by Lucas Flint
“I assume she managed to heal him?”
“That she did,” said TW. “It was supposed to be a one-time thing, but Gregory kept coming back to her for healing the various injuries he accumulated over his superhero career. As you know, superheroes tend to suffer a variety of injuries that most doctors are not equipped to deal with, so finding someone who can deal with them is one of the hardest, but most important, parts about this profession.”
“Uh huh,” I said, nodding. “And when you say she ‘healed’ Grandfather, what do you mean by that, exactly? Is she a retired superhero with the power to heal people or something?”
“Perhaps,” said TW. “I don’t know for sure, because Marge didn’t like talking about her past. But yes, with a touch she can heal almost any injury, no matter how serious it is. I once even saw her reconnect a person’s torn limb just by touching the spot where the shoulder connects to the torso. It was quite remarkable.”
“Sounds like the work of Superpower to me.”
“It most likely is, but again, I don’t know,” said TW. “And Gregory never asked, either, I think because using super powers without a license is illegal and he did not want her to go to jail for using her powers.”
“Guess I’m following in Grandfather’s footsteps here. Like with everything else I’ve done so far.”
“Quite true, but I would still be cautious if I were you. Marge can be a kind woman, but also very independent and unyielding. I would recommend treating her as civilly as possible, no matter how much she insults you.”
“Did she insult Grandfather a lot or something?”
“At first, though eventually he got good enough at making comebacks that she dropped it. Still, her remarks can be disarming, so don’t let your guard down around her.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t.”
Soon, I arrived at the gate to Marge’s house, which was illuminated by the light on top of the post above me. Through the gaps in the gate’s bars, I peered, trying to see Marge’s house.
There it was. As TW had described it, it was a small bungalow that looked quite old, based on how rusted the metal roof was. An old rocking chair stood out on the front porch, which wrapped around the house in half like a snake. A small flower garden stood in front of the house, while off to the side was a garage with an ancient-looking truck and tool shed. There were no lights on in any of the windows. Indeed, the entire property had the sensation of being abandoned, as if no one had lived here in a very long time.
“Looks abandoned,” I said. “Do you think she’s still here?”
“I haven’t found any obituaries to her on the Internet,” said TW, “so she might still be here, though it’s also possible she died in her sleep at some point and no one has found out yet. It isn’t like she had many visitors during Gregory’s day and I doubt she has become more social since his disappearance.”
I frowned, but decided that the only way to find out the truth was to enter her house. So I flew over the gate and slowly touched the ground on the other side.
As soon as my feet touched the ground, however, I heard a loud Woof! followed by a set of heavy paws beating against the ground. Looking to my right, I saw a massive dog leap out of the darkness toward me, its teeth bared and saliva flying out of its mouth.
Alarmed, I dropped to the ground, causing the dog to go flying over me. The dog landed awkwardly on its paws and immediately tried to turn around and bite me, but I jumped out of the reach of its gaping maw and took several steps away.
It was a huge Saint Bernard. I always liked those kind of dogs because of how big and friendly they were, but this Saint Bernard did not look like it wanted to play. It was baring all of its teeth, a deep, monstrous growl emitting from the bottom of its throat. It was big even for a dog of its breed and would have been a real threat to me if I hadn’t been wearing the Trickshot costume. But even with my super strength, I still felt a little afraid facing it by myself.
“Oh, look,” said TW. “It’s Sammy.”
“Sammy?”
The dog seemed to react when I said its name. It briefly stopped growling, as if surprised I knew its name, before it resumed growling at me as angrily as ever.
“Correct,” said TW. “Marge had a large Saint Bernard named Sammy as her guard dog when Gregory was around. He was quite the friendly dog, though he could also be quite mean when he needed to be.”
“I can tell,” I said.
“But this dog seems much younger than the Sammy I knew,” said TW. “Look at its fur. Not a single gray hair. Either Sammy aged very well for a dog or this is a new dog that Marge got since I last saw her.”
