'Heroic Exit' Short Story Preview! (Patreon)

A preview of the short story that will be published in the upcoming anthology! I submitted a couple different drafts so I don't know if they'll use this one necessarily but here we go, it's about half the story basically.

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Heroic Exit

By Caitlin Donovan

The transition to a nursing home was a struggle for most, but it was downright impossible for a former superhero. Every day, memories played in a ruthless loop through Ella’s brain. Soaring freely through the sky. The adoring cheers of the crowd as she waved down at them. The rush of her fist connecting satisfyingly with a monstrous face. Joy, freedom, power.

None of those things existed here. No boundless blue, no crisp air, no dazzling city lights below. Just off-white walls, stiff sheets, shiny floors and that endless antiseptic smell. Here, her every move was monitored. She was wheeled around by harried, overworked staff who sometimes forgot her name. Hell, she had a hard time remembering it herself some days.

She’d gone from a world where she was constantly soaking in the spotlight to a room where she was just another face staring dully at the TV in the rocking chair-infested common room.

Admittedly, she was partly to blame for that. There were those who could smile and laugh in this place, those who found joy in helping with the community garden or playing chess or participating in book club discussions. She’d tried to be that person at first. She’d tried to fit in with the other seniors. But she got sick of the gulf between her and them. Their interest would turn to strained politeness or outright horror whenever she got a little too enthusiastic describing the gory details of past battles. Which she inevitably always did.

“You need to stop living in the past,” Norma Harris had told her once with a worried little frown after Ella ended up breaking a rocking chair during her spirited reenactment of her final showdown with her greatest rival, a deadly sorceress with a penchant for arson.

“Better living in the past than rotting away with you in the present,” she snapped back while rubbing her sore fist. Oh, how Norma had huffed and squawked at that!

Ella regretted saying it. Norma’s life was packed with visits from her sweet, silly grandchildren and intellectual discussions about poetry readings— not to mention the occasional nighttime tryst with Dan Willis when he was feeling spry. It was a nice way to spend retirement. But the sad truth was that Ella wasn’t cut out for quiet pursuits and relaxed conversations. She was a woman of action, even though the injuries she’d shrugged off so easily in her reckless youth now ravaged her aging body with a vengeance.

Her “walks” around the grounds were the closest thing she got to action, these days. And they only made her feel worse, thanks to the agony of the open blue sky. Despite the fact she needed an orderly supporting her if she wanted to even limp a few tortured steps, that sky called to her like a siren. Unable to resist the temptation one day, she rocketed straight from her wheelchair. She rose a glorious seven feet before falling spectacularly to earth, crashing headlong into the hydrangeas and breaking her arm to boot. Ever since that day, her outside time had been very restricted and her assigned orderly, Mel (Or had it been Brenda back then? She’d gone through so many they were all blurring together...), started slipping her power-suppressants. She’d become a master at fake-swallowing and spitting it out in the bathroom sink later.

Restricted now to the common room, she started watching TV a lot. Every day, she sat with eyes glued to the parade of new flashy young heroes that battled and charmed their way across the screen. She was always hungry for a mention of her name -- a youngster claiming her as their inspiration; some sort of “where-are they-now segment”; hell, even a tidbit about one the villains she’d put away. Her ears were always perked for news of her, especially.

But the world moved on so quickly. It was even the case for these new kids, the poor bastards. They dominated the news cycle for a few weeks, then they died in battle or “retired.” There was a big fuss for a couple of days, then poof, it was like they’d never existed. That was what it meant to be a hero. She sure as shit hadn’t expected to live this long. She always thought her rival would have taken care of her by now.

Now, she existed in a world that had no room for her. In fact, the only reference to her she ever picked up on the news was a young heroine explaining why she intended to retire soon. “Well, I can’t keep doing this forever, you know,” the girl said with a wry smile, the glitzy blue scales on her costume flashing in the studio lights. “Imagine if I was still flying around throwing punches into my fifties, like that one lady from around, um, twenty years ago? You know, the one with the really cheesy name?”

“Oh, sorry I named myself something people would actually understand instead of some shit I learned from my Ancient Greek Literature course, Nereid, you little snot!” she screamed at the screen, startling Norma so badly she fell out of her chair. She lost her TV privileges for a week after that.

Her own children would probably agree with that Nereid girl. “You loved the job more than taking care of yourself,” her son had told her wearily when her health problems had started up. “We begged you to stop. You didn’t listen.”

Her kids would tire of punishing her eventually, right? That’s what she used to believe. She spent so many days begging, pleading, hoping. Hoping that they’d bother to visit this week, that they’d call, or even pick up their damn phone. But now she knew it would never happen. They wanted to forget their reckless embarrassment of a mother, just like the rest of the world. Out of sight, out of mind.

So when Mel wheeled her in the lounge on the last day of her television exile, she was fully prepared to spend the day alone staring at the eggshell-colored wall with only the memories of cheering crowds keeping her company. She certainly wasn’t expecting to see her.

The Hexmistress of Hellfire.

She was leaning back in a corner chair with her obnoxiously elegant black snake-head cane propped up beside her. She tapped her fingers idly on her knee, a small smile playing on her lips. Her face was more lined than it had been at their last meeting ten (or had it been fifteen?) years ago, and her hair was steel gray rather than lustrous black, but otherwise she hadn’t changed a bit. She still held herself with that easy, casual grace. Her dark eyes were as sharp as ever, scanning the room, taking in every movement. When she saw Ella, her smile grew wider.

Ella tugged frantically at her orderly’s sleeve. “It’s Hex--I mean, the Hexmistress of Hellfire! Why the hell did you let her in here? Do you not see the cane?”

Mel glanced at the cane with tired eyes and blinked, like this was the first time he’d truly taken in how ostentatious it was. But he shrugged it off, giving Ella a strained smile. “Ma’am,” he said gently, “We’ve been over this before. None of your old “friends” are here. Remember when you made that mistake about the Robber Baron?”

Ella’s face burned. Okay, so she’d been jumpy that day and Mr. Willis’s bald spot was a dead ringer for the Baron’s. But that had just been a momentary mistake! She’d realized it wasn’t him the second he’d turned around! But she was face to face with the Hexmistress now and it was definitely her. The roguish wink the other woman gave her sealed it.

There was no use wasting time trying to convince Mel. It was best not to get anyone else involved, anyway. She could handle this herself.

“Goodness, you’re right. My eyesight really is going, isn’t it?” Ella faked an embarrassed chuckle. Mel gave her an indulgent smile.

“Wait,” she said quickly as he started to wheel her in the other direction. “I feel just awful. I’d like to give her a warm welcome now.”

“That would be great!” Mel beamed. “It’s so hard to be new and lonely. Maybe you can make a friend!” Ella found the edge of desperation in his voice a bit offensive, but she kept her smile plastered on as the orderly pushed her toward her nemesis.

“Ella Ashford, meet Helen Burns,” Mel introduced them. Ella choked down a groan at the obnoxious fake name. “Ms. Burns, what would you say to a nice chat with our Ella?”

“Thank you so much, dear,” Hex said, baring her teeth in an ominous grin. “I’d just love that.”

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The exciting conclusion will be available in the anthology!