Sorry this came long, I had writer's block and I didn't know what I wanted to happen in this chapter. I wanted to emphasize her depression but not keep it going too long that the story would get boring *cough*New Moon*cough* and get to actual superhero stuff quicker.
So transitions!
Anyways, enjoy. Also, I would love some reviews/critiques. Please and thank you!
Chapter Seven
Guilt
"Hey, look, there's the Freak!" I heard someone say behind me.
I concentrated on the contents of my locker, focusing in on the owner of that voice through my radar. Nope, the radar hadn't gone away, even after a week since the accident. It was here to stay, and I decided I might as well get used to it.
My first guess was that the declaration got catalyzed from my arrival to school. I hadn't been here since the…event. My absence hadn't gone unnoticed, and I made it all the more prominent from the still-sore cut on my head and the big blue sling supporting my arm. But since being picked on wasn't unusual in the average day, I had gotten used to ignoring it.
I underestimated the suddenly heightened sense of hearing I had gained recently, and found myself distracted by the whispered conversation on the other end of the hall.
"I heard she had to be held down by the nurses whenever she had a panic attack," one of the voices whispered, a girl I didn't know. I could have easily assumed it was one of Astor's clones, but she didn't have the muscle development that was required to be on the Field Hockey team.
"Really?" her friend asked, sounding as though panic attacks were like getting inoperable brain cancer. "Because my mom said people go to shrinks for stuff like that. Maybe she has severe trauma or something."
You think?
A boy, this time, donated his own two cents in the rumor-sharing. "You think so? Matt told me she had to get the arm amputated after the fall, and she's hiding the prosthetic inside the sling. I think she's afraid of being called the Cyborg."
The Cyborg, really? That's the best they could come up with?
(Actually, that sounded a lot better than the Freak. The only problem is I didn't want to earn it through losing an arm. Which I didn't, by the way.)
To be honest, there was a little bit of truth in their rumors. I mean, not the Cyborg part. But I did have to see a shrink (therapist was a kinder word for it) and I probably would have had a panic attack if I wasn't so heavily medicated that trying to lift my arm made me want to pass out. Hell, that's why they put people under medication, so they don't go absolutely nuts.
I actually hadn't seen my shrink – err, therapist – since the hospital, and the memory was hazy at best. I couldn't actually remember his face, or if he was even actually a guy. I'd find out soon enough, anyways, since my next appointment was today right after school.
Behind me, the other kids were still whispering.
"Guys, here comes Astor Sloane!"
"Oh, man. What do you think she'll do to the Freak?"
"I don't know. Maybe she'll get her to leave again, like the last time."
I grit my teeth and slammed my locker door shut. I didn't want to have to deal with Astor today, not when I just got back to school. I was trying to stay under Astor's notice until I found some sense of normality in my life. But knowing Astor, that wasn't going to happen.
Tracy Johnson gladly pointed out my presence to my arch nemesis as approached. "Hey, Astor, check it out. The Freak's back, and check it – she's gimped!"
I thought being gimped meant I had a busted leg, which was one injury I did not maintain. But whatever. I was still handicapped and that just made me an easier target.
I turned towards the center of the hall, avoiding eye contact with the incoming field hockey star. I adjusted my pile of books in my arms, hoping she wouldn't try to knock them to the ground, because they'd be hell to pick back up again. Carrying books was awkward when one of your arms was in a sling, but I tried to make do with balancing them on my knees and building up my right biceps.
I kept a slow pace, since running wasn't an option in the crowded hallways, but felt my hackles rise when Astor drew nearer. Then passed right by me without as much as a glance.
I stared after her. She didn't even look at me. Why?
Tracy seemed equally as confused. "Uh, amiga, you missed her. She's right there. She's even got a huge pile of books!"
"So?" Astor sneered, not even following Tracy's pointing finger. "She's got a broken arm, loser, can't you see that? Just leave her alone."
I still couldn't believe what I heard, and I was mulling it over several hours later after school. It's just…Astor's never once denied a chance to take me down. Well, maybe she held back that one time in gym class, but that was because I was sick and didn't put up a fight. She probably didn't want to catch what I had, anyways.
