The Indestructible Man Page 5

  —I have to go now. I’m sorry, I really am.

  “Ah, who cares?” the guard said, and changed the channel.

  “Ha!” Brooks said. “You hear that?”

  But Bobby was too excited to hear him; despite everything, he managed a smile.

  7

  Bobby’s trial began a week before Christmas. As his mother predicted, the lawyer easily convinced the jury that Bobby knew Romulus was impervious to harm. Though the prosecutor wanted to lock him up for attempted murder, in the end he was convicted of assault, public discharge of a firearm, and disturbing the peace. He spent three months in the county jail and, during the five years of probation that would follow, was forbidden to come within one hundred yards of Romulus Wayne or Abigail Wheat. Brooks was given thirty days as Bobby’s accomplice; the prosecutor made no mention of the bombing incident.

  He was released on the first day of spring. The Villa had reclaimed his flat, and he was broke after the fines and court costs, so his only option was to move back in with his parents. When they brought him home his father pushed him up the ramp to the front door, his mother lagging behind, her face thin and gray, eyes fixed on the ground. Neither spoke more than a few words to him for several days; he knew they had taken him in out of charity.

  Bobby spent his days drinking his father’s tasteless beer and watching TV in his bedroom. Every few days he caught news clips on Romulus Wayne’s legal troubles, giggling as Romulus squirmed in front of the cameras. The airwaves were free of All-American Insurance commercials for the first time in months; angry parents’ groups had boycotted All-American into firing Romulus, and the company president apologized for the ‘provocative and inappropriate images’ which caused the two boys to be injured. The two had rigged cinder blocks to drop on their heads after watching one of Romulus’ commercials; one had a serious concussion and a cracked skull, the other permanent brain damage. Best of all, their parents were about to sue Romulus and All-American Insurance for millions in damages, and would likely suck dry whatever fortune he had earned. Bobby spun joyfully in his wheelchair when he heard the news.

  One day in early April, in the middle of watching the sports report, he was startled by a knock on his door. “Bobby,” his mother said. “You’ve got a visitor.”

  “Send him in, Mom,” he said, expecting Brooks. But instead Cindy appeared in the doorway.

  “Hi,” she said. “Can I come in?”

  “Um, yeah,” he said. Embarrassed that he was still in his pajamas, he pulled a blanket from the bed to cover himself.

  “That’s okay,” she said.

  He turned down the TV volume. Cindy sat at the foot of the bed, nervously tapping the bedspread. “I heard what happened,” she said. “Kind of hard not to, I guess. So you really did it.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I really didn’t think you’d go through with it,” she said, helping him spread the blanket back over the bed. “I heard you got a little roughed up.”

  “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “That’s good.”

  The sports report faded out, replaced by another update. Bobby was going to ignore it, but Cindy glanced at the screen. Romulus ran past the cameras, hiding his face under a long leather coat. “I hear he’s pretty much washed up now,” she said. Bobby nodded. “Looks like you finally got your revenge.”

  “I guess so,” he said.

  “I’m not sure I could live with ruining someone’s life like that.”

  “He ruined mine first.”

  “I know.” she said. “So what happens now?”

  “I get to watch him suffer a little.”

  “And then?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Guess I never thought about it.”

  In his peripheral vision he saw a red-gold flash on the TV screen, and his gaze darted back to the set. Abigail stood in the center of a wall of microphones. He turned up the volume.

  “Bobby?” Cindy said.

  “I’m listening to this,” he said.

  “We haven’t seen each other in four months. I waited.”

  “Just a minute,” he said, waving her off.

  “Now look….”

  “Just a goddamned minute. This is important.”

  Cindy looked at Abigail’s pale face on the screen, then at Bobby’s. Transfixed, he continued staring for a few seconds after the news went to commercial.

  Her voice broke his trance. “Oh,” she said. “Now I see.”

  He nodded sadly.

  “And you’ve been in love with her all this time?”

  “Something like that.”

  Her face lost all expression. “Were you thinking about her when you were with me?”

  “Never,” he said, mouth dropping open. “I almost called the whole thing off because of you.”

  She looked away from him and sighed. “Almost? I didn’t wait four months for ‘almost.’” She leaned over, kissed him briefly and without affection. “Goodbye.” He listened to her hurried footsteps in the hall; she was probably trying to get out before she started crying. There was still time to catch her, apologize, think of something to say to keep her from leaving.

  He rolled to the door as her car pulled away from the curb.

  He called her apartment twice that evening, but got her answering machine. The first time he left a message asking her to call back; the second time, an hour later, her machine’s greeting told him not to call again.

  All night he lay in bed trying to convince himself it was for the best. She wanted him to forget the last ten years, and not even she had a right to ask that.

  April was too cold and slushy for him to get around in his wheelchair, so he rarely left his room. Brooks came over only once, carrying a cheap six-pack. He spent much of that time crouching on the floor, stroking his chin, saying very little.