“Either way, it means Marge is still around, right?” I said. “It certainly doesn’t look like it’s been starving. It’s built like a tank.”
The dog suddenly barked an earsplitting bark and then rushed toward me. It snapped at me with its powerful jaws, but I flew into the air and dodged its attack. But I didn’t get very high before the dog sank its teeth into my cape and pulled me back down to earth with surprising strength.
As soon as I landed on the ground again, the dog began pulling at the cape, whipping its head back and forth in a frenzied attempt to rip the cape off from my costume. I grabbed my end of the cape and soon found myself in a tug of war with the dog, which growled violently the entire time.
“Let go, you stupid dog,” I muttered, pulling as hard as I could on my cape. “You’re ruining my cape.”
Unfortunately, the dog didn’t listen. It just pulled and tugged, its jaws locked tightly on the fabric of my cape. So the dog wanted to play, did it?
Activating my super strength, I yanked as hard as I could on the cape. My cape ripped out of the dog’s jaws, nearly making the dog stumble forwards in surprise. I glanced at my cape, which was now torn along the edges, and then looked at the dog again.
“Stupid dog,” I said. “You ruined my cape! That’s not cool.”
But the dog obviously didn’t care about my ruined cape. It just growled and leaped at me again, this time tackling me to the ground. It tried to snap my face off, but I held back its jaws with my hands. Unfortunately, this just inflamed my wounded forearm, but I ignored the pain in order to focus on keeping the dog from tearing my face off.
“Dumb … dog …” I said. “Get … off … me!”
I shoved the dog off me. The dog tumbled backwards and, before it could get up, I grabbed its back and lifted the dog above my head. The dog howled and wriggled in my grasp, but I didn’t let go. I was about to throw it over the fence, where it would not be able to get me, until a bright light suddenly came on just then, shining directly in my face.
“Put the dog down!” came a sharp female voice from the other side of the light. “Or I swear to God, I will shoot!”
The female voice didn’t sound nearly as old as it should have, which made me think that it probably didn’t belong to Marge. But since holding the dog above my head was hurting my forearm like crazy, I dropped him onto the ground unceremoniously. The dog fell on his stomach, but quickly got to his feet and backed away from me. Though he was still growling with the hairs on his back standing up, I could tell that I had spooked the dog with my impressive feat of strength and it was now trying to figure out whether it was wise to keep fighting me or not.
As soon as I dropped the dog, the light dimmed, allowing me to see again. Rubbing my eyes, I looked over in the direction from which the light had come.
A girl stood not too far from me. She was a teenage girl, probably not much older than me, and she carried an old-fashioned lamp in one hand and a rifle in the other. She wore a plain white T-shirt and floral printed pajama pants, her blonde hair done in a quick ponytail. She looked like she must have just gotten up, which she probably did, because it was freaking midnight and anyone with any sense would be in bed right now.
“Hi, there,” I said, waving at her. “Sorry for waking you, but—”
“Who are you?” the girl said. Her voice was fairly high-pitched, but the rifl
e helped make her question more threatening. “You look like a freak.”
“She’s a blunt one,” said TW dryly in my head.
Ignoring TW, I said, “I’m Trickshot. I’m here to see Marge Rumsfeld.”
The girl eyed me suspiciously. “You can’t be Trickshot. He’s been missing for ten years.”
“That’s because—” I shook my head. “Listen, whether you believe me or not, I need to see Marge. Is she here?”
“Grandma is asleep,” said the girl. “She doesn’t like being woken up for anything. Come back in the morning … that is, if you really are Trickshot.”
I scowled. “No. I need to see her now. My arm needs to be healed and she’s the only one who can do it.”
“Go see a doctor, then.”
“I can’t.
“Then why should we help you?” said the girl. Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t look very wounded to me.”
