Titan

Heroes and Villains

No one changes. Some people find new clothes, bigger homes, and many cars. They might take trips and they might surround themselves with expensive things. But deep down, they're still who they are. They only change what others see. No one gets to see what's inside. Not really. Sometimes a flash of light or dark flickers out from inside a person, but no one gets the full view.

No one changes. What really happens is more meaningful. Most folks don't know who they really are. What others see as change is really realization of who you always were. Change isn't really becoming something different but understanding and embracing what you are.

Many people have come to these realizations throughout history. The really bombastic ones are well known—Hitler, Stalin, etc. Those men not only discovered what they were, but they also picked their moment in history. Their legacies of evil will be remembered forever.

But not all are bad. Jesus, Gandhi, and many others discovered who they were and shared goodness with the world to save it or bring it enlightenment. They, too, will be remembered for all time. But those are the big guys, the world changers—literally God in the case of Jesus. He drank from the cup that came to His lips. Everyone has that potential, too; to know who they are and take up that mantle. Unfortunately, some refuse to know who they really are and instead simply exist through life. They are more pitiable than Jesus, the world's greatest martyr. Sure, He suffered terribly, but damn if He didn't know His purpose. And you'll find that most people prefer to know important things like that, even if the news is bad.

No one changes. Realization is not always a good thing, though. For every Mother Theresa there is a Jeffrey Dahmer. For every Abraham Lincoln there is a John Wilkes Booth. And for every Eric Steele there is a Jim McNulty. You see, sometimes good, decent people live their lives and come to realize that their cup to claim is not one of heroism but one of villainy. In the case of Jim McNulty, his cup is one of manipulation and desperation. He drank.

No one changes. Eric and Jim were realizing who they really were in very different ways.

* * *

Jim was almost gone. Inside, the rooms were empty, the paint was stripped, and the lights were burned out. What remained of his self, his "belongings," was boxed in the basement, sealed and in the dark. Only one window remained open and it looked out over the frail form of his little sister. If it was possible to lose one's humanity—and Jim seemed to be proof that it was—it was also possible to find ways to hold onto it. Sometimes the only way to do that is through other people. Beth McNulty was all the humanity that Jim had left.

Since the Old Town fight, Jim wasn't allowed in the room with Beth, so he watched her through glass and tried to avoid the reflection that stared back at him. It wasn't human. It was the face of a monster. The rest of him was monstrous now, too.

His skin wasn't entirely gone yet. But the patches that remained were dour and sick and stuck to his new bony exterior like loose wallpaper. Fortunately, his organs weren't spilling out of him as his skin dwindled to nothing—his bones were growing around him like a suit of horrific armor. The process wasn't complete yet—so he had been told—but if skeletons could be ripped, then Jim was 1980s Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Rock-hard bone plates developed around his pecs. His ribs interlocked like teeth, holding his organs in place. His arms were wrapped in scale-like bone fragments that had erupted through his arms and curled into place. His legs were similarly armored but with a gnarled kneecap on each leg. Jim's head was a living, breathing skull without flesh. His gums had dissolved out of his mouth. His hair had fallen out, followed by the peeling of his skull. His face had ripped open in the fight with Eric, so it had flopped off first. His eyes were intact and so was his tongue to an extent. Though, his voice was now little more than a gravelly rasp.