by Shook, J. E.
"She represents another future you could have lead," Madeline said. "You have the right to think of such things."
Reginald nodded again. "I suppose you're right," he said, turning and sitting sideways in his chair. "I did not expect to see you again so soon. Is something wrong, Mother?"
"I should ask you the same," she said. Seeing his confused face, she continued. "You don't know what I am talking about, do you?"
Reginald shook his head.
Sighing, she picked up a newspaper beside her and tossed it to him. "Check out the second page."
Feeling feeling, Reginald unfolded the paper and glanced over the second page. "Hmm," was all he could utter as he read one particular article. "Hmm," he said several more times as he read and reread it again. "Well, I wasn't expecting that."
"What exactly did you expect?" she asked, leaning back and stroking her chin.
He sat there a moment. "Nothing really. I didn't think anything would happen. It was instincts for the most part."
"To beat up two robbers?" she asked, sounding ill. "What you did was dangerous. Not just to you, but to all of us. You should know that."
"I just did what felt like needed doing," he said, shaking his head. "Besides, it was after dawn. I didn't think it was a good idea to let people see someone sunburn right before their eyes."
"You did look pretty rough last night when I got here."
"Last night?" Reginald asked, looking confused. He glanced at the date and whistled. "Wow, I slept almost two days. I must have been really worse than I thought."
"I've always insisted that you be careful," she said, tossing a bottle at him. "You're not as bad as some, but you do take some damage in sunlight."
"Yes, yes, I know," Reginald said, looking at the bottle of sunscreen. "I have managed before in the past without it. I don't like to use it unless it is an emergency."
Madeline sighed. "Reginald, what am I going to have to do to you? Being sensitive to the sun is just a fact of life to most of us. It isn't a weakness to use it."
Reginald shrugged and placed the bottle in his pocket. Glancing back down to the paper, he said, "This is not an Ottowash paper." He flipped back to the first page. "Texas? I made a paper all the way in Texas?"
"Yes," Madeline said, reaching into her purse and took out a plastic bottle. "Here, drink up."
Reginald paused before taking the bottle. In the darkness, he could barely make out the contents, though he could take an educated guess. Opening it, he wrinkled his nose as he sniffed it.
"Do not worry," Madeline said. "It isn't human."
"Alright," Reginald said. He turned the bottle up and took a deep drink of the dark liquid. He gagged a little as he swallowed, screwing his face up as he tried to force the taste from his mouth.
"How long has it been?"
He looked down at the bottle. "Over a century, I'm sure. I was hoping to never taste the vile stuff again, but then I haven't been as roughed up as I was," he said. He felt a heavy feeling in his gut as the blood began to circulate faster. Though it made him feel sick, he began to feel his energy returning to normal. Taking a small sip, he continued from earlier. "So this made national news?"
"It did," Madeline said. "People like to notice when someone acts heroically. It started as a simple interview with the victims which turned into a huge 'thank you' to an unknown hero who risked his life and didn't stick around for the glory. That is simply against most people's comprehension, and people have to talk about that sort of news. And we know that news can spread fast these days."
Reginald began to feel beads of sweat rolling down his back. "Was I on camera?"
Madeline shook her head. "Thankfully they had older equipment that cannot capture your image properly. Your face was nothing but a blur."
Reginald nodded. "I'm glad I didn't use my card," he said, laughing nervously. "That guy saved me as well."
"More than you would think," Madeline said, leaning forward. "The cops would have found nothing if they had traced your card, since the VAM would block the inquiry and falsify the facts. That would make you quite suspect to the VAM. That would be real bad news."
"Yeah," was all Reginald could mutter.
"Luckily most just thought the hero was exceptionally strong and angry," Madeline continued. "It is more the creative and absurd people who think anything of superpowers. Luckily the coat made it difficult to see that it was a scrawny man and not a built hunk."
"Thanks, I guess," Reginald said. He reached over and picked up the coat that was lying on the mattress. "Sorry, Mother. There's a bullet hole in it now."
