V: The V in Valor

by Snyder, J. M.

  The three kids turned as one. Fear flashed across their faces, and Vic thought that would be the end of it. But the tall boy, he had spunk. Hefting the rock in his hand, he asked, “What’s it to you?”

  “Leave that dog alone,” Vic warned.

  The boy laughed, defiant. “What dog?” Turning to his friend, he shrugged and asked, “Do you see a dog here? I don’t.”

  Behind the Dumpster, the dog barked once, as if relieved to be rescued.

  Tossing the rock at it, the boy hollered, “Shut up, you mutt.”

  A metallic squeal rent the air as the Dumpster’s lid rose and bent back, twisting off its hinges. The rock struck the lid and bounced back at the boys, missing the dog completely. The kids stared at each other, mouths agape. “How’d that happen?” one of them asked.

  “I said leave it alone,” Vic reminded them.

  The tall boy stooped to pick up another rock. This time, he aimed at Vic. “Fuck you, asshole.”

  On any other day, the rock might have hit Vic square in the face. But there was enough trace metal in it to let Vic’s telekinetic ability send it flying off to one side. Taking a deep breath to reign in his anger, Vic said, “Because you’re young and stupid? I’m going to pretend you didn’t do that.”

  The other kid grabbed his friend’s arm. “Let’s go, Bobby. It’s not worth it.”

  But Bobby was already on the ground, a handful of rocks gathered into both hands. “This old man is dead,” he promised.

  Old man. Vic rolled his eyes—had he been this precocious at their age? He didn’t think so. And he wasn’t old. Old men needed little blue pills to get it up, and Vic saw more action on a regular basis than most guys half his age. “Look,” he tried, “I’ll give you to the count of three. One—”

  Bobby threw his stones, which fell like rain a good two feet in front of Vic. The kid standing by himself laughed. “Dude, you suck.”

  Behind Vic, the bicycles began to rattle nervously, as if anxious to get going. “Two.”

  Another handful of rocks. This time Vic didn’t just let them fall, but sent them back at Bobby, who ducked as they pelted him. Directly into the kid’s mind, Vic asked, ::Doesn’t feel too good, does it?::

  “Let’s get out of here,” one of Bobby’s friends said, fear in his voice.

  “Three.” Vic gave them a sinister grin. “Time’s up.”

  The two nameless boys raced for their bikes but Bobby stood his ground, unwilling to be chased off. Closing his eyes, Vic channeled the energy coursing through him and directed it at the thin frames of the bikes. When the kids touched the handlebars, the metal curled around their wrists like handcuffs. One boy shrieked; the other yelled, “Get it off! Get it off!”

  Seemingly alive, the frames snaked around the boys’ waists. Their hands were pulled behind their backs, their arms pinned at their sides. Then the bikes rose in the air, moving toward the fence, where the front tires snagged on posts high above the ground. The boys hung, suspended, held prisoner by the twisted metal of their bikes.

  When Vic opened his eyes, Bobby glared at him. Without a word, the boy turned and ran.

  A nod of Vic’s head brought Bobby’s bike to life. It flew after him like vengeance and tackled the boy to the ground. He got the same treatment as his friends—the handlebars tightened around his wrists as the rest of the bike wound around him. Then he was hoisted into the air and hung from the fence like the others.

  The fight in his eyes didn’t die. “Get me down, you freak! I’ll call the police! You’re so dead!”

  With a flick of his hand, Vic sent a piece of scrap metal flying at Bobby. It clamped across his mouth like a gag, silencing him. “Shut the fuck up.”

  Vic glanced at the other two boys, who shook their heads and pressed their lips together tight to show they wouldn’t argue. What had Bobby said? I’ll call the police…

  Good idea. Vic held a hand out at his waist—his cell phone leaped from its holster on his belt into his palm. It flipped open on its own so Vic could press and hold the number four button. Number one on his speed dial was voicemail; two and three were Matt’s cell and office numbers. Four was a direct line to…

  “Kendra here.” The woman’s voice was tinny but clear. Vic raised the phone to his ear. “Hey, Vic. What’s up?”

  “You on duty?” he asked. Officer Kendra Jones worked for the Richmond City police. She was the only person Vic had ever told about his superpowers and how he got them.

