A Perfect Place

"That's the thing about this city… it reeks of desperation. Not the kind that you find in say, Los Angeles, where everyone is obsessed with being famous. No, San Alma's kind of desperation trembles within its residents while they take out the garbage, do the laundry, or the school run. Jacked-up on anxiety, they tell themselves over and over that they are different from the other families living on the estate, in identical houses. But they are not. They let their busy lives fog over their desire for a greater purpose. It's disgusting."

            "And here's me thinking this was the nice part of the city!" Nick chirped.

The gloomy man leant his elbow on his knee as he gazed at the roofs of the estate. His black mask had two translucent diamonds instead of eye holes. They provided surprisingly good visibility, but they hid any sign of emotion. The way he moved his body revealed enough though. Tonight it was a mixture of hatred and resignation as he perched on the edge of this block of flats, swathed in his usual black coat.

            "That's the problem, Nick. There is no nice part of the city. Everyone has some violent and sordid part to them." His cheeks tightened beneath the black lycra.

Harry continued to brood, as the sound of distant cars washed over them. Harry had been like this for as long as Nick could remember, and sometimes it was exhausting trying to stay positive in his shadow. But Nick would never stop trying.

A long squeak sounded below as a shiny black Mercedes stopped outside Number 30 Burgundy Boulevard. As the door opened, the female occupants laughed and said their goodbyes before a man in a creased suit stepped out. He tapped the roof of the car twice, signalling for the driver to pull away.

Nick and Harry's bodies tensed.

The man on the street swayed a little as he turned his face to the stars, a half-empty bottle of beer rested tentatively between two of his fingers. He sighed and walked towards Number 30. But the door opened before he reached it. Two fluffy slippers and a set of silk pyjamas stepped out onto the doormat, covering the 'welcome home' message beneath.

"Do you think I am stupid?!" the woman said. The accusation was not as fierce as she intended, the last syllable revealing the edge of a sob waiting in the top of her throat.

The man's gait changed immediately at the sound of her voice. His shoulders rose as he leapt into a stride, quickly closing the gap between them. His face was no longer visible from the roof as he grabbed her by the throat.

            "Yes," he growled, shaking her neck for added emphasis. "I know you are. Just like I know that I can do whatever the hell I want without your permission."

He switched his grip on the bottle and smashed it against the red car parked in the driveway. The woman's fingers raised to her throat to prize him away as she began to gasp for breath. He moved his face and the sharp end of the bottle, towards his victim.

"See? You are pathetic. Even our 8 year old daughter could outsmart you."

A light thump sounded behind him. "You know, they will charge you a fortune to repair that at Joe's Autos." The man turned to see their figures; a muscular shadow wearing a heavy coat and a mask, beside him a shorter, skinny teenager, dressed head-to-toe in black lycra.

"Hah!" The man with the bottle laughed. "Who the hell are you supposed to be?"

He blinked and suddenly the slender boy was gone, along with the bottle in his hand. As he looked to his empty palm his body was slammed against the car window, knocking the woman from his grasp. She fell onto the grass next to the drive, panting as Harry held her husband by the neck against the family car.

            "You know that no-one would believe her if she took you to court. No qualifications, no money, surely it's her fault—" he squeezed the man's throat for emphasis, "that the marriage isn't working out, hm?"

"It's not because you go out drinking with the girls from the office and abuse her when you come home, is it?" Harry shook the man again.

"It can't be. You're the nice guy, after all everyone loves you and you'd never hurt a fly!"

The man's mouth opened and closed like a fish. He couldn't think of anything to say with a hand around his throat.

"It's almost appropriate that you've suddenly lost the ability to speak." Harry's head twisted to one side, "Because sorry ain't gonna cut it. Even if you did remember the meaning of the word." He released his grip, but still held the man in place firmly, a cat with its prey.

Behind him, Nick was inspecting the woman's neck and helping her to her feet as she stared at her husband.

            "Nngh! Let go of me!" He grunted, scrambling his feet against the ground to push against  "I-I didn't know what I was saying, I've had a few beers! I didn't mean it. You caught me at a bad time, I've been so stressed with w—" Nick's fingers clicked and although the man's lips babbled on, his voice was gone.

            "Ah. Thank you Nick" Harry purred as he rolled his head over his shoulder, "much better!"

            Beside Nick, the woman in pink pyjamas opened her split lips, "Don't hurt him. Please. I don't want that." The two men in lycra turned to her, as her husband continued to twitch under Harry's fist.

"He doesn't deserve your mercy, ma'am." Harry returned.

"He might not. But I don't want to be like him. I never want to be anything like him." Her voice shook with conviction.

Harry let go of her husband, causing him to crumple on the floor before Harry placed a threatening foot on his leg. "We'll drop him off at the station on our way back. Is there anything you need before we go?"

            "Erm… I- I don't know…" Her eyes were fixed on the heaving shoulders on the floor. Nick could see the cogs whirring in her mind, seeing the things her husband would do to punish her for their interference. He would make her pay for this humiliation.

Nick voiced the fear swimming in her eyes, "We'll keep him away from you as long as you need, but you know we can't do it forever.” Softly he added, You'll have to move quickly. They won't keep him inside long." 

A tear track revealed itself on her face, glowing in the orange lamplight.

"It's not right, but it's all we can do for now."

Harry reached into his pockets and pulled out a rope, way too long to feasibly fit in there, and began to tie up the man on the floor.

"What if he finds me?" She whispered to the floor.

He would find her no doubt, unless she isolated herself, created a new identity and moved away. There would be no justice for her in San Alma.

Harry's deep voice broke the silence. "San Alma is a paradise for people like him. Even if he doesn't find you, someone else will. Men like him crawl through the streets like lice. The people in charge, they don't care that you walk home in terror every night. All they see are statues and the next election. If I were you, I would get the hell out of here and never come back. Find the antidote for this poisonous place before it infects your children."

She held his gaze with her glassy eyes. It was all true and it was obvious she had known it for some time.

A crunch came from the floor. Harry had stepped down on her husband's calf as he tried to crawl away in his rope bundle. His face was stretched in agony, but the sound was still missing. She winced and walked back to the house.

"Thank you" she whispered, "for looking out for me. Most people choose not to see it, and they refuse to hear it."