Better to Die a Hero (21 page)

“Aaaaaaagh!” Blood flowed from a cut across the bridge of Bryan’s nose and dripped from his top lip. He circled Steve.

“Calm down Ectoman.” He had almost used Bryan’s name but caught himself in time. “I’m taking you home.”

“I don’t like you here,” he said, spitting out the blood filling his mouth. “I don’t like you following me, it hurts my head.”

“You’re not yourself. I just want to help you and you can help yourself by not taking any more powder.”

“You want to steal the powder for yourself.”

“That’s not true,” Steve said, “you’re my best friend. I just want to help you, I want things to go back to the way they were.”

Bryan stepped forward. “You betrayed me!”

“No.” Steve stepped back. “I tried to keep you from hurting people. That’s not you. You’re the kindest person I know, now you’re out here killing people.”

“God is the judge, God is the jury, I am his instrument. I protect the innocent.”

“You threw a guy off a five story building, I watched you.” Steve saw the anger fading from his friend’s face. “It’s not your fault, it’s the powder. You didn’t know what you were doing.” He stepped in and placed a hand on Bryan’s shoulder.

Both teens turned to the sound of numerous feet falling out from the stairwell onto the tarpaper. Four men looked their direction. A muzzle blast lit up the night and Steve grabbed his side. It burned as if he’d been caned with a bamboo switch.

“Let’s go,” Steve yelled, grabbing Bryan by the wrist. He dove off the roof into the alley pulling his friend along.

Steve’s descent seemed to take forever; he straightened out and stuck the landing. Pain exploded from the gunshot wound and he grabbed his side. Bryan was nowhere in sight. Steve peered up six stories. Bryan was coiled flat to the side of the building just under the ledge.

The men leaned over the ledge unaware of the danger clinging to the wall just inches below. Bryan sprang up cobra swift and pulled all four over. Steve stood helpless looking up as they fell; their haunting screams filled the alley. Bryan disappeared over the top.

Steve stepped back. He wanted to place himself under one of the men to cushion the impact and maybe save a life. Most likely, both he and the man would die or end up in a wheelchair. That’s what he told himself. Was that the truth or was he just a coward? Either way he refused to divert his eyes to the horror only seconds away. If he could not save them, he would watch and he would remember. Nothing in life, not even the dead girl’s eyes, prepared him for the crunch of bone that ended the screaming.

Steve leapt high. This had to stop, no matter how, no matter what the consequences. He pushed hard and pursued the killer with a singular purpose and a determination out of character. At that moment Bryan no longer existed; his best friend had died some days ago and a cold-blooded killer had control of his body. Steve would mourn later.

“Stop following me,” It yelled, charging out of the darkness.

Steve parried the advance with a quick twist and forcibly pushed It off the building. The push, strong and deliberate, sent his opponent several feet out. Far enough It couldn’t reach and adhere to the wall. It fell the entire distance, landed unscathed and exploded into a vigorous gallop up the building’s façade.

“Holy shit.” Steve skipped back, bracing for another attack. The creature rounded the ledge, no sign of Bryan showed in the face or posture. Screaming, it attacked with a fury of wild swings almost too fast to see. Steve answered with his own wild barrage of blows most missing their mark.

A surprise kick to the groin dropped Steve to his knees. The pain so intense, it shot up past his stomach and culminated behind both ears. He staggered to his feet and met a hard fist to the forehead that landed him on his back. The creature jumped on top, before Steve could bring up his arms in defense and hammered his fist down, one, two, three and a fourth time to the face.

It hopped off, scooped Steve up, pressed him overhead and walked to the ledge. “Let’s see how you like it.” It heaved Steve over.

Steve tried positioning for a landing, but his body refused to respond, windows zipped by and he envisioned himself impaled on a fire hydrant. He couldn’t even twist and see the ground rush up.

Goodbye Nora, goodbye Uncle.

Steve slammed the top of a parked car; glass exploded outward. The black and nothingness he’d expected didn’t come. He looked to the left and then to the right. A dull ache spread across his shoulders and down his back. His face hurt more than anything else. He looked down at his feet and shook one and then the other.

“I’m alive,” Steve said.

Slap!

The creature that used to be Bryan landed on the sidewalk mere feet from the crushed car.

“Oh crap.” Steve managed to sit up. It placed two fingers on Steve forehead and pushed him back down.

“I want you out of my city.” It flicked Steve’s ear. “You give me a headache.” It hopped over the car to the other side. “And the name is Troll, got that.” It flicked Steve’s forehead. “I’ve seen some interesting things in the city. You were wrong about super villains.” It moved away in no particular hurry. “They do exist.”

