The Super Killer

Ch.18

Heather could only blink at the accusation. "The Gotham commissioner? You can't be serious."

Palmer asked, "Is your super number 2584?"

Heather couldn't believe what she was hearing. "I honestly couldn't tell you what that number was."

The investigator's eyes found the metal case in his hand. "I'll be the judge of that."

Heather panicked and tried to close the door, This needs to close, but the super investigator met her efforts with a forceful push that snapped the security chain and threw Heather on the ground. She sprung up, but the super investigator was waiting for her and lassoed her as if she were runaway livestock. He pushed her off balance, and Heather tumbled back into the bookcase, causing the shelves to break and sending her books to the ground in a cascade of movement. Heather was at the madman's mercy as he brought her to her feet and sat her on the white sofa.

"I command you to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Is your super number 2584?"

Heather tried to resist, but the pain was too great. "It is."

Palmer loosened the rope. "So, it was your super number that killed Commissioner Gordon, and now I'm beginning to see. You broke the story. You stumbled across Supergirl. You snuck your way into Stephen's strange, little show not because of luck or coincidence or even fate. My hunches were right all along: you are the super killer, and that's how you knew your name." Palmer raised his gun and aimed it at Heather's head. "One last question—why'd you give up your super number?"

Heather couldn't think of the answer because she needed to scream, but The girls can't hear this. The rope tightened. Heather became faint and the pain took her sight, leaving her with the phosphenes in her head. The dancing lights pulsated against a backdrop of darkness that suddenly turned into a bright flash, taking Heather back to the beginning.

Is this a dream?

Heather stood in the tulip garden outside the orphanage. I'm never going to see this place again. Across from her stood headmaster Barton. He was smiling and holding a camera in his hands. He was about to take a picture but became distracted and looked across a field where the office administrator, Isn't that Linda? walked toward the parking lot holding a box in her arms as if she, too, was moving out. Heather tried to wave to Linda, but her hand was grabbed and held tightly by her new mother, Abigail Kent.

The tall woman turned her head and said, "Rose, stop pulling at your braids."

Rose, who wore a bright pink dress, scowled at their mother.

Barton said, "Let's get a big smile from this happy family."

He took the picture, and the bright flash transported Heather back to her new room.

"It was once my room," Rose said, removing a braid. "That's why my stuff's still in here."

Heather set a small box of books on the hardwood floor. "Why'd you leave your room? Was it because of me?"

"No, I was evicted for dyeing my hair green."

"What's wrong with green hair?"

"'Girls don't do that,'" Rose said, as if mocking someone.

"I'm sorry," Heather said, careful not to touch anything around her. "Are you mad at me for taking your room?"

"Dude, it's not your fault. Why are you such a pushover? Don't orphanages have fight clubs to toughen you all up?" Heather shook her head. "What a pity." Rose noticed the box on the ground. "Are those books? I like books. Can I see your collection?" Heather nodded yes. "Thanks." Rose examined the single box and asked, "Why do you have so much Shakespeare and Joan Didion?"