cheese on top to melt a bit.
In the silence between songs, I heard them again, and it sounded like they’d moved proceedings to downstairs in the dining room.
“I’m still here, guys,” I called out, shaking my head. I had no idea what they were playing at. I didn’t really want to think about the possibilities that might include a dining room chair.
I bit into my sandwich, eyes closed, and leaned against the counter. This was the only—the only—good thing about getting up at three in the morning: I could enjoy and savour my food without worrying about Jesse poking his head in to tell me I looked stupid.
I was done with my sandwich entirely too quickly and considered making a second one but decided to finish my milk and leave for work. If I was still hungry, I could grab something at the bakery.
I deliberately kept my head down as I passed by the dining room, not wanting to see anything that was going on in there. I heard some scuffling but pretended not to notice.
I need to talk to Jesse about this later…
I hesitated in the hallway, just beyond the doorway to the dining room. I was tempted to poke my head in and tell them to wait until I was out of the house, but…well, I’d already seen my little brother naked and his boyfriend shirtless. I really did not want to see anything more than that.
But…now I thought about it, it was weird for Jesse to be so self-absorbed. He was usually the one who thought of everyone else before he thought about his own gain and safety.
I took out my left earbud and listened. There didn’t seem to be any noise or movement at all, so I chanced it, closing my eyes as I poked my head around the corner.
“I’m opening my eyes, guys, so I hope you’re decent…” I opened my eyes, and whatever I might’ve said about sex instantly vanished.
Jesse was not only fully clothed—or, at least, in an open pyjama shirt and pyjama pants—he was also gagged and tied to a chair.
I don’t know how long I stood there with my mouth hanging open before I got past the shock of seeing him like that. Without thinking, I ran over, going behind him to try to untie him. Not the smartest thing I’ve ever done, definitely. My heart was pounding, and I couldn’t get a good grip on the knotted rope around his wrists, so I reached up for the gag—a tie holding what looked like a balled-up sock in his mouth.
“I don’t even—” I whipped the tie over the top of his head and pulled the sock from his mouth “—want to know what you were doing. I dunno how Brent tied that knot at the back, but—”
“It was—fuck, ow.”
“Where the hell is he, anyway?” I searched the room for something to help with the knot. “I’ll fucking kill him—”
“It wasn’t Brent,” Jesse said.
I stopped my search to look back at my brother, eyes wide. Now my heart felt like it had stopped beating entirely. Jesse was crying silently, tears streaming down his face as he struggled at the rope tied around his wrists. “If it wasn’t Brent…?”
“It was—it was some random guy. There’s someone in our house, Holly. He surprised me, and…”
“It’s okay, we’ll figure it out, I promise.” I put my hand on his shoulder and turned his chin so he had to face me. “Calm the fuck down. I need to go g
et a knife for your ropes, and I don’t want you hurting yourself before I get back, okay?”
I squeezed his shoulder and ran from the room, almost expecting to bump into a large, hulking figure, but there was no one there.
Then I heard muffled screaming from upstairs. Whoever it was had found Brent, which was awful, but all I could think was, It’ll give me enough time to free Jesse.
I darted into the kitchen, pulled a steak knife from the block, and turned just in time to be hit by a chair. I managed not to fall over, but barely, catching myself on the counter, and got my first look at our attacker.
He reminded me a little of the homeless guy from the bus, which made me falter. How could he be here? He was dead. I killed him. He had the same scraggly brown hair, and the same slightly crazed expression on his face. But then I realized this guy’s hair was longer, brushing his shoulders, and he had a lot more facial hair.
We stood there, facing each other, neither of us making any sort of move. I’d say he was about thirty or so, and he had a terrifying intensity in his eyes as they flicked from my face down to the knife in my hand and back to my face.
For a good ten seconds, the only movement was his eyes, the flicker of his tongue wetting his lips, and our chests heaving. I waited for the right moment. His flicked down to the knife again, and I kicked out, my shin connecting painfully with the seat of the chair he’d thrown at me, shoving it back at him as hard as I could. He didn’t fall like I’d hoped, but he still needed to catch his balance, and it gave me enough time to escape.
I ran back into the living room, where Jesse was still struggling against his bonds and screamed as I came at him with the knife.
“It’s me, but not for long. I’m sorry if I get you.” I tore into the rope tied around his left wrist, cursing because it was taking too long, but I finally got some purchase on the rope, and threads started to pop out as they were snapped by the serrated edge.
“Holly!” My name caught in Jesse’s throat as a large form hurtled through the air and hit me squarely, knocking me over. I managed, through years of experience rough-housing, to avoid hitting my head too hard on the ground.
That could have been the end of this—of us, I thought, struggling underneath him. I kicked out, connecting with his crotch, and he rolled over, doubled up around the pain.
Wriggling free, I crawled across the ground, and he made a grab for my ankle. His fingers dug in like talons, and though I kicked out a couple times, my leg betrayed me and went where he directed.
I rolled over and swung my heel, hitting him in the forehead, which dazed him enough for him to let go of my ankle and for me to break free and get back on my feet. I took a couple steps away, no idea how to get out of this situation.
I looked around, searching for a way to defend myself. My gaze fell on the plain, black handle of the steak knife, sticking out from the underside of the couch.
I didn’t even look to see where the intruder was before diving for it, and he seemed to have made the same decision and discovery because he was suddenly right beside me, grabbing for my wrist with one hand and stretching for the knife with the other.
I lunged forward and, realizing I couldn’t reach the knife, curled my hand into a fist and flicked my fingers open, catching the knife’s handle just hard enough to send it that crucial couple of inches underneath the couch, out of both our reach. But he still kept trying for it…
…ignoring me for a second…and…
I was tempted.
