by Hayes, Drew
“You’ve been a little more present,” she admitted finally. “And hey, sometimes you’re even willing to open up a bit. Tell me about Mom’s garden, and the glitter, giving me small peeks into her past. Dad… you know, in spite of everything, I still love you.”
He raised an eyebrow and set his pen on the table. “In spite of everything? That’s an interesting declaration, coming from a woman in a designer outfit who walked in here on marble floors. Some might be grateful to have been raised in such luxury, not think of it as something to love me in spite of.”
A simple jab of guilt—one that failed to land as Alice’s face showed no signs of wavering. “Dad. Please. Don’t play this game. Not today. I didn’t come to fight with you. I came because I sincerely want to believe that, under it all, you’re a good man. That we’re a family. I know you have your reasons for keeping secrets, especially when I was a child. But I’m not a kid anymore. I’m asking you to be honest. Come clean. Not to the world, or to anyone outside this room. Just to me. Just to your daughter. Show me that we can still salvage some of this.”
It was a solid opening move. Appealing to his sense of paternal affection, letting him know that she was aware of deceit without tipping her hand about exactly what secret she’d uncovered, and framing the whole endeavor as an attempt at parental reconciliation. No wonder she was putting up such good marks in Subtlety. Playing dumb was out; whatever she knew, she was clearly sure of it. There was little to be gained by acting as though he had nothing to hide. Perhaps his best bet was to come at it from the other direction.
“Alice, I would be glad to discuss any matter with you, but I run a multi-billion dollar international corporation. If you want me to come clean on something, I’m going to need you to narrow it down. For the sake of time, if nothing else. Do you want to discuss the bribes to the Peruvian government, the loophole we’ve been using for waste disposal, or the lobbying groups I’m covertly funding in D.C.? That’s just what I’ve been looking over this morning, mind you.”
She waited for a moment; not a pause, he could see in her eyes she’d had a counter ready for this tactic. No, she was letting the moment sit, choosing the right time to speak. “It means a lot to me that you’re willing to chat, but none of that was on my mind. I actually wanted to talk about my uncle.”
There were only two options before Charles now: either Alice knew about all of her hidden family and had chosen the wording with surgical precision in an effort to make him tip his hand, or she’d only learned about Phil. If she’d uncovered Sean or Blake, then she would have certainly discovered the other. And he couldn’t very well ask which one she meant without playing into her hands. Phil seemed less likely to be uncovered; however, she had used the singular. That was his best bet, and even if he was wrong, perhaps unintended disclosure would be enough to ameliorate her concern.
“So… you discovered our family’s hidden shame.” Charles got up from his chair and went to a small bar in the back of his office. Filling a pair of glasses with brown liquid, he brought them back to the desk and retook his seat, setting one in front of Alice before helping himself to a sip from the other. “Can you really blame me, Alice? Globe was widely considered to be a monster. It took all the clout I had to keep from getting dragged along into the muck with him. So when I had the resources, I purged him from our history, severing all connections to the man. And I certainly wasn’t going to tell my daughter about her uncle, the Hero turned murderous traitor. I buried my brother, literally and metaphorically, and trusted that that would be the end of it.”
“And then he came back,” Alice added.
“Yes, and then he came back… though how he did it is a mystery to us all, albeit not a true surprise. He’s always been powerful and determined. But his return made it all the more vital that I kept us, and you especially, as unconnected to him as possible. A Hero-in-training being associated with that sort of person comes with all manner of complications.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen what Vince has had to deal with.” Alice picked up the glass and took a small drink, almost the exact same size that Charles had. “Who was Reynolds, by the way?”
“I beg your pardon?” It took everything he had for Charles not to show any emotion at the sound of that name, even though he should have been braced for it. He’d seen it often enough on reports about Alice and her fellow subjects; he just hadn’t expected her to know it carried significance.
