Furies- Thus Spoke

by O'Brian Gunn

  She holds him tight. “Leo—Baby—Leo, what’s the matter? Tell me. Here, sit down, sit down.” She grips his hand as they sit at the dining room table. She waits patiently for him to speak.

  “I almost killed him, Francie, I almost killed a man.” He drags his forearm across his nose, smearing snot.

  “Who?” She snatches a paper towel and wipes his nose.

  “Clint.”

  “That asshole who’s been giving you trouble at work?”

  Nod. “He got fired today and blamed me for it.” Deep breath. “I was about to leave when he came up and start—started banging on my window threatening me. I tried to leave, but I was too shaken.” Deep breath. Fewer tears. “Then he started threatening you and I just—I don’t know, Francie. Before I knew it, I got out of the car and hit him.”

  She looks at his hands.

  “No, not with my fists.” He swallows and starts to calm down.

  “You used your powers.”

  Nod. “I was doing things, making shapes I didn’t know that I could. It scared me. But it scared me even more that I almost killed him. That man’s life—Francie, that man’s life was in my hands and I almost—I almost—” A torrent of tears. Francie holds his head on her shoulder and rubs his back.

  “But you didn’t, Leo. All that matters is that you didn’t.”

  Muffled words. “What am I turning into?”

  “Babe, this just proves that no matter what you think, you’re still human. You’re still Leo. And I still love you.” She rubs a hand through the buzz of hair over his scalp. “I hope you’re not getting snot all over my top, I just bought this.”

  A laugh she feels in her bones.

  She kisses him on the head. Twice. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “What if he presses charges?”

  “There’s no physical evidence that you laid a finger on him. No blood is on your hands. I’m going to start the shower for you. Scrub yourself down and we’ll talk about it more. Okay?”

  He lifts his head and nods. “Thanks.” He pecks her on the lips.

  “My pleasure, love.”

  Minutes later he stands naked in the bathroom. He braces himself up on the sink and takes in a lungful of steam-soaked air. He feels better. Then he glances up and looks in the mirror where the thick tide of condensation has started to obscure his reflection. The beginnings of his smile curdle when he sees himself. He quickly turns away and steps into the shower.

  Water beads his body, sluices down his frame.

  “It’s okay.”

  He turns and lets the stream of water hit the back of his neck.

  “It’s okay,”

  He turns and the water hits his face.

  “It’s okay.

  He opens his eyes and sees the tiles on the wall.

  “It’s okay.”

  His fist lashes out at the wall and the force field he’s thrown over it ripples as it absorbs the impact. There is no pain.

  “It’s okay.”

  His fists crank and piston as he assaults the wall, water shivering and leaping from his skin. He opens his mouth, tosses his head back, and just before he screams, wraps the entire bathroom in several thick layers of force.

  He steps out of the bathroom ten minutes later.

  Francie looks up from her paperwork. “How many times did you drop the soap? Sounded like you were making beats in there.”

  “Just let it be.”

  Giorgio’s fingertips brush the back of the man’s neck closest to him. Death essence flows frigid over his skin, penetrates muscle, and injects itself into the man’s stomach and intestines. Organs churn.

  The man suddenly starts vomiting uncontrollably. He vomits, spews, projects, hurls, and retches.

  Giorgio swipes a hand across a woman’s shoulder. Her entire left arm locks tight, then starts spasming. Her body convulses and tries to twitch itself apart. She collapses to the grass.

  A cold palm presses to a young man’s back and suddenly he starts hacking in a violent fit.

  Giorgio walks, spreading disease with every few steps. Cries of protest turn to cries of concern.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I NEED HELP OVER HERE!”

  “Sit down here and just try to breathe.”

  “DOES ANYONE KNOW CPR?”

  A little girl with a glowing ivory dot on her brow presses the cone of radiance to the seizing woman’s forehead. The woman’s limbs slowly release their fit.