Maybe I shouldn't have been surprised. I've never seen her pick on people with crutches or wheelchairs – although that could have been because I was never around when it happened. Astor just liked to mess with people, no matter who they were. I don't know why she gets her kicks out of it. Maybe she likes seeing what happens when she does.
I mean, it's Astor. The only thing you could predict about her was that the punches she threw hurt. A lot.
I took a cab from school to Midtown Clinic, where the therapist's office was, a deviation from my usual routine of going to the library. I realized I hadn't seen Eddie for an entire week. Did he even remember if I existed? If I went back later, sometime during the week, would be around like he said he would?
Even if he was, I didn't want to see him. Not in the state I was in, after what had happened. It's just not something you'd want to deal with around some guy you've only talked to once. Like, maybe after I didn't feel like my life had just fallen apart and I wasn't allowed to go my real home anymore because it was still technically a crime scene.
The secretary at the desk looked up when I pushed my way through the double doors. She frowned when I gave my name, saying, "You're late for your appointment, Miss Fletcher."
I just shrugged, because school ended late and I promised Gwen that I'd never ditch class again.
She sighed, pointing the way down the hall to my right. "All right, down the hall, third door on your left. Dr. Kindell should already be waiting for you."
As I made my way, I tried to concentrate on how wonderfully peaceful the watercolor paintings on the wall were. The place was filled with warm pastels that made me feel safe, something I found refreshing compared to the bland, impersonal white walls of the hospital.
The door to Dr. Kindell's office was closed, but my radar informed me that it wasn't empty. The doc was here, just like the secretary said.
I don't know why I felt annoyed by this. Then I realized I had been hoping there wouldn't be anyone here, so I could just leave and not have to deal with this.
But I had made a promise to myself and mom that I would face my problems. I wasn't here for my sake, but for her.
This reassured me and I got myself to relax. Taking a deep breath, I reached out for the doorknob and entered the room.
It was a small office. A desk, three chairs, and a wall of bookcases. There was a single window overlooking the parking lot. The tile turned to carpet underneath my feet and I closed the door behind me.
The doctor sat in his seat. Somehow, his gender surprised me. Maybe I just expected women to be more likely as therapists then men. I don't know. He couldn't have been more than late twenties, early thirties at the most. He had short brown hair and a smart vest and tie, looking more like a corporate official than someone I poured my innermost secrets to. A part of me was glad he wasn't creepy looking, because then coming here every week would be kind of awkward. And by 'kind of awkward' I mean 'not happening at all.'
As I sat in one of the two seats in front of the desk, I was overcome with a sense of déjà vu, and I tried to figure out why he looked so familiar.
Dr. Kindell looked up as I entered, smiling and welcoming me. "Good afternoon, Miss Fletcher. I'm pleased you decided to come."
It was his voice that made everything click. I actually gasped when he spoke.
He was understandably confused. "What's wrong?"
"It's you!" I stared at him, my jaw hanging. "You're the guy who – who was in the alley! You were in the ambulance. I thought you said you were a doctor!"
"I am a doctor," Dr. Kindell seemed a little miffed that I doubted his medical prowess. "I have a degree. I just don't wear scrubs to work or use scalpels to get inside my patients heads."
"Oh," I sat back in my seat, deflated. For some reason, I felt disappointed. A part of me had been expecting some dramatic reason, something worthy of soap operas, but that was probably my overactive imagination. Oh well. "What were you doing there?"
Dr. Kindell paused before answering, "I'm not allowed to share personal information. It breaks the boundaries between employee and patient."
I frowned. "But the police know, right?"
Dr. Kindell held my gaze, his brow furrowing. "Where are you going with this?"
I realized how creepy I sounded and backpedaled fast. "Sorry. I don't know. I'm just…I don't know."
I sounded so dumb, it seemed to earn me some sympathy and get me off the bad tracks towards awkwardness. He just smiled as if he understood. "It's all right. It's perfectly normal to have trust issues after a traumatic event."
"I don't have trust issues!" I blurted even though I knew he was right. Still, it kind of sounded like an insult. I crossed my arms, hoping to change the subject. "I don't even know why I have to be here."
