Superman's Cape

by Brian Spangler

  “Indection is really getting bad,” he told the trees sadly. And as if in response, the raindrops seemed to quicken their pace. He joked with himself that the raindrops were rushing in to listen to him. He pushed the lung goo around the palm of his hand. The mucous was a deep green; far darker than he’d seen before. The cold air began to kill the warm lung biscuit. And as he was about to toss it to the ground he hesitated. He considered the alternative. And then he decided. Without another thought, Kyle pulled it back into his mouth and ate it.

  When he pushed against his lungs again, he coughed up another green batch of infection. This time he thought he tasted some blood in his mouth and was immediately reminded of his dad dying. Blood painted his lips and teeth as he struggled with his last words. Kyle shook the scene from his mind and swallowed what he’d coughed up.

  Something stabbed at the Boar cut in his arm. It pulled at his skin and ripped his attention from everything as the sudden agony caused him to scream out for all the woods to hear. He turned to see what stabbed him. A bright line of fresh blood trailed down his arm to his elbow. Drops ebbed and fell to the ground. Behind his arm, he saw yellow piercing eyes staring back at him. A pair of tall black birds chattered and grunted back and forth to one another. They chattered another second then looked at Kyle. Fresh blood was painted on one of their dark beaks while the other bird cradled a maggot classmate in its mouth. The maggot wiggled back and forth as if searching for a way to get free. But the wriggling lasted only another second before the black bird flipped the tiny meal into the pink of its mouth and swallowed.

  At once, anger erupted and replaced any fear Kyle thought he would have. He felt offended and sick. And worse, he felt hurt that he lost one of his maggots to a stupid bird. It was his maggot to do something with. His. Kyle punched his good arm around and yelled at the black birds. But they only jumped to the meager swing of his arm. He swung again and the birds hopped as if playing double dutch jump rope in a schoolyard. He waved again and up into the air they went before floating back to the ground.

  When the second attack hit, Kyle wasn’t prepared. He never expected there would have been a second. He realized then that the birds weren’t afraid of him. Anger turned to fear. Both birds rushed his arm and dove their long beaks into the Boar cut to pull all of his students. A mass kidnapping. Kyle screamed. They intended to eat the entire maggot class. He cried in anger and pain and felt repulsed as he swung his arm trying to connect. They chewed at his skin and stole what he’d left in the Boar cut to clean his infection. Pain ran up and down his arm. It turned his stomach over as he reached his hand to swipe at their heads again. A collage of luminous blue then green shine from their black feathers flew up across his face as they took flight to avoid his swinging arm. The double dutch jump rope game played on, but his swings were slowing. Maybe they’re gonna eat me, he considered. Maybe they’ll forget about the maggots. Kyle swung harder, desperate to connect with one of the birds.

  Landing on their black scaly talons, they caught their balance and rushed into his arm again. Kyle watched as more of his students were abducted. He screamed and swatted with his hand while waves of iridescent feathers fanned at his face. He felt the brush of a wing on his fingers as their changing colors ended in black before slipping from his grasp. Kyle yelled in frustration and screamed in pain.

  Pins and needles stole his legs again as he tried to get up and run. Kyle tried to roll. He pushed his body over and over as the attackers followed and continued stealing more of his maggot class. He rolled around and around and felt the birds jumping on and off of him with each turn. Finally Kyle rolled over and stopped when the open cut of his arm was sandwiched between his body and the ground. He took the maggot class away from the black birds. And they screamed in anger. They screamed at him and then stabbed their beaks at his head and neck and face. One took hold of his ear and closed its mouth until he felt the skin on his lobe begin to open up. All he could do was hide the Boar cut and cover his face.

