Thanks for clicking on this story! I know it's kinda long but I hope you enjoy it enough to get to the end. Incidentally if there's anything that needs fixing or could somehow be improved then just drop an honest review, it's nice to get constructive criticism.
This story deals with a mid-twenties Raven (the cartoon version), trying to keep a low profile and lead as normal a life as she possibly can, having left the other Titans behind years ago due to philisophical differences. She is the only Titan that features in this piecewith the possible exception of Beastboy, but he's only a figment of Raven's memory here. If you good folks like this story enough, you might be able to persuade me to write parts two and three as well. They're already planned, I just need to find the time to do it.
Anyhoo. ENJOY, and thanks again!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters portrayed in this story, and that goes for the ones I created too -- this is fanfiction after all, but if you do want to use Jem, Sam etc, it would be nice if you could let me know beforehand.
The Healing Incident
I often look back on my earlier years with more than a little annoyance. We were a pack of idiots, all of us, acting like we owned the world just because of our super powers. For the record, we didn't do a thing but pander to our own immature desires of idealism, fuelled by the angst of frustrated teens on alcohol.
I guess that's exactly what we were, but alcohol wasn't our poison.
We thought we knew what was right, because we had been taught by the heroes of our modern times. Great warriors, Women and Men like Wonder Woman, The Batman, Superman and The Black Canary, standing up for honour, virtue and all those other fluffy things you read about only in legends and myths. Truth is, these people are dangerous and insane. They brainwashed us with their own issues. They fed us big fat lies.
I went through a long, long period where I thought 'I' was the one who was messed up. I kept a lot to myself. Even now, if I lose my calm or lose my patience with somebody, anybody, I could really do some serious damage, to myself and to them. I'm stick thin enough; I don't need a guilty conscience to show you my ribcage.
I guess I miss the exercise. I definitely don't miss the protein bars…
So, you understand, I hate my past.
I ditched the costume – sorry, costume? I don't know whether that old get up even constitutes one whole costume, a purple leotard and cape, surely a joke? Must've been picked out by Beastboy.
We got through a lot of tissue, me and B.B, he had his, ahem, affections and I had to stuff it down my skanky leotard, just so I didn't look like a laughing stock next to Starfire and her enhanced alien super-physique. Super-villains can be so cruel with their words. I didn't want to give them any more excuse to laugh at us, especially me.
Things haven't changed a whole lot, not since then. Must be great to be a pervert these days…
Huge, black subwoofers, built in to the wall's black plasterboard, pump dark and deep baselines around the dim and dingy interior of Club: Infernal. Black-clad vampire-people either nod their heads in time to snapping drum snares, or twist like whirling dervishes with no regard for their fellow man or woman. Even though these folks dance and drink recklessly until the small hours, most of them have got to be back in the office for tomorrow morning. They are going to hate themselves for being so illogically stupid, heck, these people hate themselves anyway for this is black metal culture.
Raven sits amongst the shadows in the corner farthest from the entrance, a permanent frown locked around her indigo anja chakra. She sits around a circular table that is in fact teak, but looks black. She sits with a couple of friends. They work together in Susie's Yarns, a pretty large, fairly successful independent bookstore with big plans for a local takeover. Susie herself doesn't work in Susie's Yarns; she's actually a figment of Matthew's past. Matthew, the manager and director, promised he would name his business after her when he proposed. They got engaged and then she left, the shop's name forever stuck in Matthew's life, memories he cannot let go of. He is an organised mess and unfortunately he could not be here tonight to share his bitter pain with everyone else.
"God. I really wish Matt would get off my back." That was Jem squeaking, short for Jemima.
"Jem. Jem, look at me. It's because you dress like a boy, at work. You should cut your hair or something girl! Oh, and you've got to stop wearing those buttoned shirts. They are just so masculine."
"Shut up Sam. Raven, what do you think I should do? You're the voice of reason, in amidst all this chaos that is my life."
Once Jem had finished her melodramatics, Raven spoke.
"I think two things. One, Sam, just because you are gay that does not make you a style guru."
"You are so mean."
"Two, Jem, I think you should just quit bitching and tell Matt to back the hell off. Bitching is pointless…"
Raven smiled and sipped at her cola. Sam took a puff of his herbal cigarette and tore his head away from some guy's backside to face her.
"Y'know, I can't believe you're always so laid back and you don't even drink or smoke or nothing."
He took another puff.
