by Lucas Flint
“It sucks, doesn’t it?” said Ashley. She wiped the tears out of her eyes again. “I hate death. I wish no one ever had to die.”
“I feel for you,” I said. “But what happens, happens, and there’s no way we can go back in time and change it, as much as we may want to. We just got to move forward, after grieving our loves ones, of course.”
Ashley nodded, but I could tell that she was still too distraught by Marge’s death to really understand what I just said. Not that I blamed her. I was pretty much the same shortly after Thomas’ death, after all.
“Have you set up funeral arrangements just yet?” I said. “I know it’s sudden, but—”
“No,” Ashley interrupted. “I haven’t. Like I said, I just found out she died. I almost didn’t even answer the door when I heard you knocking.”
“I see,” I said. “Well, if there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know, okay?”
“Nah, I think I can handle it,” said Ashley. “I’m pretty familiar with the funeral arrangement process, because I helped Grandma set up my mom’s funeral a couple of years ago.”
“Your mom is dead?” I said.
“Yeah,” said Ashley. She picked up a piece of toast and bit into it, though it was a very mechanical movement, like she was forcing herself to eat. “That’s why I live with Grandma. After mom died, I didn’t have anywhere else to go but with Grandma. Just been the two of us ever since. We don’t have pictures of her up because Grandma couldn’t stand seeing pictures of Mom.”
I nodded in understanding. That explained what happened to her mom, then, but … “What about your dad? Where is he?”
Ashley scowled suddenly again. “He abandoned me and Mom when I was born. I’ve never known him or even seen a picture of him and I don’t want to, either. He could die and I wouldn’t care even if I knew.”
Ashley’s sudden mood change took me by surprise. I hadn’t expected her to go from mourning to anger so quickly. Then again, I bet her mood was not very stable at the moment, given how she had just found out that her grandmother was dead. Even so, I found myself curious about her parents anyway, because I recalled not seeing any pictures of them on the mantelpiece of her fireplace earlier and wondered if Ashley’s anger toward her dad might go some ways to explaining that.
“Your dad was a deadbeat, huh?” I said. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be,” said Ashley. “It isn’t your fault he was a jerk who didn’t care about me or Mom. It’s his fault.”
“Something’s not quite right with this one,” said TW in my head suddenly.
“What do you mean?” I said, taking a bite out of some toast in order to keep Ashley from wondering why I was so quiet. “She just lost her grandmother. Why wouldn’t she be so emotional?”
“But—”
“Would you just shut up?” I said. “I’m talking to Ashley at the moment. You can tell me your theories later.”
I ignored TW, because the last thing I needed was for my attention to be diverted. I wanted to talk to Ashley some more. If Marge was indeed the one who framed me, then perhaps Ashley would know something about it. At any rate, she might let me into Marge’s room, where I could do an investigation and try to find the proof I needed to show that Marge had hired the sniper to frame me.
“Anyway,” said Ashley, lowering her half-eaten piece of toast with a frown on her face. “Why are you here in the first place? You didn’t get hurt again and need healing, did you?”
“Oh, no, I’m perfectly fine,” I said. I flexed my right arm quickly. “See? Perfectly healthy.”
“Then why are you here at all?” said Ashley. “I thought you were only supposed to come here when you needed Grandma to heal you.”
“I came because …” I trailed off, trying to think of the best way to put it that would not make Ashley throw me bodily out of the house. “I came because I wanted to see Marge and ask her a few questions about her friendship with Grandfather.”
Ashley raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have your grandfather’s hologram with you? Why don’t you ask him about your grandfather?”
“I … that’s not what I meant to say,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m here because of the death of Baron Glory. You’ve heard that, right?”
“I did,” said Ashley, nodding casually. “All of the news reports say you’re the murderer.”
“Do you believe that?”
Ashley snorted. “No. You don’t seem vicious enough to be a killer, in my opinion. You’re too lame.”
