V: The V in Valor

by Snyder, J. M.

  Before Matt could think of something pithy to say in response, the door opened behind him and he stumbled back into the hallway that led to the employee locker room and the pool where he worked. As the door eased closed, he started down the hall, eager to hide in the pool’s admin office and, with any luck, avoid Roxie the rest of the day. But before the door shut completely, she called out, “What, no thank you? See if you get a donut now.”

  Matt turned in mid-step, heading instead for the short corridor that led to the reception area. Pushing through the swinging door that put him out behind Roxie’s desk, he tucked his key card in his back pocket as he surveyed the cluttered spot around her computer. Sure enough, a box of Krispy Kreme donuts sat unopened underneath the counter, where it wouldn’t be seen by patrons and any employees who might enter the gym through the front door. “Thank you,” he said, nodding at Roxie in a mock bow. “I’m forever in your debt. Tell me you have Boston cream.”

  Sinking into her seat, Roxie opened the box, displaying an assortment of a half dozen hot, fresh donuts. There were two chocolate-covered ones in particular that caught Matt’s eye. “Just for you,” she said as she held out the box. “I figure if Vic likes you, you can’t be all bad.”

  “Ha ha.” Matt snatched both donuts before she could change her mind and take them back. The first bite was heavenly—the thick, sugary cream inside melted in his mouth. Much better than the waffles had been, for sure. “You’re the greatest, Roxie.”

  Loftily, she replied, “I know.”

  As Matt finished off the first donut, Roxie turned back to her computer to resume checking her e-mail. Matt glanced at the screen and looked away quickly before she could accuse him of reading over her shoulder. Then he noticed a chunky black picture frame sitting by her keyboard. In the frame was a photo of a small black and white kitten stretched out across a windowsill, soaking up bright sunlight. Pointing at the frame, Matt asked, “What’s this?”

  Roxie didn’t look up from her computer, where she was now scrolling through her own Facebook profile. “A picture.”

  Sometimes Roxie could be particularly stubborn. He knew it was a picture. “Of what?”

  Now she gave him a sidelong look that made him feel stupid. “A cat.”

  “No, I mean…” He sighed and bit into the second donut. “Never mind.”

  Too late. Roxie closed her browser window and turned to pick up the frame. “This is Miss Priss. Isn’t she cute? I got her a few months’ back.”

  “I didn’t know you had a cat. We had one this weekend.” At the odd look Roxie gave him, Matt recounted what had happened, going into great detail about Vic’s discomfort around the animal. “He’s not a cat person, that’s for sure. You should’ve seen the look on his face when I made him hold it.”

  Roxie laughed as she looked at the photo. “That’s it, the wedding’s off. It would’ve never worked out anyway. How can you not like cats?”

  “What wedding?” Matt reminded her, “It wouldn’t work out because he’s already shacking up with me. Hands off, sister.”

  Roxie gave him a withering look. “Oh, please. This is Virginia, Matt. You can’t marry him. Let a girl dream, will you?”

  He felt like a jealous sibling when he pointed out, “Dream all you want, honey. He’s still mine. Unless you manage to grow an added appendage somewhere—”

  “Enough.” She covered her ears with both hands, which made Matt smirk in triumph. Who was being childish now? “I don’t need your wildly homoerotic evil tainting my innocent thoughts.”

  Beneath his breath, Matt muttered, “They’re tainted enough already, I’m sure.”

  He had to jump back to avoid the small fist swung his way. “You’re lucky you ate those donuts, mister,” Roxie warned, “or I’d take them back.”

  “Indian giver!” he cried.

  With a laugh, he pushed through the door before she could stand and swing again. When he finally reached the pool’s office a few minutes later, he turned on his own computer to find a message from Roxie in his inbox. You’re lucky I don’t buy a big strap-on dildo and steal your man!! He’d leave you for me in a heart beat.

  Matt grinned as he typed a short response. Keep telling yourself that.

