I noticed three more syringes next to the computer, and my blood ran cold.
“Iron Phantom next.” Wallace smirked as he handed the syringes off to my dad. The guard’s fingers scraped against my neck as he struggled to hold me still.
I watched my father approach Rylan. He tried in vain to teleport, rivers of sweat pouring down his face as he stared at Wallace over my father’s shoulder, hatred spiraling from his body like smoke.
“Stop!” Rylan yelled as my father lifted the syringe. “Don’t come any closer.”
Dad froze.
“Don’t listen to him, Benjamin.” Wallace actually had the nerve to yawn as he leaned against the desk, like dealing with us was nothing but an inconvenience. “Get on with it.”
Until recently, I never considered myself particularly brave or strong or anything that would help convince me I could act in the face of evil. I wasn’t famous. I wasn’t my brother. But when I caught Rylan’s horrified glance out of the corner of my eye, I knew I could stop this. Hunter was immobile, Connor was still quivering on the carpet, whispering to himself. It had to be me.
The guard didn’t see it coming. Throwing my head back, I smashed my skull into the bridge of his nose. I didn’t dare pause when I felt the warm spurt of blood hit my neck. Kicking him in the crotch, I dove for the last two syringes on the desktop.
They were heavy in my hands, filled with a creamy white gel and a small silver chip. My father was inches away from Rylan, the tip of the needle nearly pricking the vein pulsing in Rylan’s neck, when he noticed me gripping the syringes with white knuckles.
“Drop it, Dad. Please.”
His hand shook, and slowly his fingers uncurled—one by one …
“I don’t think that’s a smart idea.” Wallace’s hot breath crested my ear, and I tensed up, my skin crawling. His tie brushed against my shoulder when he closed in on me, and the cold barrel of his gun sent ice down my spine as he pressed it against my temple.
I bit my lip, fighting the terror that clawed inside of me. How many times had I been in this position before? In my nightmares, in the warehouse. Each time I gave in. Each time I let the fear eat away until nothing was left.
“Drop the syringes,” Wallace said. “I don’t want to kill you.”
I almost laughed. Wasn’t that what he was doing anyway? Killing us, just in a different way.
Rylan’s eyes went wide as I leaned into the gun, letting it dig into my skin. Confusion rolled off Wallace in waves. He expected me to beg, he expected me to cry. He expected me to be afraid. But I wasn’t afraid. Not for myself, not anymore.
What Wallace never expected was for my foot to wrap around his leg, catching him behind the ankles. With one hard pull, he stumbled to the ground. His gun went off, a bullet lodging in the ceiling, but I kicked it away from him before he could use it again. The pistol skittered across the carpet, landing under the liquor cabinet against the wall.
Wallace looked up at me from the floor, curled into the fetal position as he rubbed his back where it hit the ground. I raised the syringe in my right fist, but then I hesitated.
Wallace noticed. His eyes darted over to my father, still standing in front of Rylan, the syringe of nanobots dangling from his fingertips. He opened his mouth, another command forming on his lips. Even though I had him practically cornered, he thought I was too slow. He thought he won.
He thought wrong.
I lurched forward. It took Wallace a few seconds to notice there was a needle in his neck, and by then it was too late. I depressed the syringe.
Wallace pushed himself to his knees, rubbing at his skin as if doing so would erase the nanobots working their way to his brain. My eyes welled up with tears, but I felt too exhausted to wipe them from my cheeks. I made the same choice that he would have made. Worse yet, I didn’t even feel bad about it.
Not all villains needed superpowers.
Rylan sneered at Wallace, Morriston’s greatest criminal who didn’t look so great anymore. Now he just looked lost.
“Go to hell,” Rylan said.
I watched with pity as Wallace tried to figure out how to go about obeying that command. Eventually, I placed my hands on his shoulders and whispered, “Just go to sleep, Wallace. Just go to sleep.”
And he did.
* * *
The guard snatched up the gun and ran from the room as soon as he saw what I did to Wallace. What I did. I did the same thing to him that he did to thousands of people all over the city. In the end, I was no better than a criminal.
