Nerd.

The weasel man chuckled and sat directly across from me at the hospital cafeteria table. He took a bite of his tuna sandwich.

“I will answer all of them, but first I must know what brings an investigative reporter to the local hospital on this fine Thursday afternoon,” he said.

“I just interviewed the CEO about the new expansion of the pathology wing and now I’m eating while writing so I can make my deadline for tomorrow’s newspaper,” I responded. “June Summers, The Charlottesville News Examiner.”

We shook hands. “Wesley Phinxton, unemployed.”

I snickered and closed my laptop screen. “Is this an on the record, or off the record conversation?”

Wesley took a sip of his coffee before responding. “Well, I would love to tell you everything on the record but the feds might eliminate me if I do, so perhaps for both our safety we pretend this conversation never happened.”

“Fantastic,” I said, unclicking my pen and putting my notebook and laptop in my backpack on the floor. “So. … Why do you look like a weasel?”

“I’m actually an otter,” he said. He took a bite of his sandwich.

I thought he was going to elaborate but he didn’t, so to fill the awkward silence, I said, “You otter be joking” and then cringed.

He laughed so hard he choked on his sandwich. “That’s fantastic.”

He took another sip of his coffee and continued.

“Years ago there was a laboratory here that did legal but questionable gene experimentation,” he said. “It was made public as an agriculture GMO lab - you know, putting fish genes in tomatoes type stuff - but they were actually taking genes from various animals and adding them into the human DNA sequence on children with disabilities to try and make them able.”

Wesley finished off his tuna sandwich.

“That seems rather unethical,” I responded. “So what was your disability, and are you able again?”

He smiled. “I had cerebral palsy. They thought taking lots of genes from lots of animals that were typically more mobile than humans or mobile in different ways and adding them to my DNA sequence would help me to be more mobile again. At least, that was how they explained it to me. And it did work, as you can see, I grew into an individual who can walk normally. But I also grew into whatever animal genes stuck with me. So now I have the head of an otter, the fists of a kangaroo, and the retractable claws of a cat.”

“That sounds like science fiction,” I said.

“And yet, here I am,” Wesley replied. “Anyway, I started having some life threatening issues because I’m basically not supposed to exist, and so I’m a resident here at the Charlottesville/Lance County Memorial Health Services Center.”

She sighed. “I already know. You’re a demon.”

There was an uncomfortable silence that followed.

“I was sent to bring you to hell, via your soulless husband, but when I got here, I realized there’s so much more to humanity than I realized,” I continued. “See, I was never alive. I was always a spawn of hell. I wasn’t damned this way like many of my fellow demons.”

Carla stayed quiet and stared at me intently.

“After taking possession of Aaron’s body, I started to experience things I never knew existed before, like happiness and passion,” I said. “I mean I really, really enjoy cooking. That satisfies me more than the devil said torturing people would fulfill me. And I just want to keep doing it. And you are so nice and friendly. I know it’s your job to kill me but I am enjoying our friendship so much. I’m not allowed to have friends in Hell. I know telling you I’m a demon can end this, but I know not telling you and you finding out later will just be worse.”

Carla stayed silent for a minute. “I knew Aaron was possessed once he started cooking for me all the time. That jerk never did anything kind like that for me. And you also show an interest in me I’ve never experienced from another man - well, I guess being - before. So I decided to ignore it. But if your soul is a spawn of hell, we will not be able to remain friends. Perhaps there is a way to purify your soul, or at least have Satan release it. Could we make a deal with him to take Aaron in your place? That’d probably keep me out of heaven, but it would free you.”

I sighed. “Aaron’s soul is already in hell. His body didn’t have one, that’s what made it easy for me to possess it.”

“Oh,” she said. It was silent again. She came over and held my hand. Then, with determination in her eyes, she said the unthinkable. “Maybe we should go to church. The priest might know what to do.”

“But I’ll burst into flames on holy ground…” I said with a surprise whimper. I forgot I can truly feel fear and sadness in this body.

