by A A Woods
After an interminable moment, Delilah began to cough.
“She’ll be ok,” the EMT said, exhaling a held breath of her own.
“Thank you, I don’t know how to—”
“Moose!”
He leapt several feet into the air, twisting in the same motion to find Joe running toward him, sweaty and dirty and filled with a wild energy that mirrored Moose’s own panic.
“Joe? How did you—”
“Have you seen my parents?” Joe asked, cutting him off.
“No,” Moose said, watching another figure emerging from the mist behind Joe. She was… bald?
Joe shook his head, looking well beyond the end of his rope. Moose knew exactly how he felt. “I can’t find them. They’re not anywhere in the survivors, and we’ve checked the bodies.”
Moose thought of the cry he’d heard inside.
A fresh horror bloomed in his gut, deadly as nightshade.
“No…”
Before Joe could respond, Moose was zooming up the stairs, through the doors, into the still-misty ballroom. He’d been so focused on getting people to safety that he hadn’t noticed that it was empty now, deeply silent. Almost everyone was in the hands of medical professionals at this point, or at least everyone who’d made it. Did that alleviate his guilt? Would his efforts minimize the body count? Would he be able to live with the small comfort of what he’d been able to do?
No, he thought, blinking away fresh tears. No, he’d never be ok with what had happened here. He’d spend the rest of his life making up for it.
Sprinting to the back of the room where he’d heard the soft crying sound, Moose strained his ears. The sound was gone, replaced by a dense, funerial stillness. The room, which had been bright and beautiful only a few minutes ago, felt like a mausoleum. A tomb. The litter of wealth dusted the floor like a golden snowfall, shimmering with broken glass. Moose saw cupcake whoopee pies smeared into the carpet, champagne glasses broken at the stem so that they looked more like murder weapons than implements of celebration. The vapor had settled on everything like dew, making the whole scene even more other-worldly.
Moose listened to the footsteps behind him—Joe and that strange-looking young woman. He listened to the wail of sirens outside, the shouts of police, EMT’s, camera crews, onlookers. He listened to the hiss of the canister, still releasing its unholy deliverance.
“Mom?” Joe called into the stillness. “Dad?”
“Maybe they’re outside?” said Joe’s companion.
“No, I looked—”
“There!” Moose interrupted.
Before Joe had a chance to react, Moose had zipped across the wide ballroom to where a foot twitched, sticking out beneath a toppled table. It was a man’s foot, complete with shiny black shoes and brand-new laces.
Moose threw himself down, skidding along the carpet, ripping skin off his knees. He barely noticed. He was already heaving the table over, exposing the body that had been trapped beneath. More glassware tumbled off, tinkling cheerfully.
“Oh no, oh no,” Moose muttered, ripping the tablecloth free, throwing aside wilted flowers. He dug through the debris of the attack, desperate to change what was in front of him.
But there was no denying it.
Joe’s parents weren’t moving.
Stopped in the act of uncovering them, Moose watched numbly as Joe ran up and froze. He was aware of the young woman gasping, putting a hand to her mouth that didn’t look quite human, skin the same gray color as the wall behind her. But most of Moose’s attention was on the bodies: a red-haired man who had gotten stuck beneath the falling table, a blonde woman with her hands tight around his arm, clearly trying to drag him free. Maybe she’d been panting. Maybe she’d inhaled more of the fumes than the rest of them.
Whatever the reason, she was dead.
“Joe, I’m so—” Moose started, but then the man’s foot twitched again.
“Dad!” Joe screamed, throwing himself forward. “Dad, come on! We’re going to get you out of here!”
Joe hauled the tall figure free of the mess, moving with surprising ease. It was easy to forget that wiry, pale, kind-eyed Joe was Abnormal, but it became quickly obvious as he maneuvered the larger body like it was a rag doll.
No, not a body.
Not yet.
The man coughed a breath, fought for an inhale.
“Joe,” he rasped, the word undeniable.
