Read Online The Last Superhero by Astrid 'Artistikem' Cruz - Free Book Online

to the back wall, turn on the
lights and vroom goes the A/C, the blowers rumbling, making the ceiling tremble.
    “ We
had dinner at Simon's, then helped her unpack and I had to swat
Steven's hands off the books she brought because he wanted to take
them all.”
    Set the backpack on my desk
in the office and hear Daphne slump in the red armchair.
    “ Did
you read the paper today?”
    “ Haven't
gotten my hands on a copy yet.”
    “ The
thief's death is there.”
    “ I
told you first.”
    “ He
murdered him.”
    “ Didn't
we discuss this already? He defended me from getting robbed.”
    “ Can
he control his power?”
    Can he!
    “ Yes.
He can.”
    She exhales louder than
normal. “Okay.”
    “ What?”
Really, what? “You're worried he'll kill me?”
    “ You
said he hadn't used his powers in a long time. What if he hurts you
without actually wanting to?”
    “ He
can control it, believe me.”
    “ Where
did you go yesterday afternoon?”
    Now I'm slumping all
unladylike in my chair. “Are you interrogating me?”
    “ G,
come on.”
    “ Dudette,
I'm sorry. I love you for worrying about me, but I don't see the
need. He's lovely and charming and adorable.”
    “ He's
freaking old.”
    “ With
experience comes great caution. Once bitten, twice shy.”
    “ Did
you read the blog I sent you last night?”
    While I was fantasizing
about what'll happen tonight, all hot and bothered in my bed?
    “ Didn't
have the time.”
    “ Read
it. He was part of a government program, something like that HAARP
thing.”
    “ Weather
control?”
    “ This
dude says he has evidence of Salvatore Jr. being in the government's
payroll, working freelance for the Department of Defense.”
    “ What
the fuck?”
    “ Twenty-eight
years locked inside a house? With no money? How did he get food,
supplies, stuff, G? How can you survive twenty-eight years without
any human contact?”
    “ He
never said he didn't contact anyone. Fuck that, D. People go by
alternate identities all the fucking time.”
    “ A
witness protection program, maybe?”
    “ You're
over-thinking again, don't do that.” I open my backpack and
pull out a stack of papers held together by a large black binder
clip.
    She sees it, recognizes it,
gives a happy gasp.
    “ That's...”
    “ Yeah.
Your newest book that won't edit itself.” Leap to my feet,
search for a red pen among all the crap on my desk. “If you'll
excuse me, I'll be half working the front, half diving into this
wonderful thing you call writing. And please remember I'm on a
deadline.”
    She gets up, grins, can't
help herself.
    Way to lasso her into
submission.
    Writers.
    Push her out of the office,
the store, into the street, shut the door on her grinning façade,
stick my tongue out at her and off she goes like some ten-year-old
with a lollypop.
    Sit behind the cash register
and see she's left the paper with the news on the punk's death face
up.
    There's a reward on the Good
Samaritan. FUCK.
    Twenty-five thousand
dollars, a bit low if you ask me.
    Damn you Agent... What was
his last name again? Ross?
    Kenneth Ross.
    Kenny.
    Don't you always die, Kenny?
Don't you?
    Open the manuscript, uncap
the pen with my teeth, let in the feeling of words creeping into my
system, picking my brain, arousing my consciousness. Typo here, typo
there, conjugate that verb to oblivion.
    Minutes, hours pass. The
skies darken outside and it starts to rain. Sarcastic. Great.
    Did you really mean to say
that, Daph?
    In and out come people. I
smile, scowl, smile, frown, smile, smile, grunt. Watch it with those
dripping umbrellas! Stop touching the books if you ain't gonna buy!
    This sentence would go so
much better down here and not up there. Oh, Daphne you're a naughty
girl. What? How the fuck did she come up with that?
    Slide credit cards, enter
numbers, sign here, have a nice day.
    OMG, this character sounds a
lot like me. Gonna kill her for that.
    “ Miss
Armstrong?”
    Not now, dude! The
protagonist's about to fight her