I figured my drink had been spiked, which is a little weird because my super strength makes narcotics not work so well for me, but I am a woman so I do still abide by the same misandry from the male world. Especially in this town, where most of the men think they can get away with their toxic masculinity.

This perpetrator must’ve seriously dosed my drink, like maybe with intent to kill. When he came downstairs and saw I was still alive, his look of surprise confirmed it.

“That should’ve killed you,” the idiot said. He wasn’t bothering to hide his identity at all.

“Well I have a tolerance to drugs like that,” I replied.

He smirked and pulled a butcher knife out of his pocket. “You’re gonna wish it had killed you.”

I wasn’t scared. In any second, I could’ve snapped the chains and leather straps binding me to this table. I could’ve whipped the chains still bound to my wrists at this dude and beheaded him. I was more concerned about missing and letting this dude figure out that I’m the hero of this town.

So I let him get closer and closer and closer until he could put the knife on my neck, and at that moment, as I went to lift my leg and knee this jerk in the balls, my nemesis burst through the locked, metal basement door and punched the perp into the ceiling. My nemesis prided himself on his ability to fly, often punching people into the air and then letting them fall to their death.

This perp went up through the ceiling and came back down to his death. My nemesis took the keys from his pocket and unlocked my bindings.

“Are you ok?” he asked.

“Yeah, I was about to kick his ass.”

He laughed. “Sure, bound up like that. I’m Allen. Sorry to be creepy, but you caught my eye at the bar and I was trying to summon the courage to talk to you, so I went to the bathroom with my wingman and then when I came back you were gone and the cops were there. The bartender said some dude drugged your drink and took you. So I tracked him here.”

I realized then he didn’t know I was his nemesis. Truthfully, I’m not sure how I knew. Something about him just gave me that familiarity.

“Thanks. I’m Rene.”

We shook hands. It was awkward.

“So, umm,” he said, trying to break the silence. “Do you need an escort home or are you ok?”

“I would rather you not figure out where I live, but you can walk me to the bus stop,” I said, looking around for my satchel bag. I found it on a table and pulled out a bus pass. Yes — I take the bus.

He smiled kind of a weird smile, like he didn’t have the muscles to do an honest smile properly, and then we left the building. It was only three blocks north of the bar.

“So, umm,” Allen said as we walked down the sidewalk. The sun was beginning to rise. “What do you do for a living?”

Internally I was laughing hysterically. Outside, I smiled. “I work from home for a call center.” It was only a partial lie. “You?”

He deadpanned: “I am a vigilante. I try to take down awful people who legally are exploiting others. You may know me as The Viper.”

“Oh. Yeah I think I’ve seen that super girl kick your ass on the news.”

He scoffed, then laughed. “It’s funny, Mass actually agrees with me on the corporate corruption and tryna eliminate it, but she won’t go about it the same way. She takes them through the justice system, which only rarely actually delivers justice.”

I winced at him using my super name.

“I can see that,” I said. I recalled many times where the criminal in question bought a judge. But I also recalled times where that behavior was called out by the media, and both criminals were socially disgraced and unable to continue their exploitation, despite the lack of prison time. “I think she relies on the news and public perception to keep people righteous.”

He tilted his head. “Yeah, but it takes longer.”

He wasn’t wrong. By this point we reached the bus stop and were waiting for the first bus of the morning to arrive.

It got silent again as we watched the sun breach the horizon. I was starting to doze off when he asked, “Was my saving you method okay? I’m not used to saving people so I think I may have been a little too bold.”

The bus turned the corner and approached the stop. I laughed at his question. “It was definitely bold,” I replied. The bus opened its doors and I stepped onto the vehicle. With one foot still on the sidewalk, I turned and said, “I think I would’ve done the same thing though. I have a habit of breaking down buildings to save people.”

It was so frequent I started seeing a psychologist, who diagnosed me with ptsd. You see, my sister and I were in a fatal accident, but I was the survivor. The shrink told me I had a severe case of survivors guilt that seems to be coupled with psychosis.