  A flood of air swept over his fevered skin. It fanned his body and stopped the attack. He stopped screaming. The black birds stopped screaming. Kyle heard a new voice and it sounded out and drowned all of their voices. Kyle rolled onto his back to find the familiar face of George. George held down one of the black birds with his brilliant yellow talons while the twin black bird stood a foot away; a look of uncertainty in its eyes. George squeezed his talon and Kyle saw the bulge of the yellow eyes in the arrested black bird. He’s squeezing the life out of him, Kyle thought. The twin black bird showed no apprehension or reservation for the large raptor. It rushed George. It rushed an attack and bounced off the larger bird. The black bird fell to the ground and pushed out its wings to regain its footing. The smaller black bird rushed again, wings spread wide to make itself appear larger. But like the first time, the twin black bird only bounced from George’s side. George remained dismissive of the attacks. The twin black bird screamed at George some more and Kyle thought maybe the other black bird wasn’t a twin at all or even a sibling. But maybe it was his mate, a husband or a wife. He thought if birds could cry then he would see the twin black bird break down into a puddle of tears and feathers while its soul mate was taken from him. Squeezed to death by George.

  Kyle’s anger and terror faded to pity. He felt bad seeing their union break as George started pulling feathers and meat from the other black bird. It was still alive and it fought back. It jabbed at George’s yellow talons while its own feathers were being pulled off. The dying black bird’s attack on George only lasted a few minutes as George let go of his prey. He repositioned his talon directly over the face of the black bird and squeezed more of the light from the bird’s yellow eyes.

  Kyle wanted to scream to George, cheering him on. He wanted to tell George thank you. He wanted to tell him to have at it and please, oh please, rip apart that effen black bird. He wanted to tell him to tear out his little yellow eyes and cut off that forked tongue and to leave some of it on the ground so he could stomp on the remains. But Kyle didn’t say any of it. Not a word. He kept his tongue and instead let the sadness take over the fear and anger and put to rest the adrenaline that was shaking his hands and legs near uncontrollable.

  The black bird in George’s clutches drew one last breath and died what Kyle thought to be a painful demise. The twin black bird conceded his mate was lost forever and gave Kyle an oddly long yellow stare before taking off. George was a machine tearing and stomping on his catch. His monarch-orange eyes watching Kyle as he ate. I’m not a threat, he thought and raised his arm to inspect the Boar cut. An efficient eater, George left almost nothing but discarded feathers and some bones as Kyle watched his hooked beak dive down and tear away one bite at a time.

  The two watched each other for a time, George eating his catch and Kyle staring and thinking he was moving closer and faster to his death. The time he had to escape from these woods was getting shorter. And he considered that in fact, it might be gone. As more time passed, he thought more parts of him would stop working altogether and eventually George would have a much bigger feast. He might even invite some friends, including the newly widowed black bird.

  When George was sated, he clutched what he didn’t finish and lifted off the ground throwing another rush of winged air that pushed against Kyle’s face. Kyle closed his eye as the air pressed over him and decided to keep it closed and just listen to the wings of his hawk friend throwing more feathered air to the ground. The sound of the wings faded and for a while Kyle let an unfamiliar serenity rest in him.

  More rain drops fell around him and some fell onto his fevered skin. Kyle’s eye remained closed and his breathing deepened and then shallowed. And then his breaths stretched further and further apart. He was dying.

  32

  Splintered wood of the door in Jacob’s mind dripped with his brain matter and blood. The person behind it, the one who’d begged to be heard, who screamed to come out and thumped and thumped until blood spilled from Jacob’s right eye,
was now standing in full view. Jacob stood on the other side of the door just as he had so many times before. Except he wasn’t standing there searching for his gift. He wasn’t searching for his sensitivity. His gift, his insight, all of it left him as the tumor in his brain grew until the knocking and thumping from the room was loud enough to spill his blood.

  Standing across from the door, Jacob saw the face of a man he only recognized from a distant memory. The man didn’t see Jacob, or perhaps he chose not to see him. Instead the man pushed his face through the splintered cracks of wood and yelled up and down the long corridors. He screamed for Sara and for Jonnie and Kyle.

  Jacob recognized the man; it was Chris – Sara’s husband. And then confusion, a chaotic twist that flipped him end over end. He was Chris. That is, Chris was in his mind and his mind was his. Jacob was lying on his back, and pushing down the black and white tiles of the Dairy Queen floor. His body refused to work. It ceased all sensation from where the bullet entered his belly. I’m paralyzed, he thought and saw from the corner of his eye Chris’s hand reach up and touch a young boy’s face. That’s Kyle, he thought and then Jacob heard Chris’s voice speaking through his mouth – he was telling the boys he loved them. Blood flooded the back of his throat and crept into his mouth until it spread across his teeth and gums and bubbled over his lips.

