The Last Superhero (3 page)

Daphne had opened the shop.

That bookstore.

The only constant in my
life, having been established by my mother before I was born, and the
one thing that I was now carrying like dead weight wherever I'd go.

“
Landlord's
being an asshole again,” I say once I walk in, my eyes on the
two coffees I'm carrying, my mind replaying that scene between Mr.
Brownstone and me when he knocked on my door to remind me my rent was
late, yet again. “He won't leave me alone.”

“
Giana?”

“
I
got you coffee.”

“
There's
someone here to see you.”

I look up and see him.
Steven.

I don't need this. I really
don't need this.

“
Hi,”
he says all shy and charming and innocent like.

I can swear he looks even
younger than before.

I give Daphne her coffee and
offer Steven mine. “I can get another one.”

“
No,
thank you. I already had my dose.” A smile.

Daphne scurries away and I'm
left with Mr. Stalker.

Whatever. “Join me in
my office?”

He steps aside for me to
cross the store and into the back room we call the office. It's more
of a closet or a cupboard than an office, but it works.

He sits on the red armchair
facing the gray desk inside the green walls. My mother has something
for colors.

“
What
brings you here today, Mr. Wal- Dennis?” I stutter, my hands
busy unwrapping my scarf.

“
Are
you okay?”

Don't answer my question
with another question. That's rude.

“
Yes.”
No. I'm not. Nobody cares. London Bridge falls every fucking day.

“
Problems
with the landlord?”

I scowl. “He's a moody
old perv.”

“
What?!”
He's outraged.

“
Oh
no, no, don't go thinking... It's just that he's... He's always
wearing these old, stained clothes and he sputters when he talks,
mostly when he's angry. The spit sometimes pools in the edge of his
lips...” I almost dry heave at that.

And I'm behind on my rent
and he's kicking me out, but I'm not saying that to his face.

He tilts his head to one
side. “Would you like to take a stroll with me? Take your mind
off it a bit?”

I sip from my coffee. I just
got here and shouldn't leave. At least not with him.

Then he's looking at me,
pleading. This isn't so much for me as it is for him and I'll be
damned if I ain't got a thing for pleading souls.

I wrap the scarf around my
neck again and this time he leads the way out of the store.

Daphne sends me a
questioning look that I respond to with a mouthed 'I'll be back.'

There's a moment of
hesitation when Steven hits the sidewalk. He's unsure, thinking about
it twice.

“
Would
the park be okay?” he asks.

“
The
park would be fine,” I say.

And we're off.

He walks with purpose, as if
not to be distracted. I fight to keep up with him.

Where is he taking me?

Has he changed his mind and
is going to murder me?

There's a lake in the park
and heaven knows I never learned how to swim.

“
I'm
not going to hurt you,” he says once we reach the entrance.

I open my mouth to protest.
I know he's not a bad person.

“
I
know you're not a bad person.”

His eyes change and I see
him bite the inside of his cheek as we walk into the park, every step
taking us farther into that area where the trees grow thicker and the
crowd thinner.

Fewer witnesses.

Dear Mom, I'm only acting on
what you told me so many years ago. Don't take it out on me if this
fails.

“
What
are you thinking that is making you frown so hard?”

“
You
wouldn't believe it.”

“
Try
me.”

We reach the lake and I'm
glad to see there are people on the other side. It's a large lake,
but a scream would make it to them. I think.

My coffee secured in my
hand, I tell him something I'd never told anyone.

“
My
mother, she told me about you.”

“
Did
she?”

“
Yeah.
When I was little.” Sip from the coffee and yuck, it's cold
already. Wipe my mouth with the sleeve of my coat. “You saved
her once from falling off a cliff.”

He raises his eyebrows and
it's clear he can't remember. It must be awfully hard to remember so
many people, so many faces.

“
She
told me you were a good man. Misunderstood, but a good man
nonetheless.”

His eyes are on his shoes,
his hands buried in his pockets.

“
Misunderstood,”
he whispers. “Maybe. But I'm not a good man, I'm not a good
person.”

“
You
saved me from getting mugged, that gives you some good-guy points in
my book.”

For the first time, I hear
him scoff. “Good-guy points. That's new. I can't imagine what
would've happened to you were I not there. It's not easy to talk your
way out of a robbery, much less when it's a junkie.”

