The Last Superhero (22 page)

“
Every
time?”

Throw the rubbish into the
black hole, set the empty trays on top.

“
Yeah.
Every time. I'm the girl, remember?”

Exit and feel his arm around
me and how he pulls me near for a kiss. “I'll make a mental
note for next time.”

Maverick.

Walk. Glance. Sweep the
scene.

There's that car again and
the food in my stomach turns to concrete.

Walk. Ignore it. Forward.

Reach the shop and bid him
goodbye until tomorrow because of the writing group meeting this
evening and heaven knows I won't put him through another sleepless
night.

Promise you'll be good and
that you'll think of him and threaten him with a crowbar when he
doesn't want to let you loose.

And he says, “One day
I hope we don't have to part anymore.”

I say,
I'm convinced, “I
know
that
day will come.”

'Cause there's hope in his
eyes and he means it when his finger pushes a stray strand behind my
ear and he sighs, kisses my lips and goes bye.

And I watch him walk away
before glancing that other way where the car's now parked and I do
see the silhouette of the man inside. Hear him start the engine and
see him approach, roll the window down.

“
I
see my warnings weren't enough.”

“
Would
you please let me explain what's going on?”

“
I'm
all ears.”

“
Inside,”
I say. “And this is a no-parking zone”

See him look back and
someone's taken his previous spot.

“
This
better be good.”

22

“
You
have no idea what you're asking for,” Ross says.

I've let him take the seat
beside me behind the counter 'cause Daphne ain't here yet and I can't
leave the shop unattended for too long.

“
I
think I've been clear enough.”

“
You've
been reading too many novels.”

“
Have
you actually met him? Have you ever spoken to him? He's the farthest
thing from the monster you describe.”

“
I
don't think you're in a position to judge him objectively.”

“
Maybe,
but I'm not brainwashed either.”

“
What
is it about his violent past you can't grasp? What part of the
numbers of people he's murdered hasn't gotten to you?”

“
He
was a child alone in a world that didn't know how to deal with him. A
wayward kid who happened to have exceptional abilities.”

“
And
you want to help him.”

“
I
want to make sure you don't kill him.”

He keeps furrowing his brows
because he's the one who can't grasp it, the one who doesn't get it.

“
This
is a very defiant position to take, Miss Armstrong.”

It is. I'm channeling every
female heroin that ever meant something to me in all the books I've
read in my life, every movie I've watched. And even when I think it's
still possible I'll realize I've been sitting on a pool of my own pee
all this time, I'm not dropping my attitude until he hears me out.

“
The
fact that you're here talking to me instead of making a move on him
tells me you're not that okay with doing him harm.”

He's younger than the age
Steven appears to be yet he's got these deep expression lines in his
face that are exaggerated by the way he's contorting it.

“
I
have two daughters.”

Huh?

Out comes the complimentary
photo of the protagonists of this story I'm about to be told. Two
women, twins, in what I believe are their late twenties, early
thirties (around my age), one of them holding a baby in her arms,
taken in a candid moment when they were all looking off-camera and
smiling.

Nice pic, I must say.

“
Audrey
and Veronica. They both live upstate. Great careers, families. And
that's my only grandkid.”

Put the photo back, not
before giving it a loving glance.

From Suave Super Agent Man
to Dearest Dad?

“
They
were only months old when a fire started in the building we lived in,
on our same floor. My wife was home, I was at work. When I got there,
there was nothing left of our apartment but my wife and children were
safe and sound thanks to Salvatore Jr. having arrived at the scene.
The firefighters told us that if it hadn't been for him, they
wouldn't have been able to get everyone to safety in time since the
fire spread faster than they could contain it.”

Keep your eyes soft, but
don't let them leave his face.

“
Had
it not been for him, they would've died that day.” A beat. “I
would've died that day.”

Push myself forward, a hand
on the counter.

“
Then
you can understand me better than I thought you could. I'm willing to
help you keep him where he was all this time, since I seem to be the
reason he's breaking what he agreed upon.”

“
I
know this isn't any of my business, Miss Armstrong, but why would you
give up on your life and go into hiding with someone you barely know?
Someone that, even when we both know he is a good person, is capable
of killing you?”

Why?

Because I love him?

People do stupid stuff for
love every fucking day.

Like staying up all night so
you can hold a very distressed loved one in your arms while she
sleeps.

