“So what you’re telling me”, asked Peter the next day as they walked together along a street not far from her house, “is that you’re a human leaf blower?”

They trudged uphill on the sidewalk, every step agony for Audrey. The relief she had felt the night before had fled with the rising sun. Yet she insisted on walking in defiance of her disease, forcing herself to push through the pain. She had skipped her morning dose of medication and reveled in each twinge of discomfort.

The road here was steep. The roofs of houses stepped down the hillside on either side like steepled terraces, and parked cars hugged the curbsides in both directions for about a quarter mile before the land flattened once more. It wasn’t San Francisco steep, but for Audrey it was like climbing Mt. Everest.

“You don’t believe me.” She was getting tired of this conversation. When she first manifested symptoms of arthritis as a teenager, complaining of exhaustion and aching joints, her first doctor told her to see a psychologist for depression. Even her own parents had struggled to believe something was physically wrong, humoring her when they agreed to take her for a second opinion. This felt like more of the same. After all this time, Peter should know better. She looked forward to making him eat his words.

“That’s not what I meant” Peter said carefully as he walked slowly beside her. He took one stride for every three of her shuffling steps so as not to outpace her. “What’s that quote from Carl Sagan? Extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof? You’re saying you have superpowers. I need to see it for myself.”

“Then I’ll show you.” After her success the night before, Audrey felt confident she could repeat her performance.

“Then why are we walking? Couldn’t you have shown me at your house?”

“You saw what I did to the door, and I nearly destroyed my fence in the yard last night. I’m not doing any more damage to my home if I can help it. There’s a park at the top of the hill. I’ll show you there.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes, Audrey focusing on the grinding of her knees. Then Peter had to ruin it.

“So, you think you’re a powered hero like Afterimage?”

“I never said I was a hero,” Audrey grumbled, feeling mocked. Afterimage was known for hearing trouble from miles away, flying to the rescue, and returning to his place above the river like a bird to roost. Pushing leaves around did not make her a hero.

“Look,” Peter said, his tone kinder. “We live in a world with special people. If it wasn’t possible, I’d be looking at having you committed instead of going to the park with you. And if you do have powers, maybe you and Afterimage could be part of some super team. You could fly around the city together saving people. Maybe you’ll get an orchid too.”

“That’s for victims, not partners.” The hero often left potted orchids as gifts for crime victims. News reports stated that recipients were frequently visited by him in moments of need, marking them as under his protection.

“Besides, maybe he’s a she,” Audrey added. “It’s not like anybody can see what they look like under the glare. We could be two kick-ass chicks.”

“Not with that name. I thought they did an interview with him? There was something about it in the news.”

Audrey shook her head in the negative. “No, you’re probably thinking about Spotlight in New York, and that guy said three words to a reporter before vanishing. Nobody has ever heard Afterimage speak. Which explains the name. You don’t have a say in what you’re called if you’re not willing to speak up.”

Up ahead, another person was walking down the sidewalk toward them. Audrey recognized most of the locals on sight even if she’d never spoken with them, but the man in the tan hoodie and jeans was unfamiliar to her. He looked out of place with his right hand in a pocket while checking the watch on his left as if trying hard not to be noticed.

He looked them over as he approached, his dark eyes first scanning her from head to foot, then her brother. With her brother the man frowned at how far his eyes had to travel. Peter was very tall in comparison to Audrey. Regardless, after taking a final look at his watch and nodding to himself, he stopped a few feet from them.

“Hey, you Audrey Preston?” He shifted from foot to foot, looking anxious.

Audrey was confused. How would this man know her name? “Yes. Who are you?”

He didn’t answer. Instead he pulled a small handgun from his pocket. Without hesitation he brought it up and fired.

Audrey’s brother yelped in surprise before collapsing onto the sidewalk. Changing his aim, the man then pointed the gun at her and pulled the trigger.

Out of fear, the pain and pressure welled up within her. The agony she had been holding back to demonstrate to her brother left her in a wave. The bullet smashed against an invisible wall a foot from her face and dropped to the pavement.

Startled, both she and the man faced each other through the shimmering air between them. All she could see was his gun, and without thought waved her hand as if trying to swat it away. A shockwave of pressure lashed out from her, sending the man flying into the parked car beside him. Metal bent and glass shattered at the impact, triggering the car alarm with headlights blinking and horn honking in a panicked rhythm.

The sound dislodged her from her fear. Ignoring the pain in her joints that made her want to scream, she knelt on the pavement to check on her brother. He lay face down, a smattering of blood on the concrete beside his head.

“Oh no no no…” she mumbled, heaving him over clumsily with her swollen, useless hands. Once he was on his back, she could see blood covering his shirt, spreading out from a neat hole through the right side of his chest. He coughed, splattering crimson droplets across her blouse.

“Oh Peter, I’m right here. Don’t move or talk. I’ll get help.” She fumbled at the pocket of her pants for her cell phone, but her fingers refused to bend enough to allow her to fish it out. She looked around, searching for help.