The thing is, my sister never disappears when I blink. I look away and look back, and she’s still there, doing her thing. It taunts me and fills me with rage.

Today I had enough of this torture. My mother and I were grocery shopping, and I saw her at the supermarket evaluating some apples before placing them in her basket. I just lost it.

“How are you here?” I shouted, loudly approaching her.

She looked up, appalled to see some who shares her face. “Who the hell are you?”

“It’s me, Joan, it’s your twin sister, Esther. You died. You were in a casket. I closed it. I watched it get placed six feet under into a locked vault. How are you here?!” My anger came spiraling out of me and into her face like a bullhorn.

She took two steps back. “I’m sorry, you must have me confused for someone else. Though it is weird we have the same face. My name is Lilah.”

I placed both hands on my head, looked at the ceiling and let out a growl. The noise summoned my mother from a few aisles over.

“Esther?” Mom’s voice was frantic. She rushed to my side, placing both hands gently on my right arm in an attempt to call me down. “My darling what is the matter …?” She trailed off looking up at Lilah. “Oh shit.”

Lilah’s eyes were wide and she began slowly backing away. I dropped my arms in defeat.

“I guess I have some explaining to do,” mom said looking at me, then Lilah, then me, then Lilah. “My darling,” she said to Lilah. “Could you tell me more about your childhood?”

Lilah paused before saying, “It was about as normal as it could be, considering I was adopted.”

“So you do know,” Mom continued. “Esther. You and Joan weren’t twins. You were triplets.”

I looked at Lilah, who looked at me, and then we both looked at Mom in frustration and confusion.

“I’m sorry, what?” I said abruptly.

Lilah pitched in, “Well, I knew I was adopted. My parents told me that I was very small and weak at birth, and my birth parents didn’t have the means to pay for my treatment, so they surrendered me to the state for Medicare to cover my life-saving surgeries and medicines. I was adopted by a wealthier family after the initial treatments who continued to support my care. I was raised as an only child after that.”

“Yes, darling. It’s not uncommon during triplet pregnancies for one triplet to become the dominant one. In my case, it was Joan who was the biggest, followed by Esther. You got the short stick.” Mom’s eyes got heavy and sad. “Your father had just lost his job and the treatments to save you were more than we were going to be able to pay for. At the same time, there was a mother in the room next to us who had a stillborn. I didn’t think it was fair I had three babies and one I couldn’t care for and she had none. So, I surrendered you to the state with the hope the mother next door would be able to take you. I never found out what happened after that though.”

“My mother did have a stillborn before adopting me,” Lilah said. “She said she named me Lilah because that’s what you named me.”

Mom perked up at hearing her lost child’s name for the first time. Then she cried. They were reunited. I didn’t know what to think.

“But, you said our sister just died?” Lilah asked.

I looked away. “Yeah. Joan and I were best friends. She was irreplaceable.”

*cue flashback to a childhood Doof, standing in his knome getup, with a Rudolph-like nose and green cheeks. He sneezes, then his cheeks fill with vomit.*

“For some reason, the other children were not affected by this cold the way I was. I suspect it was because I was raised by Ocelots, who were also severely affected by the cold. The other children of Gimmelshtump would go on to play their games without me while I would suffer in my illness. As a result, their social status rose, and mine plummeted. These children have all gone on to have successful social statuses as adults, while I am still here needing to call my ex-wife for financial aid. As a result, I have decided to level our playing field by making all the social elites really sick!”

*cue Perry the Platapus, who is trapped ill in a bed, trying to get up to fight but is too weak to stand. Doof laughs.*

“And I will become the elitest of all of the Tri-State Area!”

*Doof raises his fists in glory and turns to the inator, which he pushes onto the balcony of Doofinshmirtz Evil Inc. and casts upon the land. He laughs nasally.*

*Meanwhile, Phineas and Ferb are helping Isabella and the Fireside Girls earn their “Curing a Terrible Mass Illness badges” by creating a medicine that heals all remedies. Phineas stops his work momentarily.*

“Hey! Where’s Perry?”

