Reeve stood outside the operating room as the doctors moved around the table. Finally one broke off from the cluster and came to the door. Reeve waited impatiently as she closed the door and pulled off her mask and gloves, sighing wearily.
"How is she?"
"She'll live." The doctor rubbed a hand over her face. "She's going to be scarred, but it's just a few more for her collection."
"She's done this before?"
"Never here. But she came in here with scars, so..."
Reeve looked in through the window. He couldn't see her beneath the folds of the surgical shroud, but the doctors continued to pass instruments around, stitching and cutting. He turned back to the doctor.
"How long will her recovery be?"
"A few weeks. She heals quickly, we've noticed, but we need to make sure she's not going to try it again." The doctor turned to him.
"What exactly were you two talking about?"
"What, you guys don't have tape recorders or something?" He regarded her seriously, judging how much she knew. She looked into the operating room, not meeting his eyes. She rubbed her arm, scratching at her surgical scrubs.
"We've been leaving it off lately for you guys." She looked up at him then. "After this, though, we're going to have to leave it on."
Reeve nodded. They both watched the doctors for a long time without saying anything.
He came back every day for all of the weeks she was in recovery. For the first few days, she was in a room that had no speakers, so he could not speak to her, but he would stand at the window and wave. She smiled at him sometimes when she was conscious, and even when she wasn't, he stayed anyway. Her arms were strapped down to the sides of the bed and her hands and abdomen swathed in bandages. When she was finally moved back to her own room, she was still strapped to her bed, but he could finally talk to her.
"Hey there," she said the first day he was able to sit down at the window with the phone to his ear.
"Hi. How are you? Do you hurt?"
"A little."
"Carrie's done that before?"
She winced a little.
"She just gets angry."
"I'm sorry. It's my fault."
"It's okay."
She closed her eyes then and fell asleep.
* * *
Carrie didn't talk to me for a while. When she finally came around, I wasn't in so much pain, so I could actually listen to her.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"It's okay," I told her. And it was. She hadn't meant to hurt me. I knew that. Carrie sometimes got angry, but she never meant to hurt anyone.
I got better. They were able to unstrap my arms from the bed and put my jacket back on. I was so happy to have my jacket back on. I never thought that would happen, but it did. Having my arms stretched out flat at my sides was not comfortable after having my arms across my stomach all the time. It itched a little against my new scars, but they put cream on it so it wouldn't itch so much. And Reeves came every day, so I didn't notice too much.
He didn't try to talk to Carrie again. She didn't want to talk to him again either. I asked him questions, but he didn't answer. Carrie wouldn't talk to me about it either. That bothered me more than her hurting me. At least she could tell me what was wrong. Maybe I could help.
* * *
Sitting at the bar, he had been gripping her wrist tightly. Enough to be painful, enough to restrain her, but not too tightly. She winced once, then she started to smile. He looked at her sternly, sure that she was bluffing, but she continued to smile, unfazed. His palm began to warm.
"So, do you want to tell me about the bus?"
"What about the bus?" She laid her other small hand on top of his.
"I don't know. What about the bus? You tell me." He looked down at his hand. It was definitely getting warmer. But not just body temperature warmer. "Why didn't you let me blow up if you knew who I was?"
She leaned in close. Her nose almost brushed his.
"That would have been unfair," she said softly. "I wanted you to know who I was," she said softly.
His hand exploded with pain as it was engulfed in flames.
She had revealed herself two days later on television. It had started with what looked like just a horrible fenderbender chain, but suddenly there were gas tankers exploding and fire hydrants being blown off their foundations. Everyman was called to the scene, but even before he got there, he knew who it was. The television cameras caught it all as she stood on top of the mountain of her destruction and declared her identity to the world.
"I am the Dark Angel!" she shouted. She raised her hands above her head and they burst into flame. It was overdramatic, but it wasn't something to be underestimated. He wasn't sure if she could fly. Most "angels" could fly, and she had an emblem of a pair of gold wings across her chest. Flying fire would not be a good idea. He knew she could light her hands on fire, and if the rest of her body was combustable, he would have a hard time fighting her.
"I am Everyman's nemesis!" she continued. He sighed and rolled his eyes, but climbed up onto a nearby telephone booth to answer her and keep her from exploding anything else.
"What do you want?"
She looked at him and smiled. Her face was mostly covered by a black mask and a gold headband held her hair back, letting it flare back in dramatic black curls.
"I want you."
"I'm right here. Come and get me."
Then he jumped from the top of the booth and ran.
* * *
I can't believe I did that. I was angry, sure, and I'm not a big fan of her, but I didn't want to hurt her. As much as I don't like to admit it, she occupies my body most of the time. I hurt her more than I hurt myself.
