Arrogance: Volume One of Ebb & Flow

I spend most of the ride figuring out the ins and outs of the character I want people to fear—a serial killer who only targets Neuvohumans. I could give it a slightly religious overtone and market it as divine punishment. No, I need to make it palatable to the masses. I want it to be big enough to create a movement based on bringing all the evil Neuvohumans to justice. People are raised to be afraid of people who kill others, but there are exceptions to that societal view. The primitive part of the human brain likes to see vengeance inflicted upon those who are their betters. The poor will always dream of eating the rich, the bullied wish to see their abusers brutalized, and regular humans will always envy the superior Neuvohuman. Even though everyone knows you can only gain powers through a Trigger Event, a nasty jealousy worms inside them. And this only compounds when the Neuvohuman is a monster. There is a difference between a Cowl robbing a bank and a school teacher abusing her students. Certain crimes cause people to want a price in blood to be paid. Even the staunchest supporter of imprisonment can, for a moment, have their minds swayed by truly vile crimes.

We stop at Lowes and purchase two four-foot sections of chain and several rolls of duct tape. Vivienne’s GPS says we’ll be there in twenty minutes. Fairboro is near the coast, so despite it being July, the car is cool with just the windows down. It’s a dark, quiet ride with the wind racing through my hair. There's no need for my helmet when it’s so late. Vivienne’s been quiet the whole ride and even continued her silence when we stopped to buy supplies. The Anna Lee file has really set her off; I underestimated her protectiveness of children. I have nothing to say that would make her feel better, and she won’t have peace until we’ve gotten rid of Anna Lee.

Does Vivienne have the resolve for this, or will her trauma override her restraint? Her anger might make her lose control and fuck up my plans. I can't let her kill Anna Lee without getting her power first. It's too valuable to lose.

We're five minutes from our destination, so I activate my mask. I bought gloves for both of us; we can't leave any evidence tying us to this. A seemingly random brutal attack on a teacher revealed to be retribution for crimes unpunished. The woman lives in a two-story brownstone complete with a two-car garage. She must have wealthy parents. There's no way she can afford this place on a teacher's salary. From our brief research, we know she lives alone and has no pets or partners. Vivienne parks on the street and ties a bandana around her face before putting her hood up. Nobody can know who did this. Vivienne grabs the backpack with our supplies in it.

We head around the back to her deck, making sure to keep quiet. It's well past two a.m., and the neighborhood is fast asleep, but it doesn't hurt to be silent. Her backyard is void of anything except a single patio chair. There is no grill or table, nothing to reveal any touch of her personality. Vivienne tests the backdoor, and it's unlocked. Small towns never lock their doors; everyone thinks that they're safe and that bad things don't happen in places like this. But look what happened in New Farford. One party that taught our town a lesson that'll be remembered for generations. Tonight, Fairboro learns the same hard lesson.

We enter the house quietly and find ourselves in the kitchen. I take in the scenery and make a note of her knife rack and various cooking instruments. I memorize anything that can be used as a weapon. If Anna somehow gets away from us, I don't want to be surprised by anything. Anna's bedroom is on the second floor, so we make our way through the house toward her. I see a locked door in the living room that probably leads to the basement. Why is that door locked when the backdoor isn't? What is down there that requires a lock? I ignore the burning urge to find out what's the basement secret to follow Vivienne up the stairs.

Despite the older colonial look of the house, the inside is modern and maintained. The wooden steps have carpet treads on them that silence what little noise our boots would have made. Step by step, we creep up to the second floor with toward our quarry. Vivienne's burning rage seems to have frosted over on our way here, leaving behind nothing but cold determination. We turn the corner at the top of the steps and see a light from underneath the bathroom door. She's awake. The bathroom is located across the hall from her bedroom, and at the end of the hall is a window. Vivienne halts in place in front of me.

"Don't panic, get ready. Go into her bedroom and hide. If she makes any noise, knock her out," I whispered.