“Reynolds. It’s Vince’s last name. Let’s not take a step backward and pretend you don’t know that all accounts say he was raised by Globe.” Alice had another nip from the glass, clearly giving him time to protest or dispute the claim, which he didn’t take. “Anyway, apparently Vince didn’t know his last name and Globe didn’t want to give him his. Said he’d thrown the name away in the first place. So he named Vince after someone important to him. I thought you might know who that was, being his brother and all.”
She was digging deep, dangerously so, but it remained to be seen if she had any idea the mines she was burrowing next to. It was an innocent enough question on the surface, and he had to treat it like one. For now.
“Detective Jack Reynolds,” Charles replied. “He’s long passed on now, but he was a good man. When we were children, our father passed away. Globe… Phil’s power had already developed by then, and as you can imagine, when a man with a long domestic abuse record and a Super son dies suddenly, there’s an investigation.”
Alice’s eyes widened just a hair. She hadn’t known about her grandfather’s temperament, which meant she almost certainly didn’t suspect the rest. Charles kept going, albeit with far less tension concealed. “Jack Reynolds led the investigation. He eventually cleared Phil, of course, because he was plainly innocent; however, he stayed involved with us even after the official business was over. When we took up sports, before we were eventually kicked out for the sin of having abilities, he would come cheer us on. Sundays, he would cook for the whole family, sometimes in his apartment, sometimes at our small house. I never thought about it much in my youth, but I suspect he lost one of his parents as a child as well, and when presented with two boys who had only a mother working double shifts and memories of a shitbag father, he chose to step in. He and Phil were closer than he and I, but the man was stalwart and decent to all of us. I send flowers to his grave every year, just like Shelby’s and my mothers.”
“How did he… pass?”
“Heart attack. Years as a beat cop and then a detective, all survived relatively unscathed, and then one day, while Phil and I were at college, we got word that he’d collapsed inside the station. Life often plays the cruelest of its jokes on the most hapless of victims.” Charles helped himself to a deeper drink from his glass. He still remembered getting that call, and Phil trying to keep a brave face on for the sake of Charles and their mother. It had been a true loss—for the world, and for their family.
“Sorry I brought it up,” Alice said. She looked repentant, but not satisfied. “I’m glad we cleared the air on that, though. Is there anything else you want to talk to me about? Anything else that you hid from me when I was small but are ready to discuss now?”
“Really, Alice. If you want to know something, just ask it already,” Charles told her. After divulging such a personal story, he imagined she had to be taking his sincerity at face value. Now she was fishing, using the opened door to see if he’d walk himself into revealing more than she knew.
“I just did.” Alice took one more gulp of the glass and set it down on his desk, empty. “And I guess you’ve given me your answer. Don’t stay here working for too long, or you’ll miss lunch again, Charles.”
She stood from her seat and walked briskly to the door, barely slowing down to push it open. In seconds, the holly green of her dress had faded from view and Charles Adair once again found himself alone in his office.
Only now, for no reason he could put his finger on, it felt just a touch emptier than it had before.
152.
Lunch was long finished and most of the extended family was watching television in the living room while Hershel, Vince, and Mr. Transport worked on kitchen cleanup. Conversation was light by necessity, as none of them wanted to discuss HCP matters with so many people in earshot, no matter how trustworthy they might be. In a world with telepaths, one didn’t have to speak to give away secrets, and after Lander’s attack, it was commonly agreed that the less HCP information floated around in people’s minds, the better. So even though Hershel was dying to press Vince for more information about Lander East, they instead had to make due with safer topics, like the upcoming fantasy movies Hershel was excited about.
Midway through drying the dishes, Mr. Transport’s phone rang. Setting down a cloth, he picked up and listened. Slowly, his face shifted, becoming less festive and more solemn. By the end, he looked downright serious as he put the phone away and turned to both of them.
“Hershel, if your mother asks, tell her I stepped out to grab another guest, please.”
In a blink, he was gone. Vince and Hershel exchanged confused glances, but with so many mundane people in the next room, they couldn’t very well openly speculate. So instead they got back to work, making significant headway on the dishes even as their eyes darted continuously to the microwave’s clock. They were nearly done when Mr. Transport reappeared, a familiar short figure standing a few feet away.
