Super Powers: The New Super Humans, Book Two

by T. M. Franklin

  Beck tried to ignore the sensation of her touch—a warmth that trickled through him from the points where her fingers gently stroked his. He doubted that was the feeling she was talking about, so he took a deep breath and tried to focus.

  “It's a tingling, like you said,” he replied. “Kind of a current, I guess—like electricity.”

  “How are your emotions?” Chloe asked quietly. They'd agreed that she would check in periodically and make sure he wasn't losing it.

  “I'm good,” he replied. “No anger. Well, not any more than usual, anyway.” He shot her a smirk and she smiled back.

  Wren shook his hand a little to draw his attention. “Okay, I know this sounds weird, but try and talk to it.”

  “Talk to it?” He turned a skeptical look on her and she shrugged.

  “I don't know how else to say it,” she said, releasing his hand. “The electricity—the power—It's part of you, but it's also separate. It'll obey you, or work with you, if you can find a way to communicate with it.”

  Beck wasn't buying it, but he figured he'd give it a try. “Umm . . . hello?”

  Wren snorted. “Not out loud.”

  The light faded and Beck shook his head, in defeat. “I don't know what you mean,” he said. “How do you communicate with a feeling?”

  Wren looked dejected. “I don't know how else to explain it. I'm sorry.”

  Beck got up and scrubbed his hands over his head. “It's not your fault.”

  “It's not anybody's fault,” Chloe interjected. “Maybe we're going about this the wrong way.”

  “What do you mean?” Wren asked.

  Chloe leaned back on her hands. “We've been trying to control his power like you do. But maybe it doesn't work that way for him.” She studied Beck for a moment, thinking. “You've been trying to contain your anger, bottle it up, but maybe that's the key to your power. Maybe instead of keeping it away, we need to see if you can learn to focus it.”

  “Focus it?” Beck looked at his hand, fingers twitching. “Like a weapon? Point and shoot?”

  Chloe shrugged. “Worth a shot.”

  Wren stood up and crossed the attic to dig through some old sports equipment. She held up a worn baseball with a victorious grin. “Here's your first target.”

  She tossed the ball to Beck, who looked at it skeptically as he caught it. “So, now what?”

  Wren crouched next to him. “You know all that anger you have about your mom?”

  “Yeah?”

  She grabbed the ball and smacked it back into his palm. “Put it right there.”

  The ball never knew what hit it.

  “Beck, wake up!”

  He just about fell out of bed, flailing as his dad burst into his room and crossed to the window, peeking between the blinds. It took a moment for Beck to realize where he was—at his dad's, not Archie Hall. He'd wanted to check on his father and find out if the lawyer had any new information, but after training at Chloe's, he'd been so exhausted, he crashed in his old room instead of heading home.

  “What's happening?” he asked as he stumbled to his feet, trying to make sense of the odd, flashing light streaming into the room and the sound of sirens close by.

  Too close by.

  His father grabbed a sweatshirt off the back of Beck's desk chair and tossed it to him. “Fire next door. We need to evacuate until they get it under control.” He kicked a pair of shoes toward him as Beck tugged on the sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, stuffing his phone into his back pocket.

  “Fire?” he asked. “At the Jensen's? Are they okay?”

  He staggered out of the room behind his dad, running down the stairs with his shoes in his hands. “Is anyone hurt?”

  “I don't know.” Jacob grabbed a jacket and a small bag that Beck knew contained a laptop and some important papers—birth certificates, social security cards, legal stuff that would be difficult to replace. “The town's gone crazy. Sirens have been going off all night and I thought I heard gunshots earlier.” He opened the door and looked back at Beck sternly. “Just stay with me, understand?”

  Beck nodded as he slid his feet into his shoes and trailed after his father, gazing up in awe at the house next door engulfed in flames, the heat on his face a counter to the brisk night air behind him. They jogged to the road, where two fire trucks were parked haphazardly, and gathered with a small group of their neighbors, all looking at the burning building. Two groups of firefighters stood, tense and braced against the power of the hoses, shooting water over the flames.

