Inherent Superiority
Chapter V: Apotheosis
…
Many of you have noticed I have been dormant or, for all intents and purposes, dead. This has been due to several attempts to get and keep a job, which due to circumstances beyond my control have ended in what can best be described as if a tornado touched down in a parking lot packed full of overflowing port-a-potties, and the resulting shitstorm then caught fire and turned course towards a puppy orphanage…
You get the idea.
I am alive, just very frustrated and trying to make a living.
WARNING: This chapter contains insinuated consensual sex between adults. If that offends you, stop reading and please, please, please get a life.
…
Charlie Brown forced himself to not give into chivalrous urges.
He fought the urge to go in and check, see if she needed anything. The last few weeks had been her studying, taking breaks only for brief meals and to use the restroom, and sleeping.
Judgement day had come to Charlie Brown's apartment, and it had come for Heather in the form of an online proctored certification for Python language. The test was expensive (he had helped with the cost, against her protests.) and the test demanding, but Heather didn't want to sponge off of him, so she had said.
She was taking the test now, and the warnings for said test made it clear that anything that could be interpreted as an attempt to cheat- even a good-will gesture like a bottle of water- would result in not only failing the test but potentially being barred from reattempting it. He refrained from knocking or checking on her- any interference on his part during this critical moment could be disastrous. The proctor had demanded a 360 view of the room via a web camera, no paper or unnecessary objects in sight.
He had always found such testing procedures bizarre for non-emergency work- in real life if you were uncertain about something, you looked it up and used the most accurate information available so you didn't make mistakes. But then again, it wasn't his place to argue…
Money was coming in from the book, another contract was in the works regarding a book on Bullying, and the movie was going to make them a fortune, but Heather wanted to be more than, in her own words, "some girl leeching off a celebrity".
He was lucky to have her.
Charlie planned to take her out tonight- to someplace fancy if she passed, or to a bar to drown her sorrows if she failed and needed to numb the disappointment.
And if she was willing, he would offer to do other… things to help her relax. But that would be then. Now he had to let her make her own way.
He checked his smartphone. Schroeder had been invited to play a concert in Japan- God, that would be nerve-wracking if he was doing it, he couldn't imagine the pressure. But every time he had managed to see Schroeder take the stage to play piano, it was always with cool, practiced professional grace, as if he were calmly perfecting an art and had deigned to let an audience witness his practice.
There was news about some lucky guy named Dagwood who'd won the lottery, and had consequently decided to retire early. His boss, Julius Dithers, the owner of the construction company Dagwood had worked at, was suing him for the entire lump sum of his winnings, claiming that as his employer he was entitled to any unforeseen financial windfalls. He'd heard the story and seen the many memes about the old, short withered bastard- he was an entitled narcissist whose lawsuit was doomed, with everyone but him aware he had no legal right to any of his employee's winnings. The numerous testimonies about his abusive management style that had surfaced did not do him any favors, but it gave the meme generators plenty to work with.
Linus was doing well, all things considered. He had resigned from the army, was given an honorable discharge, and was trying to build a life of his own. He'd warned Charlie that Lucy was out, but her situation had left her all but powerless- a criminal record, reduced to trying to demand help from her brother, no aid from her parents, and the last Linus had heard of her, she was working at a grocery as a sacker.
Maybe hard work would reform her, maybe not. She was several states away, and if by some freak chance she did make it here, that was what the .357 hidden in his closet was for. The court might have decided she deserved a second chance, but a map of long-healed but still visible scars on his body and his sister's still reoccurring nightmares of being chained in the Van Pelt basement told a different story. Consequences be damned, if she was stupid enough to show her face around him, he'd make sure she could never harm anyone ever again…
He checked his emails. A few from his agent about the upcoming movie. One from mom about wanting to meet the new girl in his life- maybe if she felt comfortable. Multiple emails in his blocked senders folder from a mish-mash of people he'd called out in the book. Gertrude, the bitch of a cafeteria lady that had served him shit for lunch, was begging him to leave her name out of the movie, claiming she'd been unable to find a job ever since her arrest for the attempted raid on the Brown household, her family had disowned her, and being named in the novel for what she had done resulted in being a pariah everywhere she went.
