Free Superheroes Anonymous by Lexie Dunne Page B

hanging from both wrists. “Whoa, are you okay? You look like—­”
    â€œWhere am I?” I said again.
    Startled, he stammered out an address, his eyebrows drawing close together. “Are you okay? Do you need any help?”
    â€œI’m okay.” And without knowing precisely why, I turned around and left the store.
    I made it about ten feet out the door. “Hey!” The clerk, puffing a little because he’d jumped the counter. “Hey, are you seriously okay?”
    I looked down at the straps. “I’ve had worse.”
    â€œThat—­um, look, here.” He pulled out his wallet and held out a Ventra Card. “There’s only, like, a ­couple of fares left on it, but you look like you could use it more than me.”
    I stared at it like it was a foreign object. “Why?”
    â€œThere’s an ‘L’ stop—­two blocks that way.” He pointed. “Maybe you should go to the police?”
    I took the card. “Thank you,” was all I said, and I left.
    I used up what was left on the fare to get back to my normal stop. The trains were mostly empty, so I didn’t have anybody staring at me. It wouldn’t have mattered if I did; I felt strange, like I was in some kind of drugged haze. My feet hurt by the time I climbed the stairs down from my normal stop. I was limping by the time I reached my corner, and nearly whimpering every time I set my right foot down by the time I walked up the steps outside my building.
    Grateful that I kept a key underneath the fire extinguisher down the walkway, I unlocked my door and stumbled inside. The entire world felt muffled, as though I weren’t a part of it anymore. And I was more than happy to escape—­and did so, flopping facedown on my own bed for the first time in what felt like years and years.
    I DON’T KNOW what woke me. A noise, perhaps, the creak of my upstairs neighbor’s floorboards. Maybe I’d just slept myself out. But one moment I was asleep, and the next I sat straight up in bed, eyes wide.
    Something was wrong. And I was hungry.
    Frantic, I searched my bedroom. There was my laptop on the desk with the shopping list I’d been meaning to use. My closet door was open, my rejected work outfits tossed in front of it. My cell phone wasn’t on its charger on my desk, but other than that, not a single thing was out of place.
    So why did it feel weird ?
    I frowned at my sheets, which had streaks of red and black, like odd, demented modern art. Where had that come from? I glanced at my feet and saw dried blood, but there wasn’t so much as a scab. Very weird.
    The main room was as untouched as my bedroom though the milk had spoiled so badly that I gagged and slammed the fridge closed, vowing to toss the entire thing out the window once there weren’t any innocent passersby who could possibly be maimed or killed. I settled for eating anything edible in my pantry, without bothering to warm any of it up. The crackers were stale and probably past their date, but I’d worry about food poisoning later. I scooped up salsa and ate it straight with a spoon, and finally got rid of that jar of olives that had been around so long, it should probably start paying rent.
    Finally, the edge of hunger dwindled, giving me a clearer head.
    When I was headed back into the bathroom to shower away the layers and layers of grime that, amazingly, a single chemical shower did little to combat, I figured out what was out of place.
    There was a strange smell in the apartment. Other than the milk, I mean.
    Though it was familiar, it wasn’t a smell that belonged in my place. Carefully, I walked around, sniffing the air. With a jolt, it hit me: somebody had been in my apartment. The scent seemed familiar, but I couldn’t quite match the scent to an identity. It was like the name hovered just beyond my grasp, and if I could just figure it out . . .
    I braced a