Supervillainess (Part One)

by Lizzy Ford

Four: Villains feel pain

  When Reader awoke, daylight stung her eyes. The sun had maneuvered through the blinds to torment her, and she shrank away from the light before realizing what it meant that she could see.

  She was alive.

  Uncertain whether to be disappointed or encouraged, she pushed herself up enough to survey her surroundings.

  Still in this shit hole, she thought. Her gaze settled on the muscular form of Kimber stretched on the floor in the space between boxes and futon. His guests were stirring in the other rooms of the apartment, but he snored softly, oblivious to any kind of danger that might kill him where he lay.

  By her sluggish mind and inability to hear his thoughts, the damn doctor had drugged her again. Reader tested her body. The pain was minimal, and her bleeding had stopped. She wasn’t healing anywhere near as fast as she should have, and she rested back, wracking her groggy mind to figure out why.

  Thinking was a wasted effort with her senses dulled. She started to drift into sleep once more before rousing herself again. Not only was she in an apartment full of strangers, but she was unarmed, and her makeshift mask was nowhere in sight. By now, her brother would be searching for her. It was understood if no body turned up, then the person was not officially dead. Regaining her strength, and not being caught off guard, were both imperatives if she was going to survive the games her father had sanctioned and become his heir.

  Reader sat and then stood. She felt even weaker than she had the day before. Had her brother laced his weapons with poison?

  She took a step and balanced herself then took another.

  She smashed to the ground, on top of Kimber. Her fall across him caused him to jerk awake, and the doctor raised his head to peer around him, dazed.

  “Your reflexes are worse than your carpet,” she said acidly, wondering how either of them were still alive when half the city was hunting for her and this man had the self-awareness of a rock.

  Kimber sighed and shifted to help her right herself.

  Irritated by his constant chivalry, Reader pushed his hands away and struggled into a sitting position, back propped up by the futon.

  “You need to rest,” he said grumpily.

  “There’s an aging superhero in the house who has every right to murder me in my sleep, and a villain loose in town who will do anything to slaughter me and anyone with me.”

  “It’s too early for this shit.”

  “You fool. You’re in the presence of the next supervillain … no, supervillainess in charge of the city. A little respect is due,” she snapped, offended.

  Kimber rose without responding and automatically leaned down to help her back onto the bed. She tried to wriggle free, but he was unusually strong. She ended up seated on the bed she had been trying to flee.

  “Does the supervillainess drink coffee?” he asked. He straightened, hair ruffled charmingly from sleeping on the floor. “Or maybe just the blood of her enemies?”

  “Either.”

  He shook his head and started towards the door.

  “Hey, Doc, can you close the blinds?” she asked, squinting towards them again.

  “Normally I would. But after what you did to my father, fuck no.”

  “Villains are allergic to the sun,” she pressed. “You clearly feel morally obligated to help me. Do you want my skin to boil and melt before you’ve had a chance to heal me?”

  Kimber gazed at her for a moment. The good doctor finally crossed to the window.

  Humans are so predictable, she thought, pleased she wouldn’t have to waste her energy on reaching the blinds.

  Grasping the cord to the shades, he pulled it down, exposing her to full sunlight.

  Reader gasped and snatched the blanket nearest her. She yanked it over her head.

  “If you’re going to kill me, do it fast! Don’t let me melt!” she cried.

  “Are villains supposed to be divas?” Kimber demanded and pulled at the blanket.

  She fought back. “I’m dying!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” He yanked the blanket off her.

  Reader froze, cowered and squeezed her eyes closed, waiting for the excruciating pain to come.

  None did.

  “Imagine that. You’re still alive,” Kimber said, entirely too satisfied for her liking.

  She opened one eye then the other. She had never stepped out in daylight, because villains were nocturnal by nature. The sun was intense – but it wasn’t hurting her.

  “I don’t understand,” she said and uncurled from her defensive position. Her father had warned her and her brother both about being caught outside during daylight.

  “You’re an alleged supervillainess, not a vampire.” Kimber gave her a knowing look then went to the door.

  “Maybe I’m becoming invincible,” she said, perking up. “Think of how I can expand my domain if I can operate in daylight as well as night.”

  “Can we dial back the crazy a little?” Kimber asked with a sigh. “Stay in here and keep quiet. I’ll bring you coffee in a bit.”

  Reader marveled at the shade of her skin in direct sunlight. Dust danced in the beams stretching across the floor, and gentle warmth warded off the chill of the air conditioning. When she was certain the sun wasn’t going to melt her, she relaxed and sat back, tilting her head towards the light and closing her eyes.

