Why? Why, did I do this to myself? 40 years ago, the top of this fifth-floor walk-up was a good idea. But now. The miles, the battles and the years were catching up. Daily, it seemed. The aggravation in my knees disappeared when I unlocked the door of my apartment and saw the view across my little balcony. The setting sun reflecting from the lake, making the still bustling downtown look as though it was engulfed in a roaring inferno. The sight of it stirred the old me. The prideful youth. The focused and severe young man. And the violent dangerous man I had become before the fall. I stood there looking at a world in relative peace, thinking about the treat I would soon be having. The cigar had been resting in my humidor for nearly a year, the bourbon hadn't breathed fresh air, since the day it was bottled some 25 years earlier. Happy Birthday to me.
I was snapped out of my reverie, by something kicking my lizard brain. Muscle memory and long dormant reactions took over, plucked the object that had been thrown at my head out of the air. My feet automatically moved into a fighting stance and my arm drew back to send the persimmon back at the sender.
"Some things don't change" said a familiar voice from the table in my kitchenette.
I looked over at the figure that was completely out of context in my little apartment. Not the grey hair and pale blue eyes, or despite him sitting down the knowledge that he was 6' 5" and built like a line-backer. It was the ridiculous blue and purple costume he was wearing.
"Boy scout", I said with contempt, which was more habit than felt. 30 years after that final battle. 40 years since we first clashed, and we were both left bloody and bruised in the crater of what had been a factory. The memories came hurtling back in a painful rush.
"That nickname is even less appropriate now than it was all those years ago".
"Ok. Terrance" the involuntary wince that passed over his face brought a petty flash of pleasure to me.
Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!
"I'm wearing the costume. Can't you use the name, Skelis?" I looked at him and considered his request. There was something in his expression that made him look tired. And something else. "As you are in the costume, Prime", he nodded his thanks "But as you may have noticed, I am sans mask and gaudiness......” making a downward sweeping gesture at the paint spattered grey hoodie and faded blue jeans I was wearing.
"Fair enough, Michael".
Again. There it was, in his voice. The aural version of the look etched into eyes. The silence in the room was exaggerated by the distant street noise below. I continued to look at The Prime, he just seemed to stare at some point 3 inches past my left ear.
After 5 minutes, I broke the silence, "What brings you here?"
He stood and walked like sleepwalker towards the sliding door of my balcony. Without taking his eyes from the lake, he spoke. "You don't talk to your family anymore, do you?"
This surprised me. "No. You know that. There was only my sister, but after her choice of husband and what I did to him.......we haven't spoken for a long time".
The silence started to creep back. The Prime turned to look at me. Tears rolling down his cheeks. The look in his eyes was of something shattered, something devastated.
"She's gone. They're all gone"
"What? Who?" Confusion overrode everything else.
"Nancy. Ellie. The twins…………………Gone”.
He fell to his knees. "I was too Goddamn SLOW" The last word came out as a roar.
I looked at the blubbering mess that was my godlike powered mortal foe. A man who could fly, whose strength was immeasurable, kneeling and sobbing on my living room floor. The despair and misery radiating from him.
The red rimmed eyes looked up at me. "After all the things you did. It was a drunk driver that finally beat me".