PART TWO
CHAPTER FIVE
"Damn her! She never listens to me!"
Buttercup glared angrily at Blossom. Three hours of playing patty-cake with this monster had worn her nerves raw. But no, her 'older, smarter' sister would never let her fight the way she wanted to, the way that got things done. It was always, 'let's think this through and plan our attack', or some dumb cliché like 'fight smarter, not harder'. So they ended up wasting precious time on something that should have only taken minutes; time that Buttercup could be spending doing something better. Like working out to stay in top form. Hanging out with her friends at the mall to check out guys, and to let them check her out. But mostly, like taking acting lessons after school, after her lead role in the spring play this past year as a junior drew the attention of the local critics.
To Blossom's credit, this beast had been a lot tougher than others they'd faced recently. Those claws were deadly. But still…three hours was just too long. Her patience was worn thin. Then Bubbles had to chicken out, something she'd never outgrown, and had seemed to get worse about in the last year or so. She saw her blonde sister cut out and heard Blossom yell for her to get her butt back there, though not in those words…and she used the moment's distraction to sneak in behind the monster to give it one of her patented 'Butterchops' behind the ear. They sent shock waves along the ear canal and upset the balance of whatever she hit.
At the same exact second Blossom yelled at her, the monster swung. She could yell at her sister later for opening her mouth, but right then, she knew that the thing had sensed her anyway. She managed to duck enough to miss most of the swipe, feeling one dagger-like nail rake across her scalp. It hurt but it was only a flesh wound. As she tried to correct her angle, she saw Bubbles going down. She cried out her sister's name and heard Blossom doing likewise, then out of nowhere the creature's other arm backhanded her. As she fell toward the street, she could see Blossom sailing into the monster's eye. Just before she blacked out, she knew just how wrong she'd been and how right Blossom was. For all the good it would do any of them.
CHAPTER SIX
She woke with her head pounding. It hurt like heck, and she reached up to feel the bandages covering it. The room was not hers; it looked like a hospital room. Except for herself, it was empty. She'd seen enough of them to know what a call button was, and she found it clipped to the bedframe.
A nurse came running in, saw her awake, and stepped right back out.
"Hey, where you goin'? I just-"
The nurse came back in with a man in a white coat. A doctor. He immediately went to her and checked her eyes with an instrument, ignored her complaints and stepped back, seemingly satisfied.
"Well, Buttercup, it's good to see you awake finally. I'm Dr. Bates. How bad does your head hurt, on a scale of one to ten?"
"Eleven."
He grinned. "That's about what I expected from you. Which tells me you're doing fine."
"Great. When can I get out of here? When can I see my sisters? When can I-"
He held up his hand. "Whoa, slow down. We want to keep you here for a few days, just to be sure. I'll let your father know you're awake. He'll tell you what's been going on."
He traded a quick glance with the nurse that Buttercup caught. "What? What's going on? I want to see my sisters!"
"I'll get your father." he repeated, and left with the nurse.
* * * * * * *
Professor Utonium had to confirm her worst suspicions, and it hurt to see her reaction almost as much as the pain of losing his other two girls. Bubbles had been killed almost instantly. Blossom had still been trapped inside the monster's skull when it hit the ground. She had made it as far as the hospital.
Too weakened to lash out in her grief and damage anything, Buttercup could only weep uncontrollably in his arms and blame herself. He would have none of it. He forced her to look at the papers, as difficult as it was for her to have to see it in cold black and white. She was a hero. The same thing was all over the TV. And the cards and gifts and flowers that came to her all told her the same thing. She refused to believe it. She knew the real truth; if not for her rashness, that Blossom always complained about, they would still be alive.
Everywhere she went, from the day of her sisters' memorial service , delayed until she was released from the hospital, onward, she was given nothing but love and respect on top of the condolences. It was hoped that she would return immediately to fighting crime, to give her something to do as well as to prove to herself that she was still a hero. But she withdrew completely into herself. She couldn't fight without her sisters, she told the professor, and besides, she was a danger to everybody. Finally, he told her she had a duty to do it that lived beyond the deaths of her sisters, and that at least got her to make the attempt. On her first emergency call, a huge apartment building fire, she was paralyzed by indecision. Without Blossom, she just didn't know what to do. Hearing the screams of people trapped inside, she tore the roof off the top floor and tried to snuff the flames by inhaling, but instead a massive backdraft resulted. If not for the fire chief getting her attention and sending her inside the top floor to get the residents out, the loss of life may have been staggering. As it was, she was now convinced she was finished.
After that, she went through months of depression. Nothing the professor tried, to get her to start enjoying life again, would work. It was very hard on him also, but he couldn't let this tragedy claim his only remaining child. One day he took her to the training room for a workout. He had a trick to play on her that he hoped might lift her out of her funk. He had a way that she could be any superhero she wanted, to fight any villain or monster of her choice. She didn't believe it, until he showed her herself as Wonder Woman.
