Eric knew that Abby had never chosen her own attire before, but he was not equipped for... this.
“What?”
“Why are you buying so many crosses? You are not a sister. Also, chains? And why is almost everything black?”
“Because they look cool.”
If you are in Gothic/Punk, sure, it looks cool. Personally, though, the boy thought that it looked over the top and silly, hideous even. And a waste on her cute face.
Not that he would tell her this. Eric had many ambitions, but becoming an eunuch wasn't one of them.
Besides, she seemed to like the goods, which was good enough for him.
“I still think this is a waste of money; we should just get the cheapest stuff.”
“Chill Abby. Life is not worth living if you don’t gift yourself from time to time.”
“But it's so much money.”
“We will get more money.”
Perhaps they would if the cashier didn’t call the police first. The woman has been shadowing them with her eyes since they came in. Which was annoying to Eric.
Sure, we are homeless and dirty, but no, we are not thieves—Oh, wait, we are.
The boy concluded that the woman was smart.
Still, it was a cheap, second-hand clothing store. And despite what the lying liar who lies, Abby, told people, Eric did know how to be prudent with their expenses. Maybe after his partner finishes teaching him his numbers, he can become responsible for their money.
“Ugh, fine, whatever. You won't listen to me anyway.”
“Damn right, I won't.”
The smart cashier checked the money, bill per bill, and she stared at it, and at the kids, before shaking her head.
“You know what? It's not my problem who you stole, or sucked, for this money. Here is your order.”
Instead of being annoyed, Eric found himself bothered. If he didn’t dislike profanity so much, he would call the woman a B word.
And in the boy's opinion, damn did not count as a cuss word, and Eric would defend his position with the fervor of a fanatic.
“Whatever, Bitch.” Replied the young girl, who did not have the same inhibitions that afflicted the other teenager. Sometimes Eric could swear that if they were twins, Abigail would be the good one.
And then she would look ready to commit murder, and his bubble would pop.
“What did you call me?” Retorted the woman in an obvious rhetorical question.
Eric grabbed the young girl's shoulder.
“Hey Abby, let's just go. She isn't worth it.”
The boy was thankful that she still listened to him, at least sometimes.
As they walked towards their home, which was less than two kilometers away, Abigail stopped to see the news on a cheap TV that was inside a slightly fancier, for in this neighborhood, electronic store.
“New York, Los Angeles, Ineria, and now Austin. A new tendency of citizens using their powers to do good is already in formation. But will all of these Empowereds be a force for good? A so-called superhero? Or is it the harbinger of hard times that are to come?” A woman dressed in formal clothing was talking on the TV. “Today those questions and more will be answered with the specialist in Empowered psychology, Dr. Mark Tennyson!”
Eric didn’t consider himself a smart guy; no, that's Abby's job. But for his life, he didn’t know how someone could be a specialist in something so new. Wasn't the estimate of Empowereds in the world below a thousand? It's growing; of course, there were only a few dozen in the last decade, and the number is ramping up faster now, but it still didn’t make sense for him.
Wait. If Abby is the brain and the muscle, what is my job?
“That's stupid powers only started to gain main stream attention in the last five years; this guy is just a fraud.” Abigail spoke her mind and left.
“The first documented Empowered was in 1968, nine years ago, but I believe that-”
Yeah, this guy is dumb. Eric followed after the teenage girl.
- | -
The warehouse bathroom didn’t contain a shower, so the duo washed themselves with a frigid wet towel. Abigail saw how Eric was trembling, trembling more than she would like, but he looked far too happy with how clean he was now, so she chose not to comment.
She didn’t feel nearly as cold.
Cleaner than they were in the last few weeks, the teenagers changed into their new clothes.
Abigail's outfit consisted of black jeans that had a small chain near the right pocket and a sleeveless white blouse, which was worn underneath a loose black tank top. Two different-sized cross-shaped necklaces decorated her neck, and on her wrists rested a thin bracelet, all of which were also black. And she wore black boots.