"I'll bet you've got a bondage slave in the basement, someone you can take out all that pent up stress on. I can see it in your eyes, you'd enjoy inflicting pain wouldn't you?" He raised his eyebrows. "I'll bet they're handsome aren't they? Come on, I know you've just got to!"
"Keep it down Sam, you might let out my secret."
The table laughed, all except for Raven who grinned behind her drink.
"Heh heh heh… That's right girl. Christ. What time is it?"
"Only Eleven." Said Jem.
"Eleven. E-leven. Eeee-lev-enne. Yeah. I figure it's maybe a little early but what the hey."
He put his cigarette in the ashtray before reaching down and digging into a pocket.
"I just know I got some somewhere."
Great, thought Raven. By the way, the word great loses all of its original meaning when Raven uses it.
Jem was catlike curiosity defined with her chin in her hands. "Whatcha got there, Sammy-boy. Hmm?"
"It's definitely somewhere in here."
His entire arm disappeared deep into his trouser pocket. Eventually his wrinkly forehead became less tense and he slammed three pills down on the table. His vodka, Raven's cola, and Jem's snakebite shook in their glass. But it wasn't just Sam's slamming causing the tremors.
"What are those?" said an unimpressed Raven.
"This, my lovely little bird of death, is a gift from God."
"Right" she replied.
"Ecstasy." Said Jem, eyes lighting up in anticipation.
"Shhh… No need to go advertising the fact my dear. You know how many other people there are in here, people that want to get completely wasted beyond control, for no apparent reason? I've got the key to that unearthly bliss baby."
"Key. Right. Why don't you just go and join a troupe of Buddhists."
"Oh come on Raven, don't be so boring. Look, I even brought one for you."
"I can see that."
"Cost me a pretty penny it did."
"I don't care."
"But I'm being so generous!"
"And I'm being greedy." Jem took two of the three pills, which she promptly necked and washed down with what was left of her snakebite, half the glass. She gulped the last gulp with triumph and reached for the ceiling, feeling the vibrations of industrial techno in the air. She blurted: "Take me to your leader! I'm ready to go to heaven now!"
Sam frowned, he did that a lot, but Jem didn't notice. Now he needed to catch up, there is nothing more boring or aggravating for a drug abuser than watching somebody else getting high. He swallowed half of the remaining pill and swallowed it down with Raven's cola.
"Shouldn't mix alcohol and drugs, let that be a lesson. BURP Ooh. Dear me."
Jem sat and stared at the ceiling, the big black sky of possibility, where life is made out of nothingness. A few halogen spotlights represented a million twinkling stars and her gaze felt like it encompassed space in its vast entirety. She watched in awe. Tiny planets came and went rapidly in coruscating white dwarfs, all to the buzzing thud of dark techno. A secret melody, one that wasn't there before rose from deep within the beat and her heart adjusted, so that the snares and the rhythm matched her heart's contractions and the pulse in her wrists. The music was alive within her. She imagined cosmic sounding strings and bells that seemed to come straight from God, where things stopped being black and things became white, became divine, revealing the meaning of existence through music as if the answers could not actually be spoken to human ears, merely expressed.
Positive energy coursed through her body, through her veins. She was bursting at the seams, her teeth wanted to move, her fingers could not refrain from wiggling, her hips thrusting and gyrating in a dance her soul could not contain. She was hyper-alive, a super living creature on the edge of consciousness.
Is this what enlightenment is like?
Raven eyed Jem intently, knowing she had a very severe nervous streak that came to the fore in times of extremis. There was no way Raven wanted to relive Jem's last bad trip on LSD, not again. Thankfully, Jem didn't remember the incident; her mind seemed to have buried it.
Raven knows all about the natural defences of the mind, the walls people sometimes build around themselves to keep sane. She studied psychology briefly in a foolish attempt to gain some self-awareness or self-understanding, but left the course when it came time to study Sigmund Freud, and that brought back too many unwanted questions about her 'unique' parentage. One thing she did learn, was that particularly vivid, bad experiences the waking self finds too disturbing or scary to acknowledge are segregated, and locked away inside the unconscious, so that the only way for such things to resurface is through a dreamlike state, for example sleep or hypnosis, although often enough the individual's mental blocks prevent such trauma from coming to the fore regardless.
This is probably why Raven has this great fear of her parents, even though she recalls so little about them.
