by T L Barrett
The crash did not come. Glen stood up and into the beams of the car and watched the doe stutter sideways and then disappear into the woods across the road.
Glen swore. This process had taken him hours. He would never catch another damned deer in time to repeat the attempt this night. That little bloodsucker was going to show him up. The mayor—did the town have a mayor?”he wondered—was probably giving the brat the key to the city that very moment.
Glen, consumed with frustration, had a self-created commercial running in his head. He was trying not to listen to it. The narrator with a calm modulated and masculine voice said:
“You’ve just spent the day trying to be a hero in a world that kicks you in the thighs and shines its high beams in your face. You’ll get up tomorrow and face that world again, because that’s who you are: you’re a real American Hero. For now, isn’t it time to celebrate? Isn’t it time that the world gave you back a little something. Well, it has. That something is BEER! So bottoms up, hero. This drink is for you.”
Glen did not notice that the car that faced him was rolling forward in the dusk.
“Jesus,” he screamed as the car left the asphalt and humped over the side of the road. Its front lights blinded him momentarily as it headed straight for him. Glen put his hands out, braced his legs and caught the car.
Instead of the trumpet fanfare that accompanied heroic deeds in most of the movies and television Glen had seen, the driver of the vehicle pressed on the car horn in one long steady blare. It startled Glen, and for a moment, he almost lost his balance and would have fallen underneath the car. At the last second, he dug his toes into the ground and pushed. A blast of flatulence accompanied the blaring of the horn as Glen rolled the car back into the road.
“Put the damned thing in park, you idiot!” Glen roared from the hood. He shook the car a bit and the horn stopped. The silence was incredible.
“What, the hell?” Glen said and made his way to the side of the car, holding the car back as he went. He peered into the driver side window to see an old man leaning over toward the passenger seat against his seat belt. His mouth was open and his turkey neck was all bent as his bald head lolled.
Glen reached in and put the car in park. He grabbed the old duffer and gave him a little shake. The old man’s upper dentures fell out and bounced off Glen’s knuckle.
“I killed him. Great!” Glen muttered. It made him angry. It also made him angry that the narrator of the beer commercial had continued in his head, but with a whole new tact:
“Let’s face it hero, you’re a nobody. You’re an idiot, and your best bud has passed you up for an adolescent vampire. You want to save the world, but you can’t even save yourself from your own stupidity. So, give up, hero. Go crack open a cold one and spend the next few hours pissing your kidneys away. This drink is for you.”
Glen roared and wrenched the door off of the car. He looked down at it in his hands, not having realized that he had intended on doing it. He’d show that damned narrator with his I’m-too-good-to-work-on-game shows voice.
Glen tossed the car door to the side and reached in and dragged the old man out of the car. He laid him gently on the asphalt. “Now what?”
Glen checked for a pulse. The old guy was dead, apparently, probably a heart attack.
“Jesus, it’s a friggin’ doe. You’d think you’d seen one before!” Glen growled. He tenderly laid his hand on the old man’s chest and pushed. He did it two more times. He got down on his hands and knees and listened: no breath, no heartbeat. Glen made a face, and wiped the drool off the old man’s chin. He leaned forward and, pinched the old guy’s nose and breathed into his mouth.
A car approached from the right. Its beams fell on Glen and the dead old man. The car stopped and the driver, a man, got out.
“What is it, Moe?” a woman’s voice said from the passenger seat. Moe took a few steps toward them and stopped.
“Honey, I think it’s a bear. Oh, my God, it’s eating the man’s face!”
“Get back in the car, Moe!” Moe obeyed his lady friend’s command.
“I told you that you should have let me buy that handgun for the car,” Moe said as he jumped back in the car and shut the door. Glen breathed again for the old man and looked up into the lights.
“Hey, I’m not a bear! Help me, here, for Christ’s sake!” Glen waved at them. Inside the car, Moe’s woman screamed. Glen sighed and breathed one more time. Then he thumped the old guy on the chest again.
The old man jerked and then sucked in a rattling breath. Glen smiled. He stood up and walked toward Moe’s car. He put his hands out to show that he meant Moe and his woman no harm.