"Court orders," Dr. Kindell said matter-of-factly. "It's mandatory."
"Because that makes me feel better."
"I'm not here to make you feel better."
I glanced at him, wary of saying anything stupid again. "But isn't that what you're supposed to do? You're a therapist. You…therapize."
He made a face at my made-up word, but shook his head anyways. "I'm not here to give you a confidence boost or make you happier in life. I'm here to help you cope and understand what you're feeling, as well as deal with any problems you deal with in the aftermath of your ordeal."
"Well, in that case, I'm feeling pretty angry," I said, trying to keep my voice level. Dr. Kindell just sounded so…so calm and reassuring that it made me want to punch something. Who was he to think he could solve my problems? Could he find my mother? Because if he couldn't, then I had no reason to be here. "And my problem happens to be that my mom was kidnapped and nobody doesn't seem to know anything at all; I know it's been on the news but that doesn't mean it's helping the police find her, because I'm the only witness and I don't know anything either, so all I can do is just sit and wait and feel useless!"
I slowly lost control throughout the rant, my voice rising in pitch until I was practically yelling at him. I didn't even realize I was on my feet, hand planted on his desk, until I noticed he was still perfectly composed and unperturbed. He almost looked amused. "What?"
"It's perfectly normal to feel that way."
I threw my good hand up into the air. "I don't care! That doesn't help me find my mom!"
"Oh?" I was pretty sure he was taunting me now. I turned to the doctor, staring as he continued to say, "And what will? Retreating into yourself and becoming anti-social? Ignoring the help from your friends and family? Miss Fletcher, if you want help, you have to be open to it."
I was about to say 'I don't want their help' but caught myself. I'd be hypocritical for saying that, after just ranting on about how I had none of it in the first place. Dr. Kindell already had the upper hand in how human behavior worked. I didn't want to keep proving him right.
"It's not the help I need, though."
"Any help is good help right now." He countered, folding his hands across the table. "It's okay to want to be alone, but I'd say right now is the best time for you to reach out for support. It's not worth to suffer this alone."
"But –"
"Listen to me, Miss Fletcher," Dr. Kindell leaned across the table, pinning me down with an earnest gaze. "I want you to reach out. You may want your mother, but you need your friends too. You may think people are ignoring your problem, but they're not. Let them help you. You can help others by not ignoring their problems."
I couldn't look into his face anymore. I turned away and glared at the window. "Can I go now?"
"Only if you promise to come back telling me how you've reached out to someone."
Anything to get me out of here. "Fine. I promise."
OoOoO
Okay, so I might have lied to my therapist.
I wouldn't feel guilty about it until later; when I got home and had about have a dozen messages, all from Gwen, asking for me to pick up the dang phone. Only she didn't say 'dang'. But whatever.
In fact, I was already sitting on my bed, phone in hand and number in mind, when I stopped myself. What was I going to say? Hey – sorry for completely ignoring you for a week during a hard time in my life? I just needed some alone time to sort out my thoughts – which clearly weren't that sorted out. And it just sounded so lame. Like what the out-of-touch-with-reality adults tell you to say
I put down and picked up the phone several times, going through phases of confidence and fear, trying to figure out what I should do.
Eventually, I got myself to press the numbers and push the call button, not hesitating in case I chickened out again. I brought the receiver to my ear and waited as the dial tone beeped.
It exactly once before someone picked up the phone. I opened my mouth to introduce myself, but Gwen beat me to it.
"OmygodAmyI'msohappyyoucalled!" she shouted in a huge rush. I yanked the phone away from my ear, wincing. "Do you have any idea how worried I've been? I haven't talked to you in a whole week! Are you all right? You're not sick again, are you?"
I took a deep breath before I answered, drawing the phone back to my ear. "No, Gwen, I'm fine. I was just feeling…lonely."
I wasn't going to tell her that my therapist told me to do this, that her concern guilted me into calling her and I felt like a total jerk now for avoiding her. Which, you know, was just great for my emotional state, what with what's already happened lately.