Irritation flashed through my body when Ashley said that, but I ignored my feelings for the moment in order to focus on the situation at hand. “Gee, thanks. But seriously, I’m innocent. I came here because I thought Marge might be able to help me prove my innocence.”
“How?” said Ashley, tilting her head to the side. “Grandma wouldn’t have known anything about Baron Glory or his death. She’s been bedridden for years and has never even met the guy.”
Interesting. If Marge was indeed the person who framed me, then Ashley was obviously not in on it. Of course, I suppose there was always a possibility that Ashley could also be in on it and was just playing dumb, but somehow I doubted that. In any case, I would have to be careful with my next words, because I didn’t want to offend Ashley, especially so soon after Marge’s death.
Leaning forward, I said, “Let’s just say I’ve found some evidence which suggests that Marge may know the identity of the killer. I came here to talk to her about it, but her death has definitely thrown a wrench in those plans.”
“I’d have to agree with you there,” said Ashley. “I wish there was some way I could help you, but if Grandma did know anything about the actual killer, then that knowledge died with her. Sorry about that.”
I was taken aback by Ashley’s apologetic tone. Maybe Marge’s death had shaken her more than I thought.
“No, it’s not a problem,” I said, shaking my head. I hesitated, however, and then said, “But … do you think you could let me into Marge’s room?”
Ashley eyed me suspiciously. “Why?”
“To search for evidence that could help me identify the killer,” I said. “I mean, I know she just died and all, but you have to understand how important this is to me. If this killer gets away with blaming me for Baron Glory’s death, then true justice will never prevail. Do you think Marge would want that?”
Ashley took another bite out of her toast. She looked like she was going to say no, which I would have understood, because it was a pretty big thing for me to ask of her, maybe even outright inappropriate. I certainly felt dirty asking. Even if Marge had framed me, that did not give me the right to rifle through her stuff so shortly after she died for proof I needed to clear my name. On the other hand, if I didn’t take advantage of this moment now, then I would probably never get a chance to do so again, and then my reputation would be permanently ruined.
“All right,” said Ashley at last. “I don’t want you looking through Grandma’s stuff, but I’ll take you up there so you can see her body and pay your respects.”
It wasn’t exactly what I wanted, but I supposed it was better than nothing. Maybe I would spot an open letter on a dresser or something that would have all the proof I needed to confirm that Marge had framed me.
“Great,” I said with a smile. I stood up. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”
But just as I finished that sentence, a sudden wooziness came over me. The world started to spin around me and I fell onto the floor and knocked my head against the floor. I dropped my half-eaten piece of toast, but I was so dizzy that I couldn’t get up.
“What … what is going on?” I said in a weak voice. “My head …”
Ashley’s smirking face suddenly appeared over me, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “Oh, I’m so sorry. It must have been the toast. Perhaps the bread I used to make it had some mold on it or something.”
I wanted to respond, but before I could, I slipped into darkness and could s
ee no more.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Jack, wake up,” said TW in my head. “Jack, come on. If you don’t wake up now, something bad is going to happen.”
I heard TW loud and clear, but I just couldn’t open my eyes. I felt tired and sluggish, like someone had tied a one hundred pound steel chain to my waist. I felt like I had just recovered from a terrible cold that I was still dealing with the aftereffects of. It didn’t help that I couldn’t actually move my limbs very much. They felt as heavy as lead.
Nonetheless, I managed to say to TW, “I’m … awake … what … do you need?”
“Open your eyes,” said TW. “Open them now. I can’t really explain what’s going on because I’m not entirely sure myself, but it probably isn’t any good.”
TW’s answers were annoying, but I nonetheless forced myself to open my eyes. It was painful at first, like peeling sunburned skin off your face, but inch by inch, I opened my eyes until they were completely open. I now found myself staring up at a dark ceiling, cracked in a few areas, but otherwise smooth. A small chandelier hung from the ceiling, providing enough light by which to see, but because I was lying flat on my back, there wasn’t much to see, if you caught my drift.