“It’s all right, I saved him; but he’s going to need you to get him to a hospital,” Glen shouted. Moe’s woman screamed again. Glen could see them in the dusk light, both of their faces painted with horror. Moe gunned the engine.
“Oh, no,” Glen said. Moe’s car lurched forward. It raced toward him. “What is it with you people?” Glen began back pedaling, as the car veered toward him. Glen dove into the woods at the last minute. Moe drove his car into a tree. Glen looked back to see the airbags buffet Moe and his woman in their faces.
“Serves you right, assholes!” Glen roared. He turned away, and wiped a hand across his eyes.
* * * *
In Pearson Park, The Dark Avenger or The Boy Justice flitted from tree to tree. Ollie hadn’t decided yet on a suitable hero name. The Boy Justice really wasn’t very tough sounding, but The Dark Avenger, was, well, a bit dark.
He had spent all day sleeping at Mrs. Hendee’s. Mrs. Hendee was a nice old widow on Spring Street who was thoroughly under his thrall. That or she was really lonely, and wasn’t going to make too much of a fuss if a handsome young kid decided to sleep all day in her basement. Early that morning, Mrs. Hendee had let him in with her cat, Callie, and they had discussed his outfit over tea and toast. When he woke up, Mrs. Hendee had already put herself to bed, but she had left his costume for him neatly folded on the kitchen table with milk, cookies and a note:
“I hope your costume party goes well, little man. I also hope you meet a special little lady. You should try my eye drops. I left them near the sink. You’re eyes are looking pretty pink lately, son. Love, Edna.”
Ollie heard crying coming from a nearby bench. “Perhaps, I will meet a special little lady, after all, Mrs. Hendee,” Ollie thought. Using his super powered night vision, Ollie could see a girl, of about fourteen crying in the dusk. Ollie adjusted his domino mask and pranced out into the open. He twirled his cape for effect.
“Have no fear, young lady!” Ollie’s voice cracked, and he grimaced. “I am here to solve your problems.” “Great,” he thought, “maybe she’s having trouble with her math homework.” The girl looked up; she was pretty in a swollen eyed, diamond-in-the-rough kind of way.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I am…Dark Justice, the…uh…Boy Avenger,” Ollie said. He grimaced. It sounded like a question.
“Oh, well, I don’t LARP, so you can go nerd it up with somebody else, okay?”
“LARP?” Ollie asked.
“Look, beat it, okay? I’ve got enough to worry about without having to beat up a ninety pound weakling.”
“No, look, I think you’re mistaken. I’m a real superhero, with superpowers, you know. I’m here to help you…in your distress.”
“I’m not wearing a dress, nerd. Maybe, you’re deaf. I told you to beat it.” The girl, taller and bigger than Ollie, stood up and curled her hands into fists. Ollie’s eyes flared a bright Trapper-Keeper pink.
“Sit back down,” he said. The girl sat back down.
“Tell me what troubles you,” Ollie commanded.
“My boobs aren’t growing the same. The left one is bigger than the right,” the girl said.
“Uh, no. What else is troubling you?”
“My mom’s boyfriend, Mark, moved into the trailer. He’s a big creep?”
“He’s
touching you in…inappropriate ways, isn’t he? This is why you cry for justice!”
“God, no, gross! No, I have to listen while they do it with each other like at least once a day. It makes me sick!” Ollie sighed.
“Tell me why you weep here in this lonely place!” Ollie smiled. He was getting the hang of this superhero talk thing.
“It’s my cat. I was over there on Railroad Street buying some weed from Bubba Vinton, and I guess my cat followed me. Only she climbed up to the fourth story on the outside. Now she won’t come down, only Bubba won’t open the window and let me go get her.”
“You’re on weed. You poor girl, I’ll stop this evil Bubba, and I’ll get your cat back for you; but you must promise me one thing. Cut doing the dope!”
“Dope?” the girl asked. Ollie blinked. He could feel the pink light from his stare sputter.
“Don’t do drugs,” he commanded.
“What’s up with your eyes?” the girl asked.
