Chương 5: The Gunman and Grandma

The automatic doors of Friendly-Mart groaned open like they resented the effort, forcing us into a blast of hot air that smelled of bleach and rotisserie chicken. The store's heater was much better than ours. We should probably try to hide out in the camping section, pretend to be mannequins when anybody passed by. We could actually survive the winter. Gran immediately commandeered a cart like she was about to storm Normandy.

"In and out. No dillydallying." She was a general and this was a war. Her eyes locked on the prize: food. We loaded on the essentials, but by the time we hit the frozen meal section, Gran had slowed her march.

"You think they still make Salisbury steak the way they used to?" she asked as if I had any idea what that was or how it was made a millenia ago.

"Pretty sure the original recipe called for shoe leather," I guessed helpfully. We heard shouting from the front and a sharp crack that wasn't a sound groceries usually make. A guy in a ski mask had shoved his way through the doors, brandishing a pistol that looked way too big in his shaky hands.

"Everyone up! Hands down!" Clearly Ski Mask was nervous enough to get that part mixed up a bit, but we understood just the same. From the way his voice cracked, he obviously hadn't rehearsed this part enough. Panic rippled through the store. A cart toppled. The lady next to us dropped a jar of pasta sauce that exploded into red at my feet. Lovely. My chest started seizing up. Gran didn't duck. She straightened, squinting like she was trying to place the guy from bingo night.

"Oh, for crying out loud."

"Gran-""Quiet, Cass." Her voice had that steel tone to it, the one that brooked no backtalk. She stepped forward.

"What do you think you're doing, waving that pea-shooter around? You're going to shoot your own foot off before you scare anyone." The guy swung the gun toward her, blinking.

"I said get down, lady!" His voice cracked again and this time everyone responded. The sound had amplified for a second like it was being broadcast over the grocery store intercom. Everyone cringed and plugged their ears, but also shot Ski Mask a particular look. It's the same one you'd give a baby who's just peed on the floor. This is mildly irritating and I feel kind of sorry for you. Ski Mask had the power of a slightly annoying voice crack.

It was a little loud, it would stop you in your tracks for a bit the first time you heard it, then you're just going to roll your eyes every time after. Only a Karen would really complain about it. Gran snorted.

"Don't lady me. I've been through two wars, three recessions, and four deadbeat husbands." None of these were true.

"You think some jittery punk with a Halloween mask is gonna send me on the floor? You ain't worth the arthritis!"

"Shut up! Shut- up!" Glass jars of Prego and Ragu splintered at the sound of his voice. They collapsed onto the floor making more big red puddles. Great. The floor started tilting. Ski Mask's hands trembled so badly, the barrel wobbled from Gran's head to her chest.

"Look at you," she scoffed.

"You got a super power, but it ain't worth much, is it? So you nicked that thing off your uncle and thought you'd play big man." She folded her arms, eyes hard.

"But a big man wouldn't be threatening a grocery store full of families. A big man would've gotten a job!" There were two things that Gran deeply believed in, and they were: a complete lack of fear for death and preying on the insecurities of the youth.

"I said-" his voice cracked again, and now it was high-pitched, panicked. All of the jars started bursting. This was no longer the pasta aisle, this was a river of wet dripping crimson. My head was starting to get that feeling of a screwdriver drilling into it. His finger tensed on the trigger. My stomach dropped into my shoes. I tried to move, to scream, but my body locked up. It started with sound, like every background noise morphed into this low staccato hum.

Gran's voice as she yelled at Ski Mask became slow and heavy. The robber's face twisted in slow-motion as if the air had turned to molasses. His finger squeezed the trigger. The bullet burst from the barrel, moving so slow I could watch it, a cloud of smoke erupting and sparks spinning out like a firework. It was headed straight for Gran's forehead and she just stood there, glaring him down like he was a toddler throwing a tantrum. My head was swimming, stomach churning.

I stepped forward, bile rising up my esophagus, feeling like I was wading through tar, but my hands grasped onto Gran's arm and pushed. We were falling to the side, but I had time to turn my head. The bullet was coming for me now. I could see the reflection of the fluorescent lights on it and, unfortunately, hear a slowed down version of that elevator music that plays in supermarkets. Did I really have to die to Careless Whisper resounding in my ears? Perhaps that would be the true cause of death.

The bullet was three inches away. I rolled my head to the side and watched as it shot straight past my ear. Syrup world ended with a crash and a bang. Gran and I upended a potato chip shelf. Time snapped back like a rubber band. Glass shattered. People screamed. The robber cursed. I barfed. Of course. Gran groaned, covered in a blanket of Barbecue Lays and my vomit.

"Well, that was rude." My lungs burned like I'd run a marathon. My hands shook. Maybe I'd just seen too many movies. My brain must have short circuited, hallucinating in high-def terror. Gran sat up, brushing crumbs from her sweater.

