Fall of Hope (Book 1): Real Heroes Don't Wear Capes (46 page)

“
No
they don't. I tried them on, remember?” Bobby eyes his brother
with suspicion as he comes back around. “They were wonky and
fell off.”

“
Only
because your ears don't match,” Benji retaliates before
sticking his tongue between his rosy lips.

“
I
fixed them, so they'll fit perfect now.”

Leaving
the drawer standing agape, Benji takes a seat again next to Bobby.
Bobby stares at the offering his brother holds out to him without
emotion.

The
goggles look a cross between ski goggles and the ones he wears in
science class. Yet, they are not clear, but have a phosphorescent
quality.

“
See,
I added this piece under the left ear, so they should be okay now.”

Bobby
inspects the green foam bridge underneath one arm and holds them to
his face.

“
Go
on.”

“
Benny,
I don't see how—”

“
Trust
me, they'll make you invisible.”

“
I
think I'll be subject to more ridicule.”

“
No
you won't,” he says, smiling. He believes his words too, Bobby
can tell.

Bobby
slips them on and feels the comfortable foam above his ear that holds
them level.

“
Let's
see.”

When
he turns to face Benji on the bed, heat rises over his cheeks.

I
must look so stupid, he thinks.

“
It
works, see.”

“
Why
do they
glow
in the dark?” Bobby removes them from behind his ears and
settles them in his lap.

“
Well,
you see that's also rad. If you put them on when you're lost in the
darkness, they will help you find your way.”

“
Won't
they just light me up in the dark?”

“
I'm
not talking about
that
kind of darkness. You'll understand one day.”

Bobby
flips them over and inspects them further. There is no branding on
the arm like the sunglasses he cannot afford in the shops.

“
Really?”
He hates himself for being so damn gullible, but Benji makes them
sound cool.

“
You
make them sound like something a superhero would wear.”

Benji
slaps his own leg. “Yes! That's because they do!”

“
Are
they c
heap
superheroes? I thought they all wore capes.”

“
Ah,
see that's where you're wrong. Some do in the films, but real heroes
don't because they don't need to. Real heroes are not defined by what
they wear, but what they do.”

“
But
they wear goggles?”

“
Maybe
you do.”

Bobby
scoffs and looks away. “I'm not a hero. I wouldn't know how to
be.”

“
No
hero ever knows how to be, it just happens.”

Lifting
from the bed, Bobby stares back at his brother. He means to drop the
goggles, but decides to give them a try. It cannot hurt to try, he
tells himself.

“
So
what you're saying is that I should be invisible to avoid the boys at
school?”

“
No,
I think you should stand up for yourself. I'm just saying maybe
you'll find a way for them to help, that's all.”

They
didn't help. All they did was shine in the darkness for an hour.
I
still got called names until people started to ignore me altogether.

He
didn't tell Benji they didn't work, but slipped them back in the
drawer while he was out. And there they had stayed to this day.

Why
did Benji keep them all this time? Was it for this moment?

Dusting
them off and wiping the finger prints away, Bobby places them before
his eyes. Looking through them, he sees a distorted room.

He
is about to slip them over his ears, but stops when he hears a noise
from downstairs.

Someone
has just opened the front door.

Keys
rattle over the silence before the door closes behind whoever has
stepped inside. For a moment, Bobby believes it could be Miss
Summers, or Danny coming to apologise. Yet, neither of them have a
key to the house and, besides, they would have called out by now. So
that leaves only one person it can be.

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

Bobby
grits his teeth when the floorboards creak as he tries to remain as
stealthy as possible. He tucks the arm of the goggles into the
shirt's breast pocket and tightens his grip around the gun he
retrieved from the shed. His backpack is slung over one shoulder,
containing a few items he has packed for the journey. He thought he
could go without a fuss, but now he realises it was never going to be
that easy.

Before
entering Benji's room, Gage directed him back into the shed. While
walking down the path where his mother's bluebells are no longer in
the ground, he hoped what he was out there for wasn't what he thought
it was. But when Gage plucked the handgun from the cabinet where his
father used to keep it, that hope deflated.

