Wow, I really never update anymore.
But I do actually write. I think I'll put the silly super-hero story that I'm probably never gonna submit to my creative writing prof on here. I know it needs work. I just HATE revising. SO MUCH.
I also am not a huge fan of the ending. I may also change that. Or I may never look at it again out of contempt. Who knows.
Clay wasn’t sure what was wrong with his roommate. It wasn’t that he was particularly messy, or that he hid weird things under his bed. There was just something about him that seemed a bit off to Clay, and it bothered him to no end. The guy was weird, which was fine, but whenever Clay mentioned it, he just got a blank stare.
For starters, Brant had four computers that he brought to school. Clay wasn’t exactly a geek, but he had done a bit of tinkering with technology; he’d designed his computer himself, even putting it together himself to save some money. But four computers? That’s a little out of ordinary. The guy was a history major, anyway, what did he need them for?
One of the computers even had two monitors. Clay asked to play on them one time, and was answered with a slow blink. Also, none of the monitors were facing away from Brant’s corner, so no one would be able to see what Brant was looking at. And whenever he got up so much as to use the bathroom, he locked whatever computer he was using.
Then there was the issue of his clothes. He was ridiculously wealthy--another super-villain trait--but he had only a dozen shirts to his name. They weren’t even nice shirts; half of them were t-shirts he’d gotten for free for going to some school event. When a guy drives a fully restored 1968 Shelby Mustang, buys the biggest flat-screen TV at Wal-Mart upon arrival because “the car’s too small to hold the TV from home,” and owns four freaking nice computers, he generally dresses to indicate that. At the very least, his rich Mama should have bought him better shoes than his single pair of worn-out Reeboks.
Despite these and other incriminating behaviors of Brant’s, he and Clay were pretty good friends. Clay was more than a little messy and absent-minded, and Brant kept him in line. It had happened so often that Brant didn’t even have to talk most of the time to convey his point, which he much preferred.
“Jump! Jump, you bastard!! DAMMIT!” Clay acted like he was about to throw his controller on the ground, but in reality he wouldn’t dream of hurting it.
The word “MUTE” appeared on the screen in lime-green, and Clay turned to the corner of the room radiating classical music.
“What?”
Brant raised his eyebrow and looked at the radio-clock on Clay’s desk.
“Shit! Thanks, man, if I miss Crowley’s class again she’ll fail me. The bitch.”
Brant’s eyes were already back on the screen. Clay got the hint, grabbed his backpack, and ran. He caught the smug grin on Brant’s face as he left and gave his roommate the one-fingered salute on his way out.
Crowley was on her way to locking the door as he stumbled into the room. She glared at him but couldn’t say anything because he was, for once, on time. He grinned at her as he sat down next to the brunette Philosophy major.
“It may snow today,” she whispered.
“It’s April. In Texas. Snow?”
“As likely to see snow in a Texas April as to see you in a classroom.”
“Very funny,” he said, about to say something else--something witty and inspired, at least, that’s what he hoped would come out of his mouth.
“Mr. Jenkins, we are so happy to have you in class today. I’m sure you came excited to learn something, and would be glad to catch up on socializing once the hour is over.” Dr. Crowley looked much less pleased than she sounded.
Clay shot her a grin, the kind that always got him out of trouble, and made a show of poising his pen to take notes on the lecture.
“Sorry,” the girl whispered. He really wished he could remember her name.
“I’m used to it, don’t worry,” he mumbled, copying the words on the board.
“Miss James, what do you think?”
The Philosophy major responded smoothly, not letting on that she’d just been talking. She was good. And smart.
The rest of class went rather smoothly, and Clay and Jamie, which is what he’d begun calling her in his head, stopped whispering.
After class, he tried to start a conversation with Jamie, but she just smiled at him and told him she had another class to go to. He hid his disappointment behind another smile and waved.
Clay trudged into his dorm, throwing himself onto his bed with a loud sigh.
Brant looked up from behind his techno-wall, settling his headphones into his curly black hair so that he could hear whatever Clay was going to complain about. He didn’t really care to hear about all of the guy’s issues, but sometimes they were funny. There was nothing wrong with a little Schadenfreude, in his opinion.
“Why does the universe hate me?”
Brant rolled his eyes and moved the headphones back to his ears. This was going to be one of those whine-sessions. However, just in case his melodramatic roommate had anything important to complain about, he turned the volume down a bit.
As he listened to Clay waxing remorseful over that Jamie girl, Brant pulled up the schematics on the building he was working this evening. It didn’t look too difficult, just the usual issues, which he was currently working on.
The TV blared from across the room and he glared at it while turning up the volume of his music again. Funny. They were running a story on the Wraith.
Some criminal profiler was giving his professional opinion on what the Wraith was like, and a bulleted list was showing up on the screen as he spoke. Male. Caucasian. Early 30s. Criminal background.
Brant snorted. He didn’t realize he’d made a sound until Clay looked at him. He just shrugged at the look on Clay’s face, to convey that he thought it was funny.
“Man, this is serious business! This guy, he’s like, well, he’s crazy, alright? He just goes to these places, takes stuff, and then moves it somewhere else around the city. There’s no point! The man’s obviously deranged or something.”
“Or maybe he’s bored,” Brant replied.
Clay glared at him and turned back to the television. Once they moved onto a story about the carcinogens in a popular candy, he turned on the PS2 and picked back up from where he had been earlier that afternoon. The roommates settled into their normal roles, with Clay playing video games and Brant on his computers.