  The sounds of muffled voices came from the living room. Otherwise, the guest bedroom was quiet, comfortable and bright.

  And smelling of moldy carpet. Her nose wrinkled. Unwilling to let her guard down or fall asleep with so many strangers nearby, Reader climbed out of bed and walked precariously to the boxes on the other side of the room. She had already found their contents to be valuable, especially those in the box containing climbing rope.

  “Need to be ready to fight,” she murmured and began pulling rock-climbing equipment from the box. Kimber had anchors, grapples, clips, and more rope – everything she needed to escape, if she had to. “Ahhh excellent.” She pulled a small hunting knife from the box and unsheathed it. The blade was flawless and polished. If it were hers, its pristine condition would stem from care. But given it belonged to the doctor, she assumed he had never used it after purchasing it.

  She added rope and a bungee cord to her pile before shifting to the next box. She rifled through the clothing inside, selected two more black t-shirts, and added them to her pile before moving on.

  The third box had been sealed with several layers of duct tape, as if Kimber did not want whatever was inside ever to escape. Reader sliced through the layers of tape and opened the box.

  Framed pictures, a scrapbook, his medical degree, and other memorabilia filled this box.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” she said, eager to discover the doctor’s weaknesses, in case he tried to ransom her back to her father. She pulled out the scrapbook with a grimace. Someone had constructed layers of hearts and glued them over the original cover.

  Reader opened it.

  “Suzanne Ann Miller loves Kimber Jonathan Wellington,” she read on the front page. “Wellington. Mister Wellington. Doctor Wellington, I presume. Please bring me some tea,” she said in her best attempt at mimicking an English accent before turning the page. “Awww look at these sickening pictures.” She rolled her eyes at the photographs then almost laughed at the captions.

  The day we met. We were destined to be, claimed the first. The lovers were sharing a milkshake and beaming.

  “How’d that work out for you, Doc and Suzanne?” Reader asked with a shake of her head. “Did the Milkshake of Destiny do as foretold in the prophecy of Disney-propagated bullshit?”

  “You just can’t sit still and keep your hands to yourself!” Kimber’s quiet rebuke and entrance made her look up. He snatched the scrapbook out of her hands. “Here. Eat this.”

  She eyed the muffin. “What’s in it? Poison?”

  “It’s a vegan, non-GMO, gluten free, organic chocolate muffin.”

  Rea
der accepted it with a scowl. “How is that considered food? There’s nothing substantial in it,” she complained.

  Kimber gave her a mug of coffee next and she peered into it.

  “Is this free range coffee?” she asked sarcastically. “I don’t know if I can drink it, if the beans were subjected to cages.”

  “For someone who’s nearly bled to death every day I’ve known her, you really don’t have a clue how to be grateful someone cares, do you?” he snapped.

  She glanced up, hearing the tension in his tone. He was upset. With her mindreading skills disabled, she couldn’t tell why, but the signs were unmistakable. The skin around his eyes and mouth were tight, his brow was low and his jaw clenched.

  “Looks like I’m not your biggest problem today,” she observed and placed her breakfast on the floor with unsteady hands.

  Kimber’s intent gaze turned to her. He looked ready to say something when someone pushed the door open.

  “Kimber.” A pretty brunette was in the doorway. Her eyes fell to Reader. “Shouldn’t she be in the hospital?”

  “I can’t use my superpowers in the hospital, because of the drugs,” Reader said solemnly. “Hey, aren’t you the girl from the scrap-”

  “It’s a long story,” Kimber interjected. He slid the scrapbook behind his back. “She has special needs, and we ran out of bed space.”

  That’s the worst lie I’ve ever heard, Reader thought.

  Suzanne didn’t look convinced either.

  “The psych ward has the smallest amount of beds in any department,” he added, deepening the hole he was digging.

  “If you’re seeing someone, just tell me,” Suzanne replied quietly. “It’s been a year. It doesn’t have to be weird.”

  Reader was quiet, curious about the two. Kimber appeared at a loss for words. Though Suzanne tried to smile, it was clear she was devastated by whatever had happened. Devastated and … something else. Reader strained to hear the woman’s thoughts but was forced to rely on instinct instead.

  “She’s right, Kimber. She’s moved on. You should, too,” Reader said wisely.

  Suzanne’s eyes widened.

  “No more of this.” Reader pulled fuzzy pink handcuffs from the box. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Doc.”

