Golden Age, Episode 3, Part 2
People always talk about where they were when they first heard about The Correspondent. She came out of nowhere and tried to make a difference. Some saw her as a beacon of hope, others as a sign of how far down the slope we had come. I never paid attention to all of that. I was too busy. Too busy working to pay my bills, too busy trying to figure out life. I was seventeen when it started. I was The Correspondent. This is my story.
Riding my scooter in costume was one of the greatest feelings. I felt more heroic having a super vehicle to go with my suit. The air was crisp. Cold might have been a better word. My suit was designed to stop bullets but not the chill that came with the oncoming winter.
It felt weird to have permission to go fight crime. The initial thrill of heroing was all in the sneaking around. Wearing my suit under my clothes made me feel incredible. The more I did it the more it became normal. I was so used to having it on under my clothes that I didn’t worry about someone seeing it, I automatically picked my outfits to cover up the suit.
Arriving at the location marked by my research I looked around for anything weird. I was in a parking lot that had a twenty-four hour drug store, a bank and a couple of restaurants. The lights from the drug store provided some illumination, but I was glad for my night vision.
I skulked around the parking lot waiting for something to happen. When nothing happened I started my scooter up and headed back to the scene of yesterday’s excitement.
Hiding my scooter behind a dumpster, I climbed up the fire escape that had saved me and peered in the broken window. There was no sign of the bruisers, which wasn’t surprising. What was surprising was the yellow envelope taped to the window. Writing in a flowery script on the envelope was “To: The Correspondent”.
Oh good, creepy fan mail.
Before pulling the envelope off of the window I checked around for any nasty surprises. There were no wires leading to bombs or sticky substances on the envelope, so I grabbed off the window and headed back to the scooter.
I raced away from the scene, the idea that someone had left me an envelope causing my brain to jump around. Was this a good thing? A bad thing? Who writes notes?
To stem the tide of my thoughts I decided I needed a break. I headed to Zeb’s store to fill up the tank on my scooter and grab a slushie.
When I arrived at the store I remembered that Zeb wasn’t there. He was at the hospital with his wife and baby. Luckily I had my card still that gave me free gas. I pulled into the parking lot and started gassing up the scooter, trying to keep a low profile since I was in costume.
I shouldn’t have worried. No one else came into the parking lot and there weren’t very many cars on the road. When I was done gassing up and waved at the clerk, who was staring out the window at me, and sped out of the parking lot.
The night hadn’t been a complete bust. I had found my fan mail, which I would look at when I was back at The Alcove. Turning towards home drove home, once again thinking about what the envelope could contain.
The story of The Correspondent will continue weekly. If you enjoyed this story, please consider scrolling down and recommending it on Medium. Follow me on Medium or on Twitter for more posts like this.
Dylan Reed has always been interested in a good story. Raised without a TV he spent a lot of time with books and loves reading. Dylan has been a professional entertainer, studied commercial diving, and loves random trivia. He brings all of this and more together in his stories.