Later that evening, Clay shut off the Playstation and stretched loudly.
“Well, I’m gonna go out. Wanna come?” Brant never wanted to come. Now he just asked out of politeness, he didn't actually want Brant to come with.
“No thanks, I have some things I need to do this evening. Have fun without me.” He didn’t look up from his screen.
Clay grabbed his “going out” backpack and headed towards the parking lot. He drove to a construction site, where there was sure to be a Port-a-John he could change in. There was, and he wasn’t sure whether or not he was happy about it.
Shrugging his shoulders and pinching his nose, Clay grabbed his pack and locked himself in. The first few times he did this, he’d had to change completely out of his normal clothes and completely into his other ones. He’d finally gotten smart and began changing as much as possible beforehand and putting normal clothes on top.
This time all he had to do was strip off his jeans and T-shirt, slide the elastic shirts on, strap on his aviator cap and goggles, and attach the cape. Sometimes he thought about leaving the cape off, but then he thought he looked stupid, so he always wore it.
That bastard Wraith was almost definitely coming out tonight. Clay just had to figure out where he would be attacking, and then catch him and keep him from taking stuff...and then moving that stuff somewhere else. He really didn’t understand why Wraith did what he did, but he knew he had to stop him.
The guy on the news had said that Wraith probably did it as a way of getting attention. He’d warned that Wraith was mentally unstable and would probably respond with violence, should someone try to stop him. Clay snorted as he threw his clothes back into the car. Wraith had never been that violent, just infuriating.
Thinking over the places that Wraith had hit lately, he figured that his next target would probably be the Natural History museum. His last three hits had been on places with precious gems, and there was a fairly famous necklace in this museum.
Clay hovered over the museum, watching the sides as best as he could. This would be so much easier if that bastard couldn’t just walk through walls.
Movement at the south wall caught his attention. It was Wraith, walking in like he wasn’t going through over a foot of concrete and cinder-block. Flying around to the room where he knew the necklace was, Clay watched through the window to see the dark-blue clad villain come up the stairs.
Wraith was breathing heavily from the stairs. He couldn’t take the elevator because that would attract unwanted attention, but he hated taking the stairs. It wouldn’t be so bad if the necklace weren’t on the 5th floor. Glancing at the camera, satisfied with the knowledge that it was just showing a loop of the previous evening at this time, he allowed himself a small smile.
Clay glared at the grin his enemy was sporting. He couldn’t see his mouth, covered as it was by his mask, but his eyes were crinkled around the edges, so Clay could tell.
The thief’s eyes went serious as they found the necklace. It was blue diamond, and Clay could see why someone would want to steal it. The security around it was impressive, but couldn’t do much for someone like Wraith.
Every time Clay saw him do it, he was impressed despite himself. The glass was thick and bullet-proof, but that couldn’t stop the darkly-clad man inside. His hand reached for the necklace, as though there was nothing there, and grasped it in his fist. Once the chain and gems were gathered, his face tightened in concentration as he slowly drew them out.
Now he had to figure out where the criminal was going to be exiting the building. Things would be so much easier if the man took doors, like everyone else. Or if he could ever be relied on to leave from the same place he came in.
Muttering under his breath, Clay flew higher so he could see more sides of the building.
Then Clay was pretty sure the universe did hate him. It started to rain.
Making sure his goggles had a good seal on his face, he continued to watch for Wraith. The bastard wasn’t getting away with doing something weird with the necklace. It was his job to protect the people and culture of this city from creeps like Wraith, and nothing was going to stop him from doing that.
Clay groaned when he saw cop cars pulling into the parking lot along the north side of the building, sirens and lights obnoxiously beating their way through the serenity of the late-night drizzle. Sometimes he thought that the villains and criminals were less annoying than the police who were supposed to be stopping them. Perhaps if they actually did their job and helped to catch the bad guys, he wouldn’t mind so much. As it was, they generally just made things more difficult.
There. The eastern side of the building was the only one that didn’t have any sort of pavement next to it--some sort of conservation project by the museum to make people think they were concerned about “going green” and “giving back to the land” (of course, the free publicity they got as a result increased museum traffic significantly). Among the shrubs, Clay could see a shadowy figure.
A smug little grin barely had time to flit across his face before he dove. In the brief time it took Clay to dive, he reveled in the sensation. This was what he lived for. The wind whistled by his ears as the light rain stung his cheeks and he hurtled towards the ground fast enough to make the falcons jealous. Clay never felt so in control as he did when he was airborne.
Wraith noticed him just as he began to dive, and the criminal began to zigzag between shrubs and saplings, kicking up mud, even though he must have known he could never throw him off. Some people were impressed with Clay’s strength, even though he would never win the World’s Strongest Man competition (although he would be a contender), but everyone knew about his prowess in the air. Escape, when he was above, was impossible.
Fortunately for Wraith, he didn’t have to rely on being faster than Clay. The blond landed practically on top of his opponent and swung, only to see his fist go through the smug bastard’s face, wrenching his shoulder painfully.
“Well well,” Wraith’s muffled voice sounded far too amused, “How’s everyone’s favorite bug doing this evening?”
“Shut up bastard,” Clay shot back. He hated the name the papers gave him. “You need to hand over that necklace right now, or things are going to get really bad for you.”