It worked, but not as intended. She never got back the desire to fight. But her interest in acting was revived. She suddenly realized that acting gave her the power to be someone else. Anyone else, except who she really was: the person responsible for killing her sisters. She threw herself into it with a fierceness that rivaled anything the professor had ever seen in her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Life was a wonderful dream for Buttercup. Now 28, she was the most famous young actress in the world. She had burst onto the scene at 21, fresh out of her year at the New York Film Academy (and her four years at NYU, where she acted in school and off-off Broadway productions), by auditioning for and winning the lead role in the Broadway revival of Miss Saigon. Her very first film, a low-budget production by a fellow NYFA graduate, was a surprise hit, and her performance as the tough-talking, wise-cracking half of a female cop team on patrol earned her a best supporting-actress Oscar. She was equally comfortable with comedy or drama, action-adventure or historical period pieces. Only three years later, at 26, she had her first of her two Best Actress statues. She commanded $30 million per film but often agreed to much less, if there were a script to her liking. She worked non-stop, often flying from a several-days break on location of her latest feature to work on another project.
To everyone who she worked with, she was a joy. Down to earth, never the 'prima donna'; and her energy level was amazing. She never seemed to slow down. Personal appearances and autograph sessions were things young actors did to help publicize themselves, but once they made it, that ended in a hurry. Not with her. As a result, her signature wasn't worth all that much on the open market. She signed literally thousands upon thousands of them, to be sent out by her publicist on written request from a fan.
But to her closest friends, she seemed different lately. Moody and unlike her old self. When advised to slow it down a bit, she scoffed at the notion. Migraines, she claimed. Nothing a few pain relievers couldn't handle.
The truth was, she had begun having flashbacks to that day. Even her relentless pace, immersing herself in one part after another, no longer worked. She knew who she was, and that, no amount of role-playing, money or fame could ever wash away. She wasn't really having migraines. Waking from those dreams was making it more difficult to give her best. She went to see her old acting coach in New York and told him about it. He advised trying to exorcise those demons by flying home to face them once more. Townsville was one stop she seldom made, because of that, but she decided to give it a try.
It did seem to help. Her father still lived in the home she'd grown up in, and she found herself being happy there. They had long talks, and she was able to speak of her sisters and the fun times they'd had without guilt, only a sense of loss tempered by the years. Her coach had been right, and so had everyone else all those years. Fate had stolen them from her and the world, she could not have prevented it.
She advised her agent that she'd be staying with her father for a few more weeks. She made several appearances around Townsville and thousands flocked to see their hero, returned home at last. One afternoon, while signing photos at a mall, there was a sudden disturbance in line. People were shouting and screaming. When she looked up from the picture she was signing, the line had parted. Mall security couldn't do a thing. Standing there waving a gun unsteadily at her was an unkempt, unshaven man who could have been her age, or older, or younger. She recognized him as a boy she knew from school, named Joey Finkelmeyer.
"What? Joey?! Okay, Buttercup, keep cool…"
She remained seated. "Joey. I remember you. Please tell me what's wrong." Maybe he needed money. "I should just kick his butt, but it's been so long I'm not even sure I could anymore…and I can't risk anyone else getting hurt."
He didn't move any closer, remaining about twenty feet away, waving unsteadily. "Shuddup."
"Great…he's plastered…can't reason with him…"
"Joey, maybe I can help you, if you just tell me what's wrong."
He shuffled a wobbly step forward. "I said, shuddup!" The gun shook as he trembled. "It ain't fair!"
"What's not fair, Joey?"
"It ain't fair!" he repeated. "Why'd it hafta be her? Why coo'nit been you? It ain't fair, dammit!"
She didn't know if it was Bubbles or Blossom he meant. She couldn't remember either of them liking him, or vice-versa. But she was sure he meant one of her sisters. Didn't really matter now, which one. "Who, Joey?"
He ignored her and took another step. "Loookit you, Miss Cool." He sneered, wiping his mouth with a dirty sleeve. The gun dropped to point off to one side. Next to her, one of the security men whispered something into a radio, and a few more came up quietly from behind Joey. Not taking her eyes from him, she whispered, "Easy…" to the man with the radio.
The gun snapped up and the crazed man's focus seemed to be back. "It shoulda been you…"
"Why, Joey?"
His face crumpled suddenly and he covered it with his free hand. "Because I loved her! It's your fault she's dead!" The gun was now aimed at the floor, and the men were moving closer. Everyone else stood mesmerized by the drama unfolding before them. A few of the crowd called out things to defend her, like "Don't listen to him, Buttercup, he's nuts!"
