Corrupted Courage Chapter 7

Author's Note: 

 Vita here! Hello, and thank you for reading this chapter of my novel! Today I have a special request for any reviewers, and that is that you help me brainstorm a permanent title for this story. Corrupted Courage was only meant to be a placeholder until I came up with something better, but I'm having a bit of trouble coming up with ideas. Please help me come up with some alternative options! Now for the main chapter:

Wearing street clothes felt like camouflage after the flashy colors of my costume. My thrift store rags blended into worn down streets as seamlessly as if I’d been born from a crack in the sidewalk.

Bleary orange streetlights flickered indifferently on broken sidewalks and broken people alike as I quickened my pace and pulled the hood of my sweatshirt low over my face. This was not a part of the city where a young woman should be alone after dark.

Usually I could take care of myself, but in my weakened state, with my powers spent . . . let’s just say I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. I kept my eyes roving for threats as I resisted the urge to check over my shoulder every few steps.

I remembered the warnings I had grown up with. Don’t go out alone. Don’t go out at night. Always carry a weapon.

I gripped the pepper spray in my pocket till my knuckles turned white. At least I'd managed to get one thing right. 

I turned, left, then right, then left again. I turned down twisting side streets and doubled back on paths I had already traipsed.

I had been strictly instructed always to take the most roundabout path home, to prevent being followed. Despite my misgivings, I followed protocol, though I knew just how dangerous it was to linger on these streets. I had demanded too much tonight to test the mayor’s patience further. He would know if I disobeyed.

I pinched the loose flesh between my thumb and index finger, where I knew a tracking chip was nestled beneath my skin. Just a precaution, the technician who implanted it had assured me, already inserting the needle. I shook my head at the memory. The things I would do to save my family.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I heard footsteps behind me. I resisted the urge to quicken my pace. I remembered another warning I had learned from the women in my life. If you run, they’ll chase.

I chanced a look over my shoulder, trying my best to look casual. Tall, wearing a hoodie. Coming straight towards me. I whipped back around and kept walking, the urge to run stronger now. I reached for my powers, hoping against hope for some hidden reserve, some indication of the weapon I was trained to be. A spark snapped between my fingers, followed by a wave of dizziness. I was spent, too tired to fight. Not only were my powers exhausted, every muscle was trembling with exhaustion.

I steeled myself to look back again, gripping the can in my pocket till my hands shook. The street was as deserted as a cemetery. I felt my heart rate begin to slow. Perhaps it had just been someone out for a walk, or going to the store, or stumbling home after a night drinking Summa at some dingy bar. Perhaps my fear had been unjustified. Perhaps this was one situation I wouldn’t have to fight to get out of.

Just as I began to relax my grip on my pepper spray, the hooded figure stepped out into the bright spotlight of a streetlight. My heart leapt into my throat. He had circled around through back allies to come out in front of me!

I forced my aching body into a fighting stance. I was tired, and I was injured but I was also angry. And underneath that, though I would never admit it, I was terrified. I wasn’t going down without a fight.

I pulled out my pepper spray and aimed a stream of burning capsaicin straight at my attacker’s face. I heard a yell and followed through with a punch, but my overworked body betrayed me. My swing was clumsy, uncoordinated as a newborn fawn’s first steps. My opponent caught my arm, his grip like a hunter’s steel trap.

Headlines flashed before my eyes as I remembered stories about what happened to young women alone at night. This would be a really stupid way to die, I thought as I struggled wildly.

A familiar voice spluttering my name broke through my panic.

“Maisie, wait!” I stopped struggling. The man who’d attacked me, or rather who I’d attacked, I realized with a cringe, let go of my arm.

“Mierda,” Dr. Alvarez swore, pushing his hood back and messing up his graying hair in the process. I looked at the can of pepper spray in my hand, then at the unarmed doctor gasping for breath in front of me. Oh no, I thought.

A few minutes later, the doctor and I were seated side by side on a park bench a few blocks away. After taking a look around, I realized calling it a park might have been a stretch. A lone, splintery bench was centered in the middle of a weedy patch of dying grass. Parks were meant to feel spacious and relaxing, but this one felt claustrophobic and neglected, with skyscrapers pressing in on all sides and trash littering the brown grass.

Dr. Alvarez’s coughing finally died down enough for him to speak.

“A little jumpy, no?”

“Sorry about the pepper spray,” I apologized with a wince. “I didn’t realize it was you.”

“And do you always go about pepper spraying random strangers?” The doctor asked, glancing at me sideways with reddened eyes.

“I do when they jump out at me like creeps,” I said defensively, “What were you doing following me home anyway? And why the hood?”

The doctor was silent. My suspicions, dialed back to a pilot light upon recognizing my opponent, flared hot once more.

“Why are you here? Did the mayor send you?”

The doctor answered me at last.

“No, he has no idea I’m here. And he can’t find out, either.”

I nodded slowly. “Don’t worry about me. I’m no snitch.”

The doctor nodded, wiping his watering eyes on his sleeve. An awkward silence ensued. I fiddled with a small hole in the hem of my t-shirt, trying to think of something to say.

“Hey, uh, don’t use water,” I blurted out.

