Pale Blue Shadows

Chapter 2: Disbelief

Overnight, Roxanne had become infamous. Not only had someone been killed in an accident which had looked suspiciously like drunk driving, that someone was her boss, with whom she had been seen with earlier. On a date.

Roxanne sat numbly, curled into a ball on her couch. Her hair hung in limp angles as she regarded the news broadcasts in horror, pulling her pale pink bathrobe more tightly around her. She was uncertain exactly how much time had passed while she sat in the shower. She was uncertain how long the city's supervillain had sat with her, the cold water pelting the both of them, numbing them to guilt. At some point she had asked, the reporter still alive somewhere beneath her breast, whether this was how he had felt, after that explosion three years ago. She'd watched his hand (bare, in one of the only times she'd ever seen him without gloves) clench into a fist, the long, slender fingers curling in on themselves slowly before opening again. She felt his arms shrug helplessly, his leather-clad shoulder rubbing against her own. "Only a matter of time, wasn't it?" he'd replied finally, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

The whole situation was uncharacteristic of the both of them, really. A point that had been driven home when he had finally risen, extending a slim blue hand to her to pull her up with him. The fact that she had accepted it probably spoke volumes about her defeat. She had lost the moral ground. Who was she to judge now? She had numbly let him wrap a fluffy towel around her drenched and dripping form. Dully, she had obeyed him when he told her to strip off her dress. He'd stepped out of the bathroom, pulling the door closed on his way out. She wasn't sure if she would have cared if he had stayed and watched. After a long series of minutes, during which she began to think he had left, the bathroom door had moved slightly. Slowly it had opened, pausing to wait for any negative reaction. Roxanne had simply stood there, towel wrapped around her, tucked under arms like a tube. He'd stared at her with those deep green eyes. He'd pulled the soft pink bathrobe off its hook and around her shoulders.

He'd left then, but only after a long pause. "Pack a bag," he'd said suddenly. "Only essentials. Just in case." He'd stepped off her balcony and disappeared into the night. The sound of a hoverbike filled her ears, though none was to be seen. He was getting better with the invisibility shields.

"Roxanne Ritchie," a perky female voice burst from the television, "Innocent victim or partner in crime? New opinions emerge amidst yesterday's scandal involving Miss Ritchie and the untimely demise of her boss, Mr. Antonio Edwards. Miss Ritchie, known for both her channel 8 news reports and for her celebrity status as frequent kidnappee of the infamous Megamind, has been charged with manslaughter after the presumed accident Friday night. Up until now, Miss Ritchie's reputation and intentions have never been questioned, but with recent developments, one can only ask if we have been the hapless victims of her own merciless manipulations."

The blonde reporter with a bad dye-job turned to the ungainly man standing beside her. Roxanne watched dispassionately as the man straightened his glasses and ran a hand through his unruly blonde locks. "Standing with me is Bernard Jacobs, self-proclaimed expert on the on-going conflict between Metro Man and Megamind. Bernard has shed new light on the perhaps twisted relationship between the two aliens and Miss Ritchie."

"It seems to me," the man began in a dry voice, "That the only logical conclusion here is that Miss Ritchie has been in on the kidnappings since the beginning. How else has she escaped unharmed every single time? Megamind may not be a mass murderer, but innocents have been victims of schemes gone wrong before. I don't think I need to remind people about last year's hospital power outage. Power was lost for three minutes before back up generators kicked in. The death toll was placed at five."

"Which is really the fault of the hospital buying cheap generators," Roxanne murmured despite herself.

"Or the infamous Labour Day explosions, which caught six young teens unawares," the researcher continued.

"Because they were trespassing on private property," Roxanne added, drawing out a sigh as she clenched her eyes shut.

"It seems only logical that Miss Ritchie should have obtained at least injuries during Megamind's exploits, unless they had reached some previous agreement or had some common goal. A number of sources confirm that Miss Ritchie has always been quick to state that she is, in fact, not in a relationship with Metro Man…"

Roxanne turned the television off with tears in her eyes. Her life was ruined. She had ruined her entire life, her career, her reputation, her piece of mind, all by getting distracted while driving. The phone rang by her side, startling her out of her thoughts. She stared at the phone for a long moment before picking it up. "Hello?" she asked quietly, her voice sounding hollow in her ears.

"Miss Ritchie," the voice at the other end of the line was firm but warm, "This is Danny Stiles from Human Resources. Are you able to answer a few questions for me?"

Roxanne sat numbly, "Yes?" she replied, uncertainty haunting her voice.

"Excellent," Danny continued, "I need to record the conversation we have, alright? Do I have your permission to turn on the recorder?"

Roxanne was frozen. She knew this drill. She'd heard of this being done. She hadn't really believed it happened though, and had never even dreamed it could happen to her. "I'm fired, aren't I?" she whispered into the phone's receiver.

Danny laughed, "Of course not, Miss Ritchie. But I do need you to answer the question."

"Yes," she replied in a soft voice.

