So David was left alone in Death Wish’s apartment. His natural awkwardness was at war with his acquired reporter’s inquisitiveness about what to do. He had been given quite an opportunity, being left alone in the hideout of one of the city’s most talked about (and least known about) celebrities. It had been almost a year since Death Wish had suddenly appeared in the media as an unmasked marauder, a real superhero. She had never bothered to conceal her face by wearing a costume or hiding in the shadows, but somehow she had managed to stay completely out of the public view, remain an utter enigma. She was just Death Wish and that’s all anyone knew.
She had earned her alter-ego, so to speak, only a few days after she had began her crime fighting. Since no one could find out anything about her, even in the media frenzy that followed her debut into the public eye, they had been eager to give her a name, a title, anything that would allow them to somehow relate to the new hero. So, she became Death Wish.
The name fit her, though it was horribly cheesy, because it did seem that she had a Death Wish. She fought in street clothes, wore no kind of protection, and used a machete (of all things) against gun toting gangs and street criminals. She had no super powers, of course, and wasn’t any sort of Bruce Wayne. She was just a girl with a machete, and that confused people. She was just like them, but they could never do something like that. They wanted to know her secrets, what made her different from them, what made her able to fight when they were too willing to just hand over their wallet to a mugger with a switchblade. David wanted to know just as much as the next person. Maybe she was just braver than most.
David paced around the small apartment, looking at each part in turn. There was really only the big, main room with the living room and the kitchen and, as David discovered when he plucked up the courage to pull open the one other door in the room, a small, messy bedroom. There weren’t any pictures on the wall, no mementos from vacations, no mail, no books; not anything that might have given any indication of who Death Wish really was. At least, there wasn’t any evidence in the living room. David looked at the door leading to the bedroom, trying to choose between curiosity and the threat of a woman with a machete. It wouldn’t do any harm if he went in for just a few seconds, would it? Taking a deep breath, David opened the bedroom and stepped inside.
There was only a bed and a small bedside table in the room. All the clothes were stacked in a corner and the covers were sloppily pushed back and unmade. He quickly scanned the room, realizing that Death Wish could walk in at any moment and that he would be dead if he was caught in the room. He could only spend a few minutes in there. Yet again, there were no books, no pictures. Nothing that could have given any sort of indication about who Death Wish was. At least, that’s what he thought until he caught a glimpse of something shiny poking out from underneath one of the pillows on the bed. Hesitantly, he walked over to the bed and gently pushed the pillow to the side.
It was a picture frame, a silver picture frame with a crumpled, folded looking picture stuck inside. David picked it up so he could get a better look at the old photograph inside. It was a picture of a baby, a baby and a blonde headed woman with her face tilted away from the camera so that only the back of her head was visible. She appeared to be kissing the giggling, toothless baby. David couldn’t help but think about how strange the picture was, but he didn’t have time to think about it. He heard someone swearing and banging on the front door.
“Open the door, damn it!” it was Death Wish, “I left my effing keys inside and I’m locked out! This WILL NOT go in your damn article!”