Chapter One

"I used you, Angel."

The words passed through my eardrums, hollow-like. I didn't know how to respond. My mouth opened, then closed. Opened again only to close once more.

Dean Sommers had used me.

Dean Sommers had used me?

Maybe if I had said it aloud it would have sounded less surreal. But I couldn't; my mouth was as dry as salt. A lump suddenly lodged itself in the middle of my throat, the size of a golf ball. Dean manipulating someone was unheard of. Preposterous. Inconceivable. The two words 'Dean' and 'manipulate' didn't even belong in the same sentence.

The fact that that seemingly good-hearted person just ripped my own heart into small fragments was completely astonishing. Like breaking the laws of physics. That kind of thing didn't just happen.

I sucked in gulp of air to keep my voice from crumbling. "Why?"

Dean ran a hand over his short black hair with a sigh. Just that one sound caused my blood to boil. It was almost as if I was an inconvenience to him. My face grew incredibly warm at that thought.

I stared at him for the longest time waiting for an answer, scrutinizing his face His black hair was slicked to the side, the color matching equally dark glasses frames that rested on the bridge of his slightly-raised nose. The glasses made Dean's eyes appear slightly larger but it matched well with his disproportionate head and body. While his cranium was big, his body was long and lanky. He preferred the term "hipster" over "nerd". Dork had a much better ring. Dean the Dork.

I liked the sound of that.

"To make my old girlfriend jealous. Don't worry, you did a good job 'cause she wants me back now," Dean said. He reassured me with a pat on the shoulder.

I jerked my head back. Was that. . .real? I couldn't really pinpoint exactly the feeling that swept through my body. A bit of anger, sadness, betrayal. Was there a word that combined all three?

"I'm glad I could be of service," I said sarcastically.

Outwardly, I tried to play it off. My voice was only slightly shaky near the end of my comment. Internally, I tried to refrain from concocting a toxic mixture of blood-curdling screams of frustration and yanking my hair from the roots on my scalp. How awful could another human being be?

Dean gave me a thousand-watt smile, his overly-white teeth nearly blinding me. He always doubled up on Crest White Strips. One was apparently not enough to rid of the coffee stains the coated his front two left teeth.

That smile was the final ingredient to my lethal brew. That damned smile dripped with unawareness of what he had really done. Like a joke that flew right over his head. Or in that case, my head. Dean had told a hilarious jest with the opening line being, 'So you want to be my girl?' I stopped listening at that line, melting at the way the words sounded when I really should have paid attention to the final line of, 'April Fools'.

"So dumb," I muttered, glancing at the ceiling.

"Oh, come on now, Angel. You're not dumb! You didn't do that much worse on the SAT's than I did."

My nostrils flared wide. Adrenaline started to pump through my veins, glazing over my anger in a sweet, vengeful way. I didn't think twice when I lifted my knee up at the speed of light and sent it right into his groin with as much force as possible. Dean coughed and squeaked out his surprise, eyes crossing briefly from the impact before he crumbled to the yellow-tiled floor of Paramount High School. His knees struck the floor first. He toppled down on his chest with a quiet thud. Dean groaned while he rolled over on the ground. Students passed by us with small snickers of amusement.

The golf ball that had been in my throat had been struck from the tee and rolled into the pin for a hole-in-one. God, that felt so good. I wasn't usually violent with people yet that situation seemed like the perfect time to test out Dad's self-defense-mechanisms-for-sticky-situations.

I gave Dean the cold glare that he deserved. "Jerk."

He didn't have the chance to reply; I spun on my heel and started pushing through the student body to escape. The adrenaline started evaporating just as fast as it had poured over me. I couldn't shake the nerves that rattled through me as the total effect of Dean's intentions to break up with me started flowing through me like icy water.

"Angel! Hey, wait!"

The sound of my best friend's voice popped a button on my tear ducts. A small event but enough so that my vision became a little blurry from the liquid. Someone gripped my elbow, yanking me back to a complete stop.

The force made me twirl around until a short, perky-nosed Shannon was in my face with a beaming smile. Another button popped and my eyes began to sting. She didn't seem to notice.

"That was awesome! I never expected to see that from you!"

Well, that makes two of us.

"Shannon, I have to go." I pulled free of the strong grasp but she stepped right in my line of escape anyway.

I am on the verge of snapping. Move!

