Superman's Cape

by Brian Spangler

  Superman’s Cape

  a novel

  Brian Spangler

  Copyright © 2012 by Brian Spangler

  www.writtenbybrian.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Brian Spangler.

  Editing by Don Shope

  dshope100@gmail.com

  Cover art by Novel Website Design

  diane@novelwebsitedesign.com

  DEDICATIONS

  To my friends and family. Superman’s Cape is finally done.

  To my wife for her support and endless patience.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  While working on this novel, there were a few who I owe a terrific level of gratitued and appreciation.

  To the many who spent time reading drafts of the novel and for offering critiques and encouragement – thank you, thank you, thank you. All of your feedback has helped to shape the finished story.

  To my sister Susan – Thank you for reading the early drafts and then reading the final drafts.

  To Diane Whiddon – Thank you for the work on a wonderful cover. Your patience in designing is both appreciated and impressive.

  To Don Shope – A special thank you for the excellent editing and feedback. There are not enough words to express how much I appreciate all of the time you have contributed to help with this novel.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Epilogue

  1

  The caw of a black bird cut through the sound of traffic as Sara Connely hurried her two boys across Franklin Street. She pulled up their hands as they walked over a grass median and then stepped between parked cars. Some abandoned. Some dying. Thick clouds spilled rain and marched away from them, leaving behind threads of steam on the cooling blacktop. Kyle, her oldest, kicked at the whispered moisture that strayed untamed and confused across the road. The clouds sounded a guttural rumble that echoed far. Jonnie, her youngest at five years, tightened his grip on his mother’s hand, but then loosened it as the rumble faded. The heavy smell of wet asphalt and city congestion were unfamiliar to Sara. Unwelcome. She confirmed her grip on Kyle and Jonnie’s hands and searched the faces of the old buildings for the address she was looking for. The black bird cawed again as though warning they were in a part of town they’d no rightful place being in. Annoyed, she gave the bird a hard look – it adjusted its feathered overcoat and cawed once more before flying off.

  Sara found the address she was looking for. “There it is. Dr. Pada’s office,” she mouthed as relief settled and she took in the sight of the building. It was a stale brownstone with dust settling in place of some of the mortar. The steps leading to the door bore a steep incline that slowed even the youngest of feet. They entered the office where four plain walls met them. Each of the walls held an empty stare. An examining table stood waiting for them in the company of a lonely desk and filing cabinet. Sara sighed as she looked around while Kyle pulled his hand away to wander. “Don’t break anything,” she mumbled to him.

  Jonnie glanced once around the room but then resigned to study the floor. She half-hoped he’d follow in a run after his older brother. He used to do that. But now she couldn’t remember when she saw that last. Sara turned her attention back to the Doctor’s office. Missing were the framed diplomas and the receptionist desk to greet you. Missing were the colorful patient room tags above the doorways. Heck, missing were the rooms. The closest thing to an examination room was a shower curtain pulled around an exam table.

  This wouldn’t have been her first choice, but it was the best Sara could afford for her boys. The money was gone. The lifestyle they took for granted for the last dozen years evaporated in the blink of an eye – or, as the case may be, the pull of a single gunman’s finger that ended her husband’s life. But Sara needed to have her son seen by someone … anyone. He was getting worse. And time was just not healing the deep wounds inflicted on that nightmare of a day six months earlier.

  The doctor’s examination was over before Sara thought it ever started. Frustration grew to annoyance and then to resentment. She expected more. A lot more. After all, they’d traveled to a part of town she never thought she’d visit – let alone, bring her boys. The time behind the curtained area lasted all of ten minutes … maybe less. The news about Jonnie wasn’t what she had hoped to hear. She wanted to ask the doctor, Are you sure? Do you want to check again? But she didn’t. Maybe it was what she expected to hear after seeing his office. She shook her head in disappointment. How do you surmise nothing is wrong after only ten minutes?

  “I wish I could have taken you somewhere else,” she whispered to Jonnie sitting next to her. She half expected, even hoped, to hear a response. A grunt, maybe – he sometimes did that. Something or anything, but instead Jonnie’s eyes remained fixed in a stare.

  With a soft step, the doctor approached them from the curtained area. As he settled in his chair, a faint smell of antiseptic carried in the air and wrinkled her nose. She thought him to be of Middle Eastern descent and just young enough to explain the lack of décor in his office. Sara also guessed the experience he wore on his face could only satisfy a few years out of medical school. She was getting a better understanding of the lacking office amenities.