  Chris screamed louder down the corridor and commanded Jacob’s body to get up from the trailer floor. “Sit up,” he demanded, as his legs and arms began to move. He shouted about the time that remained and how no more of it could be wasted. No more of it could be spilled, like the blood coming from his eye. He shouted that he was going to stay for just a little while. He shouted about how so much had to be done, oh so much, and time was everything.

  Jacob stirred and groaned and tried to open his eyes. But his eyes, or Chris’s eyes, were already open and Jonnie had Superman’s cape which was a fresh blue, not the cleanest blue, but not the blue he saw in the trailer with the patches of aged blood, Chris’ blood. Jonnie knelt to his side and told him that he’d fix the bullet. He told him that Superman’s Cape would fix it as he covered the bullet hole with blue and wiped the corner of his mouth. Jacob felt the blood spill around him and he choked on it as more of it filled his mouth. The paralysis from his middle was creeping up past the bullet hole. It was invading his chest as his lungs tightened and a feeling of drowning took over. He was fading. He was dying. And the more blood that spilled out of him the more it cloaked the faces of Jonnie and Kyle and the strangers around him in a veil of white. It thinned their features, every one of them, and gave them a distant look. The veil of white was over his eyes, erasing everything. As most of the DQ began to disappear from in front of him, Jacob realized this was Chris’s death. The boys, the strange faces, even the pain was leaving him – a mercy, he thought as the exhaustion of trying to breathe and to move and to live left him alone.

  When Jacob started to understand the juxtaposition he and Chris were in, he knew why his gift had left. It was gone. That is, in a sense that he knew or understood. But it wasn’t gone completely, that much was true; not forever. Recycled, he thought and then thought borrowed seemed more fitting. Just as Jacob was a part of Chris’ death, Chris was now a part of his life. Temporarily, he hoped. Chris brought his hands up and began pulling the splintered wood from the door frame that was covered in brain matter and blood. Jacob watched while Chris removed one large piece at a time. The thumping in his head continued with each piece of the door being torn and discarded.

  More blood welled up in his eyes and spilled to his cheeks. Jacob continued to stand in front of the door until Chris could take a step into the corridor. A step later and he was standing toe to toe with him. It was only now that Chris saw Jacob or saw past him to what was outside. Chris was looking to Sara and to Jonnie by her side. Chris stepped again and was now behind Jacob. As Jacob turned around, he saw the door. It was whole again. No brain matter. No blood. The door was complete and closed as though it had never been touched. It was latched shut. It was locked and Jacob was standing on the wrong side of it. He was inside of the room. Behind the door. And it was his turn to knock on the wood and beg and plead to be let out.

  Chris sat up on the floor of the trailer, and threw his arm around his middle. He felt his skin through his shirt and searched for the bullet hole and the blood. When a hand tugged and pulled at the fabric in front of him, he picked up the stranger’s fingers and brought it in front of his face. He turned the hand over and back and then closed and opened the fingers. He dropped the stranger’s hand when a gross weakness told him to. He wanted to lie back down and close his eyes. But at the same time, he was compelled to move on. An instruction was burned into him that could not be changed. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The blood he expected to taste in his mouth was gone. The smell of gun powder was gone. The congestion of collapsed lungs was not there. A smile peeked from his pressed lips. And while he wouldn’t have thought he was the healthiest of people, he did know the living from the dead and living was a better place to be.

  When he took another breath and captured all the smells around him he stopped. He inhaled again and searched for what was familiar to him. Chris opened his eyes and drank in every bit of the room. He didn’t recognize the stacks of cardboard boxes or the paneled walls. He didn’t recognize the couch he was leaning against, or the small ceiling fan that rocked a slow motion ballad of back and forth while its blades whispered air onto his skin. The fan, the air, it was all forgotten sensations as foreign to him as the room he found himself in.