  “Stay here. I'm going to see if I can find out anything about the Jensens,” his father said before walking over to a firefighter speaking into a walkie-talkie, apparently the guy in charge.

  Jamming his hands into his sweatshirt pockets, Beck shivered and blinked the sleep out of his eyes with a yawn. He took a step back and looked around, finally able to focus on the surroundings. The neighborhood was a mess, not even counting the mayhem around the house fire. Garbage cans were upended in the middle of the street, one crunched under the wheel of a black sedan with a dent in the side, parked halfway onto the sidewalk, the driver's side door hanging open and spray paint scrawled across the hood. Paper and trash scattered in the wind, littering front yards up and down the block. Beck could hear another siren, further away, and a distant rumble he realized was shouting.

  What in the world was going on?

  A man stood in the shadows on the other side of the alley and a rush of awareness tingled up Beck's spine. He wore all black—jeans, jacket and a stocking cap pulled over his ears. In the darkness, Beck couldn't see his eyes, but it still felt like the man was looking in his direction. Staring right at him. Unconsciously, Beck took a step toward him and the man took a step back.

  Beck's hand tingled, a surge of adrenaline triggering his gift. He gripped it into a fist, glancing down to make sure the glow wasn't visible through his pocket. It was. Barely. Not enough for anyone else to notice—not with the chaos going on at that moment—but he crossed his other arm over his stomach to hide it, just the same.

  The man remained still, legs braced apart, relaxed, but unyielding. A car rounded the corner and headlights illuminated his face for a brief moment, just long enough to give the impression of angular features, middle age, and dark eyes focused on him.

  Beck's breath caught. He wasn't imagining it.

  He started toward him, but a hand on his arm stopped Beck mid-stride.

  “Where are you going?” his dad asked.

  Beck opened his mouth to respond, but when he looked back across the street, the man had vanished. He searched the shadows, but could find no sign of him.

  “Beck?”

  He shook his head. “It's nothing.”

  Jacob Leighton shrugged. “House is empty. The Jensens aren't home,” he said, looking up at the fire. “The house is a loss, though. They're pretty much just trying to keep it from spreading to other buildings at this point.”

  “Do they know how it started?” Beck asked.

  His father frowned. “Bunch of kids, apparently. Maybe gang activity. They're not sure,” he said. “They came through, causing trouble . . . vandalizing, looting, that kind of thing. Not sure how they started the fire, though. Not sure why they'd want to. I don't know.” He shook his head, brow furrowed as he turned toward the still wailing siren. “It seems like this town's gone crazy or something.”

  Beck opened his mouth to respond, but his ringing phone interrupted before he could speak. He grabbed it, instantly recognizing his sister's ringtone.

  “Tru?”

  Only heavy breathing and a soft whimper responded.

  “Trulee? Is that you?”

  “Guess again,” a chillingly familiar voice responded.

  Beck's heart stopped. “Gina?”

  The woman laughed. “What happened to Mom?”

  “You lost that privilege a long time ago.”

  “What's going on?” his father asked. Beck shook his head and held up a finger to hold
him off.

  “How did I raise such an ungrateful child?” she asked, words slurring. “You're such a disappointment.”

  “Well, that's nothing new,” Beck replied through gritted teeth. “Where's Trulee?”

  “Trulee . . . Trulee . . . Truuuuuuleeee . . .” Gina sang tunelessly. “Wouldn't you like to know?”

  “What have you done to her?”

  “Nothing she didn't deserve,” she snapped. “Ungrateful, useless—”

  Beck didn't hear the rest of her rant. He hung up the phone and fumbled for his car keys, racing for the house when he realized he'd left them inside.

  “Beckett!” His father chased after him, catching him on the way back down the stairs. “What in the world is going on?”

  He pushed his way past. “It's Tru. I think she's in trouble.”

  “Wait, I'll go with you.”

  “You can't,” Beck replied, not slowing his steps. “You know you can't violate the restraining order.” He got into his car, only for his father to run around and get in the other side.

