CHAPTER 3: PLAY FOR LOVE
In the eyes of ordinary people, superheroes are always thought to be more than they truly are. Flying off into the streets and battling against countless evils, defending innocents from the malicious wills of the mad and the strange, they are seen less as living beings and more as a real-life fantasy brought to life; some kind of construct of their own egos rather than seen as reality.
Not that anyone could be blamed for such a viewpoint. Bearing witness to uncanny spectacles like pacifying entire rioting crowds with but their own thoughts, jumping out of a plane before it explodes in a nuclear blast, drawing items out of thin air with but chalk, and draining the superpowers of a supervillain thus returning him to normal, it can be hard to believe that people with such abilities could even exist, much less be human.
Nonetheless, though their minds might fight constantly to discern the real from the unreal, the real exists no matter how much they think towards it; completely unaffected by the thoughts of the confused masses to try to comprehend their new world. Very little does the human race get a reminder of how insignificant their lives measure to the grand schemes of the universe, but never will they not need one to grasp its place in the world they occupy.
Two people that have grasped their concept of reality quite well are Gerald Johannsen and Phoebe Heyerdahl; known by night as G-Funk and Lady Tetsu. This night, however, they have ceased their identities as the aforementioned members of the Hillwood Heroes, but only temporary, for one particular reason alone, and a reason that has become all the necessary these days:
To go on a date together.
Arriving at the restaurant known as Chez Pierre, ensuring that it was not the similarly-named Chez Paris across the street first, Gerald and Phoebe made their entrance to the fine dining establishment. Where they were donning their capes and masks less than an hour ago, the two now made sure to dress nicely in a suit and dress, keeping their date fancy.
Growing up modestly in the city of Hillwood with his middle-class parents in a small house, Gerald was never one to indulge in high life, much less understand it, aside from his light friendship with Rhonda in years past. Tonight, however, seeing himself as more 'high-society' than ever by his unknown status as a superhero, he makes the most of his night for fun.
As such, he flaunted himself to the counter with an almost smug march, tugging at his bow tie, all obviously in mockery of the idea of class itself. Gerald could feel the disapproval coming from Phoebe of his obvious and flamboyant demeanor, but he shrugs her concerns off for his own amusement, as well to speak to the main greeter.
"Good evening, my good sir. Reservation under 'Johanssen'." Gerald said.
"Ah, yes, monsieur Johanssen and mademoiselle, table for two. Please, come this way, we've your seat already placed." The greeter said.
Carrying out his duties as the restaurant's greeter, he led the couple to a nice-looking table, complete with candles and a special tablecloth. The greeter also made a point to pull out each guest's seat, beginning with Phoebe's, and laying napkins on both of their laps. By handing them their menus, the greeter had completed his duties, allowing him to dismiss himself to return to his place at the entrance.
"Here are your seats, monsieur and mademoiselle. I shall send for your server at once." The greeter said.
"My man. Thank you very much." Gerald said.
As the greeter had left the two alone, the air of the restaurant continued to fill with mild conversation and a few laughs, but left the space between Gerald and Phoebe alone and quiet. Having both officially begun their first date alone for longer than either could remember, the time now came for them to fill the air with their own conversation. Always as extroverted as he was, Gerald was the first to fill the air, choosing his opening conversation to discuss this night's successes.
"So, tonight was pretty successful, huh?" Gerald asked.
"It was. A whole gang of Freak copycats down, and none of us even had to lift a finger." Phoebe replied.
"Well, fighting-wise, no fingers lifted. Goin' up against those guys in football, on the other hand, my fingers were not only doin' some heavy liftin', but got plenty broken."
"Heh. Yeah, true. But at least we found a safe way of getting those guys to live better lives."
"True that."
"It really makes you wonder, though. How does Arnold come up with ideas like that? Remember that time he stopped that lone gunman from shooting anybody? He didn't do anything but talk to the guy."
"Yeah, I remember. It's part of those Jedi mind tricks he does."
"I think the word you're looking for is 'telepathy'. Still, I can't help but wonder why he doesn't just do that stuff all the time. Why fight at all if he can do that?"
"He tells me that the telepathy stuff is supposed to be a last resort, and it takes a lot of concentration. That whole thing a year ago where he stopped that whole rioting mob of parents? He said that his trainer-guy, Luz, gave him some help on that."