  Pressing against her bottom were patches of duct tape that crisscrossed the green vinyl of the chair’s cushion. She shifted in her seat. Kyle approached the doctor’s desk. He hung his posture in a crippled stroll – a protest to being there. He walked with his sneakers dragging and skipping and with each labored step a chirp sounded from the aged flooring.

  “But mom, where am I supposed to sit,” he barked.

  Dr. Pada raised an eye to the tone and Sara could feel a small wave of embarrassment settle and then shrink away. She didn’t need him pointing out a duct tape mended chair of his own was missing. Painting a reserved smile, she fixed him a look asking for some patience and a little consideration. Kyle paused, his face flush, and then lowered his head in a reluctant apology.

  “Jonnie come on over and sit with your momma,” Sara offered, patting her leg.

  Jonnie stood up from his chair. He waned in his movements toward the invitation of her hand. Sara leaned in but could see in that moment the distance growing between them. Maybe even feel the distance. Just an arm’s length away she looked at him as though he were across a busy street. As though she were calling to him while he walked on alone and without consideration of her words. H
e is getting worse, she thought. With a gentle touch she took hold of his fingers and eased him closer to her. There used to be a time when he clung to his momma. When he ran to his momma. When he was the first to greet her with smiles as colors of orange and red and yellow peeked in their sleeping rooms. Sara even thought she might be holding him back. She felt a little selfish in not wanting to let her youngest sprout his own wings and explore as little boys liked to do. This was not the typical behavior of a little boy however. She saw the little in him was fading with each passing day. She was losing him.

  Jonnie sat on Sara’s lap and at once she could tell he was bigger. She adjusted herself so that his weight didn’t hurt her legs. She was sure there’d be a small bruise. He was bigger – not fat bigger, just grown bigger; but thin like his father. He was lean with muscle and not an ounce of fat.

  How long has it been since she held her son? She drifted close to his hair and closed her eyes. His smell was intoxicating. It was an inviting and welcome reminder of who he once was. But at the same time Sara felt the hurt deep inside as she considered what happened six months ago.

  Resting her hand on his back, Sara looked closer at Jonnie’s handsome face. She saw the summer’s freckles beginning to fade along with the shortening days. With a breath of pride she thought his father’s chin and nose along with her own green eyes couldn’t make a more perfect face for a five year old. Jonnie had his father’s hair. A dirty blond that always looked fresh. She loved that it could be school-day combed or an afternoon mess and still look good. Temptation often got the better of her and she’d try and touch it up with a run of her fingers, often to his swift dismissal.

  “Momma loves you, Jonnie,” she said with a tiny nudge. “Always will – you know that, right?”

  “Mmmm-hmmm,” he responded, keeping his empty gaze fixed on the floor.

  While not quite words you’d understand, the grunts were a few of the meaningful sounds he offered these days. Sara ran her fingers through his hair and planted a soft kiss along the side of his cheek. She turned her attention back to Dr. Pada whose eyes were watching the exchange.

  “You love your boys don’t you,” Dr. Pada said solemnly as his study of them broke.

  “Of course I do. Why would …,” she started to answer with emotion edging her voice.

  Dr. Pada offered a shy smile and pushed a small shrug of his shoulders, “… I know you do. It was intended to be a compliment only – not a question. My accent is not always allowing me to be very clear.”

  Sara joined Jonnie’s eyes. She gave the floor a tired look and said: “I’m sorry, this has all just been so hard. Anymore, I’m not sure how to answer questions.”

  Dr. Pada paused a moment as his expression went flat. Clinical. “I wish I had more I could tell you about your son’s condition – but in my examination of him I cannot find anything wrong.”

  Sara regarded what he said before looking up.

  She shrugged and nodded, “he is quiet … says a word or two, but that’s it.”

  Dr. Pada raised his hands in small resignation. “I do understand, Mrs. Connely, but there is nothing in the physical that gives cause to your son’s ability or inability to speak,” he said, finishing in a softer voice.

  Sara considered his words – wasn’t it true? Didn’t she know this before coming here? Didn’t she know that this was probably the answer she would hear? Frustration can blind you, she thought. Even when you know the answer, frustration will blind.