  Kimber snatched the handcuffs. “Suzanne, we should talk elsewhere. My patient needs some time to rest.” He shot Reader a look.

  She rolled her eyes.

  They left the room, and Reader returned to her exploration. Her treasure hunt was turning up more than she anticipated, though nothing indicating what the doctor’s potentially nefarious motivations for helping her might be.

  Reader went through his various awards, from recognition as a football player in high school and college, to the accolades he earned in medical school. Family photos made up the rest of the contents.

  Disappointed not to find what she sought, Reader moved onto the next box. This one contained medical schoolbooks, as did the next several.

  She hunted through his belongings for several hours, until the caffeine from her coffee wore off, and she started to become drowsy. Double-checking the window to ensure he hadn’t uprooted her nails, she stretched out on the futon with a sigh, prepared to sleep the afternoon away.

  Just as she began to doze, the door opened.

  Reader tensed. Kimber entered carrying a sandwich and bottle of juice on a small plate. His glance went over the opened boxes and her pile, but he said nothing about them.

  “I need to check your bandages,” he said and sat on the box beside the bed.

  “They’re fine.”

  “You’re not the doctor here.”

  Reader rolled her eyes and tugged her shirt up. Her bandages had bled through.

  Kimber shook his head.

  “Are your visitors gone?” she asked, listening for voices.

  “Yeah.” He carefully peeled the gauze off her stomach. “You scared them.”

  “Good.”

  He snorted, a trace of a smile on his features.

  “I’m not healing fast enough,” Reader said, frowning at the gunshot wounds.

  “You heal faster than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

  “I have accelerated healing ability. I should be on my feet and fine by now.”

  “Let me guess. Because you’re a villain.”

  “Super-villain. In training.”

  He glanced at her face, down then back. “What is all this talk about villains?” he asked finally. “Everyone in Sand City is obsessed with them.”

  “Every major city has a super community,” she replied.

  “Um, no they don’t.”

  “They’re underground. Sand City is the only place where it’s not a secret. We crossed the gray long ago.”

  “Do you know how delusional that sounds?”

  “How else do you explain me reading your father’s mind last night?”

  “All I saw was two lunatics smoking marijuana on the rooftop,” he returned.

  “If you’d stop drugging me, I could show you!”

  He ignored her.

  She watched his long fingers work as he cleaned her wounds and re-bandaged them. “Why are you helping me?” she asked, genuinely puzzled as to his motivations.

  “Because you’re hurt and need help,” he replied. It sounded either like a rehearsed line or one he had repeated often.

  “No, really. Why are you helping me? My father would probably kill you for it.”

  Kimber met her gaze, his movement pausing. “Because no one deserves to suffer.”

  Reader absorbed the surprisingly insightful words. Could he know their impact? Did he somehow sense she was hurting inside as well as out? How was it possible for anyone to care for a stranger, when she had only ever been close to her brother?

  “But if that were true, suffering wouldn’t exist,” she reasoned.

  The doctor’s gaze grew haunted. “It’s meant to teach us a lesson.”

  “What’s the lesson?”

  “Depends on the person. You have to figure it out for yourself. For me, it was that no one else deserves to suffer.” He forced a smile. His eyes slid back to bandaging her, though she sensed the darkness inside him remained.

  She dwelt on the idea, uncertain why she wanted or needed to find deeper meaning in what had happened. The idea her brother had simply betrayed her was too dissatisfying for her to accept. “My lesson must be never to trust anyone,” she said.

  “Maybe. Or maybe your suffering led you directly to someone who wants to help people who are hurting,” he replied. “Maybe your lesson is you can trust people.”

  “But I already know that’s not true, so it has to be something else.”

  He glanced at her. “That’s kind of sad,” he murmured.

  “It’s practical.”

  Kimber didn’t reply. He cut the gauze he had wound around her midsection.

  “You seem good at your job,” she observed.

  “I am.”

  “I could always use a physician on staff.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “You’re offering me a job?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Would this job be in your evil lair?”

  “It’s more of a compound than lair, but yes,” she answered.

  “And you pay in what? Supervillain bucks I can only use at the gift shop?”

  “You aren’t taking me seriously,” she said with a scowl.

  “I’m not even sure you’re sane.”

  “Do you talk to all your patients like this?”

  “Only the ones who get my paralyzed father high, destroy my carpet and fuck up any chance I have to make amends with my ex-fiancée,” he replied. He finished bandaging her midsection.