“No, dad, save your air. You’re going to be fine. Save it!”
“For... you. Was all for… you.”
“Stop it, you’re going to be fine! We’re gonna get you help. Help!”
Making eye contact with the young woman, Moose moved forward to help heft the pretty, middle-aged woman out of the wreckage. He tried not to wonder if it was too late, tried not to think about the soft weight of the body in his arms. Mother. This was Joe’s mother, who hadn’t deserved what had happened to her.
None of the victims of this attack had.
And it was all his fault.
“I’m sorry,” Moose said, ignoring Joe’s shouts and the young woman’s hard eyes. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Chapter Forty-Nine: Battle-Ready
Eliza wondered if the three men in the office could tell how blindly terrified she was.
She hoped not.
Her heart was pounding so hard it was a wonder it didn’t stop altogether. Her hands shook as they gripped the wooden post. But she forced herself to stand tall, to hold her makeshift weapon steady as she made eye contact with Victor.
To her surprise, he looked just as scared as she did.
“It wasn’t my idea,” Victor said to her in a strangely confessional voice, hands splayed on the desk as Aquila staggered to one side and his assistant, Ricardo, pulled himself upright against the opposite wall. The office felt crowded with all four of them in it, even huge as it was, but Eliza kept her attention fixed on Victor. She watched his Adam’s apple bob and his eyes flick between the window and the filing cabinet. “None of it was my idea.”
“What are you talking about?” Eliza asked, forcing herself to step deeper into the room, holding the massive post that felt at once unwieldy and comforting.
Victor’s gaze drilled into hers, unblinking, terrified.
What could scare such a powerful, wealthy man?
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice quivering. “I only did it to make her happy.”
“Who?”
Behind Eliza, Aquila was shaking himself like a dog. The assistant was sliding along the wall, fingers on his temple. From the corner of her eye, Eliza noticed the snake tooth. She longed to go over and beat him into the fancy carpet, but she didn’t. She could sense the way Victor was snagging on his words, the secret he was trying to tell them and at the same time trying to withhold.
Something was wrong.
“Victor,” Eliza said, walking sideways, brandishing the post. “Why did you lock me up? Why did you do all of this? You had to know you weren’t going to get away with it.”
“We were!” he snapped. “We had it all planned out, but…”
“But what?” The post bumped against the end of the desk, forcing Eliza to stop. “Who’s we, Victor?”
Eliza thought about Scarlett and Ricardo and any number of people Victor could be working with. Working for.
What did she not know?
“That idiot brother of his,” Victor said, jerking his chin at Aquila. “He shouldn’t have gotten involved.”
“Then you shouldn’t have involved him.”
“I didn’t know…. I thought…”
Eliza lifted the post to shoulder height and focused on the sound of Aquila breathing behind her. She knew exactly how he felt, the cobwebby muddle his thoughts were. But she needed him to rally faster.
She had no idea what to do next.
“We’re going to call the police,” Eliza said slowly, resting the tip of her bludgeon against the floor. “You’re going to let me go and we’re going to get the p
roper authorities involved. No more vigilante work. No more secrets.”
Victor’s gray eyes snapped to hers. “You do that and you might as well kill me.”
“Why?” Eliza growled in frustration.
Victor ran a frantic hand through his hair, shaking his head. “I’m dead anyway, no matter what you do. This is it.”
Eliza tried to move closer, despite the cramped space. “Victor listen to me. Tell us who you were working for. Tell us everything. We might be able to help you.”
Victor snorted. Eliza was surprised by how young and lost he sounded. “Why would you help me?”
She swallowed. “Because I want to fix problems. Not make more.”
When he looked up again, there was a boyish sincerity there. Eliza found herself wondering when his life had gone so off-track. Had money corrupted him? Fame? Or just the simple desire to please those more powerful than himself.
Despite all that glory and notoriety, Victor was just a little kid waving his arms in the air, begging to be seen.
Not so different than the rest of them.
