The Library of Powers

Chapter 15 - part 4

Above them, on a similar yet visually distinct rooftop, sat a man by the name of Guy Harding. It was a man who needed no secret identity, who could escape any bind set upon him. 

The kids were doing well, all things considered. He had hoped he could continue to watch them for the rest of the night, but the wind had other plans for him. He set his sights on Seacrest and started hopping buildings.

There was something Guy had always found special about Vera City at night. It was not an especially warm place, but it felt like one. Despite the breeze and leftover frost from a short winter, Guy was so in his element crossing the streets unseen that a warm patina encompassed his every move, like a memory viewed through retro lenses. It helped that he was going to see his favorite person. It also probably helped that he had plenty of life lived upon the roofs. No superhero (or in his case, vigilante) could stay thin-skinned in Vera for very long.

As Guy leaped carelessly from one edge to another, he was reminded of something he was not. Patient. He had always been a hot-headed kid, his brother could attest to that, but his power had beaten patience into him with a wooden spoon. No, he wasn't patient, but he could be. Right now, though, he didn't want to.

He reached his destination. The cliff that gave Seacrest its name, a few blocks away from her house. There was a small park here, with benches facing the Pacific Ocean. He picked one at random and sat, listening to the saltwater crash against rocks below.

She reached her destination. She had his family's sharp features; Jaw, cheekbone, eyes. Even though their family had lived in Vera City since its founding, their Korean heritage was still obvious. Guy had never been there. His father had, for a business trip, and returned in tears. That part of their life was gone. 

She had her mother's hair, or at least, she dyed it to look that way. Most of her mother's influence was artificial. Two things weren't; her tall stature and elbows. Everyone on that side had them, angular elbows that jutted out just a little too far. They wore it like a badge of pride, always with their hands on their hips. Although, now that he thought about it, that might have just been because they were all Superheroes.

She had lots from her father, and lots from her mother, but what Guy liked most about her was what she had got from him. A bad attitude.

Melanie Collins, his Neice, sat down next to him. She was dressed for the weather, with a Jin Takeshi High School sweatshirt and jeans. Oh well, he thought, eventually she'd get used to the cold.

"Hey Uncle," She said.

"Hey Noodle," He returned, "How's school?"

"Oh, you know. English is boring, Calc is boring, Ms. Forrester is unorganized on a good day."

"Heh, that sounds like her."

Melanie's mouth went agape. "You know her?"

"Have I not told you? Back in the late 80s, when I was first starting out, I was paired up with her for a few jobs. More than a few, actually."

"Really? What's her superhero name?" Melanie knew, as did every student in Superpower class, that Ms. Forrester was once a superhero, but none of them could figure out who. All they had was a last name, which was useless. She definitely had some sort of secret identity. Which begs the question, why did she now go by Ms. Doil? Why could she tell them her real name, but not her superhero name? Melanie was dying to know.

"I'm not so sure she would appreciate that. Let your teachers have their privacy."

"What? That's in the high schooler's job description! When Mr. Johnson was having that affair, the entire student body knew before his family. She knows what she signed up for."

"Then figure it out yourself."

She crossed her arms. "Unfortunately, you're right. It's just, the curiosity, it's eating at me."

"How about this," He stood up from the bench and walked into the grass, "If you can get a single hit on me, I'll tell you."

Melanie was amused by his melodrama. "This isn't some kung-fu flick, and you're no wise sensei. Don't try to be one. We both know I can't."

"What if I said I wouldn't use my power? Do you think you could?"

She thought on that while readying a fighting stance. Loose in the shoulders, but ready to snap. "No. It's close to midnight, you wouldn't use it anyway. You're confident you can stop me without it."

"Analytical thinking. Good."

She grinned, "And I didn't even need my power."

"You've been taking to my teachings well, young one."

That earned him a groan. "If I can hit you, will you stop talking like a direct to VHS sequel?"

"No promises."

She came at him with a low kick. A right elbow to the side. A left hook to the face. He easily avoided them all. All this talk of martial arts and his Neice didn't realize what they were really learning. Boxing. He was teaching her to be Rocky. Well, without all the Sylvester Stallone. And the getting beat up. It had been a while since he had seen Rocky.

Midway through a halfhearted attempt at a grapple (she had never enjoyed that technique), Guy's phone buzzed in his pocket. It was not the three short buzzes of a text, nor the musical incantation of a call. This was a constant buzz, unceasing until he opened his phone. Shit, was it that time already?

"Noodle, I have to cut this short tonight." His eyes betrayed his regret.

She stopped. "Okay," came her response. It was covered in a layer of frost, a far cry from the bubbly teen he knew.

He grabbed her by the shoulders. "Don't. I'm sorry, but this is no reason to close out again."

She shook her head slightly. "I'm fine."

"Sure you are. You just need to convince yourself that."

"I don't want to go back."

"Back to your old self, or back to your parents?"

"Both."

He sighed. "You're not going to go back to your old self. And as for your parents, you're 18. If you want to leave, I can find a place for you to stay. You know I can."

"No, I just."

He stopped her. "I know. You can handle a few more months, right? College will be so much better, I promise."

She nodded.

"Same time next week?"

Another nod. He pulled her in for a hug, then started to walk away. As much as he wanted to comfort his Neice, he had a job to do. It was too important to avoid.

Back on the rooftops, back with his shroud of warming night. He didn't need a costume, so he normally wore a cheap suit. No tie. But this required a disguise. So he set course for a little hidey-hole of his where he could find what he needed.

He dashed along one edge of the Convention center, nearing the 23rd street gap. The four-lane road was always difficult to cross. Luckily, the Convention center was mid-century modern and stuck out into the road, so he could leap onto the nearby apartment complex's fire escape. He had jumped it dozens, hundreds of times before. He had his routes, and they worked. He neared the edge and...

Slipped. A frozen puddle of water, a leftover from recent rain. As Guy Harding fell from the building, he had three thoughts. The first of which, instinctual, was "God I hate Midcentury Moderns." The second, less coherent, was "If only I was more patient." The third, bizarrely lucid, was "Well, on the bright side, I did forget to water my plants this morning." You see, Guy Harding was never once afraid. Startled, sure, for a brief moment. But scared? No, that never crossed his mind. Who would be afraid?

It was fifteen floors to the ground. Guy Harding died on impact with a minivan.