  “I’m at lunch,” she admitted. “Where do you need me to be?”

  “Over here on Leigh Street, near that new movie place they’re building.” Edging around the Dumpster, Vic glanced in the darkness and saw bright eyes staring back at him. The dog scooted away and Vic knelt, the rest of his sausage held out like a peace offering. Cautiously, the dog inched forward, nose quivering. “I had a run in with some kids messing with a dog. I could use a hand.”

  “Is the dog all right?” Kendra asked.

  Vic shrugged. “Don’t know. It’s hiding.”

  With a laugh, she asked, “Are the kids all right?”

  “I didn’t touch them,” Vic said. Technically, that wasn’t a lie.

  “I’ll be right there,” Kendra promised.

  As he hung up, Vic felt something hot and wet lick his fingers. He looked down to find the dog still crouching behind the Dumpster, but its head had stretched out and its tongue tasted Vic’s hand. Then it found the remains of the sausage and bit at it. When Vic moved, a low growl rose in the back of the dog’s throat.

  “Shh,” Vic murmured. “It’s cool. It’s okay.”

  The growl cut off as the dog watched him, wary.

  Vic extended his hand a little farther. “Go on, take it.”

  With one large bite, the dog snagged the sausage and pulled it out of Vic’s palm. It scooted back into the darkness behind the Dumpster, growling again as it ate.

  Vic leaned back against the side of the building and sank into a squatting position to wait for Kendra.

  * * * *

  By the time she arrived, the dog had inched out from its hiding spot and lain down on the ground beside Vic, head resting on its forepaws. It was a large dog—no mere puppy, from the size of it. Some sort of Labrador mix, Vic would guess. It had short hair mottled into dirty clumps, and the bloody ear flopped over one chocolate eye. Every so often, it would snort with an almost human-like sigh as it gave Vic the most pitiful of looks. He didn’t know what to do—was it injured? Hungry? Hurt? It had downed the rest of his lunch, and as much as he wanted to buy another sausage or three for it to eat, he didn’t want to leave it alone.

  Or the boys, for that matter. Bobby’s angry mutterings were muffled by the strip of metal across his mouth, and his friends had given up yelling for help until they saw the police cruiser slow to a stop at the curb. As Kendra Jones climbed out of the vehicle, the kids started up again. “Hey! Help! Help!”

  Ignoring them, Kendra ducked through the opening in the fence and crossed to where Vic waited. He rose to meet her; the dog stood, as well, one forepaw drawn up in pain. Kendra pushed the cap back from her heart-shaped face and smiled up at him. “I thought you said you didn’t touch them.”

  “My prints ain’t on those bikes,” Vic assured her.

  Casting a doubtful eye at Bobby, Kendra asked, “I guess they just did that themselves, eh?”

  Vic shrugged. “You could say that. Can I press charges or something?”

  “It’s not your dog.” Kendra glanced at the mutt, who woofed softly and rubbed its muzzle into Vic’s palm. Absently, he petted the top of its head. “Look, Vic. I’ll be honest with you. I can drag the kids downtown but they’re juvies, you know? We can only hold them until their parents come pick them up. They’ll get slapped with a fine or community service, if that. The dog won’t be so lucky.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Vic asked, “What do you mean?”

  Kendra looked off in the distance, unable to meet his gaze. “The pound is full of animals
like this. Abandoned, thrown away. I called Animal Control on the way over and they should be here soon. We’ll take the dog to the SPCA, let a vet go over it, make sure it’s not somebody’s pet that’s run away. But after that, I’m going to have to take it to the pound. It’s an older dog, and not really…you know, cute and cuddly, see? It’s a little wild, a little ragged. It’s probably not a likely candidate for adoption.”

  Vic’s fingers found a soft spot behind the dog’s ears and scratched. The dog leaned into him, loving the attention. Yeah, so it wasn’t picture perfect—neither was he. “You’re saying what, life in a cage, then?” Vic asked. “What’s wrong with that? At least it’ll have food and shelter.”

  Kendra’s mouth twisted as if she’d bitten into a lemon. “Not for long. The pound keeps it a week maybe, less if they’re overcrowded.”

