• Chapter 1: Therapeutic

    A city. A city of fear, of death, of hope. A city known throughout the world, as the home of its savior. Some, have said he’s a blessing. Others, a second coming, born as the new messiah. While it may be noted as his hope diminished on the world with every life he saved, or took, that he might not be the promise child. Not a savior, not a hero, certainly no Jesus. He was a taker. Of lives, of money, and his own will to save the people who praised him. He saved millions of lives, and took just as many. Yes, his love of life has shrunk as he killed those countless people. Some deserving, some as innocent as a newborn child. In any case, he wished not to do this anymore, but the people of the city would not allow it. The world would not allow it. So, they made him immortal, impervious, immune to death in any way shape or form. They would never allow their hero to die, although, no one could say he didn’t try. Yes, the hero had tried to commit suicide on many occasions, where as it was with a gun, poison, a noose or otherwise, all failed in his wishes. If there was a way to die, he would seek it, but never achieve it.
    Yet in some ways, the hero wanted to live. He had grown accustomed to the people’s love, showering him with joy and gifts, ‘but for what reason’ he would often think. He knew well what the people thought. They praised him for his looks, his powers and his status as the most powerful human on earth, and for no other reason did he reasonable deserve their praise. Many times he had tried to accept this false love, each relationship ending in failure. Each time, his lover could not handle the stress of being with him, let alone the fear of being together.
    And so, the hero was perpetually lonely. He wanted to be loved, but he knew he should be hated, or dreaded for his actions. But he himself did not want to hate. He wanted someone who would listen to his every word, even if they didn’t fully understand him, as long as they listened he would be happy.
    The man went to a doctor. He opened the door to a light brown room, with shelves overflowing with books surrounding every wall. Green floral patterns lined the rimes of the ceiling; in the center of the room was a large couch and armchair, both shiny dark brownish leather. The man sat on the couch, the leather creaking under his weight. He sighed, and stroked his jagged chin, slight scruff from a few days without shaving. He stared at the dark colored clock that hung above the door. It was early enough in the morning, so that there would not be any immediate disasters during his session. He started sweating lightly and gritted his teeth, wondering if he would still have time to talk, for which he so desperately needed. Finally, a click at the door and a slow, sharp turn. He looked up, his eyes widening, filling with anticipation. He wanted so desperately to see the only person that would ever listen and understand his words. Or at least, that’s what he truly, believed. The door finally creaked open, his jaw now slowly starting to drop. Finally, the person entered the room, walked over to the chair opposite the hero. He stared.
    The man in the chair, whose name was Dr. Marcus, resembled that not of a common doctor with a lab coat, but rather that of a shrink. He was wearing a sports coat, dress pants, and black sneakers that highlighted the light toned floor. He had thick round glasses, and a beard that accentuated his wide mouth. At long last, he spoke.
    “How have things been, Jayce?” He spoke in a low voice. Jayce Johnson, the name of the hero. The hero whose real name was almost forgotten. While his stage name remained, “The Everyman”. Jayce, although he was never with a smile, was very handsome. Being 25, he had yet to age into obscurity, that, and being the fact he would never age from that point on, thanks to his immortality. He had sleek jet black hair, and his build was as impressive as his reputation. He was tall, and his trademark suit hugged his many protruding muscles. And he had a nice, sleek face. He sighed, “Not good doc, not good”. “Well”, the doctor said. “I’ve been looking at your stress tests and medical records up to date. I’m sorry to say, it doesn’t look very good at all.” The doctor flipped through the many pages, held by his wooden clipboard. “I have some advice” he adjusted his glasses. “Take some time off, go on a vacation for a while, and then come back to work”. Jayce gave a slight grin, and a chuckle. “No can-do doc”, He said. If you wanna keep livin, I ain’t leavin”. He sat up sneering, pointing his thumb to his out-stretched chest. Although, he really did wish for time off from his dangerous life. “A planned attack coming up?” responded Dr. Marcus.”Yeah, some third-rate trying to flood the city or something this afternoon.” He glanced out the window, using his all- seeing vision to scan the city. A quick precaution to ensure he had a long talk.