“Never mind. Look, I’ll go get your cat, just stay here out of danger, okay?” Ollie turned and jogged off through the trees. He stepped out of the park onto the side walk and looked up. An old apartment block building rose up. Way, up, so that it made Ollie dizzy, he spied a ginger colored cat sitting on a high ledge.
Ollie looked up and down the street. The town had seen better days, that was for sure. A drunk sat on the steps to the apartment block and raised his eyes at the hallucination he was having of a boy dressed up as a superhero. Down the street a group of rednecks in front of Dunkin’ Donuts pointed and laughed.
Ollie tried to jog heroically across the street and entered the apartment building entrance. He scanned the register and saw that Bubba had been written in black magic marker on the space next to 4C. Ollie swirled into the Elevator and punched the button for the fourth floor. As he ascended, no one was there to see him, so he lifted a fist and struck a heroic pose.
Getting off on the fourth floor he quickly located 4C. At that moment an old woman came down the hallway with a walker. Ollie smiled and waved. The old woman clucked with disapproval and continued her miserly humping progress past him and around the far corner.
Ollie knocked. He could hear rap music and the smell of cannabis in the air. Someone was standing very close to the door, probably checking the peep hole for a probations officer. After a few moments the door unlocked and opened as far as the chain would allow. A whiskery skinny man with vampire red eyes looked out at him.
“Who the hell are you supposed to be? I think it’s not Halloween, man.” The man turned his head and called out, “Is it Halloween time, Sweet-tits?” Ollie took advantage of the moment. He swung a gloved fist hard against the door. The chain snapped and collided with Bubba’s forehead.
“Step aside, criminal!” Ollie said and pushed his way into the room. The towel under the door and Bubba’s unconscious and prostate form made this more difficult than Ollie expected. Once inside, Ollie shut the door behind him, picked up Bubba by the scruff of his dirty T-shirt and dragged him into a dimly lit living area. The television was on with the sound off. The rap music resonated in Ollie’s teeth. The clouds of Marijuana smoke filled his nostrils. A well-endowed young woman with huge teeth sat staring at him, with a bong between her thighs.
“Oh, my God! It’s Batman’s little brother,” she said. Except for this speech, Ollie would have doubted if the young woman was actually conscious. After she was silent again, he still had his doubts.
“Stay where you are, criminal,” he commanded. He pulled the unconscious Bubba up against a tattered couch and slapped him across the face.
“Wait, dude, I almost have it. Why the hell can’t I think of the name? I know who you are. I totally do!” The young woman laughed with delight. “It’s the blue jay!”
“It’s Robin,” Ollie said. “But, that’s not who—”
“Dude, yes! That’s totally who you are. Robin, the Boy Wonder!” She cackled madly and kicked up her knees with delight. The bong fell to the floor, spilling bilgy water out onto a stained carpet. “Oh, shit, man. Bubba’s going to freak out!”
“It’s Boy Justice. I’m the…no, I mean…” The young woman was obviously too concerned with the spilled bong water. She reached for a mangy looking throw pillow and then thinking better of it, slipped her baggy sweatshirt over her head. She began mopping at the bong water with her shirt.
Ollie stared at the perfect milky slopes of her breasts and the long arch of the young woman’s neck as she scrubbed. His teeth elongated. His eyes flared pink. Bubba groaned in his grasp. Ollie turned his head and hissed at the man, whose eyes were fluttering like Vegas slot machines. Ollie blinked and clamped his mouth shut. He shook Bubba.
“Talk criminal. You’ve been hooking kids on dope.” Bubba only muttered something unintelligible.
“Man, what did you guys take?” the young woman asked. She held her bong water soaked shirt up to her face and grimaced. “Did Bubba give you X? I knew that bastard was holding out on me.” Ollie dropped Bubba on the couch and stepped close to the shirtless woman. His eyes flared pink. Her own eyes widened.
“Hey, you’re kind of cute, for a kid…” she said.
“Shut up,” Ollie commanded. Sweet-tits shut up. “You will tell Bubba that he’s done with hooking people on dope. He needs to get out of town before Dark Justice finds him again.”
“You really are beautiful, Robin. Just so beautiful…” her hand came up to his cheek. Ollie grabbed her arm.
