Instantly, he flinched and hurried ahead, practically shoving people out of his way. It earned him a few colorful insults.

            Once he was twenty feet away, he stopped. He heard a familiar girl’s giggle. Then against his better judgment, he looked over his shoulder.

            The skinny strawberry-blonde girl pulled a young man into the ice cream parlor. They both smiled ear-to-ear.

            Calvin would not even allow himself to think her name. Whenever he did it was like hammering a nail into his brain. She lived in Lakeland, but everyone in the county came to Vienna during the holidays, and Vienna was too small to hide in. Besides, she was dating that guy now, and he lived in town.

            A year ago, I was the man holding your hand and taking you out for ice cream, thought Calvin. I was going to tell you, “I love you,” for the first time. Then you broke my heart two days before Christmas. A few months later, I was forgotten and replaced.

            Now he really wished the world had ended today.

            As if on purpose, a song blared from Mozart’s Music that rubbed salt in his old wounds:

Last Christmas
I gave you my heart
But the very next day, you gave it away

            He looked away and huffed. His brown eyes stung, so he rubbed them. “What good is Christmas when all I ever get is heartache?” he whispered to himself.

            Suddenly, he heard her giggle coming toward him.

            Gasping, he glanced left. Seeing an alley, he all but lunged toward it. He did not stop running until he was halfway down and on the other side of a dumpster. He leaned against the wall and waited for that now awful giggle to vanish in the cacophony. But it did not matter—the knife dug deep into heart. A second later, he found himself crumpled on the ground like a homeless man, the melting snow soaking through his slacks. He clenched a fist and pounded the dumpster beside him.

            “It’s not fair!” he spat quietly. He hit the dumpster again.

            A big plastic bag fell on his head.

            Flummoxed and perturbed, Calvin grabbed the bag. It was gray, tied shut, and bore no store’s name. Anger compelled him to hold it up to throw it against the opposite wall, but curiosity calmed him. He laid the bag on his lap and untied it.

            His eyes narrowed at its contents.

            A Superman cape.

            It lay nicely folded in the bag. A bright yellow “S” shield was emblazoned on it and was the first thing Calvin saw. The cape felt like silk. A small card about the size of a wallet bearing the original Superman logo was on top of it. Calvin’s hand reached for it, but he hesitated. It might contain a private message. But once again, curiosity got the better of him, and he picked up the card and opened it.

            “You’re my hero.”

            It was blank aside from those words, which were written with red ink in beautiful cursive handwriting.

            It’s too late for Halloween, thought Calvin. No conventions are being held anywhere near here. Maybe it’s a Christmas gift. That would make sense. That looks like a woman’s handwriting in the card. She must’ve bought it for her brother or husband or something.

            The corner of a receipt poked out from between the cape and the wall of the bag. Calvin pulled it out and unfolded it. The receipt was from Valhalla’s Vault, Vienna’s premiere comic shop and the only one in the tri-county area.

            His eyes widened when he saw the price. “Two-hundred dollars!” he blurted, and then started thinking aloud. “I hope he has the rest of the costume already.” He snorted, his face morphing into a scowl. “Whatever. She and this guy had their Christmas ruined. Some of us can only dream.”

            He put the receipt back in the bag and crossed the bag’s loops to tie them, but something stopped him. Memories of when he would visit Uncle Jeremiah and play superheroes with his cousins flooded his mind. Capes always made them happy. But more importantly, who was he to inflict his pain on these people? This could be a mother’s gift to her son. I should try to get it back to them. But…I still have to buy gifts for Maria. He grunted in annoyance. The angels of his better nature were yelling in his ears. No kid should be sad at Christmas. I’ll buy Maria’s gifts tomorrow.

            Calvin did finally tie the bag, but he kept it in hand as he stood and exited the alleyway onto Oak Street, which was a block over from Main. Within a few minutes, he was back at his car, a red Ford Escort, which was parked by the law office. He opened the door, tossed the bagged cape onto the passenger seat, and got in.

            First stop, Valhalla’s Vault. Maybe someone there can tell me who bought this.

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