Super?

Crumbling Like Pastry

My landlord doesn't even know my full name. He's an insomniac who lives and breathes coffee and likes to wear shirts that are way too small. He's also crazy.
That's a weird reason to feel safe, but for some reason it comes as a comfort that the person inadvertently covering for my more vulnerable half is as cracked up as I am. Crazies stick together and all that.
But he doesn't know who I am. He thinks I'm just that slightly strange lady with a pet snake who leaves in the middle of the night to do nefarious activities. Oh. Never mind. I take that back. He definitely thinks I'm crazy. (Or possibly a drug dealer.)
Once when I was too drunk to even walk a few paces without toppling over, Dave from the bar drove me home. Not in a pervy way. He's only joking when he talks about dating me, because I happen to know that he has a boyfriend who he adores.
See, Dave understands that I work for "some boring company" that pays a lot of money. So when he poured me onto my couch, he told me he didn't understand why I chose to live in such a craphole. I still don't have an answer for him, because if I told him that I'm afraid of the government finding me out, he'd probably think I was schizophrenic in addition to being alcoholic and suicidal. I sometimes wonder why Dave even bothers to talk to me anymore now that he knows how screwed up I am.
"Hey, Delores. I'm home," I call out tiredly to the brown-and-white striped boa, who is coiled up in her glass cage eyeing me suspiciously. "Did you miss me?" I walk over and scoop her up, and she automatically winds herself around my arm in what I take to be affection. I run a finger down the rosy boa's scales, and she lifts her head as if she's staring me down.
"Don't you start on me too," I tell her warningly, stroking her narrow head. "I've had enough people try to stare into the depths of my soul." Delores and I stand in a content silence before I gently unwrap and snake from my arm and deposit her into her cage and proceed to drag myself to my bedroom.
"You look like hell, Maya," I tell myself as I wander into the adjoining bathroom and catch my reflection in the mirror. And I do. I run some water and splash my bruised face before toweling it dry. I've never been more tired in my life. That illusion must've really drained me. Oh, and the kidnapping. And the ransom video. And lunch. And that little battle with Crimson. And that stunt at the bar. And that weird conversation with Taylor. Just another Tuesday.
"Just another Tuesday," I repeat to my reflection, mustering a confident look on my face. Nope. It's not happening. I just want to sleep for the next twenty hours. I kick off my black sandals, throw on an old sports bra and some sweatpants, and then I flop down on top of my covers, feeling my body begin to atrophy into the softness of the bed. I'm asleep within seconds, despite my misgivings earlier about being able to.
-
    Someone's knocking at my door. Groggily, I open my eyes and flop over to check my alarm clock. Good God. I close my eyes and open them again, but the glowing aqua digits still read 5:02. You've got to be kidding me. Whoever's on the other side of the door better be the freaking president or something if they think they can wake me up before 6:30.
I angrily throw on a random t-shirt from my closet and stomp over to the door, swiping my hair back so I look somewhat decent. Oh, who am I kidding? I probably look like I just woke up because I did. Screw those shirts that say 'I woke up like this.' I wake up and look like I'm freaking Frankenstein.
"What do you want?" I snap before I even open the door fully to reveal who's on the other side. Ulp. "Um... I mean... good morning." I run the sleep from my eyes and glance warily at Reggie. "Why exactly are you here? In the morning? In my apartment? In my civilian life?" I open the door wider and Reggie invites himself him with his typical dramatic flair.
"I have a matter of utmost urgency," he sighs, trailing his finger down the top of my worn couch, a sneer of disgust lighting his face. I'm so glad he feels the need to insult my decor while waking me up at freaking 5:00 in the morning.
"How do you even know where I live? I thought I directly told you not to interfere-"
"That was merely a suggestion on your behalf," he interrupts me, scowling now. "As I said, it's important." He gingerly perches himself on my couch, sitting at the very edge of the cushion like he has to be ready to run at a moment's notice.
"I'm listening," I grumble, and take a seat in the armchair across from him. Reggie glances at my shirt and smirks before continuing. He must have something against Snoopy.
"She said no," he tells me, and I can't help but notice that an excited smile plays at the corners of his lips. At the sleep-befuddled look I give him, he sighs dramatically and elongates. "The mother said no. She's not going to release a statement to the public. She's convinced that she can save her son and keep her secrets. But you can't have your cake and eat it too or whatever that saying is," Reggie waves a dismissive hand. I must look a little pale, because his eyebrow arches expectantly. I fumble with my words.
"You're going to kill Dominic?" My heart tries to shove it's way through my throat. I swallow hard. It's too early in the morning for this. He gives me a cautiously amused look.
"Well, yes. I mean, we can't just make a threat and not follow through with it. We're villains after all. And not some B-listers, either. I never actually thought I would have to put the boy down- it's quite a shame, really. But what needs to be done must be done." At this he smiles pleasantly.
