by S. J. Delos
There was the bad. Most of it having to do with my Activation and the aftermath.
Eventually, however, my father put his hand on my shoulder, jerking my attention back to my present surroundings.
“She is gone, Kaori. She isn’t suffering anymore.”
The days leading up to the funeral were a blur, the contacting, informing, making decisions. But the ceremony itself was just empty words directed at a congregation of friends, family, and acquaintances, all of whom knew this moment was coming and now just wanted to move past it.
We sat in the front row, beside the hole that looked far too large to hold a woman as petite as Rebecca. My father with his head down, sandwiched between Alexis and me. He didn’t cry once; neither before the funeral nor after. But I could tell, just by looking at his face and the curve of his shoulders, he was pained. Hurting.
He didn’t cry at Tomiko’s funeral either.
The procession moved from the church my mother had attended for most of her life to the cemetery where her son was buried. Her plot was next to his. There was another one—unused at the moment—for my father. Eventually, there would be three granite headstones standing together.
I guess there hadn’t been enough time since our reconciliation for them to secure a fourth spot.
In addition to my teammates, the attendees to Rebecca Hashimoto’s last soiree were Kurt, the few family friends my mother hadn’t permanently alienated, and members of the various clubs and organizations to which she belonged. There were also a few recognizable faces from the EAPF, but I kind of got the feeling that they were there more to keep an eye on Kurt.
The detective managed to appear both present and distant at the same time. He sat a few pews back during the service in the church, then stood several feet away from me at the grave site. I knew he was only doing it so whoever might be orchestrating the EAPF’s actions would think things between us were rocky. It was an effective ploy. So much so that even knowing he was faking it didn’t ease the pain.
When his turn came, he threw his bit of dirt on the coffin and left, giving me a brief glance and a barely-perceptible nod. At the time in my life when I really needed his love, his support, when the only thing I wanted was to curl into my lover’s arms and cry, we pretended as if we were mad at each other.
When I got my hands on the mastermind behind this plot, I was going to make them pay.
Eventually, everyone left, even my father. He tried to convince me to come back to the house with him, but I refused. I wasn’t ready to finally say goodbye to Rebecca just yet. I stood there alone, staring down at the dirt-covered box at the bottom of the hole.
The silence around me was like a blanket, wrapping me in its still embrace.
I heard the crunch of fallen leaves being stepped on before I heard his voice. I shouldn’t have been surprised.
My hands curled into hard, little fists as the grief I was unable to process flowed out of my chest, down into my arms. I lifted my head to look up at the sky.
“You know,” I said with a bit of inappropriate glee as I turned around. “I don’t think there’s ever been a more apt definition of someone being in the wrong fucking place at the wrong fucking time.”
Martin stood a yard or two away, next to a bare-branched ash tree near the concrete path that wound through the cemetery. His hands were hidden in the pants pockets of his black Armani suit, If the fury I knew flashed across my face worried him at all, it didn’t show.
“I didn’t come to fight with you,” he said, “Or mock the pain I know you must be feeling.” His blue eyes focused squarely on mine. “I only came to pay my respects, and to tell you that I truly am sorry for your loss. I know you two had issues, but I also know she was instrumental in shaping you into the woman you are today. The world is a dimmer place without her in it.”
The shaking in my hands traveled up my arms and down across my entire body. How dare he? What kind of brass ones did it take for the man who had ruined my life, turned me into a monster, and now constantly intruded on my newfound happiness to show up here, of all places, trying to be... human? Psychotic mass murderers didn’t get to show real, normal emotions, did they? Shouldn’t he be standing there cackling, telling me that it was my fault? Wasn’t it his job to preserve the status quo by laughing at my hurt? To remind me of my place by calling me weak? Flawed?
He was supposed to be the bad guy. The one who would give me a reason to take out everything I was feeling on his thick head. It wasn’t right that he looked solemn, concerned. It just wasn’t fair. I wanted to scream and launch myself at him, not caring if I broke his fragile form into a thousand pieces. I wanted to slam him against one of the trees over and over, transferring all of the hurt to him.