  A teenage girl kneels over Freddy’s body. She holds his hand and has a phone tucked between her shoulder and ear. “I don’t know! His eyes just turned yellow and there’s blood coming out of his nose.” She presses two fingers to the pulse in his thin neck. “It’s weak. Pleasejusttellmewhattodo!” Freddy’s gaping eyes roll up at her, his hand clutching at hers. “You’re fine, Freddy, an ambulance is on the way, just keep breathing. Breathe with me.”

  Giorgio watches the two and is about to move on when he sees him.

  Noir.

  The Hispanic man kneels down next to Freddy and the girl. He puts a hand on her shoulder. “He gonna be okay, miss?”

  She holds the phone to her ear with one hand and grips Freddy’s palsied hand with the other. “I don’t—I don’t know. They should have some kind of emergency services here.” She looks out at the concerned citizens. “Do you know what’s going on?”

  “No. Some people just suddenly starting getting sick. Strangest thing.” Noir pulls his hand away from cradling Freddy’s neck, his fingers curled around something. “I’m gonna see if I can find him some help.”

  “Thank you.” She gives him an expression of gratitude before speaking into her phone. “Yes, I’m still here.”

  Giorgio watches as Noir puts a hypodermic needle into a small case and slips it into a pocket. He gives the panicked crowd a cursory glance.

  Gazes collide.

  Noir smirks.

  Giorgio arches an eyebrow.

  They step forward.

  Noir rolls the sleeves of his black long-sleeved shirt up over his forearms. He holds a hand out. “This your work, Mr. Morgue?

  “Some of it, yes.” He regards his work as the two of them stand on an isle of serenity. “The sickness was my doing, the overwhelming concern is simply human nature at work.”

  “Wanted to prevent another riot from breaking out, huh?”

  A slow nod. “Sometimes the best way to break a cycle is to stop it from forming.”

  Noir folds his arms over his chest. “So you just go ‘round town doin’ good deeds for the masses? Solvin’ murders, breakin’ up would-be, could-be riots?”

  “I’m simply letting things be.”

  A scoff. “Lettin’ things be? Hombre, to let things be, you gotta let things run their course. Stop interferin’.”

  This time Giorgio smirks. “That’s not quite what I was referring to.”

  “Run it by me again, then.”

  A relative silence.

  Giorgio looks up at the darkening night sky, at the stars barely seen over the lights of the city. A man runs between them.

  “Don’t tell me you’re tryin’ to score points with the peeps upstairs.” Noir shoves his hands in the back pockets of his pants.

  Giorgio drops his chin, momentarily closing his eyes as a breeze tumbles through his curls. “No, Noir, I’m not. Honestly, I couldn’t care less about God, his Heaven, or his fallen angel’s little hell. I’m not trying to do right with my new life, not this time. I’m just doing it differently.” He opens his eyes. “And if doing it differently gets me into Heaven, then fine. If not...” Shrug.

  Noir shakes his head and turns.

  “What was in the needle, Noir?”

  Without turning. “A favor.”

  The wall plucks at her attention and she stares.

  Phones ring.

  Machines beep.

  Voices mumble.

  Keys clack.

  Work takes place.

  Bisset sits at her desk in the
office and stares while her computer screen blinks at her. For all the sounds, it seems that she hears nothing.

  Left

  Right

  Center

  “B—”

  Small grains of fabric.

  “—ss—”

  Steel edges casting back a distorted reflection.

  “—et”

  Monotone puff of the vent, blowing air into the room. What would happen if it stopped working? Just suddenly stopping pum—

  “Bisset!”

  Yanked. Slammed. Jerked back.

  “Yes. What?” Her hands flurry for her keyboard. She looks up and sees Oscar standing there. “What is it?”

  “You okay?”

  She manufactures a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. Did you need something?” She rolls back a bit in her chair.

  “I was wondering if I could borrow your stapler. I was joking around with Brendon earlier and threw it at him. Now he won’t give it back.”

  She silently passes him her stapler.

  “Thanks.” He walks away. Comes back. “Are you sure you’re okay? I was standing there for a second and it just looked like you were...like you were waiting or listening for something.”