  “So where’ve you been, anyway?” Bobby said. “I’ve been trying to call you for a couple of weeks.”

  “Just thinkin’,” Brooks said. “Wonderin’ if this was all worth it.”

  “Well, stop it,” Bobby said. He licked a drop of warm beer from the rim of the can. “We did good. Last I heard he was getting sued by those kids’ parents and some ticket vendor. He’ll probably lose everything.”

  “I know,” Brooks said, scratching his nose with the back of his hand. “He’s in pretty bad shape.”

  “And?” Bobby said.

  “Just saying,” Brooks said. “Maybe you should’ve let it go.”

  “Hey,” Bobby said, “You know I couldn’t. What happened to doing stuff so you could sleep at night?”

  “I haven’t slept much since then. Have you?”

  “Like a baby.”

  Brooks grunted. “I guess you’re better at this revenge thing than me. Yeah, I blew up somebody’s car, but nobody got hurt.”

  “It’s a little late for second thoughts,” Bobby said. “You were in it as much as me.”

  “Yeah, I was,” Brooks said. “Probably shouldn’t have been, though.” He guzzled the last of his beer and slammed the can on the bedside table. “I got some thinking to do.” He stood up on his rooster legs. “Later,” he said, and walked out.

  A week later Brooks’ landlord answered his phone and said he had taken off for New Jersey or Nebraska—she couldn’t remember which—and hadn’t left a forwarding address.

  The updates on TV died down after Romulus’ tearful apology to his fans and the parents of the injured children. Bobby’s best source was Aunt Mavis, who called to warn him that Romulus had come home to hide out for a while. And he had come alone.

  On the first of May Bobby’s mother came into his room and slapped the newspaper onto his TV tray. Because he never read the local news and did not understand the gesture, his mother unfolded the paper and pointed to the headline: Former ‘Indestructible Man’ Missing. According to the article, Romulus Wayne had been seen plunging into the river the evening before. Eyewitnesses said he was walking along the docks when he stepped off into t
he rain-swollen river and let it carry him off. The search party had yet to find a body, and the Times reporter concluded that Romulus must have been susceptible to drowning. Bobby was not sure it was true, but Romulus was gone all the same.

  “Poor kid,” his mother said once he’d finished reading. “I hope you’re pleased with yourself.” Though he was about to fall out of his wheelchair with glee, Bobby feigned shame until she had gone. He felt like celebrating, but Brooks was gone and he doubted Cindy would speak to him. So he grabbed his flat, tepid beer and drank to himself.

  A few days later the rain stopped, and the ground was dry enough for Bobby to move around freely outside. His parents lived within a few blocks of the dock where Romulus had thrown himself into the river, an easy trek even in a wheelchair. It was sweatshirt-and-jeans weather, and he was happy to finally get out of the house. It would have been nice if Cindy were there to wheel him down to the park, but he had not heard from her in nearly a month. He wondered if she had found someone else, if she still thought of him.

  The trail along the bank was flat and gravelly, easily accessible, but he was still careful not to run over the clusters of duck shit spotting the walkway—he did not want the vile greenish sludge rubbing off on his palms and fingers. His eyes were so fixed on the path that he nearly ran into the young woman sitting at the edge of the water.

  Her bright red-gold hair spilled out from under a white hat, the brim tilted low over her eyes. He panicked, and tried to escape quietly; he could roll back up the footpath without her ever knowing he’d been there. But when he tried to pivot his wheels crunched a patch of gravel, and she turned her head.

  “I knew you’d come,” she said.

  He felt her eyes on him, and stared down at the dock rather than face her. “I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said. “I’ll go.” He began to back away.

  “He jumped in here,” she said quietly. “But you knew that.”

  “Yeah,” he said, stopping. “I heard.”

  “I wondered what I’d do if I saw you here.” He heard the aluminum chair creak as she rose. “I thought about taking your wheelchair by the handles and rolling you into the water.”

  She could do it easily if she wished. The footpath had a slight incline; it was a chore to wheel himself back up, and there was no way he could outrace her. “So why aren’t you?” he muttered into the folds of his sweatshirt.

  “Because throwing you into the river won’t bring him back. Just tell me why.”

  Bobby did not answer.

  “He never did anything to you. This was all because of the time you jumped off the roof?”

  “Maybe,” Bobby said.

  “He was sick and guilty about that for years. But you can’t blame him.”

  His eyes began to dampen, and he squeezed them shut to clear his vision. This was worse than retaliation from Romulus; he would gladly have taken another blow to the temple to avoid it. “I know.”

  “Then what was it? Were you jealous of him?”

  “No.”

  “Was it because of me?”

  His gut seemed to fold in upon itself, and he had to fight his hands’ instinct to slink up into his sleeves. Slowly, he grasped his wheels and rotated his chair, inching back toward the path. He had almost reached the walkway when she seized the grips behind him.

  “Answer me, Bobby.”

