by T. D. Fox
“I like you,” he blurted out over coffee. “I think you’re brave, smart, and definitely the cutest witness I’ve ever had to talk to about a case.”
“You’re not so boring yourself,” she laughed. “And you’re the only cute cop I’ve ever had to talk to about a case.”
“You had to talk to other cops about a case?”
“No, dork. I’ve only had a gun pointed at my face once, thank you very much.”
He smiled. “That’s good. I mean, never good to have a gun in your face; good it was only once. Not that once is okay. No one should ever have a gun in their face, I meant—”
“I get it,” Courtney chuckled.
“Oh. Okay.” He picked at the bare mark on the table that had become their spot in the café. “So what do you think?”
“Of what?”
“Of letting me take you out. Somewhere other than a coffee shop.”
“You mean to tell me this whole call-me-if-you-remember-anything, professional cop stuff has been a farce to ask me out?”
He went beet red whenever she teased him, which was why she couldn’t help it.
“No,” he blustered. “I really wanted to know about the case, at first. You gave me serious leads on this Whistler character. I never meant to take advantage of—”
“Stop,” she laughed. “Yes. I’ll go out with you.”
“I in no way wanted to put you in a position—wait, really? You will?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.” The smile reappeared, growing in confidence. “Okay.”
“Jess reopens the café again next week, so I start work Monday. But I’m free this weekend.”
“How’s Friday?”
“Oops. Except Friday—sorry. I promised my little brother ages ago we’d see that superhero movie. The rest of the weekend I’m free.”
“That’s sweet of you. Are you guys close?”
“Pretty close. It was just us, until our Dad decided to be around recently.”
His eyes flickered, like he’d like to ask more, but didn’t want to breach a sensitive subject yet. “You’ll have to tell me how the movie is,” he said. “Maybe we can see something else if you don’t mind two movies in a weekend? Although there’s not much else in the way of new releases.”
“I probably wouldn’t mind watching it again.”
Jasper shrugged. “I’m not that into superhero films.”
“Really? Seems like everybody is these days.”
“They’re glorified vigilantes. As if we don’t have enough of those in real life.”
Courtney tilted her head. “Oh. Vigilantes must give you guys a lot of grief down at the police station.”
“More than grief. I’m sure you’ve heard of the guy the media’s going nuts about. The Orion Giant? People can’t go around taking the law into their own hands.”
Courtney remembered saying something similar once. But she found herself pushing back. “It’s the job of the cops, you’re right. And you’re a good cop. There’s no doubt. But the rest of the police? You have to admit, they’re not an overwhelming force for good in this town.”
Jasper sighed. “I know. That’s what I’ve been trying to change, for over a year. But I’m one man.”
“Maybe that’s what this vigilante is trying to put out there,” Courtney said. “That one man can make a difference.”
In her own voice, she heard someone else’s words.
Jasper frowned and ran a hand through his dark hair. “I believe one man can make a difference. But within the boundaries of the law.”
He sounded like herself, not too long ago. Courtney paused. Not long ago, at all. Something had changed. When had that happened?
“Besides,” Jasper said, with a touch more of that characteristic optimism. “Once I crack this case and catch these whistling lunatics, within the boundaries of the law, I’m hoping that vigilante will turn himself in. This ‘superhero’ has been going around interrogating lesser criminals about the Whistler. I think he’s going after the syndicate.”
“Really? I thought he was just beating up muggers in back alleys.”
“He’s upped his game. Set his sights on some bigger fish. The biggest fish, if you ask me. But there’s no way this one-man army stands a chance. He’d do better to leave it to men with the law on their side.”
Because the law packs such a punch around here, Courtney didn’t say.
“Anyway,” Jasper said, more brightly. “What did you have in mind to do? We’ve pretty much worn out the generic coffee date.”
“A movie sounds great,” she said. Her mind was whirring, trying to change gears.
“Saturday?”
“Yeah. I’ll have to check with Mikey, but I’m pretty sure he won’t want to see me all weekend. He’s eleven, after all. Big sisters lose their novelty after two or three hours of hanging out with them.”
Jasper smiled. “I’m sure you’re a great big sister.”
“I do try.”
⬥◆⬥
“I got my hopes up for that movie,” Michael grumbled, fiddling with the straw in his milkshake so that the plastic lid squeaked.
“You didn’t like it?” Courtney perched on the neon-colored stool at her little brother’s favorite hole-in-the-wall ice cream parlor. “Action and CGI and big explosions. I thought it’d be right up your alley.”
“It was predictable. T.K. Wang is so much better.”
“Your comic book artist.” Courtney shook her head. “You know, his stuff is pretty controversial.”
“That’s what makes it so good.”
T.K. Wang was a pseudonym for the anonymous comic book artist growing popular in Orion City. His short, edgy stories followed the shadowy exploits of the vigilante mutants who’d surfaced over the last few years, recoloring incidents that appeared on the news with thrilling new details and provocative commentary. Wanted mutants like the Bird-Man, the Torch, and the Orion Giant gained new identities. Instead of words like Changer or vigilante, the stars of his comics became superheroes and supervillains. Michael devoured every page.