  * * * *

  Vic woke a little before ten and stumbled to the bathroom. After relieving himself, he splashed cold water on his face and frowned at his visage in the mirror. Faint lines were beginning to develop in the corners of his eyes. He grimaced, an intimidating look, but the lines didn’t deepen. So he smiled widely instead, and his eyes crinkled. One more thing Matt was giving him—before he met his lover, Vic hadn’t been much for smiling before. Now that Matt was in his life, he had wrinkles. If I didn’t shave it all off, I’m sure I’d have grey hair, too, from all the freaky situations his powers have put me in over the years.

  But honestly? He wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Without turning, he stretched an arm behind him and tried to will the towel off its rack. Sunday evening they’d made love the same way they had earlier in the weekend, giving Vic the telekinetic ability to move objects with his mind. Last night’s coupling had been partially out of curiosity—would the same position yield the same results a second time? Plus Vic liked the position, himself on his belly, his dick stimulated by the weight of his own body and the firm mattress beneath him. The pillow in his arms, his toes curled in the sheets. Matt straddling him, and his lover’s weight was a welcome one when he lay above Vic just before he came. The telekinetic ability hadn’t been that bad…or, at least, it was easy to hide. If the same position worked a second time…

  But the towel stayed in place without so much as a wiggle. Maybe the powers had negated each other? Vic had never tried to cancel a power out by repeating the position that had given it to him. In the past if he drew a sucky ability—say, like the time his skin paled until it looked like frosted glass, nothing but a thin membrane stretched taut over his veins and bones—then he and Matt always tried for a different power to replace it. That time, with the glassy skin, had been the only time Vic had ever insisted on keeping the lights out when they fucked. The sight of his own insides flexing and pumping away had nauseated him so much, Matt had to use every trick at his disposal to arouse his lover. The memory of looking at himself in the mirror that day and seeing through his own skin still made Vic shudder.

  So perhaps repeating a position didn’t increase the ability. Vic had noticed in the past that the things he or Matty wore or thought about during the deed could affect the superpower he received afterward. Maybe his mind had drifted, or they’d done something just slightly different, and now he’d have to just wait for the consequences. As long as it didn’t keep him from work. He’d used up most of his sick days already, calling in with a variety of comic book ailments that kept him home. An image flashed before him—himself, ghost-like, his skin transparent, a look of horror airbrushed onto his skull as he had watched his heart beat obscenely beneath the cage of ribs in his chest.

  With a violent shake, Vic closed his eyes and turned from the mirror. Worst power ever, that had been, without question. He reached for his robe, hanging on the back of the bathroom door…

  And ducked as it zoomed at him to crash into the closed shower curtain. The screw on which it had hung clattered into the porcelain tub and rolled toward the drain.

  Frowning, Vic held out his hand again and willed the robe to rise. It didn’t. The fabric lay where it had fallen. Well then why…?

  Vic tugged back the shower curtain. The screw from the back of the door was a good four inches long, with splinters of wood still in its threads. It had rolled to a stop across the mouth of the drain. Vic bent down over the edge of the tub, reaching out to pick up the nail.

  Before he could touch it, it flew into his hand.

  So maybe repetition didn’t cancel out a power so much as modify it. He’d gone from being able to mentally move any object to…what? Only metal?

  He glanced up at the shower hea
d above him. It trembled under the weight of his gaze, a faint squeal rising in the pipes as it tried to move. Vic shut his eyes—the noise stopped. Blindly he leaned back, reaching for the towel rack to help him stand.

  A loud tearing sound rent the air. Vic felt the metal bar hit his palm with no support behind it. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw it had pulled itself free from the wall at his command—in its place, a dark hole gaped in the broken tiles, and the bar hung at an awkward angle, only anchored at the far end.

  Damn.

  “Yeah,” he muttered, jamming the loose end of the bar back into the wall. “Only metal.”

  How many metal things did he come across during the day? Let’s see, he thought, retrieving his robe from the floor. The car, the bus, the time clock, the lockers at work, the handle on the toilet—he looked over at the commode and, as if on cue, it flushed itself.

  This was going to be a long day.

