The Golden Star

Sensitive Content Warning: This story contains themes of physical violence and death.

The constant ticking of the clock rang in her ears as she sat patiently in the armchair. Florence was acutely aware of the noise, as it was the only sound in the room, other than the occasional nervous clicking of the pen that she held in her hand. It was ten minutes past the hour. He was late. But what could she expect? Being the man that he was, how could she expect him to arrive on time? It was a miracle that this meeting had been set up between them in the first place. He had been miraculously hard to get hold of. Florence had needed to follow him around as much as she could, chasing after him from one crime scene to the next, trying to catch even a glimpse of this force of nature, let alone gain a passing comment. An interview with him, the ‘Golden Star’, the ’Iron Peacekeeper’, or one of his many other pseudonyms, would be any journalist’s dream. And now, she had finally done it.

To be honest with herself, she didn’t quite know how she had done it. She had all but given up on trying to keep up with him. She had soon realised that when you are chasing someone like him around a city, the local speed limits and seemingly constant traffic jams always seem to put a stop to your hopes of seeing him. Too many times she had been so close to getting within visual distance, but then lost him when he had taken off from the ground with an almighty boom, soaring off into the sky, leaving a trail of shimmering golden light in his wake. After weeks of this, Florence was ready to give up and resign herself to basing her interview on someone else. But what could beat an interview with him? It would be career defining.

It was exactly this thought that Florence was thinking about earlier today, as she sat in her car parked on the corner of a deserted side-street, desperately scrolling through news reports of crimes in progress on her phone, hoping that she could pick the one that he just might attend. She sat back and sighed, watching the sun disappearing behind the spires of the many buildings in the city. If she hadn’t been so frustrated, she might have enjoyed the view of the sunbeams of the setting sun dancing between the hundreds of windows high around her. She closed her eyes and tried to relax, when she was jolted to alertness by a knocking on her car window. She looked up in a daze, when she saw a figure standing next to her car. The sun behind it cast the figure in shadow, revealing the shape of a man silhouetted against the dazzling display of light. Despite the lightshow behind him, the fact that the man himself was in complete darkness unnerved her, but her reservedness vanished instantly when the man stooped down, allowing his eyes to meet hers, and she saw clearly who he was.

And now, a couple of hours later, she was sitting in the armchair, listening intently to the sound of the ticking clock, waiting for him to arrive. Florence rose from the chair and paced back and forth along the length of the room. As she stared out of the only window in the apartment, she could see that the sun had now set completely, allowing the nightscape of the city to come to life and treat her to a dazzlingly beautiful view. But it wasn’t as beautiful as the view of him, the ‘Golden Star,’ (her favourite of his many names) standing next to her car. She couldn’t believe that he was there, let alone knocking on her car window. She thought back on how she had stumbled over her words as she tried to greet him, so she tried to block out the memory of her embarrassment by making a cup of tea in the apartment’s kitchen. She struggled to find the tea bags at first. After all, this was an unfamiliar place. She was unsure why he had asked to meet here of all places, which of course would be one of the many questions she would ask him when he arrived.

As she waited for the kettle to boil, she thought again about how shocked she was that he had come to her car and asked if she would like to interview him. She wondered how he had known that she was a journalist. Maybe he saw the camera and writing equipment in the boot of her car, using his x-ray vision. Did he have x-ray vision? Florence was sure that he could see through walls. After all, she was sure he had claimed to be able to do so at some point over the ten years that he had been protecting the city, right? Another thing she would ask him, Florence thought, as she paced over to her notes to scribble it down. As she came to the end of her sentence, she almost dropped her pen at the sound of two heavy knocks on the door. This was it.

Florence steadied herself. This must be him. She straightened her blouse and glanced at the mirror on the wall, next to that damn clock that had tormented her for the last fifteen minutes. She fixed her hair, took a deep breath, and walked towards the door. With feigned confidence, she grabbed the handle, and swung the door towards her, putting on a welcoming smile as she did so. And there he was, the ‘Golden Star,’ standing in the doorway of the apartment. He smiled at her and outstretched his hand.

“Florence, it’s very nice to see you again.’ He said, with a booming but still reserved voice. She extended her hand and shook his, awestruck that she was finally meeting him properly. She almost forgot to reply.

“Yes, the same to you.” She said quickly. “Please, come in.”

