20

Chapter 20: Trust 3-3

Trust 3.3

Thursday morning wound up being much better than the previous two days. I woke up well-rested and feeling normal, rather than lethargic, and there was a huge weight that had been taken off my shoulders.

I'd told Dad about the bullying, about Emma and her cronies and what they had been doing to me, and the secret burden I'd been carrying about every day had been put out into the open. He was… It was hard to say, exactly. I didn't think "better" was quite the word, but he'd regained some of the fire that had been missing since Mom died.

Then, I'd told Lisa everything — the bullying, the whole situation with Sophia and Shadow Stalker, everything — and not only had she been completely supportive and understanding, but when it was all said and done, she'd hugged me. Not just a quick, half-hearted one, either, but a full-blown, I'm-gonna-squeeze-til-the-stuffing-comes-out bear hug; she'd caught me off guard, first with the hug, then with exactly how much strength she had in those arms of hers.

It said something about my life that I'd gotten so unused to having a friend to hug me when I needed one that Lisa's had shocked me as much as it did.

So, I woke up feeling not happy, exactly, but maybe content. I had a friend, now, who couldn't be swayed by Emma's good looks and popularity, who wouldn't turn her back on me for something as petty as being on the good side of Winslow's top bitch. I had a friend that the Trio couldn't chase away, that no one in that wretched hell could take away from me.

If only I'd had Lisa two years ago, I thought longingly, back when everything started.

That contentment was probably the reason why I woke up later than usual. It was already pushing nine when I rolled out of bed and checked my clock, and Dad had to have been long gone, already. He hadn't really talked much at dinner, last night, probably because of how tired he must have been, but I had to imagine that he would have told me if things had gone well with Principal Blackwell, so he must have gone to have another meeting with her, today.

Give her hell, Dad, I thought fondly, wishing him luck.

Note to self: enchant Dad's bed sometime soon, too. He deserved to get a good night's sleep just as much as I did and probably needed it more.

Like I thought, the kitchen was empty when I made my way downstairs, my running shoes dangling from one hand, although the lingering scent of food remained. There was, however, a note stuck to the microwave that simply said "BREAKFAST" on it, and when I opened the door, a stack of pancakes and a few rashers of bacon sat on a plate inside.

"Thanks, Dad."

I pulled out the bacon and chewed on a slice — it had long since cooled, but that was fine with me — while I set the microwave to reheat and watched my pancakes spin on the glass plate inside.

When it was done, I sat down at the table and ate my breakfast alone and in silence. When I'd finished eating, I washed my dishes like that, too. It felt weird, if I was being honest. I'd gotten used to eating breakfast with Dad, and even if we hadn't much talked, even if it felt like there was some grand distance between us for the longest time, despite being in the same room, at least there'd been another person with me.

Once my dishes were washed and set aside to dry, I pulled on my shoes, grabbed a spare house key, made sure the door was locked behind me, and left for my run. On my way, I passed the splotch of ruddy brown that marked where Sophia had died and determinedly paid it no mind. I wasn't going to let her ruin my life in death the way she had in life.

It was already almost eleven by the time I got back and had my shower, and I had no idea what to do with the rest of the day. As I was toweling my hair dry, I spied the little slip of paper with Lisa's username and phone number on it, and I caught myself smiling a little.

It would have been fun to spend the day with Lisa again, just doing stupid, pointless, teenage girl things that I'd never had the chance to do before Emma turned on me. Maybe…go window shopping, or hang out on the Boardwalk, or see one of Parian's puppet shows, again, if she was doing one today. Get ice cream, sit in the park, and just talk about nothing of import for a few hours. I would have enjoyed that slice of normalcy, of just being myself, after two years of hiding everything away and being denied.

Lisa told me she was going to be busy today, though. She'd told me as much yesterday.

So maybe I should get some more martial arts training in, or finish that project I'd been meaning to do.

I looked down at my hand, curling and unfurling my fist. "Rank C" was how my powers measured my progress with Aife's ancient martial arts. Strong, skilled, but not at the level where I could match up against the warriors of ancient Ireland. I still had a long way to go, a long road ahead of me, until I reached mastery. It'd be a good idea to get some more practice in.

Yeah. I nodded to myself, decision made. I was going to go and get some training in, polish these skills a little bit more. Next time I fought someone like Lung, I could just use these martial arts to beat him senseless before he could even start to transform.

I knelt down and reached under my bed for the case containing my cheap video camera, but what I wound up dragging out from there was something entirely different — a plastic box, small and rectangular, with picture of Alexandria posed heroically plastered across the front of it. It was the lunchbox full of cash that Lisa had handed to me on Monday.

