Don't Be a Hero: A Superhero Novel by Chris Strange Page B

about what’d happened, but there was always something in his eyes afterwards, a kind of suppressed grief. An irretrievable loss.
    The Blind Man wouldn’t just read the memories of her childhood. He would take them. All she would have left was a hole, a vacuum. Another quiver ran through her. Her parents died in the nuke blast when she was thirteen. She’d been away at a boarding school in New Plymouth at the time. When the bomb hit, nothing they owned remained. Nothing except Niobe. Her memories of them were few as it was. And the Blind Man wanted to take most of what still remained.
    “No way,” Solomon said. “That’s never been the deal before. Do me again.”
    The Blind Man just smiled.
    “Do me,” Solomon said.
    She snapped out of her reverie. “Shut up, Carpenter. Let me think.”
    “Have you made your decision?” the Blind Man asked.
    Solomon stared at her and gave the smallest shake of his head, but she ignored it. He’d been right before. Something bad was going to happen to Sam, she felt it in her gut. It didn’t matter if his uncle was the target, the boy would pay the price. He was only thirteen.
    Don’t think about it like that, she told herself. It’s just a job. We need the cash. That’s all. Fifty thousand dollars. And then she could get Gabby away from this place, before it killed them both.
    She made up her mind.
    “Deal,” she said.
    Solomon lowered his head so his hat covered his eyes. The Blind Man nodded. There was hunger in his face. She didn’t know what he did with the memories. Were they some sort of energy to him, or did they just fulfil his desire for knowledge?
    It doesn’t matter, she thought. They’re just shadows of the past. I’ve got the future to worry about.
    “Payment will come later,” the Blind Man said. He put down the empty beer glass, levered himself out of the chair with the aid of his staff, and lowered himself until he sat cross-legged on the ground in front of the photograph of Sam Julius. He beckoned. “Come.”
    She didn’t meet Solomon’s eyes as she got out of her chair and sat on the floor opposite him. Her heart started to hammer. Do it for Gabby.
    The Blind Man’s left hand hovered over the photo and the arm hair. He extended his right arm towards her, palm extended. “Spook.”
    She’d seen this done to Solomon before; she knew the drill. Still, her stomach clenched. She searched the room with her eyes, but it was just the three of them. That didn’t make it any less uncomfortable to pull off her hat, goggles, and mask in such an exposed place. Her short black hair came free and tumbled around her cheeks, and she suppressed the urge to cover herself like she was naked. Solomon had seen her face before, and the Blind Man was, well, blind. But if someone came in….
    She shook her head slightly. Some things had to be risked.
    The Blind Man’s palm found her forehead. His skin was cool, or maybe she was just warm. She was conscious of the dried sweat on her skin. Distantly, she registered the ache of her shoulder where Quick-fire had hit her.
    “Open your eyes, Spook.”
    The voice came from far away. She didn’t realise she’d closed her eyes. But yes, it was dark now. When had that happened?
    The dark was comforting, as it always was. Darkness and shadows. She was drowsy. Thoughts swirled and collided with each other in her head, but she couldn’t hold onto them long enough to make sense of anything. Where was she?
    “Open your eyes.”
    There was that voice again. It was deep, familiar, but she didn’t want to obey it. Her eyelids were so heavy, and it was warm here.
    No, she thought. You can’t stay. You have a job to do.
    “Open your eyes.”
    Wake up, hero.

    She opened her eyes, but they weren’t her eyes. She was standing in a small room with wooden panelling. Below her feet, the floor rocked slowly back and forth. She moved with it, maintaining her balance. A faint banging, wood against wood, came from somewhere outside.