Sipping Copper

Staining the Pavement

If Link had known the many ways his name could be used as a weapon, he would have disarmed it. Holstered up his given name Charles instead, maneuvered it through his childhood like a ghostly shadow.

Charles had been a nice enough name. He shared it with his father. Yet instead of bracing him against the normalcy of his lineage, his parents drifted him towards his middle name. First proclaiming him Lincoln , and then clipping it down to Link . Because that's what people did; made deliberate from actual names. Roberts transformed into Bobs. Katherines dissolved into Kates. It was natural to shrink them into manageable pieces that fit better on the tongue. Names were nothing more than bite-size candy bars. It just so happened that Link had to get used to chewing his more thoroughly.

By the time he had survived his younger years, he had done this. Had found a way to smooth out the sharper points of the acidic taunts, and how to jump clear of all of the raised eyebrows when people discovered his name. Now deeply settled in his late thirties, and looking way more like the Charles of his future than the Link of his youth, he wore his nickname as a sign of rebellion instead of an anchor.

Eventually - or at least that's what he always told himself - he would talk to a proper therapist about all of this. Then he would accept whatever advice they gave to him as they wrote down expansive notes about how everything that made his mind run ember hot and then ice cold came down to early parental mistakes and later sexual repression. Until then, his vivid imagination created a long couch and a more rigid straight-backed chair for musings with Dr. Levine.

Her honey-blonde hair would fall in smooth ripples onto her delicate shoulders. Her first name would upfront and sensible. Stephanie. No, chop it down like his own. Stevie.

"So, tell me Link," Stevie would say, " Do you know what drives you to rob people?"

"Because they exist."

"Sorry. Did you say something sweetheart?"

The elderly waitress smiled as she placed a heavily manicured hand on Link's right shoulder. Her grip sent nonverbal messages that she was paid far too little to care as much as she did.

"No... just talkin' to myself. Bad habit."

She squeezed his shoulder a bit tighter and refilled his coffee before heading back to the giggling group of teenagers just behind him. Link appreciated the noise. It was nice to have distractions that stopped his arms and legs from needing constant movement.

Stevie would tell him to get a better hobby. Like fishing, or bowling. Something normal and expected. Not sitting in a diner on a Thursday night, waiting to terrify the city.

It wasn't like Link even needed the money. He had a job that he tolerated just as much as anybody else that he knew. His boss was fair-minded. He even got to eat for free on his shift, which absolutely helped with the bills. At first it was more about just stopping the tedious days off, to give him something to do with his thoughts and his hands.

Face obscured with hoodie? Check.

Find a random stranger walking the dark streets on their own? Check.

Stick a gun in their face? Check.

Demand their valuables? Check.

Run off into the night like a low-rate supervillain? Check.

His method for not getting caught was more about luck than about real cunning and skill. Days off at the restaurant never had any real pattern that the already-overworked police force could wrap their theories around. Plus, what kind of weirdo mailed back the victims' photo IDs and credit cards?