I was growing increasingly frustrated with the girl, but I thrust out my right arm and said, “Look. See the wound? And the watch? That’s the Trickshot Watch. What more proof do you need that I’m the real Trickshot?”
As I extended my arm, the portion of my costume covering my forearm briefly retracted, revealing my wounded, still bleeding arm. The girl looked down at it briefly, made a disgusted face, and looked at me again and said, “That does look pretty bad. You should see a doctor about it.”
“A doc—?” I shook my head. “Look, I really need to see your grandmother. I need to see her now.”
“You’re pretty entitled,” the girl said, leaning back and looking at me with amused eyes. “You’re technically breaking and trespassing on private property, you know. If I want, I could shoot you and I would be well within my rights to do so. Or I could call the police. I heard they don’t like illegal superheroes very much.”
I froze. The girl was right. While I probably could overwhelm her pretty easily with my powers, that would make me no different from the criminals I fought. Yet I couldn’t just turn and leave, because I had nowhere else to go. And if I didn’t get my arm healed quickly, then I didn’t even want to think about what would happen to it.
All of a sudden, TW flashed into existence next to me. The girl started and aimed her gun at him, but TW held up a hand and said, “Wait, Ashley, don’t shoot me. I’m just a hologram. I can’t hurt you.”
The girl, however, did not lower her gun or turn it away from TW. “How do you know my name? I haven’t mentioned it.”
“Because I remember you,” said TW. “The last time I saw you was ten years ago, when Gregory McDonald, the original Trickshot, disappeared. You were just six-years-old then, so I imagine you probably don’t remember me, but I did see you whenever Gregory came by to see Marge.”
The girl, Ashley, hesitated. She lowered her gun, a look of dawning realization on her face. “Now that I think about it, I do remember the original Trickshot letting me play with a hologram when I was really young. Whenever Trickshot came to Grandma’s house, his hologram would play with me while the adults talked.”
TW nodded. “I’m glad to see you remember. We had a lot of good times together, didn’t we?”
“Hold on,” I said, holding up a hand. “TW, if you knew this girl all this time, why didn’t you speak up sooner?”
“I didn’t recognize her,” said TW. “She was just a cute six-year-old girl the last time I saw her. Now she’s nearly a full-grown woman. I only realized who she should be when I noticed that her hair color is the same color as it had been of the six-year-old girl I played with so many years ago now.”
“You mean you’re the same hologram?” said Ashley, staring at TW uncertainly.
“Yes,” said TW. He gestured at me. “This isn’t Gregory, but he did receive the Trickshot Watch from Gregory, so you and Marge can trust him. I know this is inconvenient for you, but if you could please heal Trickshot, we would appreciate it. I would appreciate it.”
Ashley still looked doubtful, and I thought she was going to say no anyway when she nodded and said, “All right. You can come in. I’m sure Grandma won’t mind seeing an old friend.”
With that, Ashley turned and walked away toward the house. I started walking after her, though I kept my distance, because I still wasn’t entirely convinced that she wouldn’t try to shoot me when I wasn’t looking.
And TW floated behind me like a ghost on the wind.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Marge’s house was nice and comfortable on the inside, if dark, until Ashley turned on the lights. The front door opened directly into the living room, which was much bigger and nicer than the living room of my own house. Two large, white sofas stood opposite each other, with a shiny glass coffee table in the middle. A large flat-screen TV stood against the wall, while the fireplace next to the TV was dark and cold, which made sense, given how it was summer and there wasn’t much point in using a fireplace in the summer. A well-stocked kitchen was visible just beneath an archway on the other side of the room, while a hallway and stairs branched off to our right into more rooms that I couldn’t see.
“I’ll go wake up Grandma,” said Ashley, glancing over her shoulder at me. “You can stay here, but don’t sit down on any of the furniture. I just cleaned everything and the last thing I need is your grimy, dirty behind mucking up the seats.”
Before I could respond to that, Ashley disappeared up the stairs, moving fairly quickly despite carrying her gun in her hands.