It would be so easy for me to do what I had said earlier that day I was definitely not ready for. I could summon the electricity to my skin. I wouldn’t even need to shoot him with it. He was still holding my wrist, so he’d get a shock anyway.
But…no. I couldn’t chance it. I’d already killed all those people. Too much blood on my hands already. Instead, I threw myself backwards, pulling on his arm so he hit his head on the couch that he was digging under. I did it again, and he let go of me. Scrambling on my ass, propelling myself with my feet, I made it far enough away to grab the large vase next to the door.
“Come on, you fucker! Come get it!” Until the words were out, I had no idea I was yelling, and the noise surprised me as much as it seemed to surprise him. It suddenly struck me how silent the fight had been so far.
“Jesse, you’re okay, right?”
“Holly!”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got this clown.”
Apparently, the guy didn’t like being called a clown. Or a fucker, maybe? Whatever, something I’d said had pissed him off, and when he got up—holding the steak knife, no less—he looked terrifying on a whole new level.
His eyes shone with a creepy intensity, and he had a grin on his face that had no right to be there in this situation.
“Jesus,” I muttered, not meaning to say anything aloud. “All you need is some makeup and you could be the Joker.”
He didn’t react to that, beyond furrowing his brow and losing the brightness of the grin a little bit.
Maybe he doesn’t know who the Joker is.
I took a step towards Jesse, circling the table so it was between us and the guy, who moved in the other direction, away from my brother. I reached Jesse’s chair and leaned against him, trying to establish some sort of body contact so he’d know I was there.
I chanced a glance down at his face; he’d stopped crying and was focused on something. I had no chance to ask what, though, because in a sudden flurry of movement, the intruder jumped on the table and threw himself at me again, this time with knife in hand.
I swung the vase, cracking it on his shoulder, but he still reached me. There was a sharp, searing pain down the upper half of my bicep, and I screamed out.
He didn’t make a noise as he unceremoniously hit the ground, and I kicked him as hard as I could in the side of the head.
This fucker’s going to die.
Chapter Thirty-Six: Jesse
The rope cut into my wrists, rubbing my skin raw. I’d managed to stop crying for the most part, and my jaw wasn’t nearly as sore as it had been when I’d had that damned sock in my mouth.
I struggled again, crying out with pain. I could hear the scuffling behind me. Then the situation properly clicked, and if I’d had my hands free, I’d have smacked myself for not thinking of it sooner.
I mean, sure, I was in a kind of weird situation. I was stressed, I was in pain, and I hadn’t had these powers for very long, but…still. He’d tied me up with rope, and rope can burn!
I stopped struggling and even let my arms go completely limp. “Okay, let’s see what I can do,” I muttered. I was pissed, but my anger was struggling to go beyond the barrier I had put up around it without even thinking.
This was a situation where it was right to be angry, though, and it didn’t matter if I overreacted or took it too far. Hell, I wasn’t even sure that anything could really be called “overreacting” in this situation. A guy had broken into my house, tied me up, and was kicking the shit out of my sister. Pretty much anything we dealt out would be within the realm of “acceptable” reactions.
I consciously let myself get angry at him and quickly caught the smell of something on fire, though I made sure to keep it to the elbows down—for now.
It would be fun—and intimidating—if I could run at him, completely engulfed in flame, but I wasn’t sure I could do that without burning down the house. What I was doing was risky enough, but I could smell the burning rope, so I pulled my hands apart and was rewarded with a loud snap, and suddenly my arms were free.
I reached down to untie my legs but instead just grabbed the ropes and burned through them—and my pyjamas.
Well, at least that confirmed I can’t burn myself!
I kicked the chair back as I stood and was surprised and relieved when it landed on the guy, not Holly, who was kicking him in the face. Repeatedly. Extinguishing the flame, I reached over and grabbed her arm.
“Holly, you can stop! He’s not going anywhere anymore.”
Holly’s foot made contact with his forehead one more time before she stopped, her shoulders tense. I heard her breathe in deeply and then exhale to try to banish the tension.
“Listen,” I said, “we don’t need to hurt him, okay? We really don’t need to do anything aside from calling the police.”
Of course, as I said it, the guy on the floor proved me wrong. It turned out he still had the knife in his hand, and at the mention of the police, he drove it into my calf. I saw white for a second as it broke the skin, then I yelled, stumbling backwards, each step making me yell again—and fell onto the couch, bleeding all over the place.
“Fuck!” I reached down and tugged on the knife, but it stayed in my leg. Gritting my teeth so I didn’t wake up anyone else—like the neighbours the next street over, who might not have heard me yet—I pulled on the handle as hard as I could, and the knife came out, but not without a lot of both blood and pain.
I looked up, tears blurring my vision. Through them, I could see Holly and the intruder still exchanging blows. They looked like they were having a bar fight, and Holly was not holding out well—she’d never been a fist-fighter.
This was bullshit, and I was going to stop it.
“Use your fucking powers, Holly!” Dragging myself up off the couch, I stepped cautiously forward and winced, almost biting through my lip. Martial arts prowess or no, I wasn’t going to be much help.
I sat back down and tried to block out the distraction of them fighting. Whether it was through luck, skill I didn’t know she had, or just because the guy had been kicked in the face a dozen times, Holly seemed to have the upper hand. Placing my hands over the gaping hole in my leg, I held them there, directing my energy at the wound, hoping I could cauterize it without it actually catching on fire. The blood oozed through my pyjama pants and sweat was pouring off me. I stopped to wipe my hands on the couch—it was going to need to be cleaned anyway—tore off my pants leg at the knee and wrapped it tightly around my leg to staunch the flow of blood.