“Pardon?”

“To wash off the pepper spray, I mean. Using water just makes it worse,” I stammered.

“I’m a doctor, you know. I know how to deal with being maced,” the doctor said with a tired smile.

“Oh,” I muttered, embarrassed. “I didn’t realize they taught you about pepper spray in medical school.”

“They don’t, actually. I have experience with it because I treated protestors who had been injured by riot police.”

“Really?” I asked, my interest overcoming my embarrassment.

“Really. During the immigration protests of the late 2070s.”

“I’ve heard of those. People were protesting the permanent border closures.”

“That is what most of the protests were about, yes. That time period also saw protests about race, gender, and environmentalism. It was a time when people had a lot of anger towards the government.”

“People are still angry,” I muttered bitterly, “That was just the last time in American history it was legal for them to show their anger."

“You know, technically, it’s not illegal. The first amendment was never officially repealed.” I could tell from the doctor’s voice that even he didn’t believe his own words.

“If it’s not illegal, but it might as well be,” I retorted. “No matter how peaceful the protests are, they just put out some propaganda about rioters and looting, then send in swat teams or military to shut everything down. By any means necessary.”

To my surprise, Dr. Alvarez smiled at my bitter words.

“I’m glad you recognize that propaganda for what it is. So many young people these days don’t. They’ve never known a free world. They’ve never known a world where their voice was heard.”

The doctor’s words sparked something in me, a rising phoenix in my chest.

“What was it like?” I asked eagerly. “What was it like when people controlled the government, not the other way around. What was it like when fighting back meant something?

Dr. Alvarez smiled. “It was beautiful,” he whispered, “The desire for change brought people together from all walks of life, all corners of the globe. Our righteous anger brought us more unity than any patriotic pageantry ever will. Those protests embodied everything that America is.” His smile faded, “Or rather, what it was . . .”

“I wish I could have seen them,” I murmured. “So many people, all standing up for their rights.”

“I wish you could have seen it too,” The doctor replied with a strange intensity. “Maybe someday you will.”

I looked down at my hands, unable to meet his ink black gaze. “It’s not like the protests did anything. The people can’t win against the government. They never have and they never will,” I clenched my hands into shaking fists, bruised knuckles aching as the skin was pulled taut across the bone. “Letting them try only creates chaos. Better that we just keep out of the government's way.”

I heard the doctor sigh, watched out the corner of my eye as he lowered his head in defeat.

“Perhaps you’ve been drinking more of the Kool-Aid than I thought.”

“Well, it’s true isn’t it?” I retorted. “When has fighting back done anything but make it worse?”

“The government has bowed to the people before, Maisie.” Dr. Alvarez said, gazing at me intently. “More times than they want you to know. I could show you the truth, if you want.”

I as silent a moment as the full impact of his words hit me like an earthquake, shaking me to my core. I bolted to my feet, stumbling back from the splintering bench.

“Your talking about forbidden information!” I hissed. “This could get both of us in serious trouble.”

Dr. Alvarez looked up at me from his seat, some emotion I couldn’t name in his eyes. “We’ve been in trouble for a long time now, Maisie. Sometimes the only way to restore order is to cause chaos." 

“Is this why you followed me?” I demanded, struggling to keep my voice down. “To get both of us thrown in prison? I have enough on my plate just trying to keep my family together without some quest to bring down the government.”

The doctor slowly shook his head. “No, I never meant to ramble on about the good old days. I came to offer information of a different sort.”

“Information about what?” I asked, suspicious.

“Do you remember the tests the mayor’s scientists ran?”

“He said they were inconclusive. Was he lying?”

The doctor offered me a sardonic smile like a peace offering. “Of course he was. The scientists were able to turn up extensive evidence regarding the nature and origins of your abilities. Evidence he would rather you didn’t know.”

“Why hide it from me?” I wondered aloud. “Why keep me in the dark about myself?”

“Because, Maisie Wyler,” the doctor answered, weighting every syllable with meaning, “knowledge is power.”

“How do I know he didn’t put you up to this?” I asked. “That this isn’t some big test meant to get me in trouble?”

“I’m afraid I have nothing to offer you in the way of reassurances,” The doctor said, “I can only ask that you trust me, and remind you that nothing would make the mayor happier than to see us divided.”

The doctor stood up, inclining his head towards me respectfully.

“Take some time and think it over. And if you decide you want to know the answers, about yourself or about your history, I’ll be waiting.”

The doctor took a slip of paper from his pocket and held it out to me. I took it hesitantly. With one more polite nod, Dr. Alvarez strode out of the park and disappeared back into the night.

I unfolded the paper. A phone number, written in a firm, round hand, stared back at me. I refolded it carefully, my mind whirling. Then I pulled up my hood, shoved my hands, the number still clenched in one battered fist, deep in my pockets, and resumed the long trek homeward.

Tomorrow, I would have choices to make. Whether to call the number, whether to seek the truth. Whether to risk trusting a man who could ruin everything I’d worked for. But tomorrow I would also have the weight of paying rent lifted of my back, and I would have money for groceries. I decided I would call tonight a win. After all, it was the closest I was going to get.