The skinny man’s eyes opened widely and he laid a gloved hand on his chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I was just out for a stroll, thought I’d take a look at the museum, seeing as I was on this side of town.” He made no attempt to unclench his left hand.
Faster than the darkly-clad trickster was expecting, Clay’s hand shot out and grabbed the cloth that fit tightly across Wraith’s chest. Using the villain’s surprise against him, Clay dragged him towards him.
As quickly as he’d gotten a hold on him, Clay found himself empty handed. Before he could think about it too much, Clay kicked at Wraith’s shins, missed, and then threw another punch, holding back and expecting the miss. His actions were confusing Wraith, who had never allowed himself to be hit before and sure wasn’t going to start now, but Clay had a plan.
After his left fist should have hit Wraith in the middle of his chest, his right hand shot out and grabbed at the other man’s left hand. Reacting as he always did, by making the part of him being attacked intangible, he forgot to focus on making the necklace intangible as well. His face when he noticed the trick expressed surprise and a little admiration.
Clay knew the cops would be mad at him for not trying to catch Wraith, but he knew there was no way. The guy was impossible to touch, let alone capture, so he figured he might as well take the necklace and run while he could.
Throwing a wink at the criminal, Clay took to the air. Wraith couldn’t find it within him to glare. There was no helping it, he’d been caught. He could probably go back in and steal something else, but the only thing in this museum worth taking was the necklace.
As soon as Clay landed among the flashing lights, reporters and police swarmed him. Television reporters, with their cameramen trained on him, thrust microphones towards his face. Newspaper reporters just used their handheld recorders to catch anything he might say. Despite the overwhelming urge to throw the necklace at the chief of police and fly as fast as he could away from those crazies, Clay steeled himself and gently pushed his way through the crowd, using his above-average-but-not-quite-super strength to keep even the most energetic interrogator at bay.
“Bumblebee! Bumblebee! How does it feel to be beaten by Wraith yet again?”
“Bumblebee, why didn’t you catch Wraith?”
“Bumblebee, where do you think he’ll strike next?”
“Bumblebee, what do you think about the way the museum is trying to promote environmental awareness?”
When he got to the police cars, he made a note to take some ibuprofen when he got home. He really hated those lights.
“Well, Bumble, what’s the damage?”
“Don’t call me that, Chief. And here’s the necklace. It’s literally impossible to catch this guy.”
“You just didn’t try hard enough! You’re not even winded. How do you know you can’t catch him?”
Clay bit back several four-lettered names for the chief of police. “Sir, I punched the exact same place his body was. Lots of times. And I didn’t hit him. I didn’t miss, but I didn’t freaking hit him. The only way I did grab him was by the shirt, and like, half a second after that, I wasn’t grabbing him anymore. His shirt didn’t slip from my fingers. The guy’s a f--, freaking ghost or something. I swear.”
The chief looked like he didn’t appreciate being talked down to, but he couldn’t say much to the superhero standing in front of him.
“Well, at least you got the necklace. Good work, Bumblebee.”
Some of the other cops snickered at the name. Clay would’ve glared at them, but even he could agree that it was probably funny to the people who didn’t have to have the name. Stupid reporters.
Black and yellow had been the only color scheme possible the first time he went out as a superhero. Add to that his not-insignificant flying ability, and apparently he looked like a cute little honey-maker. He’d worried about whether or not he was fat for weeks after that, until Brant had looked at him like he was stupid and told him that medium shirts didn’t fit fat people loosely and to shut up, thanks.
“Thanks, Chief. Maybe he’ll slow down, now that he knows I can stop him.” He turned to the cameras and assumed a hopefully manly pose. “Don’t worry, fellow citizens, I will continue to be on the look out for this creep, Wraith. You can sleep safe and sound tonight. As for you, Wraith, you better watch out. I’m not gonna let you get away with this stuff anymore.”
Satisfied that he’d done his sacred duty as a hero, Clay took to the skies. It was raining a little harder, so he didn’t fly as fast as he usually would.
On his way back to the construction site, he thought about whether or not he really wanted to keep up the superhero thing. The cops never gave him any credit for doing their jobs, reporters always gave him trouble for not doing the cops’ jobs well enough, and late nights were starting to give him failing grades in his classes.
And it didn’t even get him any girls--revealing his true identity was not an option for a few reasons, the main two being the ruin of college life and his death at the hands of his mother.
As though his thoughts had summoned it, his phone started ringing in his pocket. Clay dropped his speed so that he’d be able to carry on a conversation without the interference of wind noise.
“Hey.”
“I just saw the news. Congratulations on your first time foiling the plans of a villain! Too bad you couldn’t catch him, though.”
“Nice to hear from you, Mom.”
“So how did it feel? Did you get hurt? Tell me all about it!”
“It felt pretty good,” he admitted, “and I didn’t get hurt. As if that stick-man could hurt me. The bast--uh, the jerk is just impossible to catch. Literally. Please don’t make me explain. Also, reporters are terrifying and cops are jerks. I don’t know how Dad does it.”
His mother made a sympathetic noise, and Clay immediately felt better. She didn’t have any powers, but his dad had super-strength and some limited flying ability and had been stopping crime for a couple decades. Clay was beginning to understand why his dad never had anything good to say about police or media people.
By the time they said goodbye, Clay was back at the port-a-john. Stuffing the cape, shirt, and hat back into the backpack, Clay walked back to the car and yawned so hard his jaw creaked. When he started the ignition, he swore at the time the clock displayed.