“You didn’t have a choice,” Rylan reassured me. “You had to put an end to it somehow.”
I wiped my nose on my sleeve while I dug through the drawers of my father’s desk, looking for a key that might unlock the chains binding Connor, Rylan, and Hunter. My brother was now snoozing on the floor, a long string of drool dripping from his lips. When I told Wallace to go to sleep, Connor and my dad unceremoniously decided to submit as well.
I found a ring with several brass keys at the bottom of a heap of heavy binders. Quickly, I got to work testing them out, first on Connor’s handcuffs, then Rylan’s and Hunter’s, until I found the correct ones. After freeing his wrists and ankles, Rylan ran for the server, examining it and the wires trailing into the three computers on the desk. He tapped on the keyboard, flipping through screen after screen of blinking lights and complicated codes. His brow wrinkled.
“I’m afraid of messing up the program and hurting someone.” Rylan glanced at Connor when he let out a particularly hefty snore. “And even if I manage to fix this, I don’t want Wallace waking up.”
“Me neither. Do you think anyone is going to believe Wallace was behind this? People might blame it all on you. We don’t have any proof.”
Hunter came up beside us, smirking. “Oh, ye of little faith. Abby, I’ve told you before that I’m a whiz with a video camera.” He pointed to a small black disc clipped onto his suit near his collarbone.
“You filmed it?” Rylan crouched down to look into the tiny lens. He rolled his lips between his teeth to hold back a laugh. “All of it?”
“Every word. I can edit out our identities, but I got Wallace’s entire confession.” Hunter shrugged. “I know I don’t have much in the way of powers, but this is enough to put him away for a long time. Possibly forever.”
Forever. The word rang out like a bell, and I launched myself at Hunter, hugging him fiercely. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Fish Boy to the rescue, you know?” When I finally let go of him, his cheeks were pink. He snatched his mask off the ground and quickly pulled it on. “Anyway, we should get out of here. See if we can patch up your dad and Connor at a hospital or something—”
“Connor can’t go to a hospital.”
Hunter slung my brother’s sleeping form over his shoulders like he weighed no more than a sack of feathers. “It’s cool, I know a lady.” Turning to Rylan, he said, “Think you can teleport us there?”
Rylan rubbed at his cheek, smearing the blood from Wallace’s slaps. He slipped his mask back on. “I can try. But I think I need some fresh air first.”
“No worries. I’ll grab Abby’s dad. You take the scumbag—sorry, Wallace—and we’ll take the elevator down.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Hospitals were a place of limbo. Neither here nor there. A revolving door of nurses and doctors and nurses again. A never-ending stream of waiting … followed by more waiting. Waiting for a diagnosis. Waiting for surgery. Waiting for Connor to wake up.
I’d experienced my fair share of emergency rooms, but Morriston’s Valley Hospital was a major departure from the trend. Rain soaked the streets when we arrived behind the building, in front of a service entrance, several dumpsters, and a garage likely belonging to the morgue. Rylan and I huddled underneath an awning, balancing my father and Wallace between us while Hunter tipped his head skyward, drenching his scales and plastering his hair to his forehead. Once he was satisfie
d he was wet enough, he approached the service door, knocking four times, then six times, then two times. The nurse who finally answered dropped her jaw and adjusted her crooked glasses while she took stock of us. Three supers (one bloody, one soaking wet, one unconscious), the mayor of Morriston (also unconscious), Wallace (who really cared about him?), and me (there wasn’t much to say about me, but I had an inkling my face was as pale as a ghost).
“Ummm…”
Hunter shifted Connor over his shoulder so his butt directly faced the nurse, making her flush bright red and become even more alarmed—if that was possible. “Is Jackie working tonight?” he asked.
The nurse nodded, eyes wide.
“Can you bring her to us? If you can’t tell, we’ve got a bit of an issue on our hands.”
Because the girl’s microchip was activated, she didn’t hesitate to listen to Hunter and scurry away.