Eliza relaxed, trying to convey with her eyes how much she just wanted this to be over.
“Please, Victor. Help us help you.”
Victor opened his mouth.
But at that moment, Ricardo leapt out of the shadows and plunged his nails—snake tooth included—right into Victor’s jugular.
Chapter Fifty: Goodbye
Everything in Joe’s world had narrowed to the fluttering beat of his father’s heart against his shoulder, the raspy breath on his ear.
“You can do this, Dad,” Joe muttered, casting around for an EMT, a police officer, anyone who might have one of the EpiPens they’d been carrying around. “Hold on just a minute longer.”
But his father wasn’t speaking anymore. The raspy words that had been forced out with so much effort were gone.
For you.
It seemed so monstrously unfair that this might be the last thing his dad ever said to him, because Joe knew that. Maybe he’d been angry and defensive and resentful of the secrets, but Joe knew his parents had done everything for him. In his bones, he’d understood that whatever decisions they’d made had been for his benefit. His father shouldn’t have to die to send that message.
Joe would die if he didn’t get the chance to apologize.
“Help!” Joe screamed, stumbling out of the ballroom.
The nearest EMTs looked up but most of them were busy doing CPR or administering lifesaving drugs. Joe half-ran, half-fell toward the nearest cluster, struggling to get the words out.
“He’s dying, please…”
A tall, burly man in uniform lifted Joe’s father away, lying him on the stairs. Joe watched numbly as the exhausted-looking medic listened to Horatio’s pulse, felt for his breath, began CPR.
“Here,” Moose said, laying Joe’s mom delicately on the stair next to her husband.
Joe could barely see through the tears. He watched, holding his own breath, as another tech checked on his mother. Dimly, he could tell that the emergency technicians were wrung dry, on autopilot. How many people had they just seen die? How many had already been rushed to the hospital. The only people around them now were eager photographers, police trying to keep them away… and corpses.
It was amazing, really, how quickly New York cleaned up. How efficient the system could be. It was almost comforting, to know that the whole city, the whole world could continue spinning despite each individual tragedy going on inside it. That no matter how much pain a person felt, one only had to walk a few blocks over to find a place where that pain didn’t even exist.
We’re all so small, Joe thought as he watched the burly man continue CPR. So small and insignificant. Just ants in the great scheme of existence. Rich or poor, Abnormal or ordinary, it doesn’t change anything. Doesn’t save anyone.
The burly EMT sighed, hanging his head. He looked up, meeting Joe’s eyes.
Joe’s knees buckled.
“I’m sorry,” the EMT said, reaching over to grab Joe’s arm. “They’re gone.”
It was the last thing Joe was aware of.
A part of his brain catalogued what happened next: the body bags, the flash of cameras, Tasha’s arm around his shoulder. Moose behind him saying over and over, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” But Joe’s brain was locked in a moment that had already gone by, had passed so quickly he’d barely registered it. After all, how was he supposed to know he was slamming the door on his parents forever. He’d assumed there would be time. Time for apologies and explanations. Time to find a new way forward.
He’d assumed wrong.
His father’s last words circled his head and Joe was absolutely sure they’d destroy him.
For you. All for you.
He pressed his head into his knees, but there were no tears, no sobs. Nothing.
He wasn’t sure there ever would be again.
Chapter Fifty-One: Betrayal
Victor slumped over his desk, face-first, and Eliza knew right away that he was dead. She wasn’t sure how, since she and Aquila had both survived the venom in Ricardo’s snake tooth. But there was something in the assistant’s smile and the way he leapt back that told Eliza this was different, like Ricardo had been holding back with them.
Not anymore.
“No!” she screamed, lunging forward.
But the huge post tied to her hands got caught and jammed into her belly.
“Oof!” she burst out as Ricardo leapt over the desk and made for the door.
Eliza fell to her knees, fighting to breathe. She heard footsteps running in the marble-floored hallway.
