Audrey Preston felt like she was ready to explode. It was not just from the physical feeling of her swollen and aching knuckles, or from spasming muscles that caused her fingers to clench into claws. It was also the anger and frustration that those claws made it impossible to grip the smooth, round metal doorknob before her. She’d been trapped there for an hour, a stumble from tender, bloated ankles causing her to bump the door closed. She used her useless hands to bang on the door but was rewarded with agonizing jolts that shot through her fingers and joints with every strike. She was trapped in her own room, a prisoner of her rheumatoid arthritis.

Tears of agony and shame streamed down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. Overdue for her medication, she could feel the strain of her elbows, shoulders, knees, and feet, all bulging with insistent pressure. Her flesh felt ready to fly apart. Frozen by swelling, none of her joints were mobile enough to help in her dilemma. She had even considered using her mouth, but knew that if she kneeled on the floor she wouldn’t be able to get up again. The thought of inching down the hallway like a worm made her reject the idea outright. If only she could pry her fingers apart a little more. Then she could get to the other side of that door and to the bathroom where her pills lay on the counter. Yet her hands were as useless as clubs.

The voice of her doctor echoed through her head reminding her she should change the doorknobs to levered handles. Each month she had been forced to choose between the cost of her medication and replacing every knob in her house; the medication always won. She thought the occasional annoyance was worth the trade, but today the practicality of it was sledgehammered home.

The scream came unbidden, the pressure within her releasing from between her lips in a rush. Audrey’s ears popped as if the air between her and the door fled from her voice, and the groaning of wood filled the room as a fine crack appeared in the center of the door. Startled, Audrey stumbled back. “What the hell was that?” She looked around, but only her furniture stood witness to the event. Then the ache of her body, momentarily muted by her surprise, returned to fill the silence. Her hands spasmed again, and every joint strained like expanding balloons.

Feeling the torment build, she screamed “Open, damn you!”

Again the air seemed to withdraw from her words. The door groaned as its cracks deepened, spreading out like spiderwebs. Hinges shrieked in agony as they bent and broke, the door flying outward in a cloud of splinters and paint chips into the hall beyond.

Audrey took a moment to catch her breath, gulping air to replace what she had expelled. Between gasps she examined the space before her, the frame cracked and broken, the shattered remains of the door embedded into the opposite wall. She had no idea how she had done it, but at that moment didn’t care. After a few shaky breaths she shuffled into the debris-filled hall and down to the bathroom, shook the medication from its container, and swallowed her pill. After that she sank to the floor of the bathroom and waited for relief.

Once she sufficiently recovered, the pain fading into much needed relief, she made a panicked phone call to her brother.

“How the hell did you manage this?” he asked later that afternoon as he looked at the damage. “Did you take a hammer to it?”

“Peter, I couldn’t pick up a hammer right now if I tried.” Though her muscle spasms had eased, her fingers were still swollen and gnarled. Even with her pills, she was at the end of her monthly cycle of immune suppressant medication. In a couple of days she would go to the hospital for her IV drip infusion. Until then Audrey would have difficulty picking up a spoon let alone a hammer.

“No, of course not,” he said skeptically. “You know, telling me you yelled at your door and it flew apart doesn’t make sense either.”

Audrey knew she looked diminutive and frail enough to blow away in a strong breeze. To think she could have done that level of damage physically was ridiculous. Now he was just being stubborn. “Why not? Maybe I have powers.”

Just two years before, the world’s first powered hero, Afterimage, appeared in Portland as a bright glowing beacon hovering over the river that split the city. Named by witnesses for the visual impression left behind after their brief encounters, the hero’s presence changed the limits of what humans thought possible. Since then, a handful of others had made themselves known around the world. If they could have powers, why not her?

“Audrey, it’s one thing to know that there are people out there with powers. It’s quite another to believe your sister is one of them. I think the odds are pretty low. Besides, you’re…”

“I’m what? A cripple?” She held up her hands, rubbing her disease in his face. Talk of what she was and was not capable of was not a new argument for them, but it still upset her. “You think because I’m sick I can’t have powers?”

His cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I didn’t say that.”

“Well, it happened. To me.” She returned her attention to the debris. “So, can you fix it?”