"But you gave her three days to release the news. And it's only been one," I protest. "She gets two more days-"
"Why are you fighting me on this?" His smile turns not-so-pleasant. "Do you remember the discussion we had yesterday?" Um, yes. Way too vividly.
"I'm just saying, why kill the boy and nobody benefits when we can use the boy to oust this woman to the public ourselves? Shatter her image and build ours up. Win-win," I propose, leaning forward in my armchair to sell the idea. He scratches his chin thoughtfully, and for a moment I feel a flutter of stupid hope.
"Mm, no." Still with that bland smile. "Like I said, we have to follow through." He's so calm just sitting here, talking about killing a six year-old boy.
"Well, can we oust her first and then kill him?" Give the boy some time. "It's just, it's such a juicy secret, don't you think?" I know how much Reggie loves his secrets.
"It would be brilliant if it was released to the public... Watch her downfall, watch everyone hate her..." He's actually grinning now. "Oh, what a fun idea!" He crazy.
"Um. Who is she exactly?" I ask with as much politeness as possible. His brow furrows and he turns to look at me, the grin sliding off of his face like rain down a windshield.
"Now's not the time to tell you. And don't make me say that twice," he says warningly. He gets up and the couch cushion springs groan in protest. Reggie isn't that heavy, it's just that my couch is really lame.
"Ok, ok. So do you want my help with the 'ousting' or whatever?" I yawn and stifle it with my palm, getting up to my feet also.
"Nah. I'll let it be a big surprise to you. Oh, this should be great!" he trills. I follow him to the door, and just as he's stepping out, he holds it open for a moment to turn back and look at me. "We're still killing that boy after we send it, though." Then he just smiles. "Ta-ta!" He's gone. I shut the door after him slowly, and the latch clicks closed.
For a moment I just stand there, frozen with my hand on the doorknob. And I can't help but think: I've gotta save that kid. I'm a villain, yes. But I'd never murder a fricking six year-old just because his mom was trying to save face.
"I am so going to lose my job if I save you, kid. But hopefully you'll be worth it." I feed Delores and get ready for the still too early morning, cursing Reggie for waking me up so early. I know I sound prissy, but I need my sleep. Yesterday drained me both mentally and physically, and now my illusions are recharged also. Yay.
I make a cup of coffee with my crappy Walmart coffeemaker and suffer my way through it just for the caffeine. Only then do I deem myself ready to be unleashed on the general population.
"Let's do this." I throw Delores a kiss goodbye and then I'm heading out the door, taking the five flights of dimly lit stairs down into the crumbling parking lot. There my Camry is waiting faithfully in its weed-choked parking space. I fiddle around in my purse for my key ring, which has a Loki bobblehead and a beat-up souvenir keychain from Niagara Falls. Typical villain key ring, you know.
"I better be getting some karma back for this," I grumble under my breath and rocket out of the parking lot. Speed limits? Nah, those are merely vague suggestions. I have places to be. "What do I think I'm doing? Just your everyday villain saving some woman's kid and all I'm going to get out of it is that best-case scenario I'm going to get fired. Worst case? Um. Yeah, there's a lot of worst cases," I ramble to myself as I drive, anxiously tapping the steering wheel with my finger as I pull into the syndicate building's parking lot beside Sebastian's forest-green toaster-car. What a dork.
...And then I remember the bar. I take that back. He's not a dork. He's a condescending little brat is what he is. This is going to be so awkward. I'll see him and be all like, 'Hey, Seb. How's the nose? I see you fixed your glasses from when I punched them onto the floor. S'all cool.' Yeah, no. He tried to fricking tell me I was a 'danger to myself.' Who does that? (Sebastian, apparently.) God. You don't just go around telling villains what's wrong with their personalities and then expect them not to punch you. It's like stepping on a cat's tail and wondering why it's filleting the skin on your ankle with its claws. (That's why I have a snake, by the way. Cats are terrifying.)
I trudge through the spacious building, which is full of high ceilings and whiteness everywhere. I feel like I'm in a hospital, not a villains' headquarters. Seriously. Where's all the black Gothic wallpaper and the candelabras? The only thing remotely villainous are those stupid vases again. Oh- wait- there we go. Someone put up a painting of a raven stabbing a sword into the heart of a man outside their office. Very classy.
I see a spidery man in a suit stride by with a thick sheaf of papers. He looks important. I rush over to him, waving at him to slow down.
"Hey, I'm sorry for bugging you. Reggie wanted me to go keep an eye on the kid, but he helpfully left out where the boy was currently being kept. Would you mind giving me directions?" For a man working at a villain syndicate, he's surprisingly friendly, and I almost feel bad because he's definitely going to be blamed if I manage to take the kid successfully. But oh well. A villain's gotta do what a villain's gotta do.