Chương 8: Libraries and Switchblades

The rest of the day passed by in a blur. Mavis and I had no classes together and I was too caught up in an angry haze to see what was going on. When the bell rang, I stalked my way through the closest approximation of an escape route I could. There was no point in going home. Gran could always tell when I was upset and she wouldn't let it go. I didn't have any cash either to numb myself in booze or even just the fantastical escape of movies. So I went where people with no money and big vocabularies go.

To the library. You see, libraries permeate with this comforting smell of old dust because eighty percent of their books never get cracked open. It's probably what turns most people off from going there, but for me that smell will always be intrinsically tied to peace, quiet, and everyone respecting the rule that we are not here to chit chat. I tried drowning my sorrows in 1984, The Crucible, even Atlas Shrugged but strangely they didn't cheer me up.

The muffled sound of some kind of ESL class taking place in one of the side rooms could be heard, while one of the librarians read to a group of four year olds about Laser Lady, Champion of Super's Rights. The windows were tinted dusky red from the setting sun, a voice over the intercom would soon tell people that they needed to leave in thirty minutes, and I still had no desire to go home.

"Then Laser Lady flew up the steps of Congress and held up a big bold sign," the librarian read, turning the pages while crocheted bracelets slipped down her arms.

"It said, 'Supers Deserve A Life Too!'" Good luck with that. I'd had powers for the whole space of thirty days and it already felt like I'd lost control of my life. At least Laser Lady had secured the right to a secret identity. As long as I slapped a mask around my head, any damage I caused would be blamed on my alter ego. Things were simpler as a zero. I knew where I stood: right at the bottom but I fit. Mocking the jocks and divas with much needed sarcasm.

Sitting with Mavis and talking about everything but the 'S' word. Mavis wouldn't be able to look me in the eye. She couldn't be my friend if she knew I had powers. Then she'd just be sitting alone at lunch, tapping away on her knees while people talked about me. The Academy wouldn't want me. Two seconds of slowed time wouldn't have me going toe to toe with Dark Beam. Too much power for Mavis but too little for the hero school. Of course, I could just pretend that this all never happened.

I didn't have to use them; I could choose to not have power. My old life was always there, just waiting for me to slip it back on like a baggy sweater and walk away from all of this. But my hands fisted on the worn, chipped desk in front of me. A month ago, I stopped being that same girl that I had been for the last eleven years of my life. The one who threw up any time she saw too much red, the one who passed out any time things got too chaotic. Always quitting. Always afraid. Never just living life.

At least, I was more than that now. This was a part of me. Even if it was weak and broken, it was still mine. It wasn't for the Academy or the super groupies or even Mavis. It was for me. And I wasn't giving it up. Maybe Laser Lady needed to fly up the steps of Congress with a big bold sign that said 'Nevermind, Just Leave Us Alone.' Overhead I heard the metallic click of the intercom and a small huff of microphoned air, then, "The library will be closing in fifteen minutes.

Please bring all materials to the front desk." I stepped into the outside air and took a deep breath. It smelled of evening sunset, an ice cold wind slapping my face, and the slightest tinge of garbage wafting from some canisters down the road. But it tasted like freedom. —--- I stood on the corner of the 7-11 on 26th Street- downtown, with a traffic light that's only ever red barely hanging on, and the constant sound of cats fighting in the background. So yeah, I was asking for trouble, alright.

It's the number and alphabet streets that were always the sketchiest. Thermometers had their mercury rising to a mere nineteen degrees tonight, but I had four layers of clothes on and hand warmers in my pocket. The teenage employee behind the register gave me a medium hot chocolate for free, probably because he saw it as "sticking it to the man" for a peer. I had no problem accepting it. I sipped it while watching the occasional twenty and thirty year old cars roll by, their paint peeling like sunburned skin.

