Read The Scent of Shadows Free with Bonus Material for Free Online Page B

that phone!”
    “I—I’m just going to call an ambulance.”
    “Don’t need no ambulance.”
    I pushed the emergency button. “You need a doctor.”
    He just looked at me and grinned, still sprawled on the gravel like some beat-up and forgotten doll. I waited for a dial tone, the emergency operator, for anything that would connect me to someone who could help, but the phone had gone dead. It must have broken when I’d dropped it.
    I looked at the vagrant and knew I couldn’t move him, but I couldn’t leave him there either. I’d never leave someone else helpless and vulnerable, alone in the desert. “I’m going to drive my car over, and we’ll find a way to get you in, okay?”
    “No, no. I’m a quick healer,” he said, and just like that the leg beneath him straightened with an audibly sickening pop. “See?”
    I didn’t. I thought I might vomit, but I didn’t see. “Let me get my car anyway.”
    Ignoring his protests, I jogged back to the car and slipped into the seat. Then I pulled alongside the man, who was now, amazingly, sitting up, and—careful not to bean him in the head—pushed open the passenger door to view him through the other side.
    “Told you I heal quickly,” he said, waving at me with a hand that was broken just above the wrist. The torque of the movement was nauseating, but not as much as the way hesuddenly jerked the arm upward, snapping it back in place. We both stared at the arm, poised midair. Then he gave me a little finger wave, grinning. “Bet you can’t do that.”
    I opened my mouth but nothing came out. The wrist, obviously healed and fully functioning, appeared as good as new. That’s when I realized the dusty ground, the man, and even my car, were as dry as they’d been before the accident. There were no body fluids or blood; no urine released as battered muscles convulsed then went lax with injury. I glanced from the wrist into clear eyes that watched me intently, corners crinkled in a knowing smile.
    “Uh…”
    Stepping from the car, I watched from over the hood as he slowly straightened. He was still bent at the waist, but he’d been stooped like that back beneath the underpass and appeared otherwise fine. Which brought me back to my original question. How had he gotten here?
    “How—How…” It was about as much as I could manage, and I had to settle for the truncated version. “How?”
    “I told you. Quick healer. Like you.” And he began to walk away.
    I put my hand to my cheek, where he’d pointed. It was the one Ben had touched, the one that had been bruised and tender. I frowned. The soreness was gone.
    “Sir, come back.” I rushed to catch up. “What’s your name?”
    He doubled over instantly and began to laugh; maniacal, breathless spasms rocking his body back and forth while tears streamed over his grimy cheeks. I looked around to see what was so funny, and came pretty quickly to the conclusion it was me. His laughter broke off into wracking coughs, and he bent over, hacking away. I pounded on his back, trying to help.
    “You ever read comic books?” he asked, straightening suddenly, all signs of ill health vanishing with the movement.
    I wiped my hand on my pants. “You mean like Donald Duck?”
    “I mean like Superman, Wonder Woman…Elektra.” He said this last word with all the panache of a seasoned lounge act, fingers splayed in the air with theatrical introduction.
    “No.” This whole conversation was getting stranger by the moment. I took a step back, muttering to myself, “What do I look like? An adolescent boy with cystic acne and bondage fantasies?”
    “Not fantasies,” he said, overhearing me. “History. Research. The truth multiplied by the collective consciousness equals fact stranger than fiction.” He began chuckling again.
    “Sorry?”
    “I’m a superhero!” he announced, raising his arms like a competitor in Mr. Olympia. “Hero to the superheroes. Command leader of Zodiac troop 175, division of anti-evil,