He smiled and pushed past her to enter the apartment. She shut the door behind him and turned to look as he walked past. He was wearing his usual brilliant gold outfit, that looked as if it had been carved out of the sun itself. It was intricately laced with pieces of red fabric across his waist, shoulders, and chest, with each end of the fabric falling into place over his breastplate to form a star, lending him his particular nickname. Florence admired the sight before her and smiled at him again as he turned to face her once he reached the living room. She thought he was an attractive man, with sculpted blonde hair and a clean-shaven face, revealing a strong, squared jaw. He looked every bit your typical comic book superhero. But she put these thoughts aside. She had business to attend to.

“Sorry, I suppose that was a strange thing to say. Me, inviting you into your own apartment!” Florence said with a laugh.

“Not at all. It’s not my apartment.” He said, matter of fact.

“Oh, I naturally assumed when you suggested to meet here that you owned it?” Florence asked.

“No, no. A few weeks back, this place was being used as a hideout. I came here, dealt with the gang, and, well, evicted them.” He said with a wink.

“Oh, of course. I see.” Florence said. She sat down in the armchair she had been sitting on before he arrived and gathered her papers on her lap. He sat down in the chair below the window, facing her. While she admitted to herself that the idea of conducting this interview sitting in an apartment which was used as some sort of criminal den was hardly appealing, she deterred these thoughts in view of her task at hand. She picked up her phone and waved it at him.

“Do you mind if I stream this? So I can look back on it later for reference?” she asked.

“Not at all.” He said with a smile. Florence smiled back, and clicked the start button. She placed her phone on the small table between them, and felt herself switching to her professional state of mind. She leant back in her chair, clicked her pen to the ‘On’ position, and looked up at him.

“Thank you for being here this evening. ‘’Golden Star,’ I was very pleased when you agreed to interview with me. I’m looking forward to getting to know you.” Florence said.

“Thank you Florence, I’m looking forward to it myself. It’s been over a year since my last one.” He replied.

“So, firstly, I think myself and our magazine’s many fans would love to hear from you directly, what can you actually do? We’ve all seen you fly around the city, we’ve seen you crumble concrete walls with a single punch, you’ve moved at impossible speeds to chase down criminals. You’ve even made objects float on occasion. Is this an exhaustive list of your, let’s say, abilities?” Florence asked.

“That’s correct. I can fly, I’m incredibly strong, incredibly fast, and I’ve been practising with moving objects with my mind more often over the last few years. Although it’s proving to be difficult. I’m getting the hang of it though.” He replied.

Florence secretly hoped he would provide her with an exclusive new power, like the x-ray vision she had pondered earlier, something to really make her name reach the headlines, but unfortunately not with that question. Undeterred, she moved onto another.

“Could you tell me about how you, well, came to be? Where did your abilities come from? Were you born with them?” Florence asked.

“I can tell you that I wasn’t born this way. My abilities came to me one day, many years ago. I was amazed at what I could suddenly do. But I remember feeling, how could these gifts be given to me? Me, of all people? How could I deserve them? I felt that maybe I was being tested. Would I change now? Could I be better?” He said, as he clasped his hands together in his lap, squeezing them into lightly clenched fists.

“Well, from watching what you do most days on the TV, many people would agree that you must be a good person. You clearly have a sense of moral right and wrong, a sense of justice. You spend your days fighting crime and saving people! Why else would you do what you do?” Florence said.

“Penance.” He replied.

At the mention of the word, Florence looked up from her papers, and for a moment they stared at each other. A few seconds of silence passed, long enough for Florence to become aware of the ticking clock constantly in the background once again. She eventually broke the silence.

“Penance?” She said. She waited for him to elaborate, hoping he would fill the silence with an explanation. Finally, after what felt like an age, he sighed, and began to speak again.

“It’s a great motivator you know. When you have done lots of bad in your life, you feel the urge to try and make up for it, or to punish yourself for it. That’s how all this started. With my new power, I had finally found a way to continue doing what I enjoy, but also ensure that I can make up for it afterwards, by pouring lots of good into the world.” He said.

He abruptly leant forwards in his chair, slightly startling Florence.

“Don’t you see? It was perfect. I had found balance.” He said. He stared at Florence, waiting for some sort of response from her. But from her perspective, her mind was whirling. Had he perhaps gotten carried away with his answer, trying to convey deeper meaning into his sudden onset of powers? Florence wasn’t sure, but she was sure that she suddenly felt uneasy. She found herself nervously clicking her pen again, a habit which she constantly tried to stop, but never quite succeeded.