Vivienne follows my instructions and enters Anna's bedroom, hiding behind the door. I doubt she will be able to resist Anna’s power, but if she can, that’s good. I slowly creep forward until my back is to the window. She won't see me in the darkness, thanks to my outfit and helmet. Now we wait. I hear the sink running as she washes her hands. It feels like time is stretching out as I wait for the door to open. I am hyper-focused, and the slight click of the doorknob turning sets me on high alert. She walks out of the bathroom, yawning as she stretches.

This woman is in her mid-forties, Asian, with a hard face and extremely prominent cheekbones. I wouldn't call her pretty or handsome, more mean-looking. Anna’s wearing a robe and a hairband to hold her hair back. She doesn't notice me on her left, too tired to be alert. She walks into her bedroom without even glancing in my direction. Before coming here, I was unsure if her ability would work on me, given my unique brain chemistry. Thinking about hurting her and my general plan doesn’t seem to activate her power. I am in the clear, but will Vivienne’s anger be enough to fight back?

“Jesus, what the fuck? What the hell are you doing in my house?”

That answers my question. Vivienne can’t fight it. The good news is that Anna’s power doesn’t let her control people. It just affects the way she’s perceived. The bedroom door starts to close, and I quickly rush into the room before Anna can call the police. Don’t forget Kai’s warnings. My boot flings the door open, startling Anna. She’s sputtering nonsense as her power fails to do anything to me. I swing a right hook into her face before she can do anything. The crack of my fist into her jaw stumbles her, and she falls backward onto her bed. I get on top of her and wrap my hands around her neck, squeezing. Go to sleep, and it will make this easier. She tries to claw at my face, but my helmet protects me perfectly from her swipes. Her breathing is growing ragged, her face becoming a shade of purple, and her struggle is teetering off. Her unconscious body lies on the bed. Vivienne is still in the same place she was, not moving to help me. Her power is constantly active, even when she’s unconscious.

“Nobody, why did you do that to her?” Vivienne asked me.

“Because she abuses children, and you don’t like that, remember?”

“That’s not true. She wouldn’t do that. Ms. Lee wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Vivienne said.

This is incredible. What is the range of her ability? How far away would I need to move Vivienne for her to be unaffected? Will Vivienne eventually be freed from this effect after enough time? There are so many questions I have and I can’t wait to take it and find out. I ignore Vivienne and take my glove off before I place the back of my index finger against Anna’s neck. And it’s mine now. Interestingly, there is no upper range limit for its activation. The one flaw is that indiscriminate destruction won’t activate her power. Someone planning to destroy a bridge with a missile, and she happens to be on that bridge, would not find themselves charmed. The personality piece I stole from her is affection. How poetic that the thing I take from her would make me vulnerable to her ability; if she still had it, that is. I wonder if I might be able to love Maria now genuinely.

Now that Anna has been depowered, Vivienne is able to think clearly. She doesn’t say anything about what just happened. She quietly tapes Anna’s mouth shut and wraps her wrists and ankles. Vivienne throws Anna onto her shoulder as we walk downstairs. Vivienne drops her on the ground, and for a second, I thought she killed Anna.

“I’m sorry I’m so weak. I should’ve fought against her power like you did,” Vivienne said softly.

My voice gets caught in my throat as I try to use Vivienne’s vulnerability. Something is giving me pause. Do I care about her? As a pawn, she’s excellent and well-suited for my purposes, but do I care about Vivienne now? Something is preventing me from lying to her to further my hold on her. I want to continue working with her, and she is important to all my plans. I have no frame of reference for what I’m feeling right now, but the idea of using her guilt to my benefit is sickening.

“You’re not weak, Vivienne. You’re strong, stronger than I am. That’s why we make a good team. We’re like two halves of a circle. Now, chin up. It’s time to make this psycho pay,” I said.

“Thanks, Nobody. Should we set up in the kitchen?”

“No. If possible, we want to do this in her basement. It’s locked, though,” I said.

