The bathroom was quite save for the rhythmic drops of the dye that dripped out of my drenched hair. Just as the girls finished pouring the burning chemicals and throwing the bottles that contained them, I remained still and focused on my breathing. I did my best to ignore the girl's laughter and the burning in my eyes and skin.
I inhaled and let the recent events wash over and sink into me. With a slow exhale I let some of the physical anger slip out of me. The power spread across the stall pushing away the chemicals that covered me and every wall.
What the bullies had done for months wasn't right or fair but I could fix that, an ugly image of how I could've done burst into my head. With a sharp exhale the adjacent wall was struck with the back of my fist. It was only a fraction of my strength but it was still enough to force the wall off its thumped against the other stalls toilet before bouncing back directly into my shin.
My anger flared yet again but this time I kept it in check and drew back what was left of my power as I inhaled.
I grabbed the ruins of my open book bag, closing it before I skipped the rest of the school day. At least I had the night to look forward to.
The weight of grocery bags was uncomfortable even though they didn't have to be. I was too close to home and it would've been a waste of my powers. Besides, Dad might've noticed something off.
Something besides the new over-sized black hoodie or the dye stains hiding beneath it.
I struggled to open the gate with my knee; the hinges were so rusted they were nearly petrified. A barely visible walkway was covered by several layers of weeds. I had to watch my step over the uneven brush lest I tripped. Dad had promised to take care of it weeks ago; but I should've helped him already.
I fumbled my keys for a few moments. The day's heat was getting to me mostly due to my clothes and the stains beneath them clinging to my body. Finally opening the door, I was greeted by cold, stale air. The house was still dark save for the few lights of the various appliances I used for landmarks. I moved towards the kitchen more through habit than sight.
A sliver of pale blue light peeking from beneath a door was the only sign I wasn't alone. If he was awake then maybe he remembered our plans for the night. Flipping the kitchen switch, I found the meat for the soup suspended in a bowl of water. Dad had set it out to thaw when I'd gone to school; he was supposed to prepare the meat for the night's stew, he was either too busy or too tired and forgot. A long sigh escaped my mouth.
Fridays were our cooking day. The meals were usually simple enough for me to help them cook. I could've cooked most of the meals myself years ago, but cooking was never really the point. I should've done more to prepare, remind Dad a few more times, buy extra groceries just in case but I didn't.
I carried the groceries over to the empty sink, unceremoniously dumping them out. The dull thuds were quickly followed by the sound of running water. Most of the vegetables were quick to clean and dry — at least they were until I got to my first tomato.
For some reason the vegetable imploded the moment I touched it, bits of red pulp flecked the sink, counter-top, and myself.
For a moment my grip around the pulped tomato tightened, white knuckled. I took a deep breath before rinsing my hand clean and wiping up my mess with a rag.
"Hey Taylor, did you get out of school early?"
I turned to see Dad wearing the same pajamas he'd worn the entire week. The clothes hung loose on him — I'd inherited my skinny frame from my dad — but lately he'd been a few pounds shy of anorexic.
The round glasses over his green eyes were clouded by smudged lenses. Dad had shaved his thinning head bald years ago but his blonde beard was clearly neglected and went far past the rugged look.
My father had always been a man of focus but I couldn't tell when exactly he devolved into obsession.
For a moment he just stared at me and I wondered if he saw my mother instead. Unfortunately, parts of my face were hers, particularly the lips and overall shape of my face. With blonde curls instead of her black ones I was glad to look more like my father's daughter.
He seemed to realize what he was doing and stuffed his hands into his pockets before looking away. Dad leaned against the kitchen's threshold for balance. It seemed like he hadn't left his closet-office for most of the day.
"No, but its been a long day." The sensation of the dried dye on my skin intensified.
With stiff motions that seemed like small lurches rather than steps, Dad wrapped me in a hug. The bits of tomato felt wet between us. It'd been long enough that I felt awkward just bearing the hug. His arms were tight around me as if he were afraid I'd disappear the moment he'd let go. Dad felt frail enough that I could lift him without using my powers
I pulled out of the hug a bit too quickly. It seemed to take Dad a few moments to realize what I'd done.
"Sorry, but mashed tomato," I said too quickly.
A flicker of hurt shadowed his face before he could correct it.