However it would have been worth staying the course, she may have learned about the potential effects, positive and negative, that drugs could have on the brain. Ecstasy type MDMA was used in psychotherapy in the seventies in order to lower the mind's defences and natural blocks, to allow the patient to 'release their emotions', forcing them to confront their personal problems, and ultimately to discover a tailor-made solution to their psychosis.
Meanwhile Sam was having problems waiting for his high to kick in. He just sat there, quietly humming with a frown, looking down at his drink in mild frustration. Thing is with Sam, he takes a lot of drugs but he keeps them regulated. He has them in moderation because he knows how much damage they can do in the long term, and he doesn't fancy Parkinson's or altziemer's or any disability of any sort. Sam prefers to look to drugs as a source of inspiration and creativity in this world, a world devoid of any 'real' life. He'll tell you over and over again if you'll let him, that reality-based television is fake and staged, even though he himself is as camp as a pink feather duster. Life imitating art, to him it's more interesting that way.
"Laaaaaah…" said Jem.
"Yep. She's gone." Observed Raven.
"She is not going to sleep for days… Oh it's silly to be just sitting here. I've got to get up and dance besides, that's why E was invented. You coming Raven?"
"No."
"Hopefully I will be later, you know what I mean?" He leered. "Y'know, I have never once seen you dance."
"I'm going to stay with Jem. She's in no fit state to be left alone."
"Suit yourself. See you at work."
With a salute, Sam waltzed away, wiggling his behind over towards a particularly suspect, moustachioed crowd in the corner. Raven mused that he would one day, thanks to that queer swagger and overeager socialising, contract a sexually transmitted disease, preferably something disfiguring, and then, only then she would let go of all restraint, and giggle wholeheartedly.
But not until that day comes.
So Raven sat there stewing with her arms crossed over her chest, a lonely young twenty-something. How sad, a lonely young twenty-something virgin, in a club, watching her friend go off her face on drugs, gurgling with happiness and laughing in her own sweet, little universe of joy, generally having a good time. Raven wonders what Jem is thinking about, what could possibly be so damn gratifying, Jem has still got to go back to work tomorrow morning. It is Wednesday after all. No way was Raven working through all those invoices on her own.
Never mind, just when things were getting too boring, a new voice piped in.
"Hello there."
Lost in thought, Raven looked towards the source of this casual and suggestive greeting. It was the pasty, pierced face of a boy, who looked no older than fifteen but had to be at least eighteen, considering Club: Infernal's policy. He grinned a 'w' shaped grin that Raven returned with a disapproving scowl.
His calm, collected and cool demeanour soon changed to that of a worried, fumbling mother's boy.
"No. No you don't understand. I'm sorry. My name's Pete."
Pete held out his hand. Raven did not accept his gesture. He sat down where Sam had previously been sitting.
"So what's up with your friend?"
"Apparently, she's in ecstasy."
"Ecstasy huh? Hmm. I heard a girl at school died taking that, or something like it. Maybe it was acid."
"You go to school." Raven deliberately left out the question mark.
"No, No I don't. No. Well not exactly. I mean night school. You see I'm blessed with minimal qualifications and, it's hard for me to get a decent job, I've only ever done shelf stacking."
"Sounds like fun."
"Yeah. I mean no."
Awkward silence ensued until something wailed from the other side of Pete.
"Hellooo." Said Jem. "Who are you?"
"Pete. Hi."
"Hiiii Pete. Have you met Raven? I love Raven; she's probably my best friend. I love her. You two should get to know each other. Before you know it you'll be dead and gone. Just ask Buddha."
"That's a cheerful thought", he said.
"Ha. You're funny!"
"Well, you're pretty funny yourself."
Raven interjected before things got too informal. "Ahem. Pete here was just saying how his girlfriend died from taking drugs."
"Died?" Asked Jem.
"She wasn't my girlfriend, just someone from night school."
"Died?"
"So I heard."
"But she can't have, not on just two tabs!"
Pete eyed Raven a sarcastic thank you. Raven nodded and turned back to Jem. Was that saliva coming out of Jem's mouth? Pete followed Raven's concerned line of sight round to her.
"I didn't know how many she took – Oh my God. Is she epileptic or something?"
Raven didn't say a word. What reflexes still remained from her Titans days sprung into action with immediate effect and she leapt forward as Jem fell backwards off her chair. Her breaths came in raspy gulps. Raven checked her pulse, her pupils, she peered down her throat; no blockages, she hadn't swallowed her tongue, no trace of vomit. With textbook methodology and speed, coming from years of previous experience, Raven quickly had Jem in the recovery position.