Instead, I gritted my teeth, counted to ten, then sighed.
“Thank you,” I said, fighting the tightness in my chest. I was not going to cry. Not in front of him.
“I would have saved her, if it had been in my power to do so.”
My anger surged back, attempting to wrest control. “Let me guess,” I sneered. “All I would have had to do was ask, right? Maybe beg some?”
His eye widened, looking slightly abashed. “No, Karen. You wouldn’t have even needed to ask. Nor would I have required any repayment.”
“Careful, Martin,” I said. “You’re starting to sound a less like a psychopath.”
He smiled, pulling his hands free. He held them out, palms up. “Oh, make no mistake. I still have no qualms about killing anyone who slights me or stands in the way of what I want, my dear. I simply don’t enjoy seeing you in such pain.”
“Pain you didn’t cause?”
“Yes. Pain I didn’t cause.”
“Well, I guess that’s something. I suppose you think I should be appreciative.”
“That would be polite. However, I am not going to take offense. Not here. Not today.”
I rolled my eyes, turning away from him, looking up at the clear blue sky above.
“Go away, Martin,” I said, trying to keep the edge out of my voice, but failing. “Thank you for coming to pay your respects, but if you stick around, I will probably beat you into a pulp.”
He left without another word, and I sat down beside the grave, alone. It was late afternoon by the time I finally stood back up. I wiped at my tacky cheeks, brushed the dirt off my skirt, sighed one last sigh.
“Goodbye, Mother. I’ll try to make you proud.”
CHAPTER 18:
MEETING THE PRESS
I took the long way back home. I considered, for a moment, going to see if my father needed me. However, I knew he probably wanted to be left alone for the next day or two. Have the opportunity to process his grief in his own way. Then he would call me to come over so we could go through my mother’s things together, deciding what should be kept. It was his way of dealing with loss.
I flew low, only a couple of hundred feet above the busy city. I wasn’t actively looking for trouble to stop, since my mood would probably lead me to take any altercation further than I should. Instead, I focused on the people below me, all in the process of going to or from someplace in their lives. Many of them looked up as I passed overhead, some pointing, others waving wildly.
I was pretty sure none of them cared what I was feeling. My pain wasn’t their concern. Not due to any purposeful indifference or malice on their part, but simply because most of them probably didn’t see me as a person. I was a symbol, a pretty, physical representation of the safety they relied on to keep them protected from the misuse of power by evil doers.
That evening, I put on my uniform in anticipation of resuming some sense of normalcy in my life. However, Greg insisted that I take another day or two off to deal with things.
“Karen, I think you might still need a little more time to process… everything,” he said, catching me in the corridor outside my quarters. I guessed that Darla was responsible for ratting me out on my intention of patrolling. “With all the scrutiny, not to mention the
EAPF just waiting for you to have another Carbonado incident, I think it would be preferable if your head was clear before going back out on the job.”
I argued that I was fine and fit for duty. At least, until the point when I broke down into tears, accidentally punching a hole in the hallway wall. Then I conceded that he might be right.
Two days of reality television later, I was climbing the walls.
It was early evening. I was on the sofa of the entertainment room, curled under a blanket in my purple flannel pajamas and a Sleigh Bells t-shirt. Greg and Richard were out on patrol, leaving Alexis, Sonya, and Darla to join me in the Crap TV fest.
The best part was that none of them attempted to comfort me or tried to get me to talk about my feelings. It was nothing more than a group of super-powered girls hanging out together. The silent camaraderie was exactly what I needed.
When Zip zoomed into the room, all four of us turned our heads to look at him simultaneously. The little speedster stopped halfway to the sofa, the look on his face seeming to broadcast his fear he was intruding on some sacred feminine ritual and was about to be sacrificed for the trespass.