I wasn't ready to go scout out the local drug cartels or mafia denizens, okay? I was going to warm up to this and try to not die the first time. Judging by my SuperMario record, it probably wasn't going to work. This was all just theoretical. School wasn't working out well as a place to save people. Certainly it was full of people with problems: social anxiety, body dysmorphia, body odor, but slowing down time for a second wouldn't help any of that, especially the last.

I couldn't use my power for anything that wasn't life threatening, and despite the social media posts of neurotic teenagers, that really doesn't happen all that much at school. So, I was left to look for danger. By myself. With my almost empty hot cocoa cup, threadbare mittens, and scuffed up sneakers for protection. A gust of wind blew a McDonald's wrapper across the parking lot and something clinked near the dumpster, probably a bottle or tin can. Good thing I had my powers at the ready.

I rolled my eyes, walking up and down the small stretch of sidewalk in front of the store. The clock over the Gatorade section said it was close to nine and if I stayed any longer, Gran would start to worry. A sputtering roar sounded from the distance as two motorcycles sped down the street, swerved into the parking lot, and parked down left from me. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Black leather jackets and jeans, one had a shaved head and tattoos up to his face like a turtleneck. The other had a piercing hanging from his ear to his nose and two teeth missing from his mouth. They were in their thirties or forties, with bodies that could only be described as beefy. Seven inches taller and at least a hundred pounds heavier than I was. Their heavy boots clinked with every step towards me and I glanced down to see one had a gun in a holster on his hip and the other a knife in his pocket.

My hands tightened so hard inside my pockets that my nails stabbed into my skin. My whole body tensed as they walked toward the door, straight across from me. One of them stopped in his tracks and looked at me, hands on hips.

"What are you doing out here?" He used the same tone uncles use with their three year old nieces. It sounded like Barney trying to scold a child.

"You shouldn't be hanging around places like this late at night, it's dangerous." Nose Piercing held up his cell phone, staring at me with a concerned look on his face.

"Do you need us to call your parents? Do you have a home to go to?" Welcome to the stage: Biker Gang Bert and Ernie, everyone.

"We know some great youth counseling groups, you know, they really get what it's like to be at your age." I stared at them for a beat.

"I'm good, thanks." I held up my hot chocolate.

"The only problem here is inevitable diabetes." They laughed, one guy's eyes twinkled like Santa Claus, and after multiple assurances that I was okay, they then turned to go inside the store.

"I'm just so concerned about today's youth…" Turtleneck mumbled before the door shut with a blast of warm air. That's when I knew it was time to go. If I couldn't get grungy bikers to put me in danger, then I was in the wrong spot. I began the journey home. It was a forty minute walk with nothing much but dilapidated fences and graffitied stores to look at. The occasional passing car provided me with bits of drifting music to listen to. For the most part, I just let the icy wind wash over me.

Tonight had not been the night I turned into a superhero. It was not busy outside. It was a Wednesday and people had better things to do, like sit in front of their TV while playing on their phones. I only passed by one or two others, some guy closing up his shop and a couple of college kids looking to use their fake IDs. Up ahead was a grandma but she didn't look at all like Gran.

She had the standard wispy white hair curled in a circle around her head, under her thick coat was a flowery blue dress and on her arm hung a white purse that looked like it time-travelled from 1940. Kind of like Mrs. Doubtfire but without a hairy Robin Williams underneath. It was kind of nice to see old people still quaint-looking like this. I hoped she was hobbling off to have tea with the King of England. But a figure peeled away from the shadows of an alley next to her.

A hoodie covered most of his face, but from his baggy pants and decals, he looked young.

"Hey grandma, can I borrow some money?" The old woman's head jerked up, staring at the figure with a surprised expression. After looking him up and down, she then pulled her purse tight and kept shuffling down the dark road. Maybe if she ignored him, he would leave her alone.