But nothing had changed. Jem still appeared to be fighting for air.
"Cut the music!" shouted Raven.
No one did. No one seemed to hear. She needed quiet but she dare not move Jem because she could spasm and hurt someone, namely herself.
A crowd formed around the pair, Pete disappeared somewhere among them.
"Everybody, back off!"
No one did. And where was Sam?
"Sam! Someone get me Sam. Now!" – Still in control.
Sam was nowhere to be found, probably in the gents, too busy tearing his pants off, or someone else's.
"Dammit."
If it had to happen, it had to happen now. It was something Raven had been putting off for a little while now.
She placed both palms over Jem's chest and concentrated deeply, listening to her heartbeat whilst finding her own center, her inner core with which to draw positive energy. Raven didn't need to utter the words for this. She felt the warm, soothing sensation of chi flow through her arms and it felt quite beautiful. Perhaps this was what it felt like to be on a high, maybe this is why Jem takes those drugs, you could quite willingly lose yourself to a thrill like this, especially if you knew you could get it back time and time again, whenever you wanted.
Simple escapism, she thought, how pathetic.
Black flames licked around Raven's arms. They ran down her wrists and eventually vanished under her spread hands, eventually burrowing into her friend, writhing underneath her.
Suddenly Jem inhaled sharply, her eyelids wrenched open and Raven quickly withdrew her hands. She picked up her bewildered companion by the collar and slapped her face hard, like a nurse would a newborn baby across the buttocks. This was Jem's reintroduction to Earth.
Someone had finally cut the music now that it was all over, suddenly lending the room a pin-drop-quiet atmosphere.
Raven did not look, or sound, best pleased at all.
"Feeling better?" she asked.
Jem didn't respond; she took pleasure enough simply being able to breathe.
Someone yelled excitedly from within the crowd: "What the hell did you just do!"
Without looking or getting up, Raven swallowed, took a deep breath and felt that heavy lump creep into the base of her stomach, the one that warns you of impending doom, the one that tells you that whatever it was you just did, you shouldn't have, you're going to regret it and you're not ever going to forget about it until you die, or everyone else does first.
Raven did not speak and her thoughts contained no words.
Jem's neck was probably the only thing moving around, the entire place had practically frozen with tense bodies. She looked everywhere, high and low, at the crowd, at Raven, at her hands, all in short succession. Something amazing had just happened to her, something supernatural, she wasn't quite sure what. But everybody's attentions were focussed on Raven, why were they looking at her? What had she done?
A man stepped out from the crowd, a man with cuts on his arms probably caused by self-mutilation. He had a wild, unkempt hairstyle, like something from an anime movie, or a gel advert. He had a soft quivering voice and accusing eyes that suggested he thought about stuff way too much, suggested he took all things personally.
"You just saved her life", he said, distantly.
Raven did not seem to hear him, although she did stand up.
"I want to go home," she said. "Let me through."
No one did.
They stood there looking like a wall of lobotomised soldiers armed with spiky rings, piercings and key chains for weapons. Transfixed they were, in the absolute, mind-blowing awe, of a God-like individual, standing right there in front of them.
Sometimes we make mistakes and sometimes we have no choice but to just make mistakes. I realise that I should've just dialled 911 and had the paramedics take Jem straight to the hospital. There, if she didn't die on the way, she would get professional help and probably some kind of rehabilitation, or at least a pretty pamphlet with pictures designed to scare people into going sober. I can't pretend that I can give anyone that sort of care because I'm afraid, it's not in my nature, I just can't.
The clubbers had begun to mutter things. Every now and then the odd word popped up out of them, like miracle, power, angel, demon. It should have been nonsense and they should have all known better, they were all responsible people, but it's so easy for the human mind to become twisted, all it takes is for something extraordinary to happen, just enough to shake an individual from the dull life they so love to hate. Who doesn't want a hero to guide them, to tell them what good is and what bad is, and to distinguish the constantly blurring line between right and wrong?
"I want to go home." Raven reiterated. Leaving Jem sat on the floor, she walked towards the crowd expecting them to close in on her, but instead they respectfully cleared a narrow path, enough for her to get through.
Each of the crowd wore looks of utter astonishment. She felt their bewildered stares burning so she pulled up her hood, holding it tight around her face, leaving only her own eyes exposed. Raven didn't go anywhere outside without that black hood and poncho ensemble, the outfit, dark as it was, made her feel secure, and she needed security right now, this experience was bordering on scary.
