When her taxi arrived at her house, Audrey hesitated to get out. She wasn’t sure what she would find inside. The one thing she had to remember, though, was that she had been a visitor in the hospital, not a patient. The man who had attacked her and her brother, on the other hand, was in the morgue. If someone was inside lying in wait, they had more to fear from her than she from them. So she paid the driver and with a deep, uncomfortable breath pulled herself out of the car and stumbled onto the sidewalk.
She walked slowly to her front door, worry gnawing at her until she saw the plant. It was a single white orchid in an iridescent vase sitting on her doorstep, a simple white tag tied around the stem. Kneeling down, she read the tag.
“I’m sorry I could not to make it. Glad your brother will be alright. Hope you are too. –A”
On reading the note, Audrey breathed a sigh of relief. She knew nobody would be inside her house. It appeared that Audrey was now on Afterimage’s protected list.
Feeling reassured, she unlocked and opened her door. Then she carefully picked up the plant between swollen hands and hugged it against herself as she entered her home.
Putting the plant on the kitchen counter, she went through the house anyway, but nothing was out of order. Everything was just as she left it. Only then did she fully relax, allowing herself to go through the routine of retrieving her mail from the mailbox outside. She sorted through the letters in her kitchen, smelling the orchid as she tossed aside junk mail, but paused when she saw one from her doctor. They were the results of her last blood test. Nothing unusual there either. Just a standard checkup to make sure her medication, which compromised her immune system, hadn’t left her exposed to an infection or damaged her liver and kidneys.
A note at the bottom caught her eye. “You have previously consented to allow your blood to be used in genetic testing as part of an ongoing study for the treatment of autoimmune diseases. Should you wish to change your consent for these studies, or wish to see the results of these tests, please contact your doctor’s office.”
This note was at the bottom of every lab result sheet she’d seen over the last few years. She had thought nothing of them before. This time, however, she realized that if there was anything that made powered humans special, it was likely genetic, and if there was a genetic marker for it there was a database out there that could tell someone if she had it. This was the likely answer to how someone could know she had powers.
All it took was a call to her doctor’s office to confirm with a nurse that there were genetic test results to be had and that the results would be uploaded for viewing in her online health account within a day. She was offered genetic counseling to interpret the results, but Audrey doubted any counselor would be able to talk to her about having powers. She promised the nurse she would think about it.
Then the nurse asked about her missed appointment. “I can see that you didn’t make your infusion this morning. Did you need to reschedule?”
Audrey took a moment to think of an excuse. She could tell them the truth about her brother, but then they’d insist on making a new appointment. “Uh, sorry, I forgot to cancel. I haven’t been feeling well. I know I’m not supposed to have the infusion when I’m sick. I planned to call in and reschedule once I was better.”
“Oh, anything serious?”
“No, no, I don’t think so. Just a slight fever and feeling a little achy. More than usual, anyway. Probably a cold or mild flu. I’m sure I’ll be fine in a few days. I’ll call and make an appointment once I’m feeling better.” Thankfully the nurse accepted the excuse and left it at that.
Now all Audrey could do was wait for the lab results to be posted. With the pause came the crush of exhaustion. She had been riding on adrenalin and pain since the shooting. She badly needed some rest.
Yet rest would not come. The best she could do was go through the rote ritual of brushing her teeth and washing her face. When she looked in the mirror, she was startled by the face staring back. That woman was unrecognizable, overly thin and haggard, dark hair badly in need of brushing. It was hard to imagine the person in the mirror fighting off an armed attacker, stopping bullets in midair, lifting a man off his feet, or floating off the ground.
Remembering what she had done to the bullets, she tried calling forth the pressure like a shield in front of her. The air started to shimmer before her eyes, distorting the face in the mirror. Like looking through water, she could make out the basic details but the particulars were uncertain. Then the mirror cracked, splitting the face in half. Startled, she stopped before the glass shattered completely.
Disgusted with herself, she threw on a gray hoodie and some jeans specially adapted for her disability. She had enough trouble opening doors. Zippers and buttons were beyond her. All her clothes used velcro instead, making them easy to take on and off. If only her powers were as easy to control.
Audrey walked the same path from the day before, methodically trudging up the hill. She stopped at the site of the shooting. Someone had hosed down the sidewalk to wash away the blood, leaving only a torn remnant of police tape on a fence and a scrap of gauze caught beneath a car’s tire to tell the story of what happened.
Being there brought back feelings of fear and anger, making her intimately aware of the aches in her body, the grinding of her joints, and the pull of stiff muscles. Using those sensations as fuel for her powers, she used them to push herself off the ground with each step. Buoyed along by her ability, her feet barely touched the sidewalk as she jogged up the hill.
