Mom, I'm Bulletproof

Chapter 7.6: Safe Houses

The sun had gone down by the time Amy felt strong enough to fly again. She swam to the nearest beach. She brought herself out onto the sand, dripping with water, and knowing that her uniform was still covered with the silvery drug.

After sitting for a few minutes, Amy got up to her feet and, dizzyingly, walked toward the public ladies' room. What most summertime tourists didn't know was that this was secretly one of Amy's hidden "safe houses." She had a locker with a change of clothes in the ladies room, and the key to it concealed in a tiny compartment inside her right boot.

After checking to make sure no one was nearby, she peeled herself out of her uniform, and put on her stash of clothes – light beach wear, appropriate for the location.

She tried flying again, but could only get a few feet off the ground before feeling weak and having to land. She then reached into the locker and pulled out a spare burner phone she kept in there, and called her friend Abby.

"I just saw you on TV," Abby said. "Why were those guys shooting you with glue guns?"

"I need a ride," Amy said. "Can you pick me up at Winthrop Beach North?"

"Are you OK?"

"It was the bad guys," Amy said. "The bad guys won."

# # # #

Amy slept for a few hours on Abby's couch, and then she took a long, hot shower. By the time that was over, all the muscle relaxants were out of her system – and, finally, untangled out of her long curly hair – until she felt at full strength.

The news later reported that the men with jetpacks dispersed shortly after the police arrived, and that, despite their best efforts, the police were not able to apprehend any of them. The attack was blamed on a series of robberies, and Amy's publicist was not mentioned. This was followed by a news report about a building in London partially destroyed in a freak windstorm. Amy wondered if this was a coincidence.

Amy gave her friend a hug and left. Instead of flying off into the distance, Amy called a cab, which picked her up and drove her out to South Winthrop, outside the main part of the city, and into the suburbs. If the driver recognized her, he didn't say so. He dropped her off in front of an ordinary brick-walled home. Flowers and blueberry bushes grew in the yard.

Amy rang the doorbell, and her mom answered.

"Honey, what's wrong?"

"Mom, the bad guys, they..." Amy started crying.

"Come inside," Mom said.

# # # #

Although Amy's visit was unplanned, her mom was nonetheless ready with her freezer stocked with rocky road ice cream. Within minutes, the two of them had bowlfuls in front of them.

"I worry about you so much," her mom said. "Getting in fights like you do."

"It's always been that the bad guys were just doing their thing – heists, attacks, drug deals, whatever – and I just fly in and stop them. That's the way it's always been."

"But now?"

"The bad guys came after me. They made me a target. Instead of me stopping them, it was them trying to stop me."

"Honey, you must have known this would have happened eventually. Putting yourself out there, right?"

"The bad guys are all afraid of me. Or, at least they're supposed to be. I mean, no bad guy could ever be tougher than good ol' U.S. Amy, you know?"

Amy downed another spoonful of the ice cream and continued. "I trusted Todd. He got me the commercial gig. He must have been so patient, to build up that relationship of trust for so long, just waiting to take me out if I didn't sell myself out like that. They, whoever they are, must have been planning this for a long time. And I was unaware."

"All this talk about schemes and plots," her mom said. "Is this really what you want?"

"I've got these powers," Amy said. "How could I not use them? Especially considering how I go them."

"You're such a good person. You don't have to get into fights and deal with criminals in order to help people. You could have a nice, quiet life and still help people."

Amy didn't respond. She was already used to mom's sales pitch about giving up the hero life. It reminded her of Todd trying to convince her to give up heroing, right before a bunch of armor-clad men shot her full of high-powered ibuprofen.

Amy spent the night in her old bedroom, even though her mom had redecorated it to the point where nothing in it represented her anymore. Amy didn't feel ready to return to her apartment just yet.

# # # #

A few days passed. Amy spent half her time between her apartment and her mom's house. The men in jetpacks never showed up again, but Amy still hadn't gone out flying. Every time she thought of doing so, she remembered that feeling of being a target.

For the first time since she'd graduated high school, Amy consideredgoing through the want ads for a so-called "normal" job.

# # # # 

Next: The real deal.