  “Then what?” Vic wanted to know.

  The look she gave him was torturous. He didn’t have to read her mind to see what it meant. Then it’ll be put down. As if it were a nuisance to be rubbed out, eliminated. Euthanized. Destroyed.

  Vic frowned at the dog. Its sad eyes were closed as it savored the feel of his fingers rubbing behind its ears. Its weight felt heavy and warm where it leaned against his leg. He recalled the way it had approached him, tentatively at first, then confident he wouldn’t harm it. And here it sat, trusting as it let him pet it, with no clue Kendra spoke so casually of ending its life.

  His voice was gruff when he finally spoke. “I’m late for work. Call me, will you? Let me know if it belongs to someone or not. Can you do that?”

  Quickly, Kendra nodded. “Sure. Do you want—”

  He cut her off. “I don’t know. Just let me think about it, will you? Don’t do anything rash.”

  She nodded again. “I won’t. I think it likes you.”

  Vic frowned harder, a built-in defense mechanism he used to keep the rest of the world at bay. But it didn’t work on the dog, who had leaned its head back and now let Vic rub beneath its chin, and he suspected it didn’t work on Kendra, either. “I got to get to work.” He heard the squeal of brakes and glanced down the street at a white van pulling to a stop. “Is that Animal Control? Make sure you call me. If I don’t hear from you by the time I clock out—”

  “You will,” Kendra promised. “I won’t let them do anything with the dog until I talk to you.”

  With a nod, Vic gave the dog a quick pat and moved away. It took a step after him, but at Vic’s stern look, it sank to its rear haunches and waited. “Good boy,” Vic muttered beneath his breath.

  As if it had heard him, the dog woofed once. Vic hoped it belonged to someone. Maybe he wouldn’t have to be the one to decide the poor mutt’s fate. But somehow he doubted that.

  When he headed for the break in the fence, Kendra cleared her throat, stopping him. “Vic?” she called out.

  He turned, scowling.

  With a sympathetic smile, she pointed behind him. “Can you maybe get these guys down for me? I can’t take them in like this.”

  Vic held his hands out at his sides, palms open, and imagined his fingers linking through the holes in the fence’s chain. Closing his hands into fists, he felt the power surge from him to grasp at the fence; one hard tug and the metal posts bent like straws, folding into themselves until they snapped. The boys cried out as they tumbled down hard to the rock-strewn ground.

  Kendra’s eyes went wide. With a smile of his own, this one mischievous, Vic pointed out, “I didn’t touch them, did I?”

  * * * *

  Something Roxie had said in jest about her wedding to Vic bothered Matt for the rest of the day. “You can’t marry him…”

  Well, why the hell not?

  Yes, the law wouldn’t recognize the union. And yes, no church in the state would sanctify it. But who needed a showy ceremony anyway? Why not just a simple exchange of vows in front of a few dozen friends? Why not proclaim their love to each other that way, clothed for once, and wear matching rings to let everyone else know?

  Heading back to his office off the gym’s pool, Matt turned on his computer and Googled “wedding bands.” Bands, not rings, but all the search results were intricate women’s rings laden with decadent diamonds. Not what he had in mind. He tried again, typing in “men’s wedding bands” this time, but the results only pulled up matching his-and-her sets. Again, not his cup of tea. Some of the men’s gold bands were attractive, to be sure, but he didn’t see Vic donning a diamond any time soon…

  With a furtive glance at the pool, where a mother watched her children play in the shallow end and an adult water aerobics class exercised a little farther out, Matt typed the word “gay” in front of the others in his search bar. He didn’t know if it would make it through the gym’s firewall sensors or not, and the first porn site it pulled up, he was turning the whole thing off. But he’d seen some pretty sketchy stuff on Roxie’s computer when she thought he wasn’t watching—one of her favorite ways to pass a lazy afternoon was reading band slash, whatever that was. Matt didn’t know for sure, but he’d seen the word “fuck” on the screen a time or two, and not used as an expletive, either. Once he’d managed to read a paragraph about some pop band called 2ICE, whose male members were pleasuring each other in great detail, before Roxie realized he stood behind her and closed down the browser.