This was the closest she’d come to running since she was a child. It was like being on a trampoline, bounding forward three steps for every one she took. It would have been exhilarating if not for the pain driving her. What would have been a half hour’s walk for her took only a few minutes.
She ended her run at a small public park. It had a children’s play structure and several clumps of trees, creating little clearings where visitors could picnic in relative peace. Except for a few children and their watchful mothers at the play structure, the park was empty at this time of day. Audrey was able to find an out of the way clearing with some privacy.
This was where she had planned to bring her brother the day before. There was nothing there to break or destroy except grass and weeds. The day was comfortably warm, the sun pleasant on her face. She wasn’t entirely sure why she had gone there now, but it was better than slowly demolishing her house with her powers.
Standing in the middle of the clearing, she worked to recreate the shield around herself as she had in her bathroom. The shimmer rose quickly to her call, pushing against the air and grass around her like a thin bubble. She tried to take a deep breath, but her lungs strained with the effort, like she was standing on a high mountain top. It brought memories of hiking with her family as a child before arthritis had crippled her.
Focused as she was, she didn’t notice she had an audience until the man spoke. “That looks impressive,” he said, leaning against a nearby tree as he watched. His voice sounded familiar but distant, the bubble muffling the sound. “But does it actually do anything?”
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Audrey was startled but managed to keep the bubble up around herself. It distorted her view of him, but she hoped it would maintain her own anonymity as well. She could see his cropped hair, bomber jacket, and duffel bag, however. It was the man from her doorstep a couple days before.
“I’m sorry. I’ll go somewhere else to practice.” She shook her head the moment she said it, feeling ridiculous. She’d been caught using superpowers, not working on her juggling technique.
“Oh no, you’re exactly where I want you. I would have gotten you at home, but I saw that damned orchid on your doorstep. I know better than to cross Afterimage at your house. But he’s not watching here. And no brother either. I’ll be done and gone before anyone comes to help.” With a tug he pulled at his bag, stripping it away to reveal a short assault-style rifle. Flinging it up into his hands with an expert flick, he brought it up to his face, one eye peering intently into the sight at the top of the barrel. “I’m glad you took care of that amateur idiot. It’s been awhile since I had a real challenge.” Then he pulled the trigger, sending off a short burst.
Never dropping the shield, Audrey kept up the field of pressure surrounding her. Instead of dropping the bullets, however, these left rippling trails through the air, slowed but not stopped. One hit her in the shoulder. Its momentum knocked her back a step, but it had lost enough force that it was unable to penetrate her skin. It bounced off her like hard rubber, leaving a stinging welt.
Audrey stumbled but refused to be distracted. Angry, she doubled down, maintaining the pressure before her.
“Wow! You are good. Let’s see how long you can keep it up.” He started to fire in rapid succession, the bullets buffeting her like hail. She held up her hands before her face to protect her eyes.
It was frightening, but it was not the worst thing that had ever happened to Audrey. Her memory flashed of days she lay in a hot bath crying, not just from the pain in her body but from the knowledge that the life she had imagined for herself would never happen. Dying was the least of her fears, the pain less traumatic than the obstacle it presented to having a life worth living.
Through a miracle her pain had presented a path forward. She was not about to let it keep her from walking that path. With every sting her body reacted, bruises and swelling building until she wanted to scream. She threw it all into the pressure of her shield, every hit making her stronger.
After what felt like forever but likely only a few seconds, the bullets started to drop at her feet. Audrey straightened and faced her opponent, who, because of the blurring of the air between them, was slow to realize that his tactic was working against itself. Fear turning to rage, she walked toward him, determined to finish what he started.
“Shit,” he grumbled as he realized what was happening. Then his magazine ran dry. She reached him as he fumbled for more ammunition. Using her powers, she slapped the man down, driving a yelp from him as the force dropped down on his body. He crumpled, pinned to the ground like a bug in a display case.
Audrey increased the force over him with every step she took. Her attempted assassin cried in pain as joints popped and bones bent to the point of breaking. Though the gun lay next to him, he was unable to lift a finger to stop her.
Standing over him, she released the pressure enough to allow him to take a breath and hear her words. “Who hired you?” she asked, her voice deathly calm.
“I can’t tell you,” he sputtered, the compression of his chest still making it difficult to speak.
“Tell me!” Audrey yelled. She started increasing the pressure again, trying to squeeze the answer out of him.
“I can’t because I don’t know. He’s just a voice over the phone. I never know. It’s how I do business.” He blurted out each word between rasping gasps of breath.
