When Heroes Fall

Chapter 11

The door clicked shut behind Chaos, her cloak billowing behind her as she turned down the street and disappeared into the night. Her normal grace was interrupted by her limp, but Matt had seen her leg—it was amazing she was walking at all. He should have brought her to the hospital after she vomited all over the alleyway, but he knew even if they both managed to change into civilian clothes, there would be too many questions about what happened and why they were out past curfew. The hospital would certainly have called the police—

Matt's brain stopped short. Why hadn't he hand her over to the police? Chaos was a criminal—they were enemies. More than that, she was his rival. All he wanted a few months ago was to put her in jail for good. Now—Matt stared down at his gloves, a red sheen covering the black fabric—now he was patching the rogue up and helping her escape.

Matt shook his head. He let out a yawn, rubbing his face. It was late. Done for the night, Matt stepped over to this backpack, still on the floor next to where he wrapped up Chaos's leg. Pulling off his mask, he shoved it to the bottom his bag, followed by his armor, Kevlar jacket, and the shirt with his insignia on it. From the bag, he grabbed his old red hoody and threw it on. Kneeling, Matt stuffed his Nightstar supplies to the very bottom of his bag and felt around for the secret flap he had sewn into the bottom of the backpack to keep this uniform hidden from any wandering eyes. The secret pocket had been Aiden's idea. Matt had thought it was stupid, no one was going to be searching his bag, but Aiden trained the habit into him anyways. With his uniform securely tucked away, Matt stood, slipping the backpack on his shoulder. Quietly, he stepped out of the building, letting the frosty night air hit him. The breeze cut through his sweatshirt, sending a chill over his body. It wouldn't be long before the city frosted over, though the first snow had yet to fall. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Matt turned for home and began hiking down the concrete sidewalk.

Feet steady on the hard ground, Matt let the world around him drift to the background, unwinding his shoulders. Mentally, he ran over his homework, making sure he hadn't forgotten anything due in the morning. The streets were quiet, as they had been since the mayor issued his curfew. Matt shoved his hands further into his pants pockets, shoulders hunched in a half-hearted attempt to preserve the little bit of warmth his sweatshirt provided.

"What are you doing out so late?" a voice barked. Matt snapped his head up, across the street two officers had a young man pinned to the wall. The man's eyes were wide, his hands up above his head. "Come on, we've had sightings of Nightstar in the area, what are you doing out past curfew?"

The man mumbled some answer, but Matt was caught up in the man's appearance—the same blonde hair as him, only a bit shorter. The man was about his height too, maybe beating him by a half-inch, but close enough that Matt could see how the unsuspecting could make the connection. The officers were harassing him because of Matt.

Matt's feet were moving before he could register what he was doing. "Hey!"

Both of the officers turned toward him. Matt skidded to a stop squarely in front of them. They backed off the other man, turning their focus to Matt. The taller of the two officers, a man with a peppered goatee and a calloused gaze, crossed his arms. "And what do we have here?"

"You don't have the right to harass random citizens," Matt stood his ground.

"This gentleman is out past curfew, that is a violation of city law," the shorter officer replied, hand on his taser, "Not to mention, so are you."

Matt startled to a stop, slowly raising his hands. "I, uh," Matt racked his brain for any excuse, "was going home after a study session?"

He groaned internally. Why did her phrase it like a question. The two officers traded a glance. The taller of the two officers nodded for the other young man to get out of there. The man nodded and ran off. Matt frowned. Now he was alone with the two officers. Arms still crossed; the taller officer stared Matt down.

"Hey, Brent," the taller officer said, "How tall you thinkin' this guy is?"

Matt furrowed his brow. The shorter officer, Brent, considered the question for a moment. "I don't know, 5'10" or so, why you ask Patrick?"

"With some solid boots, an easy 5'11", plus that hair color? Pretty close fit to a certain description, wouldn't you say?" Officer Patrick replied.

Dots connecting, Matt's eyes widened, "What? You think I'm Nightstar?"

Patrick shrugged, "You said it, not me."

Matt bit the inside of his lip, the bag on his back feeling heavier than it had only a few minutes ago. "I don't want any trouble."

"I think it's best you come down to the station with us and answer some questions, young man," Brent frowned, "turn around."

"What?" Matt asked, mouth agape. Patrick made a motion with his hand, signaling for Matt to move. Eyes darting across the street, Matt tried to think where he could make a quick escape. The street was deserted. While Matt figured he could outrun the officers, it would make him even more of a suspect. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Matt turned around. Brent stepped up, taking Matt's backpack, and tossing it back to Patrick. Patrick caught it with a grunt.

"What'd you got in here, feels like a whole artillery," Patrick jiggled the bag.

Brent grabbed Matt's arm, bringing them behind Matt's back and clasping a pair of handcuffs over his wrists. As they trudged toward the police cruiser, Matt let it sink in that it was going to be a long night.

***

Fifteen minutes later, the two officers dragged Matt out from the backseat of the police cruiser. Patrick grabbed Matt's bag, slinging it over his shoulder. Keeping a hand on Matt's shoulder, he guided Matt into the building. Matt's gaze kept creeping back toward his backpack. The false bottom was meant to fool passing eyes, not police searches. If his gear was found, there was no cover up he could conceive of.

Matt chewed on his lower lip—the station was busy despite the late hour. The officers were guiding him toward the back, their footsteps joining the chatter of the room—late night television, telephone calls, and loud conversations. Chief Wright exited the office, crossing the room toward the front desk. Spine straightening, Matt tracked the police chief's steps. Chief Wright caught sight of Matt, brows furrowing.

"What's the meaning of this," Chief Wright barked, staring down the two officer's flanking Matt.

Patrick glanced to Brent, his whole body fidgeting before he focused on Chief Wright, "Uh, the kid was out after curfew. Fits the description of Nightstar too, so we figured—"

"Figured what?" the chief crossed his arms, "he's what? 16?"

"17," Matt interrupted automatically. Chief Wright quirked a brow at him. Internally, Matt cursed at himself, "Sorry."

Moving on, Chief Wright gestured at Matt, "17, a kid. Probably partying and stayed out too late. Stop wasting time and get some actual work done." The chief turned his back, storming away. "And get him out of those cuffs, or else we'll have a lawsuit on our hands," the huffed over his shoulder.

Patrick grimaced, shifting his grip on Matt's shoulder. "Come on, you heard him, Brent," Patrick grumbled. Taking out the keys, Brent walked behind Matt, unlocking the cuffs. Feeling free from the metal, Matt rolled his shoulders. Slowly, he moved his hands in front of his body, rubbing his wrists. "Go sit down," Patrick shoved his bag back into Matt's hands. Matt caught it with an "oomph". The shorter officer, Brent, nodded toward the plastic seats. Shrugging the backpack over his shoulder, Matt turned around and walked to the chair. Back facing the officers, he let out the breath he had been holding. They hadn't checked his bag.

His parents were going to kill him when they got to the station to pick him up.