He was tempted to respond with an invitation to do one of several things, namely to ingest the same kind of fare she'd offered him back then and then set herself on fire. He had a feeling his lawyer would not appreciate the extra work that would come of that, however.
They had all made their bed, and now they were complaining that they were being forced to lie in it. That was a major problem he saw among bullies and sociopaths these days- they believed that once they had their fun, they should be absolved of any consequence that stemmed from their actions-
An ear-splitting shriek made him jump.
Reflexes made him forget that Heather needed to be in absolute solitude for this exam, and he sprang to his feet, ready to unleash hell or do whatever it was to neutralize the threat to her, he ran to the closed door separating him from her, where she was taking her exam…
…and it opened of it's own accord, revealing an ecstatic and unharmed Heather.
"I PASSED!"
He blinked, the words taking a moment to parse now that he assessed that she was not in danger. "You passed?" he repeated. Then the meaning struck him. "You passed? You passed!"
"I PASSED!"
"YOU PASSED!"
He went to hug her as she did the same-
-and suddenly their tongues were exploring each other's mouths, and he closed his eyes and breathed in her scent, and it drove him wild…
He pulled back to see a dazed look in her eyes. There was something new in her eyes, something he'd only seen glimpses of before…
Restraint. You are not an animal.
"What… what do you want to do to celebrate?" he asked breathlessly.
"I…" she began, shivering. "I want you." She took a breath. "I want you. Inside me. Now."
Restraint fading.
Heather shrieked as she was tossed onto the bed, and it hit him he'd gone too far, she would hate him, she was looking up at him with-
…excitement.
"If you want me to stop," he said with his last bit of restraint, "tell me and I will." She nodded. "Now…" he growled involuntarily, a hunger he had only felt in dreams overtaking him. "Tell me what you want me to do to you."
She did.
As he did his best to grant her obscene, wild requests, she did not ask him to stop.
But she did scream his name. Loudly.
Over and over and over.
…
Dressed in rags, reduced to doing menial work for minimal wage while living out of a halfway home, and reminded constantly of her nemesis' success no matter which way she turned, Lucy realized something.
This was how Charlie Brown felt, wasn't it?
She worked at a supermarket sweeping isles and sacking groceries- she wasn't trusted to even man the registers- then walked home on aching legs to a bus that was always cramped to her reward- a communal shower that was always occupied, an economical meal, and an uncomfortable bed.
In the meantime, she got to see proof that Charlie had survived and thrived. Magazines featuring stories from Peppermint Pattie about the abuse he went through. Commercials on the home's old TV advertising the upcoming "Blockhead" movie, or a segment on how Rerun was so much happier in his new family…
The only saving grace was that most people knew she was Lucy, and not Lucy Van Pelt. If that got out, she was going to be on the run again, no two ways about it. The Van Pelt name was demonized forevermore, with her parents living in shame and her baby brother having been fortunate enough to be given the chance to discard it and start over, deemed a victim rather than an accomplice.
Linus got a reprieve only because Charlie's book had painted him as a victim too- the longsuffering friend of the outcast, bullied and hated by his own family, treated more as a servant and punching bag than a son or sibling.
The last interaction she had dashed any hope she could cow him into submission again- he was stronger, mentally and physically, and if it came down to a brawl, she knew- with nauseating certainty- he would win. He had mocked her divinity, then slammed the door in her face, and that was the end of her power over Linus.
Beep. BEEP BEEP.
Ugh.
The most horrible noise possible brought her back to reality as the cashier behind the counter tried to scan some mushrooms, and the barcode wasn't cooperative.
It wasn't her problem as far as getting it to scan goes- the manager made it clear he was only hiring her out of charity, and if she kept her nose clean for two or three years, he might consider letting her be a cashier. All she did was sack, sweep, and clean.
The current customer watched as her cashier attempted to rescan the offending pack of mushrooms. He was ten years younger than her, pimply faced, and had infinitely more rapport with the manager. "Dwight" didn't know her last name, and didn't care enough to ask. That was sadly for the best.