I stopped and set it down on my bed, staring at it. I felt my lips work into a frown.

I hadn't figured out what to do with it, since then. A part of me still thought I should have turned it into the police or something, but then I would have had to explain where I'd gotten it and who had given it to me. That would have gotten Lisa into trouble, and probably me, too, and it might have outed the both of us on top of that, and neither of those things were something I wanted.

So, I'd thrown it under my bed and just forgotten about it for the past few days. That was fair, I thought, considering all that had happened on Tuesday. Anyone would have forgotten about it after finding a dead body on the front lawn.

I still wasn't sure what to do with it. It was drug money, after all. Dirty. Bought with blood and pain. In fact, Lisa said it was Lung's money, swiped from right under his nose, so that meant it was connected to parahuman crime, too. In that case, maybe what I should really do was hand it over to the PRT and —

Sophia Hess was Shadow Stalker. A great swell of anger surged in my gut, and I had to take deep breaths and close my eyes to force it down.

— No, I decided. Forget the PRT. Forget them and their Wards. Forget them and their enabling of the psycho who'd been tormenting me for nearly two years. Forget them. They'd probably take this money and use it to pay for Sophia's funeral or a plaque with her name on it on some wall somewhere, honoring her "heroic sacrifice." That was all I'd get for turning it into them.

So no, I wasn't going to turn it into the PRT. In fact, I was going to do the exact opposite.

I grabbed my backpack, pulled Mom's flute out and set it aside, made sure the rest of the bag was empty, then stuffed the lunchbox into it and zipped it closed.

I was going to deposit this cash in my savings account, at least some of it. Set that towards my college fund. Then, I'd use what I didn't deposit to buy myself a cellphone that I could use to talk with Lisa, my new friend that Sophia would have tried her best to turn against me. I was going to use this money and I was going to have everything Sophia and Emma had ever tried to take away from me.

Forget about where it came from. Forget about the PRT. This money was my recompense, a poor and inadequate remuneration, for two years of hell. If they didn't think that was right and just, then they should have been keeping a better eye on their pet psychopath.

I got dressed quickly, then grabbed my bag and a spare house key on my way out the door. If I was quick, I could make it in time for the eleven-ten bus for downtown and be at the bank before noon.

I had a deposit to make.

— o.0.O.O.0.o —

It was raining by the time I made it through the tall, glass doors of Brockton Bay Central Bank, and my hair had been soaked through thoroughly. Anything that hadn't been protected by my hood was positively dripping, and even what had been was still damp enough to make me look like I'd just taken a dip in a pool.

If only I'd brought an umbrella.

Standing just inside the doors, however, dripping rainwater all over the marble floors, I suddenly felt out of place. Brockton Bay Central Bank was a large, opulent building, so much so that it was busy enough to warrant cushioned chairs lined up along either side of the main aisle. The marble floors I mentioned were patterned with faded green compass roses on smooth, beige tiles, and equally smooth marble pillars jutted up and towards the ceiling like they'd been sculpted in Ancient Greece itself.

To say nothing of the people I found as I climbed the short set of stairs that led up from the front door; most of them were dressed in the finery of the business elite, with pantsuits and three piece suits and silk blouses. Most of those people were being taken care of personally off to the side in the open offices, separated from the main lobby by short, three-foot walls. The rest of the people milling about were waiting in line to meet with one of the tellers at the far end across from the front door.

Without exception, they were all adults, all twice or more my age, and they made me feel incredibly young and small by comparison.

Well. Maybe not small. I was still taller than any of the women I saw.

Rather than insert myself into one of the lines stretching out from the tellers, I made my way over to one side and plopped myself down wetly a few seats away from the only person there who looked my age — a mousy girl with curly brown hair and freckles who was busying herself with her cellphone.

I wasn't quite sure what to do while I waited, hugging my backpack against my chest and shivering a little. I didn't have a cellphone I could text Lisa on or…play games, I guess. I didn't have one of those handheld video game systems I'd seen around, sometimes, either, because I'd never been one much for video games. I also, rather shortsightedly, hadn't grabbed a book to read before I left home, which left me with not much of anything to do at all.

People watching, maybe, but as I looked around, there wasn't anyone particularly interesting in the bank. Maybe if the Mayor or someone like that was there… Mostly, though, it was just businessmen and women I didn't recognize asking for loans or something or housewives depositing their husbands' pay checks.

Honestly, some of the tellers looked almost as bored as I was. I couldn't imagine working a job like that, talking to dozens or hundreds of people every day, handling their money, constantly aware that a bank robber could show up with a gun at any moment. It would be boring, until suddenly it was terrifying.