Vivienne transforms, and her obsidian form is made more intimidating with the bandana and hood. She walks over to the padlock and crushes it effortlessly. Her boots transform with her so her body doesn’t scorch the hardwood floors. She needs an outfit for when she’s out that allows her to make the most of her transformation. She transforms back and picks up Anna before heading downstairs to the basement. I grab a chair from the kitchen to bring with us. What secrets are you hiding down here, Anna?

I’m forced to duck my head as we walk down the stairs. Lights automatically turn on as we descend. The basement is spacious but unfinished. Exposed copper pipes hang from the ceiling, and there's a washer and dryer combo in the corner. I put the chair in the middle of the floor as I explore around, taking note of the fine layer of dust on absolutely everything. The first and second floors are devoid of any clutter or dirt. It's odd that the basement would be completely different from the rest of her house. I nose around, exploring the basement, until I see a chest in the corner. It’s a white oak with metallic corners painted gold and has a combination lock on it. It’s just a regular lock, so a swift kick from Vivienne busts it open. She has the chain and tape, so I leave her to restrain our prisoner.

I kneel and look over the chest for any signs of wires or machinery. I rap my knuckles against the sides, checking for hidden compartments. I doubt she’d have it boobytrapped, but I can’t take any chances when dealing with Neuvohumans. I don’t even know what to look for, and I’m wasting time doing this. I gingerly lift the lid of the chest, tensing in case I have to roll away. Nothing happens; no gears turning, sudden clicking, or any signs of anything happening. Emboldened by my success, I flip the lid up and backward. Inside are hundreds of photographs of kids with bruises, cuts, and burns. She keeps photographic evidence of her crimes. Vivienne will lose it if she sees this. I can’t allow her to murder Anna until I’ve finished my prep work. It’s better to keep this from her.

“Hey, what’s in the chest, Nobody?”

“Nothing important. Are you sure about wanting to do this? I don’t mind getting my gloves dirty, as you have seen,” I answered, shutting the chest.

“Thanks, but I want to do this. She needs to be punished for the shit she’s done.”

“Wake her up and begin. Remember what I said to you before. I’ll be hiding out of sight until the end. And I will be the one who kills her,” I said.

“Nobody, I got it!” Vivienne said with a hint of anger. This is personal for her, but her hang-up doesn’t trump my plans.

I walk behind Anna Lee. There are a couple of plastic totes there, and I find one to sit on as my seat for the show. What lengths will you go to, Vivienne? Vivienne rips the tape off and smacks the unconscious woman so hard that the impact disturbs some of the dust in the room. It’s a resounding meaty thump that shakes Anna from her slumber. She’s bound with tape and chains, unable even to fidget. She doesn’t scream or shout; she just whips her head to look at V.

“Yeah, you feel it, don’t you? Your ability is gone, and you’re never going to hurt another child ever again,” Vivienne said.

“What ability?” Anna asked innocently. “I would never hurt a child; I’m a teacher. Please, just let me go. I’ll give you whatever you want. I promise I won’t call the police,” Anna Lee said.

She’s quite the actor. She plays the role of the terrified, innocent school teacher very well. If I hadn’t seen her file or the chest, I might have fallen for this. Combined with her ability, it’s no surprise that every case fell through. This woman is a menace that needs to be stopped, a blatant psychopath that cannot be allowed to live. I am no saint, but I only use violence as a means to an end.

Vivienne smacks her again and again. It isn’t about getting an answer. It’s about showing your captive you have the capacity for physical harm. Anna doesn’t make a grunt throughout the exchange. Even for a secret kid-torturing maniac, her lack of reaction is odd. Vivienne is an extremely strong woman, and she isn't holding anything back.

Vivienne’s strikes are hitting hard enough to draw blood. Anna spits out a bloody tooth onto the cement floor and laughs. Her act is gone now, leaving the monster to talk to V. “That all you got, bitch? You’re wasting your time. I don’t know what you did to take away my power, but once it’s back, this little farce comes to an end. I’ll slit your throat, and you’ll thank me with your last breath.”

“Fuck you,” Vivienne said before she punched Anna as hard as she could in the stomach.