I tried to speak aloud, but my words just came out as mumbled gibberish.
“Why can’t I talk?” I said in my mind to TW. “And why can’t I move?”
“According to the suit, you’ve contracted some kind of poison,” said TW. “It’s not enough to kill you, of course, otherwise you would have been dead. As far as I can tell, however, it has paralyzed you. Luckily for you, however, the suit is working very hard at clearing your system of the poison, so you should regain the ability to speak again very soon.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Where am I? What happened? I can barely remember a thing.”
“You lost consciousness after eating some of Ashley’s toast, remember?” said TW. “You stood up, felt dizzy, and then collapsed onto the floor like someone punched you out.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “I remember now. But how did I lose consciousness and where am I now?”
“Sadly, I can’t answer the second question, but I believe I have the answer to the first,” said TW. “I think there was poison in the toast Ashley gave you, though why and how the toast got poisoned, I don’t know.”
I was about to ask TW why Ashley would give me poisoned toast when I heard a door open and close nearby. I then heard light footsteps across the floor and then the face of a familiar teenage girl appeared overhead, partially but not entirely silhouetted against the light.
“Asshlee,” I said through a partially numb mouth.
Ashley frowned. “You’re awake. That honestly surprises me, because I thought you were not going to wake up for a few more hours at least. Maybe that poison was less potent than I thought.”
I licked my lips, finding that feeling was returning to my mouth fairly quickly now that I was actually talking. “Why … where am I?”
“You’re still in Grandma’s bungalow,” said Ashley. She gestured at the ceiling. “I just took you down to the basement. You’re way heavier than you look, by the way. Might want to think about losing a few pounds.”
“Why did you drag me down to the basement?” I said. My mouth still felt a little numb, but at this point it was pretty much normal now. “And why did you even poison me in the first place?”
“Because I didn’t want you getting in the way of our plan, obviously,” said Ashley. She patted me on the head. “I thought about just killing you outright, but murder is hard to cover up, so I decided I would just take you out of commission for a little while. A paralyzed person is just as useless as a dead person, only a paralysis victim has to live with the consequences of actions they weren’t able to stop.”
“Your plan?” I said. “You make it sound like you’re not alone.”
“She’s not,” said a deep, familiar voice nearby.
Another person stepped into view, but it was not Marge. Instead, it was a bearded Arabic man wearing a dark suit, a gun holstered at his side. He towered over both me and Ashley, his dark eyes glaring down at me with hatred.
I almost said the man’s name aloud, but at the last minute held it in. It was Mohammad, the Icon agent who had tried to kill Uncle Josh and I a few days ago. What was he doing here?
“Hello, Jack McDonald,” said Mohammad, his voice completely devoid of friendliness. “Or perhaps I should address you as Trickshot, since that is the costume you’re currently wearing, though hopefully not for long.”
Damn it. I forgot that Icon knew my secret identity, so it made sense that Mohammad would know my real name, even though I had not revealed my secret identity to him. I sometimes wished that I had bothered to hunt down Christina after my battle with Michael Jones last month, because she was one of the only people in the world who knew my real identity and she had no doubt returned it to her boss and everyone else in Icon as soon as she could.
“Mohammad?” I said. “What are you doing here? I thought you were after my uncle, Josh.”
“I still am,” Mohammad replied. “But at the moment, he’s vanished off my radar. My contacts in Texas are keeping an eye out for him and they will report to me if they see him anywhere, but for now I decided to come and check up on young Ashley here and how her part of the plan was going. Given how you are paralyzed and at our mercy, it appears to be going well.”
“Thanks,” said Ashley, beaming. “I got him with poisoned toast.”
Mohammad looked at Ashley in confusion. “Poisoned toast? I thought you were joking when you told me that originally.”