  Rapid nod. “I’m just on this new medication. Still getting used to the side effects.”

  “Still having those really bad migraines?”

  “Yeah, but they’re getting a little better.”

  “I hope it’s nothing serious. I mean, do you wanna—” He reaches for a spare chair on the other side of her desk. “Do you wanna talk about it? I’m pretty much finished for the day.”

  A gentle protesting hand. “No, no. Thanks, Oscar, but I’m okay. I’ll get used to it after a while.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay then.” He raises the stapler. “I’ll get this back to you in a second.”

  Rigid smile.

  She licks her lips and sits for a second, doing and hearing nothing. She looks over her shoulder and sighs before picking up her phone and pressing two numbers. “Hi, Delores, it’s Bisset. I really hate to do this, I know I’m a little behind on running those background checks for the new tenants, but I’m really not feeling too well. Would it be alright if I left a little early today? I’ll put in some hours this weekend to get caught up.”

  She listens...and hears this time, but it’s not the voice she wants to hear.

  “Thank you, thank you so much. I really appreciate this. It’s just my head is all over the place. Yeah, sure. Thanks again.”

  A half hour later on her patio she watches the sun slide down past the Western Scraper on the edge of the city. The building is burnished in radiance, clouds suffused with effulgent golden light that gently scatters itself across the sky. Bisset turns...

  ...and sees nothing and no one standing in the living room.

  She quickly goes to the bathroom mirror, opens her eyes wide, and looks for any traces of emerald or gold. She looks in the edges of the mirror for glimpses of her other self.

  The sobs creep up on her, hijacking her body and wrenching her to the floor. She presses her hands to the cold tile and can almost feel the remnants of the tears of joy that had once blessed the floor. She brings her hand to her mouth and tries to force the cries back, but they refuse to be dammed. She wraps her arms around her knees and rocks.

  Hands on her shoulders.

  She looks up and sees a familiar countenance. The Dragoness does not smile and she does not speak. She only holds, squeezes, and listens to her hostess’ sobs. Bisset struggles against her at first, slapping at hands that might not be there. Eventually, she settles into her own arms and calms.

  They both open their mouths.

  But neither speaks.

  Leo’s thumb taps as he walks across the pavement, bulging garbage bag in one hand and phone in the other.

  Don’t worry about it. I’ll pick up your dry cleaning.

  Send

  He bumps into someone and drops his phone, immediately manifesting a small, malleable force field underneath it. “Oh, excuse me. I’m sorry.” He bends down and retrieves his phone. “Guess you shouldn’t text and walk either.”

  The shorter man has thick brown waves for hair, a smooth boyish face, and full lips. “It’s alright, man.” His voice is deep. “Your phone okay?” He turns to the large receptacle next to him, pulls out a trash bag, and lobs it in the dumpster.

  “Yeah, it’s fine.” He takes in the man’s familiar uniform. “You the new janitor?”

  “Yeah, name’s Simon.” He takes off a work glove and holds his hand out. “Simon Ashcroft.”

  “Leo Kennington, nice to meet you.”

  Simon stares at Leo as he puts on his glove. He darts his gray-green eyes down at the bag in Leo’s hand.

  “Oh, sorry.” He hands the bag over. “Take care, Simon.” Wave.

  “You, too, Leo.”

  “Ascension!”

  Adam ignites in a burst of platinum flames. He blasts off the top of the skyscraper roof, scorching silver-white as he flies. The burning building is a beacon.

  He hears the swell of Coldplay’s “Viva La Vida” in his head.

  He smashes through a window on the top floor, scans the room, and listens. Smoke smothers the air. Flames flutter spastic. A cry resounds from down the hall. Sovereign shoots off in that direction and finds a man cowering in the corner with his arms up, clothes singed, and face smeared with soot.

  A section of the ceiling collapses.

  Silver flames blur.

  The beam smashes on Sovereign’s spine as he stands hunched over the man. He looks up at his blazing savior in awed confusion. He swallows. “T—thank you.”