  “So I'll stay in the car,” he said.

  “Dad—”

  “We don't have time to argue about this,” Jacob snapped. “Are you going to drive, or am I going to get my own car?”

  Beck let out a frustrated noise and started the car.

  “What did Gina say?” Jacob asked.

  “The usual,” he muttered. “We're ungrateful, miserable children. Tru got what she deserves.”

  “Jesus.” Jacob thumbed at his phone and dialed 911. Beck tried to concentrate on navigating the streets while his father argued with whoever was on the other end of the line. By the time they skidded to a stop in front of Tru's house, he'd hung up in frustration.

  “They can't do anything unless we have evidence that some harm's been done to Tru,” he said. “The dispatcher said the police have been swamped with calls tonight and they don't have anyone to spare to investigate unless there's real danger.”

  “Perfect,” Beck muttered, slamming the car into park. “Wait here.”

  “Oh no, you don't,” his father replied, grabbing his arm. “There's no way I'm letting you go in there alone.”

  “Dad, you know you can't go in.”

  “To hell with the restraining order,” he snarled, scrubbing his hand over his face. “They can throw me in jail if they want to.”

  Beck shook his head slowly. “Dad, no. You know we can't do that. Not if we want Tru permanently,” he said. “Let me go in.”

  His father opened his mouth to protest and Beck hastened to add, “I promise not to do anything crazy. I'll come back out right away, but I have to see if Tru's okay.”

  After a long moment, he finally nodded. “Okay, but I have my phone on. You call me if Gina tries anything. I mean anything.”

  Beck pressed his lips together. “I will.”

  The front door was open, and he paused only a moment before walking into the house. It was dark, the only light coming from the kitchen down a long hallway, and he fought back a feeling of unease.

  “Tru? You here?”

  A muffled sound drew him toward the back of the house. He padded quietly down the hall, one step after the other—toe first, then heel barely touching as he all but held his breath to keep from being detected.

  “Tru?' he whispered. “Tru, are you there?”

  “Beck?”

  At her quiet voice, fear and worry pushed him forward, eliminating any hope of stealth. Beck raced into the kitchen, and found her huddled in the corner near the refrigerator, eyes wide and frightened. He fell to his knees before her and ran his hands over her arms searching for injuries.

  “Are you hurt? What is it?”

  With a quiet cry she lunged forward, wrapping him in a tight hug. “I'm so glad you're here.”

  He stroked her back gently. “Tru, you've gotta tell me what's going on,” he pleaded. “Where's Gina?”

  “I don't know,” she whispered. “She . . . I don't—” She broke off in a quiet sob.

  Beck squeezed her tightly once, then pulled back. “I'm getting you out of here. Come on.” He helped her up, keeping his arm protectively around her shoulders.

  They shuffled toward the hall, only to stop short at the sight of the dark figure looming there.

  “Where do you think you're going?” Gina asked, swaying slightly on her feet.

  Beck hesitated only for a moment, but pushed his sister behind him. “I'm taking Tru and we're leaving.”

  Gina laughed harshly. “Nope, you're not. She's mine. She stays.”

  “No. She doesn't.”

  Gina stared at him, her grin maniacal and unsettling in the dim light. She stepped forward out of the shadows and Beck heard Tru's sharp inhale echo his own.

  What the . . .

  Even at her worst, Gina had never looked so unkempt, her clothes mismatched and dirty, her hair slipping haphazardly out of her usual neat braids in matted clumps. She spun her wedding ring around her finger slowly, methodically.

  “What's wrong with you?” he murmured. “Your eyes . . .”

  Her eyes looked black at first glance, but as she took another step closer, Beck realized the darkness moved—swirling like smoke between her lids. He couldn't keep from staring as an uneasy chill ran up his spine.

  “Beck?” Tru said in a trembling voice.

  He squeezed her hand. “It's okay. We're getting out of here.”

  Beck tugged her forward, ready to push by Gina if he had to, but his mother's wild smile only widened, the eerie smoke drifting out between her teeth, and she reached out in a flash to grab his wrist, fingernails digging into his skin as she pulled him close with unexpected strength.