Eric was dressed in jeans and a gray sweatshirt. Abigail thought that his white tennis looked fine enough.
“…” The boy looked at his own clothes and arched an eyebrow. “You know. I kind of feel embarrassed now.”
“Yeah, too late.”
“Oh well, let's go to the Green Cafe to celebrate now.”
Abigail put on her sunglasses, which she has been using to hide her eyes, and followed him to the bus station.
There was no worry in her movements as they traveled in the run-down district, even when their clothes were a little too good to be safe. It was not that she believed that her neighbors knew better or anything similar, and if asked, the girl would not be able to explain why she held no concerns. She was not invencible, and her partner was far from knife-proof.
But Abigail was right to be fearless, as were the muggers, gangsters, and hobos; they all felt unsure around the strange girl, and they unconsciously decided to let her alone.
Eric felt, too; he always has, but he cared not.
Inside the bus, the girl turned off Eric's voice, letting it die into background noise. She, instead, turned to the window to observe the city—the only one she ever saw.
It was a large city in the state of Washington; more than 430 thousand people lived there. Ineria was rich, very rich, and the most prominent companies operated there in some capacity. This affluence was brought about by its many ports and the railway system. However, as history repeated itself, corruption and crime followed the wealth.
The downtown of Ineria was bad enough that none of the teenagers dared to go. Many believed it to be the most unlawful district in the United States, and they could be right.
Instead of the center, where Downtown was, or the south, too far away, the duo mostly did their deeds in the northwest. It was the second poorest region, losing only to the southeast, but it was where they grew up and all that they knew.
On the upside, if you pretend not to see the homeless, the drugs, and the gangs, Abigail believed that it wasn't that bad of a home. Ineria was a pretty city. Lakes, mountains, beaches, and parks filled their homes. The winters were brutal, but beautiful, and she quite liked the rain, that was ever present.
“Hey, Eric.”
“Hm?”
“Ineria is very wealthy, right? Why is there so much homelessness and poverty here?” Abigail moved her head to look at him. “I mean, why and when did things get wrong? There was no disaster or a Detroit-like riot.”
“…”
“Eric?”
“I don’t know Abby…” His voice was slow and low. “I don’t think that there is a big reason. Just a lot of small mistakes that accumulated over time.”
“Hm…”
She wasn't sure if she agreed, but the girl saw no reason to discuss the topic any longer.
Leaving their stop, the duo walked into the middle-income environment. While the new attire was enough to make Eric essentially invisible, Abigail's unusual presence, and garb, were anything but hidden.
Nonetheless, they continued to travel while looking at the Green Lake a few dozen meters away. It was a peaceful setting, and the cafe menu was enjoyable.
Not that the girl liked coffee, like Eric did, but they had a tasteful chocolate cake that much appealed to her tastes.
Overall, Abigail felt that she had a calm and nice day. The only noteworthy event would be five police cars that they saw, while drinking their coffee, going in the southeast direction.
A lingering doubt persisted in her thoughts, however. Despite her partner's assurance, Abigail knew how few people they had access to. Their wealth was tiny and dwindling, and their means to acquire more were constricted. Abigail decided then that she would do things the Eric way for a few more days, but no more than a week. And if his ways proved to be insufficient…
She had other options.
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
- | -
Five days later, at the very end of August 17, Abigail left her warehouse with a small backpack, alone. The sun was long gone, and most of the city, including Eric, was in their sleep.
In the shadow of the night, Abigail did not walk; she ran. Her speed was not all that impressive for an Empowered, just fast for a teenage girl. Her stamina, though, was seemingly endless, and the girl did not sweat. Ten minutes later, and three kilometers away, Abigail found herself in a moderately dirty alley, where her target was sitting on the ground.
Beatrice was not the type of homeless woman that the teenagers cared to interact with. Despite the common misconception that most homeless were addicted, which was not true in Abigail's experience, there was a large enough portion of the population who lived only to get the next shot. And that woman was very close to becoming one of them.