Unfortunately, Raven's clothing these days, being self-satisfying as it was, was not chosen for practicality. When she finally reached the end of the long tunnel made by the crowd, and left the exit behind her, she found that the trademark ankle-length skirt she was wearing prevented her from breaking into a half decent jog, let alone a sprint.
Thankfully no one recognised her in the street, she was just another miserable Goth. That is, until Club: Infernal's patrons, as if awakened by some sinister force, began to spill from the double doorway behind her like a zombified Evanescence convention.
She swallowed, took a deep breath, and walked away one small, hurried step at a time. With any luck, it wouldn't be too hard to be able to build up a considerable distance away from them, the followers, and hide in a shadow somewhere, waiting for them to leave her alone.
It wasn't so hard to shake them the first time. All I had to do was disappear into the park, I mean it's not like I wear day-glo or anything, and the woods provide ample enough coverage to get buried in darkness. It's not the most uncomfortable place either, besides the empty beer bottles and garbage and rats, it's tranquil, very private.
The only thing I can't hide from in here is my thoughts. I shouldn't have left Jem back at the club, not with all those weirdoes. It could've been dangerous.
I should've made myself more inconspicuous. I shouldn't have shouted like I did. I could've just healed her and walked away quietly and nobody would've known. No wonder all those people looked stunned, watching anyone pour black flames into a jerking drug addict should force any sane person to step back and do a double take of the situation. I'm surprised that nobody tried to stop me; I might have been trying to kill her.
Although I don't think any of my antics back at the club validate the fact that these nut jobs have been following me wherever I go. It was two whole weeks ago now, since I healed Jem, and the time has almost slowed to a grinding halt. Everyday is a new ordeal. I keep seeing people from the club, people I saw staring at me, gawping so wide I could tell you their dental records.
The thing about Club: Infernal, the childish thing is that a lot of its regulars are into Satanism. Sam knows a few. Me, of all people, I should never have even been there in the first place. Maybe I should just stop worrying about trying to find friends and stay home with a nice cup of herbal tea.
Peer pressure's an elusive bitch, and that's what it is. I thought I'd shaken her off long ago, found my own identity. Now I'm not sure whether she's gone for good or not.
Raven has found it incredibly hard keeping herself to herself. She hasn't been going out after work, only otherwise leaving the house in cases of severe food shortage. Jem hasn't been at work either, taking a lot of sick pay since her life-altering episode, and nobody has seen her. Sam remained Sam, little bothered Sam, but it wasn't the same talking to him as it was talking to Jemima. He might be homosexual, but a promiscuous male is a promiscuous male, in other words: dull.
It's another typically dark evening, the first week of November. Grey snow covers buildings and treetops across the city like smooth icing on a Christmas cake; a thick, white and creamy layer hiding a dark brown and booze-filled blocks of flats.
The woods are no exception as beer-bottles and crisp packets spookily rustle in the brisk wind currents. Raven trundles through it all as though she had winter boots on, but really she's just wearing her regular boots, under a new and improved, long skirt. She hates this route home but unfortunately, it's the only way where she hasn't yet bumped into any of her admirers, whom she has now dubbed The Cultists.
Therefore it is only a matter of time before she does.
Since Raven figured she'd be doing a lot more running from now on, she wisely decided to invest in a new skirt. You could call it the Batskirt such is its genius of design, and it was quite expensive to fashion. It is still ankle length, and black, with a hem cut down the front, back and sides, binding thick strips of elastic in between each flap of fabric. This way, Raven would be able to extend her legs properly in order to run. Hopefully, although it still remains untested, she would be able to break into a full sprint, just like the old days. She's been exercising a lot recently, that always helps.
Meditating too, more than ever in fact. If she had to confront these lurid people, and she feared she would soon, she would have to be ready for anything. They could try anything. So far their tactics seemed to be to jump and grab, but soon, she was sure they'd hatch a plan that was halfway decent.
The woods were soon to be coming to an end. She could see the faint glow of a distant streetlamp. This is when she would be out in the open. This is when they would strike.
Raven thought these things every time she came to this point, every day since the healing incident.
Old motors, police sirens, car horns; the cacophony of passing traffic almost overwhelmed her as she stepped out onto the sidewalk, finally leaving the woods behind. This was the last stretch of the journey home, back to her apartment. Quickly she walked, concentrating with each step, making sure to keep ahead of herself and on even footing.