The
handgun Gage referred to as a 9mm, seemed far too large and heavy in
Bobby's hands. When he passed it over, Bobby's slender wrists ached.
He showed him how to hold it and taught him about safety. Bobby
wasn't sure what he would need it for then, but now it is all too
clear.

There
were no bullets in the firearm, but after searching the shed, Gage
found packs hidden in the cabinet drawer. While standing behind him,
Gage folded his arms as he explained he couldn't load it, let alone
use it. So, the guy went through the basics loading.

The
gun could be a toy if it wasn't for the weight; it resembles the BB
guns the kids ran around with while playing cops and robbers.

Admiring
the barrel, he held it and practised aiming at the windows. He took a
stance that allowed him to use his left hand beneath his right to
keep it level, and found it was comfortable. Two minutes later, Gage
told him to keep it on him and head to his brother's bedroom.

“
But
shouldn't I practise hitting something?”

“
No.
You don't want to draw unwanted attention to yourself. If you had
done what I asked of you when I asked it, you would already know the
ins and outs, but you didn't. So now we've got to trust our lives to
fate and hope you don't blow your damn foot off. Just remember not to
put your finger on the trigger unless you intend to kill what you're
aiming at.”

He
had many questions, but Gage
shooed
him inside, so now all his
answers will have to play out as they happen.

Hands
sweaty against the metal, he grips tight as the weight of this whole
situation dawns on him in sickening waves. His arm already trembles
from the weight of holding it one handed as he is careful to drop the
bag so not to alert the intruder.

From
the kitchen, tins tumble to the vinyl from the cupboards. Cutlery and
ceramic plates crash atop them and shatter as hands swipe at the
contents of the cupboards and toss the items free. At least the
sounds will block his arrival, or at least that's what he hopes.

As
he comes to the bottom step, he waits, ignoring the voice in his head
which tell him to run. He knows it's easy to run; he has done it
hundreds of times.

Just
be a coward and run. Don't stop until all this is nothing but a
distant memory.

But
another side of his mind argues against that. It tells him if he
doesn't stand his ground now and fight, then he might as well give
up. And if he does give up, then there is no chance of going with
Gage.

But
how can I do what he needs me to do?

He
promised to take Bobby to see the white house in the painting. The
thought of being able to walk through that blue field and along the
red path again is exciting.

Will
the well and the glass pebbles be there for real?

As
Bobby sneaks past the coat rack, he can hear the gruff approval of
his father.

“
Finally.
That's where she was hiding you,” he says as the places a tin
upon the counter. With a creak, the rusty lid opens and Bobby
understands what his dad was looking for—the tin his mother
keeps their savings in.

She
didn't get the chance to give Benji his share. Now she'll never get
the chance with me either.

The
real question now is: why is his murdering father after it? But he
decides maybe he doesn't want to know.

Stepping
past the telephone, he considers ringing the police. If he knew they
would get off their lazy asses and do something before his father
legs it, then he might have. Gage has warned him against involving
anyone else, besides, it seems too late for that now.

As
Bobby slips through the doorway, he raises the gun and aims it toward
his father. He has his back facing him as he empties the tin and
shoves the last of the notes into his pockets. With his pockets
bulging, he spoons out the coins from the bottom and does the same.

The
vacant shine glides through the window, casting the shape of the
blinds on the wall and counters. The soft warmth adds a delicate hum
within the room—a complete contrast to the chaos raging inside
his chest.

Bobby
fights with the idea of voicing his presence, but his father takes
the decision from his hands as he drops the tin onto the counter and
turns with a smug grin. The elation doesn't fade until he meets his
own gun pointing at his face. Bobby notices there is no stench of
alcohol hovering on his father's clothes and, for once, he wishes
there was.

It
sure would make this easier.

“
What're
you playing at, Bobby?”

Taking
a step forward across the debris, Bobby keeps his eyes locked with
his. The coldness Bobby finds is disheartening.

Did
he ever care about me, even for a moment?

“
You
killed her!”