At the bottom of the stairs at his dorm, he entertained the thought of just flying up the stairs, but that was too risky. Groaning, he trudged up the stairs, stomping on each step. The stairs didn’t seem to care.
He threw open his door and complained loudly about everything from the rain to the hour. Brant just looked at him, damp hair falling into his dark eyes, and blinked a few times. Clay took this to mean, “You’re an idiot,” but he didn’t care what Brant’s eyes said.
“Whatever, man, I’m taking a shower.” Something about Brant’s eyes were weird tonight. He wasn’t sure what it was, they didn’t seem different, but he just shrugged it off. He was probably just too tired to think clearly.
There was mud in the bottom of the shower, which was both annoying and confusing. The only person who used the shower was Brant, and it wasn’t very likely that he’d go far enough from technology to come in contact with mud.
In the shower, he thought more about his dad’s career. Sure, he was loved by the locals, but that was only after several years had passed and even more villains had been apprehended. Sometimes the villains showed more appreciation for his work than the people he protected. Maybe that had something to do with why his dad was rarely upset when some criminals escaped.
Clay thought about the way Wraith looked when he managed to take the necklace from him. He had been impressed, which was more than he could say for anyone else. His eyes had been comically wide at that point, as well, and had made Clay want to gloat.
Maybe if he could figure out Wraith’s true identity, he could somehow stop him. After all, he could threaten to reveal him and ruin his job and friendships and everything else about his life. Anyone would give in to a threat like that.
And then, Clay would be free. No more seeing his own face on TV, or hearing his friends talk about the cool things that they didn’t know he did, or feeling the thrill of stopping a criminal from doing evil deeds.
He frowned as he rinsed the shampoo from his hair. The idea didn’t sound as appealing as it should. Then he shrugged and finished washing. The likelihood of discovering Wraith’s true identity was ridiculously low.
When he dried off and put on his sleep pants, he spent a couple seconds admiring himself in the mirror. Despite Brant’s assurance that he wasn’t fat, the perceived insult had spurred him into working out more, and now he had reasonable tone to his torso. Maybe he should wear a tight shirt to class Friday, so that Jamie could see.
Still toweling his short hair, he walked into the dorm room fully intending to complain about the mess left in the tub. He still wasn’t sure how Brant of all people could have gotten into mud, but he’d been yelled at the last time he tracked dirt into the room, so he figured that turnaround was only fair.
Brant was on the phone with his sister in Tokyo. Clay didn’t feel like being a jerk and interrupting, so he just waited for a few minutes for Brant to notice him.
On the floor, mostly under Brant’s bed, he caught sight of a dark blue Under Armour shirt with mud on it. He hadn’t known that Brant even owned any Under Armour, and he sure couldn’t understand why it was muddy.
Hoping that it would help him concentrate on his homework, Clay opened a bag of chips and began munching loudly. Because he didn’t really care whether or not it was rude, he also started listening in on Brant’s conversation.
“It’s fun to screw with their minds. They’re freaking out over nothing and then going on about how I’m probably crazy. Plus, it’s good practice, and you know how Mom’s always getting onto me to practice more.”
“Look, I was surprised, ok? I wasn’t expecting him to do something like that.”
“No, I don’t need your help. You should stay in Tokyo, you’re doing some good work there, I hear.”
“I know, I know. But you understand right? I didn’t have time to react. I never expected that ridiculous bug to do something so tricky.”
Clay abruptly stopped chewing. Brant was still talking, but Clay couldn’t hear what he was saying. Brant had taken a shower shortly before Clay got home. There had been mud left in the shower. There was a muddy tight-fitting dark blue shirt under Brant’s bed. He’d called someone a bug.
Then he shook his head. He was just so tired and annoyed that he was making ridiculous connections. After all, the news guy had said that Wraith was probably a lot older.
He didn’t hear Brant get up, so he jumped when he noticed his roommate standing right in front of him, looking worried.
“Are you feeling ok?” Brant reached out to touch his shoulder. Clay flinched and drew back quickly. Brant’s eyes widened in surprise, and Clay knew.
“What’s wrong with you tonight? Surely you didn’t get any alcohol at whatever party you were at.” His face was the same face that Clay had always seen. This was his friend.
All of the reasons he didn’t want to be a hero anymore flashed through his mind. He could turn in Wraith, his roommate, and not have to worry about staying out late trying to stop him from taking stuff. He could just let the authorities deal with him however they wanted to. Plus, he’d get the room to himself.
“No, it’s just Clay. You know, my roommate? He’s freaking out over something, like he always does.”
Clay didn’t realize that Brant was still talking to his sister. Brant was still giving him a weird look, but he looked amused.
“I’m not going to do that, I don’t want to live alone. Besides, the loser needs me.”
That sentence gave him pause. He really did need Brant. No one else was going to remind him when to go to class. There wasn’t another friend he could complain about his life to. Really, Clay didn’t have any friends he was closer to than Brant--he pretended to, to excuse his late nights out, but being a superhero and a student took up most of his time.
In a way, he needed Wraith as well. Wraith was his first villain, and he kept Clay on his toes. He gave Clay what he needed to be a superhero.
When Brant hung up the phone, Clay had made his decision.
“Need you? Yeah, whatever. You left mud in the bathtub, by the way. It’s annoying.”
Brant gave Clay his signature stare. Then he shoved Clay’s head to the side before going back to his corner.