Eventually, though, my gaze wound up back on the girl a few seats down, no matter how many times I looked away. She was nothing special, she didn't have the kind of remarkable beauty that Lisa and Emma did. She was still prettier than me, I thought, but not incredibly so. I was sure I hadn't ever met her before, either, because she didn't look anything like any of the other girls who went to Winslow; her clothes were better in a way that spoke of the privilege of upper middle class, rather than the more modest means of my own school's girls.

I couldn't help the feeling that I recognized her, though. I had no idea where from, but I had this strange certainty that I'd seen her face before, that I knew her name, even though I was equally sure that I'd never met her even once in my life. I couldn't even imagine what her voice sounded like.

Maybe she was someone I'd known in middle school? That could be it. Emma had been my only real friend since childhood, but I'd had plenty of acquaintances who I was on, if not friendly, then cordial terms during my younger years. She could be one of the girls I'd shared a class or two with before Emma turned on me and Winslow became my own personal hell.

That…didn't feel right, though.

Maybe…she was someone I'd met on my morning runs, then? Someone I'd seen on my route, but never actually talked to? Maybe she got her coffee every morning at that coffee shop I passed by on the Boardwalk?

No, that didn't feel right, either.

Maybe —

"Do you want something?"

I blinked and realized the girl had turned to look at me, and almost on reflex, I glanced around to see if there was anyone else she might be talking to. When I looked straight back at her, she gave me a short, terse nod.

"Yeah, you," she said, scowling. "I said, do you want something?"

"A-ah, no," I stuttered, my cheeks hot, "I just, uh…thought…"

"What, exactly? That I'd pose for a picture with you or something?"

"N-no," I said, a little indignantly. "I just thought I…recognized you, and I was wondering —"

"Right," she snorted condescendingly. "Sure. Sorry, but no, I don't do cosmetic stuff. If you want bigger boobs or whatever, grow 'em yourself or go see a plastic surgeon."

My first instinct was to shy away — it was what I tended to do at Winslow — but this was not Winslow and this girl was not Emma, who would escalate and lob precision strikes at me with all the secrets I'd told her over the years. Instead, I scowled right back and straightened my spine.

"Listen," I told her, "I don't know who you are, I just thought you looked familiar. That's all. I'm sorry for staring, but I was just trying to figure out how I knew you. You don't have to be such a bitch about it."

For a long moment, she just stared at me, like she was trying to catch me out in a lie, then her lips thinned and her brow furrowed.

"You're serious," she said, sounding skeptical. "You actually… You really don't recognize me?"

"No, I don't. Should I?"

The girl tilted her head to the side a little, eyes narrowing in confusion. "I mean, I normally have the whole robe and scarf thing going on," she admitted, "so I guess my face isn't… You…really don't recognize me?"

Hood and scarf… Had no secret identity, apparently… Someone from New Wave? I hadn't really focused quite as much on studying the heroes after I got my powers, but I did recall, vaguely, a few things about the members of New Wave. Not much, but I could remember what was basically a family photo — a middle-aged woman, the mother, a middle-aged man, the father, a blond girl about my age in white with a tiara (Glory Girl, who was something of a local celebrity), and another girl in a white robe with a scarf wrapped around her lower face, who spent nowhere near as much time in the limelight.

So…this was the other girl, then? What was her name? I couldn't remember, but it felt like it was on the tip of my tongue. P-something. Maybe D or T-something. I was pretty sure it was Greek.

"Not really, no," I said, shrugging.

"Huh," the girl mumbled, nonplussed. "I…huh."

For a moment, she just sat there, looking at me with something like amazement, like she was so used to being recognized that she didn't quite know what to do when she wasn't. Then, she seemed to come to a decision, and she got up, moved down to the chair next to me, and stuck out her hand. I was reminded, for just a split second, of Tattletale offering her hand to me, too.

"My name is Amy," the girl introduced herself. Very conspicuously, I noticed she didn't give me her last name.

I took her hand with mine. "Taylor."

"Taylor, huh? Nice to — what the hell?"

Amy went cross-eyed, then looked faintly dizzy as she pulled her hand away from mine to press it against one of her temples. She closed her eyes, grimacing, and had to blink several times before she could look at me straight again. I had no idea what was happening.

"How are you even physically possible?" she hissed, leaning in.

I blinked, confused.

"I…what?"

"Your muscles!" she whispered furiously. "Your bones, your neural pathways, your cardiovascular system! It's… It's all… denser, faster, more resilient than it should be! Hell, how do you not eat an entire fucking cow every day just to keep it all working like that?"

