“Not anymore Stevie boy,” Elroy grinned evilly across table, taking from his briefcase the green and yellow shirt and the coffee jar, and placing them on the desk, between them.
“Not anymore,” Elroy continued, “your secrets belong to me now, and unless you start talking and I see a reason to cut you some slack, you will never leave this building alive. You will join the ranks of the other costumed nut bags who thought that their secrets were not for me to know.”
Steven flinched when the creature in the jar scurried around the inside of the jar responding to the sound of their voices.
“It has your eyes, don't you think?” Elroy asked.
“No, it hasn't,” Stevens eyes were clear, the drugs had been flushed out of his system completely; he stared at Elroy with a look of thinly disguised contempt.
“Oh I think it has, yes, you have to look past the 8 legs, the vicious little teeth and the rather nasty temperament. But it definitely has your eyes. All four of them.”
“What do you want?” Steven asked, “cut to the chase zero.” Zero, that was a name Elroy had heard before, a derogatory term used by some of the Meta Powered to refer to normal unpowered humans.
“The truth,” that'll be a start Elroy thought; “I'm the man who holds the key to your future. Do you end up in a cell 39 floors down from here, with a bodybuilder called Bubba buggering you every night? Or do we help each other? Really it all depends on you. But let's start with the unalterable fact that your wife, and adopted daughter are dead, because of you. You must have known what was happening, you must at least have suspected, are you just stupid? Or were the lives of two zeros so unimportant to you?”
“I didn't know what would happen,” Steven asserted again.
“Ok,” Elroy held up the green and yellow shirt, with the distinctive pattern emblazoned across the capital “A” on its chest, “from the top then, when did you get your powers?”
“6 years ago, when I was 18,” there was resignation in Stevens voice.
“Good, that’s a start, how did it happen?”
“It was a drug test, a trial sample for a serum developed from some rare African mantis-venom. I stole it, to be honest, thought it would be worth something, but it broke while I was getting away. Glass shards coated in the stuff became embedded in my hand and the drug entered my bloodstream. Somehow it reacted with my system, my body, I don't know why but I woke up the next day with powers.”
“What?” Elroy thought he knew Steven’s powers, he was after all a major league Meta in the Pantheon of Heroes. An occasional member of both the League of Heroes and the Family he was a well-known champion of the underdog. He was a street level hero unlike The Guardian or the Warrior Queen. He had to Elroys knowledge saved hundreds of people, not that made murder acceptable, but it might give him some leeway, in the eyes of the FBI if not in Elroy’s.
“I can make webs obviously, I'm strong, fast and can jump really high, and I can change my skin color and texture to blend in with the background as well.”
“Is that it?”
“Yes.”
“Remember no lies, No tricks I need to know the truth, I need to know if you can be useful to us in the future, if you are better-off alive than dead.” Elroy knew that many Metas kept some of their abilities secret, they thought it gave them something of an edge.
“Well I can sweat a pheromone which makes me more attractive to women. The affects are not permanent, and it doesn't always work, but it can be very effective in the long-term, if I use it consistently, on the same person.”
“Did you use it on Jean-Marie?”
“Yes,” Steven looked embarrassed, “I'd always loved her, but she never even saw me, how else was I to make any impression at all. I had no other chance. Without it I didn't have a shot.”
“Smooth,” Elroy said, “nice moves you've got there, so you effectively drugged her and raped her. You used your powers to seduce and trick an innocent woman. That explains a lot.”
“Don't judge me Zero, I've saved the world more times than you can ever know, I've saved hundreds of people from rape, murder, car accidents, alien invasion, you name it, and all I ever got was “thanks”. I deserved a reward. I deserved what I got.”
“And did Jean-Marie, did she deserve what she got?”
“No, of course not, not in the end, no. But we were happy together, she loved me, love is a chemical reaction to stimuli after all, what’s the difference if it’s externally induced, at first?”
“But was it just at first Steven, or did she need further doses?”
“No, unfortunately, it didn't last. I had to keep topping it up, she needed to be reminded why she loved me. The effects kept wearing off, so I had to top it up every six months or so.”
“Like I said, smooth, you seduced and raped an innocent woman using your powers, and you justify it by how many people you've saved. That doesn't paint you in a good light does it? Next question, did she want children or was that all you?”
“She did, but I didn't want to risk it, I'd no idea what the effect of my powers would be on a child. I'd no idea what it would turn out like. But in the end I loved her so….”
“So?”
“So I lied, I told her I couldn't have kids, that I'd been sterilized by an industrial accident, it was probably true anyway, or so I thought. So we adopted Sally two years ago. She was great and for a while everything was working out fine.”