  So if the gym’s IT person didn’t get bent out of shape over that, he didn’t think a search for rings favored by gay men would do it. Unless the search returned cock rings. Then he was in trouble.

  But no cock rings came up in the search results, thank God. Instead, he found a ton of cheesy rings—why was the word “gay” synonymous with “crap” to online retailers? Rings with rainbows swirled around them, rings with a double Mars symbol etched into their faces, rings with pink triangles in a pattern all the way around the finger. Rings that would get you in more fights than you wanted. Rings that told the world, in no uncertain terms, “I’m queer.”

  After the first few websites he visited, Matt got frustrated and almost said the hell with it when a banner ad caught his attention. It was subtle—nothing more than two male hands, one holding the other, the same gold ring on both. Matt clicked on the ad; before the page even finished loading, he saw it. The ring he had to have.

  Yes, there was a triangle on it, in the front of the ring, but it wasn’t gaudy or tacky. Instead, six diamond chips formed the triangle, which was set in a simple band of polished white gold. It was, in a word, breathtaking. When Matt imagined slipping that ring onto Vic’s left hand, his whole body tingled with delight. His breath caught in his throat, his heart began to race, and a fine sweat broke out along his nape, just under his curls. This was it. This was the ring that said it all.

  Forever.

  The price, though, was a bit out of Matt’s range. One ring alone would set him back a month’s salary, and the pair of them? Hell, he’d have to take out a loan. But hey, he reasoned, this wasn’t exactly something he’d be dropping money into every other year or so. These rings, like his relationship with Vic, would last a lifetime.

  Still, maybe it was too much, too soon. The men had been together for a few years now, sure, but Matt’s hand trembled when he moved the mouse to bookmark the page, and the thought of actually buying something this…this permanent…well, that terrified him. Not because he didn’t believe their relationship would last but because he just wasn’t ready to…

  What?

  He didn’t know. He had to talk to Vic first, before he took such a giant step. He didn’t want to do something this big alone. It had to be a decision they’d make together, and not one he talked Vic into, either. Getting a pet was nothing compared to exchanging rings.

  Matt bookmarked the site a second time, just to be safe, then clicked on the link to email the page to himself, as well. He loved those rings. Maybe he’d bring it up tonight, just jokingly at first, and see what Vic thought of the idea. They had talked of other huge purchases—getting new cars, buying a house—and they h
ad money in their savings that they tapped into occasionally for vacations or weekend trips. Together they could afford the rings.

  But it would have to be together.

  Matt wouldn’t rush things. They had the rest of their lives to pick out the perfect rings, if they even bothered to get them. Still, he didn’t see any harm in mentioning it later tonight.

  * * * *

  After work, Matt headed home. Though it was early evening, he wasn’t very hungry and didn’t bother cooking dinner right away. He liked waiting for Vic, when he could, and his lover usually came in between eight-thirty and nine o’clock. So Matt changed out of his swim trunks and gym clothes, took a quick shower, and stretched out on the bed they shared, just to rest his eyes.

  Several hours later, he woke with a start.

  A glance at the clock on his bedside table showed it was nine fifteen. Settling back against the pillows, he tried to connect with Vic’s mind and couldn’t. ::Vic?::

  No response.

  With a yawn, Matt rolled onto his side, grasping Vic’s pillow with both hands and hugging it to him. His lover’s scent enveloped him, clean and strong. He shouldn’t have napped, he thought as his eyes slipped shut again. He couldn’t seem to keep them open. Now he’d be up all night, and he didn’t even have dinner ready yet…

  He shook his head, trying to stay awake, but it was no use. The pillows around him were too soft, and his eyelids too heavy, his whole body eager to drop back into sleep. Just another few moments, he thought. Just until Vic came home.

  Vic. Who should’ve been home already.

  Matt opened one eye to glance at the clock again. Nine twenty, damn. He closed his eyes for a second and the minutes just flew past. Where was his man, anyway?

  For a long moment, Matt considered retrieving his cell and calling Vic on his. Just to check up on him, see where he was. The thought was so vivid, so real, that Matt dreamed he sat up, reached for his cell phone, and flipped it open. As he was dialing Vic’s number, he heard his lover’s voice loud and clear. ::Hey, Matty.::