The Last Superhero (16 page)

Pull the sword from the
bloody skull.

And I feel like ripping my
clothes off.

Cold, freezing wind hits me
straight in the face as the scene around us starts to turn to dust,
floating upwards and over me. Floor, walls, furniture, all. Tiny
sand-like particles blown by a wind that threatens to knock me down
if I don't hold on to something.

Michelangelo's flapping his
wings, creating the wind, destroying every single thing.

And I'm fighting for
leverage as he gives me a lascivious grin, right before he takes off
with a last leisurely flap of his wings that sends me tumbling back
to land on my ass.

No, no, no. I'm awake. I'm
not asleep. I'm fucking awake.

Like it matters, fucktard,
it's all in your brain.

We're on a street now and I
don't know where the hell I am, but Steven's running towards me and
my legs aren't responding. I'm standing in the middle of the street
and he stops beside me, looking forward, and I see it.

Is that a fucking
double-decker bus?

And it's driving into us.

I want to run but can't.

Steven holds out a hand and
the bus comes to a halt.

He's got the purple mask on
and is dressed in shaggy clothes under a long tail tuxedo jacket that
billows with the wind as he climbs into the bus and brings out a man
in a bowler hat.

Now my legs work. Now I can
follow him even when it's so cold I can hardly breathe. Now I see
he's taking the man to an alley and the first thing I hear is a
scream of sheer terror and pain.

A scream that tears through
the night air and I feel it drilling its way into my chest.

“
You
prick!” Steven's voice reverberates as the man scrambles to his
feet.

“
You're
scum,” the pained voice replies. “You were all made of
scum and I'm going to make sure that you're locked up for the rest of
your worthless life.”

Steven draws a gloved hand
back then forward and the man's hammered into the opposite wall,
sliding down painfully into a pool of rainwater mixed with garbage.

This time the man can't get
up again.

And Steven kneels beside him
and sets his fingertips on the man's forehead.

He goes into a trance for a
moment and I watch, fixated, not knowing what to do.

Until Steven retrieves the
hand and the man wails, his voice carrying such heartbreak, such
unbearable despair...

“
Kill
me, please,” he cries. “KILL ME!”

A hand in the air pulls the
man up and throws him against the wall again and I see his head burst
open.

“
Glad
to be of service.”

He turns.

Sees me.

Frowns at me.

“
Steven,”
my voice is barely a whisper because I can't speak, not after this.

Now he sneers at me. Cocks
his head. Glares at me.

A growl slips from his lips
and he extends his hands to the sides and I feel the sonic boom hit
me square in the chest.

Close my eyes. Open them one
by... AGH.

My nose is inches from a
passing train and I'm forced to step back.

A subway station and he's
running away.

Follow him.

Run after him.

He's quicker. Faster. Boards
a car in the rear.

The train's about to depart.

Get in through the first
door you find.

Elbow people, move, push the
door, move, run, move, push another door.

Leap over a long-haired man
singing and playing a guitar with his afro-sporting friends, asking
everyone to give peace a chance.

This is a fucking nightmare,
Giana. Gather all the stuff you've read in the last twenty-four hours
and do something with it.

This
is
your
brain he's in.

The train halts, the lights
go off.

“
No!”

On they go again, but the
thing isn't going anywhere.

Push another door and there
he is, shouldering the one at the end of the train, the one impairing
a swift escape.

Nightmares are nothing more
than dreams, aren't they?

This is my world. My own.

Propel myself towards him,
grab one of the metal posts and swing my legs full force to his
face... For his hand to catch my ankle and FUCK it burns and he has
to release me, surprise on his face.

Now the shouldering of the
door has become frantic.

He's scared?

He
is
scared.

Try to leap over me and now
it's my turn to grab his calf and hear him fall and feel the fire
starting and exhale the pain as he kicks my face, but I've got a hold
on him and he's screaming in pain.

“
Steven!”
I spit blood. “Stop it! This isn't you, it's your Id!”

He pauses the vicious attack
on my face and I push myself to my knees. I can still see. I can see
him sneering with rage, dragging his burnt leg. And I look down at my
hands, see they're charred.

It's only a dream.

It's only my brain.

It's all in my head.

This taste of blood isn't
real and my hands... Not. Real.

His eyes are changing shades
from the black to the hazel, his dark hair graying from the roots,
making it slowly to the ends. Slowly and, apparently, painfully for
him as he can't stop grunting.

“
Who
are you?” he roars and his voice seems to come from
every-fucking-where. “What are you doing to me?”