Steve whispered, “I know Bryan… I know…”

*          *          *

New York Journal:

“Hello, I’m Michelle O’Donnell and welcome to tonight's edition of New York Journal. Earlier today the Mayor asked that Manhattanites adhere to a voluntary ten o’clock curfew. He asked that all citizens stay in their homes and only go out if absolutely necessary. In addition, the Journal has found out you may want to lock your windows. Last night a bartender from Little Italy was robbed and brutally killed. Although the police aren’t releasing details on the killing, witnesses that found the body saw one of the victim’s fingers was missing and looked to have been pulled off. So why should you lock your windows?”

“That same finger showed up this morning in an apartment on the other side of the island along with a wallet taken from the victim. Our own Jeff Talbot is in that neighborhood and he has spoken with the tenant that received the finger. Let’s go to Jeff.”

“I’m here Michelle. The tenant I spoke with doesn’t wish to be identified and I can’t say I blame her. I can, however, relay her story to our viewers. Two nights ago she was awaken by her son telling her there was a troll in the kitchen. She checked it out and finding nothing went back to bed. The next day she was missing some food items and pillows. And of course this morning she found the bag with the wallet and finger. She told me that the police informed her that entrance was made through that window. If we look up there you can see it is several floors up. The only description that her son could give is that it looked like a troll and it hung from the ceiling. The little boy said just like trolls hang from the bottom of bridges. Needless to say she will be locking her windows tonight. Back to you Michelle.”

“Thank you Jeff. New York and the rest of the county have awakened from a fairy tale, a fairy tale about superheroes, super feats and the promises of a new brand of justice. New Delhi, India had the Monkey Man and now New York has something far worse. A super powered killer able to scale walls, jump incredible heights and leap from the tallest of buildings. A killing machine some are calling a monster others are calling a troll. Last night in Harlem, four men were thrown to their deaths by this supernatural being and that is why the Mayor is urging people to stay off the rooftops. It is feared that if New York experiences the rolling blackouts that are predicted this summer, people will move to the rooftops to cool down. This could spell disaster with a psychopath prowling the rooftops killing whom ever gets in its way.”

“In fact, the sighting of three or four super beings across the city may mean that there are more killers out there. While the debate as to the origin of these beings rages on, the debate as to their intentions is over. The new debate is, what is to be done? There has been talk about mobilizing the National Guard, an option the Governor has not ruled out. We do know that the FBI has been asked to work with the NYPD to bring this killer to justice and put an end to the rooftop escapades.”

BETTER TO DIE A HERO

CHAPTER 16

T
roll pressed a hand onto the coarse brick and found the lack of discomfort surprising. Usually the rough surface bit into his palms and fingers, not enough to bring blood, but enough to motivate movement off the wall as soon as possible. He lifted a hand off the surface. His other hand and both feet fixed him securely several stories above the city streets. The free hand sported a thick callous. What really made his day was that the mental push that held him firmly to walls and ceilings took less effort with each passing hour.

Hidden up high, back in the shadows of a secluded alley, he listened to the cars a hundred feet below and tried to remember where and when he’d lost his gloves.

Oh, Crap.

Adrenaline hit his blood stream. He patted his head and realized the absence of cap and goggles. The anxiety over his exposed identity faded quickly as he remembered his newly texture features and lack of hair made the head gear unnecessary and that, in fact, he hadn’t worn them since he’d fought Savini.

Time to give the betrayer a call.

He retrieved the cell phone, chuckled at his own forgetfulness and punched in Steve’s number—at least he remembered something. Maybe he wasn’t eating right. It was not in his nature to forget, well, anything. Steve’s lectures the past year about the relationship between cognitive abilities and nutrition had not been lost on him. Fat boy had started eating better and exercising months before the powder, he would give him credit for that, but it was his own discovery about the true potential of the powder that started his ungrateful friend on the true road to weight loss. Steve should own up and give credit where it was due. Slips in memory or mental alertness were unacceptable.

He promised himself to start choosing more nutritious donations from the good citizens of New York.

“Hey Uncle George is the butthead home? This is Troll check’n in. George, are you there? Well just because your nephew and I had a falling out doesn’t mean I don’t like you. You were always nice to me. Don’t think that I’m going to forget that. Anyway, when butthead gets home tell him I called.” He sighed and placed the broken parts in his coat pocket.