"Geez. Hard to think about how that works. Last I checked, that only existed in comic books."
"Tell me about it. We've got skateboarding punks in California on hoverboards, guys who can draw stuff with chalk, and tweens who can absorb energy. Really crazy how all that started with Arnold after his trip to San Lorenzo."
The conversation came to a brief pause, brought upon by the arrival of the much-waited server. Pulling out a notepad and pen, the server opened his ears to his two guests, keeping his attention sharp in wait of the answer to his following question:
"Now, what will you be having to drink tonight?" The server asked.
"I'll take a Yahoo Soda." Gerald said.
"Sweet tea, please." Phoebe said.
"Very well. Are we ready to order, or will we be needing a minute?" The server asked.
"Just a few more minutes, please."
"As you wish, mademoiselle. I shall return with your drinks."
Leaving to the kitchen to retrieve the drinks of the two guests, the server left Gerald and Phoebe to continue their conversation in peace. Picking up where the conversation last laid, Gerald once again brought up the topic of Arnold, but, rather than address any topic regarding his duties as the Green Eye, he chose to inquire why he nor Helga were invited this night.
"So, Pheebs, why didn't we invite Arnold and Helga along?" Gerald asked.
"Gerald, I told you. This was supposed to be a night for us and only us, like we used to have." Phoebe said.
"Yeah, before Arnold came back and we had our double dates, and we tried to help them stick back together again like we did before they left. C'mon, we were like the Fantastic Four back in the days; just me and Arnold, and you and Helga, all doin' whatever we wanted for fun back when we were kids. We're all best friends, and I doubt we're gonna stop for a while. Might as well stay tight, or else, what if we all drift apart?."
"That's not what the problem is, Gerald. It's..."
"It's what? C'mon, Pheebs, I'm your boyfriend, you can tell me anything."
"That's the thing. You're my boyfriend."
"And... that's a bad thing?"
"When Arnold and Helga have barely been together on-and-off and they're already engaged, and you and I have been together non-stop for over a decade consistently, and yet we're not engaged, yes, I see that as a bad thing."
"Wait, so that's what this is about? You wanna get married?"
"Well... I mean... not just yet. We still have college to deal with around the corner, and we all just graduated."
"So, you want to get married, but you don't want to get married?"
"I do want to get married, but not right now."
"Then what exactly are you asking me for? If it's a ring you want, I can probably manage that."
"Maybe, I'm not sure."
"Phoebe, what are you asking from me? If you want something from me, I can't give it to you unless you just tell me what you want-"
"I don't know what I want, alright?!"
Slamming her fists on the table in frustration of the thoughts running through her head, Phoebe let her last words with irritation; her voice raising just slightly enough to turn a few heads towards their table. Backing down once again on her arguments, Phoebe turned away in silence, not wanting to draw any further attention.
"Phoebe... I'm sorry, I didn't want to pry into this. Look, maybe we should just go home and-" Gerald began to say.
"No, Gerald. I'm sorry. Let's not leave. Listen... It's just not that easy, having my understanding of love and marriage. You know my father's Japanese. Have you ever heard the term 'parasaito shinguru'?" Phoebe asked.
Gerald shook his head.
"It's a term to describe a woman who isn't married. It literally means 'parasite single'." Phoebe said.
"So, let me guess: Your dad's pressuring you to get married?" Gerald asked.
"Somewhat. The only reason he doesn't push that hard is because of my mother. You know she's from Kentucky, so, being American, she doesn't hold that belief. They fight about it sometimes, but they never agree on it at all. I love them both, and I know they just want what's best for me, but I don't know which one to listen to. On one hand, if I listen to my father, and I marry you, then am I doing it because I love you, or to avoid being a parasite single? On the other, if I listen to my mother, and don't marry you, am I staying strong and independent, or am I punishing myself for no reason?"
More of a carefree young man above all, Gerald was never one to deal with such puzzling questions, much less from his own significant other. Phoebe was always the smarter of the two, and just as independent as he was; the latter making the two a good match romantically.
Being mainly free-spirited youngsters, Gerald and Phoebe were mainly drawn to each other for their own strong independencies, finding respect in one another through this and, therefore, a connection to be made. This made their relationship very low-maintenance, a convenient enough situation to be in, but it had left him completely unprepared for this moment.
