Don't Call Me A Hero

Chapter 9

I sat awake, watching the lazy ceiling fan move slowly around. I could hear Owen’s soft snores across the room but only barely as my blanket was covering most of my head. I was holding the metal phoenix in my hand, tracing over it with slow movements as I kept my breathing steady.

How had I forgotten? That necklace had remained on my neck for years on end. Even at the mansion, they had let me keep it. My mom could never explain it or how I got it. One day I simply had it.  

“Your father...says happy birthday.”

A gift from my dad. The man who started my semi-obsession with the myth of the phoenix and other mythologies around the world. He actually cared, well, at least when I was seven. Would I have gotten other gifts if my mother kept him in the loop? If we had ever visited him in jail?

“Enough,” I whispered as I sat up. I tore the necklace off my neck and tossed it to the side. It doesn’t matter, I told myself. My father was a monster. He was one of the most notorious supervillains this city had even seen. Everyone hated him. I hated him. 

He didn’t deserve my respect.

He didn’t deserve my love.

Why does it sound like I’m trying to convince myself? I know I hate him. 

I had grown up being avoided by most kids my age because they were scared of who I was related to. It hadn’t mattered that I had been powerless at the time. No, they only saw my last name. It hadn’t been until Arthur arrived in our little neighborhood that I actually felt like I had somewhere I belonged. He hadn’t cared who my father was...no, that’s wrong.

He liked who my father was. He had always had a strange obsession with villians of both the super and the ordinary variety. His walls were full of homemade posters of serial killers and supervillains alike. Why hadn’t I noticed how creepy that was?

I detangled myself from my blanket and dug in my drawers to find a pair of shorts. I changed quickly and pulled on my tennis shoes before groaning. I had to buy new contacts. I grabbed my wallet and my pair of hipster glasses before jogging out the door. I considered stopping by Peter’s door to let him know I was going out but dismissed the thought. He said that they wouldn’t disrupt his life.

I was going to hold him to that. 

I stepped out into the cool morning air. It was a little past five in the morning so there were very few others wandering the campus like I was. Holding my glasses in one hand and my wallet in the other, I took off down the sidewalk. I ignored the lingering pain from the day before and pushed my legs faster. My mind was too busy to sit still. 

I had to clear my head. 

My father wasn’t important right now. My past wasn’t important right now. Amanda was what was important. She had said that Arthur had a brother. I vaguely remembered him. Arthur didn’t like involving him in anything we did back then.  He had been even scrawnier than his older brother but otherwise looked like he could be Arthur’s twin. 

Where could he be now? He was two years younger than Arthur. He would be sixteen. High school age. He hadn’t been in the house with his mom but he never came to the funeral. His mom had said she knew what kind of man Arthur was. Did he run his brother away too? 

I took a deep breath as I stumbled to a stop. I had only run a couple blocks and I was already winded. I hadn’t ran since the compound and my body was hating me for it. I struggled to calm my breathing as I plopped myself down one of the many benches that lined the main road of the university. 

I was a fool, I realized suddenly, as I watched others pass by me. I thought I could be normal. I thought I could live a quiet college life and slowly become a working member of society. 

After all I had been through, could I really expect anything less than what I had received? Lutsfy and his crazy apprentices had taken much away from me. He was dead. He wasn’t supposed to take anymore from us. I supposed he’d always be there, lingering in the back of my mind whenever I decided to feel sorry for myself...whenever I decided I needed someone to blame.

“Hello, Alex,” Peter said with a wide smile on his tired face. 

“Peter,” I nodded as he sat down beside me. 

“You do understand that things are serious right now, don’t you?” he asked, “you can’t just go flying off with a roommate you hardly know or go running by yourself. You could get hurt, Alex. Don’t you understand that?”

“I am aware,” I muttered, “I just don’t think I should be hiding in fear. I left the compound so I could be free to do what I want. I wanted to have a schedule that I chose whether or not I followed it. I wanted to sleep in and leave my bed unmade for God's sake. I wanted to feel normal again but now I know.”

“Know what?” he asked. 

“That I’ll never be able to feel normal again,” I shrugged, trying to play off the fact that it was slowly crushing me. 

“This will pass,” Peter promised, “you can have a normal life. You just got back, okay? There is bound to be a few hiccups.”

“This is a pretty damn big one,” I said.

“I know,” Peter chuckled, “it sucks.”

“Okay,” I groaned as I pushed myself to my feet, “I’ve had enough with feeling sorry for myself. Do you know that woman who died in the explosion? Do you know anything about the funeral?”     

“I can probably find out,” he nodded.

“I want to attend it,” I let out a shaky breath. As much as I did want to attend, I did have an ulterior motive. One that did make me feel a little guilty. He nodded slowly as he stood up and pulled out his phone.