"Jeez, I thought you'd never pick up the phone." Gwen replied, sounding relieved, which in turn made me relax. "I was afraid I'd have to go on over there myself just to talk to you. I know this is going to sound dumb of me for asking, but please tell me you're doing your schoolwork.""I passed in my English essay on time," I told her. In all the spare time I had not interacting with people, I had been doing all my homework and getting it in when it was due. It was a minor accomplishment I was proud of. "And I've been studying for the math quiz. But, um, I wanted some help. I think I missed something in class."
It was a lame attempt, but it worked nonetheless. Gwen sounded as though Christmas came early. "Of course I'll help! Look, I'll be there in ten, okay? Just don't try to run away again, please?"
That actually got me to smile. Laughing a little, I said, "Actually, I was thinking we could meet up at the Silver Spoon. I just want to be somewhere...different right now."
"Yeah, sure. I'll see you there, then."
Ending the line, I suddenly felt…lighter. Not exactly happy, but definitely not gloomy as before. I was excited to study with my best friend. And I've never been happy about studying before. Like, ever.
Oh, man, she really was rubbing off on me. In a good way, at least.
I got up from my bed and reached for my backpack, checking its contents for my math textbook. It was then my radar picked up on someone standing just outside my door, close enough to have heard my conversation. Sitting back up, I called out, "Hello? Who's there?"
The door creaked open to reveal Aunt May's face. She smiled. "It's just me, dear. I'm glad you're finally doing something with your friends. Maybe you should ask Peter to come along."
I wasn't really digging the thought, but I didn't want to sound rude, either. "Uh, I think it's just a best friend sort of thing, Aunt May."
She nodded like that made total sense. "All right. Just be home before dark, okay?"
"Got it."
Aunt May ducked her back out the door, and through the opening I watched as she continued down the hall. I promised to myself that later I'd try to talk to her more.
Getting to the Silver Spoon took two buses and a cab, but it was worth it. I could actually feel myself get excited as I watched the streets roll by outside my window. Until now, the locales I had been frequenting consisted of home and school, and that one trip to the doctor for a check-up. I haven't been to the Silver Spoon in weeks, and by the time I was at its door, I could already smell the cake and coffee.
I pushed through the door. Gwen was sitting in the back by the window and upon my entrance started to wave. I waved back and headed over. I realized I hadn't really changed into better clothes, or cleaned myself up, but I decided that doing this at all was better than nothing. Baby steps. I'll work on my appearance later.
"For a second I thought you'd chicken out," Gwen admitted as I sat down in the opposite seat. I just shrugged my shoulders, sliding my backpack off and setting it beside me. "Sorry."
"It's all right. I'm trying to do something different tonight." I glanced at the menu above the cashier's head. "They serve burgers here."
Gwen threw me a funny look and spoke in a 'no-duh' sort of way. "Yeaaah. You've eaten one before, remember?"
"Oh, that's right," I did not, in fact, remember, but I took her word for it anyways. Perhaps I had bigger things on my mind. "Okay, calculus. The quadratic formula – how does it go again?"
"Like this," Gwen took out a piece of paper and wrote it down, then slid it over to me. "The letters are variables that you fill in and the numbers are what you multiply them by, and x will be the answer."
She showed me how to use it in on one of my problems, and had me do the worksheet by myself (no calculator – apparently, I needed to learn the multiplication table by heart) and then reviewed the answers when I was done. By the time Gwen had pointed out all my mistakes and helped me understand what I was doing wrong, it was already getting dark out. For a second, I thought I saw someone swinging between buildings, like an acrobat. It could only be Spider-Man.
It was only there for a split second, but I couldn't imagine it being anything else. I thought to myself for a bit before turning back to Gwen, who was reading a book while she waited for me to finish. "Gwen, why do you think Spider-Man is Spider-Man?"
She looked up at me over her glasses. "Uh, you mean why he chose a spider for a motif? Maybe it's to creep people out."
"No, I mean…why he fights crime," I said, looking out the window again at the descending darkness. "I mean, who just decides one day to put on a red and blue leotard and chase around bad guys? For the heck of it?"
"Maybe you should just work on your math."
"I mean," I continued, not really hearing Gwen's reproachful tone. "I know the Daily Bugle gives him a bad rep and paint him as a menace, but he can't be that bad, can he? Like, give the guy some credit. So long as he's not working for money or something, he's basically a hero for saving people's lives on his own dime."
