(suicide tw)

"Shoeshine?"

Sweet Polly Purebred knocked furiously on his door, getting more nervous by the second.

"Shoeshine?" she called again. She tried to look through the peephole as best as she could, furiously twisting the knob, cursing softly to no one in particular. Shoeshine hadn't been doing well mentally for months- maybe years but he'd only stopped caring about his composition recently. Either way, for someone who would always yell "just a second!" or leave something on the door to explain he was out, no answer or sign whatsoever was both strange, and worrisome, and compared with his recent history very scary.

Fed up with waiting, Polly quickly dove a hand into her purse, nervously picking out the extra key Shoeshine had given her just in case. She absolutely hated doing this- but at that moment she was too scared to worry about the repercussions if Shoeshine was alright. As soon as she stepped in she could immediately tell something wasn't.

"Lewis?"

That was a name she used sparingly. Shoeshine always answered when someone called him Lewis- angrily, but responded.

But there was no response. At any other moment Polly would've brushed it off as Shoeshine being unable to hear her, but not this time.

The couch was as messy as always, coffee table covered in used napkins and almost-empty bowls of ramen and multiple open Nutellas and an empty box of multi-grain Cheerios. Inspector Gadget was mutedly playing on the TV, and a Get Smart vhs seemed queued to play next. His cape, which Shoeshine would always use as a blanket, was nowhere to be seen.

Polly dropped her purse on the couch, calling for him again, using Underdog this time. It seemed relatively normal, but much too quite for Shoeshine to be around- or worse, be alive. Polly sighed, holding back tears, swallowing despite the lump in her throat. She made her way to the kitchen. There were empty beer bottles everywhere. Shoeshine barely even knew how to open a pop bottle much less a beer bottle.

His pill bottles were gone. The standard medicines, the tylenol, the tums, the advil- untouched. But his prescription bottles, his testosterone pills, his antidepressants, and even his special panic attack medicine, which he absolutely hated, where gone.

Polly felt her throat dry up and her heart sink to her stomach. Shoeshine already had a history of overdose, and mixed with alcohol- Polly let out a choking noise at the thought. She couldn't decide where to check next. His bedroom was his favorite place but in the bathroom you could cause more blunt force to yourself- but then again Polly didn't know what he kept in his bedroom. Letting her panicked tears fall now, she headed to the bathroom. If there was blood she was expecting it.

Empty. She'd call it pristine if not for the fact of the remaining vomit on the toilet seat. Shoeshine also let Polly know of his history with eating disorders, but promised he was getting better. Polly wouldn't let herself get close enough to expect how recent it was but her heart ached at the thought of how much Shoeshine felt unable to open up to her. And it ached even more at the thought that there was only one more room. All hope had drained from her mind as soon as she saw the pill bottles gone.

The longer she waited the more she was dragging out the inevitable. She'd never know unless she went and she knew she wouldn't be able to bear the anxiety that her best friend might be a rotting corpse in his bedroom and no one would ever know. The greatest superhero in Manhattan would be dead and no one would know.

Resisting her own urge to vomit, tears rolling know her face, she made her way to the final closed door as fast as her beating, tingling, overheating body would let her. Wanting to go with her good will, she raised her hand to knock on the door. Instead of any name Shoeshine might've once called himself all she could let out was a single high-pitched whimper. She poorly attempted to collect herself- just in case- and swung open the door.

"SHOESHINE!" she immediately screamed upon seeing the useless lump that was his body. She ran up, falling onto her knees.

Shoeshine's glasses were right next to his face, one side broken and one lense cracked. He was huddled under his cape. As Polly went to remove it and her college course of first aid into practice, she saw all the pill bottles, haphazardly open and poured about. There was also an empty bottle of beer. Polly almost had the thought that he was just having a hangover before she checked the pulse of his neck. Nothing.

That's alright, she figured, there were more places. There was another place. His wrist didn't show any better. The veins in his wrists were barely visible anymore. In panic she placed her hands directly on his heart. Nothing. Against his nose. Nothing.

Crying loudly, she laid her head against his shoulder. Thinking about everything they'd ever done. Did he know how much he was loved? Did he know how much Polly loved him? Did he know, but not listen? As she looked back up again to start calling the police and TTV, she noticed a ball of paper tightly in his hand.

Regretfully, slowly, she took it from his hand and made it as flat as possible.

"Hi Polly," it started, "I have no doubt you'll be the one finding my body and presumably this note if I don't misplace it. You can probably guess why I did this. I'm sorry. You know I always run from problems I can't solve and this is one I'll never be able to. Even doctors have lost faith in me, it wasn't your fault. Don't call the police. The staff will find me or I'll sink into the carpet and become a ghost. I'm not rich enough to have a will but you can have anything you want. If you do decide to bury me do it with my cape. If you do decide to bury me though, wait a few days, I might just be unconscious. Don't call 911. If I wake up in a hospital I will overdose again and I will blunt force myself against anything I can find. Take pictures of this scene. Weird shit might happen. You'll need it for people to believe you.

"Polly I love you so much. None of this was your fault. It's all mine. I'm sorry I didn't let you help me get better. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I'm sorry I didn't tell you more.

"After a few days let the presses know. Everything. It was an overdose. I'm Shoeshine Boy. The medicine. The sad. Everything.

"I love you Polly, I'm sorry it had to come to this. -Lewis N Clark Jr (Shoeshine/Underdog.)"

Respecting his wishes, Polly waited a few days before calling anyone. She called her job to tell them she wouldn't be able to come in for a long while- death in the family. She locked his apartment door and slept on his couch. That apartment would never be the same and she knew it.

The next morning Polly noticed a p.s. on the back of Shoeshine's note she hadn't seen before.

"If my corpse is gone don't worry. It's the powers. They came from lightning. The lightning last night took them and took me. -Lewis."

She quickly ran into the room. Gone, cape and all. The pills and bottle were there, untouched. There was a line outline of where he was on the floor. It wasn't chalk.

Choking up, she called authorities, and layed down on his bed, crying again.