Clay smirked and cracked his math book open. He had twenty-five problems due in 6 hours.
I also am not a huge fan of the ending. I may also change that. Or I may never look at it again out of contempt. Who knows.
Clay wasn’t sure what was wrong with his roommate. It wasn’t that he was particularly messy, or that he hid weird things under his bed. There was just something about him that seemed a bit off to Clay, and it bothered him to no end. The guy was weird, which was fine, but whenever Clay mentioned it, he just got a blank stare.
For starters, Brant had four computers that he brought to school. Clay wasn’t exactly a geek, but he had done a bit of tinkering with technology; he’d designed his computer himself, even putting it together himself to save some money. But four computers? That’s a little out of ordinary. The guy was a history major, anyway, what did he need them for?
One of the computers even had two monitors. Clay asked to play on them one time, and was answered with a slow blink. Also, none of the monitors were facing away from Brant’s corner, so no one would be able to see what Brant was looking at. And whenever he got up so much as to use the bathroom, he locked whatever computer he was using.
Then there was the issue of his clothes. He was ridiculously wealthy--another super-villain trait--but he had only a dozen shirts to his name. They weren’t even nice shirts; half of them were t-shirts he’d gotten for free for going to some school event. When a guy drives a fully restored 1968 Shelby Mustang, buys the biggest flat-screen TV at Wal-Mart upon arrival because “the car’s too small to hold the TV from home,” and owns four freaking nice computers, he generally dresses to indicate that. At the very least, his rich Mama should have bought him better shoes than his single pair of worn-out Reeboks.
Despite these and other incriminating behaviors of Brant’s, he and Clay were pretty good friends. Clay was more than a little messy and absent-minded, and Brant kept him in line. It had happened so often that Brant didn’t even have to talk most of the time to convey his point, which he much preferred.
“Jump! Jump, you bastard!! DAMMIT!” Clay acted like he was about to throw his controller on the ground, but in reality he wouldn’t dream of hurting it.
The word “MUTE” appeared on the screen in lime-green, and Clay turned to the corner of the room radiating classical music.
“What?”
Brant raised his eyebrow and looked at the radio-clock on Clay’s desk.
“Shit! Thanks, man, if I miss Crowley’s class again she’ll fail me. The bitch.”
Brant’s eyes were already back on the screen. Clay got the hint, grabbed his backpack, and ran. He caught the smug grin on Brant’s face as he left and gave his roommate the one-fingered salute on his way out.
Crowley was on her way to locking the door as he stumbled into the room. She glared at him but couldn’t say anything because he was, for once, on time. He grinned at her as he sat down next to the brunette Philosophy major.
“It may snow today,” she whispered.
“It’s April. In Texas. Snow?”
“As likely to see snow in a Texas April as to see you in a classroom.”
“Very funny,” he said, about to say something else--something witty and inspired, at least, that’s what he hoped would come out of his mouth.
“Mr. Jenkins, we are so happy to have you in class today. I’m sure you came excited to learn something, and would be glad to catch up on socializing once the hour is over.” Dr. Crowley looked much less pleased than she sounded.
Clay shot her a grin, the kind that always got him out of trouble, and made a show of poising his pen to take notes on the lecture.
“Sorry,” the girl whispered. He really wished he could remember her name.
“I’m used to it, don’t worry,” he mumbled, copying the words on the board.
“Miss James, what do you think?”
The Philosophy major responded smoothly, not letting on that she’d just been talking. She was good. And smart.
The rest of class went rather smoothly, and Clay and Jamie, which is what he’d begun calling her in his head, stopped whispering.
After class, he tried to start a conversation with Jamie, but she just smiled at him and told him she had another class to go to. He hid his disappointment behind another smile and waved.
Clay trudged into his dorm, throwing himself onto his bed with a loud sigh.
Brant looked up from behind his techno-wall, settling his headphones into his curly black hair so that he could hear whatever Clay was going to complain about. He didn’t really care to hear about all of the guy’s issues, but sometimes they were funny. There was nothing wrong with a little Schadenfreude, in his opinion.
“Why does the universe hate me?”
Brant rolled his eyes and moved the headphones back to his ears. This was going to be one of those whine-sessions. However, just in case his melodramatic roommate had anything important to complain about, he turned the volume down a bit.
As he listened to Clay waxing remorseful over that Jamie girl, Brant pulled up the schematics on the building he was working this evening. It didn’t look too difficult, just the usual issues, which he was currently working on.
The TV blared from across the room and he glared at it while turning up the volume of his music again. Funny. They were running a story on the Wraith.
Some criminal profiler was giving his professional opinion on what the Wraith was like, and a bulleted list was showing up on the screen as he spoke. Male. Caucasian. Early 30s. Criminal background.
Brant snorted. He didn’t realize he’d made a sound until Clay looked at him. He just shrugged at the look on Clay’s face, to convey that he thought it was funny.
“Man, this is serious business! This guy, he’s like, well, he’s crazy, alright? He just goes to these places, takes stuff, and then moves it somewhere else around the city. There’s no point! The man’s obviously deranged or something.”
“Or maybe he’s bored,” Brant replied.
Clay glared at him and turned back to the television. Once they moved onto a story about the carcinogens in a popular candy, he turned on the PS2 and picked back up from where he had been earlier that afternoon. The roommates settled into their normal roles, with Clay playing video games and Brant on his computers.
