Fall of Hope (Book 1): Real Heroes Don't Wear Capes (7 page)

CHAPTER THREE

“
I
would be invisible.”

“
What's
that?”

Jogging
to catch up, Danny gasps and pulls his inhaler from the front pocket.
He takes two breaths from it before continuing. “If I could
choose a superpower, I'd choose Invisibility.”

Once
he catches up, he pulls Bobby by the shoulder, his face flustered.
“Slow down, dude.”

Bobby
wandered about his bedroom, then the streets once he tired of the
same four walls.. He passes house after house until his vision
wavers—something he doesn't notice until Danny breaks his
stride. When he stops, a dull ache travels up Bobby's calves. His
thighs also ache and his
Converse
knock-offs dig into his
little toes to cause a sharp scratch.

Once
Danny catches his breath and the colour returns to his cheeks,
Bobby's feet are on the move again.

There
is no logic to suggest he can outrun his thoughts by sheer movement
alone, but he is giving it a good shot. Thoughts invade his mind of
his mother's minimal pleas and yelping through the night. He can't
stop hearing her squealing like a pig as his father dragged her
across the carpet by her hair. But what haunts him most is his inner
voice telling him he is a coward—a no good fucking coward.

“
You
already are.”

“
Well,
yeah,” he admits as he attempts to keep up. “I guess I
am, but I bet I couldn't get away with snooping through Stacy
Stockman's underwear drawer. But with my superpower I can.”

“
You
realise how creepy that sounds, right?”

“
Hey,
I didn't say anything about being a hero, did I? I might pop down to
Heroes
and
get me an all-in-one.”

Bobby
waits at the curb while a Land Rover passes, then he crosses.

“
And
I'll have one of those names like
Green
Arrow
or
The
Flash
,
but better—”

Danny's
inky hair spills over one eye and a slight crimson blush spreads
across his cheek bones. A metal ring sticks out from his lip which he
had pierced last week and his mother's eyeliner surrounds his deep
blue eyes. Bobby is glad to see the swelling around his mouth has
receeded because it looked awful before.

“
What
do you want, Danny? I've got things to do.”

“
Nothing,
I just thought you'd want to be my sidekick.” He stretches his
scrawny arms out within his baggy
Call
of Duty
t-shirt.

“
Who
for?
Amazing
Pube Boy and his adventures in masturbation
?”

Danny
chuckles. “That's good, but I don't need any help in that
department.”

“
Damn
right you don't.” The thought of helping Danny in that regard
makes him uneasy.

So
much for being confused.

“
Now,
if Stacy Stockman was to offer . . .”

Bobby
stops and fixes his backpack by the side of the road. The glossy
books smack against one another inside and dig into his back.

The
sun shines past the eight storey hotel further up and the blue sky
stretches as far as he can see.

When
they reach the main road, mild car fumes replace the yellow and
purple fox gloves's scent. Modest transport fills the street and only
a handful of people are walking along the pavement in skirts and tank
tops. Despite not yet being noon, the temperature is growing so a
haze hovers on the horizon.

It
is Friday and the majority of people already appear to be busy at
work. The children must be taking full advantage of being off school
by going on holiday or playing at the park. It looks like a lazy day
fit for nothing more than sunbathing. He is glad he avoided the
morning traffic for fear of worsening the galloping pain inside his
head.

His
mother doesn't keep tablets in the house except the capsules in her
handbag she thinks he doesn't know about. If you have a headache, or
anything that's not life-threatening then you cope with it. “It'll
fade; it isn't permanent,” she will stress. But if you get a
few bruised ribs and suffer migraines from having your skull yanked
in the night, there's her secret stash of medication.

Besides,
after walking for a while, his headache is retreating to a dull ache
at his temples. The itch sitting behind his eyeballs from the lack of
sleep last night compliments it well.

It
seems like the more he tries to sleep the longer it eludes him until
he is bolt upright in bed wondering why he stole two packs of
blueberry bubble gum when he was ten. Or why he got so irritated when
the dinner lady's used to swap his knife and fork over in his hands
at dinner time. It wasn't “the proper way” of holding
them, but the only way he could hold them. He replays things of no
consequence as though they are the most important things in the
world.

“
So,
come on then.”

“
What?”

“
What'd
your super power be?”

“
I
don't need powers to get into your mum's knickers.”

Bobby
receives a slap across the back of his head and bursts out laughing
in response.

“
That's
not cool, man. Seriously though?”