“
Take
the mask off,” I demand.

“
Never!”

“
Take
the fucking mask off!” The lights flicker, the train car
quakes, rattles, trembles. “Steven.”

“
My
name,” he's gasping, a hand running around his belt, “is
Salvatore!”

He finds what he was
rummaging for and a quick movement sends a knife flying through the
air and directly into my chest.

I fall on my haunches. It
hurts. I fall on my side. It fucking hurts. I roll on my back and
he's looking down.

The knife's blade stuck
half-way between my breasts.

He lowers himself next to
me, puts a finger on the tip of the knife's handle.

“
Who
are you?”

“
I...”
can barely talk, gotta push, “...love you.”

His face falls for a second,
the hazel showing once more.

Before going back to the
dark, his expression turning to disgust.

And with the slightest
movement of his finger, the knife's pushed further into my
breastbone.

16

Frightened eyes look down at
me, frantic hands travel through me, shallow breaths welcome me back
to reality.

Michelangelo's still made of
stone over my head.

“
Giana,
darling.”

I'm lying on the floor next
to the statue.

“
I'm
okay.”

Try to sit and my chest
hurts.

“
I
hurt you, oh no I've hurt you!”

“
I
said I'm okay.”

Sit. Don't press that hand
to your chest or then he'll know he's really hurt you.

Although it's a mind trick.

Although it's all in my
head.

But that knife got stuck
good back there.

Damn.

Get on your feet and rush up
the stairs, to the library. Ignore his hurried steps, his hands
trying to stop you.

And how he finally catches
you and pulls you to him.

“
I
know what I have to do. Next time. I know what I have to do next
time.” Robotic speech.

“
You're
not doing anything. Not now, not ever.”

Glance up. Dead serious
stare.

Nothing left of the drunk
dude snoring on the sofa.

Not an inkling of the
villain I chased in that train.

“
Steven!”

“
Giana,
please.”

“
No,
you don't get it. I've been reading.”

“
What,
exactly?”

Raised eyebrow, meet my
frown.

“
What
I need is to find the answer to this riddle.”

He grabs my hand and tugs me
away from the library and into a spare bedroom where he rummages
inside a drawer on a dresser that appears to have been there since
the eighteenth century.

His hand still clutching
mine, keeping a death grip on me while I can only try and guess what
the hell he's doing.

From the depths he rescues a
portrait framed in silver that I don't get to see until we've sat on
the bed next to us and he's released my hand and is thinking, hard.

I peek at the pic and see
what it is. A portrait of a woman hugged to a younger him.

Great. This is just what I
need. An ex popping her head in.

“
Genevieve,”
he says under his breath.

Did I say she looks all
pretty and lithe and all those adjectives I've never used on myself?

“
Maybe
I should go.”

“
I
killed her, Giana. Exactly like I'll end up killing you if this
happens again.”

“
Do
you even know what goes on in your nightmares?”

“
It's
a strange feeling. You know it is you, but you can't control
yourself.”

I'm about to talk, but he
sighs and I shut up.

“
Being
me is nothing but a curse, though I never thought it'd turn out to be
like this,” he starts, then pauses, then starts again. “I
found her inside a train wreck back in '84. I was living in Scotland
at the time and, as soon as I heard about the accident, I headed
towards there to aid with the rescue. I remember prying her from the
wreckage, she'd gotten stuck between seats.”

“
Was
she okay?”

“
She
was, yes. Minor injuries only. I wasn't wearing my mask, I hardly
used it anymore and only used the telekinesis in a way that no one
would notice.” A beat. “The stench of blood, the cries,
it was all so overwhelming. She was quiet, though, as if she wasn't
feeling any pain and was just there waiting to be rescued. A fellow
passenger had been holding her head on her lap and, once she was
free, led me out. I carried her towards a grassy area where the
wounded were being treated and when I turned to go back, she took my
wrist, looked into my eyes and said in a very low voice: Thank you.
Two words that struck me like no blow had ever done before. Two words
you wish to hear every time you do something good, but being a
superhero somehow leads people to believe you're not entitled to
them.”

I see. I see it now.

“
It's
tiresome, how easily they forget that even with your abilities,
you're still part human, that you have feelings. My father had told
me about that, how they'd prefer to flee the scene instead of wait
for those words that would never come, because you did what you were
supposed to do and that's it. You want to help, don't get me wrong,
I'm not talking about selfishness here but exposing yourself to such
dangers and getting nothing in return tends to make one bitter.”