REAL LIFE/REAL DEATH Chapter Six

"SAYING GOODBYE TO THE BOTTLE”

The bastard was big. He was real big.

The door swung around on its hinges, sending shockwaves through the walls. A picture frame shattered as it hit the floor. The big bastard lumbered through the doorway, he didn’t look to be in any particular hurry. That bothered me. Worst of all, I couldn’t fucking breathe.

I guess I was having some kind of panic attack. I could feel my lungs aching, but they just refused to inhale. I wasn’t scared, not really. I’ve been living each day as my last for the last decade or so, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a lot of regret. Maybe that’s what was bothering me. I should have called Anne. I knew Grace, my ex-wife; I knew she would never talk to me, but Anne…I could have done more for Anne. I did feel bad for this Jen girl, too. I mean, she seemed to be in a tough place right and I hadn’t been able to do shit for her.

FUCK! Some gorilla just broke into my home and all I could do was tense up and feel sorry for myself. There was no way I wasn’t going to die.

The brute sauntered through the room. And he was a brute, too. Sloping brow, big chin, hands the size of Christmas hams. He noticed that I was struggling to breathe and gave me a dimwitted, black toothed smile. He didn’t care about me. He was here for the girl.

Jen was panicking. On one side of her, I was dying, and on the other side this creep was closing in on her. She didn’t even make a noise, she didn’t scream, cry for help, nothing, she was helpless as I was. We deserved each other, I guess.

The big bastard knocked the whole table over, and it took me with it. I laid there on my back gasping for air. The big guy grunted something. I finally heard a scream. Anne was screaming. I could see through the chair legs that the big guy was wrestling hold of her. She wasn’t making it easy for him, I’ll give her that. She desperately tried to squirm out of his grasp, but his hands were like vices on her arms.

That’s what was happening, but that’s not what I saw. All I could see was my own hand, wrapped in it’s own vice like grip around the bottle of scotch. Air finally surged into my lungs like scotch into a glass, which was soon to follow. I staggered to my feet. I could see the big fucking mongoloid looming over Anne. Fuck him.

The bottle came down hard on the back of his head, but not as hard as I wanted it to. Glass shattered and big piece stuck out of his head, giving his hair a bloody part.

Anne dropped to the floor.

“FUCK!” He yelled.

He clumsily backhanded his fist in my direction. I didn’t dodge, but he still missed. Thank god. I wasn’t so lucky the second time. He spun around to face me, blood splattering the walls as he did. He landed a solid punch in my gut and I found myself once again gasping for air. I doubled over and clutched my stomach, which helped me avoid another clumsy fist. This dick was angry and swinging wildly, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t have the strength for a fight and just let myself fall over. It was a sorry sight. But before I could give up entirely and just let myself die, I saw her.

The red fabric clung to her body like a wet bathing suit. Her blonde hair cascaded down her back, her bangs hidden by her mask. She had something in her hand. With frightening precision she brought her heel down on the back of the thug’s calf. He cried out in pain and dropped to one knee. He tried to get up and turn around and nearly lost his balance. But before he could react, she held her occupied hand out about a foot from his face and sprayed something into his eyes.

He roared like a beast and blindly charged straight ahead. She deftly sidestepped his lumbering attack and guided him headfirst into the brick wall.

“Anne…” I muttered as she tried to help me up.

“No, it’s Night Cat,” she said, “My name’s Night Cat.”

“My eye’s hurt, what did you spray him with?” I choked out.

“Pepper spray,” she said nonchalantly. Looking at the unmoving body across the room, she stiffened up, “We should call the police, and maybe an ambulance.”

“No,” I spat, “Police…the police…the ones who sent him.”

“What, how do you know?”

“Just…a hunch,” I mumbled. It was really hurting to talk, “We have to go.”

“Well, we have to call 911! We can’t just leave him here!”

“Fine.”

I didn’t have the strength to fight a 300 pound goomba and I certainly didn’t have the strength to fight her. I tried to gather up anything I thought I might need while she dialed the police. This was real fucking bad. I ripped the phone out of her hands and hung it up.

“Are you crazy?” She screamed.

I threw the old clothes at her, “Put those back on. We’re leaving. We need to get somewhere safe until I can get my head clear. And take off that fucking mask!”