Now he's angry with me. I can tell. He comes all the time, but he never asks about me, never tries to talk to me.
No... I hate him. I don't care about what he does.
And yet... It hurts.
I can't believe I did that. Again...
She finally talks to me one day. It hurts my stomach to talk. Why is she talking if it hurts?
"Carrie, were you a bad guy?"
"What are you talking about?" Does she know this already? How much has she been told? Somehow I am suddenly ashamed.
"Reeves was Everyman. He was a good guy, wasn't he?"
Is it the pain medicine that's making her ask these questions? No... It isn't affecting me. But then, I'm not sure how closely we're connected. I can hear her all the time. I don't know if she can hear me.
"Yeah. Yeah, he was a good guy."
"So, were you a bad guy? You were, what did you call it? The Black Angel?"
"Dark Angel." The correction comes out before I can stop it.
She is coughing. It hurts when she does that. I'm glad that they put her straitjacket back on. I clutch my arms to her stomach.
No. I'm not glad. I can't move.
It does help ease the pain. But she's stupid. She keeps talking.
"So, were you?"
"Was I what?" Why am I feeling so ashamed? Ashamed in front of her.
"A bad guy?"
Tell her? Why? Why not?
"Yeah. Yeah, I was..."
* * *
He fell in love with her. He didn't mean to, but he did. He wasn't sure when it happened, but he was fairly sure it started when she first arrived at his apartment.
He was stirring his microwaved macaroni and cheese when there was a knocking at the door. He didn't bother to look through the peephole, but as soon as he opened the door, he wished he had.
"Um... Carrie, right?"
"Yeah, that's right. You're Kevin, right?"
He didn't bother to ask how she had found that out. "Most people call me Reeves."
"Mm-hmm..." She brushed by him and stepped into his apartment. Reeves sighed and closed the door.
"I was just getting ready to eat."
"Ooh. Whatcha eating?"
"Macaroni and cheese."
She made a face, wrinkling up her little nose. She was wearing silver and shell earrings that clinked with her motion.
"I'm a vegan," she said, peering into his refrigerator. Reeves scoffed and closed the fridge door, nearly catching her head in it.
"What, you don't want to tug a few cows' udders, but blowing up people is okay?"
She didn't seem fazed by his sudden bulk in front of her. She moved on to the cupboards, opening them and peeking in.
"I didn't blow anyone up. I'm really careful. And no. I just don't like dairy. I could care less about the cows."
"What are you doing here?"
"I found out where you live and I thought I'd visit."
She pulled a jar of peanuts from the pantry and popped open the lid.
"Your macaroni's getting cold," she told him, pushing a handful of peanuts into her mouth and crunching noisily as she sat down in one of his kitchen chairs.
He stared at her for a long moment, then sighed and sat in a chair opposite her and drew his bowl to himself. She watched him, chewing.
"Why aren't you arresting me?"
Reeves chewed his mouthful thoroughly and swallowed before answering.
"They hate it when I bring someone in who should be in costume when they don't have their costume on. Right now, the station is probably filled with slight women with black hair because someone made a connection and got spooked."
He took a bite of his macaroni and continued, his mouth full this time.
"A lot of innocent women are going to spend a few nights in prison and a few days in interrogation because of you."
She didn't saw anything, just stared solemnly at the table as she crunched more peanuts. Reeves studied her face, then put his elbows on the table and leaned forward, gesturing with his fork.
"Why are you doing this?"
She brightened a little, straightening and looking at him.
"I always wanted to be a supervillain."
He grinned at her and took another bite of food. He knew.
"You weren't cut out for it," he declared.
* * *
“No, really, that was pretty damn cool, the way you held the bridge for so long. Are you getting stronger?”
Chris flexed his arm and looked at it solemnly.
“I don’t know. It just felt… light.”
Reeves clapped the other man on the shoulder as they walked down the sidewalk.
“You’re going to have to start thinking about getting out on your own, son," he said. "Eighteen, you know. Manhood and all that. I can't keep changing your diapers forever.”
Reeves chuckled and looked up at the sky thoughtfully.
“The bridge felt light,” he muttered, then shook his head, smiling. “Regular strongman, aren’t you? Fortunately you didn’t pick up my habit of kicking things when I’m mad. You picked up enough of my bad habits as it is.”
Chris just grinned and hurried to catch the bus. Reeves watched him go, fighting down the nervousness that buses now inspired. But Chris boarded and the bus departed without a problem. She was at home
Reeves pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. A short list of addresses covered it; all but one were scratched out. Reeves scanned the single address, then shoved the paper back into his pocket and headed into the nearest apartment building.