Instead of help, she found the man who shot her brother trying to crawl away. He pulled himself along the sidewalk by one hand, dragging the shattered remains of his opposite arm and leg like heavy anchors.

Anger flaring, Audrey tried to get to her feet, but her knees and hip buckled with the effort. She instinctively let the pressure flow from her, pushing herself off the ground. She rose from the sidewalk on a cushion of compressed air, shoes dangling off the walkway, and glided over to the hooded man. She settled down to her feet beside him.

“Why did you do it? Why attack us?”

The man bared his teeth in a grimace as he looked up at her. “It was supposed to be easy money. Didn’t tell me you were a freak.” Only when she saw the gun come up again did Audrey realize he hadn’t been trying to escape at all but was reaching out for his fallen weapon.

Instinctively the pressure burst from her again, flinging the man out between parked cars into the street beyond. When she heard the screech of tires, she looked away before the thud of impact, but the shock of it washed over her like a crashing wave, sending her mind grasping for something to hold on to. Turning her back on the street, she walked back to the only safe harbor she knew, completely unaware of the absence of pain in her joints as she knelt beside her brother once more.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Audrey barely registered the screaming of the driver, nor the arrival of the neighbor stumbling upon a crime scene in their front yard. Voices surrounded her like the sound of a mosquito buzzing around her head. The only thing she could see or hear was her brother as his body shuddered with every labored breath. The police came first, followed by the ambulance. Her unresponsiveness and the blood spattering her chest earned her a ride in the ambulance with her brother.

After that time flew by in a flurry. A doctor looking her over; a call to Mary, her best friend and Peter’s wife, to let her know what happened; sitting in the waiting room worrying about Peter when he went into surgery; comforting Mary as she cried; sitting some more in Peter’s room as he recovered. Then there was the police.

“Do you know who he was?” Detective Collins asked for the third time.

“No, I’d never seen him before.”

It was the next morning. Audrey looked out the hospital window as the two detectives tried to get answers from her. For some reason they seemed to think that if they kept asking she would say something new. Perhaps it was her blank expression that made them wonder if there was more to tell.

Peter was asleep on the bed, the reassuring beep of monitors letting her know he was alright. After seeing him safely out of surgery, Peter’s wife Mary needed a break to get food, so it was Audrey’s turn to stand guard. With Audrey refusing to leave his side, the police had grudgingly agreed to speak with her in his room while he slept. At least he was spared the barrage of questions.

“But you said he asked for you by name?”

“Yes, but he didn’t recognize me. Asked if I was Audrey Preston, and when I said yes he pulled out his gun.”

“Then he shot your brother and was about to shoot you. How did he get out into the street again?”

“My hands don’t work too well,” she said, holding up both sets of stiff, gnarled fingers, “so I body checked him. Shoved him into the car first, then into the street when he pointed the gun at me again.”

Her account did not entirely fit with the vehicle damage or the dead body, but it was the best explanation she could come up with without telling them about her powers. Powered heroes were fodder for Paparazzi these days. Audrey liked her privacy and had no interest in seeing her name broadcast all over the news.

“How much you weigh, a buck twenty? That must have been one hell of a shove.”

“Adrenalin. You might say my life depended on it. And now I hurt like hell.” She was in a lot of pain, but they didn’t know that had little to do with what happened. She had been up all night, and as the sun rose with morning so did her discomfort. She should have been in a clinic having her regularly scheduled anti-inflammatory infusion instead of here inventing answers to unanswerable questions. Given that she had none of her oral medication with her, she was running on nothing but fumes and willpower.

Her entire body throbbed and ached. Any other day she would have been desperate for relief, but now she clung to the pain like a life preserver. She now knew she was stronger with it than without. There might be other would-be assassin out there who intended harm to her or her loved ones. She wanted to be prepared.

From the window she could see a good part of downtown Portland. It was a spectacular view. The hospital, Oregon Health and Science University, was on a hilltop overlooking the city. While awkward to get to in an emergency, there was no better care anywhere in the state. Her own doctor was up there, as was the infusion clinic. In theory she could have kept her appointment without leaving the hospital grounds, but she did not want to leave her brother’s side.

Seeing a bright flash out the corner of her eye, she tracked a white spot of light streaking over the city, heading south along the riverfront before disappearing between two buildings. Closing her eyes, she could still see the path of its flight behind her eyelids.

“Where was Afterimage?”

“What?” asked the detective, looking up from his notes.

“Afterimage. He usually shows wherever there are shots fired. He didn’t come.” She found herself using the male pronoun, despite her conversation with her brother the day before. For some reason the hero’s failure to show pegged them as a male in her eyes. Just like a man to be late to an important appointment.

“Oh. There was a drive-by shooting in North Portland yesterday about the same time as your attack. He can’t be in two places at once.”

Shootings were relatively uncommon in this city. Two at the same time seemed unlikely. She remembered the shooter looking at his watch before his attack. It could have been a coincidence, but just as likely someone had scheduled a distraction to keep the powered hero busy.