  * * * *

  Vic worked an eight hour shift with a thirty minute break around late afternoon for lunch. But he usually stopped somewhere downtown for a bite to eat before he got to the bus garage. This morning it was a bit disconcerting—and more than a little fun, if he were honest—to wave a hand across the small end table by the front door to his apartment and watch his car keys jump eagerly into his palm. A gesture over his shoulder closed the door behind him, locking it for good measure as the keys floated a few inches nearby. On his way downstairs, the door to his building opened, waiting for him. Hinges contained metal, as did door knobs and locks. This power might not be so bad after all.

  At the curb, his car jumped like an eager puppy when he walked around it, heading for the driver’s side. He unlocked the door without using the key, and probably could’ve started the engine the same way, but he wasn’t quite sure the mechanics of it all and settled for guiding the keys into the ignition and commanding them to turn with a flick of his wrist. Beneath him, the car roared to life.

  Unfortunately, that was the limit of his ability. The steering wheel was plastic, as was the cover on the gear shaft. Putting the car into first, Vic edged away from the curb, his mind already drifting to food. After the fiasco in the bathroom, he was running a little late. Not a sit-down restaurant, then, and nowhere with slow service. At quarter to noon on a weekday, however, that eliminated most of the busy little delis and eateries downtown getting ready for the lunchtime rush.

  Avoiding the interstate, Vic took a more circuitous route as he appraised his options. No burger joints, and definitely nothing that was part of a chain. He wanted to fill up, not bulk up. At the corner of Boulevard and Leigh Street, he slowed as he drove by a small barbecue stand. Now that might work. A large bun filled with pulled pork, dripping with barbecue sauce and homemade cole slaw…

  Wait. Vic noticed a vendor cart farther down Leigh and turned in the middle of the intersection. A couple construction workers queued up at the cart, which was always a sign of good eats. Vic parked across the street, in front of the battered husk of an old warehouse whose concrete block walls appeared to be held up with nothing but scaffolding and a prayer. Huge yellow excavators and backhoes sat around the structure like discarded children’s toys. It must’ve been lunch time for the crew—no one lingered on the scaffolding, and there was an aura of neglect about the site. A smaller building farther back on the lot hunched by the chain link fence, in worse shape than the main building. As Vic climbed out of his car, he saw a construction sign hanging on the fence that enclosed the site. MOVIELAND! Coming Soon!

  Vic looked around. The two-lane side street with its barbecue joint on the corner and a row of office buildings across the Boulevard wasn’t exactly someplace he would’ve expected to find the next teenage hangout. A trio of boys on bikes goofed off farther down Leigh, jumping off the curb and hopping back up again when a car approached. More than one driver hit his horn, earning the boys’ derisive laughter.

  Vic waited until the street was clear before he crossed to the vendor cart. Who put a movie theater in a place like this? The traffic would worsen and the people who worked across the Boulevard weren’t likely to duck inside for a quick flick at lunch. Poor planning, in his opinion. Next thing he knew, they’d reroute the buses out here to capitalize on the situation, and Vic dreaded navigating this narrow side street in that big behemoth he drove.

  The vendor cart sold Italian sausages dressed with peppers and onions on a warm bun. Vic bought two—they were a good size, easily half a foot long, and should hold him through the first part of his day. With the two buns wrapped in foil in one hand, a large cup of cold Coke in the other, he trotted back to his car, then noticed a bench at the end of the block. A bus stop, no less. So they already ran a route down this way. At least it isn’t mine, Vic thought as he took a seat. The Coke went on the bench beside him, as did one of the sausages. The other disappeared in a couple heavenly bites.

  In the distance, he heard laughter—the boys on the bikes, he suspected. Somewhere a dog barked, and along the Boulevard, cars and the occasional truck zoomed through the intersection. Brakes squealed when the light turned red. The dog barked again, an agitated sound, as Vic started in on the second sausage.

  Dogs were too noisy, Vic thought. Especially those little ones, the purse pooches so popular among Hollywood’s young ladies. At least cats were quiet creatures for the most part, though Vic had seen his landlady’s felines swarm around her legs as she unpacked her groceries, and he didn’t think he could stand something constantly under his feet like that. Or sitting on the dining room table grooming itself as he ate. Or sleeping in his bed.

