You’re reading Terrific, my original superhero prose series. Looking for commentary instead? Check out the navigation page. Otherwise …
Welcome to Olympus City, where super-powers, physics-defying tech, and unearthly creatures are all possible now. Human nature, however, remains unchanged.
No one is born a perfect superhero, but a few strive to live up to the ideal anyway.
Previously: Alyssa learned that one of her patients had become dependent on a strange man with unusual abilities. She decided to investigate.
Part 2
Public transportation had grown interminable ever since Alyssa lost her teleporting watch. Not that it was stellar to begin with.
The subway progressed toward Medea Street, the ridership thinning out with each stop. Eventually, Alyssa was sitting alone while clutching a long, opaque plastic bag on her lap. At the other end of the car, a shifty man kept staring at her. His thoughts were disgusting and drenched in beer. Alyssa could smell the cheap lager in his memory.
He rose from his seat and started shambling down the car, his hungry grin fixed on Alyssa. His intentions were neither gallant nor chivalrous, let alone legal.
She concentrated on his brain and gave him a headache. His pace slowed, and soon he slumped into the nearest seat, too distracted by the irritation to bother anyone.
Alyssa missed teleporting.
The subway finally stopped at Medea Street, and she exited into the grimy underworld, which persisted at street level. Aged, abandoned buildings flanked the road for two solid blocks, presenting various opportunities for unsavory characters to conduct unsavory business out of view of the police, who may or may not have been entirely savory themselves. Alyssa already felt unsavory just being here.
A onetime grocery store had a busted door, and telepathy confirmed no one was inside. Alyssa carried her bag into the dim, dusty atmosphere and did her best to ignore the vermin and clutter. Untying the bag, she pulled out her silver trench coat and slipped it on.
It felt right, a perfect fit. The old volto mask never did. She had needed the full coverage to have any chance at fooling Miranda, Ken, and Reynolds. For the general population, a silver bandana with eyeholes would suffice. She tied it tight around her head, ensuring clear visibility, then donned her fedora. The empty bag lay on the floor, right at home among the debris.
The Silver Stranger emerged onto the sidewalk, projecting detached confidence, much of which was an act. She was thankful that no one was nearby. Her wrist rolled around within the coat pocket as she yearned for the missing watch.
According to her unwitting sources, Zebulon had adopted a former nightclub as his base of operations, a dilapidated establishment that was once known as Mirthful Minerva. Alyssa slipped around the back, to the kitchen entrance.
This door was locked, but she had recently picked the brain of a locksmith. She was inside within two minutes.
From what little she could see, the kitchen was stripped of everything worth stealing. Alyssa strolled around barren counters, careful not to make a sound. A set of swinging doors separated this corpse of a kitchen from what was once a lively space for dining and dancing. She nudged one door, testing it. It didn’t squeak or squeal or stick. It offered no excuse to turn back. Part of her had hoped it would. This time, the Silver Stranger had no quick getaway if anything went wrong.
Heart thudding, she gently pushed the door and slunk into the darkened club.
A column of light illuminated the center of the dance floor, where Nelli was lying on a leather couch, eyes closed, grin plastered on. Across from her, a man sat in a plastic chair, long legs crossed, finger pressed against his temple. Thick, wavy hair adorned his head, the back of which faced Alyssa. She listened to that head but heard nothing; his thoughts were images only—amorphous, psychedelic images.
Beyond the light, concealed in the shadows, a pair of muscular bouncers watched for any disturbances. They hadn’t noticed Alyssa yet; their thoughts were only of doing their jobs and earning their paychecks.
She turned her attention to Nelli—emaciated, anesthetized, deliriously happy Nelli. Alyssa entered her mind and nearly drowned in a monsoon of wondrous sensations. She caught a whiff of a freshly opened bottle of pinot noir while gentle fingers stroked the back of her neck, just beneath her head, tickling her and eliciting an involuntary smile. Other pleasant aromas joined the fragrant wine—fresh-baked cookies, coffee, the finest scented candles, massage oils—all at once, but they coexisted in harmony, enhancing rather than contaminating each other. She wanted to relax and soak it in. She craved it.
None of it was real, though, and it was only a fraction of what Nelli was experiencing. Alyssa reminded herself that it wasn’t real.
Zebulon turned to the side and smiled. “I thought I locked that door.”
The bouncers tensed and firmed their grips on their illicitly obtained police batons. Zebulon raised a hand, and they relaxed somewhat. Alyssa kept her distance and clung to the darkness.
“Rough neighborhood.” She didn’t bother modulating her voice much. She did enough of that at work, where she needed to maintain a pleasant business-friendly tone. That took effort. Here, she revoked all effort and grumbled like she had just rolled out of bed. “So, what do you get out of all this?”
Direct questions tended to serve Alyssa well. Even if the person lied, the truth surfaced within their heads.
But not with this guy. Still no interior monologue, but the psychedelia hardened into a vibrant nebula, one cradled by an enormous hand.
“What do you care?” Zebulon asked. “Don’t tell me you don’t. It’s rare for the Silver Stranger to make an appearance. That is who you are, correct?”
Alyssa saw no point in confirming or denying. Zebulon couldn’t possibly have gotten a good look, but he knew.
“The process sharpens my senses,” he said, indicating the happily sedated Nelli as an illustration of the process. “You might as well step into the light. Or disappear in a puff of mist if you prefer. Up to you.”