That last bit just slipped out, but she took the mask off and got dressed.

“Where are we going?” she asked timidly.

“Gurly’s.”

REAL LIFE/REAL DEATH Chapter Five

It's been a while, but after finally getting Zero's Heroes up and running, I've been able to devote some time to Real Life/Real Death. So here's chapter five, it's another short chapter in which we get a very brief glimpse of the other heroes from Night Cat and a very large dose of self loathing from our main character, Frank.

Chapter Five

“CRACK”

I was ten hours sober. I don’t think good when I’m sober, too many thoughts jumbling around in my head. Admittedly, I was also shaken up by the run in with the cops. I wasn’t thinking straight and I was angry, but not as angry as I was about to be.

I opened the door and there she was, sitting on my couch playing with her hair. Her long blonde locks tangled in between her fingers. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I thought I was going to cry but felt like I was going to throw up.

“…Anne,” I muttered.

She turned around and the wig fell off. I hated myself so much I could’ve blown my head off right then and there.

“Oh, it’s Jen.” She stated, “My name’s Jennifer.”

“Right,” I said as I walked past her, making a bee line for the kitchenette. I set the bag of groceries on the table and pulled out the bottle of Scotch. She just sat on the couch, staring at me while I downed a few swallows. The bottle came down on the table a little harder than I wanted it to. She was nervous.

“Are you hungry?” I asked, trying to break the tension, “I got some food.”

“Um, okay. Yeah, actually I am.”

I microwaved some pizza. We ate in silence. My mind was a mess. What was I going to do about this girl? Did I even have a plan? No, I didn’t. She clearly doesn’t seem all that stable. Did she kill that guy? Is she a killer? Fuck, is she going to kill me? I could kill her if I needed to. I tried to think back to last night. I took a swig of scotch. I think better when I’m drinking.

The whole scene was kind of surreal. She was on top of that guy, beating his face to a pulp. Was he moving? I don’t think so. No, he was dead by the time I got there, I remember that. The night was still kind of a haze, I needed more time to think about it, but I was having a hard time focusing right now. Too much stress, I guess. I took another drink.

We continued to eat. She just stared down at her plate, nibbling at her pizza, as if she was afraid to eat it. Fuck me! It wasn’t until just then that I realized she was wearing her costume, only without the mask.

“You want some clothes?” I asked.

It shouldn’t have surprised me when she put the jeans and sweater on over her costume. I gave her the smallest belt I had; it barely kept the jeans up. It didn’t look all that natural, but she seemed a little more relaxed, which made me more relaxed.

We sat in silence and ate our pizza until she finally blurted out, “I didn’t kill him.”
The words were slow and deliberate. It seemed like she had been practicing those words all morning.

“I didn’t kill him,” she repeated and then emphasized, “the guy in the parking lot.”

I paused, unsure of what to say. I guess we weren’t going to be beating around the bush anymore.

“Why don’t you tell me what did happen,” I said.

“I’m not sure,” she hesitated, “You wouldn’t understand. It seems like so much needs to be explained.”

“Why don’t you start with why you’re wearing a costume?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she chirped, “I’m a superhero.”

“Do you have any…powers?” I asked.

“Of course not, I’m a Real Life Superhero. We’re just regular people who have been inspired by comic book characters to take a more proactive social role.”

“You need a costume to do that?”

“Well, duh. It’s a safety measure.”

“Yeah, okay, I get it.” I lied. This girl seemed to be a little emotionally unstable, so I didn’t want to push any buttons that I didn’t need to and decided to just get to the facts, “so you’re a superhero. Fine. What happened last night?”

“Well, it all started with this guy called The Watchman. He operates out of this city. He has been trying to get a group of us together for a while now. I guess there’s a lot of crime around here.”

I couldn’t really argue with her about that. This place is a shithole.

“We all came in over the weekend and went on our first big patrol last night.”

“How many of you were there?”

“Seven, including me. The Watchman, Super Citizen, Captain Kick, Pisces, Ombre, and…Azul Amigo. Poor Azul…”

I could see the tears welling up in her eyes. She tucked her head under her arms and to hide her sobbing. This was taking to long. I sat at the table, silently waiting for her to get herself back together. I was just reaching for the bottle of scotch when I heard the loud “CRACK” of my door being kicked in.