“The jerk has the nerve to follow me around, but won’t return any of my calls,” Troll said, pulling the elastic waist of the filthy boxer shorts down. The soiled flap of the long underwear fell open exposing his blemished buttocks. The fact that his parents hadn’t yet called his cell bothered him even more.

Obviously, they don’t give a shit about me.

“Are you poop’n?” a young boy asked.

Troll quickly pulled his shorts up and turned to the tiny head protruding from the ten-story window. “Ah, sorry” he answered.

“It’s okay,” the boy said, “everybody poops.”

“That’s right they do.” Troll crawled closer. “You are a charming little person.”

The little boy grinned widely. “What’s the matter with you face mister?”

“I’m wearing my superhero mask,” he said, “When I get home I’ll take it off.” He gently placed his fingertips on the boy’s head. “Can you move back in a little, I don’t want you falling out of the window.”

“Are you a superhero?”

“Yes I am, my name is Troll, or The Troll and I fight evil.”

“Who was you talking to?”

“I was leaving a message for my ex-side kick Mongoose.” Troll frowned. “He used to be my best friend, but now I don’t have a best friend.”

“Why he isn’t your best friend anymore?” the boy asked.

“He doesn’t want to be a superhero anymore and he wants to stop me from making the streets safe for little boys and girls.”

“Oh, that’s too bad Mr. Troll.”

“Yes it is, but you can be my best friend, if you want to.”

The boy clapped and jumped about on the chair where he was standing. “I’ll be your best friend. Can I be a superhero too?”

“Yes, but we should wait a few years, till you get a little older.”

“I really can’t do anything.” The boy shrugged. “I’m not very strong.”

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll make you strong and I’ll give you superpowers.”

“Yay!” The boy jumped and clapped again.

Troll moved in front of the window. “In the mean time, I’ll start by giving you superhero lessons,” Troll said. “The first lesson is never let anybody yell at you. If they do, you punch them in the stomach.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Trust me you can, I’ll teach you.” Troll moved his face closer to the boy. “Does your dad ever yell at you?”

“Sometimes.”

“A hero shouldn’t put up with that and I’ll make you strong enough so that nobody, especially your dad will ever yell at you.” Bryan ran his fingers over his bumpy chin. “Lesson number two, don’t act like a clown to get people to like you. It’s not dignified. A superhero should act strong and confident and that way people will respect you.”

Troll’s stomach ached. “So tonight’s lessons are, don’t let your dad yell at you and don’t act like a clown. Does that sound good?”

“Yes,” the boy replied.

“Good, you go back to bed and I’ll come back tomorrow night and give you another superhero lesson. Since you’re my new best friend I should know your name.”

“My name is Johnny and I’m this many,” the boy said, holding up four fingers.

“Very good Johnny, be thinking of a good superhero name for yourself and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Johnny said, bouncing happily to his bed.

With several minutes of daylight left illuminating the rooftops, Troll receded into the dark alley corner, sweat dripping profusely from his brow.

*          *          *

“Steve.” Nora eased the bedroom door open. “Oh my.” She tiptoed to the side of her boyfriend’s bed, sat gently on the edge of the mattress and surveyed the swelling on the side of the young man’s face. It was as if the left side had reverted to its previous fat state, while the right side retained the new angular improvements, especially since little bruising accompanied the swelling. She leaned in and kissed his forehead, careful to press her lips away from the swollen area. As she hoped, her young man stirred and opened his eyes.

Steve smiled at awakening to Nora’s face. The site of her triggered a release of endorphins that tickled his brain’s pleasure centers and elevated his mood. He was happy to see her even though he knew her coming over to be unwise. His arousing consciousness turned quickly to the powder—only one dose left. He pushed past the pain, sat up in bed, and a strange thought crossed his mind. Maybe he and Nora would conceive a super baby genetically altered by the powder that had been coursing through their veins. Maybe it was his destiny to father the first true superhero. But that was comic book nonsense, the powder would more likely cause malformations and birth defects.

“What’s wrong?” Nora asked.

“Oh…” he responded, “I’m always okay for the first minute after waking up then the realities of this mess flood into my brain and I—” Steve stopped and surveyed the lovely face in front of him, unable to find words to express his despair.

“I know,” Nora said, leaning into his bare chest, “the news said Bryan killed four men. That he threw them off a building. Is that true?”

“Yeah… it’s true.” He forced himself not to stammer. “Only it’s far worse than that. I know for a fact that he’s killed at least seven people and gotten another killed by cross fire and that’s not including those mobsters.” The sound of four crunching spines involuntarily replayed in his mind, sending a shiver through his injured muscles—his diaphragm seized for a moment.