I looked at TW, who floated next to me quietly. “Was Ashley this way when you last saw her or has she changed?”
“She was sweeter as a girl,” said TW, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “It was her mother who could be blunt. So could Marge, for that matter. It appears to be a trait that women in this family have.”
“Must be a lot of fun to be married to,” I said, shaking my head. I frowned. “How come I’ve never seen Ashley at school if she’s around my age? I think I’d remember a girl like her if I saw her in my school.”
“She was being homeschooled when she was young, if I remember correctly,” said TW. “That is probably why you’ve never seen her until today. I guess she must still be homeschooled, though I wonder why she’s living with Marge when I know for a fact that she has parents.”
“Maybe she’s just visiting for the summer,” I said, putting my hands on my waist, but I quickly removed my right arm due to the pain of my injury. “Ow.”
“I wish there was more I could do for your arm,” said TW. “I know how painful such wounds can be and—”
“Nah, it’s fine,” I said, waving off TW’s concerns. “The less we talk about it, the less I have to focus on it, which means the less I pay attention to the pain, and besides the suit is dulling the pain enough. Though I do wish she’d let me sit down on one of these sofas. They look comfortable.”
“All right,” said TW. He floated away toward the fireplace, where a variety of framed photos stood on the mantelpiece. “I don’t remember seeing these here the last time I was here. I suppose they must have been added at some point during the last ten years.”
I didn’t care much for family photos myself, but I was curious to learn more about this Marge lady and her family. I glanced at the staircase, but I did not hear Ashley coming down, so I walked over to the photos and stopped beside TW, getting on my tiptoes to get a good look at the photos.
They were indeed family photos, arranged, as far as I could tell, chronologically. The oldest was a black-and-white wedding picture of a smiling young couple, a man in a military outfit and a woman who looked surprisingly like Ashley, except a few years older and in a wedding dress. I realized that that woman had to be Marge herself when she was in her late teens or early twenties. The family resemblance between young Marge and Ashley was scary, almost like they were really clones or something.
The other family photos were pretty ordinary. There was one of Marge and her husband holding their first baby, then another one with all of their children as teenagers, and still another on
e with the entire family as adults. Marge aged pretty rapidly between each photo. The latest photo, one with a six-year-old Ashley and elderly Marge, made Marge look like she was in her sixties at least.
“That’s how I remember Ashley,” said TW, pointing at the last picture. “She was a cute young girl back then. I suppose she’s still cute now, in a teenage way.”
I stared at the picture, but then I noticed something and said, “Hey, TW, why aren’t there any pictures of Ashley’s parents?”
“Hmm?” said TW, looking at me.
I gestured at the pictures. “Look closely. Ashley is here and she’s in the family photo with her parents, but there aren’t any pictures of her and her parents together by themselves.”
“Is that unusual?” said TW.
“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “In my family, my mom’s parents have a picture of me, Thomas, and my parents together when I was, like, a year old. Most grandparents have a picture like that in their houses, but I don’t see one here. Why?”
TW scratched his chin. “I’m not sure. I seem to recall that Marge had good relationships with all of her children growing up, but the absence of a picture of them is very disconcerting now that you mention it. Perhaps something happened within the last ten years that we are unaware of.”
I was about to say that TW was just stating the obvious when I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. A second later, Ashley appeared at the top of the stairs, her rifle no longer in her hands, and said, “Lucky you. Grandma was having trouble sleeping anyway. Said she’d been expecting a visitor and thinks you’re the visitor.”
“Why was she expecting a visitor tonight?” I said. “I didn’t even call ahead of time to let her know that I was coming.”
“How should I know?” said Ashley. “It’s not like I can read her mind or anything like you can.”
“I can’t read minds.”
“Whatever,” said Ashley, throwing up her hands. “Just come up here and follow me to her room, okay? It’s not my job to know what your every last little power is.”