  “Ah.” Reader rested back on the futon. “You didn’t know she’d moved on. That’s why you’re pissed.”

  Kimber’s hands paused as he unwrapped her arm, and he met her gaze. He appeared ready to speak, stopped himself, and then went ahea
d. “How did you know she was seeing someone else?”

  “Villains –”

  He held up his hand. “Don’t start that shit.”

  “It was obvious. She looked guilty.”

  “You just met her. How could you tell, when I’ve known her for years and didn’t notice?”

  “Because you have known her for years,” Reader responded. “You see what you want or expect to based on your experience with her. I have no fore-knowledge, so I saw what was there.”

  He studied her. “Oddly profound.”

  “Supervillains aren’t stupid, Doc. You can’t lead an army of evil ninjas, if you can’t read people.”

  “I agree. I learned that playing football, only without the ninjas.”

  “It helps to have a backup skill, too, in case your superpower gets taken out.”

  Kimber chuckled. “Okay. Have you ever been treated for a psychological illness?”

  “I’m not the crazy one here, Doc,” she said and rolled her eyes. “It’s clear you have a problem seeing what’s in front of you.”

  “And you need an anti-psychotic. A very strong one.”

  “Everyone knows supervillains exist.” Reader grunted as he tested the stitches in her side. “Ow!”

  “My bad. I was trying to move your skin out of the way with my superpowers. Turns out I don’t have any.”

  She glared at him, not amused by his smug denial.

  “Your brother’s offering ten million for whoever turns you in,” Kimber continued.

  “Hmm. That’s it?” she asked.

  “Ten million is a lot when you have no-million.”

  She eyed him. “You considering it?”

  “You tell me. You can read minds.”

  “Not when you drug me.”

  “I didn’t.”

  Reader glared at him. He didn’t appear to be lying, but she had never met someone whose mind she couldn’t read, so he had to be.

  “They’re going door to door, too,” he said. “Showing your picture and asking if anyone has seen you.”

  She tensed and swiped his hands away. “What did you tell them?”

  “Let me do my job,” he said with a warning look and pushed her back down onto the futon. “I didn’t tell them anything.”

  “You live in a place like this and would turn down ten million dollars?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my apartment,” he said, bristling.

  “Wait, who came to your door? Did he look like me?”

  Kimber pressed a new bandage to the deep knife wound in her side. “Not really. He was my height and scarred.”

  Not Thunder, she thought with some relief. “When was this?”

  “An hour ago.”

  Reader glanced towards the window. It was possible her brother’s henchman hadn’t suspected Kimber was lying. None of Thunder’s men could read minds, though several – including her brother – were experts at reading signs of deception in people.

  Then again, Kimber was a terrible liar.

  She tested her body. With some dissatisfaction, she realized how right the doctor was about her condition.

  “Do you have a gun in the house?” she asked.

  “God no. If I did, I’d never reveal its location to someone in need of intensive, extended psychiatric counseling,” he replied.

  “I’ll have to make do with what I can find.”

  Kimber didn’t reply.

  She relaxed back, content to let him fix her, so she could fight off the men her brother was bound to send after sunset. “Hey, why didn’t you turn me in?” she asked curiously. “You don’t like me, and it’d be the fastest way to get rid of me.”

  “Because you need to heal.”

  “That’s it? No plans to ransom me back to my father or sell me to an arch-nemesis?”

  “I’m a doctor. It’s kind of what I do,” he replied.

  “Sort of.”

  He finished up and leaned back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re overcompensating for something,” she replied. “There were some naked pics of you and Suzanne in your box, so I know it’s not –”

  “Jesus!” He rose. “Do you ever turn off? Or have any sense of personal boundaries?”

  Reader rested her head against the pillow. He was agitated again, this time at her. She had hit a nerve without understanding what it was he was hiding, because he was hiding something. The tension between his ex and him, the hints his father supplied, the fact he had thrown all past accomplishments and remnants of his personal life into a box and vehemently taped it up before moving to the worst apartment in the world … when combined with his statement about suffering and the shadow in his gaze, everything became clearer.

  Kimber wiped his mouth, and his gaze dropped briefly to something under the bed before he shifted away, towards the boxes. He knelt in front of the box containing his past.

  Reader studied him intently for the first time. She had noticed his muscular form and handsomeness at first sight, but this time, she saw the hollows under his eyes that could only be caused by extended periods without sleep and the tightness of the skin around his lips. The good doctor had no smile lines. He spoke of helping people – but he wasn’t happy.