She took it and looked at the damage. "I'm glad that it got the hole and not you. You would have bled to death in the sunlight."
Reginald sighed. "That's right. Sorry."
She tapped him on the head. "Quit apologizing. I will make you another coat when I get back."
"Thanks," Reginald said, smiling genuinely. "I appreciate it."
She bent down and kissed the top of his head. "Be careful from here on, Reginald. I only have one child in this world, and don't intend to see him die."
"Yes, Mother," Reginald said, feeling his throat getting tight. "I'll be careful."
Madeline smiled deeply. "That's what I wanted to hear." She stepped over to a coatrack and put on coat that was on it. "I was wondering where I had placed this. You don't mind if I get it?"
"No, not at all," Reginald said, standing.
"I suppose I will take my leave," she said. "You have the rest of the week off, by the way. I called your boss and told him you had a rough case of the flu."
"I suppose that he's happy about the extra payroll," Reginald said, smiling slightly.
"I also bumped into your landlord last night when I stopped by your apartment," she said, making her way to the door. "He was about to issue your eviction notice, but I took care of it."
"How?" Reginald asked, looking at her harshly.
"Nothing too severe, dear," she said innocently. "It was just a little sweet talking." She placed her hands behind her back, causing her chest to protrude further.
Reginald felt his face redden. "Really, Mother?" he asked, embarrassed.
"Well, that and paying four months worth of rent in advance," she said, smiling.
"I really didn't want the help," Reginald said, annoyed.
"My job as your mother is to help you, whether you want it or not," she said, grabbing hold of the handle. "Do not let it get this bad again, We have millions saved, so there is no need for you to go homeless."
"I know."
"And if you ever get too lonely, you can always come home with me."
Reginald instinctively smiled. "Yes, I know, Mother. I will be fine."
She smiled and lifted the door up. "Bye, my son," she said, stepping through and lowering the door behind her.
Reginald sat there for several more minutes rereading the article two more times. He was surprised that he felt nothing from reading it. He felt numb all over. 'I didn't expect any of this,' he thought. 'What am I supposed to do?' He remembered everything that had happened at the convenience store, but all the colors seemed faded. All the sounds were barely audible. He remembered the shocked faces of the robbers and the customers both. 'How should I feel? Should I feel proud of myself?'
About an hour later, Reginald opened the door to his apartment. The room was dark except for the light shining in from the hallway. He threw an old tattered jacket onto the counter and switched on the light. "Home again," he said out loud, smiling as he leaned against the wall.
"No work to do," he muttered looking around the room. "What to do, what to do?" He tapped his fingers against the wall, trying to think of something to pass the rest of the night away. Glancing at the clock he saw that it was just past four. "No point going out. Too close to dawn and I've had as much of the city as I can take for a while."
Sighing he sat down on the couch and turned on the television. He shook his head as he saw a brand new gadget being ad
vertised on an infomercial. "Why do they have to always make them faster and better? Some things are good as they are."
Turning the volume down, he picked up an open book that was propped open on the couch arm. After several minutes of reading, he glanced up and saw that the early news was already on. He reached for the remote and raised the volume. He felt a strange tingling in his gut as he watched. "I'm sure it has died down already," he muttered.
He frowned as he the first story continued. "There are still no leads in the so called Cannabis Killer. Last night's victim was the tenth in Ottowash. Since this is the third death with a corresponding murder in either Washington D.C. or Los Angeles, officials are certain that we are now dealing with a group of serial killers. The mystery continues to grow as law enforcement cannot find a single shred of usable evidence from any crime scene. As we have urged you for the past three weeks, please do not travel alone at night, and lock all doors and windows. Do not open the door for anyone who you don't know. If anyone has any information on the identity of the killer or killers, do not hesitate to call local law enforcement."
