Murray Hill || A Superhuman Tale - 1

Chapter Twenty-Five

After Tommy kept back a bit to pass on to Sam, the two ruck sacks he left in Philly's panic room contained a hair over $900,000. The young woman made a gagging sound when she saw them and confessed to feeling like a drug dealer. The only thing Tommy asked was that she keep them safe and spend freely of the money if expenses came up that she thought needed to be kept quiet.

The sight of so many greenbacks may have set the young woman back on her heels, but Tommy's changed appearance, even with his warnings, simply astonished her.

"You look so different," she said, in hushed awe, "like a different person entirely. You even seem a bit shorter ... and not quite so sexy but damn dignified." She went up and touched his face and hair. "The hair is about the same length, but the color is different. It even has a different texture. Wow."

"It's the Gift working, that's all," he replied.

"Oh, God, I wish I had that Gift."

"No, you don't."

She looked at him as if she wasn't sure how to take what he'd said but made no reply.

A few hours later, she broached that subject again over dinner. The restaurant in which they ate was one of the nicest in her very posh neighborhood, and she admitted to him it did her ego good to be there with the best-looking guy in the place.

"I think I would like to have your Gift."

He shook his head.

"Why not? Isn't it great to be beautiful?"

"I don't know," he muttered. "It has an upside. People, especially women, tend to respond to me well, and peoples' inability to describe me to one another makes disappearing oddly simple. In fact, it's helped me fly beneath the radar in some pretty damn bad times. I'm grateful for that. On the downside, it can draw a lot of attention. Not every person sees me as an irresistible Adonis, but many do. I've gotten really good at deflecting romantic overtures without hurting feelings." A thought of Lourdes, from earlier in the day, flitted through his mind. "But every once in a while, some poor woman, or sometimes a man, simply goes off the rails."

"Goes off the rails? Like how?"

He sat for a moment and then scooted a little closer. "You have any idea how many times I've been out in public with my girl, like this," he said, motioning back and forth between them, "and had a woman walk up to me, like my girl wasn't even there, and blatantly proposition me?"

She looked at him, as if uncertain what to say.

"My girl has a great sense of humor, stellar, in fact. But sometimes ... sometimes I can see those kinds of things tear her up a little ..." His words trailed off.

"That is a downside," she agreed, "but it doesn't sound significantly worse than the emotional drama any good-looking person might have to put up with."

Her voice told Tommy that she was less skeptical than her words suggested. He thought somewhat longer, trying to formulate an idea. Finally, he spoke.

"I suppose it isn't much worse. You're right. I guess my real issue is that I can't turn it off." He looked down at his plate, again in thought. When he spoke, it was with a hint of hesitation. He was broaching thoughts he'd never before shared. "What do you think it's like travelling through your entire life without anyone actually seeing you?"

She said nothing, but a look of understanding had grown on her face.

"It's like being ... it's like being a ghost haunting your own life," he said after some hesitation. There was no hint of emotion in his voice. This was not an attempt to garner sympathy.