It's been an uneventful two days since my mother's funeral. Well, uneventful in the terms of that I haven't had any run-ins with a certain white-obsessed teleporter, haven't found a little hazel-eyed six-year old boy, and haven't been chased by any super-villains screaming, "Off with your head!"
I haven't been very busy other than the nightly runs I make to find some crime to fight. It's never hard. I'm watching the cops arrest a petty coyote-themed super-villain that I just stopped from trying to blow up a bakery with a terrified family inside. They thank me in broken Spanish, clutching one another and looking a few steps from collapsing with shock. After directing a few paramedics to the trembling family, I step back into the shadows of the narrow streets and keep walking until I can't see the red and blue police lights flashing any longer. I can't help but think how ridiculously easy this hero gig is. Besides seeing the gratefulness of the people I help out, it's really not even satisfying anymore because the villains are all so pathetic compared to Reggie's goons and those I met in the pub with Tate. Is it so bad to want to fight some bigger crime than Wile E. Coyote here? The hardest one so far has been that creepy Trench Coat guy. And he turned out to be a complete coward. I want some real action. I want-
A firm hand wraps around my mouth, stifling a gasp of surprise from my lips, and another roughly clamps down on my arm. The hands then drag me further into the alley behind me. I stagger and my heart starts to hammer.
When I overcome my shock and realize what's happening, I squirm and buck the strange hands off, whipping around to get a glance of my opponent. My hands ball up into defensive fists. The only light is coming from a lamppost a few dozen feet away. I can only barely make out a distinctly female figure. She doesn't move towards me, just stands there and watches. Oh, crap. Please tell me this isn't Gia. I was only kidding when I said I was bored. Please. I always seem to make a habit of jinxing myself.
"What the hell? Who are you?" I ask, trying to sound tough and praying that I'm not stammering. If this is really Gia, there's no way I'm looking like a coward in front of her. Show no fear, isn't that what they say? I'm a superhero now. I'm supposed to be overconfident and cocky. But usually all superheroes who underestimate their enemies end up very dead.
"I'm not going to hurt you. Not if I have to. I just have a few questions," she says. Her voice is very very familiar, and I watch with suspicion as she moves to catch the light, showing that her hands are up in surrender. Oh, because that's totally what you need to do when you want to have a conversation with somebody. You grab them and drag them into a dark alley and tell them you'll only hurt them if you have to. This is so great. I am looking forward to having a polite and civilized conversation with this obvious nutjob.
"Uh, cool. But could you like... hurry up? 'Cause I sort of have other matters to attend to. Like saving people's lives from psychopathic D-lister villains. Unless you're one of said villains, because I'll probably have to arrest you instead." I'm doing my little spiel again. I find that I do that most often when I'm nervous. Oops. So much for "showing no fear." It's just that I get the feeling that this person could probably kick my butt, judging by the way she basically hefted me into this alley.
"I assure you, I'm definitely not a D-lister villain," she replies. Her voice is surprisingly warm, and is warbling with amusement. Either she's completely crazy or she finds that ironic for some reason and she isn't here to bludgeon me to death. But before I can ask, I'm distracted by the way her skin starts to freaking glow. And suddenly the air around us gets very hot and stifling. Then with a flash the light coming from under her skin is gone and the heat slowly leeches back out of the alley. I blink slowly. The only person I know who can do that is... "Taylor. Taylor Garcia. Or Crimson or whatever. But you probably knew that already. Because you dropped this off at my house a while back," she says, her voice turning hard. She outstretches her hand and this time only her fingertips glow to reveal a familiar hard drive resting on her palm.
When I meet her gaze, her eyes are blank and somewhat disturbing. She slowly folds her fingers back over the drive, extinguishes the heat emanating from her skin, and then drops her arm back to her side. How theatric, I can't help but think. I mean, she was a theater major before she became Crimson, but still.
"Am I supposed to recognize that or something? No-- wait--- lemme guess. Someone is trying to sabotage me by pretending to be me when dropping off some scandalous footage of my past actions at your doorstep. Am I right or am I right?" Her face doesn't change. She obviously isn't falling for my diversionary tactics. Shucks. I worked really hard on that one.
