The Horned Avenger: Chapter 1

The arid wooden planks of the cell seemed to be closing in on him a little more every minute as he sat in the corner wondering what he was going to do next.  Being in isolation was really beginning to cramp his style and mess with his routine.  As his ears perked to scan the sounds all around him, he felt his first sense of calm.  The only noises were the skittering of rats in the walls.  It sounded like Monica may have had another litter of pups and she was running back to their distant squeaks along the rafters.  He could tell it was her because of her distinct gait.  It hadn't been that long ago that they had first met when she was being assaulted by a cat and he had intervened.  She would carry her battle scars the rest of her life, but she had made it back to her family that night and every night thereafter, at least so far.

That was the problem.  Without easy access to the full barn area, it wasn't possible for him to make his constant patrols.  Sure, he could get out if he needed to, but then his secret may be revealed.  That would be disastrous.  There were way too many souls who depended on him, even if they didn't realize it.

As he thought about his conundrum, he stifled a brief chuckle.  Superman had it easy.  He had only two alter egos; Superman and Clark Kent.  It was the same with Batman and all the others.  But, here in his world, the real world, it was far more complicated.  He didn't have their Kryptonian bloodline and he wasn't born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth.   In order to fund the heroic exploits of the Horned Avenger, Melvin had to create a third alter ego; the Goatfather.  The Goatfather was the main man in the Sheep and Goat Barn, the Original Gangster, who made his fortune in the black market.  If you needed a fix of Top Goat or a little extra forage pellets, he was the one to go to.  Every sheep and goat knew this, even the geriatrics since it is hard to keep secrets on the Farm. 

None of them knew that he was the Horned Avenger.  That secret had to be maintained.  It would be far too dangerous if anyone knew.  Coco, his on-again-off-again lady love, had come close to catching him coming in late from one of his many adventures, but he had played it off masterfully by distracting her with some special mix that he just happened to be holding.  For almost two years now, he had inhabited this complex web and he had to admit that it was exhausting work.

The caregivers, of course, knew none of this.  To them he was just Melvin.  His meek persona was a perfect foil to them finding out what was really going on.  No one would ever suspect sweet little old Melvin with his slow strut and sleepy eyes.  They would never dream that he walked the way he did because of the custom "sub-fur" holsters that he had strapped to each hip or that his sleepy eyes were the result of his nightly vigils.  No, lucky for Melvin, the caretakers were too absorbed in the barn cleaning to see what was really happening.

That's not to say that there hadn't been any close calls.  In the last few months, his skirmishes had left him with some major injuries.  He had to draw on all of his drama and counter-intelligence training in order to convincingly play those off as "accidents".  It was hard for the humans to believe that even goofy old Melvin could be that clumsy. 

(To Be Continued...)