His Adam’s apple bounced as he swallowed. He pointed at the doorway he’d just come through.
“Uh, so Joelle called. There’s a guy downstairs asking for Karen.”
We turned from looking at him to looking at each other. If it was Kurt or my dad in the lobby, Joelle would have just said so. Or sent them on up. Martin wouldn’t be so bold as to stroll right into the lobby and ask for me with the receptionist. Especially not after my threat at the cemetery.
“Who is it?” I asked him. “Or did she just say ‘some guy’?”
“Uh,” he fidgeted, looking up at the ceiling as if trying to see the answer on the back of his brain. After several agonizing seconds, he snapped his fingers, a big grin forming on his face. “King!”
“King?” I turned to see if the name meant anything to the others. “As in someone of royalty or someone’s last name?”
Before Zip could answer, Darla asked, “Maximilian King?” There was a worried quietness to her voice.
Zip nodded eagerly. “That’s it!”
“Oh… shit,” Sonya groaned.
“Okay.” I waved my hands, looking between the two who seemed to know more than I did. “Who the hell is Maximilian King?”
Darla swallowed, her face taking on a slightly green tint. “He’s… the owner of The Hero Report.”
Sonya nodded in confirmation. “He’s a Grade A slime bucket, too,” she added. “I’ve had the displeasure of meeting him in person.”
“What the hell does he want with me?”
“I don’t know,” Darla responded. “But I wouldn’t just blow him off. The Green Cape did that a couple of years ago. King made destroying the guy’s personal life a freaking crusade.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, tapping my foot up and down rapidly, not caring if I ended up cracking the reinforced tile floor.
Shit. Shit. Shit. I just knew what Greg or Richard would say about me talking to someone from the press at this moment. Much less someone like the guy responsible for The Hero Report.
I threw my hands in the air. “Fine! I’ll go see what the asshole wants. But I’m not changing clothes. If the jerk wants to talk to me, he can damned well deal with my attire.” Before my friends could protest, I held up my hand. “It’s not like he hasn’t already slapped a picture of me in a soaking wet t-shirt on the front page for everyone to gawk at!”
I marched over to the intercom, stabbing my thumb on the button.
“Yes?” the gruff, slightly-annoyed sounding voice of the six-armed woman came through the speaker with a bit of an echo. Apparently, she wanted the sleazebag to hear me tell him to get lost.
“Joelle?” I said in the softest, sweetest voice I could manage. “Could you please have Mr. King come up to the main floor? I’ll meet him at the elevator.”
There was a three-second pause. “Uh. Okay, Kayo. I’ll send him up.”
I turned around to see four sets of eyes staring at me as if I’d just lost my damned mind.
“You’re bringing him up here?” Darla asked. “Please tell me you aren’t going to show him around.”
I shook my head. “No. I thought we could use that little office where Greg does his report reviews. It’s isolated. Plus, the window has a privacy screen, just in case he’s got one of his photographers standing by with a telephoto lens.” I ran my fingers through my hair, mostly to get it out of my face than neaten my appearance. “Now, if you will all excuse me, I have some trash to deal with.”
A few minutes later, the doors of the elevator slid open and a not-unattractive man dressed in jeans and a cardigan stepped out. The eyes behind stylish wire-rimmed glasses looked me over, taking in the extreme casual nature of my attire. A wry smirk formed on his face as his head tilted forward a bit, nodding at my shirt.
“Sleigh Bells? You’ve got good taste,” he said.
Maximilian King might have been the bringer of nightmares for most heroes, but he just looked like a liberal arts adjunct professor to me. In one hand, he held a leather briefcase, as if he were on his way to teach class rather than interrupting my evening melancholy.
I rolled my eyes, gesturing to the hallway leading into the rest of the floor. “Whatever. This way.” I turned without waiting to stroll down the corridor, stopping at the entrance to the small office.
He peeked inside, then looked at me. “In here? I thought you might show me around first. Provide a peek into the private world of superhero lives.”