Then that cold thing happened to her belly as she saw a man with scarred arms openly displayed, standing some ten feet in front of her. She recognised that accusing stare, the pallid cheeks and wild hairstyle. It was the man from the club, a man who should know better than to cut into his own body. His lips quivered as he saw her.
She suppressed her nerves, it wasn't hard for her to do, Raven could suppress any feeling and her frequent meditation had really been paying off.
A step, a single step was all it needed for him to take and Raven pivoted a-hundred-and-eighty degrees and broke into an instant sprint like a hundred meter athlete, heading straight back into the shadows of the woods.
The scarred man had spoken one command into his hands free kit, connected to a mobile phone snugly stored inside his tight trouser pocket. He walked, casually, after Raven.
Once she was out of sight, running was no longer necessary. Raven could levitate, and so she rose a few inches off the ground and glided away as quickly as possible. This was much better, more streamlined, there was no friction holding her back, and her muscles would not get so tired. Raven made her body as aerodynamic as possible, keeping the presence of mind to go as fast as she could.
Then from out of nowhere, there was an impact. She felt her knees clash into someone's upper torso. Whoever it was, they tumbled under her as she breezed through their body, bowling them over easily. Expressionless, Raven landed on her feet and approached the unlucky stranger, unfortunate enough to get in the way of her desperate escape. Focussing her eyes to see properly in the dim light…
"Are you okay?"
There was no immediate answer barring a disgruntled, male snort and the sound of someone dusting down their jeans.
They were wearing jeans, dark jeans, with metal studs. A key chain was apparent and silver rings too, glinting in what little moonlight could pierce through the trees, reflecting enough light to outline a dark-coloured coat, more metal on the shoulders, likely to be pointy spikes rather than round studs. Piercings were on his face. She didn't like the looks of this, just one last piece of the puzzle to go.
"God. I actually touched you…"
The last piece fit. He was another one of the cultists.
"Don't get used to it" said Raven, it's never going to happen again." She continued on her way without a second thought. Her overcoat flapping far out behind as she flew and she flew fast, not unlike the man said to be faster than a speeding bullet.
But it was no use. A crowd lay in wait for Raven at the clearing. As she got nearer, she could see that it was in fact a group of cultists, a large pack of black and buckled vampires with motley hairstyles and a varied dress sense in all but colour.
They saw Raven come closer in the shadow, two glossy white eyes in the night, and this time she was flying! Was there any end to her wondrous powers?
"Here she comes!" said one, excitedly.
Most of them whooped and screamed as the figure of their goddess became clearer and easier to see. A few stared dead ahead, mouths agape, some of these kids weren't old enough to get in to Club: Infernal so this was the first they'd seen of Raven and her powers.
"How can she do that?" said a second cultist.
There was just one thing for it, Raven decided she needed to get higher to avoid these clowns so, after cutting her momentum off mid flight to a stationary hover, she shot directly upwards.
Unfortunately this was left too late, one of the cultists had a grapnel gun, and he was a pretty mean shot. He caught Raven around the ankle and pulled down with all the strength he could muster, but it wasn't until his friends joined in that she could at long last be grounded, she was a fighter all right, but now she was on her knees, the chain had really hurt her shins.
"Quick, while it's down!"
It, thought Raven, was not a nice name to be called. "Get back!" she cried, "Stay away from me!"
The cult had her surrounded. As one, they moved in around her like an Anaconda, closing in for the kill, at least that's how it seemed.
An unsettled surge of adrenaline welled up within Raven as she felt control slither from her grasp, unholy thoughts entered her mind. She could kill all of these people before they knew what happened, and then, possibly only then they would leave her alone for good. You couldn't see it in the shadows, but two marble-sized black orbs of fire found their way into Raven's palms, growing in circumference until it looked as though she spun two demonic basketballs on her outstretched fingers.
A deep, gravely voice came from Raven's mouth as she finally snapped.
"Leave me alone" she said.
Some of the younger cultists nearest to the front of the crowd backed off a bit, but generally the whole unit still moved towards her like a uniform, black mass. It became quite claustrophobic for Raven as they dived on top of her one after another. One or two got punched out, broken noses or a fractured mandible hopefully, and if she was on target but she couldn't kill them, not her fellow pathetic humans, she'd spent too much of her adolescence protecting them from madmen with infinite resources at their command, dangerous and insane men, like Slade Wilson.