Appearing relieved by the change of topic, he laughed. “I’m a painter, not a carpenter. But I’ll ask Carlos from work if he can help. We’ll have to buy a new door and frame.” He walked over to the opposite wall and pried the doorknob out of it. It came out with a puff of white dust, leaving behind a gaping hole through the sheetrock. It looked mangled and twisted in his palm. “And a new doorknob. How about a lever this time?”

“You know I can’t pay much.”

“So you’ve said. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“So you’ve said,” he chastised. “Mom would turn in her grave if I didn’t, and Mary would be horrified. It’s the least I can do.”

Audrey looked at her brother worriedly. “I think Dad is already spinning in his for ruining the house.” Their mom and dad had died a few years before in a traffic accident. Talking about them still stung. “But please don’t tell Mary. She’ll ask too many questions.”

“She’s my wife. Do you really think I can keep a secret from her? Besides, she’s your best friend. If you wanted to keep secrets you shouldn’t have introduced us.”

Audrey smiled in understanding. “Well, say what you need to say. But I need to figure this out before telling anyone else.”

Stolen novel; please report.

“Have you tried doing it again?”

“No. I’m still trying to wrap my mind around this,” she gestured to the mess in front of them.

“Well, if you really think this is something you did, then give it a try. And in case it works, try it on something less structural?”

“Maybe. I’ll think about it.” She already knew she would but didn’t want him there to see. It would be embarrassing if she failed and didn’t want the pressure to perform. Telling him would only encourage him to attend.

“Well, I’ll talk to Carlos. It may be a few days before we can get to it.”

“That’s fine. Thanks.”

“Let me pick up the pieces so you don’t have to walk over this mess.” They spent about an hour cleaning up, which meant Audrey followed after her brother with a garbage bag as he picked up remnants of the door from the floor.

Walking him to the front door afterward, she thanked him again. “I really appreciate the help.”

“Don’t mention it. And let me know how it goes.” He winked. Her brother knew her all too well.

Opening the door for him, Peter walked out and nearly ran over a man on the porch. “Oh, excuse me,” her brother said in surprise.

“Sorry, my fault.” The man had a hand up like he was about to knock. He tucked it into the pocket of his bomber jacket. “Just here to ask if you’re satisfied with your internet.” The man had a European accent that sounded vaguely Germanic, and with his cropped blonde hair and muscular jaw, seemed more military than salesman. His other hand held the strap of a duffel bag which hung from his shoulder. Audrey watched his grip tighten and loosen in what she would have taken for frustration, but the smile on his face never wavered.

“Not interested,” Audrey said, pointing to the small “No Solicitors” sign posted next to her door in emphasis.

He looked at both Audrey and Peter up and down, his gaze assessing them before answering. “Of course. Sorry to bother you.” With a nod of his head he turned around and walked back toward the road.

Unfortunately Audrey had seen her fair share of odd salesmen at her door. The sign rarely made a difference. With a shrug she put the man out of her mind. She turned back to her brother. “Hey, thanks again. I’ll talk to you later.”

Going back into her house and closing the door, she leaned against it and took a deep breath. She had a lot to think about.

Over dinner that evening she sat alone at her dining room table and stared at the pill in her hand. She was already feeling the ache in her joints as the morning’s dose faded. This little thing would give her the relief she so desperately wanted. Remembering how she felt when the door burst, however, she debated whether she should take it. She recalled the pain and the building pressure in her body, followed by its sudden release. She had a feeling that recreating that moment was important.

Yet one thing she had learned about herself, and hated, since the onset of her rheumatoid arthritis was what she was willing to do to avoid pain. The year before, her doctor had changed her prescription for her infusion medication to avoid side effects Audrey had been experiencing. That meant going an extra week between infusions to stay clear of drug interactions. The pain she had experienced during that week was like being drawn and quartered by four rampaging stallions. It was then she realized she would do anything to never go through that again. She would grovel in the dirt, give up state secrets if she knew them, perhaps even kill to keep from having her medication taken away. She felt repulsed by her own thoughts, but could not deny them. Considering not taking her medication went against her fundamental nature.