*The blast hits them, and the boys fall ill (including Buford and Baljeet), and they too become red in the nose and green in the cheeks.*

“Phineas!”

*Isabella yells in dispair and runs to his side. The other fireside girls come to the rest of the boys’ aid. With a look of pure female strength, Isabella barks a command to her troop.*

“Alright ladies, we need to finish this chemistry lab so we can deploy the cure to my love- I mean, our friends!”

*Candace enters the backyard abruptly, slamming the back door behind her, shouting with closed eyes.*

“Alright boys, I don’t know what you did to my Jeremy but he just hung up on me to go vomit! You’re so busted!”

*Candace opens her eyes to see the boys sick. Then more dramatically and theatrically asks what’s going on.*

“Boys? What had happened to you?”

*Isabella holds up the completed Cure.*

“Whatever it is, it seems to have only affected the boys.”

*She administers the cure to Phineas first, followed by the others. She gives the remainder for Candace to take to Jeremy. Candace nods with determination and exits.*

“Come on guys, let’s make more Cure!”

*Cue musical montage of the boys setting up an elaborate distribution system of the new medicine to the neighborhood.*

*Back at Doof’s headquarters, Perry lays defeated on the floor. Doof has turned on the tv and is hearing reports about a mysterious illness that only affected the men.*

“Well I guess that didn’t go as planned. At least my brother Roger is sick. He can’t execute his mayoral duties if he’s bed-bound.”

*Suddenly there’s a knock at his door. Perry manages to hide his fedora. Doof answers, and it’s a Fireside Girl offering him a cure. She does not recognize Perry.*

“Sir, is any man of your household ill? We have the cure! Though it’s weird you didn’t get sick.”

*She spots Perry, and taken aback at how deathly he looks, enters Doof’s home without permission and administers the Cure. Perry rises and makes his noise.*

*Doof is perplexed.*

“I don’t recall getting a Platapus for a pet, but thank you little girl for curing his illness.”

*She nods and leaves. Doof turns around to find a webbed foot kicking him in the face. A fight sequence initiates, during which the inator is destroyed and as it’s destroyed sends off one more blast that hits City Hall and cures Roger. Perry glides off as Doof curses him.*

*Cue news report of the boys having cured the whole town and returning to sit under the tree in the backyard. Perry joins them. Phineas shouts.*

I held my cheek, confused and surprised to find the main character of my detective series standing on my doormat.

“Stop gaping like a fish and answer my fucking question!”

I closed my mouth, stood up tall and invited her inside. “I have black tea—” I started, referencing the favorite drink I assigned her in chapter 1.

“I don’t want any black tea! I need something with more caffeine. You have me up running like a chicken with my head cut off at all hours of the day trying to solve these cold cases and you don’t even write me a pick me up to help!” She sat down on my couch, crossed her arms at pouted.

“My bad,” I responded, moving toward the keurig in the dining hall. I rummaged through the k-cups. “I only have vanilla donut shop blend.”

Clarissa sighed: “Fine. And write me a nap while you’re at it. And stop making the intake cop at the station trying to pursue me. It’s pathetic and not even good writing. We both know he ain’t good enough for me.”

I brought her the mug, which she gripped nicely with her red painted nails and pressed to her matching red lips. I suddenly felt really bad for writing such a strong female character with stereotypical characteristics.

“Why did you have the last suspect beat me? I feel like in every case I become the victim. You subject me to physical, psychological and emotional abuse and I hate it. You’re my toxic abuser. And I quit!” Clarissa rose from my couch, dumped the remaining coffee on it and stormed out my door.

I immediately got a call from my publisher.

King Oliver let out a guffaw at his eldest child’s question while Queen Vivian smirked and took a sip of her wine from her gold chalice.

“Well, son, she almost killed me.”

