The Indestructible Man by William Jablonsky

I blew up somebody’s car, but nobody got hurt.”

    “It’s a little late for second thoughts,” Bobby said. “You were in it as much as me.”

      “Yeah, I was,” Brooks said. “Probably shouldn’t have been, though.” He guzzled the last of his beer and slammed the can on the bedside table. “I got some thinking to do.” He stood up on his rooster legs. “Later,” he said, and walked out.

    A week later Brooks’ landlord answered his phone and said he had taken off for New Jersey or Nebraska—she couldn’t remember which—and hadn’t left a forwarding address.

    The updates on TV died down after Romulus’ tearful apology to his fans and the parents of the injured children. Bobby’s best source was Aunt Mavis, who called to warn him that Romulus had come home to hide out for a while. And he had come alone .

    On the first of May Bobby’s mother came into his room and slapped the newspaper onto his TV tray. Because he never read the local news and did not understand the gesture, his mother unfolded the paper and pointed to the headline: Former ‘Indestructible Man’ Missing. According to the article, Romulus Wayne had been seen plunging into the river the evening before. Eyewitnesses said he was walking along the docks when he stepped off into the rain-swollen river and let it carry him off. The search party had yet to find a body, and the Times reporter concluded that Romulus must have been susceptible to drowning. Bobby was not sure it was true, but Romulus was gone all the same.

    “Poor kid,” his mother said once he’d finished reading. “I hope you’re pleased with yourself.” Though he was about to fall out of his wheelchair with glee, Bobby feigned shame until she had gone. He felt like celebrating, but Brooks was gone and he doubted Cindy would speak to him. So he grabbed his flat, tepid beer and drank to himself.

    A few days later the rain stopped, and the ground was dry enough for Bobby to move around freely outside. His parents lived within a few blocks of the dock where Romulus had thrown himself into the river, an easy trek even in a wheelchair. It was sweatshirt-and-jeans weather, and he was happy to finally get out of the house. It would have been nice if Cindy were there to wheel him down to the park, but he had not heard from her in nearly a month. He wondered if she had found someone else, if she still thought of him.

    The trail along the bank was flat and gravelly, easily accessible, but he was still careful not to run over the clusters of duck shit spotting the walkway—he did not want the vile greenish sludge rubbing off on his palms and fingers. His eyes were so fixed on the path that he nearly ran into the young woman sitting at the edge of the water.

    Her bright red-gold hair spilled out from under a white hat, the brim tilted low over her eyes. He panicked, and tried to escape quietly; he could roll back up the footpath without her ever knowing he’d been there. But when he tried to pivot his wheels crunched a patch of gravel, and she turned her head.

    “I knew you’d come,” she said.

    He felt her eyes on him, and stared down at the dock rather than face her. “I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said. “I’ll go.” He began to back away.

    “He jumped in here,” she said quietly. “But you knew that.”

    “Yeah,” he said, stopping. “I heard.”

    “I wondered what I’d do if I saw you here.” He heard the aluminum chair creak as she rose. “I thought about taking your wheelchair by the handles and rolling you into the water.”

    She could do it easily if she wished. The footpath had a slight incline; it was a chore to wheel himself back up, and there was no way he could outrace her. “So why aren’t you?” he muttered into the folds of his sweatshirt.

    “Because throwing you into the river won’t bring him back. Just tell me why.”

    Bobby did not answer.

    “He never did anything to you. This was all because of the time you