"Why, you thinking turning into a superhero, too?" Gwen snorted, clearly joking. But she turned grave a moment later, her brow furrowing with confusion. "Amy…this isn't about your – your mom, is it? Because –"
"No!" I blurted. It was a half-lie, I guess. Not until she mentioned it did I think of becoming a superhero – I mean, actually think it as a serious life decision. Not that I was now, but suddenly having powers didn't seem like such a useless skill anymore –
No. No. No, you are not turning into the next Spider-Man. You are not. Only crazy people risk their lives for strangers, for the city of New York. I mean, who knows? Maybe Spider-Man is a complete psycho who has some master plan to take over the world or something. The Bugle couldn't be wrong all the time, could they?
"No, that's not what this is about," I tried my best to reassure Gwen I wasn't going to don a mask and a pair of tights. Perhaps I tried too hard, because she was seriously starting to look worried. "I mean, I was speaking objectively. Of course I'm not going to be a superhero. Look at me! Do I look like hero material to you? I can't make myself work on an essay I really hate without someone's help. You think I'd somehow have the commitment to become a superhero? Be realistic. My body is not made for crime fighting. I've got a bad arm, a head injury, and no endurance whatsoever. Please – I am not going to be a hero."
Gwen eyed me carefully. "Sure. You know, I've been reading into psychology, and acts of revenge after a traumatic event isn't unusual –"
I had to interrupt her. "Please don't say that my reaction is perfectly normal for my situation. I got that from my therapist and the school nurse and half the doctors in the hospital. I know you're trying to help, but I want to – to not think about what I'm feeling means."
"All right," Gwen's shoulders sagged, apparently disappointed that I wasn't going to listen to what she had learned. She sighed. "I won't deny you have a point. Just don't do anything…crazy, okay? I mean, I haven't spoken to you in a week. I don't really know how you're…how you're coping with this. I think I've said I've been worried to at least a dozen different people before you called. I mean, how are you doing?"
"Uh," geez, ask the hard questions first. "I don't know how to answer that. Can I just say that I feel better talking to you, because I do, really. And – and I don't think that becoming a superhero will solve my problems. Right now, I just – I just want to get my homework done. Get better at school. I think that's all I can do for myself for right now."
She nodded. Then she pointed at my worksheet, "Are you done with that now? I don't mean to be rude, but my dad kind of has a pretty strict curfew when it comes to school nights. And just nights in general. Maybe we should call it a night."
I bit my lip, examining my homework. I still had a few questions in need of fixing, but I could do it when I got home. And if it was an emergency fix-it situation, I suppose I could call her and figure it out from there. I was also sad, because I didn't want to leave just yet. A part of me didn't want to be alone again, not after just getting back into the swing of things. Then again, I'd be seeing her tomorrow at school, and I kind of needed sleep.
"Yeah, sure. I'll see you tomorrow, then."
"Promise me you won't avoid people? And, you know, talk?"
"Sure. I promise."
"Good. Because Anatomy is getting really boring without you."
"I figured."
She threw me a look. "Well, don't sound too full of yourself."
I grinned at my own audacity. "I said I promised. Isn't that enough?"
Gwen gave me the Look.
"Okay, okay. No more smart-mouth. Okay? Oh, come on. Stop that!"
I whacked her with my pencil case and we started to crack up. I hadn't laughed in so long – it felt so good to feel normal again. Not even the radar or super senses could that moment.
So eventually we parted ways. Gwen's dad picked her up in his cop car and I took a cab to the next bus stop on the way home. It started to drizzle some, and while waiting there alone at the unsheltered bench, I pulled up my hood and hunched my shoulders, hoping that the water wouldn't soak through my backpack and ruin the homework I put so much effort into.
I checked my watch at least three times while I waited. The bus was late, and I was getting steadily colder as the minutes ticked by. I looked up as the streetlights flickered on and grumbled to myself. Why did I have to pick the worst night to be normal again? It was like Fate had a grudge on me.