“
I've
been there before and managed to convince a couple of them to
desist.” I turn my eyes to him and, oh, he's amused. “I
wanted to be a psychologist.”

“
Wanted?”

“
Yes.
Wanted. Couldn't afford it.”

Blergh. I feel like shit
every time this subject comes up.

He doesn't say anything.

“
Anyway.
Thank you for being there that night.”

I start back for the trees
when he touches my shoulder and I'm compelled to turn around and face
him again.

His hand travels upwards, to
the side of my face.

I see him so clearly all of
a sudden. He's smiling and says, “Don't go.”

How can I not stay if he's
looking at me that way? Fuck. Can't deny the fact that his features
are more than agreeable, I'd even say he's quite handsome.

Or is it the light? It's
such a beautiful day.

“
I
like to come here.” He's contemplating the lake, some deep, sad
longing in his eyes. “It's one of those places that makes me
feel better, lighter, as if the world were still a nice place to live
in.”

I stand beside him and,
dammit, it feels so nice.

“
How
long have you been hiding?”

“
Twenty-eight
years.”

“
That's
a long time.”

“
It
is.”

“
Ever
feel lonely?”

“
All
the time.”

“
I
bet.”

“
I
bet you don't know about that.”

Now it's my turn to scoff.
“Watch out, mister. There are many of us lone wolves roaming
around.”

“
How
come?”

“
How
come what?”

“
You're...
young.”

“
Is
that a compliment?” He stares a bit too intently at me. “I
like to think I still haven't hit my prime.”

“
Hmm.”

“
What's
made you come out of the cave after so long?”

He ponders, brushes the
grass with the sole of his shoe. So pretty, so green. “It was
time I did.”

Good enough.

“
And
when was that?”

“
A
month and a half ago. Still trying to get used to it.”

“
Do
you still use your powers? Apart from saving damsels from getting
mugged?”

“
That
was the first time I used them in a long time, hence the huffing and
puffing afterward. It takes a lot of strength to do what I do.”

“
I
thought it was an asthma attack. My mother gets them every now and
then.”

“
Where
is she? Your mother?”

“
In
Spain visiting my father and, in the meantime, the Madrid Book Fair.”

I sip from the coffee and,
as I swallow it, I let its warmth envelop my insides.

“
Oh,”
he says.

“
You
know, about that night with the thief, I'm of the thought that people
meet for a reason, that nothing's random.”

“
You
believe us two meeting wasn't a random thing?”

“
I'm
pretty sure it wasn't.”

“
Good.”
He's facing me now, a smile on his face, a sparkle in his eyes. “I'd
like to think that too.”

“
Why
are you being so charming all of a sudden?”

“
Because
you need a friend.” He takes a breath, filling his lungs with
the oh so pure air around us. “Maybe we can have that coffee
tomorrow?”

“
Sure.
I always get mine from that coffee shop around the corner from the
bookshop.”

“
Perfect.
I'll see you there around eight?”

“
Yeah.”

Another smile and is that my
heart fluttering?

What I do feel all of a
sudden is my feet hit the ground and I have to step back to keep my
balance.

Steven's hand is retreating
from in front of my eyes, curling his fingers away from my forehead.

“
What
the fuck?!”

He's walking away.

“
Hey!”
I feel the coffee in my hand and it's cold as cold can be and the air
doesn't smell as pure as it used to.

I search for him, but he's
disappeared into the trees.

“
Goddammit!”
I cry, frustrated.

Stupid me forgot his most
controversial superpower: the ability to project fantasies into
people's minds.

“
You
bastard!”

Hurling my already stale
coffee only contributes to my anger as I encounter a ‘Do Not
Litter’ sign that makes me squat to pick it up and throw it in
the trash before exiting the park, swearing there's smoke coming out
of my ears as I go.

4

“
I'm
not talking to you,” I say the moment he sits across from me,
setting the two cups of coffee between us.

“
You
came anyway.” He sits all straight and serious and drops a
handful of sugar packets for both.

“
What
was that thing you did to me?” I tear two packets open and
watch the brown sugar cascade into my drink.

“
It's
commonly called a fantasy.”

“
I
know what the fuck it's called. What did you do it for?”

He sighs, stirring the
contents of his cup.