Her Hero (2 page)

             
She hadn’t even thanked him, she thought as she replaced the last Tampax and broken keyring into her bag. Dazed she sipped her coffee and glanced at the clock. 16:05 it read and Stacy snapped out of her dream. She couldn’t lose this job. Thankfully the paper shop gave her tick and juggling her coffee Stacy ran back across the road, narrowly missing a car in her haste to hold onto her last chance at permanence.

***

She had survived another day. Stacy stuck her head in the fridge and found something that wasn’t labeled. Unfortunately it had metamorphosed into a fungus, that was so far developed, she wouldn’t have been surprised if it got up and walked out. Closing the fridge she opened a cupboard. Biscuits, Tesco’s own, Noodles, Tomato ketchup. Stacy closed it and looked out the window by the immaculate sink. Rain beamed like a flash light in the dark night. She contemplated ignoring her grumbling stomach but even the rain and cold couldn’t keep her away from the Chinese takeaway, Simon’s Kitchen.

             
Watching the Hulk she felt for Bruce Banner. He was a nomad and she knew how that felt. Sometimes Stacy almost wished she had a double edged sword ability like the hulk, at least then she could justify her lone existence she thought.

             
Looking at the boxes she picked up one. Picking out a photo frame Stacy stared at it before slipping it back, oh so gently, into the box.

             
The next day her supervisor requested her and Stacy knew it was the end. She contemplated just walking out but hope, was sadly part of her make-up. So in the hope that she was wrong and the old battle axe was about to promote her, she walked down the hall, into the lift and one floor below the CEO.

             
“Fired!” The sound of the rotund woman rang through her ears as Stacy stepped into the Harper and Son lift for the last time.

             
She dimly registered a body in the back corner as she unseeingly stepped in and pressed for the ground floor. Stacy wished for tears or outrage. A tantrum wouldn’t go amiss but sadly a blank nothingness engulfed her and she felt the last of her connection to the real world disappear.

             
In her mind she imagined a bespectacled adonis stripping away his layers and catching her as she fell. The free fall feeling sadly didn't end, despite her vivid hero saving her.

             
Stacy felt an arm wrap around her, her head ricocheted back into a solid and yet yielding frame. Her heels slipped from there purchase but she remained upright. This was the moment her hero should kiss her. She awaited the soft persuasion with closed eyes only to be snapped roughly from her imaginings.

             
“Have you fainted?” A puff of air hit the top of her head, “What a stupid question.” she felt him mumble through her back.

             
The realisation that she hadn’t imagined falling suddenly panicked Stacy. Shooting up, she felt the top of her head hit his jaw and heard his groan as she dived for the edge of the lift and clung to the rail. Staring into the reflective chrome she focused on the soothing voice and not the words.

             
“Sure, cos clinging to the side is going to help.” Stacy watched the distorted image of the man rubbing his jaw and morph and twist until it was but a blur.

             
Absolute fear made her immobile as Stacy heard the security bells ring from a distance and the lights overhead flicker. The lift jerked down once, twice and Stacy gripped harder, struggling for air as she screamed silently.

             
“Hey, hey. Calm down,” She felt his large hands engulf hers as they gently prized them from the rail. “It’s just stuck that’s all.” He managed to turn her and drawing her into his heat, she smelled his warmth. Everything about this man was warm and a memory of golden eyes flashed through her mind.

             
Focusing on her hands in his, she felt the soft pads of his thumbs rub her wrist. Breathing deeply she slowly traveled up his form and found those golden flames studying her with concern. Where before those eyes were a study in detachment, now she saw the intensity she knew lay behind the golden flecks.

             
The silence drew out and the warmth intensified. She saw a flicker deep in his iris, a break, a determination to detach and she knew he resisted what she felt too. His jaw was clean shaven today and she almost longed for the wild unkempt man she had first encountered. Stacy knew that that man would not have held back but just as she was about to tempt him, the lift jerked again.

             
“Did that just feel like it dropped? It felt like it dropped to me!” Her nails were digging into his forearms now and there was nothing she could do to let go.

             
A furrow formed between his brows as he continued to stare at her. Stacy watched as he prized himself from her grip and stepped towards the intercom ready to speak.

             
The floor left her feet, her back made contact with something. Shock pain and adrenalin bombarded her the next second as she stared at the floor and felt the momentum slackening on the hold of her body. Instinctively her arms covered her face as her body met the floor. Calm.

             
She lay unmoving praying what had just happened had not.

             
‘Get up. Miss. Miss get up.” Stacy felt the warmth again as she was lifted into the protective frame of her superhero.

             
“Stacy. My name is Stacy.” It suddenly became imperative he knew her name. The idea of her dying without ever knowing his terrified her, so she stilled him as he started to hoist himself up on the rail. “What’s your name?”

             
For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer. He looked so surprised and almost expectant, of what she wasn’t sure.

             
“Horatius.” Immediately he turned back to his climbing and it was then that reality hit.

             
“What are you doing?” A historical edge sent her tone up an octave.

