Superheroine - Chapter 1
Previous chapter: Prologue
Elizabeth Harper turned the last spinner on the combination lock and pressed the button. Nothing. The metal box on the coffee table remained locked. Her face showed no emotion as she opened a spiral notebook, grabbed a pencil, and crossed off a number on the page. Numbers filled the page, with half of them similarly marked off.
She rose from her seat on the sofa and moved around the coffee table to the living room window. She glanced at the clock near the television. John should be back soon. She wished he had skipped work during her visit, but she understood. She visited often, and this was his first year at his new job. When she graduated from college in a few months, she would be in the same situation.
As she looked back at the box, her eyes fell upon the stack of comic books piled next to it. A pang of guilt hit her. She had promised to read a few of them, to better understand John's hobby, since it had taken courage for him to reveal his secret passion. She'd gotten through one, but had spent the rest of the day finding one excuse or another to avoid reading more. The surprise she planned for him should more than make up for it, though. She tingled with excitement as she imagined his reaction. If she could go through with it.
She turned back to the window and pulled back the curtain, seeing a strange mixture of denizens stalking the street in front of John's apartment. As darkness fell upon the town, miniature ghouls, goblins, and princesses moved from door to door, with their parents not far behind. Adult-sized pirates, police officers, and devils also pranced down the sidewalk, many clad in short skirts and revealing tops. This section of Harrisburg had become a party town, and Halloween was an excuse for its young adults to push the bounds of decency.
Perhaps she shouldn't judge. Her costume was less risqué than many of the costumes outside the window, but was bold for her modest standards. Her heart raced as she questioned her willingness to follow through with her surprise for John. But he would love it.
They were heading to a Halloween party after he arrived home, and she had decided she would be a superheroine. Not Supergirl, Wonder Woman, or some other popular heroine, but a heroine of her own creation. One she had seen in a dream, after John's endless efforts to push his hobby on her.
A figure skating dress, made of a stretchy blue and white spandex material, hugged her slender figure. The dress was all one piece, and was sapphire blue on top, with a white skirt and white bikini bottoms stitched under the skirt. Tights accentuated the dress and gave her slender legs a subtle sheen. On her feet she wore white ankle boots, which resembled figure skates without the blades. She wore satin gloves that extended from her fingertips up her toned arms to her elbows. The gloves matched the white skirt of her costume and added an air of elegance to her appearance.
Her straight blond hair hung down and caressed her shoulders, framing the face of an angel. Sweet and innocent, she had the face of the proverbial girl next door.
Beth moved to the bedroom and stood in front of the full-length mirror affixed to the door, hardly believing what she saw. Her stomach performed flips as she thought of John's arrival. He would forget all about the unread comic books. A smile crossed her face.
From behind her, she heard a scraping sound and the grunts of a man. It meant one thing — John was home, working to open the front door, which always stuck in the frame. The defect was annoying, but at least it alerted her when he arrived. With a skip, she headed to the door. She pulled as he pushed, and the door creaked open.
John stepped forward, his lean frame filling the doorway, but he froze when he saw her. His mouth hung open, and his brown eyes, normally intense even in the most humorous situations, spread wide.
"Hello?" Beth said, putting one hand on a cocked hip.
"S... Sorry," he stammered, running a hand through his thick, wavy brown hair. "You are unbelievably hot."
Beth's grin grew wider.
"Too suggestive?" she asked.
"No way. You saw how people dressed at this party last year. And your outfit has some class to it. Holy shit, you look incredible."
She could get used to this. John always fawned over her, but she had never seen him like this.
"You can either stand there like a stammering fool, or you can come in," she said.
He stepped inside, closing the door, but not taking his eyes off of her.
"Is that..." he began as he nodded at her attire, but his voice trailed off.
Beth nodded and looked down. "Yes." She didn't need him to finish the question. It was the skating dress her aunt had made for her one year earlier, a few weeks before losing her life in a car accident. The accident had also killed Beth's grandmother. Beth had packed up the dress, never wearing it, and had even stopped skating. The outfit had remained in a garment bag in her closet, invisible to the world.
"I'm glad you're wearing it. She would have wanted you to. What changed your mind?"
"Probably you and your incessant pushing of your hobby," she said in a teasing voice. "Thanks to you, I had a dream a couple weeks ago. I saw myself wearing it and thought you might like it."
"You were right," he said with a grin. "My friends at the party will wonder what happened to my innocent girlfriend."
Beth blushed but said nothing.
"And who are you supposed to be? All superheroines need a name."
Beth chewed on her lip. "I haven't come up with that yet."
"Damn," was all John said in reply, as he continued to run his eyes up and down Beth's frame.
"Enough gawking. You need to get your costume on and put on you makeup while I finish getting ready. Your stuff is on the corner of the sofa."
She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a peck on the cheek, before turning and walking toward the bedroom. John's voice sounded behind her as she reached the door.
"Did you get through any?" he asked. The excitement in his voice was unmistakable.
She turned to see him looking down at the stack of comic books on the table. He looked up at her, and she could feel the eagerness emanating from him. She cringed. Perhaps her superhero costume wasn't such a good idea after all. He might believe she was ready to embrace his hobby.
He must have read her expression, as his face sank.
"You didn't read any," he said.
"I read one," she said. "The one you asked me to read first."
"And you hated it, didn't you?"
She watched him before answering. She could fudge the truth and spare him the disappointment. But he wouldn't want that.
"Hate is a strong word," she began. "It just seemed a bit... clichéd."
"Clichéd? How so?" he asked, his face twisting in annoyance.
Beth exhaled. "It was just like a couple of your superhero movies I've sat through. You know. The average Joe gains powers but is reluctant to use them until a loved one dies because of his inaction." As she spoke, she lowered her voice to mimic a movie trailer voiceover. "He then embraces his destiny and vanquishes evil!"
"Hey, that's great storytelling."
"Using a loved one's misfortune as motivation to become a hero is the biggest cliché there is."
John frowned. "That might be a cliché now, but the one you read is a classic," he said, pointing toward the stack on the table. "It was the first one to explore that kind of theme."
"I'll take your word for it, sweetie."
John waved a hand at her. "Go get ready," he grumbled.
She tried to give him her best, "I'm sorry" look, and entered the bedroom. She stepped into the adjacent bathroom to brush her hair and to check over her makeup one last time.
When she returned to the living room ten minutes later, John stood in front of a full-length mirror near the bedroom. She barely recognized him, with his tattered clothing and grotesque skin. The skin of his face, normally pale with light freckles, now hung in rotting chunks, mottled and green, from his face.
"Ew," she said. "You look gross."
"That's the point," he said and sat on the sofa. He looked at the long and narrow lockbox.
"I can't believe nobody can get into that thing," he said.
Beth shrugged. "You know it's not from lack of time or money trying. And I'm sure my mom hired a few locksmiths herself before giving it to me."
"You think she tried to get into it, even though your aunt meant it for you?"
"You know how my mom is. And I'm sure she thought my aunt would have given her the combination anyway, if she hadn't died in the crash."
John glanced down at the spiral notebook next to the box. "Only about 600,000 more numbers to try," he cracked.
She sat next to him. "Someday I'll get into it."
She reached forward and advanced the last dial, moving it one digit forward, and pressed the button. The lock sprang open.