Nonetheless, for the sake of love, he tries anyways, for better or worse.
"Hey. Listen here, Pheebs. I love you, and you love me. That's all that matters to me. I don't need a ring and a big ceremony to know you're mine, but, if you want one, I'm all for it. All that I ask is that you make sure it's actually what you want. Whatever makes you happy is what I want." Gerald said.
"But that's the problem. I don't know what I want." Phoebe said.
"Nobody decides something that big that fast. Sure, Arnold and Helga are goin' through a shotgun marriage, but Helga also had all those weird diaries and statues. I love 'em to death, but I wouldn't call them the best examples to look towards. For now, why don't you just let it stay in your head to think about, and, for right this second, the only real deciding going on is what we decide our dinner is?"
"Well... okay. I guess you're right. I'm probably thinking about this too much. I'm sorry, it's just-"
"Hey, girl, ain't no reason to be sorry. We're young and we're dumb. We got all the permission in the world to make mistakes. Though, I have to say, a sudden marriage between us wouldn't be considered a 'mistake' in my book. Just keep that in mind."
"Okay. You're right. I am getting pretty hungry after that game, too."
"There's that spirit I was looking for."
Giggling ever so slightly at Gerald's remark, the two returned their views to their menus, looking to decide what they wanted to eat for dinner. However, having selected a French-themed restaurant, and one that prided itself on being as authentic as possible, they had not noticed that the menus themselves were in full French, leaving them forced to try to pull up their smartphones for a translator app.
"Damn, now I'm really wishing we'd brought Arnold. He coulda translated this for us in two seconds." Gerald said.
"I agree, it helps having a panlingual friend. Now, I'm starting to wish I hadn't picked Spanish in high school." Phoebe said.
Not too terribly far away, just as these two lovers sought out a night for themselves and no one else, there was one more couple to be joined to do much of the same. With no mutual date set up for the 4 lifelong friends, there laid only one place for Arnold and his own significant other to be: Home.
Making his leap onto the rooftop of the building addressed to 4040 Vine Street, the Green Eye made his arrival back to the home he had always known and loved; the Sunset Arms Boarding Home. Many years he had spent in this house, knowing boarders that would come and go, and a handful that stayed for many years, but none he sees anymore; most moving on their own lives.
Those who currently board and know him now, however, do not know of his nocturnal activities as the Green Eye, and he makes his re-entry quiet to keep it that way. Walking to one of the roof's side windows, the Green Eye opened it up, subsequently walking through and closing it behind him, stepping down a series of stairs for outside access.
Arriving back inside the Sunset Arms Boarding Home inside his own room at last, the Green Eye began removing his mask and suit, allowing himself to relax once again in the persona of Arnold Shortman. After removing his uniform, Arnold's eyes began to lose their glow, reverting back to their normal shade of green, no longer showing any signs of supernatural powers.
As his eyes change, however, his sense of hearing notices an unkind presence, leading them to change right back.
Listening in the air, Arnold heard the sound of metal flying through the air, coming very closely into contact with his ear. Through his own night vision, the metal was revealed to be one of his own shurikens, tossed right past his head and landing into the wall behind him.
Instantly, Arnold recognized this as a moment to take action, leading him to grab his staff and blindly rush towards whoever might have thrown the metal star. As the lights suddenly came on, Arnold's eye were overwhelmed by the assault of light on his sense of vision, leading him to cover his eyes. While his vision was temporarily put to a stop, his throat felt the presence of a knife towards it, leading him to throw his staff towards the attacker's stomach.
Once his eyes readjusted to the light, however, Arnold found that there was no true attacker, nor even a real attack in place.
"The last time you were in something like this, you told me that you weren't stopped at all. Getting slow?" Helga asked.
Finding that the perpetrator of this supposed attack was no threat to their home, but, instead, his own significant other in the means of playing a prank, Arnold had allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief, but his relief did not offer any form of release from his newfound sense of frustration. Annoyed with Helga's prank, Arnold threw his staff to the ground, leaning against the wall to try to breathe out his frustrations.
"Not a bad shot, huh? I've been practicing while you've been out having fun." Helga said.