Hence, they lack interactions from the past.
Nonetheless, the girl got closer to the woman, and from her backpack, she removed a small plastic bag.
“Beatrice.”
“Hm?” The thirty-something-year-old hobo woman saw the girl. “Oh, little Abby, it's you. It has been a while.”
Abigail did not know the woman's heritage and didn’t care enough to ask. Beatrice had green eyes, brown skin, and long, lightly curly hair. Perhaps she was beautiful, once. Before the drugs.
“Why are you wearing sunglasses at night, sweet thing? You don’t need to hide how high you are from me.”
The girl said nothing as she threw the bag at the woman's lap.
“It's yours if you take me to meet some important people. Specifically, a fence.”
“I thought that you didn’t want to know anything about the streets. Eh, I knew you would come around; it was in your eyes.”
The woman looked inside the bag before asking.
“Damn girl, your cute friend will not be happy with you. Where did you get that stuff? It's not from John, is it? I don’t use his shit.”
“It's from Carol.”
Beatrice whistled.
“Begging would not pay for all this dope. Who did you steal from, girl?"
Buying dope, heroin, if you will, from a reputable enough drug dealer was not cheap. But Abigail knew exactly what the woman would use any money for, so she decided to bring the merchandise ready to consume—to sweat the deal, she hoped.
If Eric knew that she used their money to buy drugs, which he hated with a burning passion, it would be... distressing.
But Eric did not need to know.
“Do you want it or not?”
Not only drugs weren’t as common as the girl expected from hobos, but even alcohol was not abused by most. The majority of the homeless that Abigail met were just trying to fix their lives; that does not mean, however, that she couldn’t find the druggies and ask about their suppliers.
She wondered if she had met so many nice people before because Uncle Chet protected her from the worst ones.
“Hell yeah, I do. Let's go.”
“Now?”
“Yeah, duh, I will be a dead and happy lady tomorrow.”
The old woman guided Abigail towards what she knew was the red district. Needless to say, the girl had not wandered around those parts in the past, and she was not liking the experience. The two women eventually stopped at the back exit of a building that Abigail believed to be a nightclub.
“Diego!” Called Beatrice.
A man who was sitting in a small chair turned in their direction. He was a tall Latino man with short brown hair, dressed in a black suit. When his eyes moved from Beatrice to the girl, his lips thinned, and his face morphed into a frown. And his voice held no joy.
“She is too young to be a whore for Madame Jess, Beatrice. I will not pay you for bringing kids.”
“Nah, nothing like that this time; I am just letting her know the people, paid me good for this.”
“Hm?”
The man stood from his chair, and he was more than two meters tall, his stature now on full display. His frown had not left his face, and if anything, it was deepening as he assessed the much smaller girl from up close.
“And what need does a kid like you have to meet my kind?”
Abigail felt her lips drying; perhaps that was not a good idea after all. Doubt clouded her mind, and she almost stepped back. But she remembered how little money they had, and how much they risked for it.
Ghost Girl was there, too, behind the man. And she gave a slow nod.
Abigail breathed deeply before she removed her sunglasses. And her crimson eyes, which were almost incandescent, stared directly at Diego's pupils.
“I am sure that I can provide some value.”
Silence and stillness answered her. Beatrice's breath had stopped, and the grunty guy's hands were moving towards his back.
From her pocket, the girl removed a small, rusted iron ball. And, slowly, she smashed it, like a child playing with clay.
“Super strength” Iron fragments and dust dropped on the ground, the metallic noise filling the air. “No fancy mind powers.”
The girl felt better now that her eyes were free. She felt that it was silly, but she didn’t like having to hide her crimson orbs.
Diego's hands stopped their movement. If it was because he relaxed, because he wouldn't be able to fight her, or for any other reason, it was left to be unknown.
“And you want to be muscle?”
“No, nothing like that. I like to think of myself as a merchant, a supplier, if you will, but I find myself… Lacking the means to sell.”