Earlier she felt like all she wanted was an extended interview with this man, but now she felt like what she had obtained from him in her few short questions was enough. It was more than anyone else had managed to get from him before anyway. She felt she would ask one more question, and then bring it to a close.

“That was very interesting to hear. Thank you. But of course, I will need to ask, what should I call you? I’ve already used ‘Golden Star’ as it’s my personal favourite, but you have so many names. Unless you prefer Mr. Star or something crazy like that.” She said, as she put on a quiet laugh, feigning confidence now as she did when she first opened the door to him. She continued on with her question.

“And seeing as you of course won’t reveal your real identity, I will need- “

“Jake. My name is Jake.” He said bluntly.

For the second time, Florence found herself in shocked silence. She clicked her pen repeatedly.

“Why would you tell me that?” she asked, in a half-whisper.

“It doesn’t matter if you know. It really doesn’t make a difference, in the end.” He said.

“But, how can you just reveal your name like that? You know that this is on the record?” she said, as she glanced down at her phone. But she stopped her pen clicking as her stomach fluttered. Her phone wasn’t there. She glanced up at him, to see him holding it in his hand. He squeezed, and the metal crumpled under his grip, reducing the small machine into dust and scrap.

He rose from his seat, brushing away stray bits of metal from his glistening gold outfit.

“I used to feel bad about this. I would have the most awful thoughts afterwards. But now that I have found my balance, I can truly enjoy it. For what I do here and now, I make up ten-fold throughout the year.” He said.

He smiled at Florence, and she saw in his eyes no sense of kindness, no sense of righteousness as she thought she had seen earlier. As the mask dropped, she felt chilled to her core. Frozen in place. She tried to speak, but her words caught in her throat.

He stepped towards her, and when she didn’t move, he said, “You can run now, please. I always enjoy it more when they run.”

He placed his hand on the small table between them, and with the slightest movement, sent it flying across the room, crashing into the wall and splintering into hundreds of pieces. There was the strength Florence had seen so many times on the news. Still in disbelief at what was happening, she jumped to her feet and turned to run. She made it almost to the apartment door, but he moved from the living room to behind her in a heartbeat. There was the speed she had seen as he had chased down criminals fleeing a robbery, hundreds of times. But it was all backwards now. She didn’t even have time to comprehend him before she was flung forwards, and felt her head hit the doorframe. And then nothing.

***

The ‘Golden Star’ left the apartment, quietly closing the door behind him. He exited the building, and with an almighty boom, skyrocketed into the sky. He probably should have been more careful with the noise, but he was riding the high that he felt. He didn’t really need to worry though, he thought. Crime happens all the time in the rough part of the neighbourhood. Someone would find the body in the morning. Maybe he could make a speech, and publicly condemn the perpetrator? He laughed to himself as he soared through the sky.

He swooped and dived between the rooftops and eventually came to land in a market square a mile or two from the apartment. Being late in the evening, not many people were around, but a crowd of around 50 people quickly gathered near him, cheering his name. He smiled and waved at them. He placed his hands around the back of his outfit to pose for photos, smiling for pictures with fans and admirers. One woman approached him and shouted out.

“My family are at home; they’d be so upset to hear that they missed you. Could you speak to them on my phone?” She shouted.

He smiled and nodded, as he began to walk towards her. When he was almost upon her, she shook her phone at him, and said, “Rather than a recorded message, do you mind if I stream this? So everyone can hear you directly, maybe have a quick chat, if it’s not too much trouble?”

Suddenly he felt his smile drop, as he pushed past the growing crowd of fans to reach the woman.

“What did you say?” he hurriedly asked her.

“Um, is it OK if I stream this? You know, live-stream, so everyone on my friend’s list can watch it too, maybe ask you some questions?” She replied.

He stood in a stunned daze for what felt like an eternity. He thought to himself, how could he have been so stupid? After so many years of feeling invincible, he had become careless. Every word he had said in that apartment. Everything he had done there. The words Florence had spoken at the beginning of their interview echoed in his head, “Do you mind if I stream this?”

He realised that she hadn’t been recording him for personal use to write an article later. He turned to look at himself in a nearby shop window, and as his hands formed into tight fists, he whispered to himself through clenched teeth, “She was live streaming the whole, damn, time.”