It's funny, Raven found herself sniggering, remembering the time when she and her Titans colleagues found out what Slade's surname was. Still, there was the small problem of the pile of… boys lying on top of her. Sam would say how lucky she was. She swore never to tell him of this, if she survived.
A couple of her ribs cracked under the strain, and her mind was too exhausted to summon a burst of inner chi now. The pile of cultists collapsed as she became less than substantial, less corporeal, and disappeared through the hard mud of the woods where shadows, beer bottles and litter was replaced with the stagnant water, used condoms and yet more shadows of the sewers. At least there were no kids this time, just raw sewage.
Raven could really go for a steaming hot bath right now.
I walk and I walk and I walk, with no clue as to where I'm headed, none whatsoever. I'm glad that whoever built this undercity put pathways along either side of the sewage, it's like a river down here, everybody's waste, everybody's used hypodermics, it's all over the place down here.
Seeing the city's muck all piled together in one place really puts things into perspective, like how much better off the planet would be if there were none of us to begin with. Forget global warming. Forget a high fibre diet. The world is constipated, and it's all building up in man-made bowels of concrete. One day it's going to pop like a great, big, yellow zit, and we'll all be covered in our own mess.
The paradox of the sewers is that they must make a wonderful place for romance. By God, the amount of discarded rubbers I've seen is enough to put me off intercourse forever, like I wasn't already. And, having a natural pessimistic streak I sometimes wish I didn't have, I immediately come to the conclusion that most people who frequent this dank place for passionate love normally wouldn't use protection, probably. This is a bad place and I hope I find a manhole soon. Sam would laugh at me for thinking that.
It's kind of lonely down here but that's not a bad thing, especially since I left those freaks behind, or rather, above. It makes me wonder where my own personal superhero is. We have a country full of those Nazis and not one of them can spot fifty heavy metal geeks, all in the same place at the same time can they? Even with that God damn satellite sitting pretty up in heaven. Even men with powers so strong it's possible for them to overthrow all the world's tyrants at once, in a single New York minute. None of them will really change anything.
I swear I just stepped in some chewing gum.
Why not just teleport out of here in an instant? Actually the atmosphere's more pleasant down here. Although I want to get home, and the sweaty smell of urine is disgusting, I don't want to go topside anytime soon because those morons disturb me. What do they want with me? Hell. I don't want to save anyone, especially not any of them. That should be perfectly clear by now, so why can't they just leave me alone?
Raven clambered out of the manhole into the city's middle class suburbs. It was quiet.
A quiet road indeed, too quiet, there weren't any chugging motors to be heard, no sputtering carburettors. It was way too quiet. This must be the only place like this in the whole city.
At least Raven knew how to get home from here.
She thanked her lucky stars. With approximately zero life forms in the vicinity she would hear anyone coming towards her a mile off. She'd probably be able to sense them too, and she hadn't been able to do that for years, not since her younger days in Azerath.
With no one around, it was easy for Raven to get home. There must have been maybe three people on the streets, from the manhole in the road all the way to her apartment block.
But the evening was far from over.
As she turned the last corner the apartment block welcomed her like a monolith of safety, her sanctuary. She walked up each step quickly, to avoid as much exposure as possible, and put one hand out in front to greet, and push open the lobby door. However just before she touched it, out of the corner of her eye she saw a symbol, about three inches big and crudely carved into the wooden frame with a knife, it was one she recognised from her youth. A circle with crescent shaped horns on the top and a cross protruding from the bottom. It was the glyph of Mercury, a healer and messenger to the Gods.
"Oh why" she whispered, frustrated.
Her left hand immediately curled into a ball, black energy pulsating around it, ready to splat any pierced or tattooed face that gets between her and her beloved domain. She pushed the door open and walked in fully prepared.
The foyer was empty, most folks probably wrapped up snug in bed by this time. Raven stormed up the stairs, not stopping until she got to floor six, where she lived.
"They had better not have gone in my apartment. No one should ever go into my apartment."
Floor five. There were voices, one angry and guttural, the other insistent and whiny. The angry voice sounded like one of Raven's neighbours, a hairy brute she didn't particularly like, but wouldn't bear any animosity to either. She rather hoped he could frighten the cult away, being the ex-Hells Angel that he was.
She crept ever nearer to the commotion, and the voices were getting louder and more frantic. A baby began to cry. Raven peeked through the stair railing to watch the men arguing. There were four cultists and her stalwart neighbour sandwiched between the enemy and his front door. His girlfriend must be inside, looking after Seraphim, their child. They were a colourful bunch.