  The doctor, however dedicated he was to his job, hadn’t recovered from what hurt him. He was punishing himself for some reason – and taking care of her was part of his self-torture. Maybe turning down the ten million dollars and lying to her brother’s henchmen were also attempts to make himself suffer more.

  Kimber hadn’t suffered and then learned his lesson and moved on. He was still in pain and had been for quite some time. Three years, if his father’s timeline were accurate.

  Reader sat up and reached out for her lunch. She took a bite in silence.

  “You aren’t going to make fun of my food again?” Kimber asked without looking at her.

  “I’ve eaten worse.”

  He was holding the scrapbook in his hands but hadn’t opened it.

  “Want me to tell you what happens?” she asked dryly.

  “You shouldn’t go through someone else’s personal belongings.”

  Ignoring him, Reader lay down again to focus on healing. She gazed at the ceiling. “Once upon a time, two crazy teens stumbled across the Milkshake of Destiny and, thinking it would bind them to one another for all time, took a very dangerous sip. They had no way of knowing their destiny was to tear each other’s hearts out with such violence, no milkshake would ever taste the same.”

  Kimber laughed. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to make me feel better or are completely deranged.”

  “It’s true, isn’t it? You can’t drink a milkshake without feeling sad?”

  “How can you possibly know that?”

  “Because it would make me sad,” she replied. “I looked through all your stuff. That was your first date, and the photos from your anniversaries all involved milkshakes.”

  “Villains feel sorrow?”

  “Villains feel everything,” she said.

  “What would a villain have to be sad about?”

  “My brother trying to kill me.”

  Kimber was quiet.

  “We’re competitors, but I don’t want him dead,” she said. “He’s my brother. It was us against our father growing up. He was all I had, and I was all he had.”

  “That’s rough.”

  “Yeah.” She released a deep breath. “Now I have to kill him.”

  “Not necessarily. You could talk to him. Remind him about your shared history and how you’re family,” Kimber suggested.

  “True. I could torture him until he remembers.”

  Muttering something about anti-psychotic medication again, Kimber replaced the scrapbook into the box. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you’re hurting.”

  Reader twisted her head to see him. His gaze was warm, another indication she had been right. He understood suffering, because he was hurting, too. The strange con
nection was more powerful than she expected. It made her insides squirm, and her pulse race.

  “Do you have any sort of superpower?” she asked.

  “If I did, I could have avoided some pretty ugly situations in my past.”

  “Like the reason you’re suffering?”

  He nodded.

  “Did someone try to kill you, too?” she asked.

  “Not exactly,” the doctor asked.

  “Steal your plans for city domination?”

  “No.”

  “Set your secret lair in Chicago on fire?”

  “Nope.”

  Reader was quiet, thoughtful.

  “Any more guesses?” Kimber asked.

  “I’ve never spent much time around normal people. I don’t know what would cause you to suffer,” she admitted.

  “Never?”

  “No. But if you need a ninja army for revenge, you can borrow some of mine.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He was smiling.

  She said nothing and gazed at him, more curious about this stranger than anyone she had ever met. Handsome, smart, kind and understanding, the doctor was the last kind of person she ever thought she’d want to know more about.

  The quiet stretched on between them, increasing the unusual interest in him she experienced. This felt a little like they were destined to meet, just as she was destined to take her father’s place.

  “Get some rest.” As if he, too, experienced the strange vibe between them, Kimber rose and went to the door. “Yell if you need anything. I’ll leave the door cracked.”

  Reader returned her gaze to the ceiling, not liking the warm sensation sliding through her. It was not attraction or lust but something deeper, a feeling of understanding someone she didn’t want to understand. If she didn’t know better, she might consider the idea she actually believed the doctor to be … well, good.

  She reached under the bed to identify the object he had glanced at more than once during their discussion. A bottle of painkillers was the first item her fingertips grazed, followed by the first aid kit.

  Reader picked up the pills. The bottle was old with a prescription dated about two and a half years ago. She squinted to make out the faded, cracked writing on the side.

  “Morphine,” she read. “Prescribed for Kimber Wellington.”

  She dwelt on the label, which provided no real insight into why he needed the drug in the first place. It was full of white pills. Had he suffered a football injury? Been in a car accident? She couldn’t think of any other benign injuries likely to be sustained by someone like him.

  Replacing it, she patted down the bandages on her abdomen and stared at the ceiling. She needed to be healed by yesterday. Impatient but uncertain what else to do, Reader took the doctor’s advice for once and closed her eyes to rest.