I had probably been standing there for twenty minutes before I heard the scuffling. At first I thought it was a cat jumping on some trashcans, but then one of them knocked over and a very un-cat-like scream erupted from the alleyway behind me. I whipped around, trying to figure out what it was through my radar without actually having to get too close.
It was out of range, but I was too curious to ignore it. The rain covering the sound of my steps, I crept closer and braced myself against the wall, peering around the corner at the center of the commotion.
In the shadows and darkness it was impossible to see what was going on, but my radar told me there were two people having a scuffle. One, a woman, as made clear by her pointy shoes and large handbag; the second, a man who should really lay off the beers, wrestling for her purse with a handgun pressed against her throat.
I drew back, suddenly breathless. What should I do? I didn't have a cell phone with me, I couldn't call the police. All the shops here were closed and there was no sign of that accursed bus. The streets were entirely devoid of pedestrians, and too rainy for me to hail down any vehicles, if they deigned to stop for me at all.
I looked back, trying to make a decision.
You can help others by not ignoring their problems.
Oh, god. This was Charlie and Mom all over again. I knew I should do something. It was only right. But what could I do?
A part of me prayed that Spider-Man might show up, but no such thing occurred. I guess the guy couldn't be everywhere at once. I was all alone trying to figure out how to stop something really bad from happening.
I couldn't fight. Not with a broken arm. The guy had a gun – he clearly had the upper hand. What could I do? Yell at him to leave her alone?
Well, it was better than nothing.
I steeled my nerves and stepped into the alleyway, taking a deep breath. "Hey!"
I definitely could have said something cooler, more intimidating, but it did the trick nonetheless. The woman gasped and the man jumped back, alarmed. For a second, he probably thought I was police. But that idea was quickly debunked when he finally saw me.
"Get outta here, kid!" he snarled, waving the gun around in my general direction. "This ain't your business. You didn't see anything!"
I didn't care if this was New York. This wasn't something I could ignore, not when I just put my life on the line.
When I made it clear that I wasn't going anywhere (by standing in place trying to figure out what to do next), the man made a weird guttural noise and pointed the barrel at me, intending to shoot. I had just about two and a half seconds before he pulled the trigger.
"You got one last chance to wa – ugh!" I moved as he began to speak, dodging out of the way of the gun and moving right up to him and a series of quick side-steps, and made the boldest move yet: grabbing his wrist and twisting as hard as I could.
I apparently underestimated my own strength, because the man was taken completely by surprise. I managed to twist his arm behind him, and in his pain he dropped the gun. Panicked, I kicked it away from me.
As soon as the gun was out of range, I let my grip loosen. It was stupid of me to do, but a part of my brain had been convinced that without the gun, this man was no longer a threat. Boy, I was wrong.
The man whirled around, his incoming fist looking like a battering ram headed for my face. I didn't even think to scream before I ducked, the edge of his knuckles grazing my cheek. I twisted and raised my foot, slamming it into the spot just above his knee.
It was a move I'd seen in movies and it just as effective as they made it look. The man cried out, falling to one knee and grasping his injured leg. Now unable to fight back, I brought my knee up and delivered a fierce uppercut to the jaw. The man keeled over, unconscious.
It was all over in a span of ten seconds, no more. I stared at the fallen thug, my breath coming in and out in huge gasps. I couldn't believe what I had just done. Did this really just happen? It felt as though I wasn't in control of my body, that someone with more experience had taken over, had seen what the man was about to do and foiled each attempt he made to overcome me. My radar saw what happened before I did. I could react faster with it.
I felt like a ninja, only with a broken arm and no idea how to get away.
"You saved my life," I heard beside me. I jumped back, having completely forgotten about the woman. Had she been there the whole time, watching as I took the guy out instead of running for her life like a normal person would? Did she see my face? What was she going to do? "You're a hero."
"No, I'm not." the answer was an impulse reaction, mostly because the echoes of Gwen's conversation were still fresh in my mind. I kept my head bowed, really wanting to melt into the darkness and pretend this never handed.
"Who are you?" the woman asked. She had a posh accent, like she was born and raised in a nice English townhouse. "Where did you learn to do that?"