  He froze under her stare, mesmerized by the pulsing blackness as she seemed to look right through him. Her grip tightened and he looked down, stunned to see more of the smoke spiraling out from her fingers to wrap around his bare forearm.

  “What—” He choked as she blew a stream of smoke into his mouth. Beck coughed against the acrid taste, barely aware of Tru whimpering behind him.

  “Just let it happen,” Gina said quietly, her grin fading as she leaned in to speak to him fervently. “It's good, isn't it? All that anger. It makes you strong.”

  Beck couldn't look away from her eyes, the black pits seeming to grow deeper the longer he stared. He was vaguely aware of tingling in his fingertips and in the back of his mind, he knew that if he looked down, his hand would be glowing.

  He couldn't though. Look down. All he could do was stare into his mother's bottomless eyes as he felt the anger course through him. The woman before him was evil personified— degradation and humiliation. Shame.

  She was why Beck and Tru didn't have friends over when they were little—too many times she'd stumbled into the room after one too many glasses of wine.

  She was full of excuses when they were forgotten after school. She was screaming fights with Beck's father, and later, Tru's. She was frustration and anxiety. She was that voice in the back of Beck's head that told him he wasn't good enough. Strong enough. Anything enough.

  She was fury. Fear. Hate.

  And she rushed through his veins, pulsing with every breath in and out.

  “That's right,” she choked out, and Beck realized he had wrapped his hand around her throat, his glowing fingers lifting her up onto her toes.

  “You know you want to,” she said, barely able to get the words out. “Remember all those times I said you were stupid? Worthless? I deserve this, right?”

  She did. She deserved it all and more. He lifted her higher, grinning when she gasped for air, no longer able to form words as her feet dangled off the floor.

  “Beck, stop!” Tru hung from his arm and he shook her off without effort. Power coursed through him. Strength. He could do anything. He could finally stop Gina. He could do whatever he wanted.

  “Beckett!” When had his father come into the room? “What's wrong with him?” he asked Tru. It didn't matter. Jacob couldn't st
op him. Nobody could.

  Beck was . . . he was everything.

  Beck felt hands on his cheeks. Heard someone calling his name from a distance, but it didn't matter. None of it mattered. All that he cared about was ending Gina, for once and for all.

  Then . . .

  Then, he didn't know.

  You can have whatever you want.

  That's right. He could. He could have anything.

  Power. Wealth. Revenge.

  “Beck? Beck, it's Wren. Can you hear me?”

  Wren? What was she doing there?

  You can have her, too. Just take what you want.

  “Wren, you have to do it.”

  “I don't know if I can.”

  “Try. You have to try. Be careful, though. He's really strong.”

  Gina's eyes rolled back. Beck smiled and tightened his grip. Then, there was a flash of light and everything changed.

  “Beck. Beck, look at me. Please.”

  He blinked and turned away from Gina to find Wren searching his eyes, her own wet as she stroked his cheeks.

  “That's right. Listen to my voice,” she said.

  Don't listen to her. Finish it.

  “Wren?”

  She smiled gently. “Yeah, it's me. I knew you were in there somewhere.”

  “What?”

  “Beck. You need to let go of Gina. You're going to kill her.”

  She deserves to die.

  “She deserves to die.” Did Beck say that? Or someone . . . else? It seemed like there was someone else.

  “No. No, Beck.” Wren squeezed his face slightly, her fingertips digging into his cheeks. “No, you can't do that. It doesn't matter what she did. It's not right. You have to stop.”

  “Stop?” He loosened his fingers a little.

  “Yeah, that's right. Let her go. You have to let her go.”

  You don't have to do anything.

  “Beck, this isn't you. Look around. Look at what you've done.”

  Beck blinked and looked beyond her shoulder to where Tru lay slumped against the wall, a streak of blood on her temple. His father knelt next to her, and Chloe had a hand on his arm, as if supporting him, although they all were frozen in place.