Double homicide, no leads, it was all over the news. I burned the uniform. Every time someone mentioned the incident I lost my breath. It took six months before I could smile without faking it. My marriage suffered, my work suffered. I had to push it all out of my head; I forgot about missions or costumes and tried to get my life back. I even stopped flying.
A year went by and things started to feel normal. Then the bank, I won’t lie, it felt good. I was at the bank withdrawing some cash when he burst through the door, orange ski mask and shotgun.
“Everyone get the fuck down!”
A teller hit the silent alarm. The robber stuffed two duffel bags full of cash before the cops showed up. Red and blue lights flashed everywhere. Robber thought he needed a hostage, so he grabbed me. He pressed the shotgun to my neck, I almost laughed. I bent the barrel and tossed him out the front door. The glass doors shattered, the police swarmed in on him. People started to move toward me. I couldn’t afford another fifteen minutes in the spotlight; there’d be too many questions.
I still remember the tingle in my feet as I took flight. God, it always feels good to fly. I flew off before anyone could get to me. That’s when it started for real, that’s when I knew I could never go back to normal.