"It's okay, Taylor," he said while brushing off the vegetable.
We both stood in the kitchen unsure about what to say or do after the awkward hug until Dad broke the silence.
"What are the groceries for?"
The words hung in the air for mere moments before he realized the mistake. Thus began a string of apologies, most of which I knew as if I were clairvoyant. We'd gone through a lot as a family, but Dad had the worst of it. Somehow, he could still love my mother.
Dad reached for my hands, pushing the sleeve away from my fingers. At school I had managed to scrub my hands raw just so I wouldn't stain everything I touched. Even with an hour of effort I still needed my powers just to clean my palms.
The dye had stained my skin and clothes a myriad of colors; unfortunately the skin from my knuckle to wrist was shaded a dark hue like an ugly bruise.
"Who did this?"
The anger spread through his body like a ripple, washing over his exhaustion. His grip became painful as he pulled my arm closer with one hand while rolling up the sleeve with the other. I pushed back with a bit of strength; hopefully it wasn't enough to tip him off.
"You're hurting me, this isn't a big deal."
"That's still up for debate. Please take off the jacket, Taylor."
"I told you it was just an accident, please stop!" My heart was starting to race. I could feel power pumping through every vein in my body.
Dad hadn't let go of the jacket but had instead redoubled his efforts.
"Did Emma do this?"
"No, we were just messing around, why won't you trust me?" A part of me cringed at defending Emma but it was for the greater good.
My dad stopped rolling up my sleeve but kept his grip firm on my arm.
"Because for some reason you think you have to lie. Your mother and I raised you better than that."
"I don't have a mother, remember!?" I said with a snarl.
We froze for a while in wide eyed shock. I'd gone too far.
I tried to apologize but the words crashed into each other in my throat. I needed to do something to make up for it but hugging him then would just make things worse. We were the only people we could trust, a fact that became ironic with our knack for hurting each other.
Dad let go of my arm, avoiding my eyes as he turned away.
"It's okay, kiddo." He limped back to his office before stopping to say, "Sorry about dinner. I'll order some takeout tonight."
He softly shut the office door where he would likely spend the rest of the night.
I tried not to think about our conversation, not out of guilt but practicality. The pulsing throb in my veins had only intensified during our conversation. Having broken my rule once at school, doing so again in the middle of my home couldn't happen.
I needed to blow off some steam. Slipping my hand deep into my front pocket I retrieved a clunky flip phone protected by a zip lock bag. The bag was stained in various colors, but fortunately the phone was still functional.
Opening the bag, I inserted the battery before sending a text to the phone's only number.
'Lets meet at the base before the rendezvous.'
I removed the phone's battery before placing both parts in a new zip lock bag. Grabbing a bucket, I made my way downstairs to the basement. The dark room was cramped with dozens of boxes worth of my parents' stuff, the accumulated dust making the room stuffy.
The boxes weren't sorted in any way; some were stacked in piles while others were given a solitary plot in the basement. I took great care not to cause a chain reaction by knocking something over as I made my way to the old coal chute. With modern a.c the old chute would've gone unused if not for my costume.
I took a breath, turning around to check that I had locked the basement door. Exhaling, I pushed out a part of my power from my palm. The sensation was warm and tingling where it left my skin.
The substance in my hand was a blood red mist, its faint glow enough for me to see within the black room. At times it had a mind of its own, to such a degree that I'd dubbed it my wraith. Even as I held it above my hand I could sense my wraith tearing itself apart in several directions. the
With some focus I congealed the mist into a liquid that I forced down my arm. Keeping it close to my skin, I did my best to catch all the pigments staining it. The wraith's glow slowly diminished until it went out after cleaning my arm.
I released a larger portion of the wraith, enough that I could clean the rest of my body all at once. I was hopeful that my powers would stay under my control. The room was illuminated in a crimson light. The wraith was obedient as I cleaned my skin of the dyes, and even some of my clothing.
But the problem occurred once I got to my hair. The dyes had turned my blonde curls into a rainbow of colors. My hair had always been a source of pride — that was why Emma tried ruining it. Thinking of her broke my concentration.
The wraith continued its path towards my face but at a faster speed than what I intended. Like a geyser the wraith shot up into my nose, and raked tiny gouges across my eyes. Even better was the cracked thud I heard as my glasses were shoved off my face and into the ceiling.