"Helga, that was stupid, what you just did. I could've seriously hurt you." Arnold said.
"Could've, but you didn't. Besides, you and I have done things more rough than that."
"Still. You know how seriously I take this. I don't want to hurt you."
"Okay, okay, I'm just playing around. I always see you doing all that cool ninja stuff, and I just really wanted to try some of it myself. Evidently, I'm not that bad at it."
"Those things are dangerous, Helga. If I didn't hurt you, you could hurt yourself. You already landed a good hit into the wall."
"Easy, will you? You always baby me so much. I'm a big girl, okay? Besides, I was afraid you were gonna be too tired when you got back home, so I wanted away to... 'excite' you again."
"Well, I need a little break from that 'excitement' before anything else right now."
Still trying to release his frustrations and annoyance with Helga's prank, Arnold laid down on his bed, breathing in deeply to calm himself. Making herself comfortable right alongside him, Helga laid in bed right next to Arnold, still keeping up her playful attitude by nudging and poking at him. When her playful efforts did not seem to pay off, Helga tried for an approach towards sympathy, apologizing for her actions.
"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I just wanted to mess with you." Helga said.
"I know, Helga. I just... I just really hate things like that. I thought for a second something might have actually happened to you once I was under attack, and I could've seriously harmed you if I didn't see you in time." Arnold said.
"Hey, don't worry about it, Arnoldo. I'm a tough girl. Besides, you shouldn't baby me so much. I can handle myself while you do your superhero thing."
"You don't get it, Helga. Did you forget about what happened a year ago now?"
Arnold laid his finger over a scar running down Helga's chest, reminding her of the sacrifice Rhonda Lloyd went through to save her life from the Freak. The reminder of coming so close to death was not a comfortable thought to Helga, leading her to draw away from her playfulness, instead gripping Arnold's hand for comfort.
"I haven't forgotten, Arnold. But I'm totally fine now, and you beat him. There's no chance anything like that can happen again." Helga said.
"I know, but I still never want to take that risk. I never want to lose you again." Arnold said.
"I don't want to lose you, either, but I never stop you from doing what you do out there. I trust you to do what you do, Arnold, so why can't you trust me?"
"I trust you, Helga. It's me I can't trust a lot of times."
"You shouldn't be so-"
Rather than having the last portion of her sentence leave her mouth next, a small cringe and whimper followed instead. Holding her stomach in pain, Helga's cry led Arnold to quickly snap his attention towards her, checking her body for any wounds.
"Show me, what did I do?" Arnold panicked.
"Hey Arnold, relax! You just hit me a little sharp with that stick. It's a little sore, that's all." Helga said.
"Helga, please don't downplay this. I said I didn't want to hurt you."
Reaching her hands over his face and running them down to Arnold's shoulders, Helga used physical tactics to change his mood, hoping that she could turn the conversation towards something she would be more comfortable in... or, perhaps, not carry on any more conversation at all.
"Well, then... Why don't you give my boo-boo a kiss to make it better?" Helga asked.
Helga's hands then began to lead themselves down Arnold's back and legs, rubbing themselves against his skin to elicit some arousal from her partner. With this approach, the release for his frustration had finally found its way, giving way to more warmer emotions. Soon, feeling the light stimulation provided from Helga's stroking began to let this emotion take over entirely, with the rest of his body following on it.
Embracing his partner in a tight hug and a kiss, Arnold began to draw Helga closer, seeking to increase the warmth building in his body and in hers. They grasp at one another's heads and hair, pulling their faces closer towards one another in a motion laying somewhere between viciousness and care; a paradox of expression and emotion that could only be observed to be understood.
Soon, with Helga rolling off Arnold's underwear with her feet, and her removing her nightgown, her only article of clothing now thrown to the floor, the activity soon progressed to something closer than the mere embrace the two were sharing.
A long while later, after a period of time spent in love and passion, the two do naught but rest; grasping one another as they sleep. Their bodies are long laid to rest, wrapped in one another's arms, and the warmth shared give them a security that allow them both a peaceful sleep. For this night in Hillwood, not only does the city sleep well enough, but its guardian does as well.