Later that evening, Clay shut off the Playstation and stretched loudly.
“Well, I’m gonna go out. Wanna come?” Brant never wanted to come. Now he just asked out of politeness, he didn't actually want Brant to come with.
“No thanks, I have some things I need to do this evening. Have fun without me.” He didn’t look up from his screen.
Clay grabbed his “going out” backpack and headed towards the parking lot. He drove to a construction site, where there was sure to be a Port-a-John he could change in. There was, and he wasn’t sure whether or not he was happy about it.
Shrugging his shoulders and pinching his nose, Clay grabbed his pack and locked himself in. The first few times he did this, he’d had to change completely out of his normal clothes and completely into his other ones. He’d finally gotten smart and began changing as much as possible beforehand and putting normal clothes on top.
This time all he had to do was strip off his jeans and T-shirt, slide the elastic shirts on, strap on his aviator cap and goggles, and attach the cape. Sometimes he thought about leaving the cape off, but then he thought he looked stupid, so he always wore it.
That bastard Wraith was almost definitely coming out tonight. Clay just had to figure out where he would be attacking, and then catch him and keep him from taking stuff...and then moving that stuff somewhere else. He really didn’t understand why Wraith did what he did, but he knew he had to stop him.
The guy on the news had said that Wraith probably did it as a way of getting attention. He’d warned that Wraith was mentally unstable and would probably respond with violence, should someone try to stop him. Clay snorted as he threw his clothes back into the car. Wraith had never been that violent, just infuriating.
Thinking over the places that Wraith had hit lately, he figured that his next target would probably be the Natural History museum. His last three hits had been on places with precious gems, and there was a fairly famous necklace in this museum.
Clay hovered over the museum, watching the sides as best as he could. This would be so much easier if that bastard couldn’t just walk through walls.
Movement at the south wall caught his attention. It was Wraith, walking in like he wasn’t going through over a foot of concrete and cinder-block. Flying around to the room where he knew the necklace was, Clay watched through the window to see the dark-blue clad villain come up the stairs.
Wraith was breathing heavily from the stairs. He couldn’t take the elevator because that would attract unwanted attention, but he hated taking the stairs. It wouldn’t be so bad if the necklace weren’t on the 5th floor. Glancing at the camera, satisfied with the knowledge that it was just showing a loop of the previous evening at this time, he allowed himself a small smile.
Clay glared at the grin his enemy was sporting. He couldn’t see his mouth, covered as it was by his mask, but his eyes were crinkled around the edges, so Clay could tell.
The thief’s eyes went serious as they found the necklace. It was blue diamond, and Clay could see why someone would want to steal it. The security around it was impressive, but couldn’t do much for someone like Wraith.
Every time Clay saw him do it, he was impressed despite himself. The glass was thick and bullet-proof, but that couldn’t stop the darkly-clad man inside. His hand reached for the necklace, as though there was nothing there, and grasped it in his fist. Once the chain and gems were gathered, his face tightened in concentration as he slowly drew them out.
Now he had to figure out where the criminal was going to be exiting the building. Things would be so much easier if the man took doors, like everyone else. Or if he could ever be relied on to leave from the same place he came in.
Muttering under his breath, Clay flew higher so he could see more sides of the building.
Then Clay was pretty sure the universe did hate him. It started to rain.
Making sure his goggles had a good seal on his face, he continued to watch for Wraith. The bastard wasn’t getting away with doing something weird with the necklace. It was his job to protect the people and culture of this city from creeps like Wraith, and nothing was going to stop him from doing that.
Clay groaned when he saw cop cars pulling into the parking lot along the north side of the building, sirens and lights obnoxiously beating their way through the serenity of the late-night drizzle. Sometimes he thought that the villains and criminals were less annoying than the police who were supposed to be stopping them. Perhaps if they actually did their job and helped to catch the bad guys, he wouldn’t mind so much. As it was, they generally just made things more difficult.
There. The eastern side of the building was the only one that didn’t have any sort of pavement next to it--some sort of conservation project by the museum to make people think they were concerned about “going green” and “giving back to the land” (of course, the free publicity they got as a result increased museum traffic significantly). Among the shrubs, Clay could see a shadowy figure.
A smug little grin barely had time to flit across his face before he dove. In the brief time it took Clay to dive, he reveled in the sensation. This was what he lived for. The wind whistled by his ears as the light rain stung his cheeks and he hurtled towards the ground fast enough to make the falcons jealous. Clay never felt so in control as he did when he was airborne.
Wraith noticed him just as he began to dive, and the criminal began to zigzag between shrubs and saplings, kicking up mud, even though he must have known he could never throw him off. Some people were impressed with Clay’s strength, even though he would never win the World’s Strongest Man competition (although he would be a contender), but everyone knew about his prowess in the air. Escape, when he was above, was impossible.
Fortunately for Wraith, he didn’t have to rely on being faster than Clay. The blond landed practically on top of his opponent and swung, only to see his fist go through the smug bastard’s face, wrenching his shoulder painfully.
“Well well,” Wraith’s muffled voice sounded far too amused, “How’s everyone’s favorite bug doing this evening?”
“Shut up bastard,” Clay shot back. He hated the name the papers gave him. “You need to hand over that necklace right now, or things are going to get really bad for you.”
The skinny man’s eyes opened widely and he laid a gloved hand on his chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I was just out for a stroll, thought I’d take a look at the museum, seeing as I was on this side of town.” He made no attempt to unclench his left hand.