"I'm…not sure…" I honestly had no real idea. I'd thought, before, that maybe I was taking on some of the traits of the heroes I Installed the more I Installed them, their superhuman strength and stamina, but I'd always considered that more of a fantasy than an actual possibility.

Maybe it had something to do with Aife's martial arts, instead? Not that that made much more sense, really. Sure, some of the things I'd be learning later would probably be pretty bullshit, and I had no idea how those were going to work in the real world that had to obey things like physics, but I hadn't gotten to anything particularly out there, yet. Most of the feats I'd learned were basically exercises to improve physical conditioning, and I hadn't noticed the kind of increase in muscle tone that Amy was talking about.

Evidently, admitting ignorance wasn't the answer Amy was looking for, because she frowned, and with a determined set to her face, she reached over again and grabbed my hand kind of roughly.

For a long, awkward moment, she kept hold of my hand, the furrow of her brow growing increasingly deep as her eyes began to narrow in what I could only imagine was concentration. Her lips became thinner and whiter as the line of her mouth drew out, and a hint of red began to seep into her cheeks and around her nose, drowning out her freckles.

Finally, she pulled away, making a frustrated sound in her throat as she rubbed at her temple again.

"What the fuck," she hissed.

"I'm…sorry?" I said cluelessly. I honestly had no idea what to do.

"You don't make any sense," she breathed quietly. "There are parts of you I can't even fucking see, like I'm looking through foggy glass, only for my powers. It's giving me a headache just to try. Just…how do you even…"

"Is… that a bad thing?"

Amy stared at me for a moment, like she didn't even know what to do with a question like that, then shook her head a little. She took a deep breath, let out an explosive sigh, and offered me what might be charitably called an exasperated grin.

"When I figure that out, I'll let you know," she told me wryly. "You'll be the second person."

Second?

"Who'll be the first?"

"The editor of the American Journal of Medicine."

"I…" What do you say to that? "What?"

Amy looked at me again for another moment, then, slowly, she said, "That was a joke."

"O-oh."

Great going, there, Taylor.

We lapsed into an awkward silence to the background hum of several dozen voices speaking lowly. Neither of us really seemed to know where to go from there, and I could hear the chime of a clock announcing that it had turned twelve noon somewhere above my head.

"So," Amy began at length, breaking that silence, "um… What… What brings you to the bank today?"

I…didn't think she really meant to ask a question that lame and silly, because what do you do in a bank besides exchange money? It was enough of an opening, however, that I took it for what it was and ran with it.

"I'm…making a bit of a big deposit," I said a little cryptically. I clutched my backpack a little more tightly. "Didn't… Didn't want to leave it sitting around the house, you know?"

She gave me a strange look. "A big deposit?"

"A gift from a friend of mine," I clarified. "She…said she had some luck at a casino, so she gave me some of her winnings."

Yes, of course, why not just blab to everyone that Lisa robbed the Ruby Dreams like Robin Hood?

If I was going to do this whole secret identity thing, maybe I should pick up some kind of lying skill with Aife, so that I didn't out myself or Lisa every time I had to talk about something one of us did as capes.

"How much did she give you?" Amy asked curiously.

"Two thousand," I answered before I could think about it.

Amy looked thrown, for a moment, and I realized I'd just done it again. Fuck, I was a horrible liar.

"Huh. Must be a pretty good friend."

"Um, yeah." I remembered yesterday and Monday, eating ice cream with Lisa, sipping tea and quietly sharing our traumas. That validation, that relief, she'd given me in the wake of the Sophia mess. I found myself smiling a little. "Yeah, she's a great friend."

I had no idea what things would have been like if I hadn't met Lisa, where I would've gone if she hadn't been there to help me deal with the aftermath of Tuesday. If she hadn't been there to teach me about the Unwritten Rules. If I just… had to be alone, both as a cape and as a normal girl.

How had I grown to depend on her in just a few short days? I had no idea. I was just glad I could.

Amy gave me a strange look, a slight furrowing of her eyebrows and a curious upturn of her lips. "Are you…?"

"Am I what?"

She shook her head. "Nevermind."

I thought about asking again, but I decided against it. It was probably something really awkward and embarrassing, and that was why she'd stopped herself.

"So," I said instead, "what are you doing here, then? Putting away some cash, too?"

"Actually," Amy began, "I'm —"

A shrill, feminine scream cut her off, and as she and I looked back towards the far end of the bank, an oily black fog burst out from the back offices faster than any fog had the right to. It enveloped us before I could even think to do more than close my eyes and scream, but even as I did, it came out warped and strange and not nearly as loud as it should have been.