“I was one hundred percent serious,” said Ashley. “Why would I joke about something as serious as poisoned toast?”
Mohammad looked like he was at a loss for words, so he just shook his head and said, “Never mind. The methods do not matter. What matters are the results. And your methods, however unorthodox, have given us very great results indeed, in the form of the superhero Trickshot.”
Mohammad ran a finger along my forehead, like I was a piece of furniture or something. I shuddered at his touch, because even though Mohammad’s finger felt pretty normal, there was something disgusting about being touched by a man like him anyway.
“What is going on here?” I said, looking from Mohammad to Ashley and back again. “Ashley, are you actually an agent of Icon?”
“No,” said Mohammad stiffly. “We don’t hire teenagers, especially young girls like her. She is … a helper. Isn’t that right, Ashley?”
Ashley bit her lower lip, like she had to be careful about what she said. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
I noticed that Ashley didn’t seem very enthusiastic to be talking to Mohammad. Then again, Mohammad was hardly a friendly-looking guy.
“And what a good helper she has been so far,” said Mohammad. “Thanks to her efforts, we’ve finally captured you. Chaser will be pleased when he learns this.”
“You’ll give me my money now, right?” Ashley said. “Now that I gave you Trickshot?”
“What are you talking about?” I said. “Can anyone explain to me what is going on here? It’s not like I’ve been privy to your conversations or anything like that.”
“Given how helpless you currently are, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to let you know what is going on,” said Mohammad. “Besides, it is far too late for you to do anything about it. By the time we’re done talking, the deed will be done and every last person in Rumsfeld—and in the world in general—will view Trickshot as a criminal who deserves to be put to death.”
I found that ominous, but I didn’t say anything. I tried to move my limbs, but was unable to move them more than an inch or two, meaning I was still stuck here. Hopefully the poison would wear off by the time Mohammad’s story was finished.
“Let’s start at the beginning,” said Mohammad. “By that, of course, I am referring to the assassination of Baron Glory at the hands of an Icon sniper.”
I gasped. “So
you guys were behind the assassination after all.”
“Of course,” said Mohammad. He leaned closer toward me, an amused grin on his lips. “You didn’t honestly think we would just leave you alone after you defeated the Injectors last month, did you? I hope you didn’t, because that would mean you’ve even dumber than I thought.”
I said nothing to that, because I didn’t want to confirm Mohammad’s question. It wasn’t like I thought they had forgotten me, exactly, but I hoped that they had decided to take a break from me for a while and go harass someone else for a while. I shouldn’t have fooled myself into believing that.
“Yes, we framed you,” said Mohammad. “I didn’t come up with that plan. It was Chaser, the brilliant man he is, who came up with the idea of framing you for the assassination of a popular and famous superhero beloved by the whole country. Your reputation was already shaky due to your status as an illegal superhero, but we thought that if we could just tip it over the edge, that you would have to quit being a superhero in order to avoid going to jail.”
“Didn’t work,” I said. “’Cause I’m still here and I’m still Trickshot.”
Mohammad tilted his head to the side. “True, you proved more resilient than we thought. We thought the pressure you would receive from the media and the police would make you give up entirely, but it soon became obvious that you were tougher than you look. We needed another way to get you, and luckily for us, that is when we found out about Margaret Rumsfeld and her granddaughter, Ashley.”
“Only because I needed the money,” said Ashley, folding her arms across her chest. “Not because I like you guys or anything.”
“What?” I said, looking at Ashley. “What did you need money for?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” said Mohammad. “Look at her house. It is practically falling apart. And then there was poor old Marge, who just didn’t have enough money saved up from her younger years to do more than pay the bills every month.”
“We didn’t have money,” said Ashley, who was not looking at me. “Grandma’s social security barely covered the monthly bills. It was the medical expenses, though, that really ruined us. Grandma had some heart surgery a while ago that we couldn’t pay for. I accepted Icon’s help because I had no other choice.”