Alyssa would have chosen to dive into Nelli’s mind and lose herself in the secondhand bliss, but she resisted and instead waded into bouncers’ minds, confirming they had no guns. Once she tamed her quaking legs, she entered the dance floor.
Zebulon rose from his chair. He was a slender man with a soft face who stood a head taller than Alyssa. Effeminate body language combined with a hard masculine energy.
“Good,” he said, smiling. “I didn’t want you to disappear.”
“It’s not about the money.” Alyssa kept her hands in her pockets, affecting an air of cool nonchalance. “You don’t charge enough for it to be about the money. So what is this?”
In Zebulon’s mind, Alyssa saw herself at the mercy of a vampire drinking her blood.
“Do I need a reason to want to dispense heaven?” he said. “Can you be so cynical?”
“Yes.”
Zebulon drew closer. “I could show you.”
Alyssa refrained from zapping his brain, but only out of fear of hurting Nelli.
“Stick around,” he continued, gesturing loosely at the surrounding empty space, as though a waiting room existed somewhere within the shadows. “When I finish with this young lady, I’ll give you a free sample.”
A bucolic field stretched across his mind. It looked like it was painted by an Impressionist dabbling in surrealism.
“For now, alas,” he continued, “you will need to excuse me.”
The two bouncers stepped into the light, but they did not converge on Alyssa. They were taking their places, flanking the central point beneath the spotlight. Between them, a doorway appeared out of nothing. Hazy light filled the rectangle, obscuring whatever it connected to.
Zebulon set his hand on Nelli’s shoulder, and she slowly stood up. Her eyes were open but loopy.
“It’s time, my dear,” he said. “We must spread the bliss.”
“Where are you taking her?” Alyssa said.
“Wait your turn.” Zebulon maintained a soothing tone as he escorted Nelli to the radiant doorway.
Alyssa had waited long enough. She focused on Zebulon’s brain and released a half-power psionic blast, hoping it would disorient him without hurting Nelli. His forehead wrinkled in distress.
Zebulon flicked a finger at his bouncers. The nearer man swung his club, aiming to knock the wind out of Alyssa. It sliced the air as she scooted back, wind still intact but concentration severed. She retreated another few steps from the bouncer’s steely gaze as Zebulon and Nelli strolled into the hazy rectangle and disappeared. Their minds did as well.
But the bouncers’ minds broadcast clearly. They had no idea where the portal led, and though they were curious, they were not curious enough to jeopardize their modest income. They were not letting Alyssa—or anyone—through.
One bouncer was roughly two hundred fifty pounds of muscle, and the other rounded down to two hundred. Without meaning to, Alyssa caught their names. The bigger guy was Irwin; the smaller was Gil. She had preferred not to know. It would be easier to fight nameless henchmen.
Alyssa locked onto Irwin’s brain and blasted him. His baton thudded against the hard floor as he stumbled against the chair, clutching its back for support while refusing to cry out in pain. He had always been a proud man, ever since his days in the Army—No, don’t read him, Alyssa told herself.
Gil was almost upon her. He raised his baton, about to bring it down on Alyssa. He wouldn’t use his full strength against a woman. His thoughts were of his girlfriend, Elise.
Alyssa lit his mind on fire, and he recoiled, tottering backward while groaning, regretting that he was foolish enough to go easy on her, worrying that he was getting soft.
Irwin, now free from the agonizing mental force, charged at Alyssa. She swiftly released the other and attacked the bigger man again, then zapped Gil, then back to Irwin. She switched targets fast enough that neither could get his bearings, but they also weren’t about to pass out anytime soon.
If Alyssa was going to resume this vigilante thing, she needed to learn how to fight physically, and she’d need weapons to hold her own against large men. Perhaps Ford could teach her to wield escrima sticks.
No, I’m just filling in.
“To hell with this.” Irwin raised his hands in surrender, and Gil followed his lead. “Look, lady, we don’t mind working for someone with powers, but we don’t want to fight someone with powers. How about we’ll leave you alone and get out of here if you leave us alone?”
Neither of these guys was a killer. Their sense of ethics was poorly developed, but they had no intention of hurting anyone except to defend their next employer, whoever that might be.
“Okay.” Alyssa couldn’t have kept up the pressure much longer anyway. “Go.”
They did. That is one creepy witch.
Alyssa rubbed her temples as she indulged in a moment’s respite. The sustained mental attacks gave her a headache as well, but it was already fading.
The portal glowed, undefended. It could lead to anywhere on Earth or perhaps any other Earth. Alyssa was once zapped into another reality and would have died if not for Miranda, and the two of them never would have escaped if not for Carey.
She squinted into the portal, searching for any evidence of what lay beyond. It kept its secrets. Her heart pounded and her breathing struggled, reminding her that she had every excuse to turn around and walk away.
Screw it.
Alyssa stepped through, and her sneakers landed on flat, dry rock, which stretched ahead into a horizon full of dark clouds.
And at her feet lay a pile of charbroiled human skeletons.
*grabs popcorn* *eats nervously while wide eyed*!
"And at her feet lay a pile of charbroiled human skeletons." 😱
Love the narration diving into Irwin and Gil's thoughts like Alyssa was doing!
Also, "Mirthful Minerva"? When did we switch to Roman mythology? 😂