“Stolen?”
“Acquired, yes.”
“Hm. And is your muscle for sale too?”
“It can be, for the right people only, of course.”
She didn’t want to give the impression that she would accept money to cause problems for Madame Jess. Not that she had any idea who the woman was, but she sounded important.
“We don’t deal with this business, no, but...”
The man stared at Abigail, unsure, before making a decision.
“Your name, kid?”
“Titan.”
“I will inform my boss. Come here again at the same time next week. I think that we will have jobs for you.”
- | -
Beatrice was now quieter; the girl noticed. When before she would lightly joke, there was only silence. After a few minutes of Abigail following the woman, she probed for more information.
“So? Madame Jess? Diego?”
Abigail didn’t know why Beatrice was homeless, and she would never ask, but a lack of intelligence was not. In less than 5 seconds, the woman replied.
“Madame Jess is a big shot around here, okay; not a big shot in Ineria overall, but she is respected. She knows everyone; men always have a loose tongue around her girls'.”
The woman's lips were drier than before, and small drops of sweat danced on her forehead.
“She is not Diego's boss, by the way, but he is very trusted by her; his boss and her are allies, or lovers, or something. Diego oversees her girl's security, I think, not sure, but I know that he knows way more than me. I only have other two guys for you.”
“Not Rolland.”
“Why not?” Her playful tone returned, and she turned to see the girl. “Rolland can give you some good time-”
Abigail stopped walking.
And so did Beatrice.
“…”
“Ok, not Rolland, not Roland; I get it, jeez.” Replied the woman. A drop of her sweat kissed the concrete floor.
“Good.”
“Only one, then. Your little friend won't like him; he brings a lot of good stuff to the city. I don’t know about fancy art or anything like this, but I heard that James bought stolen shit, even gold. He's kind of far away though; he is in the shithole bay.”
Shilshole Bay, but the nickname was an appropriate one for the bay on Sunset Hill. Everyone knew about how much illegal activity happened there. It was located west of Abigail's warehouse in Ballard.
“James is a rising star; the guy appeared in the city four years ago and already has a name in the north of Ineria. He is not like the gangs, but he is still shady as hell; I wouldn't trust him. He is super serious about business, though; he has the best reputation in the North, even if his shares aren't that good.”
Another minute came and went before Beatrice ended her steps again. She turned, with wider eyes and a puffed chest, to look at Abigail.
“How about I give you his location, and you go there by yourself, hm?”
“What? That was not our deal.”
“I don’t know James okay, and I am certain that you don’t want me to find out about whatever shit you are going to sell to him.”
It was true that, at least in principle, the fewer people knew about her, the better. Abigail contemplated her choice in silence for a few dozens of seconds, not paying attention to how Beatrice lost her confidence, and was walking a few steps back.
“Very well, you are right.” Decided Abigail. “I will go alone.”
“He is in the big warehouse at Seaview Avenue, you know, the double entrance one.”
The girl nodded.
“Have a nice day then, Beatrice.”
“You too, girl.”
Beatrice moved to leave, but a second after she passed Abigail and turned her back to the girl, she felt an arctic hand gripping at her wrist.
“I don’t need to tell you that I won't tolerate tattletales, or liars, do I?”
There was something about her touch, something about the physical contact, that petrified the older woman. She felt the shadows blackening and the colors going mute, and the rapid palpitations of her heart could almost be heard. Something eerie, and big, and evil and ancient was touching her, and every cell in her body begged for the woman to run.
This girl, she used to pity this girl. How foolish of her.
“Y-you don’t.”
It took three seconds for the girl to release her wrist. But if asked, Beatrice would swear that it was much, much, longer.
Abigail left without saying another word. And after the sound of the girl's steps came to an end, the world felt a little brighter.
The older woman stayed for another minute, before shaking her head.
“Creepy little shit.” Mumbled Beatrice as she left, trying her hardest to walk with her trembling legs.