When Nerves Stop Singing

Her name was Emily Johnson.

Or, that's at least what she told the secretary who asked her when she entered the lobby of The Heroes' Institute of America. Emily Johnson had scheduled a meeting with President Travail two weeks ago, which was before the Heroes' Institute sent out their acceptance of Heroes in Training to study at their university.

Emily Johnson was dead outside, her body covered in snow. But don't worry--it wasn't the girl who killed her, really.

Her name was Jillian Koski.

Or at least, that's what she told the man with the coffee mug when he said he hadn't seen her around. Jillian Koski was the girl's long-time best friend, who had also submitted her application to the Heroes' Institute. Jillian had been as heroic as any girl can be. She once skipped a job interview for the job of her dreams because a toad was sitting on the wheel of her car and she hadn't wanted it to get hurt.

The Girl watched the man with the coffee mug step onto the elevator and stretched a smile over her face as if she was made of clay. She stepped on the elevator after him.

Jillian Koski's body was found in her apartment yesterday. Her eyes had been too wide, her hand only inches away from a knife she must've been using to try to defend herself. The issue was that Jillian would never hurt anyone, not even the person who slit her throat and left her lying there for the Girl to find.

The Girl didn't bother to bring a knife with her today. She didn't need it--not with her powers. The Girl was a healer. But, you see, healers have more power over the body than any one person should have. She could hear the lungs fill with air all around her, then push it out. She could hear the heart pumping as if someone had connected a speaker to everyone around her. She could hear their nerve endings singing. Today, she wanted to hear more singing and less thumping of the hearts.

No one came to Jillian Koski's funeral, but there would be singing for her today. From nerve endings to mourning angels, the Girl would be damned if she let Jillian's death be ignored like this.

The man in the elevator with the Girl was named Icarus, in the Girl's eyes, but he called himself Benjamin Malcintix. He was tall and lean, with large eyes. Eyes that immediately charmed the population of America into giving him their vote. He paid attention to little details, which was why he was able to tell that the Girl did not belong here. Luckily for the Girl, she had not applied to the Heroes' Institute that this man ran as a side job, as if running the country wasn't enough.

The Girl was no hero. But neither was this man.

"What level are you going to?" he asked her when she didn't immediately press a button.

"Oh. Same as you, actually," she told him politely. Heroes don't have to be polite--villains do. "Top floor."

His eyebrows shot up. "Oh, then you're here for a meeting with me? The top floor is only really for--"

"The President's work, yes, I know. My name is Isabel Renman."

He knit his eyebrows. "But earlier you said your name was..."

I tilted my head at him. "Did I say it wrong? Apologies, Mr. President. I had a bit of a speech impediment as a child, and sometimes I accidentally say Wenman instead of Renman. Is...that what you heard?"

He shook his head, though he still looked baffled. "Uh...yes," he lied. "Yes, that's what I heard. Sorry."

He was so thrown by the name, he forgot that he had scheduled no meeting with an Isabel Renman. Isabel Renman was the name of the Girl's mother, who had been killed in the Wars of Morals five years ago. That had been during President Malcintix's first term. He had promised to rid the world of all villains, which is why all the schools of America were now required to teach anti-villainism, which is defined by 'the purposeful actions taken against those who are anti-Malcintix, anti-government, or otherwise have malicious intent for the future of America."

The elevator stopped, and the lights went flickered before going out completely. Really, what was a machine but a body of metal? If the Girl can move the parts of a body or prosthetics, then why not the parts of an elevator?

"That's...strange," the Presidents said nervously. "There are supposed to be backup systems for cases like this..."

"Your nerves are singing," the Girl told him casually.

"What?"

"But they need to sing louder, to mourn her."

"I'm sorry. My nerves? Did I mishear?"

The girl's eyes locked with Malcintrix's. She soaked her powers into his skin, feeling the rushing of the blood, the contracting muscles as he moved away from her. The singing of the nerves. Louder.

He cried out as she took control of his nerves, and pulsed them, flooded them. It must've felt like she was burning him. Or like he'd been crushed. Louder, louder, louder.

"What," he gasped, "are you doing to me?"

"I'm making your body mourn them all. You should be full of remorse, but I can't fill you with it. I can only fill you with pain and hope it's enough. Do you feel guilty for what you've done?"

"I-I don't know what you're talking about--" He was cut off by another wave of searing pain in his veins, in his skin, in his throat. "We can talk this out."

"Talking won't fix anything," I said. "But killing you might allow others to survive in the future. Do you remember Jillian Koski, or Isabel Renman, or Emily Johnson? They should be alive, sir."

"Emily Johnson. She was the--the activist. She's meeting with me today," he said, almost in a pleading tone. As if he could convince the girl of his heroics just as he'd convinced the board, or the voters of America, or the legislators.

"But you're not actually meeting with her, are you? Because she was dead outside when I came in. I can sense dead bodies, too, you know. I wonder whether you killed her for advocating against you, or for daring to schedule a meeting with you. Do you remember the other two?"

The terrified look in his eyes was enough to prove he didn't. I yanked my hand backwards through the air, and his heart stopped for a moment before I allowed it to continue beating.

"Jillian Koski was murdered for writing her Heroism Essay for her application to your institute about how she does not believe in killing the Villains. She wrote that we should give them another chance to be good, and even should they choose evil, death should never be the solution. You had her assassinated for it."

He probably couldn't hear me anymore. His nerves were singing too loudly, blacking out all other noise he could hear.

"Isabel Renman was my mother. She died fighting your war against villains. She died for your dictatorship. She didn't know what she was killing for. She didn't know the future she would bring."

Tears stained his face. An old man crying. Good. He should be crying.

"If you are a hero, Mr. Malcintrix, then I will gladly be a villain." I knelt next to him. His nerves were beginning to shut down. His heart was beating too fast--good. "You must be wondering who I am."

His body fell. His heart was dead. His nerves stopped singing. The mourning was good while it lasted.

"My name will be Emma Goldman from now on. It's good to respect other heroes and keep them in memory, don't you think?"

I allowed the elevator to continue moving to the top floor. "Emma Goldman would not have approved of your dictatorship either."

The Second Emma Goldman stepped out onto the top floor and left the body in the elevator. The people waiting outside the elevator doors were frozen as they stared at their dead President.

Oh, well. They'll learn that heroes are evil, too, eventually. For now, it was just my job to make America sing.