"This is Danny Stiles, from Human Resources, talking to Roxanne Ritchie, reporter for Channel 8 news. This call is to inform Miss Ritchie of her immediate suspension from work, effective immediately today, Monday, May 19th. Miss Ritchie, this suspension is pending further investigation of Friday's accident and Mr. Edwards' subsequent death and may lead to actual dismissal pending sentencing. Your suspension is as per your contractual agreement regarding criminal charges and station media relations. Do you understand what I have just told you?"

"Yes," Roxanne whispered. Danny hung up the phone. The dial tone filled the apartment.

She sat for a long moment, disbelief flooding her senses. She rose slowly, her legs prickling with pins and needles from having been curled underneath her for so long. She wobbled towards her bedroom, opened her closet and pulled out an overnight bag. She set it on her bed. She moved mechanically around her room, pulling out items of interest. Mostly black. She felt nauseous. She wasn't sure why she was doing what Megamind had told her. Mostly, it was simply for something to do. Some form of activity to keep her from crying out against the injustice of it all.

Because really, she deserved everything they dished out. She had cost a man his life. Not an amazingly moral man, admittedly, but a nice man. A nice man with dark eyes which had appreciated her wit and how she had sipped the champagne that had ultimately cost him his life. How ironic, she thought, he bought his death.

She started at the sound of a steady knock from her living room. Stiffly, she walked from the bedroom to the living room, staring dully through the glass doors of her balcony before processing who was tapping at her door. She walked towards the doors, tightening the knot in her bathrobe. "Metro Man," she acknowledged as she opened the door. "Come in?"

"I'd rather not, actually, Roxie, if it's all the same." Roxanne stared at him without emotion. He appeared uncharacteristically nervous… but then again, who was acting in character these days? "Roxie," he stared at her with sad, disbelieving eyes, "Is what they're saying true?"

She sighed, running a hand through her already disastrous hair. "What?" she heard her voice reply bitterly, "That I've been collaborating with Megamind and setting up my own kidnappings for years? That I'm a closet pyromaniac? That I stole narcotics from the local pharmacy when I was twelve years old?" He stared at her patiently, his honest face sympathizing with her, but also showing signs of suspicion.

"None of those are true," she said finally, "But yeah, I did… I just took my eyes off the road for a second, Wayne. A second! And… god, I feel miserable. I… I killed my own boss." The admittance came at a price, because now the numbness was gone, replaced by a pit of abject misery. "Wayne," she begged softly, tears now in her eyes, "What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to make amends for this?"

She watched his eyes go dark, watched him straighten just imperceptibly. His jaw became just a little firmer, his gaze just a little more distant. "I don't know, Roxanne," he replied, "But I know that I can't be seen with you anymore. It's… it isn't personal, okay? It's just, how can I be seen as the pinnacle of justice if I don't expect justice and rightness from my friends?" He stared at Roxanne with a cool detachment, "What were you thinking? Driving drunk?" He shook his head, "It's as if I don't even know you," he paused, "And from now on, I don't."

Roxanne watched him fly away in stunned shock. "Wayne?" she mewled softly, fresh tears pouring down her cheeks. Could he have really just abandoned her to the wolves? A scratching sounded at her front door. Roxanne swung her head rapidly, a sense of increasing horror rising within her. She strode to the door in haste, swinging it open only in time to see a few hooded figures run down the hallway and through the door to the stairwell.

She stared after the figures for a long moment, her eyes moving up and down the hall, trying to figure out the source of the sound. She stepped into the hall, letting her door fall shut behind her. She stood there, bare feet on the hallway carpeting, searching for something out of place. She turned slowly back towards her door and covered her mouth with a gasp. One of the words was etched into her door, the rest were spray painted on in red. Whore, they claimed. Slut. Liar. Deceiver. And etched into the wood: murderer.

Roxanne barely made it inside the door before she collapsed to her knees in a helpless pile. Frantically, she wondered if there was anyone she could call. Any friend who might not turn their back on her as Metro Man had. She leaned against the closet door in the front hall, one hand rummaging blindly across the surface of her front table for her cell phone. She pressed the well-known number into the key pad. She listened to the phone ring for a very long time before a woman's voice answered. "Mommy?" she whispered brokenly into the phone. "What do I do?"

There was a long moment of silence on the line. "Is it true?" her mother's voice came across the line, long distance from Chicago.

"Mommy, I don't know what to do," Roxanne sobbed. "I… it was an accident and now they're saying… they're saying awful things. And… and part of me believes them. And… and I don't know what to do."

The silence on the line stretched into an interminable tension. "Mommy?" Roxanne finally prompted.

"I thought we had raised you better than this," her mother's voice was faint. "I'm… I'm so disappointed in you, Roxanne. Your father…. Your father would be heart-broken." Roxanne hiccupped back another sob. "Thank god…" her mother paused, "Thank god he didn't live to see this."

Roxanne hiccupped again, "Mommy?" she said again, with rising desperation.

"Well, Roxanne," her mother's voice was increasingly weak. "I'm afraid you've gotten yourself into this one. I told you a long time ago to smarten up. To accept Metro Man's offers. To settle down and drop all this reporting foolishness. I told you no good would come of these choices…"

"Mommy…" Roxanne gasped.

"I don't want to hear from you until this is fixed."

The line went dead in Roxanne's hands.