His woman, conversely, does not sleep so easily as her man. Someone as peaceless and reserving much anger in her own life, there is never truly a good night's sleep for her; ever haunted by unpleasant childhood memories and years of contemplating death itself. With her partner calmed and sound asleep, Helga releases herself from his comforting arms, seeking some outlet to her feelings.
Wrapping herself in the blanket from the bed, Helga made her way up to the roof of the Sunset Arms Boarding Home, looking for solace above. Opening the window and stepping out into the open, starry, night sky, Helga feels a chill through the cool air, relaxing her hold of the blanket to let it run across her body. After allowing herself to feel the cool wind embrace her for a moment, she made her way to the main object of interest, heading to the piano once belonging to Gertude Shortman.
Seating herself in front of the instrument, Helga lays her fingers across the keyboard, letting her feel the keys under her touch. With little to do on many nights, facing boredom from having her significant other fight crime and protect the people of Hillwood, Helga had tried to fill her time with other things, hoping one would bring some impression to Arnold. One such prospect is learning on the piano, knowing of his love of jazz music.
Flipping open the songbook to Dino Spumoni's 'I'm Nuttin' Without You', one of her personal favorite songs, Helga began making her attempt to play the tune on her own. The little experience she had originated from many tutorials from the internet and various teaching books, leaving her with little to work with in learning. Nonetheless, her attempts to play the song reach a good start, even if her lack of experience makes her play slower than most.
This does not bother Helga; she always thought the composition was performed better slower, effectively capturing its mood and message. Though her capture of the mood was well-put, her execution still needed work. Lacking much in the way of eye-hand coordination, and still learning her placement of keys, her flailing performance leaves the song to come to a fumbling stop.
Failing to perform the song correctly, Helga grew frustrated with her own shortcomings, remembering again unkind childhood memories. Having a prodigious older sibling take up all of her own parents' attention, leaving her neglected and forgotten most years, the hands that once played out a peaceful melody clench in anger, soon striking the piano in anger that it once played so gently and softly.
"Shh..." A voice said.
Her sense of security was shaken by the whisper of the voice, but, feeling a familiar pair of hands make their way up to hers, Helga recognized the soft voice and gentle hands, and she soon felt much calmer. Though, even with Arnold's presence, her frustrations on the piano were not gone; still remaining to remind her of her own shortcomings.
"It's okay, Helga. It's not as easy as it looks. Here, let me show you." Arnold whispered.
Holding her own hands in his, Arnold led Helga's hands to the starting keys, letting his own fingers press hers down to hit the correct keys. Continuing to follow along her partner's movements, Helga continued along the composition, letting the two play out the song in full.
"The key's to relax your fingers. You can't play all stressed out." Arnold said.
"Oh, I know, Arnold. I... I just can't help but be mad so often. You can see what I feel and feel it yourself, you know what the problem is." Helga said.
"I know, Helga. You don't have to prove yourself to anybody. You're a beautiful person, inside and out. There's nothing for you to prove."
"That's not true, Arnold. You know I'm not a good person on the inside. I was so cruel when I was younger, and I never had the heart to tell you how I felt, and... and all the times that I wanted to die when you weren't here."
"I'm here now, and I'm not going. And you are a good person, Helga. Just because someone feels bad now and then, or because they make a mistake, it doesn't mean they're a bad person. I know you're a good person, Helga, and I don't need to be a Spirit Master to see it. I've always known it."
"But what about when I-"
"Shh. Helga. The past doesn't matter at all. All that matters is that you have me... and I have you."
Drawing her hands away from the piano, Helga instead laid them on Arnold's chest, leaning against him once again as her own statue to fall back on. Acting once again as her solid ground, Arnold held Helga close in his arms, nuzzling her closely to drive away her own pains and fears.
A light fall of tears fall from the eyes of Helga; her eyes having seen too many painful memories and not enough pleasant ones to keep her whole. Keeping his woman tight in his arms, Arnold continues to fill that hole, acting as the agent which kept her very life together.
He cares for all lives in Hillwood, and he would do anything to protect any of them, but this is one life he cares the most above all else. Continuing to embrace his lover, Arnold keeps Helga tight as they sit on the roof, covered by nothing but the light of the moon and stars. The air is cold and harsh, but their bare bodies are warm, and their hearts are all the warmer.