“
Honestly,
I wouldn't want one. Benji once told me all the best heroes don't.
You know, like guys—”

“
And
girls.”

“
And
girls,” Bobby agrees. “Who do things despite knowing they
can get killed—”

“
What
like the army?”

“
I
guess, but they kill people.”

“
Mostly
bad people.”

“
I'm
not sure they do. To those people, we are the baddies—it's a
matter of perspective. Besides, I'm not sure they're going to war for
the right reasons. Sure, they believe they are, but there's always
more going on behind the scenes.”

“
Like
what?”

“
Doesn't
matter.” Bobby waves his hand to dismiss his mate's question.
The last thing his head needs is more pressure brought on by a
political debate and discussing subversive media. Knowing he wouldn't
even consider going to war for anyone is all he needs to know.

“
Oh,
you mean a hero like Forrest Gunner?”

Bobby
isn't a video game geek, unlike Danny. Danny collects comic books—all
tucked in sleeves with cardboard backing—and graphic novels.
Besides few superhero collections, he keeps video game comics like
Resident Evil
, or
Silent Hill
. Or his favourite, Fall
of Hope—the comic series of the game. No one can go near the
cabinet; he keeps them locked in the bottom of his wardrobe. He even
has a ritual which he has to complete before he goes anywhere near
them. This includes: washing his hands with soap, drying them and
applying antiseptic lotion. There's no food, drink, or body fluids,
gases, or breathing allowed near them.

Forrest
Gunner is his favourite. The main protagonist in the series Fall of
Hope interests Bobby too. Forrest's friend, Blackout, is also a
brilliant character with his wit and charm.

The
game follows Gunner as he attempts to move on in a world without his
murdered wife and child. His world now involves killing zombie hordes
in a third person horror survival shoot-out. Forrest is a man plagued
by death and terrible habits, yet he takes no crap. When it comes to
worldly values, he never sways in the debate of what is wrong and
right—a hero to admire.

“
So
you wouldn't wear a cape?”

“
Nope.”

“
I
guess a latex suit is out of the question then?”

•

After
leaving Danny waiting across the road, Bobby heads to the corner
where building 103 is. He hadn't intended on the destination when he
left without a word to his mother. Yet, deep in his subconscious he
knows he had.

Why
else would I have packed the bag?

Swinging
the gate open, he makes his way up the ramp and follows the path
around. To the right, is a metal fence which cuts off the area
leading to the kitchen's back door. Three wheelie bins and two black
bin bags sit within the narrow space. The metal staircase outside
leads to the fourth floor, but no one besides workers use it as far
as Bobby knows.

Through
the kitchen window, he spots distorted figures moving within the
yellow hue. The light is always on back there.

Must
be as dark as our house.

To
the left, purple pansies surround a mound of lush grass. Before the
flowers, a pigeon plucks at the mud in search of worms in a cheery
fashion.

Below,
the wall curves to give him a perfect view of the news agents on the
opposite corner. Outside, two elderly gentlemen draped in trench
coats are already swigging from their white and gold lager cans.

The
grass goes back as far as a well-trimmed hedgerow which leads towards
the building. The size shields the higher fence behind and the garden
which serves as a nice open space where the residents can socialise.
Although modest, there's room to grow flowers on their own set patch
of soil. There is plenty of sun to sit out there with their visitors,
or umbrellas at the tables for shade. Having been out there
occasionally when Mrs Colby is having one of her “fuzzy”
days, he knows it's nice enough. The residents sure make the most of
it in the warmer months as it's a nice contrast to the stuffy, plain
interior.

To
the side of the slabs is Mrs Colby's soil patch where she has been
attempting to grow bluebells for the past year. Bluebells were her
daughter's favourite flower as a child. She told him while he was
doing his work experience at the care home last year, and he felt an
instant connection to her. He kept promising to bring one from his
mum's paradise, but she was adamant she would grow them herself. She
said a seed would grow one day, but she has been waiting a long time.
The funny thing is: the nurses tell him she hasn't even planted the
seeds.

Through
the front window, he can already make out the vague impression of Mrs
Colby sitting where she always does.

Looking
around the street, it isn't the view that keeps calling Bobby back.
On the opposite side of the road is a young people's institute where
troubled teens like to gather. Any teen who's homeless, mentally ill,
drug and alcohol addicted, or has no qualifications stay there.

Maybe
I should drop in sometime.

With
no idea about his path in life, or what his results are, it wouldn't
be too traumatic to wrap his mind around.