“Go back to the dorm and figure out what we’re doing with your door. If you want to run, get someone to go with you. Let me see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” I bowed slightly and started jogging toward the dorm before anything else could be said. He made it back to the dorm building and already found some poor sap on a ladder, scrubbing at the red paint. I sighed as I stepped inside and hurried toward the elevator.

“What happened?” I heard an angry voice call out as I stepped into the hallway. Owen was standing in the doorway with a look of dismay on his face as he tried to stutter out an apology to the short RN who was gesturing wildly at the remains of our door.

“Look,” I spoke up as I walked toward her, “I had some old friends that came by and played rough. Owen thought I was in trouble so he burst in. I’ll pay for it to get fixed.”

Peter will, I corrected in my mind. 

“I’ll have maintenance come by and I’ll email you the bill.”

“I’m paying for it,” Owen stated as the RN stomped off, “I did it. You aren’t paying for it.”

“Neither of us are,” I shrugged, “I’ll get Peter to.”

  “Nice,” Owen chuckled as they both stepped into the room. The room was a mess. Wood splinters covered the carpet. The doorknob was somewhere under my bed. Both our beds were unmade and Owen had clothing thrown about on his. 

“We’re a mess,” I concluded. 

“Indeed we are,” he chuckled. 

“What happened here?” Tom asked from the doorway.

“Owen got a little overexcited. Peter back yet?”

“No,” he shrugged, “I was just going to ask you the same thing.”

“Stay here,” Tom ordered as he left the room.

“He’s bossy,” Owen commented before going to clean up his side of the room. I went to work on mine, pushing the shards into a pile with a binder and making my bed. I hadn’t noticed a third person in the room until I stepped back to find a way to scoop up the wood pieces. 

“Hello,” the man was a scrawny ginger that I immediately recognized. He looked like he had gone through hell with ripped clothing, blood matted hair, and a black eye. His eyes focused on me and a small smile played on his chapped lips, “Alex? Remember me?” 

“You’re Arthur’s brother,” I said, stepping toward him, “I was about to start looking for you. Are you okay?”

“I’ll survive,” he shrugged and winced at the movement, “your friend Amanda found me in...in a dream. I didn’t know projectors could do that.”

“Neither did she,” I said as I grabbed his arm and led him toward my bed, “she thinks you’re in trouble.”

“Because Arthur is trying to get rid of me which is nothing new,” he chuckled bitterly, “my brother had always hated me because I was born luckier than he. I have always been curious about how far he would go but I would have never suspected that he would have done what he did to you and your friends. Or that he’d kill our mom. My mom thought he was getting better and welcomed him back into her life. Look where that got her?”

“I’m sorry,” I offered though I knew it wouldn’t do any good.

“Even when you’re not being sarcastic,” he laughed, “you still sound sarcastic.”

“I don’t know how to shut it off,” I muttered.

“You never have,” he smiled, “good to know that one of you hasn't changed.”

“Sorry to butt in,” Owen said, “but should I call the cops? An ambulance?”

“None of the above,” he chuckled, “neither will help. I’ll be healed in minutes.” 

“So, Arthur,” I said, “where is he?”

“Hell if I know,” he said, “I actively tried to stay away from him. He always found me, though.”

“So, how are you going to help me?” I asked. 

“He’ll come to me,” he said, “or at least, his people will come. They’ve been trying to kill me for the past three days. If you could capture one of them, perhaps you can find out where they’re coming from.”

“That is way above my paygrade,” I muttered.

Amanda found his brother for me. What can she do, read minds now? No, I thought with a roll of my eyes. She just had the same thought process as you. If I could find him, I find Amanda. 

“Okay,” I said as I straightened up, “we need to get you somewhere safe so we can plan our next move. Owen, find Tom, can you?” 

Owen nodded and left the room. I reached for a change of clothes and shoved my glasses onto my face. I could see without them, however, I never got a clear picture. I handed the clothes to the teenager sitting on my bed and sighed. He was just a kid and he had to face the crazy mind of Arthur. 

“I’m sorry you have to go through this,” I said, “the bathroom is down the hall. I’ll stand guard outside.” 

“What can you do?” he asked. He seemed simply curious but also...worried. He might be able to put on a brave face but he was scared. 

He was terrified. 

“You remember who my father is, right?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, “when Arthur first met you, he never shut up about it.”

“Arthur gained his powers,” I told him, “and I gained mine. Trust me.”

“I do.”

With that, we walked into the hallway and toward the showers at the end of the hall. I had a sickening feeling as I leaned against the wall outside of it. 

I wasn’t cut out for this. I wasn’t a fighter. I wasn’t a hero. I was just a terrified kid still doing what others told me to.