"Did you see that? Pointing a gun at an old woman? Disgraceful."

"Gran," I gasped, my voice paperthin.

"You almost-" But she was already rising, clutching her purse like she might beat the robber with it. Sirens wailed in the distance. The guy bolted, pushing past the doors before cops swarmed in. No one looked at me. They looked at the shattered glass, at the robber's exit trail, at Gran. I was looking straight ahead, but not seeing anything. Nothing in the real world, anyway. Because in my vision, a screen had popped up. And in the upper right corner a small green number changed from zero to one.

—---- My bedroom door clicked closed and I leaned against it. The mountain of laundry on the floor looked like it was preparing to avalanche. I'd call up a psychiatrist but they aren't covered on our insurance plan. I know because I started needing one eleven years ago. This was what happened when you ignored the needs of your carwreck-addled brain. My body folded down to the floor and I wrapped my arms around my knees. Even though at the moment everything had felt like it was running at -1.

25 speed, I only had quick flashes of memories now. The gun shaking in the robber's hand, looking like it would drop at any moment. My fingers closing over Gran's plaid shirt as I pushed her down. Watching the bullet pass right by my ear. Turning my head in time for it to not lodge directly in my skull. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. I was used to the feel of time slowing when having an episode.

I was also used to feeling trapped by my own body when it did, practically going comatose until my gag reflex rang the alarm. I am completely unfamiliar with the idea that I could alter events because time had actually slowed down. The posters on my walls were shaking, everything in my room was. That wasn't because an earthquake was happening, it was because I was having a mental breakdown. See? Still sane enough to know that I was going crazy. I wasn't going to look back on this and wonder if I had tremor powers.

So why couldn't I do that with what happened at Friendly-Mart? There was no more green screen altering the outer edges of my eyesight. It had erased after only a few seconds. And it wasn't just that single number in the upper right hand corner. There had been a whole list of words: Secret Identity: Cassandra Keene Super Alias: None Class: Unavailable Stats Strength: 0 Agility: 0 Constitution: 0 Charisma: 0 Intelligence: 0. 5 Focus: 0 Skills: Unavailable ERROR SYSTEM IN ATROPHIED STATE.

I didn't need the universe to tell me that I had no charisma. And sure, I'd agree on the complete lack of strength, but only a 0. 5 in intelligence? I should at least be a two. There had also been a message that popped up immediately after, still all in green.

Fight summary Unnamed (Vigilante) vs Screamer (Villain) F tier robbery prevented 100 HP Civilian saved from certain death 500 HP: Elderly bonus ×2 adjusted to 1000 HP Level 1 villain fled scene 200 HP No Villains Captured -200 HP Hesitation -100 HP Unnecessary stomach acid projectile: -100 HP Final Total 900 Hero Points Error system in atrophied status. Hero Points unable to be allocated. Forcible activation of powers detected.

Atrophied status reduced from 100% to 65% STANDARD SYSTEM REMAINS INOPERABLE I was never into computer games, video games, any of that. So, most of that sounded like the Christmas wishlist of every comic book fan ever. Except for the errors and atrophy, that didn't sound great. Maybe I did just hallucinate everything. If I were to go to a psychiatrist right now, they'd tell me it had all just been a grand illusion created by my specific wish fulfillment and psychological insecurities.

Because I was pretty sure a sophisticated ranking system wouldn't take away points simply for barfing. Everything was back to normal. We'd talked to the police officers about the incident, which included a super who insisted he was just barely able to make it in time and that he was sure he had saved the day by stopping the bullet. He'd had magnetic powers and could have pulled the bullet and gun toward him. Maybe that was it. Maybe that was why the bullet didn't hit me.

Except that the green screen had popped up in my vision, saying that I had stopped the robbery, that I had saved Gran. At least Gran was the star. Everyone praised her for standing up to the robber. A news crew filmed a few minutes of her answering questions. Tomorrow she'll become a meme and "You ain't worth the arthritis!" will be a top hit song. They didn't see me as having saved her. She was just in the way of my vomit trajectory and needed to be pushed aside. Maybe that's all it was.

Our groceries were free from the store in gratitude for not dying and we walked home. I was the only one still shaking. I pressed my palms to my eyes. I could still see the bullet, hanging there mid-air in the pasta aisle, like someone had pressed pause on the universe. I saw the smoke curling out of the gun, the yellow sparks exploding out from it. More than anything, the bullet had been coming for me, inches from my face, and I decided to turn.

I'd had a second's time to think about it, turn my head at just the right angle, and watch as it whirred past me. I do not live in The Matrix. That shouldn't happen in the real world. Then again, there was the green number. If that was my awakening, then the power would be available now, any time I wanted. I could use it now. Slowing the world for about the space of one second wasn't exactly the most special superpower, but it was something. Better than Voice Crack guy's. Better than nothing at all.

