Murray Hill || A Superhuman Tale - 1

Chapter Thirty-Five

In the end, all agreed that Sam would follow up on the credit card issues, after a short trip to the airport. Sam also insisted it was high time Tommy travelled to the capital to look up his old government contacts. Philly volunteered to contact Linda and find out about Amy's lawyer, but also decided to follow Sam's lead and attempt to board a flight at San Fran International.

After they agreed to that tentative plan and Sam and Philly signed off, Tommy checked the train schedule. Washington, D.C., wasn't that far from New York. He could take the morning train to the capital and, hopefully, return that same evening.

He then adjourned to the shop to check on Javier, after which he made a quick recon of the area around their building. His fear that he and Rhonda were somehow under government surveillance had grown over the last week. An hour's careful visual scan of adjacent buildings from the roof was enough to assuage his fears somewhat. If anyone was directly observing them, his keen eyes would have ferreted them out. To be certain, though, he walked the perimeter of the building and all the hallways. There were no sights, sounds, or smells for which he could not account.

There was a time when Tommy had been conscious of everything and everyone around him. A Gift he'd lifted from a hunter many ages ago, in what he thought was now southern Mali, allowed him to sense the presence and location of a nearby person or animal, even without the use of his other senses. This Gift was unusually accurate within 50 yards or so, though its efficacy faded with distance. It was one of the first Gifts he had borrowed, but he seldom used it these days.

You need to wake up and pay attention, he chided himself, not for the first time in recent days. He needed to use his five senses, his other Gifts, and the wits he'd earned through the ages—not just sometimes, but as a daily part of his life. A quarter century of napping was enough. He had a life, friends, and a family to protect.

By the time he'd finished scolding himself, he was back at the apartment. Another spot of cleaning was needed to bring the dining area and kitchen back to his liking. Once finished, he sat with a glass of iced tea and spent some more time thinking.

That was short-lived. The sound of stumbling and cussing soon came from the bedroom. A moment after, Rhonda emerged, freshly roused from her second sleep. She made a beeline for the kitchen and emerged a few minutes later with a bowl of her favorite fruity cereal. She flopped down next to him and began to crunch, wordlessly. It was the last night of her three-day weekend, and she would loaf for most of the evening. He sat in comfortable silence as she slobbered the last of her cereal and slurped the milk from the bowl.

"So, did you have a nice visit with Camille?" She burped and wiped her mouth.

"It was good, thanks." He waited before proceeding. She often was sincerely concerned with his affairs, but he wanted to wait and see if she was setting him up for some jape about his boinking the young detective. Any moment he expected her to reach over and sniff his fingers to figure out what he'd been into.

"Sooo ... that is one looong ... legged bird," she drawled innocently.

"Yep." Here it comes.

"You see her nekkid?" she asked with equal innocence.

"What? You mean today? ... Nah. Didn't have time."

Her attack came out of nowhere, and before he knew it, Tommy was fighting for his—well, his virtue. The tussling, wrestling, and running about lasted for the next three hours and involved every room in the house.

Afterward, they both lay on the bed laughing and contented. Tommy knew Rhonda felt not the least jealousy over his meetings with Camille. Her teasing was one of her many fun and innocent games.

"How did you learn to fly?" she asked suddenly.

He looked over to where she lay next to him. This was surprising.

"I don't want to see it," she continued. "I'm just curious. I had a dream about it."

He laughed and sat up in bed.

"There was this guy," he said. Many of his stories began with those words. When Rhonda sat up cross-legged next to him, he continued.

"It was a long time ago, and he lived around what's now Athens. The place was just a bunch of farming settlements then. I was living in Egypt at the time and heard stories of a living god across the sea. So, I went there, and, after a bit of searching, I found the place. The first sight of him was ... woof, mesmerizing. I never believed anyone could actually fly. But after a while, that all soured."

He gave a pained look. "The guy was sort of a dick. He'd set himself up in a wooden tower on the Acropolis—well, it wasn't the Acropolis then. Anyway, all he did was fly around all day, slowly, in a standing position with his arms crossed in front of him."

"That was all?" she asked.

"Well, that was almost all. From time to time, he'd swoop down on a farm or a hamlet and demand tribute. If people didn't give over right away, or if he didn't like the taste or quality of the produce they provided, he'd fly over and drop things on them. If people were lucky, it'd just be a stick or a clump of shit. But sometimes he'd drop big rocks on people, from high up, or he'd buzz and scatter their flocks."

"What a dick," was her shocked reply.

"Yeah, right?" he agreed. "Anyway, I watched this douche for, I dunno, months. He didn't seem to mind or even notice. Finally, I felt that click. The first thing I did was fly up and punch him in the nose."

"What did he do?" Rhonda could barely get out the words through her laughter.

"He just flew away," said Tommy mildly. "I later heard somebody put an arrow through his neck when he tried to boost some farmer's pig."

Much to Tommy's surprise, a look of sympathy spread over Rhonda's face after hearing of the nameless bozo's fate.

"There's a moral to that story somewhere," he said, "though I can't think what. The real shame was that I couldn't fly much faster than he did, at least at first. Without invulnerability, a bug in the eye or a duck in the face at a hundred miles an hour can be really debilitating."

"Or an arrow in the neck?" she said, wrinkling her nose.

Tommy nodded. "Maybe that's the moral."

There was a moment of silence before Rhonda bounded to her feet. "Food," she demanded as she skipped for the kitchen.