"Where to?"

Anywhere, I couldn't say.

"You can't just bail from school over an ass like Dean," Shannon pointed out.

"Watch me."

Another button slipped free and it made my voice crack. The sound must have scared her because she didn't try to stop my second attempt at storming-off. She knew better than to stand in the path of a hurricane.

I brushed by her shoulder. Shannon's face had fallen from its usually-high pedestal that consisted of everything happy. Regret showered upon my conscious. Shannon didn't deserve my rudeness and I knew it but the pain rushing to my middle was unbearable at that moment. Like an Anaconda was constricting my chest. Only my chest. Not my heart.

The dark crevice that my behavior crawled out from had been taunted out by the asshole. Every feeling towards Dean had been redirected at innocent little Shannon unwillingly because she had been in my way. The good thing about Shannon Freeman: she forgave easily.

I shoved passed the front doors of the high school. The feeling was similar to turning a page of a book to unveil a new chapter. Unfortunately, I was still reeling from the events of the previous page. I closed my eyes, an attempt to erase the memory.

Sunlight poured down from the blue sky above me, mimicking a relaxing light rainfall. Drinking in the rays eased my frantic nerves. Warmth seeped into my pores for an instant relief, like a form of heat therapy. A refreshing steam. The feeling was short-lived once a group of clouds covered the bright yellow orb of the sun, sending a darkness over the sky.

"Why?" I wailed to the sky, throwing my arms up in desperation. The heavens didn't seem to have an answer for me. I wished it would send down portable advice in the form of a totally-radical guardian angel. One that would pat my back and say, "You'll be fine, kid," in a voice that sounded vaguely similar to Morgan Freeman, since his voice alone was so wise.

My angel didn't come, and I couldn't exactly wait around all day for him to show. If I stood still any longer I would have drowned in my pitiful thoughts.

With heavy steps, I walked out of the school parking lot and towards the park. It wasn't far away; only a short walk down the road from the high school.

The park was rectangular in shape, with a sidewalk that cut straight through the middle and to the other side. Directly in the center of the grounds stood a large fountain to where I planned on actually drowning myself. I was being dramatic.

The soreness in my chest lessened while I took a seat on a bench near the fountain. Water trickled around the cement pool, a soothing sound, providing an unusual comfort for my pain. I dropped my red backpack on the pavement, relieving both of my shoulders of the heavy burden.

I was too young to be involved with a boy. That would be what my father would say later on when I arrived back at home. It was just too hard to believe that a person like Dean would want to hurt a person like me, all for the attention of another girl.

And the sopped-up idiot congratulated my efforts.

A performance that was so real - because I had actually cared - that it deserved an Oscar, according to Dean. After all, his ex wanted him back now, didn't she?

I laughed to myself. The sound was strangled and maniacal. Tears welled up in my vision once more. I raked each hand through my hair, clamping my jaw tightly to keep from cursing all the way to Sunday. Light blonde strands tangled between both sets of my fingers. I cradled my forehead in my hands.

I was stupid to not see the signs before. Then, as I looked back on our 'relationship' it was easy to see everything:

Dean never held my hand when we were out somewhere. School was the strict base in which hand-holding was important. He barely even tried to communicate outside of classes besides the occasional 'Good Night' texts. Occasional. Dean was terrible at conversation. He always talked and whenever I tried to express any sort of opinion it was cut off and the conversation diverted.

I leaned back against the bench, straining to clear all thoughts of the repulsive monster.

Kittens. Otters.

Out of the billions of people in the world, he chose my heart to step on. To mash it to the ground with his gaudy, expensive tap shoes while dancing to some classical music. Disgusting pig.

Footsteps started to approach my spot near the fountain. Suddenly excited, my stomach flew at the thought of Dean chasing after me and saying it was all a prank to mess with my head, despite the vindictive ideas previously perusing my mind. The feeling dissipated when the heavy thud of work boots grew seemingly near, the sight - from what I could see in my upper peripheral - of a man in a dark sweatshirt strolling by on a walk.

My body collapsed at the sight. I hung my head even lower and bit my tongue, resentment weighing down on my middle. No, he wouldn't be following after me with chocolates and flowers. First of all, because he never bought me flowers. Or chocolates. All of the crazy stuff he said ten minutes ago at school was real, not some sort of petty fight. The more time spent dwelling on Dean, the worse my head space would be cluttered with memories.