“Eliza,” Aquila said, grabbing her shoulders, hauling her upright. “Are you ok?”
“Get… him…”
“What’s wrong, can you—”
Gulping frantically, Eliza shoved words out. “Aquila, we have to get him! He knows who did this!”
Eyes flying wide, Aquila jerked his head in a nod. Eliza tried to turn, but the huge wooden beam made it difficult in the office. Noticing her difficulty, Aquila fumbled for the weapon-turned-hindrance, grabbing it with both hands.
He paused, steadying himself.
“Aquila?” Eliza asked, knowing they didn’t have time for him to fully recover. Ricardo was running, would be gone in moments, and then they might never know what really happened here.
Without answering, he tightened his grip, lifted a knee, and cracked the beam down over it, right next to where Eliza’s wrists were tied.
It snapped in half.
“Better?” he asked as she grabbed the now-smaller bit of wood she was still tied to.
“Come on!” she shouted, leaping for the door.
Together, they sprinted through the mansion. It reminded Eliza of Scottstown, in a strange way. Of the tag or treasure hunts they’d do in the Eckelson Estate. But there was something different about this place, a sad emptiness that Ian’s mansion never had. Where Ian’s massive home was warm, worn, and loved, this place was cold, almost sterile. The walls were full of expensive art, but no portraits. Everything was polished and clean.
The only thing out of place was a room on the second story with a shattered window, glass all over the floor.
“Did you—?”
“Not now!” Aquila said, grabbing onto Eliza’s bit of wood and yanking her down the hall. “There’s a helicopter on the roof!”
Eliza nodded, unable to do more. She was panting heavily, still dizzy from the adrenaline it had taken to break free. Aquila wasn’t doing so great either. He was weaving, his feet fumbling on the carpet. Twice he ran into the wall, and he barely made it to the top of the stairwell.
By the time they found the elevator doors, they were both slumping against the wall, fighting for air.
“Good to see you,” Eliza said as they waited.
He pulled his head up with apparent effort. “Same. You ok?”
“No,” she answered honestly, smiling at him.
&nbs
p; He coughed a laugh. “You mean you don’t like being kidnapped and tied to a… whatever-this-is?”
“A bed,” Eliza answered.
Aquila’s eyes popped. “What?”
The elevator dinged open.
“Not now!” she said, shoving him inside.
Anger radiated off him as they rode up, but Eliza kept her attention on the moment, on the mission. Victor had been about to tell them something. He’d been trapped, controlled by someone else. Eliza was one hundred percent sure that he wasn’t completely innocent in this whole affair, but she also believed that he might have been coerced. There could be more going on, more plans in the works that would put people in danger.
And Ricardo might be their last link to stopping it.
The elevator opened and they both exploded out onto the roof deck. Aquila hadn’t been there before, but Eliza had. She zeroed in on the huge, round landing pad, currently roaring with the engine of a helicopter.
She ran toward it, Aquila on her heels.
There was no one in the cockpit.
No one in the back, either.
Eliza did a quick lap around the humming machine, careful to keep her head low. She was short enough not to be decapitated by the rotors, but Eliza had big hair and she didn’t much enjoy the thought of being scalped.
However, after a full crouched run around the machine, she had to admit that Ricardo wasn’t there.
Edging back to stand clear of the blades, she turned to Aquila, who was eying the helicopter from a safe distance, his wings shifting nervously. He was tall enough that those spinning rotors were a sobering reality.
“What do you think?” Eliza asked loudly, walking around the edge of the helicopter pad. “I don’t know if—”
A hand burst from the nearest bush, grabbing her. Before she could so much as scream, Ricardo had dragged her to the edge of the roof. She spat, kicked, shrieked. But her hands were still bound, her limbs still shaky with panic.
“Hey!” Aquila said, leaping forward, ducking under the blades to hurry after them.
Ricardo only smiled as he pushed Eliza forward, snapped out a too-fast hand, and grabbed her by the neck.
