The Gun
a short story by Lizzie & Leslie
The room was almost completely dark. Almost--except for the light hung just overhead. It's low-watt bulb barely penetrated the darkness, and it left the shadows over the wall, making it impossible to tell how large or small the room was. It's slow ceiling fan barely stirred the hot dusty air.
Classic interrogation scene, thought Wildwing grimly. It was hard to believe that only an hour ago this apartment had been the setting of the Mighty Ducks' Victory Party, hosted by Nosedive's two best friends Thrash and Mook. That evening, the winning point for the Stanley Cup had been scored. The greatest honor of Earth hockey had been won by the Mighty Ducks of Anaheim.
Only to be followed hours later by disaster.
Wildwing shifted uncomfortably in the creaky wooden chair. What a ragged turn of events, she thought. She felt pretty ragged herself. It was well past midnight, and the party had not been due to stop until dawn. She shuddered to remember what had happened to stop it so suddenly.
Except that Wildwing couldn't remember. Not everything. She knew someone was in the hospital and that her friends were just outside and that Klegghorn was standing a few yards away... but she didn't know what happened. Wildwing's head dropped to her hands, elbows rested on her knees, the picture of hopeless dejection.
"Okay," said Klegghorn uneasily. "Let's go through this one more time."
Wildwing sat in silence, trying for all she was worth to resurrect the memory of what had happened. She'd been in the room, witnessed the scene unfold, yet not a detail was open to her mind. And it was just about driving her crazy.
"Look," she said finally. "I've already been through this five times. When can I just go home?"
"When we know what happened," Klegghorn said firmly.
She sighed. "If I knew," she said, losing her patience, "I'd tell you."
Now Klegghorn was losing his patience. "You were in the room with them," he said, getting in Wildwing's face. "You saw what happened."
"I know, I know!! But I just can't remember!"
Both detective and witness were tired. Both were at the end of their ropes. Both just wanted to the case closed and go home, but they couldn't. They had to stay.
Klegghorn sighed. "I'll leave you alone for a few minutes while I question some of the people out there," he said, a little quieter. "Try to remember, partner."
Suddenly Wildwing was alone. And yet, she could feel another presence in the room. She didn't have to look up to know who it was...
Timmy stood with his brother-in-law at the door. Wildwing laughed and waved to them from the midst of the other guests. He smiled and motioned to her. Come on, he mouthed.
But Wildwing held back. She didn't want to go where she couldn't keep an eye on her friends. A hand touched her shoulder. It was the young man she'd talked to earlier--the one who'd talked to her when she was uneasy and offered her a Cola.
"I think you're supposed to go in," he said, a gleam in his brown eyes. His dark brown skin was almost indistinguishable from the darkness of the room. His voice was soft, gentle, and yet strong. It invoked trust and respect.
Besides, it had been a challenge, and there was no way Wildwing would not respond to a challenge after tonight. "Okay," she agreed, grinning. Why not? The Saurians were deep under the Pacific Ocean, and her teammates had brought home the Stanley Cup. She, of all of them, hand earned a little fun. So she followed Timmy into the other room, where it was a little quieter...
Wildwing shook the remains of the flashback from her eyes. That man... the one who'd told her to go in. No one had seen him but her. Questions had been asked, but no one knew who he was--no one had invited him.
When would this start making sense?
Klegghorn was back in the room. She must have looked tense, because he said "You okay?" She nodded, willing herself to relax. Her teammates, her friends, were just on the other side of the door. They'd come if she needed them.
"I'm fine."
"I need you to answer some more questions."
"I'll try."
Klegghorn held a small plastic bag in front of her. It was marked "evidence". It held a handgun.
"Do you remember this?" he asked.
Wildwing stared at it, unable to make sense of its structure. Slowly, she shook her head. "No, there wasn't a gun."
"Timmy's in the hospital with a gunshot wound," said Klegghorn, steaming up again. "How do you explain that?"
Wildwing slammed the arm of the chair with her fist. She just wanted to be left alone. "Well, I didn't see a gun. I didn't hear a gun. I don't... remember... a gun!"
