The Last Superhero (23 page)

“
I
don't think I'm following you. If you want me to help, I'm going to
need more details.”

Details. Motherfucking
details.

“
I'd
need a confidentiality agreement.”

Concern etches a frown on
his face. “See me in my office, then? I think I have a spot
available at ten.”

“
I'd
be forever grateful.”

He looks the way of the
circle where Daphne, Jake, and Frances are going on about types of
swords to be used in their fantasy books.

“
I
should go back.”

“
Yes.
Sorry to keep you.”

“
No,
my pleasure.” Wink. Leave.

Go back to the book and
think hard on what you're getting yourself into.

Closing time is upon us and
everyone helps with the cleaning up and the rearranging stuff.

Then we all go our separate
ways except Wyatt, who walks me to my car.

“
I
wanted to ask you about your mother but didn't know if you wanted
Jake and Frances to hear.”

“
Thanks
for that. They don't know and I don't want to tell too many people.”

“
Is
it that bad?”

Stand by the piece of
transportation machine.

“
They're
planning on waking her from the drug-induced coma. No guarantees
though.”

“
I'm
so sorry.” His hand on my arm is gentle enough. “I've
been meaning to tell you that if I can be of any help, at all, just
call me and I'll be there. I've known you both for so long and I know
how difficult this is for you. Anytime you feel the need to talk to
someone, or feel the need to vent, I'm there.”

“
That's
very nice of you. Thank you.”

A pursed lips kind of smile
and he's off to cross the street and I'm sliding into my car, setting
my phone on the dash to call Steven when in comes a call from Dad.

They've decided Mom won't be
strong enough to be woken up for another day.

And even then, they don't
really know.

“
And
don't think of trying to spend the night here.” Way to go, Dad.

“
I'm
off to my place anyway.” I'm the one to hang up.

That I do. I go to my place
and call Steven and tell him I'm all right and yes, I'll go by
tomorrow and we can have some time to ourselves because Daphne will
work during the day and I'll work the night.

I stuffed myself with the
little cupcakes Frances brought for writing group so I shower and hit
the hay like a corpse sinking in a lake.

23

Alive. Refreshed.

I dress with uttermost care
only so I can let Steven's hands be as clumsy as men’s hands
get when they're thinking with their knob and not their heads.

Leave the baguette and the
cheese I brought for breakfast in Steven’s kitchen as soon as I
arrive so I can assault his mouth, so I can bury my hands in his
hair.

Not that he's protesting.

Or stopping me.

Or pushing me away.

And he’s got this look
on his face like he isn't completely awake because he wasn't
expecting me so early, but had I spent a moment longer in my
apartment I would've gone mad and jumped off the roof, and I can
suddenly tell the feeling was mutual.

Because he's making moves on
me that are making me feel bold enough almost not to make it to his
bedroom and he's being too compliant to stop me.

Willing.

Kiss me like you want to
drink me.

Indulgent.

Grab me like you can't let
go.

Yielding.

Unbutton my blouse with your
eyes still shut.

Kiss. Bite.

My shoes roll on the floor
with a kick, my jeans disappear with a couple of tugs.

Lick. Nuzzle.

Deft fingers search, find,
seize, unclasp.

Hands uncover, lips cover,
tongues rover.

Oh, he can be all like in
the fantasy in real life too. Not tying me up although, quite
frankly, having him throw me on the bed and pin my hands above my
head is enough for me not to feel like going anywhere and the moment
his teeth sink into the flesh on my neck, it's like he's turned into
someone else, someone different.

Someone I can't tell you
more about because gravity isn't with us anymore.

Weightless in his arms as I
let him take over.

I give a mental push, just
to make sure.

Nope. Not a fantasy. All
true.

And his hands clutch me and
the room's a blur and he's grunting in my ear and his breathing holds
my own rhythm. Shallow. Rapid. Hearts beating, drilling their way out
of our chests.

He leads me, entreats me.

And my body complies with
him, as if obeying his will.

Because he knows what to do
and how to do that thing he needs to do so I can come undone under
his ministrations.

Blackened eyes meet mine for
a moment and fear washes over me as his fingers dig into my flesh.

However, it goes as fast as
it came.

And it's him and his hazel
eyes and satisfied smile that shine down on me as we lie on the bed
in the middle of the room, bathed with sunlight. It's his lips that
plant tender kisses on my face, giving each other time to breathe
again.

And it's his body the one
that covers me in a post-coital embrace.

And it's my consciousness
that fights to stay awake when I feel the telltale shivers run down
my skin, already goose-fleshed.