“You have to know!” She reached out her hand, tightening it into a fist as if the gesture would help extract the information she desperately wanted.
Then the daylight brightened as if the sun was flaring. Settling between her and her target came a ball of light, so intense she had to squint to see. The light pulsed, blazing and fading so rapidly it made her nauseous, burning hot enough she could feel the flashes on her skin.
Afterimage hovered in the air before her. He was an egg with the vague shape of a human being within ready to hatch. The shape waved at her as if warning her off, telling her to stay back. Why he did not speak she didn’t know, but he made his meaning obvious by standing between her and her opponent.
“I need to know!” she yelled at the figure, but it was like yelling at a statue. Afterimage did not care how she felt, only what she did, and she had been ready to kill the killer. She got the message. He was right. The man was already down. Doing more was unnecessary. The death she caused yesterday had been an accident, but this would be intentional. She needed to stop before she went down a road from which she couldn’t return.
Audrey held her hands and dropped the shield in defeat. With the gesture the flashes from Afterimage slowed and calmed until his light became a steady stream. Then he floated closer, reaching out to her in a placating gesture. It made her want to reach out too, to touch someone not unlike herself. She raised her hand in return, waiting for him to make contact.
Then Audrey heard a series of pops. Afterimage spun and fluttered, sparks flying from his shell of light like fireflies in the wind. One whistled past her ear. Bullets were flying and Audrey was caught in the open.
They had forgotten about the assassin. Afterimage moved himself into the path of the gunfire to keep her safe, but Audrey had a flashback of the day before. She reflexively let the pressure pour out of her. Instead of a shield, however, she pushed off the ground and launched into the air to escape.
The trees appeared to flee beneath her, letting her see the whole of the park where people scattered into the surrounding streets to avoid the sounds of gunfire. She continued to push against the ground, and, when she had nothing left to push against, she pushed against the air itself.
She flew in an arc over her neighborhood, streaking up and out toward home. Then her flying sputtered. She dropped, floundering for the pain to fuel her flight. To her surprise, however, there was little to be had. It was as if her aching joints and throbbing bruises had poured from her, leaving only dregs at the bottom of the barrel.
She fell in spurts, the world coming up quickly to meet her. Houses sped by beneath her, roofs and backyards she had only seen from the satellite view of maps on her phone. Drawing from the remains of her discomfort, she tried to direct herself in bursts, aiming for what she hoped was her best chance at survival. Then she closed her eyes. If she died, she took comfort of knowing it would pass quickly.
She hit hard, but it wasn’t the ground that met her. Water flooded over her, smothering her as it filled her mouth and nose. She flailed and thrashed, trying to figure out which way was up. Then her fingers found the bottom, giving her direction. She turned and swam for the surface.
Breaching from the water like a whale, Audrey gulped for air while reaching out in every direction for support. In moments she found the edge where she clung to recover and get her bearings.
Audrey had landed in the only pool in the neighborhood. It was one of those above ground, freestanding ones that sat in the backyard of the house abutting her own. She used to chat with her neighbor over the fence while they floated on rubber lounge chairs. She always turned down their offers to use the pool, knowing she could barely swim with her disability. For once she was happy to take advantage of their generosity.
“Lucky, lucky, lucky…” she muttered as she dragged herself out. Not only was she alive, but no one was home at that time of day to see her. The draped windows of her neighbor’s house remained closed. Dripping a trail of water, she walked out through the fenced gate to the road, then around the block to her own front door.
Despite her experience, Audrey marveled at how good she felt. Though pummeled by bullets, falling from the sky, and nearly drowning, she felt great. Better than great, in fact. Even a walk around the block, normally a difficult task by itself, was pain-free.
Pulling up the sleeves of her hoodie, she expected dark bruises from bullet impacts, but only a smattering of yellow marks remained. Her power had drawn from her injuries as well as her arthritis to help her survive. Not that it was all gone. She could still feel her bones grind where cartilage had eroded away from arthritis. Apparently her power could not undo the damage already done. Still, though uncomfortable, it was nothing compared to her body being actively eaten away by her disease. She had been given a reprieve and intended to enjoy it.
She knew better than to think it permanent, however. Not that she wanted to be negative, but experience taught her to be cautious. Good days were not unknown to her. The disease ebbed and flowed like ocean tides. It could be a day or even a week, but the good days were always followed by the cruel return of swelling and disappointment.
At this point she had been awake for over twenty-four hours. She needed to get out of her wet clothes and sleep. Though a part of her felt like dancing she was finding it difficult to keep a straight thought. Once inside her own home, she stripped and poured herself into bed. This time sleep came swiftly and abruptly.