First Night on the Town

It's late, so this is what I have so far.

First Night on the Town

The echo of my scream greets me as I swing my legs off the hammock. I listen for any reaction to my waking. No just the regular sounds. Mr. & Mrs. Mowrey in 6I is arguing about his cheating. He’s not; he just doesn’t want her to know that he’s addicted to the retro arcade shop that just opened up down the street. Paige Paige, yes that’s her real name, was taking care of her little bundle of screams down stairs. I hope I’m not the reason for the midnight singing. The city is giving the normal performance of sirens, combating music, and colorful language. I was awakened by the nightmare. By that memory.

Before I can let my thoughts continue I realize my hands are cramping and my lungs are burning. Releasing my breath and my grip, I land on the ground with a silent thud. Glancing over to the couch, I breathe a sigh of relief that Mom took Henri for the weekend. Last thing I need is to keep him up with my nightmares.

I walk over to the dresser and look up at the picture of the three of us at The Victorious Hero, right after I got back of New Orleans. No more putting it off. I shove the dresser towards the door, hoping this will work. Otherwise I will get a reaction from the neighbors.

The wheels I added move the dresser smoothly until the rope stops it just short of the door. I check to see if the rope can take the strain again. Good, it can. I lean to check to see if the freed floor safe has been tampered with.

Satisfied I stand up and reach under the picture for the key, my eye catching the small print on the bottom, ‘Familia Primus’. I nod inward to myself and repeat the promise to myself. Always family first, nothing else matters.

I crouch over the safe, inserting the key and placing my thumb on the handle’s scanner in one fluid motion. After turning the key and typing in the seven-digit code, I open the safe and look at the third and forth most important things in my life, my uniform and the journals. Which story will Henri want to hear when he comes back? The Thief Wars? Or maybe Coming Home? After pulling out the uniform I quickly close and lock the safe.

I stare at the bundle for a minute, not believing what I am about to do. The shirt is dark blue and has a giant dove on the chest, the wings reaching into the back in almost a hugging gesture, the wing tips almost touching. That wasn’t in my design, maybe its Dad attempt to be close to me. Shaking off the thoughts of family, I quickly get dressed.

I walk back to the picture and flip it over, revealing the mirror on the back. I look confused at my reflection. I stand wearing the uniform with dark blue gloves and boots, my dark hair flowing over my shoulders. What, why can I see my hair?

Then it hits me. You forget the mask, Virgil. I quickly take the shirt off, put my hair in a ponytail, and tape it between my shoulder blades. Can’t believe I forgot the mask. Bet The Victor never would have.

After making sure I have enough give so I don’t yank out hair, I put on the mask. Its reflective eyes and dark blue skin greet me as I look in the mirror. I muse over my mistake as I put the shield on to my arm. How can I be a symbol of peace and justice, if I’m making mistake before I’m even out on patrol.

I look down at the blue round shield, the bird in the center matches the one on my chest. Running my hand over the rim I look over at my desk and again nod to myself. Guess I’ll have to believe in what Teach taught me: ‘Bluff, luck, and raw talent when you have it.’

It’s time I stop stalling and make my move. I look over my apartment one last time. Hopefully I’ll be back. I walk to the door and start to run towards the side window, sliding the shield onto my back. I dive out the window barely slipping past as I aim for the rooftop below. Watch out New York, here I come.

Running across the rooftops, I test the flexibility of the uniform, leapfrogging over chimneys, flipping through clotheslines, and generally having fun, I should have done this much sooner. Landing on the nearest chimney, I look over the city. So where to start?

From somewhere nearby I hear, “Get away from me! Help!!! So---” Gotta love this city. Time to be a hero.

I head towards where I think the cry came from, listening for anything that will tell me if I’m right. Nothing. The cry belongs to a kid, can’t be any older than ten. Thick Brooklyn accent, what he doing in HK? Guess I’ll have to ask him.