  Chris turned to see Sara. Only she was older. Not aged older, but tired and sad and he thought she looked afraid of him. The liveliness and glow that was hers had been replaced. Now he saw skin that was flat. Lines that were teasing the corners of her green eyes and drawing down on her lips. But it was Sara. His Sara. When he looked into her eyes, Chris spoke volumes without a single word. And just as he was about to open his mouth and say her name, Jonnie ran from behind his mother. He ran with his Superman’s Cape knotted around his neck in a mesh of his fingers.

  “Daddy!” he yelled and lifted his fingers to release the Superman’s Cape before falling into Chris’s arms.

  Chris took it all in. He pulled the arms he didn’t recognize around his son and welcomed everything he could feel. He pulled his son into him and let the boy’s hair fall against his chin and nose. Chris breathed his son in. He kissed and hugged him with his eyes open out of fear of missing a second of any of it.

  “Hi Jonnie,” Chris said and kissed his boy on the cheek before looking back up to Sara.

  Sara stood there. Her mouth stayed open and her face frozen. Her eyes stayed fixed and then moved as she studied what was happening in front of her. Lifting her hand to her mouth she nodded and mouthed the words No before closing her eyes to leave.

  Before she could get up Chris reached out and found her hand. He closed his fingers on hers and rolled the wedding band he’d put there years earlier. He felt a selfish relief when he found the wedding ring between his fingers. Sara turned back pulling her arm towards her chest.

  “Chris?”

  Chris searched the unfamiliar room and saw the stack of cardboard boxes again. This time he saw the one that was open. The one with the letters ‘LUL-LUF’ scribbled in black marker along the sides and smiled returning his eyes to Sara’s own.

  “Love you Lots,” he breathed and reached for her hand again as she started to cry.

  “Love you Forever,” Sara told him and closed her fingers on his.

  33

  Jill could hear the storm over the ever present noise in the WJL-TV cab. The rains beat against the windshield in heavy sheets leaving pock-marks on the glass that faded to nothing or lost their innocence to the windshield wipers.

  It was warm when they left the station, so Jill never bothered to grab a jacket. The excitement of a field report was all she could think of as she rushed to get in the news van. That was hours ago. It was earlie
r in the day. And now it was late and the sky was a dark gray. The kind of gray you knew to be afraid of as a child. The kind that threatened bad storms with loud thunder and danger.

  Jill tried massaging her arms. She tried kneading her bare skin beneath her palms and fingers. She was willing to try anything in an effort to settle the rash of gooseflesh that flared when the stormy air touched her skin. Casting her eyes down, she looked at her front and then looked over to Steve. She was distracted. She was embarrassed. And she wanted to see where Steve might be looking. The chill that caused the gooseflesh on her arms had also tipped her nipples. They poked from beneath her blouse and she was certain he could see them. She wasn’t convinced the padded bra she wore concealed enough. She also wasn’t sure if the lighter color might help hide what in her mind looked like torpedo boobs. But Steve didn’t notice. He didn’t even turn an eye to her. Relieved, she saw that Steve was locked on the van’s steering wheel with eyes glued to the road in front of them.

  She rubbed her arms again before turning back to the windshield. More of the raindrop pock-marks appeared with an audible tick sound and then scurried away. Jill pulled the corner of her mouth up in a shy smile thinking of the words, Torpedo Boobs. Boobie pops were fine, and even funny, in the company of your girlfriends. Jill thought it was best left that way. But there could always be exceptions. And in this case it could be a boy, if the boy who stole a peek was a man. A man she might want to entice into stealing a peek. Jill smiled again and then reached for Jacob’s station jacket after the bundle rolled out from beneath her seat. She unbundled the WJL-TV jacket and smelled Jacob in the fleece lining. Her knee protested to the sudden move, but she didn’t care. The pain was more reasonable. She turned to her side and dropped her arms in and through the jacket. She covered her bare skin and fell back into her seat. There, she imagined being wrapped in a warm blanket, her feet up, and the sound of nothing to interrupt her while comfort settled in. Jill embraced and hugged the jacket once more before letting go and opening her eyes back to the reality of the van’s cab.