The prince dropped his toy sword and came to sit by his parents’ feet. Queen Vivian took another sip.

“You see, my child,” the King began, “My mother died birthing your uncle. My father died when I was 14. So I became acting King of this land when I was adolescent, and quite frankly, stupid. Upon being crowned I decided to tour my lands and meet with my people, and I was met by an abundance of suffering that I found unsuitable for my reign. So I poured our kingdom’s finances into programs that rehabilitated some of our lands to grow more crops, and hired those without jobs to work in my crops and in my castle so they could afford to eat. But I was too frivolous with our funds, and though we had plenty to eat, we did not have enough to sustain the iron and steel supplies we were purchasing from our neighboring countries. I, being 16 at the time, decided what rusted tools we had would be sufficient, and as we were well-mannered with our immediate neighbors, I figured war was not something I needed to prepare for. So our army grew complacent and weak as a direct result of my actions.”

The Queen rolled her eyes and took another sip.

“Without metal to forge, suddenly I was laying off the blacksmiths I’d hired in mass,” King Oliver continued. “And because of that, they were unable to repair our farming equipment. Crops would rot before we could harvest them, despite having more than enough hands, simply because we had no one to repair the plows. As a result, our country nearly starved that winter. In the spring, having survived a terrible hardship, news had spread to surrounding kingdoms that we would likely fall if I did not receive help or guidance. They were right - I was 17 then, still inexperienced and stupid, having only my own failures and hope to go on. I was ridiculed in public by my own hungry people and my neighboring royalties. But as I was drafting a letter for help, your mother’s forces invaded our lands.”

The Prince looked at the Queen with a newfound fear and respect. A servant refilled her chalice.

“It turns out your mother had also been a victim of her parent’s early death, and being an only child, inherited rule of her lands overseas,” the King said. “But other countries did not respect her because she was young and a woman. She was 13 then. She heard of our suffering and sailed up the River connecting our kingdoms to conquer us and earn their respect—”

“It was a bet, dear,” Queen Vivian said. “The royal children of the neighboring kingdom between our lands bet me I couldn’t conquer your failing empire, so I went to prove them wrong. That’s why they let me sail through the waters in their territory.”

The King stopped his tale for a moment to look at his wife with both disbelief and pure admiration.

“I didn’t know that,” he said rather quietly. “But still, that is wonderful. But anyway, you came into my kingdom and my people did not bother to fight you, as they were too hungry and their weapons unreliable, so you burst through my castle walls, sword in hand, ready to take it all.”

He rose from his throne and sat next to his son.

“And I just thought she was the most damned beautiful thing to exist!” he said with a laugh. “So I stopped her, and simply asked, ‘Are you here to help?’ She was stunned by my question.”

“It occurred to me then I didn’t have to kill you to take your kingdom,” the Queen said. “I just had to instill distrust in your leadership long enough to take it over.”

“Yes, and you did!” King Oliver rose, picking up his son and reseating himself on his throne with his boy in his lap. “Your mother had all of this knowledge from the great library of her people. We immediately made a deal that would’ve allowed her territorial control in exchange for funds to purchase metal from the neighboring kingdoms. I was able to get our existing blacksmiths to reforge the tools we needed to farm again, and we sold some of these tools back to neighboring countries at a profit, which I was not intelligible to think of before your mother came into my castle. She stood so powerful at our drafting tables, giving commands with a sharp tongue, and I thought everything that came from her was wonderful. After a couple months of prosperity, and the people also respecting her solutions — and my own insatiable attraction to her tearing me apart — I asked our head blacksmith to forge me a set of jewelry to propose with. He came back with a crown of gold!”

King Oliver took Queen Vivian’s hand. She smiled.

“So the next day, as she stood at the draft table figuring out how to further expand our tillable lands, I brought her the crown and requested her hand,” he said. “I said, ‘I like you, and my people like you, and you are a good leader. I deem it only appropriate to make you my queen, and we will rule both this land and yours together.’ She scoffed at me!”