I heard Amy's surprised scream, too, from right next to me, but it sounded different, as well. Like I was hearing it from across a football field or from down a long tunnel, it was quieter than it should have been and it had a strange, almost warbling quality to it that was difficult to explain. It was almost like someone had shoved cotton into my ears. Everything was muted.

It took me a moment to realize I had opened my eyes, because all I saw was an empty black. I could still feel the floor beneath my feet and the chair I was sitting in, and as I reached out blindly, searching, my hand found Amy's, as well, but I couldn't see anything at all. For one, wild moment, I was afraid I'd suddenly gone blind.

Several minutes passed like that, and I sat in my spot, rooted to my chair, unsure of what to do. After I'd had a moment to calm down a little, it was obvious this was some kind of villain attack, that someone was…what, robbing the bank or something? It was a cliche, but cliches existed for a reason. So, yes, someone seemed to be robbing the bank.

I… I probably should have transformed and gotten ready to fight them, but a couple of things stopped me. First, the hostages. An Install like Siegfried had wrecked an entire street (albeit, with help from Lung and his fire, but still), and pulling out something like that in the middle of a crowded bank seemed like a bad idea.

Second, I would effectively be outing myself. Granted, Amy probably already knew, or at least suspected, because apparently, even as a normal human, I wasn't a normal human, anymore. Anyone else, though? The other people in the bank? At least one or two would connect the dots, would connect the disappearance of the girl with long, curly dark hair and the appearance of a hero with the same hair, and I didn't think the Unwritten Rules would bind normal humans when they didn't even bind capes all the time.

Thirdly, and really most importantly, I was blind. I couldn't see anything, let alone see it well enough to fight. There were probably a few heroes who could fight in these conditions, but even among them, I didn't want to risk it when one wrong move could mean killing an innocent bystander.

So, I did the only thing I really could. I sat there, glued to my chair, listening helplessly as people's muted screams and whimpers echoed throughout the cloying darkness. I didn't hear any bodies hitting the floor or anything, so I hoped that meant no one was getting hurt, but I felt helpless, not knowing what was happening and not being able to do anything about it.

Finally, at last, the black fog vanished, and I blinked as the light and sound returned. In the interim, it seemed like everyone in the bank had been gathered out onto the center floor, probably so that no one could set off the alarms, and a few of what looked to be bank employees had had their hands ziptied in front of them.

"Good afternoon, Brockton Bay Central Bank!" a familiar voice called. I felt my chest go cold. "If I could have a moment of your time, that'd be great — yes, that's right, up here."

I turned to look at the tellers' desks, where a group of people and three large monsters stood.

"Fifteen minutes is all we'll be needing, as long as no one tries to do anything particularly heroic and stupid. Stay put, stay quiet, and we'll be out of your hair before you even know it."

One of the people was a tall, muscular man in black motorcycle leathers. The fog that had coated the room floated off of him, seeping through every seam and gap and rolling off of his body. He cut an intimidating figure.

The second guy was shorter and skinnier, dressed in a white blouse and black tights, masked by a white theatre mask and topped with a coronet. He held a golden scepter in one hand, twirling it lazily. He looked vaguely out of place next to the other man, but what made him intimidating was the sheer and utter boredom that seemed etched into every line of his body, like this was something he had to do and it would normally be beneath his notice.

The third person was recognizable as a girl only because of her chest and her clothing, and aside from the cheap, plastic dog mask on her face, she didn't seem to have made any more attempts to hide her identity. The big, car-sized monsters seemed to be hers, because her hand was resting on the flank of one of them while the others prowled in the background.

And standing at the front, with long blond hair, bright green eyes, a domino mask, and skintight black-and-purple spandex…

"Just fifteen minutes, then you can all go about your day like normal. Give your witness statements to the police. Hug your kids. No muss, no fuss, no one needs to get hurt. Okay?"

My stomach plummeted. The bottom of my world fell away, and with it, it took all of the things I thought I knew and trusted.

Standing at the front was Tattletale.

Lisa.

— o.0.O.O.0.o —

I predict that the next couple of chapters are going to be a bit divisive. I'll probably have a few of my detractors go, "Of course he did the bank job," with maybe a few derogatory statements made about my skill as a writer. I will say: this is one of those moments I wanted to juxtapose with canon. You will get to hear Lisa's reasoning, some next chapter and some in early arc 4, and the ironic thing is that Lisa wasn't even going to do the bank job until that conversation with Taylor in 3.2.

Also, there are some very natural changes to your body when you learn a martial art that has been dead for over a thousand years, used in a time when humans could do things like lob boulders uphill. Taylor's changes are surprisingly tame.

As always, read, review, and enjoy.

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