  Sara brought her hands together and with her fingers she rolled her wedding band. It was a habit she developed soon after Chris proposed to her. She felt the empty space behind the gold band where the engagement ring used to be. Back then, after they’d married, she always wore both. Today she only wore the wedding band, the one with the inset design and diamonds to match his wedding band. A pair, she thought as she pinched it between her thumb and forefinger. Comfort settled as she rolled it again. Four months to the day after Chris was murdered, Sara took off both the engagement ring and her wedding band. Four months to the day after he died, she thought it might be time. She felt naked attempting that first day without them on her finger. They’re just jewelry, she told herself. But still a disjointed emptiness remained unsettled.

  From the store clerk who said hello to her that morning, to the teachers at the boys’ school, they all saw her as a widow. Even the boy’s principal still smiled with sympathy in his eyes whenever he spoke to her. To all of them Sara was no longer married. Instead she was just the end of a sad tale that left her alone with two young boys to raise on her own. Yet, Sara felt married. She wanted to feel married. She needed to feel married. Chris was still her husband and this was still her family. The engagement ring remained in her jewelry box, but she put the gold wedding band back on. She settled the ghost that haunted the skin on her finger each time she reached to roll what wasn’t there. Maybe in a few more months the wedding band can come off. Maybe in a year. Or maybe when the hole in her heart was less cavernous, less deep and less painful. She thought she might move it to her neck. At least there it was only a hand or so away if needed. And it could be there to hold or just maybe she might not need it at all.

  “Can you help Jonnie?” There was a shudder in her voice.

  “Can you help my boy?” she asked, thinking she may have sounded stronger.

  It was Dr. Pada’s turn to look down. For him, that meant looking at his desk and the few sheets of paper that passed for medical forms. He cramped his face as he struggled with what to say. He shifted in his seat and shuffled the forms once and then shuffled them again. When he put them down, he looked up at the boys and then to Sara and told her, “I don’t have anything except to advise you.”

  Sara felt her breath leave as she slumped in her chair. Any hope she brought with her was dashed. A moment passed and the Doctor added, “From my perspective it does look to be a psychological issue which is not uncommon after a traumatic experience. You mentioned something happened earlier in the year? May I ask what occurred – can you tell me more about it?”

  With that, Dr. Pada settled back. He put his elbows on the chair’s armrest. He then lowered his chin as if expecting to hear a brief dissertation. He looked to Sara with eyes that listened. He wanted to hear the story. He wanted to surmise why Sara’s boy was withdrawing and shutting down. Why their lives had been turned upside down. She thought he might even want to know why she was struggling to feed her family and visiting a doctor in a part of town they did not belong.

  Dr. Pada laced his fingers together, rolling them as he locked each digit. He shifted his hands to rest on a belly that looked pre-mature for his age. Sara decided to tell him their story. She would feed the curiosity that danced in his eyes. She’d carry her words in a manner he understood. She had his attention. And he wasn’t looking at his watch. He wasn’t looking at the clock on the wall. He wasn’t paging through files to pull the name of the next patient to be seen. She had his attention and he was the first doctor who was asking to listen; who wanted to listen. She would tell him even though she knew the problem with her son wasn’t physical. He went someplace on that day six months earlier and no one has seen him since. She would tell him because she had no place else to go and nobody to give her the time to listen.

  2

  Kyle could still feel the flush of embarrassment in his cheeks as his mother began telling the Doctor what happened. He didn’t mean to snap about the chair, really he didn’t. The words were out of his mouth sooner than he could stop and rein them in. Sometimes that happened – and he knew it was a bad habit. His father always told him to keep the filter on, keep it on or you’ll get stung, he said. But Kyle often left the filter off and was too quick with his tongue. And it cost him. It cost him more times than he cared to count. Keep it on or you’ll get stung, Kyle thought to himself. Sometimes it was a trip to his room. Or maybe it was losing his Xbox for a few days. Other times it was a bloodying flat punch to the nose from the older kids like Steve Jeff
eries at school who teased Kyle and his friends every day. Kyle’s tongue could trip him up like nothing else; keep it on or you’ll get stung, his lips moving to the whisper of those words.

  Glancing over at his mom, Kyle searched for the pretty that left her. Butterflies woke and stirred in him; they gnawed on his gut. He looked past his mother’s new thin grays and looked past the small web of wrinkles around her eyes. He looked and tried to find the pretty he grew up with. It was Davy Wilkins during school recess who proclaimed that Kyle had the hot mom in the bunch. He agreed, as far as moms go that is. But now her prettiness was hidden behind layers of worry and pain. The butterflies stirred some more, spreading their wings. Her prettiness was also hidden behind what Kyle hated seeing more than anything else: fear.