I see him, running down a
dark corridor. Steven. And I follow, careful not to make a sound that
will alert him to my presence.

Follow. Hold your breath.

Follow as he takes a left.

Into a staircase and, when I
glance up, he's rushing like the wind up all those flights of stairs.

Run. Quick. It's a dream,
remember? In dreams we can do so many things, like will our legs to
run in his wake until you reach a door and the light of the sun hits
you square in the face.

Blink through the momentary
blindness and see him standing on the ledge.

Another man knelt to the
right, the sword that falls from his faltering grip clunks on the
concrete, its blade sending sparkles of light everywhere. And not far
from him a pair of white wings lie, drenched in blood, the feathers
blown by the wind over him and the glinting weapon.

Now you see the trail blood
from where the wings lie to where Steven's standing. A trail of
crimson droplets and footsteps.

“
Brother...
My brother.” The voice that quivers is Steven's, not coming
from his mouth but from the man caressing the sword. “Why?”

It strikes me, so full of
hurt.

“
Salvatore.”
The realization that I can't contain.

The whisper arouses both men
and they turn to me. Two pairs of black eyes behind purple masks.

“
You!”
Shouts the man standing on the ledge.

My eyes flicker to
Salvatore, but he's only staring at me, a blank expression on his
face.

Meanwhile, Steven advances
towards me.

And I run for the stairs as
fast as I can.

Hit the second landing, lose
my balance, find purchase in soil with my nails.

A horse gallops to my side
and I'm in the middle of fucking nowhere. Try to brush the filth off
my hands while the horse gets nearer. Try to stand my ground as I see
the rider is that version of Steven that wears the mask.

He stops short of running me
over, the horse rising on his hind legs.

And the man with the purple
mask dressed in a ruffled shirt and a black frock coat glares.

“
All
I want is to reason with you,” I say.

Get a snort. Pull the horse
to circle me as if he were prowling around his prey. There's a wicked
grin on his face that I don't quite like.

“
And
why would I reason with you?”

“
Because
I fucking care!” Go for him and get hold of his ankle, see him
get thrown back by the electricity my touch delivers, how his skin
burns under my hand.

Have the horse make a harsh
turn and kick me to the ground to land on my back as the sound of a
gunshot cuts through the air.

But he's riding towards the
horizon before I get up and the scene shifts and the moment I give a
step forward I hit gravel.

Not in the middle of nowhere
anymore but facing a large estate that looks so much like...

“
Steven's
house.”

Keep talking, dumbass, and
you'll rouse another demon.

No. This time is different.
There's less menace in the atmosphere. Was there before? Many a time
we don't notice things until they're gone.

And here I am pushing the
gate, and here I am trembling as I go.

Here I go again.

Hope I don't trip and fall.

Steady as she goes.

Soon enough I hit an
invisible wall and can't walk any farther.

All I can do is peek through
a window and spy on a young boy and his mother preparing a table for
dinner. And the boy's got the eyes and the mother the face from those
pictures I saw in the family album. He's merry and happy and stopped
mid-work by a mother who hugs him with a love that is so tender.

Then a man storms into the
room and a screeching sound hits my senses. 'Cause he's visibly drunk
and has thrown his purple mask to the ground. And the eyes on the boy
that were just now so full of love bulge in fear as he hides under
the table when the grip of the man grabs the poor woman's hair and
the table hovers under his stare. See the boy grab the mask as he's
dragged from his cover and pushed out of the room, wailing and
quailing in terror.

The man takes whom I now
know is Diana out of there.

While young Steven is left
shouting things I can't hear over the screeching that's now so
intense.

Move along as the boy runs
through the rooms that lead to the entrance.

Hear him whistle and a dog
comes running to his presence.

But the happy ball of fur
has no idea what's about to happen.

As the boy puts on the mask
and makes it float with an outstretched hand.

And the screeching is
replaced with the canine squeals of a victim led to its death.

By a hand closing its small
fist bit by bit in the air.

Taste the tears that are
streaming in unison with the ones from the young soul already in
despair.

As the boy leads the
lifeless dog to land at his feet on the front steps.

I try to make my way to him,
keeping my sobs to myself, but when I get too close I'm pushed to the
ground and I'm landing on grass, face first.

A lake. A dock.

A man with white wings
wrestling another one on the ground.

Salvatore. Michelangelo.

The angel flies up, but I
look into his face and he's not doing it out of his own will.

The force of Salvatore's
stretched hand is enough to make him hover above.

“
Give
yourself up!” Salvatore pleads. “You're my brother, my
blood!”