She opened the door dressed in full costume, as if she had been expecting him.
“Here to drag me in? I got all dressed up just for you.”
He snorted and brushed past her into the apartment and closed the door behind him.
“You should be worried you were this easy to find.”
It was her turn to snort now.
“Right, because it only took you three weeks of around-the-clock research and an illegal DNA test to find me. Ooh, I’m terrified.”
“Would have taken less time if you’d been nice enough to leave your DNA somewhere I could find it.” He looked around the apartment. It was tidy, brightly lit and warm. He looked back at her. She was so out of place, all sleek black and dangerous lines, among the family snapshots and froggy welcome mat.
“Why are you doing this anyway?” he asked. “You just do not strike me as made for this job. I mean, look at this place.” He gestured expansively. “This is the worst excuse for a villainous lair I’ve ever seen.”
She folded her arms defensively and bumped out her hip.
“Well, excuse me, but how do you know that this is my ‘villainous lair’. How do you know I haven’t got some bunker somewhere?”
“Because a real villain would have just laughed mysteriously and let it go, forcing me to three more weeks of research and illegal break-ins to find out whether I was right. Face it, this is all you’ve got. I bet you sewed your suit yourself, didn’t you?”
She dropped her arms, looking disappointed and a little hurt.
“Yes. You don’t need to be mean about it.”
“I sew my own too. Not all of us are multibillionaires. You did a better job that I did. I’m not being mean. But even if I was, get used to it. You’re supposed to be my arch foe, remember? We’re supposed to be mean.”
She looked hard at him and he couldn’t keep a straight face. She looked so indignant. The corner of his mouth bumped out on its own and he was smiling. She glared at him a while longer, then her own mouth quirked and they were both smiling. She pulled her mask off and rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand.
“Do you want some coffee?”
“You don’t have any creamer.”
“Non-dairy,” she offered.
“Sure.”
* * *
“So why did you become a supervillain?” I want to call it a ‘bad guy’, but Carrie gets upset when I do. So I don’t. “Were you in love with Reeves?”
Carrie doesn’t answer and I know that I am right.
“Are you still in love with him?”
“No.”
I know the real answer is ‘yes’. It makes me sad. I had almost hoped that she really didn’t like him like she was always saying.
I was in love with Reeves too.
He comes, just like always, but it feels awkward. I’m afraid to say anything. What will he think? What will Carrie think? He only stays for a little while. I’m happy, but I’m also sad. Is this how being in love is supposed to feel?
* * *
Her scars were healing nicely, they said. He couldn’t see them because her straitjacket was back on.
“Will she ever be able to take that off?” he asked the doctor. The doctor scratched at his head uncomfortably.
“We were hopeful. She’s… they’ve been doing so well. But after this last incident…” He rubbed his hand down his face and sighed. “We don’t know, Mr. Reeves. We just don’t know. The fire makes it all a bit more complicated, you see.”
Reeves sighed and went to sit at the window.
Chris had explained it all to him. Reeves had punched him in the mouth, but now he knew. It didn’t make it any less disconcerting to watch them talk to one another.
The hospital staff had been reluctant to let him see the videos, but when he had told them what Chris had told him, they had set up a little television for him in a storage room and left him alone with a pile of recordings.
Carrie rarely, if ever, came out when he was there. Any conversations she had with Jeanette were mostly muttered and quick. The time she had spoken to him directly had been the first time he had seen her really clearly.
On these videos, he was able to see what she – what the two of them – were like together.
It was strange to watch the face change from one to another; to watch the switch from a face long familiar to him to a face that was becoming so rapidly familiar but in a totally different way. It was strange to hear the voice go from the comfortable low tones of Carrie to the high and gentle voice of Jeanette.
Watching it made him want to punch Chris in the mouth again.
* * *
They’re doing tests on her again. Stupid doctors. Of course she can’t make fire. But they won’t listen to her and they won’t listen to me. What they really want is to do their tests on me. But I won’t let them.
Now they’re asking her if she remembers anything about how we got this way. She doesn’t. She’s lucky that she doesn’t remember that. But she doesn’t remember anything outside the hospital. She doesn’t know what it means to be separate. It almost makes me feel sorry for her; almost makes me want to forgive her for being in my body. Almost. But not quite.
* * *
“I don’t really have strength,” Chris confessed, staring at his clenched hands. His voice was low, barely audible above the café noise that had finally started again. Reeves set down the newspaper he had been holding as a shield between them.