"Stop pretending to be an idiot, idiot." Ouch. It burns. "You're starting to sound like a dear old friend of mine," she adds, her tone implying that her "friend" isn't so much of a "friend" as a mortal enemy who she probably also dragged into an alley on multiple occasions. Because she must be a fan of alley-dragging. Theater major. That's when I realize that her "dear old friend" is probably yours truly. Or who I used to be, anyway. Well, this is awkward.
"I bet that friend was super amazing," I retort anyway. "She'd have to be to put up with you." Oh! Snap! I grin like an idiot at my own joke, realize how uncool that is, and then quickly rearrange my face into a frown. "I'm sorry. I don't quite understand. You're supposed to be a superhero, so why are you threatening a fellow superhero? Isn't that kind of against our code or whatever?"
"You don't have a code. Superheroes who follow codes don't drop off information about people's allegedly dead sons at their doorsteps and then run." Well, can't say she doesn't have a point there.
"Wow. That sounds crazy. But... like I said... I have no idea what you're talking about. Sorry I can't help you out. I really should get going. It's been a nice chat, though." I give a sorry-not-sorry grin, take two big steps backwards, and turn on one heel. However, before I can step out into the semi-decent light of the sidewalks, a hand grabs my arm in a not-so-gentle way and tugs me back so hard that I almost fall flat on my face. When I finally find my footing, Taylor's hand is still gripping my arm. And she stares right back at me with no hint of apology in her face.
"My sister loves to hear the sound of her own voice, God bless her. She talks a lot. And she tells me things. So when I'm in Idaho going off your little information, and she told me about the new superhero who showed up on her doorstep and gave her a long 'blasphemous' rant about a certain super-villain and my son who's supposed to be dead, well... I had to pay you a visit." I can see enough of the outline of her to know that her arms are crossed over her chest. "So... tell me, Angel, how exactly did you find out that footage of my son?" She pauses and sounds like she's going to say more, but she doesn't continue for a few moments. Then she says, "And what makes you think Ivory is alive?" This time her voice sounds almost tired. Oh. Um. How do I answer her questions without sounding completely suspicious? Not giving her an answer at all would just make things worse. As much as my sarcastic commentary rocks, I don't think it can sway Taylor.
"I have a friend. He's the one who found the video. I just... Um. How do I say this? I was looking for your son. I mean, obviously. That's why my friend found the video in the first place. I knew that Eris could do illusions so I always had a little seed of hope that maybe Dominic was still alive after I saw the news. Once I found the evidence, I gave it to you. I knew you would look for him. But obviously you know that he's probably a teleporter, so I thought he was probably gone from Idaho but it was worth a shot. I'm guessing you didn't find him. No? Didn't think so." I hope it's not completely obviously that I'm lying. But it's not like she can see my face anyway- not with this ridiculous hood on. Hopefully she just won't try to take matters into her own hands like her sister did.
"That doesn't explain why you think Ivory is alive," Taylor replies irritably. I can't tell if she believes me or not. It's kind of hard to tell because... you know... we're in a really freaking dark alley in the middle of the night.
"My friend found the stuff. Not me. He just has a lot of free time on his hands. You know the type," I say with a weak smile, even though she probably can't see me anyway. "He laid it all out like that, and... well... I thought there was a chance you might be in danger. So I tried to help you out. Is that such a wrong thing to do?" I hunch my shoulders like I'm self-conscious. I'm the newbie superhero, remember?
"Why would you want to help me or my son in the first place? You want some hero cred or something? Well, guess what. You're not exactly going to get noticed for helping out Birchwood City's most notorious 'Shamed Superhero,'" she laughs bitterly. "Nobody wants to help out the woman who'd sacrifice her son to save her image on the media. So, honestly. What's your game here?" She fixates me with a hard glare. Or what I'm assuming is one. I can't exactly see her face.