Faster than the darkly-clad trickster was expecting, Clay’s hand shot out and grabbed the cloth that fit tightly across Wraith’s chest. Using the villain’s surprise against him, Clay dragged him towards him.
As quickly as he’d gotten a hold on him, Clay found himself empty handed. Before he could think about it too much, Clay kicked at Wraith’s shins, missed, and then threw another punch, holding back and expecting the miss. His actions were confusing Wraith, who had never allowed himself to be hit before and sure wasn’t going to start now, but Clay had a plan.
After his left fist should have hit Wraith in the middle of his chest, his right hand shot out and grabbed at the other man’s left hand. Reacting as he always did, by making the part of him being attacked intangible, he forgot to focus on making the necklace intangible as well. His face when he noticed the trick expressed surprise and a little admiration.
Clay knew the cops would be mad at him for not trying to catch Wraith, but he knew there was no way. The guy was impossible to touch, let alone capture, so he figured he might as well take the necklace and run while he could.
Throwing a wink at the criminal, Clay took to the air. Wraith couldn’t find it within him to glare. There was no helping it, he’d been caught. He could probably go back in and steal something else, but the only thing in this museum worth taking was the necklace.
As soon as Clay landed among the flashing lights, reporters and police swarmed him. Television reporters, with their cameramen trained on him, thrust microphones towards his face. Newspaper reporters just used their handheld recorders to catch anything he might say. Despite the overwhelming urge to throw the necklace at the chief of police and fly as fast as he could away from those crazies, Clay steeled himself and gently pushed his way through the crowd, using his above-average-but-not-quite-super strength to keep even the most energetic interrogator at bay.
“Bumblebee! Bumblebee! How does it feel to be beaten by Wraith yet again?”
“Bumblebee, why didn’t you catch Wraith?”
“Bumblebee, where do you think he’ll strike next?”
“Bumblebee, what do you think about the way the museum is trying to promote environmental awareness?”
When he got to the police cars, he made a note to take some ibuprofen when he got home. He really hated those lights.
“Well, Bumble, what’s the damage?”
“Don’t call me that, Chief. And here’s the necklace. It’s literally impossible to catch this guy.”
“You just didn’t try hard enough! You’re not even winded. How do you know you can’t catch him?”
Clay bit back several four-lettered names for the chief of police. “Sir, I punched the exact same place his body was. Lots of times. And I didn’t hit him. I didn’t miss, but I didn’t freaking hit him. The only way I did grab him was by the shirt, and like, half a second after that, I wasn’t grabbing him anymore. His shirt didn’t slip from my fingers. The guy’s a f--, freaking ghost or something. I swear.”
The chief looked like he didn’t appreciate being talked down to, but he couldn’t say much to the superhero standing in front of him.
“Well, at least you got the necklace. Good work, Bumblebee.”
Some of the other cops snickered at the name. Clay would’ve glared at them, but even he could agree that it was probably funny to the people who didn’t have to have the name. Stupid reporters.
Black and yellow had been the only color scheme possible the first time he went out as a superhero. Add to that his not-insignificant flying ability, and apparently he looked like a cute little honey-maker. He’d worried about whether or not he was fat for weeks after that, until Brant had looked at him like he was stupid and told him that medium shirts didn’t fit fat people loosely and to shut up, thanks.
“Thanks, Chief. Maybe he’ll slow down, now that he knows I can stop him.” He turned to the cameras and assumed a hopefully manly pose. “Don’t worry, fellow citizens, I will continue to be on the look out for this creep, Wraith. You can sleep safe and sound tonight. As for you, Wraith, you better watch out. I’m not gonna let you get away with this stuff anymore.”
Satisfied that he’d done his sacred duty as a hero, Clay took to the skies. It was raining a little harder, so he didn’t fly as fast as he usually would.
On his way back to the construction site, he thought about whether or not he really wanted to keep up the superhero thing. The cops never gave him any credit for doing their jobs, reporters always gave him trouble for not doing the cops’ jobs well enough, and late nights were starting to give him failing grades in his classes.
And it didn’t even get him any girls--revealing his true identity was not an option for a few reasons, the main two being the ruin of college life and his death at the hands of his mother.
As though his thoughts had summoned it, his phone started ringing in his pocket. Clay dropped his speed so that he’d be able to carry on a conversation without the interference of wind noise.
“Hey.”
“I just saw the news. Congratulations on your first time foiling the plans of a villain! Too bad you couldn’t catch him, though.”
“Nice to hear from you, Mom.”
“So how did it feel? Did you get hurt? Tell me all about it!”
“It felt pretty good,” he admitted, “and I didn’t get hurt. As if that stick-man could hurt me. The bast--uh, the jerk is just impossible to catch. Literally. Please don’t make me explain. Also, reporters are terrifying and cops are jerks. I don’t know how Dad does it.”
His mother made a sympathetic noise, and Clay immediately felt better. She didn’t have any powers, but his dad had super-strength and some limited flying ability and had been stopping crime for a couple decades. Clay was beginning to understand why his dad never had anything good to say about police or media people.
By the time they said goodbye, Clay was back at the port-a-john. Stuffing the cape, shirt, and hat back into the backpack, Clay walked back to the car and yawned so hard his jaw creaked. When he started the ignition, he swore at the time the clock displayed.