If she took that pill, however, she might never get the answers she needed. Did she have some long hidden power buried inside of her, masked by medication, or was what happened just a bizarre occurrence that coincided with a moment of weakness? She needed to know. That meant allowing herself to be in pain, and with her upcoming infusion she had to do it when she was at her worst.

“I can put it off,” she told herself. “In an hour or two I can test this crazy theory and take it right after.” To reassure herself she added “Nobody is taking away my medication to torture me. This is my choice. I’m just delaying one dose. I can change my mind at any time.” With a deep sigh, she put the pill back into its container and sat down to wait.

The pain crept back over the next couple hours, but Audrey held strong. She bided her time sitting in a lawn chair on her back porch, watching the early fall sun sink below the rooflines of the surrounding houses. Her yard was small and intimate, with high fences, low Japanese maples, and a gravel path running like a river between. It was designed to be low maintenance, requiring little weeding and only the occasional watering. At this time of year the branches were bare, the tiny leaves of the maples gathered in piles around the trunks.

As the pressure built in her joints, Audrey did her best to focus on those leaves in the ever decreasing light, studying the crinkles of the edges, how the amber and red colors were highlighted by the shadows. But after a time she could no longer ignore the pain. She felt like she wanted to fly apart in an explosion of body parts. It was time to see what she could do before she couldn’t stand it any longer.

Rising unsteadily to her feet, she faced those piles of leaves and willed them to move. “Move, damn you,” she shouted at them just as she had done to her bedroom door.

Not one leaf budged. Audrey looked at those leaves like they had betrayed her. “I said, move.” This time she spoke softly as if leaves could hear the implied threat. Nothing.

“God dammit! Move!” A brief breeze blew through the yard, idling shuffling a few of the leaves. Audrey clenched her fists in anger, which triggered spasms that caused a wave of pain to cascade up her arm. “Oh my fucking god!” she screamed to the sky in frustration.

Over the fence line Audrey could see a flicker of light in a neighbor’s window. Embarrassed, she sat down in her lawn chair and lay her aching hands in her lap. The discomfort and pressure were building, and she was no closer to knowing what had happened that morning. Besides pain, the only thing she felt was stupid for skipping her medication.

Moping, she decided it was time to admit she was useless. She was in her late twenties and a college dropout, alone and handicapped, barely able to move let alone work. She was a burden to society, and what happened that morning was not a sign of some hidden strength, but instead a random shifting and settling of her old house that had put pressure on the door until it burst. Timely as it was, the event was nothing more than a freak accident.

As she sat feeling sorry for herself, the wind shifted. Enclosed as it was by her fence and nearby houses, her back yard acted like a wind funnel, capturing the breeze and channeling it, churning the leaves all around her. Those little piles whipped up, sending dried leaves to buffet her with hundreds of tiny pricks from their desiccated edges.

Next to the pain she was feeling within her, those pricks from without were small, but they managed to tip her over a precarious edge. Having had enough of pain and life, she managed to clench her swollen hands into fists and whisper to the world, “Enough.”

Suddenly the wind stopped and the world hushed. Leaves flew away from her and slapped against the fence and her house, crumbling to dust by the force. The fence moaned as slats bent under the pressure. It was as if Audrey stood in a bubble with her at its epicenter, the air pushing out from her in all directions. Above her, leaves floated as if carried up by the wind, but where she stood the air was still and heavy like the eye of a hurricane.

Then the tension broke. Released, the air rebounded, leaves falling all about her like golden snow. Sound rushed back in as well. She could hear the purr of car engines from nearby roads, usually unnoticed but now clear because of their momentary absence. Startled birds cried out in warning as they leapt from their branches to flap away in panic.

Audrey sat in the center of her yard, surrounded by a smattering of leaves. A line of brown powder ran around her fence line and house where the rest had been crushed. Thankfully her fence still stood, but the bases of the posts looked disturbed, concrete poking up as if a great weight had leaned against them.

“Oh my god,” she said to herself. Her pain always left her feeling vulnerable, but in that moment she felt powerful. She clenched her hands, this time in victory rather than frustration, and noticed the throbbing had eased. It was as if externalizing the pressure had released some of it from her body. She was pleased but took comfort in what pain remained. The power gave it meaning. She just hoped the power would be enough to make it worth the suffering.