             
“I don’t know if you've noticed but the lift is in a bit more trouble, than just being stuck between floors.” Stacy watched as he lifted the celling panel like John McClane, ignoring the fact that she would be toast if it actually was a die hard movie.

             
“Take my hand” He said reaching out. Stacy clung to the rail as she felt the lift jolt again.

             
“Are you insane?” This wasn’t the movies. He wasn’t superman and things like this just didn’t happen in real life, she told herself as he reached down further.

             
“Stacy...” Her name sounded strangely earthy spoken by him. “we need to get off the lift as soon as possible.” He spoke so reasonably. It was as if he was stating the sea was blue and the grass was green, but Stacy knew there were many shades. “Take my hand.” A voice was shouting through the intercom but Stacy could only hear Horatius's reassurance.

             
As she took his hand she knew in her heart it was the right decision. His hands were decisive, supportive and as she climbed the side ladder she felt his protective body below. There ready to catch her if she fell.

             
A loud scream echoed up the shaft and Stacy felt her body flatten into the bars of the ladder as Horatius's warm body sheltered her back. She felt him flinch and then a massive gust of air puffed up dirt and debris causing her eyes to water.

             
Light shafted down and voices reached them as she moved up with his sure hand on her back. Stacy knew the correct response but as she reached the rescuers she glanced down and beyond Horatius she saw the demolished lift. The only thing Stacy could feel was safe and all she could see was Horatius, right before she fainted.

Stacy could hear voices and one in particular that allowed her body to relax.

             
“Lacerations. You were very brave,” an un- familiar voice said gravely and almost chastisingly.

             
“I’m fine. How is she?” Her hero said dismissively. The question was one she would fear answering. He had asked it with an intensity that demanded a required response.

             
“I can’t discuss another patient with you.” The doctor barely finished his reply when Stacy heard a grunt and a rustle. “But I’ll make an exception.” She heard his voice distorted and muffled. “Ms Stanton will be fine. She was in shock but we are em... more concerned about her mental health.”

             
“Explain.”

             
Yes please explain, thought Stacy unwilling to open her eyes.

             
“In her lucid moments her responses have been unstable,” Again stacy heard the doctors voice choke, “No. No, her responses appear to be unrelated to this incident. The lift experience seems to have triggered a memory.”

             
“What memory?” Stacy barely heard her savior say.

             
“Well, we’re not sure but clearly it was disturbing and evidently repressed.”

             
“What can I do?” Shock ran through her. Her superhero didn’t even know her and he was ready to save her again.

             
Stacy felt her body sink and a quiet comfort fill her soul, before the last rumbling tones played out in her mind.

***

“Mam. I’m detective Johnson, do you feel able to answer a few questions?”

             
Stacy looked at the detective and his female co-worker encased in her blue fabric cubicle.

             
Stacy had woken moments earlier and knew from the concerned looks on the nurses’ faces that she had been screaming again. If only she could remember what had woken her in such terror. Surely the police would have an answer for her.

             
“Yes.” She croaked just registering her dry throat.

             
Detective Johnson handed her a glass of water and waited. Stacy was eager for any help so she waved him on as she tried to drink slowly.

             
“Did you suspect you would be fired today Ms Stanton?” His face was a blank sheet, confusing Stacy with his question. She allowed a moment to determine any expression.

             
When none came she replied, “Well I suspected I might.”

             
“How did you feel about that?”, now the detective beside him was looking at the floor.

             
“What has this to do with my terrors?” Stacy couldn’t link the relevance of the questions. How were they going to help her?

             
“Just answer the question. Fielding, note to speak to the psych doc.” Mr Johnson said and the other officer nodded scribbling in her pad.

             
“I don’t know, sad I suppose. I really wanted this one to stick.”

             
“Did you blame Mr Harper directly or just the general work place?” Both eyes were now studying her like a foregone conclusion.

             
“Now hang on a moment. What has this to do with helping me discover what my repressed terrors are about?” To this they looked at each other. Johnson nodded and then Fielding began scribbling anew.

             
“We are not here about your mental condition as such.” Johnson took a long pause as if deciding his next question intently.

             
“We are here due to the deliberate sabotage of Harper and Son’s lift.” Before shock registered he bombarded her with another question, “Do you have experience with explosives?”

             
“What!” Stacy couldn’t reply intelligently she had been flabbergasted at his first statement and then down-right floored at his implied question.

             
She noted them studying her reaction scrupulously and she actually felt guilt heat her cheeks. Which was ludicrous. It reminded her of being called to the principal’s office and although Stacy knew she had done nothing wrong, she actually felt she must have done something. Only to arrive and be informed she had won the local newspaper art competition.

             
“No. No way! Look this is crazy. I may have thought, I might get fired but that was the day before and besides, I’ve been let go from lots of jobs.” This perhaps wasn’t the thing to say she noted, as Fielding began scribbling again.

             
“Sure I wanted this job to work out but I would never get that upset over a temp job.” At their cynical expressions she raced on, “I’ve never even met Mr Harper or his son and why the hell would I put myself at risk?”

             
“Maybe you botched it and Mr Harper is the “son”. The late Mr Harper passed the business on five years ago.” Fielding said and got a scathing look from Johnson.