At the bottom of the stairs at his dorm, he entertained the thought of just flying up the stairs, but that was too risky. Groaning, he trudged up the stairs, stomping on each step. The stairs didn’t seem to care.
He threw open his door and complained loudly about everything from the rain to the hour. Brant just looked at him, damp hair falling into his dark eyes, and blinked a few times. Clay took this to mean, “You’re an idiot,” but he didn’t care what Brant’s eyes said.
“Whatever, man, I’m taking a shower.” Something about Brant’s eyes were weird tonight. He wasn’t sure what it was, they didn’t seem different, but he just shrugged it off. He was probably just too tired to think clearly.
There was mud in the bottom of the shower, which was both annoying and confusing. The only person who used the shower was Brant, and it wasn’t very likely that he’d go far enough from technology to come in contact with mud.
In the shower, he thought more about his dad’s career. Sure, he was loved by the locals, but that was only after several years had passed and even more villains had been apprehended. Sometimes the villains showed more appreciation for his work than the people he protected. Maybe that had something to do with why his dad was rarely upset when some criminals escaped.
Clay thought about the way Wraith looked when he managed to take the necklace from him. He had been impressed, which was more than he could say for anyone else. His eyes had been comically wide at that point, as well, and had made Clay want to gloat.
Maybe if he could figure out Wraith’s true identity, he could somehow stop him. After all, he could threaten to reveal him and ruin his job and friendships and everything else about his life. Anyone would give in to a threat like that.
And then, Clay would be free. No more seeing his own face on TV, or hearing his friends talk about the cool things that they didn’t know he did, or feeling the thrill of stopping a criminal from doing evil deeds.
He frowned as he rinsed the shampoo from his hair. The idea didn’t sound as appealing as it should. Then he shrugged and finished washing. The likelihood of discovering Wraith’s true identity was ridiculously low.
When he dried off and put on his sleep pants, he spent a couple seconds admiring himself in the mirror. Despite Brant’s assurance that he wasn’t fat, the perceived insult had spurred him into working out more, and now he had reasonable tone to his torso. Maybe he should wear a tight shirt to class Friday, so that Jamie could see.
Still toweling his short hair, he walked into the dorm room fully intending to complain about the mess left in the tub. He still wasn’t sure how Brant of all people could have gotten into mud, but he’d been yelled at the last time he tracked dirt into the room, so he figured that turnaround was only fair.
Brant was on the phone with his sister in Tokyo. Clay didn’t feel like being a jerk and interrupting, so he just waited for a few minutes for Brant to notice him.
On the floor, mostly under Brant’s bed, he caught sight of a dark blue Under Armour shirt with mud on it. He hadn’t known that Brant even owned any Under Armour, and he sure couldn’t understand why it was muddy.
Hoping that it would help him concentrate on his homework, Clay opened a bag of chips and began munching loudly. Because he didn’t really care whether or not it was rude, he also started listening in on Brant’s conversation.
“It’s fun to screw with their minds. They’re freaking out over nothing and then going on about how I’m probably crazy. Plus, it’s good practice, and you know how Mom’s always getting onto me to practice more.”
“Look, I was surprised, ok? I wasn’t expecting him to do something like that.”
“No, I don’t need your help. You should stay in Tokyo, you’re doing some good work there, I hear.”
“I know, I know. But you understand right? I didn’t have time to react. I never expected that ridiculous bug to do something so tricky.”
Clay abruptly stopped chewing. Brant was still talking, but Clay couldn’t hear what he was saying. Brant had taken a shower shortly before Clay got home. There had been mud left in the shower. There was a muddy tight-fitting dark blue shirt under Brant’s bed. He’d called someone a bug.
Then he shook his head. He was just so tired and annoyed that he was making ridiculous connections. After all, the news guy had said that Wraith was probably a lot older.
He didn’t hear Brant get up, so he jumped when he noticed his roommate standing right in front of him, looking worried.
“Are you feeling ok?” Brant reached out to touch his shoulder. Clay flinched and drew back quickly. Brant’s eyes widened in surprise, and Clay knew.
“What’s wrong with you tonight? Surely you didn’t get any alcohol at whatever party you were at.” His face was the same face that Clay had always seen. This was his friend.
All of the reasons he didn’t want to be a hero anymore flashed through his mind. He could turn in Wraith, his roommate, and not have to worry about staying out late trying to stop him from taking stuff. He could just let the authorities deal with him however they wanted to. Plus, he’d get the room to himself.
“No, it’s just Clay. You know, my roommate? He’s freaking out over something, like he always does.”
Clay didn’t realize that Brant was still talking to his sister. Brant was still giving him a weird look, but he looked amused.
“I’m not going to do that, I don’t want to live alone. Besides, the loser needs me.”
That sentence gave him pause. He really did need Brant. No one else was going to remind him when to go to class. There wasn’t another friend he could complain about his life to. Really, Clay didn’t have any friends he was closer to than Brant--he pretended to, to excuse his late nights out, but being a superhero and a student took up most of his time.
In a way, he needed Wraith as well. Wraith was his first villain, and he kept Clay on his toes. He gave Clay what he needed to be a superhero.
When Brant hung up the phone, Clay had made his decision.
“Need you? Yeah, whatever. You left mud in the bathtub, by the way. It’s annoying.”
Brant gave Clay his signature stare. Then he shoved Clay’s head to the side before going back to his corner.
Clay smirked and cracked his math book open. He had twenty-five problems due in 6 hours.