  Though he tried to hold them in, tears escaped his eyelids in tiny hot streams. “I’m sorry.”

  “I see,” she said. “Let me get this straight. You’ve had a crush on me since we were twelve, and you thought you’d win me over by ruining my husband’s life.”

  “It wasn’t just a crush,” Bobby said.

  Abigail leaned over him, her face inches from his, as it had been in countless dreams. In the theater, months before, she’d looked at him with a sort of nostalgic affection. But now her blue eyes were pitiless. “The funny thing is,” she said, smiling bitterly, “when we were kids I actually thought you were cute. But you were a jealous, hateful little boy, and you haven’t changed at all.” She released him and walked away, dragging the folded lawn chair behind her. “Goodbye, Bobby.” As she headed up the footpath he turned back toward the rippling water, staring at a dead leaf in the current until her gravelly steps receded.

  A week later Bobby’s father put him on a Self-Help van bound for the employment agency. He told Bobby not to return until he had found a job; he would have to start looking for his own place again; and until he found one he was to pay two hundred dollars a month for expenses. Bobby agreed with a little nod; he knew things would have to change soon. He rolled down to the driveway and waited for the van alone.

  He asked if he could come back to the auto parts shop, but they could not rehire him with a criminal record. At the employment agency he haggled with the clerk about what kinds of jobs he could do, and tried to convince her that the shooting was a one-time event. She found him a job stuffing inserts for the newspaper—late-night hours, minimum wage, but better than nothing.

  As he left the agency he heard long, shrill sirens down the street. Three fire engines passed, heading toward a thick line of black smoke rising above the center of town. Several blocks down, he could see the top of the Hillcrest Towers building, a ten-story apartment complex, smoke spewing from the broken windows. A crowd had gathered in the Hillcrest parking lot; he approached slowly to keep from being trampled.

  “Christ, there’s kids in there,” someone said. Bobby leaned forward to watch, wishing he could stand to get a better view.

  An office chair flew out of one of the top-floor windows in a hail of glass and crashed to the pavement below. A man in a long black leather coat emerged from the blue-gray haze, crouching on the window ledge, a large towel-wrapped bundle under each arm. Without hesitation he jumped, trailing dark smoke behind him like a specter. Bobby watched him all the way down, expecting him to land face-first and splatter on the sidewalk like a raw egg, shuddering as he relived his own fall from the school roof. But the man fell with purpose, even grace, and on impact he bent his knees, sprang effortlessly to his feet, and gently handed his two squirming bundles to the nearest fireman.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Bobby said, creeping closer as firemen peeled the wet towels off two young children, who ran to their parents’ waiting arms. The gathered crowd cheered; the fire chief patted the man on the shoulder before going back to the hoses. “Get to a hospital and get checked out,” the chief called after him.

  “I’m okay.” The man walked away from the scene, ignoring the notepad-toting reporter who chased him. His face and hair were caked with soot, and he coughed up a puff of blue smoke. He made no move toward Bobby, but as he passed their eyes locked. This was not the same gangly, smirking boy Bobby had despised, nor the smiling head who filled the TV screen. He seemed transformed, his eyes full of confidence and vindication. He had done something real, and good, erasing his dishonor. Romulus Wayne had won again.

  Bobby’s legs betrayed his instinct to run, and he sunk back in his wheelchair, sure he would shortly be hurled to the asphalt. But Romulus went on his way, disappearing behind the hedges bordering the parking lot.

  Bystanders bumped into him from all sides, so close he could not maneuver his chair to get free. Eventually he found the space to turn and wheel away from the scene, stopping outside a coffee shop until his heartbeat settled and he could breathe again.

  The van was not due for another half-hour, so he slowly rolled down the sidewalk. It took him over an hour to reach his parents’ street. He looked down the row of yards and houses, watching young children ride their bicycles and jump rope in the driveways without fear of cracking their bones on the pavement. He wished he could leave his chair and join them, feel concrete under his feet, run and leap recklessly. His eyes fell on the his parents’ yard, just a few blocks down; he wondered if they would miss him if he never came back, or if it was too late for that. He thought of Abigail Wheat—Abigail Wayne now—dancing in the
sprinkler eleven years before, on the day he first fell in love, then watched a nod and a wink crumble it.

  He spun his wheels and headed for the dock.

  He sat at the river’s edge and stared into the clear, burbling water for a long time. He wondered if Romulus had stood in the same spot, if he’d heard the same sounds, if he thought he might exceed his limits and drown—washed out to the Mississippi and beyond, hopelessly lost in the deep, roiling water. And he wondered if Romulus had thought of Abigail, pictured himself emerging from the river and burying his nose in her soft hair. Maybe that had been enough to save him.

  Bobby searched his memory for a similar thought to preserve him. When he had it he shut his eyes tight and refused to let it go—a round face with short-cropped blond hair, a laugh without scorn or sarcasm, purple-tinted lips pressed against his. He would do better by her next time.