“Be silent!” Sweet-tits was silent. “Who is your connection? Who supplies you with the goods?” Sweet-tits rolled her eyes toward the ceiling in thought. Then she opened her mouth and nothing came out. Ollie sighed.
“You can answer my question,” Ollie said.
“Jerry, no…Larry…definitely Larry Skinner, he lives out on the Pawanic Town Road. He’s a total redneck, but, Jesus his pot is so fine! He’s quite a bastard, I mean, he can’t keep his eyes off your tits, I mean…hello…my eyes are on my head, you bastard!”
“Just be silent!” Ollie wasn’t staring at Sweet-tit’s chest. His eyes were glued to her neck. Maybe, he could just take a little snack…
A cat yowled from outside the window. Ollie turned to see a cat staring in at him. He let go of Sweet-tit’s arm and ran to the window. The cat twisted on the stone ledge and darted out of sight.
“No, no, come back kitty!” Ollie called. He forced the window open and pulled the tattered screen into the room. He stuck his head out and looked right. The cat was nervously scrunching up on a far side of the ledge. “Come here, kitty. Come inside. I’ll give you a treat.” The cat hissed at him.
Ollie looked down and swallowed. This was the test. He had taken the challenge; he had promised the girl in the park that he would rescue the cat. He was Dark Boy, the Justice Avenger…or wait…
Without knowing what he was doing, he pulled himself through the window and stepped up onto the ledge.
* * * *
“Don’t do it, son,” the man with the megaphone said from the street. Ollie looked down, and then regretted doing so. Not only did looking down cause vertigo, but he could see plainly from the faces of the huge crowd below that, actually, were hoping he would jump. “You have so much to live for, son.”
Well, for the first part, Ollie thought, I’m not alive, at all. As for having anything to live for, well, that wasn’t all that clear, was it?
He was all alone, his voice still cracked, and it probably always would, for eternity. People his age were getting married and having kids. He was seducing aging bar sluts and sleeping in the basements of old ladies. He was also dressed up as a superhero in front of what looked to be the entire bo-hunk hick Vermont town below him. He really wasn’t sure, why. He supposed it had something to do with the cat who wandered off around the side of the building a few moments after Ollie had frozen to the wall of the building in abject terror; but that was just an excuse. He remembered making the bet with Glen, but Glen had only done that, because he fe
lt like Ollie was impinging on the one thing the poor Sasquatch had of his own: his friendship with Barry.
Wouldn’t Ollie have done the same? Obviously, yes. In just a few days, Barry had become a better friend than Ollie might have ever had. He was smart, and his poetry was actually pretty good.
If I ever get the band together again, Ollie thought for millionth time, I’m going to have Barry write some lyrics for us. The thought made him smile.
“Just jump already,” someone yelled from below. “We’re going to miss American Idol!” Ollie looked down and nearly lost his balance. Someone screamed below, many gasped.
Ollie sucked in his breath. Maybe I should do that, just end it all, only it wouldn’t really be fair to Barry. Barry would be the kind of guy that would carry it with him his whole life, thinking he hadn’t done enough, that he should have seen the signs.
“Wait a minute, it wouldn’t kill me; I’m a vampire!” he suddenly remembered. Still, the thought of falling flat on his face, wouldn’t be pretty, or pleasant. He looked back the way he had come. Vampire, or no vampire, Ollie didn’t like his chances with that perilous walk.
He thought about Barry, again. It was distracting, that was true, but there was also something important that Barry had said. If only he could remember…
‘I thought vampires could fly,’ Barry had said the night before. “Could they? Could he?”
Firemen arrived below and started inflating an enormous drop cushion and placing ladders.
“I am Dark Boy! I am Dark Boy!” Ollie screamed insanely. A few people began running for cover.
Dark Boy leapt off the ledge. For a moment, he floated over the crowd in the street; his arms pin-wheeled. Then he dove forward and started to plummet. The world seemed to come at him very quickly. He screeched.
He swooped at the last minute and jerked upward, just missing the heads of the gawking onlookers. Cell phones and cameras flashed. Ollie’s cape flapped around him as he rose into the air and flew away into the darkness above Railroad Street.