"I don't have a 'game' here. I'm the Guardian Angel. That's it. I... I give people a second chance." I shrug and look down. I should feel ashamed because my words are supposed to be true. But obviously that's not the only reason why I'm helping her. I started this whole Guardian Angel crap because I felt guilty about Dominic in the first place. Everything from then on was because I was trying to atone for my past sins. Not because I'm a good person but because I'm trying to ease my conscience. I'm not an angel. I'm not even a hero.
"My sister-" Taylor stops immediately, her mouth closing and her chest falling in a sigh. My heart pounds a bit faster. Did Marie pass on suspicions about my motives to Taylor? But Taylor doesn't elongate, just turns away. I can't decide if that's good or bad. Did I want to hear what she had to say? How fitting. It seems like nobody's willing to tell the complete truth here tonight. And that seems fine with the both of us.
"Do you believe that Ivory could be alive?" I ask before she can say anything else. If she doesn't believe that he's even alive, I can't protect her from him. I can try, but it'll be a heck of a lot harder than if she was also watching her own back.
"I'm not sure," Taylor replies. Her voice is guarded and doesn't reveal her true opinion, much to my irritation. "Look, my sister said that there was something else you said. But she wouldn't tell me what. She said it was about Dominic and Ivory. She thought you were spouting bullshit the entire time so she wouldn't even mention what you said, but I need to know." Uh-oh. How exactly do you tell someone that their allegedly deceased son has been kidnapped by their allegedly deceased and also psychotic ex-lover? The correct answer is: you probably shouldn't. But I do anyway. I'm doing this thing called "being honest;" it hasn't exactly been working out for me so far but apparently I think I'm invincible now because I'm a superhero. Classic, right?
"I have reason to believe-" God I hate that term "-that Ivory kidnapped Dominic, because apparently Ivory can track other teleporters. He's definitely a stereotypically crazy super-villain so I'm assuming he wants this big happy family. And you, my friend, are the next one on his wishlist." I do this sarcastic little jazz-hands gesture like Yay congrats you have a freaking psycho ex who wants to kidnap you. #LifeGoals.
Taylor just stands there for what seems like forever. How is she supposed to respond to that? I definitely don't envy her. (Which is weird, because at one point I kind of did.)
"Ok," is all she says. She has her head tilted down and her hand brought up to her mouth like she's nervously nibbling on her fingernails or something. She doesn't cry or scream or ask a million questions. She just stands there and looks completely helpless. I almost feel a little twinge of pity deep within me.
"Hey. You might not think you have anybody looking out for you right now, but if you need me I'll be there, watching your back. Ok?" It's a lame attempt at comforting her, and we both know it. But she nods and looks slightly less shell-shocked than before. Wow. I've succeeded at vaguely comforting a superhero. My past self would be throwing up out of pure disgust right now.
"But I don't know who you are," she says, her strange amber eyes catching the light. I don't know if I can trust you, is what her words really mean. All I am is the newbie superhero who seems to have an unhealthy obsession with her life problems and also all of the information on said life problems, so I can't blame her for wanting to validate my credibility. But it's not like I have anything credible to give her. I'm a mentally unstable recovering alcoholic who used to be a super-villain and was recorded on live television killing her son. Definitely trustworthy.
"I'm the Guardian Angel," I reply lamely. This is where I would fly away in a dramatic exit, leaving her full of awe at my amazing mysteriousness. But instead I just stand there, feeling like the worst person ever. Eventually it's her who just gives me a long, incalculable glance and takes off into the night sky. I'm left standing alone wondering why I ever thought I could be a superhero in the first place. But then I hear the police go by, towing Lame Coyote Villain with them and I think to myself: Hey maybe I could try to not be so selfish all of the time and I could save people because I actually enjoy saving people! Wouldn't that be a wonderful idea? (Insert an excessive amount of saccharine exclamation points)
Maybe I am the world's worst superhero in terms of motive. Maybe this is all just me trying to make up for my past. But I'm going to kick some super-villain butt while I'm at it, and I'm going to save a few people along the way.
YOU ARE READING
Super?
Adventure"Stop pretending to be an idiot, idiot." Ouch. It burns. "You're starting to sound like a dear old friend of mine," she adds, her tone implying that her "friend" isn't so much of a "friend" as a mortal enemy who she probably also dragged into an all...
