So perhaps repeating a position didn’t increase the ability. Vic had noticed inthe past that the things he or Matty wore or thought about duringthe deed could affect the superpower he received afterward. Maybehis mind had drifted, or they’d done something just slightly different, and now he’d have tojust wait for the consequences. As long as it didn’t keep him fromwork. He’d used up most of his sick days already, calling in with avariety of comic book ailments that kept him home. An image flashedbefore him—himself, ghost-like, his skin transparent, a look ofhorror airbrushed onto his skull as he had watched his heart beatobscenely beneath the cage of ribs in his chest.
With a violent shake, Vic closed his eyes and turnedfrom the mirror. Worst power ever, that had been, without question.He reached for his robe, hanging on the back of the bathroomdoor…
And ducked as it zoomed at him to crash into theclosed shower curtain. The screw on which it had hung clatteredinto the porcelain tub and rolled toward the drain.
Frowning, Vic held out his hand again and willed therobe to rise. It didn’t. The fabric lay where it had fallen. Wellthen why…?
Vic tugged back the shower curtain. The screw fromthe back of the door was a good four inches long, with splinters ofwood still in its threads. It had rolled to a stop across the mouthof the drain. Vic bent down over the edge of the tub, reaching outto pick up the nail.
Before he could touch it, it flew into his hand.
So maybe repetition didn’t cancel out a power so muchas modify it. He’d gone frombeing able to mentally move any object to…what? Only metal?
He glanced up at the shower head above him. Ittrembled under the weight of his gaze, a faint squeal rising in thepipes as it tried to move. Vic shut his eyes—the noise stopped.Blindly he leaned back, reaching for the towel rack to help himstand.
A loud tearing sound rent the air. Vic felt the metalbar hit his palm with no support behind it. When he looked over hisshoulder, he saw it had pulled itself free from the wall at hiscommand—in its place, a dark hole gaped in the broken tiles, andthe bar hung at an awkward angle, only anchored at the far end.
Damn.
“Yeah,” he muttered, jamming the loose end of the barback into the wall. “Only metal.”
How many metal things did he come across during theday? Let’s see, he thought,retrieving his robe from the floor. The car, the bus, the time clock, the lockers at work, thehandle on the toilet—he looked over at the commode and, asif on cue, it flushed itself.
This was going to be a long day.
* * * *
Vic worked an eight hour shift with a thirty minutebreak around late afternoon for lunch. But he usually stoppedsomewhere downtown for a bite to eat before he got to the busgarage. This morning it was a bit disconcerting—and more than alittle fun, if he were honest—to wave a hand across the small endtable by the front door to his apartment and watch his car keysjump eagerly into his palm. A gesture over his shoulder closed thedoor behind him, locking it for good measure as the keys floated afew inches nearby. On his way downstairs, the door to his buildingopened, waiting for him. Hinges contained metal, as did door knobsand locks. This power might not be so bad after all.
At the curb, his car jumped like an eager puppy whenhe walked around it, heading for the driver’s side. He unlocked thedoor without using the key, and probably could’ve started theengine the same way, but he wasn’t quite sure the mechanics of itall and settled for guiding the keys into the ignition andcommanding them to turn with a flick of his wrist. Beneath him, thecar roared to life.
Unfortunately, that was the limit of his ability. Thesteering wheel was plastic, as was the cover on the gear shaft.Putting the car into first, Vic edged away from the curb, his mindalready drifting to food. After the fiasco in the bathroom, he wasrunning a little late. Not a sit-down restaurant, then, and nowherewith slow service. At quarter to noon on a weekday, however, thateliminated most of the busy little delis and eateries downtowngetting ready for the lunchtime rush.
Avoiding the interstate, Vic took a more circuitousroute as he appraised his options. No burger joints, and definitelynothing that was part of a chain. He wanted to fill up, not bulkup. At the corner of Boulevard and Leigh Street, he slowed as hedrove by a small barbecue stand. Now that might work. A large bun filled with pulledpork, dripping with barbecue sauce and homemade cole slaw…
Wait. Vicnoticed a vendor cart farther down Leigh and turned in the middleof the intersection. A couple construction workers queued up at thecart, which was always a sign of good eats. Vic parked across thestreet, in front of the battered husk of an old warehouse whoseconcrete block walls appeared to be held up with nothing butscaffolding and a prayer. Huge yellow excavators and backhoes sataround the structure like discarded children’s toys. It must’vebeen lunch time for the crew—no one lingered on the scaffolding,and there was an aura of neglect about the site. A smaller buildingfarther back on the lot hunched by the chain link fence, in worseshape than the main building. As Vic climbed out of his car, he sawa construction sign hanging on the fence that enclosed the site.MOVIELAND! Coming Soon!
Vic looked around. The two-lane side street with itsbarbecue joint on the corner and a row of office buildings acrossthe Boulevard wasn’t exactly someplace he would’ve expected to findthe next teenage hangout. A trio of boys on bikes goofed offfarther down Leigh, jumping off the curb and hopping back up againwhen a car approached. More than one driver hit his horn, earningthe boys’ derisive laughter.
Vic waited until the street was