I was too scared to answer. I took another shuffle backwards. I checked my backpack – it was soaking wet and I began to worry that my stuff was ruined. I shouldn't have gotten involved. Now I had nothing to hand in tomorrow for math class. That's when I noticed something on the ground, through my radar. Bending down, I discovered they were a pair of gloves. A pair of incredibly heavy gloves.
I held them out to the lady, who I figured they belonged to. But the woman held up her hands, backing away. "No. No, I don't want them. They've caused me enough trouble already. Keep them. You'll need them more."
I paused, then withdrew my hand. I didn't know how a pair of gloves could cause so much trouble, but apparently I could handle myself in a fight now. Muggers and would-be murderers wouldn't be too much of a problem, if for some reason I came across one again. But what did she mean, I'll need them more? More than who? Why would I need them in the first place? And why were these things so heavy? It was like they were made out of metal.
I nodded, if only to convey that I heard her. Still, that didn't mean I wanted them. What use were they to me?
I could barely see the woman in the shadows, her silhouette slightly more solid than the darkness around me. Her head turned to face the street, the pale light that illuminated the sidewalk. Her hair was long and curly, if wet. She turned back to me. "Well, if you're going to leave, now would be the time. I mean, if you don't want the police to find you…I won't say anything."
Her words surprised me. I actually smiled, appreciating that she understood how I wanted to remain anonymous. She motioned for me to go, and I took off in a run.
However, I did not return to the street. I didn't want her to see what I looked like under the light, so I went the other way, farther into the darkness of the alley. My radar led the way, helping me avoid obstacles like trashcans, beer bottles, and the random sleeping hobo. The alley split off in three directions and I went right.
I went through the maze of backstreets until I decided I was far away enough from the crime scene. I emerged onto the lit streets once more.
The gloves were still in my hand when I found another bus stop. I stuffed them in my rucksack before boarding, getting a glimpse of them in the light as I did so. They glittered with what looked like silver beads, almost resembling chainmail. My hands were too cold and numb to define what exactly the material was made of.
I could only think of how late it was when I finally got to Aunt May's house. I knew I was in trouble when I saw her silhouette at the window, arms crossed, apparently waiting for me to show my face again. I hoped I wouldn't get into too much trouble. I had already decided to tell her that my bus never showed up so I had to take a really long detour to get home. At least it was the partial truth. I definitely wasn't going to say anything about stopping a crime in progress.
"Amy!" was the first thing I heard when I opened the door. At first I thought her fear was unwarranted, until I glanced at my reflection in a mirror on the wall and saw how awful I looked. I was soaked to the bone, shivering with cold, pale as a dead guy, and a healing cut on my lip. Wait, when did I get that? Was that from the fight? I didn't even remember getting hit. "What in the world happened to you?"
"I, uh…" my reflection had me transfixed and for a moment I completely forgot what my excuse/lie. "I was in the rain. My bus never showed up. I walked into a light post."
That last part came right out of nowhere, but I didn't know how to explain the cut lip. I was a little disappointed with myself. Surely I could've come up with something better, that didn't make me look like a klutz. I was eating and I bit myself. The cab hit a pothole. I got in a fight with an armed thug.
"You walked into a light post?" a voice asked above me. I looked up at Peter, who was leaning over the railing of the staircase. There was a smirk on his face. "Was the light not bright enough for you?"
I threw him a dirty look. "Says the one who lost the glasses on his face."
"Enough, you two," Aunt May interrupted Peter just as he was about to open his mouth to retaliate. "Unless you both want extra chores tonight, I suggest you both go to your rooms. Amy, your dinner is in the kitchen."
Well, since fighting crime left me with an empty stomach, I took the proposal and ate the meatloaf and mashed potatoes. I noticed I had been eating more lately. I couldn't decide if that was my powers kicking up my metabolism or my newfound strength doing the same.
I ran my tongue over my cut lip. It stung when I first noticed it, but now it felt fine. Curious, I went into the bathroom to get a closer look in the mirror. Bending over the sink, I peered at my reflection, examining my lip. I had to rub some water on it to wash away the blood, but I was surprised to see that the cut was now but a sore line in my skin. It had healed over as I was eating dinner.