'That is getting bad,' Reginald thought. 'I don't think it is one of us.' For the past three weeks, the city had been on the watch for a vicious serial killer. He would kill his victims brutally, either by knocking them out or maiming them. Then he would devour everything except for their bones and head. The cops had found absolutely no leads in the case. Even worse, there had been similar cases in Washington D.C. and Los Angeles. The initial thoughts was a killer who traveled a lot, though when three victims were discovered in one night in three cities, the cops realized it must be three killers. To make things even more confusing, one of the major newspapers had mis-typed their name for him, calling him the Cannabis Killer instead of the Cannibal Killer. Though that is what most people called him, it did little to downplay the fear that everyone in the three cities were feeling.
"Now to lighter news," the newswoman was saying. "The mysterious hero who showed up at a local convenience store two days ago and stopped a pair of armed robbers is still at large. The experts have been combing over the footage trying to discover the cause for the faulty camera which made the man's face appear blurry and unfocused, but have been unsuccessful. None of the witnesses recognized him, and few could recall specific details of his appearance. The police have been struggling to find his identity and location in order to question him about some of the details regarding the robbery. They also wish to make it known to everyone that vigilantes will not be tolerated in our city, and that crime fighting is to be left to authorized police personnel. We here at Channel Ten news have to agree with that statement. Crime fighting is best left to the professionals, despite the appreciation that we have for heroes of all kinds everywhere. This is Karen Grant for Channel Ten."
Reginald realized he was holding his breath and slowly let it out. He was tingling all over as he felt a strange feeling come over him. "Wow," he said, feeling a smile coming to his lips. His numb feeling was passing as he began to feel excited. He tapped his foot up and down as he sat there, staring into space. He hadn't felt such nervous excitement in a long time. Even when he was contemplating asking out Rachel, he hadn't felt it this strong. Seeing someone speak about him on television felt so much more real than just reading about it.
He jumped as he heard knocking at the door. "Who is here this early?" he asked, muting the television. He walked over to the door and peered through the peep hole. He jumped again and accidentally banged his head on the door.
"Are you alright in there?" Rachel called through the door.
"Ah, umm, yes, yes, I'm fine," Reginald said, rubbing his forehead where he had bumped it. He looked at his hand and noticed sweat on it. "Umm, how are you?"
"I'm fine, thanks," she replied.
Reginald stood there, feeling a dopey grin growing on his face. After a short moment, he slapped himself in the forehead.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Rachel asked.
Reginald fumbled for the doorknob until it finally opened. "Yes, I'm well enough anyways." He struggled to think straight as he saw her standing in front of him.
"You just bumped your head," Rachel said, pointing at the small red spot on his forehead.
"Umm, yes, I did."
She reached up and felt of his forehead. "You feel a little warm, but not much. I guess from the sweat your fever has broken."
"Huh?"
"The flu," Rachel said. "Mr. Davis said that you had the flu and wouldn't be in for a week."
"Oh, of course," Reginald said, nodding. "It hit me pretty hard and quick."
"My mother always made me tomato soup when I got sick. My appetite would zap away and she would worry that I wouldn't eat. Somehow the only thing that tasted good in those times was her tomato soup." She held out a bowl she was holding. "Here, hopefully it will make you feel better."
Reginald stood there for a couple moments before slowly taking the bowl from her. "Thanks," was all he could think to say. He raised the cover slightly and sniffed. For simple soup, it smelled delicious. "Thank you so much. I'll warm it up in a while." He carefully gripped the bowl and carried it over to the refrigerator. Sitting the bowl inside he took a deep breath. 'Stay cool, Reginald. Now's my time to impress her.'
"You've got quite a collection," he heard Rachel say. Looking back he saw her looking at one of the posters on the wall. "This movie came out in fifty-two, didn't it? Is this an original or a copy?"
'Oh, crap, she's inside my apartment," Reginald thought. "Yes, it is the real deal."
"Wow," she said, whistling. "I saw a poster for this on eBay for over a hundred dollars last year. How much did you spend, if I can ask?'