“Very sensible, you surprise me, so what changed it in the end?”
“It was an accident I think, we just got carried away and forgot to take precautions or she forgot take her pill, or deliberately forgot. I don't know really, and I couldn't really ask, after all I was supposed to be sterile remember. She was two months pregnant before I knew anything about it. Then well, she was so happy. She loved Sally, but somehow this felt more special, it was more a part of us. It even meant that I had to use less pheromone’s to control her.”
“How wonderful for you, when did you realise something was wrong?”
“The twelve week scan. I'd set it up with a doctor who knew my secret, he faked the scan Jean-Marie saw, just in case, so she saw a perfect little foetus. It was later in private that he showed me what was really there. I threw up.”
Elroy held up the jar and gave it a shake the evil looking creature inside writhed and spat at the glass.
“Yes, there were hundreds of them, in a tight ball, growing inside her, almost like a normal baby would be.”
“Like a normal baby? And you let the pregnancy continue?” Elroy spat out.
“Ok, I know now it was a bad idea but at the time I still didn't know what to expect.”
“And Jean-Marie?”
“I don't know what she thought, I think she knew something wasn't quite normal, but she had nothing to compare it to. She had no sisters or close friends who'd had children. The creatures moved every so often, and we continued to fake the scans and the test results, she thought we were having another little girl.”
“How were you planning on hiding the birth from her?”
“Emergency caesarian, it was due...” Steven looked upwards, thoughtfully, “tomorrow as it happens. We would have faked an emergency, and put her out, opened her up, removed the sac and hidden it. I'd got a replacement baby lined up, from a woman due at the same time as us, sad case, a rape victim I'd got to just too late. It was going to cost me a lot of money, but we would have had a child, which at least Jean-Marie thought was ours. And we would have kept the others secret.”
“Who was helping you on this, not a normal doctor surely?”
“No, it was a Meta Powered one, I won't tell you who, but he fits more into the mad scientist role than most, I promised to protect his identity.”
“So what went wrong?” Elroy already suspected who it could be. The Arachnid had strong ties to The Five, who were led by a slightly mad, brain enhanced scientist.
“We had just got to bed, and,” Steven paused, “Jean-Marie wanted to make lo
ve, she had read there was something in sperm that could induce labor. I didn't want to, but she,” he hesitated, “she persuaded me.”
“Then?”
“The sac must have burst; she was on top of me, her hands on my chest, eyes closed. Then the sac must have reacted in some way, perhaps the movement, perhaps it was my sperm, I don't know for sure. But the sac must have opened anyway; I think I heard it pop. She opened her eyes and a look of joyful surprise spread across her face, she must have thought it was the start of labour. At first there was a happy glint in her eye but it was rapidly followed by one of pain, then one of sheer terror. She stayed on top of me at the whole time; I lay beneath her and watched helplessly as they ate their way out of her. There was a torrent of them spilling out of her stomach onto my belly. Her blood sprayed all over me and all over the wall. The noise they made, the scurrying of their feet was awful. God, I screamed and screamed and finally I managed to throw her off. She was dead by then, but they just kept on coming. They were crawling all over her at one point, and then almost as one, they scurried out. They must have smelled Sally I suppose, saw her as some sort of threat, or just a source of food.”
“And you?”
“I did nothing, they left me alone for some reason, I can't remember much more, Sally’s screams, the noise, the eating sounds, the blood dripping. The next thing I knew I was here in this room.”
“So you murdered her, you let her get pregnant, and you let it continue to completion, even though it clearly was not normal, even though it was clearly dangerous for her. And now, we have a few hundred hungry angry little Man-Insects crawling around the city. Man-Insects which I will no doubt spend the next few years clearing up after.”
Steven looked at him, silent, the arrogance with had surfaced a few minutes ago had now gone, he looked hollow and empty.
“What happens to me now?” he said dejectedly, all the fight had gone out of him.
“Not sure,” Elroy said, standing, “for now, I think I'll leave you and junior to get to know each other. Your days as a superhero are over for sure. But I think we can find a use for a man of your abilities, that pheromone thing certainly sounds interesting.”
“What happens to him now?” Francine asked, she and Elroy were back in the viewing room; she had stayed for the interview and had heard everything Steven had said. “There are definite sociopathic tendencies there, we can't let him go free you know that don't you.”
“He's a nasty little shit if you ask me,” Elroy said, “but he could be useful to us, test him, and see if you can work out how his powers actually work. See if we can recreate that serum? Then dissect the bastard, preferably while he's still awake. I want everything we can get from him. Opportunities like this don't come along that often, for a start that web of his would be invaluable, if we can manufacture it in any quantity”
“Ok,” Francine looked back at Steven through the window, “shame really, I always liked him, I thought he was one of the best, but obviously not. Anyway boss, something else has cropped up while you were in there. I'm afraid you're needed in the field again. We've got another of those face ripper murders, the 12th this year, and the chief wants you on it as soon as possible. I'll deal with lover boy in there.”