I still can't believe he did
it.

And really, what do I have
to lose? It's not like I've got a bunch of things going on.

“
It
won't happen again.”

“
How
can you be so sure?”

“
Look,
Agent Ross, my mother is dying in a hospital bed as we speak, my
father's been living out of the country for the past twenty years,
and the few friends I have will totally understand if one day I close
this store and disappear without giving a fuck.”

“
Okay.
So, how soon can you do this?”

“
That's
where the problem lies and that's why I have to ask you to give me
some time.”

“
How
long?”

“
I
don't know.”

“
You
don't know.”

“
No,
I don't know.”

“
And
you won't tell me what it is exactly.”

“
I
can't. I shouldn't. Has Steven ever been imprisoned?”

He stops. Thinks. “No.
Never. And he made it clear that if we let him live that he wouldn’t
be kept around other people.” Thoughts. In his head. “We
didn't think much of that since he'd already taken an antisocial
attitude.”

Now I'm the one thinking.
Swimming through the thoughts in my head.

“
There
is something. An issue I'm working on and that I must resolve if I
want to move in with him.”

He shakes his head.
“Whatever it is, Miss Armstrong, I need you to assure me you
won't be risking your life.” Gets on his feet. “Anything
happens to you, he'll be the one to get the blame.”

“
No.”
Jolt. Jump.

“
Your
relationship isn't private and you know it. I'd advise you to tread
lightly, try to keep your thing to yourselves, and him to his house
as much as you can until you deal with that
issue
.
I can't promise you anything, but I'll try my best to fend off the
guys at the office who are itching to get their hands on him.”

“
I
can't thank you enough.”

“
Don't
mention it.”

He stretches out a hand to
me and I take it, shake it.

He grins, wheels, strides to
the door.

I sit, see him go.

Cover my mouth with my hand
and think on the fact that I'm getting myself in some deep shit for
someone that 'doesn't have much going on.'

It doesn't take long for
Daphne to come along all giddy about writing group and I relay the
front to her so I can have some downtime in the office with my red
pen and her manuscript. Editing time that doesn't take long to be
interrupted so I go get some snacks for the four half-grinning faces
that will sit in a circle and talk and drink coffee and talk and
explain and read and explain some more.

And all I do is sit in a
corner reading a book I pulled from the depths of a box I had stowed
away in my bedroom on the works of Carl Jung.

“
The
Swiss psychiatrist?” Wyatt's wandered from the circle of chairs
towards the coffee machine once more.

“
Yeah.
Trying to figure something out.”

Throw the bait 'cause I know
he's gonna catch it. He's nice, Wyatt, and has been a customer since
forever. One of the nicest writers I've met. Even after having over
ten fantasy and sci-fi books successfully published under his belt,
he keeps coming to writing group.

I think it's for the food.

“
What,
exactly? Maybe I can help.”

That's what I'm hoping for,
that this scrawny man with tanned skin and gray hair wearing one of
his many jackets with the leather elbow patches can shed some light
on where to find what I'm looking for.

Close the book with the
finger pinched inside as a bookmark.

“
I
know someone having problems with nightmares. Bad ones.”

“
Are
you looking to interpret them?”

“
No.
They're pretty straightforward. However, I believe they're being
triggered by a form of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and then blown
out of proportion during sleep.”

He's wrinkling his nose.

“
Blown
out of proportion.” Ponders on it.

“
Yes.
Exaggerated to the point where they're almost torture.”

“
There
are techniques to help a person deal with nightmares. One can work
towards giving the person the tools he or she needs to master them.”

“
What
if the person can feel his or her way through the nightmare but can't
really see or even remember what happened?”

“
Who
is this person we're talking about?”

“
A
friend.”

Don't look at me like I'm
some alien.

“
Has
this person ever had an MRI or EEG done?”

“
EEwhat?”

“
An
electroencephalogram. Tests brain activity.”

“
Oh,
that. Don't know.”

“
That
could be a start, see how his or her brain functions during sleep.”

“
I
don't think he's had that done. Problem is he can turn violent during
the nightmares.”

“
Violent?
As in thrashing?”

“
Worse
than thrashing.”

Lean back on the table with
the donuts and the cupcakes and the coffee, cross your arms over your
chest and look at me over the rim of your glasses.