“Real-life superheroes beat Hollywood any day,” her little brother declared.
“I’m not sure I would call them...” Courtney hesitated. She’d only seen a few news snippets of the Bird-Man, a freakishly unusual Changer who sprouted wings larger than two men put together from end to end. He spent his time chasing down low-level criminals and handcuffing them to the front doors of the police station. She saw more and more on TV lately about the Orion Giant. This newer, even more freakish mutant focused most of his energies foiling the Triad gangs in Chinatown.
“Don’t make opinions ’til you read about them.” Michael took a loud slurp through his straw. His mop of coppery blond hair fell over his face. Squeaking the straw against the lid some more, he looked up. His eyes, big and brown like hers, narrowed.
“What?” she asked.
“Dad wanted to come.”
Courtney looked down.
“He was really bummed we picked a showing during his shift.”
She sipped her own milkshake. “I’m sure he’ll make it next time.”
“Why do you hate him?”
Courtney choked on her drink and halfway swallowed the straw. She covered her nose with a napkin and coughed. Michael waited, watching her, making rattling sounds as he inhaled the last traces of ice cream at the bottom of his cup.
“I don’t hate him,” Courtney croaked.
“He thinks you do. Sometimes I do, too.”
“Dad and I have... a history.”
“No you don’t. You have a war that’s lasted since I could walk. I don’t think I ever remember you guys not fighting.”
“We don’t fight.”
“Not anymore, since you turned into Ice Woman. Like that superhero in the movie. You guys could be sisters. Corny the Ice Woman.”
“I don’t have white hair.” Courtney forced a funny face and pulled on her braid: the same copper shade as Michael’s. When
his expression didn’t lighten, she let hers fall. “It’s hard, Mikey. You were little when Mom left. You didn’t see Dad change like I did. You don’t remember the worst of it.”
“I do too remember. Dad made stacks of bottles and stayed in his room a lot.”
Courtney took another sip of her shake, wishing it was something stronger. “It’s so much more than that.”
“Whatever. Don’t treat me like a baby. You’re twenty-one, and you’re acting like the baby.” Michael heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Thanksgiving’s coming up, and he wants you to be there.”
“What are you, his lackey?”
“He’s going to cook a turkey for the whole family. He even bought an apron that says Kiss the Cook. Looks like a total weirdo, but he’s excited about everybody being together.”
This time, the lance of pain under her ribs had nothing to do with her brother’s hopeful expression.
Courtney watched the edge of her styrofoam cup slowly crumble beneath her fingernails and stole a moment to harden her thoughts.
She’d dreamed last night. Again. Though it was a pleasant dream, she’d woken angry, throat tight, and reached for sour memories like a shield against the good.
Sometimes, on particularly traitorous nights when the loneliness of her apartment pressed in too close, her subconscious liked to slip into happy memories of her father. She’d dream of him teaching her how to toast a marshmallow over the fireplace or helping her build a blanket fort and laughing when her mother came home from work exasperated to find the living room a mess. She’d remember his warm, safe hugs after a nightmare; the way he’d pat her hair and tell her it was all a dream, he was there and she was safe.
Only it wasn’t a dream. Not anymore. And he’d been nowhere to be found when the worst nightmare ripped itself into reality.
How dare he try to make up for it? As much as her soft, childish heart buried beneath years of broken beer bottles wanted those warm hugs again. She hated that slice of softness in her. So she wrapped it in tighter layers of steel and resentment.
She didn’t need her father.
She didn’t want her father.
Yet, as the years stacked and his sober recommitment to parenthood held, she found it took all her concentration and strength to keep fortifying that lie.
Michael’s soft voice broke the silence: “When you look in the mirror, do you see someone who gives up?”
Courtney looked up with a blink. A laugh broke the ache filling her throat. “Are you quoting the superhero movie back to me right now?”
“Answer the question.”
She couldn’t hold those dark brown eyes for long. Mirrors of hers, only brighter. Open. Glancing down, she picked at her cup again.
A conversation from a dark café in the middle of a snowstorm slithered back to her. About smallness, the inability to change things, and resignation.
You’re only as small as the person you see in the mirror. One day, you might make them change shape.
Her jaw tightened.
“No,” she said. “I don’t want to.”
“You don’t want to come, or you don’t want to see someone who gives up?”
“Both.” She steeled herself and raised her eyes. “Fine. I’ll do Thanksgiving.”
Michael’s grin split his face into deep dimples that mimicked their father’s. “Excellent!” he cackled, then threw his head back and deepened the laugh.
Courtney shook her head, fighting a smile. “You don’t sound anything like that supervillain.”
“I will someday. My voice is getting deeper.” He tipped forward, serious again. “If you come, you have to talk to Dad too. No Ice Woman-ing.”
“I will. Now will you finish your shake?”
“I finished it ages ago. You’re the slowest drinker ever.”
Courtney slid her cup across the table. “Have the rest. Unless you’re worried about cooties.”