Chapter 4 - Stanley gets very drunk
Stanley was more than a little drunk. It was not really surprising, in the last week he'd had to cope with Susie's funeral, going back to work, as well as hours and hours of frustrating meetings with the police.
Stanley called them meetings, they were really just periods of time when he shouted at the police officers. Police officers who seemed incapable of and even unwilling to help him. Police officers who seemed incapable of doing anything about what had happened to his fiancé.
Since her death, Stanley had been in a stupor, an angry stupor yes, but still a stupor. He went though all the stages of grief at once, and was now working his way back through them again with each stage accompanied by a large Jim Bean.
When it had first happened he had sat there for ages, holding her hand with a blank and probably very stupid look on his face. It had been a female detective who had finally managed to prise it away from him, bagged it, and then taken him to hospital.
It was indicative of Stan's state of mind that as the police officer had bent over him to pull his fingers away he had not stolen a glimpse down her shirt.
Perhaps grasping your girlfriends severed arm did something to your libido.
Stan had suffered from minor burns, but they were purely superficial, which was remarkable considering the power of the beam of energy that had killed the love of his life.
He had been released from hospital within a few hours, the only additional precaution being a small, coloured plaster that they had put on his arm. It was green when they first applied it, and he'd had very strict instructions that if it turned blue he was to drink three pints of water and get back to hospital straight away.
For now it remained resolutely green, just as he remained resolutely blue.
No one seemed interested in finding out who had killed his girlfriend, the waiter and a large bucket of lobsters. No one seemed to care that his life had ended when Susie's had, and he wanted to find out who was responsible.
Sure they pretended to be interested, they made all the right noises, but Stan could tell that it was just that, the right noises.
As far as he could tell, they had assigned no officer to investigate, had made no more than cursory analysis of the restaurant, and had only questioned him because he had insisted on it.
Stan had seen enough episodes of Csi to know how it was supposed to work.
First the area was supposed to be sealed off with yellow and black police tape. Then the deceptively attractive former model turned forensic science officer, shapely in her all in one white coverall walked the area, one step at a time, while the ageing but highly competent detectives questioned passers by.
Next they found clues, a piece of hair, a DNA sample, and slowly but surely they pieced together the complicated jigsaw to work out who had done the evil deed.
None of which was happening.
The first place Stan had gone, after being let out of the hospital, was back to the restaurant. So, just three hours after the incident, the window was back in place, the table had been replaced, there was even a new waiter serving the food Stanley should have been eating.
Three hours later, Stan had wanted to still be sitting at the table, sipping coffee perhaps, basking in anticipation of the next twenty years of frenzied sex filled marriage. Not standing in the rain, starring in through a window at two people, sitting in his seat, eating his food, having his fucking life.
No one was investigating, the pieces of the jigsaw had almost literally been brushed under the carpet.
Shit, shit, shit, he thought. "Another whiskey please," he said to the barman, who dutifully poured him a glass. This glass represented denial, one of the many stages of grief, and one he was revisiting for the fourth time that evening.
It did not make sense, surely someone could not be killed in a busy restaurant and it not be investigated?
But that had been that, no one had questioned him again. He had sat at home and waited for the call, but nothing came. In the end he had eventually made his own way down to the police station, and started to ask questions himself.
Eventually even to his befuddled mind it became clear that no one was interested in Susie's death. When it had finally dawned on him he had been shocked into silence, but when a kindly older detective, no doubt nursing a drink problem, alongside guilt from a hundred unsolved cases, took him to one side and told him that it was out of their jurisdiction he had listened and had begun to understand.
It seemed that any super powered death was handled by a specialist branch of the FBi.
The trouble was no one could tell him which specialist branch of the FBi
The police were either unable or unwilling to help, he suspected that it was more like unwillin
g.
It wasn't listed on the FBi website either.
So he rang them, and after 30 minutes of working his way through an automated voice system he ended up at a dead end.
"Did you say Powdered?"
In the end, when shouting down the phone at the automated system achieved nothing he pressed 5 # for the option to report a powers related crime on their voicemail and the line had gone dead.
The second time he had tried he had ended up speaking to a lovely woman at the milk marketing board. The third time someone who appeared to be Spanish, and could only say hello, goodbye and chicken in English. Somehow in their desperate 45 second conversation she had managed to use all three words, Stanley was still unsure how.
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