I shook my head. “That’s not a good idea. I mean, none of us want you here, so tension’s a little high. Probably best that we meet in here. That way you can dribble out whatever bullshit you’ve come to peddle. Then go the fuck away.” I smiled and batted my eyelashes. “How’s that for a peek inside our private world?”
He laughed, but stepped into the room, making his way to the chair next to the desk. He placed his briefcase on the floor beside him as he leaned back in the seat, glancing at the small sofa across from him.
I smiled, then promptly sat down behind the desk, elbows on the top with my chin in my hands. The small frown that momentarily broke through that greasy grin made me feel better about this meeting.
“So, Max. I can call you Max, right? What brings you to darken our door this evening? Hoping to score a picture or two of Luminosity in her panties? Or Phantasm taking a shower? I mean, she’s eighteen now, so it wouldn’t exactly be kiddie porn, right?”
He laughed, leaning forward with a smile so slimy that it belonged on a used car salesman turned creepy stalker.
“My, you certainly have a horrible opinion of me, Kayo. I think that’s extremely unfair, considering that you really don’t know me at all.”
“I know all I need to know,” I said, crinkling up my nose as if a stench had wafted lazily across my face. “You’re a bottom-feeding troll who uses dirty underhanded tricks and shady practices in an attempt to ‘entertain’ brain-dead morons who want to see good men and women, people who risk their lives protecting others, emotionally destroyed or humiliated.”
The salesman smile on his face never faltered an iota during my assessment of his character—or lack of. When I was done, he nodded his head slightly, as if processing my insulting words.
“Wow,” he said after a moment. “That made me sound like some kind of super-villain. Impressive.”
“You’re worse,” I continued. “Most of the criminals I’ve known have at least some sense of common decency. You deliberately seek out and expose a hero’s weakness or publish an image of them at their lowest. Then you dare to call it journalism.”
“Ouch. However, you forgot that we also publish the flattering, scantily-clad pictures as well. On that note, please allow me to thank you for the many uniforms and other clothing items you’ve ripped or damaged in the name of justice. Sales have never been better since you came back to town to join The Good G
uys. That wet t-shirt photo got so many downloads it nearly broke our servers.”
That was the point where I decided that hitting him in the balls with all my strength sounded like an excellent idea.
“However,” he said, holding up a hand. “I didn’t come downtown to trade insults with you, Kayo. I came because I think we can help each other out in a way that will benefit us both.”
“Oh?” I said, arching a brow. “Well, I can tell you right now that I’m not interested in doing you any favors, Max. In fact, the best way for us to get along is mutual avoidance. So, how about you tell your people to stop following me around, trying to get a peep up my skirt. Then I won’t see if I can use your head as a bowling ball?”
Max laughed, leaning back in his seat again. “You really do have a way with the threats, don’t you?” He reached into the briefcase, retrieving a glossy, full-color photo from inside. “Did you always have a knack for inspiring fear? Or did you learn it from him?” He tossed the photo on the desk between us. When I glanced down, I couldn’t stop the gasp that followed.
The image was about as clear and perfect as a photo could be, taken with what was obviously a high-end camera. It showed Martin and me in the cemetery. It was when I had just turned around to face him. The angle of the picture made my sneer look like a smile.
“How… did you get that?” I asked, staring at the photo. I was positive that no one else was around at that time.
The sly smile widened. “It’s him, isn’t it? That’s the Doctor Maniac.” His finger tapped on the photo, right next to the headshot quality image of Martin’s face. “Why did he come to your mother’s funeral? Especially since you’re a Good Guy now?”
“You can’t publish this, Max,” I said, actually worried for the scumbag. “I’m serious. Destroy it. Burn all the negatives. Then swear anyone else who’s seen it to a lifetime of secrecy.”
“But it is him, isn’t it? An actual photo of Doctor Maniac, without his trademark mask and cap. Do you have any idea how much this image alone is worth?”