“That’s ridiculous. I’ve seen you. You can –“
“No, no…” Chris waved his hands in exasperation. “I- I can… I dunno, I can… convince things to be light. I can… change things.”
“What, you can convince a car to weigh two pounds. I’ve seen you throwing stuff around like it’s marshmallows. Stuff’s going to feel light. You’ve got superstrength for crying out loud.”
“No… Kevin, you’re not understanding. Stuff doesn’t just feel light. It is light. You think you can pick up a car by its bumper and it wouldn’t fold over under its own weight? I can. I’m making things light. I can make things change.”
He changed Reeves’ newspaper into a t-shirt. It just… happened. One minute it was a newspaper. The next it was a gray t-shirt. Now sleight of hand, no magic gestures. Chris just laid a hand on it and closed his eyes.
“It’s hard to change things into something else. It’s easier just to convince something it’s just a little different.”
Reeves just ran his hand over the t-shirt.
“Why are you telling me this? Why now? Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“You wouldn’t have understood. I didn’t even understand. My first time really trying anything but making things lighter was…”
They were both silent for a moment.
“You changed her,” Reeves said finally, still staring at the t-shirt.
“I-“
“You changed her and you didn’t even know what the hell you were doing!” Reeves shouted. The café grew quiet again as patrons looked at the two of them uncomfortably.
“Kevin, it-“
His words were cut off as Reeves punched him in the mouth.
“You screwed with her brain!” Reeves shouted again. “You bastard…”
Then he walked out of the café, leaving the t-shirt behind.
* * *
The doctors said I was getting better. I felt better. My scars still hurt though. One of my new scars was just under my elbow. It itched. It made me jiggle because my arms were stuck. Carrie told me not to scratch at it, but it was hard not to.
Reeves started to come less often. He didn't talk as long. And when I tried to talk about him being a hero, he didn't want to. He looked at me funny, like he was always sad. I tried to ask Carrie what was wrong, but she just kept saying it was her fault. What was her fault? She said it had something to do with the fire. The doctors ask me about the fire too. I feel like I don't know anything. I missed Reeves.
* * *
Reeves was slumped in his battered sofa, staring at the ceiling, when the knock came at the door. He lifted his head and stared at the door for a moment. There was silence. He laid his head back down, and the knock came again. With a sigh, he heaved himself off the sofa and went to look out the peephole in the door. He pulled away in surprise, then opened the door to find Suzanne standing there, looking nervous. He opened the door.
“Um, hi Kevin,” she said. She was fiddling with a necklace around her neck. She looked nice, like she had dressed up for something.
“Hi,” he replied, leaning on the doorjamb, keeping her at bay.
“Listen, I just made a roast and I have a lot of extra and… well, I haven’t seen you out and about lately. I was… I was just wondering if you wanted to come and eat at my place and we could, you know, catch up or something.”
As she spoke, her eyes slowly moved from his face to stare at her feet. Her fiddling had ceased and instead she had started nervously twirling a lock of her hair. Reeves was quiet for a moment.
“Sure,” he said finally. She looked up at him.
“Really?” She was pretty when she smiled.
“Sure,” he repeated. “Do you want to give me a moment and I’ll, uh, change or something.” He looked down at his slightly wrinkled jeans.
“No, no, you’re fine,” she said quickly. She was still smiling and her smile had gotten wider. He smiled back.
Her apartment had the same layout as his, but somehow she had made it look bigger. The walls were a warm orange and it smelled like cinnamon.
She had tried to make him sit down so she could get him his food, but he had refused and instead he followed her into the kitchen and ladled out their servings of mashed potatoes and gravy as she carved the roast. Neither one of them said anything, but neither one of them had to. It was a comfortable, companionable silence and together they carried their steaming plates to the table. Suzanne bent her head for a moment in prayer. Reeves bent his head too. He didn’t have anything to say, hadn’t prayed in as long as he could remember, but it felt right.
They ate for a while in silence, but when Suzanne asked him about how he had been doing, it felt perfectly natural to tell her about Jeanette and Carrie while they ate. Not everything, not about himself or who they really were, or about Chris or anything really important, but just about his visits and what was happening with it all. Suzanne listened as if she were already familiar with it all and asked questions as if she were just getting an update rather than hearing it all for the first time.
“I just don’t know what to do anymore,” Reeves finished. Suzanne reached a tentative hand out and laid it on his wrist.
“It’ll be all right,” she said soothingly. “You’re doing the best you can, right? That’s the best you can do. It’s not as thought you’re Everyman.”
Reeves looked at her pretty face. She had violet eyes; he had never noticed. She smiled gently at him and he felt suddenly guilty. He didn’t deserve to be sitting here in this warm and comfortable kitchen.