The footsteps increased at an alarming rate. Pounding away into the distance. By the time I glanced up, Dark Hoodie was sprinting away from the fountain.

Freak.

Wait. . .is that?

My stomach lurched at the sight of a red backpack clasped in his hand.

Shit!

Without hesitating a moment longer, I jumped from the bench and began sprinting after the thief.

"Hey!"

He didn't stop from my shout. Didn't even look back. Instead, he chose to run even faster at the sound of my voice. I wouldn't have bothered to give chase if my car keys and wallet weren't in my bag. I blessed my morning self for choosing sneakers over sandals.

My hair whipped back from my face as the speed of my run pushed the wind into my eyes. Cold, stinging wind. People stared as the man ran past. He nearly collided with a couple but they jumped out of the way with a startled cry.

"Hey! Stop!" I shouted uselessly at the retreating figure. Each of my two feet continued pounding rhythmically against the pavement in a speedy pursuit. The adrenaline returned, though not the same as the kind that had spurred my attack on Dean. The chasing adrenaline was coarsing hot, shouting encouraging bellows of Move, White! that sounded fairly familiar to Mr. Mullens, my gym teacher. He believed I was faster than I really knew. Mr. Mullens was also wrong.

The thief turned to glance behind him momentarily before surging forward in a burst of energy. I tucked my head down and pumped both legs harder, trying to match the impossible pace.

Why wasn't anyone trying to help me? Where was Vigilante?

Where was the city Superhero in such a desperate time of need? Well, maybe not desperate. I only had twenty six dollars in my wallet. Vigilante had a job to help citizens in need yet the darned hero was letting me fend for myself.

Vigilante was the known Superhero of Paramount City. The local anchorman gave him the name one day when the hero saved a group of people from a store robbery, catching all of the criminals on site. Vigilante did not work well with law enforcement, neither did he cause them trouble. He was somewhat amazing - he could fly. No one knew who he was in person. A mystery behind a mask. How he came to be, where he was from. Vigilante was a stranger cloaked in wonder. Our very own beacon of hope for Paramount City. Few people have actually seen such a public figure. My father read the paper every day so he would tell my mother and I whenever there was a story about a spotting of a Superhuman in a white suit flying through the sky.

"Good Lord, I need to work out more," I wheezed, slowing down a bit.

The thief had just exited the park and crossed the road in three long strides almost getting hit by a car in the process. He bounced in front of the hood of a little green Subaru. The driver honked the horn in frustration.

Dark Hoodie continued running. He was only a few meters ahead of me. The small car mishap helped lessen the distance between the thief and I. With renowned vigor, I jumped up on the sidewalk nearly able to latch onto his shoulder.

Dark Hoodie abruptly grabbed a garbage can that had been positioned along the curb and swung it around wildly, right in front of the path of my pursuit. Boxes and cans and papers spewed through the air and across the ground. Parchment flapped in front of my face, the stench of a rotting banana and soiled diapers wafting from it. I nearly hurled, skidding to a halt unsuccessfully and tripping over the metal tin. I landed on my hands and knees on the sidewalk. A stinging sensation throbbed on my palm, an identical feeling blooming on both on my kneecaps.

He continued running, ducking into an alleyway and disappearing beyond the brick building fully.

"Shoot."

I launched upright and tried to ignore the pain. Before taking more than a step, something flew from the same alleyway in a black blur.

The black blur hit an aging lamppost. I stumbled to a halt, flinging a hand to my mouth from the startling sight. The shape of a person took form. The thief who stole my bag. A long, agonizing groan came from the lump. His back was against the metal lamppost, slumped forward. After letting out another moan he limply dropped to the side, motionless. I thought he was dead until I saw the shallowest movement of his shoulder, up and down, up and down. Not dead. Possibly in a coma but most likely just unconscious. I tried to think positive despite the fact that he had robbed me of my school bag.

I dropped my hand and scowled, confused. How was he was suddenly tossed aside? Where in the world was my backpack?

The alley was dark from what I could scan with my eyes. I stood there debating whether or not to investigate or flee. However, my curiosity was soon relieved as a figure strode from the same place the thief had previously vanished. I sucked in a breath at the stranger's appearance.