As it turned out, Hunter’s friend Jackie was a fifty-eight-year-old ex-superhero who used to go by the alias of Tornado. Tornado was never on active duty during my lifetime, but Connor read a lot about her while cultivating his powers. She possessed super strength and super speed, but retired once she tore her ACL after a fight with some gang members in the early ’90s.
Fast-forward over twenty years and Jackie Bolman was now Valley Hospital’s top surgeon. Like us, she hadn’t trusted city hall’s intentions were noble when it came to the microchips. The long slice in her forearm was proof of that. After ushering us inside, Jackie personally locked Wallace in a private room, then rushed my dad and Connor into surgery.
And so I played the waiting game.
Rylan changed out of his super suit so no one was frightened by Iron Phantom’s appearance, and then he and Hunter took turns playing checkers with me in the lobby. The halls of the hospital were deserted; most nurses and doctors had been ordered to return home, and those who hadn’t stayed far out of our way.
The only contact we had with the outside world was when two little girls whose mother was in labor asked Hunter for his autograph. He happily signed Fish Boy on a hospital band, then let them touch his flippers.
“I told you, Abby,” he said when they ran away squealing, “ladies love the flippers.”
I hadn’t prayed in a long time, since before my mom died. But as I watched the girls disappear around the corner, I prayed that Dr. Bolman could find a way to fix Connor and my dad. And if she could fix them, she could fix the rest of the city. No one deserved to be manipulated and forced into action. Especially those precious little girls.
The waiting room was deathly quiet, but my thoughts had never screamed so loud.
I was curled up on a hard plastic chair in the early hours of the morning, my head in Rylan’s lap, when Jackie appeared in the waiting room. I bolted up in my seat, elbowing Rylan and Hunter to wake them. They jolted, and Hunter slipped from his chair onto the floor.
Jackie’s face was tough to read. Was the corner of her mouth quirked up because she was successful or because she was preparing to break some earth-shattering news? She adjusted her low ponytail as she reached for an empty chair, sinking into it as she studied the clipboard in her hands.
“So here’s what we’re dealing with,” she said. “Your father’s chip was easy enough to remove. He’s still unconscious, but he should wake within an hour or two. Your brother’s, on the other hand, was a bit tougher.”
I swallowed hard.
“I performed a modified anterior cervical discectomy on Connor’s neck. Usually, a cervical disc is removed to alleviate pain and numbness, but I did the procedure purely with the intention of reaching the microchip Wallace injected. I made an incision here”—Jackie drew her finger over the front of her neck—“and luckily, the chip was still in place and I was able to get to it. I don’t know if all the chips work this way, but there were still a few nanobots left inside acting as a control station, if you will, sending signals to the others that had moved into Connor’s brain. I didn’t feel comfortable performing any extensive neurosurgery, so I destroyed the microchip and the nanobots left inside and waited to see how Connor would act when he came out of anesthesia.”
Rylan started rubbing the back of his head when Jackie mentioned neurosurgery. “And…?” he prompted.
“It seems to have worked. Connor remembers how it felt being under the influence of the nanotechnology, and he doesn’t feel the same sense of forced obedience he did before. He’s essentially back to normal. I’m hoping to bring in other surgeons from out of state to help me return everyone who received an injection back to their usual selves.” Jackie spoke quickly and looked like she was making extra effort to avoid eye contact with me.
Rylan caught on to the tension flickering in her eyes. “Wait, you said he’s essentially back to normal. I’m sensing a giant ‘but’ here.”
When Jackie loudly exhaled and hung her head, I knew something did not go according to plan. She had to cut into Connor’s neck. Was his voice gone? A few days ago, I would have admitted that Connor losing his voice would be God’s greatest gift to humankind, but now the thought of him unable to tell me jokes and useless facts from his Word of the Day calendar made me sick.
“The nanotechnology doesn’t have an effect on him any longer, but while it was functioning, it did manage to severely addle part of his brain.” I held my breath and felt the gut-wrenching punch even before Jackie dropped the bomb. “As far as we can tell, Connor is unable to access the part of his brain that controls his abilities. Simply put, he doesn’t have superpowers anymore.”