He leaned forward and kissed Suzanne’s forehead gently. She let out a small, beautiful squeak of surprise, but she didn’t pull away. Reeves sat back and turned his hand palm up so that he could squeeze her fingers gently.
“I have something I have to do,” he told her. “Thank you very much.”
She didn’t reply, just nodded. Her eyes were sad and he knew she understood. He squeezed her hand once more and then left, taking some of the cinnamon scent with him.
* * *
It hurt. It hurt all over.
My brain felt as though it were going to explode.
It hurt.
“Carrie, help…”
* * *
I hadn’t recognized him. Three years had been longer than I thought. Now he was hurting us, hurting me, hurting her.
She’s calling me somewhere. She doesn’t know what’s happening. She’s frightened.
* * *
He had a bad feeling from the moment he stepped off the bus. It only intensified as he moved towards the guards.
They didn’t greet him as they usually did. They had their eyes closed and were standing perfectly still.
“Matt?” he called, going to the closest one. The man didn’t respond. He didn’t move. Reeves tapped the man’s arm, but there was nothing. Reeves put his fingers to the man’s neck. There was a pulse. He could hear the breath going in and out of his nose. He just didn’t move.
The bad feeling turned to dread.
“Jeanette? Carrie?”
His voice echoed through the hallways as he began to sprint.
Everyone in the building seemed to be like the guards: standing perfectly still with their eyes closed. Reeves didn’t stop to check any more of the them. Every door he tried was locked except for those along his way to Jeanette and Carrie.
* * *
“Stop! Stop!” I screamed. My jacket held her arms in as I tried to roll, tried to get away. I couldn’t move. I can’t move. I can’t move. He’s hurting me. I can’t move. I can’t move. I can’t move. I can’t move.
“Stop it!” I screamed… I scream… I will scream… “You’re killing us!”
“I’m trying to help you,” he says. “I’m trying to fix my mistake.
“No!” I hear her - me - say. My hands are beginning to grow hot.
Nothing happens. Somehow the fire stopped. He is doing something that keeps me from burning him. What is he? I can’t move. I can’t move. I can’t move. I can’t move. I can’t move. My head feels like it’s going to explode.
* * *
The room was surprisingly quiet. Reeves brought noise with him as he barreled in, screaming their names.
“Carrie! Jeanette! Chris!”
“Stay away!” Chris shouts without moving. “I can’t handle anyone more, Kevin, not at the same time and still fix her.”
Reeves stopped short.
“What are you doing, Chris?” he pleaded desperately.
“I’m trying to make this better, Kevin. I’m sorry for all of it and I’m trying to make it better.”
“Chris, stop. You can’t do this.”
“I’ve gotten better. Maybe you didn’t notice, Kevin, but I’ve been doing okay without you.” Chris was speaking through clenched teeth. Reeves moved just a step closer and that’s when he saw the slight figure in the straitjacket laying perfectly still.
“Chris! Stop!”
The minute his fist connected with Chris’s ear, it was as if the world exploded. The eerie silence of the building became a cacophony of released screams of confusion. A wall of heat erupted in front of them. The window warped and cracked and shattered. Globs of melted material spattered on Reeve’s back as he fell on top of Chris.
* * *
The fire is all over me.
Everything is going dark.
* * *
Chris was crying as the guards and doctors swarmed into the room. They were halted by a look from Reeves as he let the other man cry against his shoulder.
“I’m sorry," Chris was saying over and over again.
“No, it’s all right,” Reeves repeated again. “I’m the one who should be sorry.” Tears were welling in his eyes too. His eyebrows were singed and he could feel the blisters erupting on the burns across his back.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have left you.” He gripped Chris’s shoulder and made the man face him. “I shouldn’t have given up on you. But you need to let me go, okay? You can hold your own without me, remember? She can’t. You don’t need me anymore. She does.”
Chris broke down into tears again, but he faced the people who had entered the room and raised his hands.
The entire inside of the room seemed to have been melted. The straitjacket had been burned completely off and she lay sprawled out on the floor, her arms pale and thin. She wasn’t burnt, her skin wasn’t even red, but her eyes were closed.
Reeves knelt next to her, feeling the heat from the scorched floor soaking into his legs. Her black curls were wild and her face was drawn. But when he drew her up into his arms, he felt her heartbeat and her eyes opened.
* * *
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi. Wanna come home with me?"
I nodded. He smiled.
“I promise I won’t give up on you guys,” he said.
I smiled.
)
The rapid change in POV is awesome and makes it that much more frightening. Made my stomach curled when I read it. Very nice!