    “Have you gotten enough sleep Jayce? I hope you have, I worry, you know.” Jayce thought to himself, ‘If you had really cared, you would have stopped them a long time ago.’ “I haven’t seen you in so long. I see you cut your hair.” The doctor leaned back in the leather chair, as it creaked loudly. He tried to make small talk, and was doing a very poor job of it.
    Dr. Marcus had known Jayce since he was very young. He had tried to act as sort of a “Parental Figure”. With his parents out of the picture, the doctor was also there for psychological help. He had been there when Jayce tried going to school, his first press conference, and even the day he was chosen out of millions, to be a hero. Jayce was not born with these powers. He was “selected” by the government to be a new, hopeful experiment. He was only eight at the time, yet he could still remember the ordeal clearly. But he cringed at every moment he spent thinking about it. He cringed at the pain, the suffering, and loneliness, as he was gaining his strength; he spent years trying to forget about. It was a horrible process, one, he thought, no one should ever deserve. Regardless, he survived.
    Jayce snapped back into reality, his sunken eyes lighting up. “Well, I’ve been busy.” He reached into his tight pockets, and took out a half-empty carton of cigarettes and a small ruby red lighter. The fluid inside swished. He stuck one in his mouth, and gestured towards the doctor. “Of course.” He responded. “Whatever makes you comfortable?” He had a puzzled look in his face, his mouth sinking. “I didn’t know Everyman smoked.” Jayce took a long drag, the embers crumbling quickly. He puffed out, and gazed at the doctor. He remained emotionless, as he spoke “There’s a lot about Everyman, you don’t know about.”He looked down towards his cigarette, tapping the soot on the grey carpeting. He sought human interaction of any kind, He seemed desperate. He took another long puff, and watched the ash fall. His eyes were sunken, tearstained, and scarlet red from loneliness and insomnia. They called for attention, or some sort of relief. He took a last drag, and threw the remaining stub inside the carton, the stub still red and burning.
    “Thanks”, he said under his breath. The entire time, Dr. Marcus stared at him, mesmerized as he watched the child he knew for so long, plunge endlessly into loneliness and darkness. He sighed, wondering if there was anything he could have done to make Jayce happier in any possible way. He wished again to see that small child reaching for him, for his guardian, the man who would always love him, but cringed. The memory of Jayce reaching up was for when he was on an operating bed, reaching for help, reaching for the figure who had promised to always be there. Jayce was in so much pain. He wanted it to stop so much, yet he had no say. The doctor was regretful, for he was, the sole person who would have a say in Jayce’s wellbeing. He had abandoned him, the poor crying boy who was reaching out in vain, looking for salvation. Dr. Marcus suddenly saw a vision. As he was staring across from Jayce, he saw a little boy. But he was happy, and smiling, not a single drop of pain and sadness in him. This was Jayce before the experiments.
    “Did it help?” He snapped back instantly. “Not really” Jayce responded. He cupped his hands on his lap and leaned forward, the brown leather creaking. “I’ve heard it takes the edge off, they lied” The doctor glanced up. “Maybe it’s you, I mean, it can’t really have any effect on you, now can it?” “Heh, that’s what you said about drugs and booze. But these…”He took out the carton again and shook it with a sarcastic looking grin spreading across his face. “Too bad they taste like s**t.” The grin on his face sunk back into an emotionless one. He scratched his head, looking for a response to the awkward situation, as the doctor looked flabbergasted. “I mean, they do taste like it, I guess.” It was hard to get the words out. This, out of the many years he had known Dr. Marcus, was the first time he had ever sworn around him. The awkwardness in the air was so thick; you could cut it with a butter knife. Suddenly, as to end the silence, Jacye’s ears twitched. “What’s wro-“the doctor tried making out, but before he knew it, Jayce had jumped up and crashed through the window. He soared though the New York skies, the clouds jumping in front of him, as he was speeding closer and closer to the source that had set him off. Then, as he gazed towards the streets, he saw,Him.