Nora nestled in, attempting to warm her troubled friend. “Did you see any of it?”

“I was right there,” Steve said, keeping his breath shallow. “I saw it all and was too slow or too stupid to do anything about it.”

“Oh god, what’s wrong with him?”

“You’d have to see it to believe it.” Shaking his head, he barely believed what he’d himself witnessed. “Bryan’s completely bald with rows of bumps covering his face. His nose is broken big time. I couldn’t even recognize him. And he’s talking crazy, like he doesn’t even realize he’s killing people. He says crazy things like having me near hurts his head. He’s getting big too, around the chest, shoulders and thighs.”

“On TV they’re calling him The Troll.”

“Yeah, that’s what he’s calling himself too. He must not be killing everyone he runs into. Sounds like he’s telling someone his new name.” Steve ran a hand over the swollen area of his face. “He could have killed me last night, but he didn’t.”

“How did you get home?”

“I took a cab. I was in no condition for a long train ride home.” The time seemed right to come clean about Uncle George. “I told my uncle everything. I couldn’t go after Bryan without George covering for me.”

“I understand,” Nora said.

“He’s been really supportive.”

“What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” he answered. “I thought a lot about that on the way home. I can guarantee you that Bryan is going to get caught, it’s only a matter of time. It doesn’t matter how strong or fast he is, the law isn’t going to let a monster continue on a killing spree in New York City. He may take a few cops out with him, but a swat sniper is going to nail him sooner or later.” Steve stroked Nora’s silky hair. “My friend is not going to live through this.”

“You don’t think there’s any hope?”

“No,” he replied, “it’s not that I’m giving up hope altogether, I’m just letting go of this child like fantasy bullshit way of thinking I have. This isn’t going to end well and when Bryan takes that first bullet that slows him down, they’re going to drill him full of holes. I’ve seen him. No one’s going to even attempt to take him alive.” Steve paused for a moment and kissed Nora’s head. “Do you know what happens next?”

“No.”

“The authorities will pour as much money and time as it takes to find out who he is. They’ll discover Bryan’s identity from his dental records or finger prints, the mob will know within hours and then my uncle and I are dead. I just pray that that nobody discovers the trail that leads to you.”

“I think you’re over reacting on this.” Nora looked up to meet Steve’s downward glance.

“God, how I wish I was,” he said.

Nora shivered.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, squeezing her and kissing her. “It’s just real important that you understand how much trouble we’re in. Who knows you’re over here?”

“My friend Sharon,” Nora answered, “I needed someone to cover for me too. She’s watching a movie at the theater. I’m going to pick her up afterwards and spend the night at her place.”

“When Bryan gets caught…” Steve thought killed but couldn’t say it, “everyone in school is going to know I was one of the superheroes. Sharon’s seen me in the halls for years, she’s never even seen me talking to a girl. As far as she knows you’re the only female contact I have.”

“It’s a little worse than you think. When a girl loses her virginity, her closest friends know about it.”

“We are so screwed,” he said, his tone so void of hope even Nora nodded her head in agreement.

“I should tell them everything, make them promise not to say anything.”

“No, don’t do that,” he said, “They won’t understand how serious this is. One of them will tell a boyfriend, then the word that you’re one of the New York heroes will get out. While you’re being questioned, the mob will be visiting your family.” Steve gently lifted Nora’s face to look in her eyes. “I know it’s not quite that simple, but you have to believe me, your little brothers and sisters will be in danger.”

“What are we going to do?” She buried her face in his chest.

“I’ll try to think of something,” Steve said, lying with every word. Moments before, he had thought of that something. It flashed across his mind not in words or images, but an all-encompassing truth. In an instant, he knew what had to be done and he knew, without a doubt, he would follow through.

The two teens snuggled for the next hour, neither one saying much. Steve worried that Nora might try starting something of a romantic nature and was happy to find her content with a few light kisses. It took her ten minutes of false starts, but eventually she gave him that last good-bye kiss and then left to pick up her friend.

Her steps faded and the front door latched. He threw off the covers and examined his swollen scrotum. Inflated twice its normal size and tender to the touch, wearing briefs was not an option. He moved his stiff body from bed, pulled his baggiest sweatpants from the pile of previously worn and stooped to slip them on. There was pain, but not the kind he expected from taking a header off a building and landing on the roof of a parked car.

He wondered what the owner would think about the property damage. What if the guy didn’t have insurance? He then remembered the four men Bryan pulled off the building. The crunch of bone replayed in his mind and he thought himself foolish. A damaged car meant nothing.