But his words, like a mortar shell, pierced the wall of defense she had been able to build against her guilt over the past. The dam burst, washing away the peace she had finally made with herself, and all those feelings flooded over her. She buried her face in her hands and her head dropped to the table; her tears spilling all over the photos she'd been signing. She never saw Finkelmeyer lurch and wave his gun wildly at those who'd been about to seize him.
"Back off!" he shouted, and the guards did. The crowd backed off, too. Hearing the noise, she raised her head, and she noticed the publicity photos. Her smiling face mocked her. She had no right to be that happy person with such a wonderful life when her sisters were lying in their graves because of her. She was no longer playing someone else; she had to be who she was again. She savagely flung the pictures aside and screamed, "He's right!"
The tears poured down her face as everyone's faces whirled to look at hers. Her voice trembled. "I'm sorry, Joey! I loved them, too! I'm sorry!" She looked away from him for a second; her eyes sweeping the room. "All these years you all thought I was a hero and you've given me so much love and I don't deserve any of it! I killed them!"
More expressions of denial came from her fans and fellow citizens, more expressions of their love for her. Angry shouts at Finkelmeyer for causing her such pain and threats of what they'd do to him if they got their hands on him. But she just sat there, weeping.
"Shut up!" he screamed at them all, turning his head, and the gun dropped again. "Can't you see it's just a friggin' act?" His head whipped back to her and the gun came up. He pulled the trigger.
So, at last, the payback had come. The price she was now paying for her great talent was that when her innermost feelings finally surfaced, they weren't believed. She'd earned this moment of irony, and now she welcomed it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Buttercup felt all the air being sucked from the huge mall interior. It was like a slow-motion special effect shot, one she was very familiar with, for she was a student of the filmmaking process as well. She heard the slowed-down 'pop-pop-pop' of three shots. She could see the flame spit from the barrel; see the deadly projectiles coming toward her. See the twisted look of hate and anguish on Finkelmeyer's face and the shocked reactions of the crowd, the slo-mo movement of the futile attempts to grab her assailant. Then she felt, no saw, a ghostly presence reaching across in front of her to catch the bullets in its hand. She gasped and jumped up in a delayed reaction to the shots, but she was saved. Standing there before her was an old man, dressed all in white, with a long flowing beard and hair the same color. Smiling, he crossed his legs and leaned on his cane, tossing the bullets up and catching them as they fell.
"Not bad for an old geezer, eh?"
"Who-who are you…" she stammered.
"Why, your guardian angel, of course!"
"My guardian…" The shock of nearly being shot caught up to her, overwhelming her nerves, and her legs buckled. She fell against the table and he reached out to steady her, helping her to sit. The hand on her shoulder, though pale and ghostly, was real enough. She looked up at the old face in astonishment. The entire mall was frozen in time, except for the two of them. She studied him for a second and frowned.
"Guardian angel? Don't tell me…you haven't earned them yet."
He smiled again. "Very good, my child. You always were brighter than you gave yourself credit for."
"But…why me? And why not my sisters?"
He shrugged. "Can't answer that one, dear. Not everyone is so lucky, I'm afraid…but I can make an educated guess."
"What?"
"You're a damn good actress." He looked to the heavens for a second and said, 'Oops, sorry."
She was totally disarmed by that, and laughed in spite of the absurdity of the situation. It seemed too real to be just a dream. She saw his expression change.
"I wish I had more time to chat, my child, but this is very serious business. You have a choice to make."
"What? What choice? I thought you just saved my life! You mean I can't just walk out of here?"
"Well, after I leave, you can try. Maybe he doesn't have three more bullets in his gun."
He opened his hand out flat so she could see the three he'd caught. She touched one; it was still warm and very, very real.
"Maybe those men will stop him in time. Maybe you still have your superpowers and didn't really need me at all. I'd hate for any of those to not be true."
That flustered her, and she started to become angry, for the first time in many years. "Then what did you even bother for? That's stupid!"
"Please, dear, allow me to fully explain. You see, I interceded on your behalf to give you another chance at life. But that chance is not limited to this moment. I can't control what goes on after you choose. You may choose to continue your life from this point, taking the risks I've already pointed out…or you may change another event in your life."
"Really? You can do that? Change anything?"
"No. I only prevented this. I haven't changed the final outcome of today. Only you can do that. Just as, should you choose something else, I can only return you to the moment. You must decide what to do. Or what not to."
"Oh." she said, then gave it some thought. "This can't really be happening, but if it is, it's a no-brainer. I can always get into acting again-if I still want to."
"Okay, whatever your name is, I know what I want to change. This better not be a joke!"
He took her hand and drew her forth. She passed through the table in front of her, and just before they vanished, she looked around at the frozen landscape.
"I guess it isn't. Now, if I can only remember what I did wrong so I don't do it again!"