Anytime anyone at school said anything about me being a zero, I would just slow down time and space long enough to doodle a superpig on their face or stick pencils in their ears (sharp ends facing out, of course). I won't be a true super. No one's going to see it as a real skill that could benefit humanity in any meaningful way. I was only able to save Gran because I had been standing right next to her. One second of slowing the earth wasn't going to win me any medals.

I'll be happy to join Hover Guy at those kids' parties. I could use it for small acts in everyday life. Stop a kid from bullying another. Play a trick on someone who deserved it. Help someone whose groceries were about to fall. It won't matter much, but it'll matter to me. I'll matter, even in a small way. Here was the test. If I could do it now, it would be official. Maybe I would get my card, just to show everyone at school. I looked around my room. There wasn't much to use, so I grabbed a tack from the wall.

Holding it between my fingers, I focused on it, memorizing its form because that seemed like a good thing to do. Mentally, I commanded it to slow. It dropped on the floor at the completely normal speed that tacks do, about one second. Truly, I was a god. I picked it up again. This time, I concentrated on the atmosphere. That's what had stood out at first, the thickening of the air like it had turned to water. My limbs had pushed through it so slowly, feeling the reverberations of every movement.

It dropped again, this time probably faster. I glared at it for awhile. Not the first time I'd been hurt by a tack, but certainly the most soul crushing and identity collapsing. One more time. I picked it up again. I went full memory warp. I closed my eyes. We were back in Friendly-Mart and the bullet was flying out of the gun. Gran's voice was yelling at three decibels lower, Voice Crack's spittle held steady in the air. The broken record version of Careless Whisper threatened to kill me.

The entire world was different, a whole other reality. I was strong in it. Powerful. I could change things, change destiny. I kept my eyes closed as my fingers let go of the tack. It hit the ground with the same metallic plinking sound it did before. I stared at it. Then I threw it. Ridiculous. Hover Guy got his ability straight away. Mr. Soprano could use his voice cracking at will. If I was awakened, where were my powers? What was with that stupid error and the atrophied percentage?

How could my system be atrophied if I just got it? My head pounded and my nose started to run. I wiped my face and my hand came away red. The only thing I could get to drip slowly to the ground was blood from my nostrils. I walked out of my room. Gran was cooking in the cramped corner we liked to refer to as the kitchen. She was whistling while frying eggs in our one pan. You'd never know she'd been seconds from death with a bullet headed straight for her just an hour ago. We hadn't talked on the way home.

I had been stuck in my head, playing the sequence of events over and over. I planted my hands on the counter.

"Gran, why did you practically beg a guy with a gun to shoot you?" She scoffed.

"He was all bark. You could see it in his eyes. Man like that's scared of his own shadow."

"He fired the gun! The bullet barely missed your head!" She tossed the eggs up in the air, totally at ease.

"I'd bet you a million bucks it wasn't on purpose! Finger slipped 'cause he was sweatin' so much." My hands clenched on the table, fingernails scraping against the flimsy wood.

"That wouldn't have made a difference if he'd shot you!"

"But he didn't.

'Cause you saved me, now didn't you?" Her wrinkled lips tugged into a smile. I looked down.

"I pushed you out of the way of my stomach acid projectile. I was just trying to save your shirt from getting ruined."

"No, you didn't." She pointed the spatula at me accusatorily.

"You shoved me, clear as day, and nearly got your brains blown out yourself." She grinned wider.

"I'm proud of you." I frowned.

"Did it feel weird to you? When the bullet was coming? I just felt like everything… slowed down." She looked at me like I'd lost my mind.

"Are you kidding me? I heard the bang and the next thing I knew I was sprawled on a bed of potato chips. Happened so fast, I only figured it out 'cause the punk looked like he'd peed his pants." Gran slid the eggs onto a chipped plate and thunked it down onto the counter, then turned to me with eyes squinted.

"Alright Cass, spit it out. Why are you asking me if time slowed down? Are you on drugs?" I stared at her then rolled my eyes.

"If I had enough money to buy drugs, I'd spend it on a higher quality toilet paper. That's how you know you've made it in life."

"Don't get smart. You've been twitchy as a squirrel ever since the store." She leaned on the counter, arms crossed, her stare drilling into me like she had X-ray vision.

"Now tell me what's going on in that head of yours." I swallowed. The words perched on the edge of my tongue like they were contemplating suicide. But my chest squeezed tight and what came out instead was, "Honestly, it was just standard me stuff. I always have this mind melt thing when something scary happens." She just kept staring at me. I sighed and shrugged my shoulders, then paused. Strangely, they didn't hurt at all anymore.

"And I don't understand how the bullet missed me." She huffed, shook her head and slid the plate of eggs my way.

"That's life. Sometimes the universe comes for you and sometimes it cuts you a break. So why don't you make sure that you use it."