"There are over forty people outside--your team included--who say they heard a gun being fired in here. When they came in, Tim's brother-in-law was running for the back and you were kneeling next to Tim with your jacket pressed to his chest. You must have known he'd been shot if you were trying to stop the blood." Klegghorn was yelling now, but Wildwing could be just as loud--louder if she wanted to.
"Timmy was my friend! Do you think I would lie to you about something like this? If I say I don't remember what happened, then I don't."
Klegghorn turned away, frustrated. Then he seemed to calm down. The whole half-hour seemed to consist of their tempers rising and diminishing. "Okay," he said calmly, for the fifteenth time that night. "Okay. I'm sorry I yelled, but a good man with a wife and kids is in the hospital now, and we don't know whether to tell them it was an accident or--" He broke off, unable to say the words, but they hung in the air anyway.
Attempted murder.
And suddenly Wildwing could see this from his point of view. Anaheim had an average crime rate, and Klegghorn had been dealing with it since before the Mighty Ducks. How many times had he seen this? Good people getting hurt, maybe even getting killed? Wildwing had seen many good people on Puckworld die by the Saurian Invasion--hundreds upon thousands upon millions killed or enslaved. Anaheim could be considered a drop in the bucket compared to all those lives, all those millions of lives ruined. But did that really matter? Would it have hurt just as much to see one person die as it did hundreds?
Wildwing knew the answer to that one. Logic and mathematics did not apply where life was concerned, it was too precious. One senseless death was as painful as a million. Every possible measure had to be taken to preserve life and protect it. That was what her teammates stood for.
"I understand," said Wildwing. "Just give me a few minutes to think."
Klegghorn nodded and left her alone. Yet not alone. He was there, that dark-skinned young man. Standing right in front of her. His pitch-black hair was as long as Nosedive's, plaited in cornrows like in the Jamaican tourist commercials she'd seen.
"Why can't they see you?" she asked him aloud.
"I'm not here for them," he replied, with his same gentle voice. The one that drew on her trust.
"Why can't I remember what happened?"
"Everything at once would be too much for you." He moved closer. His broad shoulders were like dark chocolate--except for the tattoo on his right forearm. A green triangle, crossed with two gold hockey sticks. The sign of the Resistance. The Resistance!?!
"You're Drake DuCaine!!" Wildwing exclaimed.
He nodded. "Yes, I am, and no, it's not impossible, so don't bother saying it. I came to congratulate the new possessor of my Mask. You've proven yourself more than worthy."
Wildwing sat in silence. She'd never thought of herself as worthy to wear DuCaine's Mask. She'd always thought that she would just have to do until Canard came back. But when the greatest hero in one's history tells you something, one does not argue with him.
DuCaine smiled. "Why so silent? Is it because of your friend?"
Wildwing wasn't sure if he meant Timmy or Canard.
Drake put a warm brown hand on her shoulder. "In case you're wondering, I'm the reason you can't remember what happened."
"You?!"
He shrugged. "Well, I thought that after you defeated the Saurians and carried on my legacy, the least I could do was preserve your sanity."
Wildwing stared at him. And while she did, she realized why he had made the Mask so intimidating. His face was so gentle, so friendly, his features were rounded from smiles and laughter. No self-respecting Saurian would have taken him seriously.
"Will I ever remember what happened?"
"Don't worry, it'll all come back to you--when you're ready."
At that moment, something fell. The coat rack. Where Wildwing had hung her jacket an hour ago. The jacket that now had Timmy's blood on it. And it all slammed into her like blast from a Hunter Drone.
Klegghorn burst into the room at the sound of the crash. "Are you all right?!"
She stared at him, eyes wide and round. "I remember what happened..."
"I think you're supposed to go in."
"Okay." She had earned a little fun, so she followed Timmy and his brother-in-law--what was his name?--Trevor.
Timmy and Trevor had wine glasses and Wildwing had a Cola can. They talked, and after a while, Trevor lit up.
Wildwing coughed. "Um... could you not do that?"
Trevor laughed. "What's the matter? The great hockey player afraid of a little cigarette?"
"No, just exceedingly repulsed." Wildwing coughed again.