"I want you out of here, before I get to five!" said Earl, the old biker. He held up a massive, clenched fist to the tallest of the cultists. Each of his knuckles had a different satanic symbol tattooed onto it, with a large pentagram proudly displayed underneath them.
His little finger went up.
"Come on man", said the lead cultist. "You know why we're here. Just let us see The Black Lady and we'll be on our way. I can't leave otherwise" he pleaded, "I got my orders. You understand that don't you?"
A pinky finger went up, accompanied by more whining.
The cultists must think that Earl's other half is Raven. The Black Lady? That description would suit Bella (not her real name) down to a tee. She used to be into tarot cards and the like, now she never leaves the house. As well as Earl's fading tattoos, marks he refused to get removed, even though he wasn't a practicing Satanist, must have convinced those narrow-minded idiots into thinking the couple were the real deal, proper witches with cauldrons and everything!
A middle finger went up. This one bore a swastika, the only symbol the cultists would probably be familiar with, although one of them must have carved that Mercury symbol into the doorframe downstairs.
This was Raven's chance to escape for good. Earl could take care of himself, she wouldn't have to worry about him, but now that The Cult knew roughly where she lived it was only a matter of time before they had her cornered, trapped and with nowhere to go. Although where would she be able to stay otherwise?
Doesn't matter. Answers to the multiple questions running through Raven's mind could wait. It felt right, even easy to leave just then. Chances don't just come and go.
"We got to get past you pal", said another voice.
An index finger went up. Earl growled: "I don't need to remind you what'll happen if that thumb goes up."
Raven vanished in shadow and reappeared in her apartment. Instantly flicking the lights on she could see that thankfully, her place was still untouched by tainted hands, still all nice and white and perfectly kept.
She walked down the single, confined corridor, past her impeccably clean utility cupboard then her matt black furnished kitchen, which was not unlike the interior of Club: Infernal, and finally into her more urban living quarters which were still, in fact, quite dark except for a few dying orchids.
Above the television on the wall was a mirror, a small mirror that one would usually not hang up but keep in a handbag. It had a purple frame and the glass was somewhat murky in texture. That was the first thing Raven put on her chair, the only chair in the room by the way. She would gather things and put them on this chair before placing them in a blue rucksack she had refused to use before. It was one of her Christmas presents, from Jem no less, who was halfway right as to Raven's personal tastes in style, blue just wasn't a dark enough colour.
The bag was still light after packing, and mainly empty, so she filled up the remaining space with bread rolls in a resourceful attempt to stop everything rattling all over the place. Liquid was too heavy to carry so she planned to get something to drink on the road with what spare change she had. The heaviest thing by far was the mirror, doubly bubble wrapped in the sincere hope that it wouldn't break mid transit, that would be a very bad thing.
Importantly, Raven had also packed her Titans communicator. They thought she'd deliberately broken it when she decided to leave the group but that was not the case at all, she kept it, and modified it to know exactly where the others were at any given time, and if any of them came to find her, she would know about it. Sometimes it bleeped, and woke her up in the middle of the night or during meditation, but this only served to keep her hatred of their lifestyle alive and burning. It wasn't nostalgia that kept the thing from being thrown down the trash hatch; she simply wasn't going back to them, not ever.
Raven said goodbye to her apartment, without ceremony or emotion, and teleported once more, this time to the roof of the apartment block.
It's time to move on, to move away from all these people. I can't believe I'm not tired. It's just gone midnight and normally the sandman would start calling me round about this time. Then I would stop meditating, give myself a few minutes to feel my joints again, put my feet on the floor to feel the tiles, make a drink of herbal tea and find a book, Yeats or something before putting on my nightgown and retiring. My evening routine, breakfast starts with alarm bells at seven.
Goodbye apartment. Goodbye routine.
I guess we all somehow end up with a routine integrated into our lives. I'm sure this is a good thing, it keeps you peaceful because you know what the next step is and it's safe and easy to stick to.
Sometimes it gets you down, you know? Just realise that it's better than the alternative, my life-risking days with the Titans were much worse because any of my friends could have been killed. I hope they learn to follow my example. Life's been good since, generally, if a little under whelming.
But for now, as I look out over the rotting cityscape that is my neighbourhood, now that my routine has been disrupted, one question sticks out like an American flag on the moon over all the doubt and the happy memories, and the friends, the job…
Where in the hell am I going to go from here?