Reginald thought for a moment. "My grandfather bought it from a theatre after the show closed. He spent ten cents on it, if I remember right. He got a lot of them like that. They've been passed on down to me."
"That is awesome," she said. She moved and looked at another poster. "Now this movie is a classic. One of my all time favorites. I hate to say that I cried at the end."
Reginald laughed. "It was a most touching scene at the end. The memory is burned into my mind forever, I hope."
"Are you adding to the collection any?"
He nodded. "Yes, when I see a deal or something the peaks my interest. I've got an interest in several hobbies. Cards, books, coins, anything of that sort."
"I'll take a look around," she said. "I found a couple of posters I had when I was young from cartoons I watched. They're girl shows, so I doubt you would hang them in here, but maybe you'd be interested anyways."
"I'll look at them," Reginald said.
She glanced at the clock. "Well, is there anything you need?"
"Hmm?"
"Anything you need? Maybe from the store or something?"
"Oh. No, I went the other day. I am well stocked."
She nodded. "Okay, don't push yourself too hard." She reached out and grabbed an envelope from the counter. Taking out a pen, she wrote her phone number down on it. "If you need something and aren't well enough to go to the store, call me. Don't hesitate, alright."
"Alright," he said, taking the envelope from her.
As she turned to walk towards the door, her eyes caught the television. "That's pretty crazy, huh?" she asked, gesturing towards Reginald's image onscreen.
"Yeah, pretty crazy," Reginald echoed.
"It really makes me feel better," she continued, smiling. "All you hear on TV now is horrible things. Murders, rapes, thieves. It's nice to know that someone out there can be a hero."
He nodded. The screen was showing Reginald attacking the first robber in slow motion. It seemed as the robber wasn't moving while Reginald appeared to move normally. 'Wow, that look's weird,' he thought to himself.
"Amazing," Rachel said. "I know that the cops are doing all they can, but I hope that he's still out there, keeping an eye out for trouble. I know a lot of people are thinking the same."
He nodded again, failing to t
hink of something to say.
"Well, I better get moving," Rachel said, yawning. "Get better soon, Reginald." He forced himself to stand still as she reached out and patted him on the shoulder before walking out into the hallway. "Like I said, if you need anything at all, just call."
"I will, thanks again," he said, watching her walk off. Numbly, he closed the door and locked it. He didn't seem to notice when he almost tripped over the rug while he was walking back to the sofa. He sat there with the television muted well into the morning just staring into space.
Chapter 6
Reginald looked up at the hotel before him. Ottowash Palace was one of the more popular hotels in the city. Many of the famous or important people who visited the city would stay there. The mayor had chosen the hotel for many of his important announcements and conventions over the past decade since it had been built. It towered forty stories high and at night it stood out brightly compared to the darkened office buildings surrounding it. The name of the hotel stretched out in flashing lights just above its main entrance. Reginald thought the place was far too flashy and gaudy to enjoy, but sometimes necessity made him visit.
He walked between a couple of groups as they entered the building. One of the doormen nodded politely as he passed. Reginald tapped his cap to return the favor. As he walked into the huge lobby he smiled and looked up. One of the few things he loved about the hotel was the huge painting of the night sky that adorned the top of the lobby. The large white crescent moon and the many little sparkling little bulbs that lit the room reminded him of the nights of his youth. 'I wish you could still see the stars like that,' he thought.
He felt himself bump into someone. "Oh, sorry," he said, nodding to a man wearing a suit. The man simply grunted and walked away.
Reginald took in the rest of the room. There was a fair-sized line at the check-in counter as there always was. He saw a couple get keys to their rooms as a bellboy began to drag their luggage towards the elevators. Several people were lounging around on the sofas that were neatly lined up in the lobby. A large group was standing around a television on the other end yelling about some play that had just happened in the local basketball game. Reginald smiled as he saw one of the hotel staff walking over to quiet them. He smelled food coming from a large pair of doors leading into the famous Palace Restaurant. Each time he visited, he did wish for a moment that he could still eat solid food.