Whoa. Did my cuts usually heal this fast? There wasn't even a scab anymore. Was I getting more powers, or were they already there, and I just hadn't discovered them yet?
This got me curious. I had a radar, telekinesis (still in the experimental stage. It seems to be affected by my mood and I haven't been able to do much with it lately), superior durability and now accelerated healing? I mean, it wasn't the speediest, but considering I only got the cut an hour ago, it was quite an improvement. Could it possible affect broken bones, too?
It was hard to tell. My arm was strapped inside a brace and some gauze. I wanted to check but I was afraid of being wrong. I didn't want to make it worse. Still, I've had a week for this to heal, and it hadn't been that bad in the first place. I wanted to see this.
At the very least, if my arm was still cracked, I could at least get the brace back on, since it wasn't exactly rocket science to remove. My skin was somewhat puffy from wearing it, the skin pale and tender. Carefully, slowly, I extended my arm, waiting for pain to shoot up my arm at any second.
But none came.
I bent and stretched again, checking to make sure the arm knew it should still be broken. Despite the minor soreness of being in the same position for an entire week, my arm wasn't hurting me. I tapped at my skin, pressing until I felt the bone underneath. My radar couldn't pick up on my own body, but I wasn't an idiot. My arm had completely healed itself.
"Amy?"
I gasped, slamming my entire body into the bathroom door, forcing it shut before anyone could come inside. This was not the time for other people to know about this. "Uh, I'm kind of busy right now!"
Peter was on the other side, if my radar was accurate. He was taller than Aunt May. "I just, uh, wanted to say I was sorry. You know, for what I said earlier."
"Uh, yeah, it's all right," I didn't really care about our fight anymore. It wasn't that big of a deal, and I was already occupied with something much more important. "Don't sweat it."
I think my answer surprised him. "Well, uh, okay then. Look, me and some friends are going to the game tomorrow. You in?"
I glanced at myself in the mirror again. There was no way I was showing up at school tomorrow suddenly without a sling. I'd have to fake it to appear all is normal. But I was already yearning for more social interaction, and this was as good a chance as any. "Yeah, sure. I'll be there. Mmhmm."
I'd worry about the game later. He was talking about the football game, right? Field hockey season wasn't until later.
Later, while lying in bed in the darkness, I realized that I didn't feel as sad anymore. Not that I wasn't still upset or angry…because I was. But now I had energy. Too much energy, in fact. I couldn't go to sleep. All I could think about was Spider-Man, that woman, and the pair of gloves.
She called me a hero. I didn't know if it was true or not. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time, as well as gifted with certain superhuman abilities. But there was crime all over the city. What qualified as a hero, anyways? I looked it up in the dictionary, but it was pretty blasé about it. I mean, courage? Sure. But I wasn't a mythological legend or anything as extraordinary. I was no Mulan or Xena or Joan of Arc. I wasn't hero material. And even if I was, I hardly had the resources for it.
And I was just making a new turn in my life. I was getting my homework in when it was due, my grades were on the rise. If I going to all Spider-Man, would I still have the time? Not that I had a ton of other responsibilities, but still. Spider-Man must have some sort of motivation to keep him going this long, no matter what he had to do as his alter ego.
Motivation. That's what I needed.
I didn't have to think very hard to come up with a couple good ones.
Or just one in particular.
It was a long shot. Hell, I didn't even know if I still wanted to go through with this, or if I'd come out of it alive. But Mom was worth it, wasn't she? I'd do anything to get her back, even if it meant hunting down the ones who took her.
That thug didn't stand a chance against me. Sure, he was a petty criminal, but I could learn to fight better, take on stronger foes. I'll learn how to use my powers more effectively, find the state of mind strong enough to use my telekinesis. My super healing was a no brainer advantage. I even had my arm back, and could withstand a fall off a ten story building.
I was tough.
But the idea of facing the unknown of the criminal underworld had me quailed. Just because I was strong enough physically didn't mean I had the mindset for it. People go crazy when they get in too deep. What if that happened to me?
No. You can't think like that. Be brave, like when you took down that thug. He hadn't seen you coming. He underestimated you. And so will they.
That made me smile.
Whoever took my mom had no idea what they were in for.