Judging by the masculinity of the person's body, it was a man. A man dressed in an entirely black bodysuit. My red backpack dangled from one of his gloved hands. The suit looked smooth to the touch with a strange sheen, yet strong, showing off every movement of the muscles beneath the fabric. Rippling muscles that tensed when he saw me standing there, staring, mouth practically on the sidewalk as my jaw had dropped in surprise.

He was the superhero. He had to be. That was the only logical explanation.

The biceps on this man could have been bigger than my two hands could wrap around. Broad shoulders, wide chest. He looked like a linebacker. Professional. I felt small and insignificant in his presence.

A skull was intricately sewn into the suit directly on his chest. The symbol was the size of a hand print in a faint gray color. Barely visible. To complete the rogue look, the stranger had a dark hood pulled over his head to obscure any facial features except the lower half of a square jawline.

How curious.

"Is this yours?"

His voice was deep and velvety smooth. Stranger held up my bag and gave it a small shake.

"Yes, bag mine."

I blinked. I was completely aware of what came out of my mouth but didn't know how to apologize for my stupidity. Awe had stricken my thought process and jumbled my words.

Stranger stood still for a moment. He walked over in two long strides. He seemed to tower over everything, mostly me, standing at least five or six inches taller than my five-foot-seven-inches. I craned my neck to see his face. Well, hood, anyway. His eyes were shielded behind the dark fabric.

I reached for my bag. "Thank you. So you must be Vigilante?"

He retreated. Stranger pulled my bag away and turned his head to the side. "What makes you think that?"

I was ready to point out the obvious that he had rescued my bag. Was that not what a hero did? But his suit?

"You helped me. Wasn't that why you came here?"

"Oh, of course. Because my world just had to stop so I could help a brat get her stuff back," Stranger scoffed, tossing my backpack on the ground.

I furrowed my brow, focusing on my bag. If I had looked at him I may have said something rude in return. I was still wary. He was a stranger. A big stranger. I pressed my lips in thought. Maybe he was just better at being a jerk than a conversationalist. I was already having a bad day and couldn't find my filter at that moment.

"You're not Vigilante? Just some mean wannabe walking around in an overly-tight garbage bag."

I snatched the backpack from the ground, giving the stink eye to the face underneath the hood. How harsh. He may have helped me retrieve my belongings but he didn't have to be so callous.

I turned to leave with the intent of stalking off furiously but he had suddenly appeared right in front of me, his body centimeters from my own. I gasped. How did he do that?

"Can 'mean wannabes' drop you from so high in the sky that when you hit the sidewalk your brains will splatter across an entire block and stain the ground with the shape of your entrails as they rot outside of your body?"

I felt the ice in his tone.

That's fucked up. Run.

A shiver trailed down my spine, both from his chilling words and his proximity, which confused me on more than one topic that I cared to analyze.

Why did he help me?

"Now you threaten to kill me? Why did you even bother helping in the first place?"

He inhaled, causing his frame to become even larger. I held my ground, chin upward. A means to show that I wasn't afraid.

"It was an accident," he said. "All I wanted to do was punch somebody out. Lo and behold this guy comes running along."

Stranger gestured to the crumpled form of Dark Hoodie, the man who backpack-napped me in the first place. I never knew it was possible to accidentally help another person.

Stranger turned once more to me, face concealed under the black fabric of his hood. I guess I didn't really mind. It gave me a clean excuse to not look him in the eyes, and instead study the sharply-cut square of his jaw.

"If you tell anyone I saved you, that earlier threat will be something you wish for," he growled.

The dark hints of my demise made me swallow. He wouldn't kill me. . .would he?

"You'd be surprised."

I gave him a questioning scowl. Surprised?

"Oh, and tell the world a new Ghost has come to town."

In a flume of grayish-black smoke, Stranger disappeared from the spot completely.

My heart hammered multiple times at the sight. It was like magic, a disappearing act. I glanced around a couple times, expecting him to jump out of the alleyway again. When he didn't I dragged in a shaky breath. My nerves kicked up again. My fingers shook when I pulled the hair away from my face.

If he wasn't Vigilante. . .

The sudden realization signaled the flesh on my arms to raise upward.

I had just met another Superhuman. By the underlying tone of his last words, he wasn't around to be a hero. No, that stranger meant bad news.

How does one warn somebody of that? Alert the police? Newscasters? Go around neighborhoods, door-to-door?

And to think Dean was the most of my problems.