"C'mon, Trev," said Timmy. "I thought you were tryin' to quit."
"I am," said Trevor. "But this is a party." But he put out the cigarette anyway. It was too late to do anything about the smell, but at least the smoke was clearing. "Hey, Timmy. Show you're hockey-player friend that little item I got you."
Timmy grinned, went to a drawer, and pulled out the handgun. It was old, and although Timmy hated firearms, he loved antiques even more.
"Wow," said Wildwing appreciatively. "Hey, I'm not big on guns, but if I was, I'd want that one."
"Yeah," said Timmy. "German Luger, World War II. Every gun collector wants one, or antique collector. Trevor gave it to me at the baby shower."
"You got a pistol at a baby shower?" said Wildwing dubiously.
"Hey," said Trevor. "My in-law's gotta protect that new boy of his. Don't worry, the ladies weren't watching."
Wildwing shook her head. Timmy was her friend (probably the on good thing that came from knowing Phil was being introduced to good Earthlings) but Trevor was pretty fanatical.
Timmy proffered the gun to Wildwing. She stared at it. "Is it loaded?" she asked, suddenly nervous but refusing to show it. Timmy would never let anyone touch his antiques, or have weapons in his house, unless he was just a touch under the weather.
Timmy smoothly removed the magazine. "No."
Wildwing narrowed her eyes and smiled. She handled the gun with utmost care. It was heavier than a puck-launcher. Knowing that Earth firearms could not be set to "stun" made her uncomfortable. "Bet Tanya would love to take this apart," she commented as she handed it back to Timmy.
“Not on your life," said Timmy. Trevor took the Luger from him and put the magazine back in. "But if anyone could, it'd be her."
"Here Tim," said Trevor. He put the gun on the table and slid it over to his brother-in-law. Then he picked up his glass.
The glass barely touched the Luger. But there was enough pressure that it moved. Tim reached to catch it, missed. Wildwing's hand shot out, and the Luger landed safely in it.
Trevor sighed with relief. "Goalie to the end, eh?" he joked, but it was clear he was shaken. Wildwing started to put the gun back into its box, but Tim stopped her.
"Come on," he said. "Bring in your buddies, I want to show 'em."
"Tim, that gun's loaded. If it had hit the floor, it would have gone off."
Timmy scoffed. Whatever was in that wine glass, he had definitely had too much. "What're you so scared of? You handle stuff like this all the time." He held the gun with his finger on the trigger to prove his point.
"Tim. You've had too much. C'mon, I'll drive you home." Wildwing took his arm... and that was her mistake. Tim jerked back, flailed wildly, and lost his grip on the gun. The German Luger flew back and hit the wall. Wildwing and Trevor ducked as they heard the loud shot. It wasn't like a puck-blaster, it was much louder and scarier. Like an explosion.
When Wildwing looked up, Tim was lying on the floor, a red stain on his chest. She felt as though someone was grabbing her wrist, shoving her jacket into her hand. She knelt down and pressed it to Timmy's wound with one hand, the other one squeezing the empty Cola can until it broke and the thin metal tore into her skin...
"I guess that's how I got this," said Wildwing finally, refering to the minor cut on her hand. She'd completely forgotten about it, but it was starting to hurt again. "The others came in, and Trevor ran to the back."
"There's a phone out in the hall," said Klegghorn. "He must've gone to call 9-1-1 like he said." He put a hand on Wildwing's shoulder. "You did good, partner. You can go home now. Your friends are outside."
"That's it?"
"It was an accident. A stupid... senseless... accident." There was a knock on the door, and he turned. The door opened, and a uniformed police officer stood there. He glanced at Wildwing before he said something to Klegghorn. Then he left.
"What?"
Klegghorn turned to Wildwing. "You're friend's going to recover."
Wildwing stood. "Good. I'm glad." She went to the door, but turned with her hand on the knob. Klegghorn stood a meter away. He didn't know it, but DuCaine was directly behind him.
"I guess you see this kind of thing every day," said Wildwing.
"It never gets easier," they both said. Drake shot Klegghorn a glance and smirked, but Wildwing was too tired to smile. She nodded and left. Her friends were waiting for her.
THE END