Where the two lovers keep each other tight and warm in the present, there is one moment without warmth or love, having occurred a year ago. Running through the memory of Thaddeus 'Curly' Gammelthorpe, better known to the city of Hillwood as the Freak, the moment is relived here in the present.
Hours after the school day came to an end, Curly now sat in his home with his parents, facing punishment for his own actions as of earlier. The house looks like a normal Hillwood household on the surface, but inside, it is far from normal. If one were to see the inner workings of this particular household, one would swear it was the house of Charles Manson.
Inside the house, one of many moments in a long line of abuse unfolds slowly; far from the first, and farther from the last. Under the vigilant and watchful eyes of his parents, Curly looked at the floor in shame, listening to his psychotic parents scorn him for his misdeeds.
"You tried to give my pearls to some floozy at school?" Curly's mom interrogated.
"Yes, Mother." Curly replied.
"And why exactly did you do this?"
"I wanted her for myself. I thought she would like me if-"
"Oh, you thought she would like you, now I see the problem. You were thinking. You know you're not good at thinking, Thaddeus. You're a stupid little shrimp who throws a fit when he won't get his way. You've been like this since the fourth grade when you tried to pull a Dog Day Afternoon because you didn't get to be a hall monitor or something stupid like that. Now, when you didn't get some spoiled rich girl, you dumped fry oil on someone and punched his face in. It's a miracle he didn't die. Not to mention you got yourself expelled and his parents will sue me. I should have had aborted you. Maybe then I'd have more money and less problems now."
Facing such a cruel and harsh diatribe of mental abuse from the very woman who gave him life, Curly felt even more humiliated from his mother's words and sentiments, causing him to tear up and tremble at the lips. Covering his face with his hands, he pleaded for mercy from his caretaker, hiding away his tears.
"Mom, I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me-" Curly began to cry.
Before Curly could finish his apology, his father punched him in the face as hard as he could, knocking him to the floor. Having faced the full blow of muscle and bone land their way in his face, blood poured profusely from his nose, adding to his previous injuries on his hands from the broken cafeteria glass.
"You shut your goddamn mouth, you little punk! You only speak when we ask you a question! Not one damn time else! I should break your puny little arms and legs for this stupid stunt alone!" His father said.
Militant and strict in his style of parenting, Curly's father was extremely furious despite his son's harmless interruption, feeling enough rage that one would swear would come from a much greater infraction. Picking himself off the floor, Curly crawled up from the floor, barely able to stay conscious, struggling to offer an apology.
"I'm sorry, Father. I'm sorry-" Curly tried to say.
Not allowing Curly to finish his sentence, his father kicked him in the face as he laid on the floor, knocking him almost entirely unconscious. With his breathing shallow and wet from his blood, leaving him to gurgle and choke on his own internal fluids, Curly may very well have been coming near death.
"Should I dump him in his room?" His father asked.
"Leave him there. He can clean up his blood when he comes back around, along with all that other blood from his hands. You'd think that school nurse would have just cauterized it and get it over with like we did." His mother said.
"If he comes back around, you mean. This might be the night he finally dies and we get to use his room for our dungeon of fun, or should I say fun-geon?" His father noted.
Excited and aroused by her husband's words, Curly's mother gave his father a deep kiss, gladly accepting this invitation.
"Oh, I love it when you talk like that. What do you say we have a little fun upstairs?" Curly's mother asked.
"I'd only be too happy to. I'll get the protection, we don't want another loser like him. Sorry I didn't pull out that night." Curly's father asked.
Leaving Curly on the floor for dead, his parents went to their upstairs bedroom to engage in carnal knowledge, actively neglecting and further abusing their son that they had tormented for over a decade. However, while the two were more than certain that they had brought Curly's consciousness to an end, his mind was not yet absent from thought.
Before his parents made their way up the stairs, Curly's vision of his abusive parents began to change to two demons, just like his previous visions of the occupants of the cafeteria and the jock who had been bullying him. It was then Curly decided that, despite his injuries, he refused to let himself die. Not until the demons were slain.
As he almost passed out, Curly made a promise to himself, forging his new mission statement on his life.
For years I've been living with these two demons. All my existence they have used me as a sick plaything to be abused however they please. They gave me life just to crush it out of me. No longer. I am not a toy. I am not a slave. As for Rhonda, no longer will I waste my time pursuing someone who does not love me. No longer will I allow demons to walk this Earth so that they may do as they please. I will kill them all. No pain. No sorrow. No tears. Curly is dead. No, not dead, he never was alive. I am... Curly thought.