What got to her… what made her clench her teeth until she could feel cracks forming wasn't the mis-scans or the delays.
"Oh!" The middle-aged woman said as Dwight punched in the item manually. "That means it's free, right?"
She gripped the edge of the checkout counter until her knuckles turned white. It was the joke that pissed her off. The same, old, unfunny joke every single customer thought was so original.
Every. Goddamn. Time.
"Ha. Ha. Ha." Dwight's laugh was dry and mocking. Dwight could afford to shrug this off- in a year or so, he would be handing in his resignation, going on to bigger and better things. But Lucy would still be here.
"Oh, come on. It's funny!" insisted the woman as Dwight continued to scan items, sending a bottle of red wine down the conveyor to Lucy.
"Ma'am, I'm sorry, it's just that we hear that at least three times an hour." Dwight explained matter-of-factly.
Three times? Three times? Maybe if they were obscenely lucky. It seemed that every other customer believed they were a comedic genius who had come up with a one-liner that should have everyone in stitches.
"Oh, fine." The woman snapped irritably. "People like you who never went to college don't develop a sense of humor past fart jokes. I don't know why I bother."
Lucy silently took offense to that. She did have a sense of humor, but it revolved around a certain near-bald good-for-nothing missing pulled-away footballs or failing further into miserable despair, and she'd had precious little of that to laugh at in so many years.
She couldn't even conjure up the righteous fury of her younger years, now. All she had keeping her going was base human hunger and smoldering resentment. Her group therapist and those in said group told her that the 'irrational' anger she felt was holding her back, preventing her growth as a person.
Except that was a lie. Her anger was NOT irrational, and it was not the thing holding her back. The criminal record she had been wrongly branded with was holding her back. This job was holding her back. The unfairness of the world was holding her back. Maybe Job in the Bible could stand having his life go to shit as his patience was tested by forces beyond his comprehension, but Lucy Van Pelt had an agenda that allowed very precious little time for such frivolous tests of her divinity.
…and every day, a little bit of her certainty in that divinity chipped away, and a hideous idea began to push through.
Maybe she would not achieve apotheosis. Maybe there would be no righteous charge towards the cursed dwelling of the Inferior One, where she would conjure a sword of her blazing divinity to level at Charlie Brown's chest as she recited his crimes against her holiness, no public shaming and imprisoning of the bald-headed devil, no erecting of a statue of the new Empress of The World, here to spread her raw, undiluted wisdom to all who had the mind to grasp it.
Maybe this was it. Sacking groceries and listening to terrible jokes as stale music played over the intercom.
Maybe… maybe this was as good as it could be, and beneath what she thought was rock bottom was an even rockier bottom of homelessness, with the luxury of a meager paycheck a distant dream…
When the next customer made the hated joke, she was too horrified to even react.
…
Linus arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early, rolling his shoulders. He and Charlie sometimes got dinner when he was visiting or Charlie was, just to make sure, if nothing else, that the other was still alive.
Rerun was doing good, having a reasonably good time in 8th grade. He complained about trouble with a bully, and Linus had described some less-than-civil methods of demonstrating to someone you were not their punching bag. A week later, Rerun proudly said he served a Saturday detention but that said bully limped away in fear when he saw him walking down the halls.
"Hey, Linus!"
Military-honed insight made him tense, turn towards the voice, hairs standing on end.
Charlie Brown was smiling, and he sounded happy.
It looked like Charlie, similar scars, similar body, but the face… when had he smiled? When did Charlie Brown smile? Was it someone trying to pose as him?
…no, it was him. Was he drugged? Did someone else die? He remembered Charlie having a sickly grin when Violet Grey had passed, the kind of unholy mirthful smirk that would have gotten Charlie the role for any killer clown movie he wanted… but this… this seemed like a purer happiness that had nothing to do with a hated enemy expiring… what was he…
Then he saw he was holding the door for a beautiful red-haired girl who looked slightly familiar, and the two shared a peck, and everything clicked into place.
Oh.
He knew Charlie needed to get laid. He just didn't think it would have this profound a result.