Her lack of reaction to pain could be a result of some degenerative nerve disorder. Her lack of empathy might spring from an inability to feel pain. Focus, the why doesn’t matter. Understanding her isn’t important to the current situation. If we met under different circumstances, Anna and I could’ve learned a lot from each other. I don’t mind her little vice, but it is, unfortunately, a dealbreaker for Vivienne. And Vivienne is an investment for the future, whereas Anna would be a dog I have to watch constantly. I have no interest in having people I have to keep under heel.

Vivienne has given up on communicating with Anna and is just laying into her. She is truly a master of physicality, and every hit has a purpose. The body can take a lot more damage than the head, and Vivienne knows it. Her punches are perfectly aimed to hurt but not break anything. She’s keeping her word to me not to kill the woman, but her hits aren’t doing anything. This is about as productive as trying to put out a fire with prayers; it’s useless.

“Stop it, V. She doesn’t feel pain.”

“Wait, what?” Vivienne asked.

“A Peeping Tom, watching from the shadows? What is this some sort of cuck show?”

I ignore Anna and address Vivienne. “Dislocate her shoulders, then head upstairs and wait for me.”

Vivienne knows I won’t ask for something for no reason. She hits Anna’s left shoulder with repeated palm strikes before moving on to the right one. Anna laughs the entire time despite being covered in bruises and bleeding. I wait until I hear the basement door shut before moving in front of her.

“Ah, I see who wears the pants in this relationship. Is this the good cop, bad cop routine?”

“Your ability has coddled you, and you wasted your potential. I have taken what you squandered to be put to better use. There’s no good cop, bad cop. My partner has a problem with your particular urges. That is why you’ve found yourself being held hostage and beaten senseless. Ms. Lee, you may not feel pain, but I will help teach you fear.”

I undo the tape and chains holding her. She’s light, and I have no trouble shouldering her weight. I drop her onto the floor, arms first, and hear a cracking sound. Anna doesn’t complain; she just continues her croaking laughter. I should be thankful I can experience pain, or else I might’ve turned out like her. I’d like to go upstairs and grab a knife for the next part, but this is meant to be the debut of the Neuvohuman killer. This needs to be a little sloppy until this imaginary killer has found their footing. The wooden chair will have to do for my instrument. I pick up and smash the chair into the cement until it starts to break apart. One of the legs falls off first, with the end of it resembling a hard paintbrush made of splinters. I hoist Anna’s hand up and jab the sharp end of the chair leg into her palm and fingers. Her skin breaks as small pinpricks of blood begin forming.

“What are you doing?” Anna asked me curiously.

“I am draining your blood so that I can write out a message before I kill you.” My words are succinct and delivered emotionlessly.

“What? You aren’t going to kill me. You're just doing this to make a point,” she said nervously.

“Maybe you thought we were vigilantes here to deal out personal justice before turning you over to the authorities. Let me alleviate you of that notion. I told you I have no problems with you; you are merely a convenient way for me to start a row of dominoes. You are no more an enemy of mine than those children you abused were to you.”

There isn’t enough blood to start writing, so I stab her hand repeatedly to get more ink. A steady stream has started as I hold her hand steady to let it drip into a puddle. In the interim, she doesn’t speak as I continue feeding the growing palette of red. After a sizable enough amount has gathered, I begin, gripping her index and middle finger together to use a writing instrument.

“You’ve made your fucking point, stop it. Let me go, and when my power comes back, I’ll only make you eat two of your fingers,” Anna lashed out.

“Anna, you are so quick to anger. There is no point to make, no bargains to be had. You’ve gone through life believing you were a predator, a wolf amongst sheep. You are not a monster; you are a bully and a mediocre one at that.”

This whole night, I’ve been thinking of what to write for this imaginary vigilante. In the end, going for something short but memorable seems correct. Her last few moments are spent swapping between cursing and pleading. She’s too beaten to flail or move, but I use the chair leg to scratch open her throat. Once that’s settled, I finally write six simple words using her fingers. In bloody cursive, on the stone basement reads the phrase:

“The Law Falters, Justice Does Not.”