* * *
The first time Connor Hamilton suited up as Red Comet, I thought the whole thing was a little weird. Not that superheroes were weird—they had been around all my life—but that my brother actually was one. Connor’s first costume was a compilation of items he picked up from the local thrift store—red tennis shoes, a red-and-gold figure-skating unitard, and some red spandex he cut to fit snugly over his head. His tights clung a bit too tight around his pelvic region and butt, giving him a kind of permanent wedgie, which I made fun of until Red Comet grew famous enough to have a designer make a super suit on his behalf. The inability to see his face behind his mask freaked me out too. Connor had a tendency to show his emotions through his eyes, and it took months for me to figure out what he was thinking whenever I couldn’t see them.
Connor’s first mission involved saving a five-year-old from falling into the tiger exhibit at the zoo. The kid was pretty short, so his aunt picked him up and sat him on the ledge overlooking the tigers so he could see. There was no barricade separating the observation platform from the animals, which was pretty dumb in my opinion, but I guess no one expected the kid to take a tumble and become cat chow.
The little boy was about one second away from being eaten when Connor swooped down, caught him just as he was about to land in the tigers’ jaws, and returned him safely to his family. And thus began Red Comet’s rise to fame.
Connor was on an adrenaline high for at least a week. Dad was sure Connor would blow his secret to his friends at school, but he surprisingly took his new position in Morriston society very seriously. Connor practiced his powers constantly, often dragging me out of bed in the middle of the night to throw acorns into the woods for him to catch and hone his super vision. I always complained about my brother’s new life, but he never did. Not when he had to leave his friends, or miss a meal, or abandon a date. Popping out of nowhere to rescue a kid or a grandmother was Connor’s new hobby, a cool skill that his friends didn’t have. Being a superhero was fun for him, nothing more. But eventually, being Red Comet consumed Connor’s entire life.
I wasn’t very concerned about Connor losing his powers, but I was concerned about how he would handle it. I didn’t know if he could function without them. Having superpowers gave Connor a major confidence boost. I was worried that without them he wouldn’t be able to find confidence in other ways.
The only light in Connor’s hospital room came from a small window on th
e far wall. Connor lay curled up on the bed, his back to the door with only a thin blanket covering his legs. The line of his IV was draped over his shoulder, attached to a vein in his hand. The beep of his heart monitor echoed in the stillness of the room. Connor’s shoulder twitched when my shoes squeaked on the tile floor, but he didn’t speak.
“Connor?” I hesitantly pulled a chair to the side of his bed. He didn’t acknowledge me. He was much too quiet to be sleeping; Connor snored like a freight train.
I tapped his shoulder. He shrugged my hand off and buried his face in his pillow.
“Connor, just talk to me. Talking’s what you do best.”
“Just go away, Abby,” he croaked. I knew immediately that he had been crying.
“Can I get you anything? Water? A pudding cup?”
Connor’s shoulders tensed and he said a bit louder, “Just go away.”
“No.” I scooted my chair around to the other side of the bed so I could see him. He quickly rolled over so his back was to me. When I rounded the bed a second time, he didn’t bother moving. Connor’s nose was red and puffy, and his eyelashes shined with tears he was too tired to wipe away.
Seeing him this way brought me back to the hours we spent in the waiting room the day our mom died. My heart felt broken. But I guess you had to have a heart for it to feel broken, right? I wasn’t sure what I had after injecting Wallace tonight.
“I know you need to talk to someone,” I said. “I’m as good as anyone.” When Connor didn’t speak, I continued, “And I know I can’t relate to what you’re going through, but I do know what it’s like to lose someone. I’m guessing this doesn’t suck any less.”
Connor toyed with the bandage over his throat where Dr. Bolman made the incision. I hoped he wasn’t in too much pain to carry on a conversation. After much deliberation, he said, “If you’re going to stay, you need to come closer.”
“Why?” I got off the chair anyway and knelt next to his bed, my forearms on the mattress.
“Because I feel like I’m blind now. I can’t see anything more than a foot in front of me.”
The Supervillain and Me Page 27