  Why would Matt want a pet anyway? Vic didn’t recall his lover ever mentioning one before. Before they met, Matt had lived a playboy lifestyle—impeccable clothes, flashy sports car, gelled curls. There had been a hint of desperation in his appearance, Vic realized looking back, something stand-offish that said quite clearly, “Look but don’t touch.” Even though Matt had sought him out after ditching his then-boyfriend Kyle, Vic had had to work through that flirtatious exterior to find the real man inside.

  It’d been an act, Vic knew that now, designed to keep others at bay and hide Matt’s odd talent—the ability to endow his lover with superhuman power through intercourse. In the time they’d been together, Matt had matured in a lot of ways, mellowed out, settled down. He still strived to look good, but he didn’t waste money on designer jeans or the hottest fashions, and though his Jaguar was kept in running order, he wasn’t looking to splurge on the latest model. He’d moved into Vic’s apartment and slowly taken over every aspect of his life. Matt didn’t live for himself anymore; neither did Vic. Together they were complete, one complementing the other, neither whole when alone.

  And truthfully? Vic wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Maybe Matt’s request for a pet was another step in their relationship. It would be a big responsibility, one they’d have to share. Almost like having a baby, Vic mused with a shake of his head. One that never grew up, one they’d have to feed and care for constantly. It was a huge commitment, not to be taken lightly. First a pet, then a house, and God, then a ring…

  Vic felt his cheeks heat up at that. Lately he’d been noticing the rings worn by the fares who rode his bus. Wedding rings with large diamonds, and thick gold bands that made his stomach flutter with a nervousness alien to him. A band like that, on Matt’s hand, that he’d put there? Sweet Jesus, the thought made him sweat. Talk about a big step—

  Behind him, the dog’s incessant barking broke off into a series of yelps. With something akin to relief, Vic dropped the thought of a ring and reached out with his mind. He couldn’t communicate with animals, he knew—it wasn’t that they didn’t think so much as what went on inside their heads was so foreign to him, he couldn’t comprehend it. And though he wasn’t an animal lover by any stretch of the imagination, Vic knew the sound of pain when he heard it. Those yelps weren’t healthy. That dog was hurting.

  A mental scan of the area turned up the t
hree boys, their bikes discarded just inside a break in the chain link fence. They were behind the smaller building, pegging rocks at a Dumpster behind which the dog hid. One of the boys laughed as his rock bounced off the side of the building, mere inches from where the dog cowered. Vic brushed over the boys’ minds and found a memory of another rock striking the poor animal’s side before it had ducked behind the Dumpster. It was an older canine with a dirty golden hide, its fur worn through in spots, one ear ragged with dried blood.

  Another rock pinged off the Dumpster—even from where he sat, Vic could hear it. The dog barked once, then whimpered as the boys edged around the trash bin in an attempt to hit it with the next stone.

  Indignation flooded Vic, an anger so righteous, he surged to his feet. He might not be an animal person but hell, throwing rocks at a defenseless dog? What the fuck did people teach their children these days? Leaving his drink on the bench, he clenched his fist and squelched the last few bites of his sausage in its foil wrapper. If he could, he’d project himself into the mind of that dog and force it to attack those damn kids. Teach them a lesson…

  Or shit, why should the dog have all the fun?

  With long strides, Vic strode down the street alongside the fence, looking for the hole through which the kids had entered the construction lot. When he found it, he ducked inside. The bikes were piled together on the ground, discarded. The boys had split up—two stood at one end of the Dumpster, their friend at the other end, trapping the dog. They couldn’t have been more than sixteen, Vic thought. Why weren’t they in school? Better yet, chasing after girls? Or hell, after boys, as Vic had been doing at their age? Playing video games, texting their friends, hanging out at the mall…anything but terrorizing a stray dog.

  As Vic watched, the tallest boy pulled back his arm, winding up for a good throw, a large stone in his fist. “Hey!” Vic barked. He scowled, a look that could frighten the toughest of men. These kids didn’t stand a chance against it. “What the fuck are you boys doing?”