"Come on grandma, I know you got something!" He continued to stalk after her with a long predatory gait. My heart began to race and my feet started to run, heading straight for the two figures before my brain could catch up. It was go time. His hand shot out and grasped the white purse, but Mrs. Doubtfire didn't let go. Her mouth opened to cry out, but only a weak screech escaped her throat as she was pulled off balance and tipped over. Still gripping the bag, she fell to the ground and then he crouched over her.

One of his hands seized the purse as the other reached into his pocket. I came up behind him, reached out and grabbed his shoulder just as he pulled a switch blade from his pocket. The metal shone stark and real under the streetlight. My hand on his shoulder had no idea what it was doing because its main experience in life has been flipping book pages, not disabling assailants. He spun around and I could see his face leaning towards me, glaring.

His cheeks were sunken and his red-tinged eyes were wide, filled with wildness and intensity. He looked like Christian Bale from The Machinist and American Psycho combined. P. S. it was a horrific crossover. My eyes couldn't stop looking at the blade he flipped open as he dropped the purse and turned to stand head and shoulders taller than I was. Probably should have thought this through more.

Probably should have brought a weapon or armor or something more than my trusty hoodie which would be woefully inadequate against the sharp steel in Twitchy's hand. I'd completely forgotten one tiny essential aspect to all of this. I didn't know how to call up my power. It just came on its own before and it was starting to feel very late for its scheduled appointment.

Maybe there was some connecting element from the last two times that I was unaware of because it sure felt like I was stumbling backwards in real time. There were the normal sounds of cars passing on faraway streets, a dog barking behind a building, and the crunch of icy gravel as the man with a knife pointed it at me. This was where I died. Stabbed by an addict trying to save an old lady from her purse getting snatched. At least Gran would be proud.

"What do you think you're doing?!" he yelled, breath expelling in a white cloud from his lips in the cold night air. His hand shook around his knife, but not from nervousness like with Voice Crack. My forehead began to hurt, but it was probably just my brain contending with impending death. Stomach acid was loading in the back of my throat. Maybe if I projectile vomited on him, he'd run like a wild animal fleeing a skunk. I couldn't move. Forget a skunk, I was the possum of this concrete jungle.

Feet frozen with one hand dropping from his shoulder and the other releasing the empty hot chocolate cup from my fingers. My headache evolved into a migraine and just when I was ready to puke all over him, everything ground to a halt. The night air turned heavy as soup and the flickering Christmas lights around a window slowed to a staccato pulse. Mrs. Doubtfire continued to scream but it drew out, the pitch dropping to a low Barry Manilow vibe.

I looked down to see the blade in his hand about two inches from my chest. Panic sped down my veins, going eighty miles per hour. I swung my hand out to knock his weapon away, but it was in slow motion, feeling like I'd dragged my arm through water. His hand was pushed to the side and the knife slipped free from his grasp. It floated there, barely moving through the air as it drifted from his palm.

Heart racing faster than my mind, I grabbed it out of the air with one hand as I channeled all of the advice Gran ever gave me for dealing with attackers. My hand swung around and slapped the side of his head, slowly enough for me to cup my palm and box his ear. Then my leg kicked out like a player for Westham, slamming into the two balls on his field. Druggo's face morphed in slow motion, his yellowed cracked teeth going from clenched in a snarl to the opened mouth of total confusion before time caught back up.

My hot cocoa cup hit the floor right before he did. He tipped over and slammed into the ground hard. One hand went to the side of his head and the other between his legs. An endless stream of profanity flowed from his lips as I stood over him with his knife in my hand. I did it. I'd fought and I'd won. A green alert flashed at the corner of my vision and when I focused on it, a window popped up in front of my eyes.

Fight summary Unnamed (Vigilante) vs Unnamed (Criminal) Mugging prevented 100 HP Level 0 Criminal apprehended 50 HP Final Total 150 Hero Points Error system in atrophied status. Hero Points unable to be allocated. Forced power activation detected Atrophied status reduced from 47% to 24% STANDARD SYSTEM REMAINS INOPERABLE