“I do think he’s falling down on the job, though,” the detective added. “We’ve had some robberies lately with some guy who makes people sick just being near him. Would you believe he just strolls in and walks off with whatever he wants? Doesn’t even care that’s he’s on camera. No shots fired, though, so I guess Afterimage doesn’t hear about it until it’s done. That’s all we need now, a super-villain.”

“Sounds like Afterimage has his hands full. Look, I’m exhausted. Do you need anything else?” Audrey wanted them gone so she could have some time to think.

“No, that does it for now. So you know, there have been other attacks on disabled people over the last few months. This might be the same guy. I’m thinking you just took care of a problem for us. If you think of anything else or see anything suspicious though, let us know. Here’s my card with my direct number.” Detective Collins held the card out for her to take, but Audrey held up her hand to remind him of her disability. Instead he put it on the rolling table beside Peter’s bed.

“We’ll be back later to talk with your brother. Maybe he remembers something you don’t.”

“Maybe. Have a good day.”

When they left, Audrey hobbled over to the only chair in the room to wait some more. The protesting of her joints told her she wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon, so she mulled over the events that had brought her there.

Audrey doubted this was the end of the problem. The man who tried to kill her had been hired by someone, probably because they knew or suspected she had special abilities. Why else would someone want her dead? The big question was, how did they know? If other disabled people were also targets, could it be because they had powers too? Having just learned about her powers, it meant someone knew more about them than she did. If she could figure out why she had them, perhaps she could find out if she was still in danger or prevent this from happening to anyone else. It was time to do some research. She had no idea how to begin, but it was time she stopped thinking of her disease as a limitation and start thinking of it as an open door to something greater. Time to step through that door, one shuffling footstep at a time.

Hours later she noticed her brother’s eyes flutter open. Audrey stopped fiddling with the line of empty paper cups she had arranged on the wheeled table in front of her. “Hey there,” she whispered, pushing the table away. She kept her voice low so not to disturb Mary who slept in the room’s only plush chair. Audrey sat perched on a hard metal stool, the uncomfortable seat suiting her mood.

“Hi.” Saying that one word prompted a wince from Peter. He rubbed at his chest as he looked about the room, getting his bearings. He smiled on seeing Mary asleep. “I feel like I’ve been socked in the chest with a two by four,” he whispered, “but it looks like we lived. You ok?”

Tears welled in her eyes. Even now he was looking out for her. Ever since their parents died he’d taken on the role of protector, putting her needs before his own. She loved him all the more for it. “I’m good. And the doctor says you’ll be fine. I would avoid yelling at me for awhile if you can.”

“Heh. We’ll see how well that goes.” He settled back against his pillow, looking up at the ceiling. “I remember hearing other shots, but not much else. Guess he didn’t hit you.”

“Oh, he tried,” Audrey said hesitantly.

He turned on the pillow to look at her. “Tried and missed?”

She shook her head. “Tried and failed.”

His eyes narrowed in confusion. “Did they catch him?”

“Not exactly. He’s dead.”

“Whoa. How?”

Just the thought of what she did made her uncomfortable, so Audrey blurted it out as quickly as she could. “I pushed him into traffic. A car hit him.”

She caught him glancing at her hands. They lay in her lap, fingers curled uselessly. Audrey felt disappointed. He, more than anyone, should know better than believe she could use them to defend herself. Then he looked over at Mary, making sure she was still asleep before saying more. “You mean you used your power.”

Audrey nodded. He took a deep breath out of habit, but pain cut it short. Putting a hand on his chest again, he gave her an angry look. “This is serious, Audrey. Someone tried to kill us.”

“I am serious, Peter. I killed someone yesterday. Don’t believe me? I was going to show you in the park, but I guess I’ll have to show you here.” She waved a hand at the row of paper cups on the table. “I’ve been practicing.”

Moving her fingers was agony, but she used the pain to help her focus. Forcing her fingers into a cramped semblance of a gun, she pointed at one of the cups, and with a jerk like pulling a trigger, she let the pain and pressure in her hand release. With a pop of air, the cup flew off the table.

Peter’s eyes went wide, but she didn’t stop. There were still four cups lined up. She gestured at three more in rapid succession, and each flew away, one landing in her brother’s lap. With the last she dropped her hand in her own lap like she was smashing a bug. The last cup crumpled flat against the table, the metal rattling with the impact.

The clatter woke Mary. Her eyes popped open with a jerk, and on seeing her husband awake, she cried out “Peter!” She leapt from her chair and rushed to his side, giving him a kiss and a long hug. “Thank god you’re awake.”

Peter’s eyes never left Audrey as Mary hugged him. The look was what he would give to an unfamiliar dog, wondering if this strange animal would lick or bite. Audrey shrugged in return. It was up to him to decide.

“I’m glad you’re ok. I’ll take off and leave you two alone.” Audrey rose from her seat with a groan and shuffled out, leaving her brother and friend behind.