“Yes, my dear, I was 13 and in my head at the time, I’d just saved your people from demise that was your fault,” Queen Vivian said. “I wasn’t going to let your rule destroy my kingdom, too. In fact, I’d been gone long enough that your question instilled in me the need to return home.”

“Yes, son, and she did go home,” the King refuted. “She left me without an answer. But I was distraught. I continued running the system she’d set up, and I wrote to her every day begging her to be my bride. Finally, after nearly a year, she returned. I’ll never forget what you said when you showed back up in my throne room — ‘I’ll accept your offer in exchange for your submission of both our kingdoms to my rule.’ And I, who decided rule was not my best attribute, knew it was best for everyone involved if I accepted those terms. A treaty was drafted, two wedding ceremonies were had, and then we were united! It was a much joyful time!”

The Prince smiled at his parent’s love story. “Mother, what was the bet?”

His mother smirked. “The royal children of our adjoining kingdom bet me the youngest child’s land. This included the part where the river of our two kingdoms touched.”

“That’s how we acquired that land?” the King asked.

I tried to find some full time jobs where I could sneak out to combat evil without my bosses noticing, but I simply have no talent outside being an ultimate flying ass kicker.

I tried to be a journalist like that tv show superhero, Clark Kent, but I’m not a good writer. I tried to be a photographer like Peter Parker from the viral social media video, but they all turned out blurry. I tried museum work like Diana Prince from the documentary, but they fired me upon accidentally cracking a 10,000 year old vase.

My parents supported me. They knew my identity and were proud of my volunteer work keeping the city safe. But they died in a tragic car crash, and unlike Bruce Wayne, my parents weren’t rich, didn’t own any companies, and left me with nothing.

I didn’t even get their house because it wasn’t paid off.

I’m really good at tracking things, so I tried my hand at being a park ranger, but I was so good at it my coworkers thought it was uncanny and began to suspect things. That wasn’t safe for me or for them so I told them I was moving to Canada and quit abruptly.

I started training to be a police officer with the hopes of becoming a detective, but it became very clear most of the PD was unintelligent and fearful, to put it nicely, and so it started becoming a conflict of interest with my superhero work because I had to beat the bad guy as a super and then work with the cops as a super to have him arrested, then manage them while detained while I undercover, and sometimes I let it slip that I knew things that were above my pay grade.

The lack of income became pretty overwhelming. Next thing I knew I was homeless, living in our city’s main park, under a bridge by the river. It was ironic - the same lady I saved last week while in tights spit on me without them when I asked for spare change.

I thought about letting the tights go and hanging up the cape. Most of these people I rescued didn’t deserve to be saved. My work was futile in many ways. Maybe if their superhero went away then they’d treat everyone more kindly.

But my heart wouldn’t let me. I watched a guy rob a woman and stepped in to stop him. I successfully kept him from hurting her, but I guess she thought I was intervening to steal her purse too and hit me with it. I huffed and pulled out my mask. She gasped and apologized.

I told her my identity needed to stay a secret but I was angry that she would treat me that way simply because I was homeless. She agreed, and said she actually worked for a church group that fed the homeless and had become so distraught at how rude many of them tended to be while she was feeding them, so she quit.

I said I felt the same way about being a superhero and wanted to quit too.

Now she’s the director of operations at a distribution center nearby. She said she had some openings on the shipping dock if I needed work and offered me a job. She also said their company partnered with a local apartment complex to provide workforce housing at a discounted rate to employees, so if I took that job I wouldn’t have to be homeless anymore.

I asked if she offered that to other homeless people and she said she did, but they often either didn’t want that job because it’s hard or weren’t able to do the job because of a disability. They’d end up evicted, which would hurt any future chances of getting an apartment. The self aware ones knew this and so they chose to stay homeless.

I accepted her offer, and they set me up with a third story apartment, specifically with rooftop access. The job itself was so hard, and I had no furniture in my studio for a while, but it was nice to be somewhere warm for once.