A part of me felt as if I should've been more concerned about what happened to my eyes. While the pain was jarring it was nothing I'd felt before. It'd been a few days since the wraith had been that unpredictable. Healing felt similar to the cool sensation after drinking water but with the warmth of blood instead.
Since gaining my powers part of my attention had always been focused on the substance. Human blood worked best, draining blood from animals could work in a pinch but it wasn't the same.
Letting my reserves get too low had never been pleasant the longer I went without the stronger my hunger would gnaw at the back of my mind. I didn't even want to think about what 'starving' would feel like, but the image popped up anyway.
I made a mental note of feeding the wraith later in the night as I forced its contaminated portion into the bucket. The dye had turned the wraith into a dead black sludge.
Once again under the dim light of a single bulb, I removed my duffel bag from the pit. Unzipping the bag, I quickly unfolded the costume I'd put together from a thrift shop and a military surplus store.
It consisted of a tattered red trench coat and a pair of clear ski goggles. It was only by combining them with my power that it turned from a bargain bin ensemble into a superhero costume.
The black boots were a half size bigger than what I normally wore and had two holes drilled into each sole. The matching cargo pants' numerous pockets eliminated the need for a utility belt for my tools. Just because I'd never used the pocket knife, pepper spray, or first aid supplies didn't mean I never would. The final piece of my costume was a dark black T-shirt that I'd bought multiple pairs of.
I placed the stained clothing into the duffel bag before placing the bag back in the crater and returning the boxes into their proper place. I hid the bucket under the stairs to dispose of later, on my way out.
Changing into my costume was soothing, as if the clothes belonged to a different better person than myself, if for only a moment. Making my way up the stairs, I remembered something.
I knew Dad well enough to know he'd stay in his office for the rest of the night. Just in case, I left a note explaining that I went to the college library to study. I didn't like making a habit of lying to my father; for all his shortcomings it still felt wrong. 'It's for a good cause' was the thought I told myself as I stuck the note to the refrigerator.
The air outside was brisk rather than chilly. Similar to the front of the house, our backyard had seen better days. The grass and weeds looked more like a matted carpet than actual plant life. A rotting tree and a cracked fire pit were the yard's centerpiece. The brush along the fence had gotten so bad that it'd long been tall enough to obscure me from curious neighbors.
Looking at the fire pit always stirred memories. For so long it had been where our family would share meals next to the fireside, not just the Hebert's but the Barnes as well. Seeing the memento of those times as broken rubble felt like a stab in a raw nerve. As much as it hurt, those emotions pulled my powers closer to the surface.
But they still needed something more, worse. My jaw clenched.
Annette Hebert wasn't always the woman she'd become. My mother had known anything and everything, with a presence that could coax calm into a room. She spoke with infectious passion but never yelled out of anger. Her hugs had felt so safe and warm, as if to say everything would be okay.
I could almost pinpoint the exact moment Annette Hebert ceased to be my mother. Something weak inside of me wondered at my role in that moment but I didn't want to dwell on it.
Instead that memory became the trigger for my transformation.
The power crashed into me like a wave, tearing through every part of my weaker body and leaving me stronger for it. I accelerated from standing still to having my gate mere inches from my face. By the time I'd vaulted over the gate the wraith was seething out of me at an increasing pace.
My feet had barely grazed the asphalt before I was back in the air. I felt a tingly in my eyes, scalp, and fingertips where the pigment had turned dark black and a moment of tightness when my skin hardened with a crimson shade.
The changes were relatively quick but incremental and with each step I ran faster and jumped higher. I landed on the roof ledge of one of our neighbors several houses down from us. Balancing on the ledge mid sprint somehow felt more natural than walking in my regular body ever had. In a few moments the world became a blur, and with a final visceral tremor the transformation was complete.
But yet even though I'd only used the memory as a trigger it lingered in my mind. Anger running hot in my veins I didn't think about conservation. I just sent a jet of the wraith down my legs and out of the holes of my boots.
The force had been enough to send me high into the skyline. For a moment it was almost as if I'd escape the city and my life in it, but it was fleeting.
As I was pulled back into the city even the adrenaline wasn't enough to make me forget my mother. I could almost feel her hands still pressing down into my throat.