“Cooties aren’t real, dork. How old are you?”
Courtney smiled and slid her coat back on while he devoured the rest of her milkshake. It took him all of six seconds. When he hopped off the chair and stood straight, she was surprised to almost look him in the eye. He was getting taller.
“Hey, don’t you have a date with that cop guy?” Michael asked on their way out.
“How do you know that?”
“I saw you texting him in the theater.”
“Don’t read other people’s texts! That’s rude!”
“Texting in a theater is rude.”
Courtney grabbed him by the scruff and ruffled his hair. She would only be able to do that for another year, most likely. He pushed her away with a throaty yell—and his soon-to-be-manly voice cracked.
“I want to meet this guy,” he demanded. “Before you do anything romance-y with him. He needs my one hundred percent approval.”
“You cheeky punk.”
“I mean it. If he’s bad news, I’ll punch his lights out. Cop or not.”
“Glad I can count on you.” Courtney tugged him into a side hug as they walked, before he shoved away. “What? I thought you said cooties weren’t real.”
“Doesn’t give you freebies to be a weirdo,” he grumbled.
Courtney laughed, and walked at a more preteen-friendly distance from him to the bus stop.
⬥◆⬥
Humanity was morbid.
The minute the café reopened, Jessie’s Joe was packed. It was like the holdup was a publicity stunt. Even now, three days after the doors first opened, it was still flooded. Customers Courtney had never seen before came in waves, like drinking coffee on the same floor where a man died was a bucket-list activity. She’d never seen so many of her coworkers at the same time, either. Even Jess herself was here, grinning away behind the register even in this mad rush. The woman never hit her people limit. Unlike Courtney.
“Honey, would you grab me a dishrag from the back?” Jess called to her. “Got to keep this counter clean.”
Courtney ducked around another barista and dove into the back room. Stooping to grab a new towel, she paused to breathe a moment.
Work was her refuge, she told herself. She had to be grateful for the chaos. Because as soon as it ended...
Anything was better than that empty apartment. Whenever she was alone with herself, she heard that eerie whistle. Its haunting echo chased her. Mostly she knew it was all in her head. But sometimes, on an empty back street, she could swear she heard it ringing through the air.
“Y’all right back there, honey?” Jess called.
“Yeah, got it!” Courtney grabbed the clean towel and wiggled back into the crowded station. “It was buried under some stuff,” she lied.
Jess shot her a knowing look. If still she had a mom, Courtney was pretty sure Jess’ looks would give her a run for her money.
“You gettin’ enough sleep?” Jess asked, trading off cash register duty with one of the baristas to squeeze in next to where Courtney was scrubbing the counters down.
“What?”
“You got those bags under your eyes. Gotta be a little sneakier with the makeup.”
Courtney didn’t look up. “It was hard to sleep those first couple nights. I’m still catching up.”
“Mm.” So much unspoken in that simple syllable. Jess poked her in the side. “But you and that cop boy, eh? Heard about that!”
Courtney rolled her eyes. “You’d think this was a smaller town, the way word travels.”
“Nah, just your nosy boss. Congrats, kiddo. I met him when the cops were round here taking statements. If I may say, I like him way better than any of those scrubs that tried to pick you up before. You’re a smart girl to have standards.”
Courtney’s smile was thin as she finished wiping the station and moved to grab a new rag. As she did, she caught the eye of someone waiting on the other side of the counter, away from the line.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“It’s Courtney, right?”
Walking over,
she got a better look at the young man’s face. “Oliver, right?”
“Hi.” He smiled. It lasted a second. His eyes were grim. “I heard about what happened.”
“Yeah, everybody did.”
“I can’t believe I wasn’t here. We left seconds before those guys came in.”
Courtney blinked. “Well... it’s not like you could’ve done anything.” He was a skinny kid, barely taller than her, with a kind face that didn’t look like he could kill a fly.
“Still...” He fidgeted. “I’m sorry.”
She frowned, and his eyes traveled to the mark on her forehead. Forcing a smile, she tapped her temple. “It’s looking better than it did. Got the stitches out last week, so it’s healing up fine.”
“Glad to hear that.” Oliver still looked guilty, but that didn’t make sense. It was stupid to blame himself for something he had no control over. He couldn’t have helped; he’d have been target practice. “Well, I won’t keep you. Hope the rush winds down soon so you guys get a break.”
Dipping his head, he walked away. Courtney watched him go, forehead throbbing as her frown returned.
“Hope he knows you’ve got a boyfriend now,” Jess said from behind her.
“I’m pretty sure that’s not what that was about.”
Jess shrugged. “You’re a pretty girl. Just lookin’ out for ya.”
She moved away, but her words replayed in Courtney’s ears. Boyfriend. It still felt weird hearing it.
Jasper Wade was proving to be quite the surprise. He’d asked to kiss her on their fourth date. Who did that? Courtney thought the whole gentleman thing was a scheme guys put on to get girls. Once they had the girl, no one bothered to keep it up. But Jasper was different—very different from the boys at school, from Max, from any guy who’d shown interest in the past. It was nice.