As Curly began to find inspiration for his new name, one free of his old identity, Rhonda's last words of her rant that day echoed through his head, inspiring him to find his 'real' name.
You disgusting little FREAK! You disgusting little FREAK! You disgusting little FREAK! Rhonda's words echoed.
After letting go of his former self as his consciousness slipped, he had embraced his new name.
"I am The Freak." Curly said.
Finally, Curly passed out on the floor, no longer able to keep up his resistance to his injuries. Letting his mind give in to the injuries his body took in, he slipped into sleep, laying motionless and still. It was in this moment that the boy named Thaddeus Gammelthorpe, known by his peers as 'Curly', had died.
The Freak is born.
In the present time, with his ears open to every word and detail shared on the memory in Curly's life, Dr. Peyton Harvey Scott listened to everything that his patient was sharing, writing down various notes and conclusions from the story. With his patient sharing his story to completion, Dr. Scott allowed himself to ask his own questions, wishing to learn more from this experience.
"And this is the exact moment in which you decided to call yourself 'The Freak'?" Dr. Scott asked.
"It was at that moment that I realized who I was. My parents were demons, which, by association, makes me a demon." The Freak said.
"And do you believe that demons are real entities? That there exist some sort of creatures from Hell that control other people's will?"
"No, of course not, I'm not a crazy person. But, do I believe demons exist? Absolutely."
"And how exactly do you define the word 'demon'?"
"You know, evil people. There's always that age-old question if people are inherently good or bad. Well, the good people we always call 'angels', so, by defintion, the bad people are demons."
"And you consider yourself an inherently bad person?"
"Inherently? Most likely inherently, but I wouldn't rule out my own experiences with other kids. How come nobody thought my idea of freeing all the animals in the zoo was a good idea? It made perfect sense to me."
"I see. However, have you considered the argument of 'nature vs. nurture'? The idea that we aren't always controlled by our genes, but environment plays a factor? You do still have a choice in what kind of person you want to be, and what kind of life you want to live."
"Like what?"
"Well, a more immediate example, my parents were mainly from families of teachers, but I wanted to be a doctor instead."
"Teachers, huh? You know, I stabbed my principal through his neck during my holdup of P.S. 118. It felt good seeing that fat bastard choke on his own blood. The kids were all screaming, but, if they'd dealt with him at all like I had, then they'd know I'd have been doing them a favor."
"When you took over your old school, you did it with the purpose of luring out the Green Eye and fighting him yourself. Is that correct?"
"Of course it is, I thought people would remember that one the most. I mean, I shot a little girl's head off on live T.V., for god's sakes. What, did I have to make her suck my dick to get you people to remember it? Seeing how many pedos are in the T.V. industry, I actually kind of think that would have worked."
"But you wanted to fight the Green Eye. Why?"
"Well, why the hell not? Seemed like a good idea at the time."
"You seemed very adamant about drawing him out for a battle. Even most of the people I've worked with, they would all have at least one reason for doing something outrageous. Why the Green Eye?"
"Actually, I happen to know the guy, personally. Or, at least, I did. He doesn't like to talk to me anymore. Don't think I'll tell you his name, though, I'm keeping that secret to myself."
"But why fight him? Someone with powers like his, you should've known that he would have beat you quickly. Were you trying to make some kind of point? Send a message to people?"
"Make a point? Not really sure. But... I can tell you one thing that made me want to fight him."
"What is it?"
"Remember report by that prodigy child Lisa Loud, about that whole 'Hillwood Effect' we started? It talked about how there's a balance between good and evil; that, as long as one side's there, the opposite'll show itself. I told you that some people are angels and some are demons. The Green Eye? He's a shining example of somebody who's inherently good. The man's such a goody-two-shoes, he could make Mr. Rogers look like weak shit. So... it just fits. He's the angel, and I'm the demon. He's the hero..."
Before finishing his sentence, a slight curl of a smile came to the Freaks' mouth, fighting back against all lack of sensation and feeling in his paralyzed body.
"...and I'm the villain. I'm his villain." The Freak finished.