  Sovereign gives a curt nod before scooping the man up in his arm and flying out of the smashed window. He descends to the ground and deposits him in the arms of the nearest person he sees. “Get this man some help. Is there anyone else in the building?”

  The woman helps the rescued man sit down. “Tami and Maya are still on the...the seventh floor, and I remember seeing JT on the sixth before the fire started.”

  Sovereign swoops back inside. He finds a woman with one foot perched on the edge of the seventh floor window sill as another woman reaches for her from her position on the floor, foot twisted at an unnatural angle. The burning walls seem to close in on them.

  “Maya, what are you doing?”

  The woman looks over her shoulder as her disarrayed hair flares in the breeze blowing through the window. “I’d rather break both my legs than be burned alive.”

  “Don’t you dare leave me like this!”

  “I’ll come back with help, I promise.” She lifts her other leg on the sill.

  “Maya, no!”

  Maya jumps.

  Sovereign hears bells ringing in the Jerusalem Tower in the distance as he locomotors forward and gingerly picks Tami up from the floor. “Hold on to me.” Her arms hesitantly wrap around his neck, pausing at the sight of the silver flames. He holds her close before leaping out the window. He grabs Maya by the wrist just as she drops past the second floor. He guides her to the pavement before gently placing Tami next to her. “See about her leg.” He pushes off and flies for the sixth floor.

  “JT!”

  Roaring flames respond.

  “JT, are you up here?”

  He walks through fire, kicking open doors as he hurries from room to room. “JT!”

  He finds him seconds later. JT is slumped over a desk, the remainder of his body burning. Fire consumes flesh. The blaze burns wicked and wild, stirred by the wind coming in through the shattered windows.

  “Oh, God, no.” Sovereign knocks a massive falling beam aside with a negligent sweep of his forearm. He flings a mahogany desk from his path. He sees the man is charred beyond all recognition. His mouth cracks open and a whimper slips through. Hungry flames lick at Sovereign’s flesh, but find nothing to burn. Silver-white shoulders slump and suddenly weakened knees give way.

&nb
sp; Three minutes later Sovereign slowly soars out of the window with JT’s remains in his arms. A crowd gathers around him as he sets the blackened body on a stretcher and allows an EMT to cover it.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t save him.”

  Silver flames burn away to flesh and blood.

  Adam turns and finds microphones, tape recorders, cameras, flashes, and phones in his face. Questions and voices gnaw at the air around his ears.

  Coldplay pierces through the dissonance. Who would ever want to be king, indeed?

  Only then does he notice the partially burning banner.

  5TH ANNUAL NORTHWEST REGIONAL NEWS REPORTERS CONFERENCE

  “Who are you?”

  “What’s your ability?”

  “Do those silver flames hurt?”

  “Can we sit down for an interview?”

  “How long have you been doing this?”

  “How did you know about the fire?”

  “How does it feel having not saved everyone in the building?”

  Adam holds up his hands and steps back only to have the pressing blockade of flesh roll forward.

  He looks up at the sky, beseeching. Bishop Martin’s words come back to him.

  And maybe God has seen fit to bless you to carry out His judgment, His will. Maybe it’s time that Sovereign went public, showed the entire world who he is. Starting with Dominion City.

  He glances back up at the open sky, then down again as his phone chirps in his pocket. He pulls it out a bit and looks at the screen.

  BISSET

  He slides the phone back in his pocket.

  He looks into the camera, at the waiting faces, at the tape recorders clutched in hovering hands.

  Maybe it’s time that Sovereign went public, showed the entire world who he is.

  “My—” He swallows the lump in his throat. “My name is Sovereign, and I’m an instrument of the Most High.”

  Starting with Dominion City.

  FADE OUT

  Dominion City - A hospital in Cade District seven years ago

  “SHE’S wonderful.”

  Jenny Weisman cradles the baby girl in her arms. Her husband, Glen, bends down with a grin and rubs a thumb across the infant’s forehead. “Hello there, little Lisa. Welcome to the world.”