…
It was an hour before she had to work, so Lucy caught some television in the communal room at the shelter. She never got to choose the channel, but anything was a welcome distraction from the thought of spending eight hours on her feet sacking groceries and cleaning other people's messes…
The TV was playing a channel about celebrity gossip. She resolved if she ruled the world, she would have everyone responsible for such insipid programming lined up against a brick wall and shot…
If.
What a horrible word.
Then the screen changed from some idiot story about a boy named Calvin who'd blown up a town and was being praised as a hero for it, and her blood curdled.
She did not hear what was being said, the sudden ringing in her ears saw to that.
All that she needed to see was the picture of a smiling Charlie Brown and some red-haired tart walking into a restaurant arm-in-arm, captioned "Love Interest for Blockhead Author?"
He was smiling.
He was happy.
No. No, no, no no no No No No No No No NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO-
"-could this be a sign that there's a ray of sunshine in the gloomy world of Blockhead's protagonist? Sources are unclear on the woman's name, but-"
She left the room. Her therapist would have called this progress, divorcing herself from situations that could serve as trigger scenarios, or something.
But deep down she knew it was despair- she could break the TV, rant how he doesn't deserve it, write her wisdom down furiously, and all that would change would be her getting kicked out. It wouldn't affect him at all.
Then a terrible truth reoccurred to her, that she could not expose the truth about how she was inherently superior to him without revealing who she was. The world did not know Lucy Van Pelt as the new Athenian Goddess of Wisdom, they knew her as a villain and terrorist, a cruel bitch who made attacking a bullied boy the trend in her community, a hated enemy to be killed on sight.
She could do nothing to hurt him that wouldn't hurt herself worse in the process.
Like a zombie, she shuffled from the halfway home to the bus, from there to work, and there she lifelessly sacked and cleaned.
She dig deep into herself to find some spark of indignant fire, but all that remained was the grey muck of despair, dragging her down further.
This was not how it might end. This is how it would end. He would go on to be happy and she would be lucky if she was the one working the register, listening to god-awful jokes that should warrant the death penalty. His lies would be proclaimed as truths, her wisdom would be ignored or dismissed as nonsensical garbage.
Satan was not 'going to win', he was not 'projected to win', it was no longer even an issue of there being one slim chance to snatch victory. Satan had won.
There was a new cashier at the register today, some perky college blonde who was just doing this part-time to fuel her recreation fund, and she was chatting happily with the woman checking out.
"Oh, did you hear the news? Charlie's got a girlfriend~" the woman sang, clearly happy for someone she thought was a downtrodden victim.
"I heard! Any idea on what her name was?" answered the stupid blonde bitch. Lucy fought to keep her breathing steady as the girl scanned a bottle of wine.
"I don't know, but I hear they're living together!" the woman tittered. "And he was smiling! Like, a real smile, not that awful leer when he talked about that horrible girl Violet Grey… I tell you, love can really change a person!"
Lucy realized she'd seized the bottle by the neck, holding it like a club.
"Well I hope so. I read Blockhead, and he's had such a miserable life with people constantly hurting him or that horrible Lucy Van Pelt saying that he deserved it just because, he deserves to feel happy-"
All Lucy felt was a very loud explosion in her skull.
She must've shouted something, because everyone turned to her, but she was already in motion, bringing the bottle down on the woman's head where it exploded into a cloud of wine and fragments.
Then she realized that the bottle had shattered just so as to give her a means to silence the liar at the register, and her arm shot out, slashing open the blonde girl's throat and sending her tumbling to the ground.
Now the divine fire of fury returned, and with it the wisdom she needed. In fluid motions she grabbed the woman's purse and the tray from the register, open mid-transaction, and strode out the door as people rushed to help her victims.
There were keys in the purse, with a keyfob for locking and unlocking, Coins spilled from the tray as she juggled both, but they were irrelevant.
A sweet jingle of metal rewarded her search as she marched, and she pressed the button to search for the car.
Headlights signaled her where to go. It took a brief adjustment to the seat, but she got in, started the car. More than half a tank of gas. Good.
By the moment anyone thought to call the police, Lucy was already headed out of state.
…
Yeah, you all knew it was coming.