“Mary?” Hershel nearly dropped his plate then greeted his girlfriend with a big hug. “What’s going on? I love the surprise, don’t get me wrong, but won’t your family be mad you left on Christmas?”
“She wasn’t with her family,” Mr. Transport said. “She wasn’t even in her home state.”
“Wait, what?” Hershel took a step back, ending the embrace and looking at her in a new light. “Then where were you?”
“Las Vegas,” Mary replied. “There was a situation I needed to keep an eye on—or a mental ear on, really. I grabbed a bus, bought a cheap room near the Strip, and listened. All of which I’ll be happy to detail for you later on, but right now we need to find somewhere private to talk. The situation is… it’s nearing the end. And I think we need to be ready when it happens. Mr. Transport, can you get us to a place where we can chat a little more freely? I think this is only making things more confusing.”
“Sure.” He walked to the doorway and glanced into the living room, then went to the fridge and scrawled a quick note on the magnetic pad. “I’ll tell Sally we had to step out. One of you reach out to Alice and let her know I’d like to pick her up somewhere. Teleporting uninvited into her estate is a little too dangerous to undertake without good cause.”
“What about Nick?” Vince asked.
Mary looked at him for a moment before shaking her head. “I’ll explain in a second, Vince. But we don’t need to wait for Nick.”
Mr. Transport finished his note and walked over to the group. A second later they were gone, leaving behind only an empty kitchen and a pile of nearly-finished dishes.
* * *
Night had fallen, and most of the others were asleep. George was still tinkering—the man had a work ethic like few others—and Gerard paced the grounds on occasion. But in the main room, where they’d had their makeshift meal and celebration, only the man in the red coat remained. The hunted villain, the infamous traitor, the former Hero once known as Globe was sitting in an overstuffed chair, reading a battered old book. He alone was there to witness the crackle of light and the distinct scent of charred ozone as Clarissa stepped through the portal. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim light, before she walked over and took a seat on the threadbare couch next to him.
“How was everybody?” Globe asked.
“Cheerful,” she said. “Better than they’ve been in a while, I think.”
“Thank goodness. I’ve worried about that lot for a long time now.” Globe lowered his book, folding the page over to mark his spot. “And did you get to see Joshua’s son?”
“I did indeed. Chad is growing up well. He looks a lot like his father, although he got some of Miriam’s more gentle features. He seemed like a good boy... well, I guess he’s more man than child now.” Clarissa blinked to better adjust to the light, and to clear the visions of the past away so they wouldn’t hamper her ability to see the present. It was hard, sometimes, not to think of everyone as they had been, to remember Chad as the baby in the crib that Joshua had been so radiantly proud of. “I’m glad I went, even if part of me was scared it would be a trap.”
“You’re much too good at minding your thoughts to let anything slip to a telepath, and if they knew we were still in contact then the DVA would have kicked down your door long ago.” Globe leaned forward, inching closer to Clarissa. “That said, the risk of discovery is still very real, and it only grows the closer we get to the end. If you’re willing to reconsider, it’s not too late to get you out of this. Shims, I don’t want anyone else to get hurt by what we’re doing. Especially not you.”
She laughed, a delicate sound that echoed through the nearly empty room. “Never going to happen. I was a Hero, too, remember? I don’t turn away from what’s right just because the path isn’t easy. I’m in this with you, Phil. All the way, to the very end, you and me. If we have to march through the gates of Hell, then I’m going to open up a portal so we can get there faster.”
Slowly, Phil sank back into his chair. “Part of me dearly wishes you would listen to reason, but at the same time, I’m selfishly glad you don’t. I couldn’t have made it this far, lasted this long, without you.”
“You are pretty useless on your own.” Whether it was the season, the wine, or the glow of being around old friends, Clarissa found herself feeling more daring than usual. She rose from her couch and took a seat on the armrest of Globe’s chair, leaning over and wrapping her arms around him in a hug that was, while technically friendly, a little too close to be truly platonic. “Good thing you’ve got all of us around to keep you on the right track.”
“Friendship and love; truly the best gifts anyone can ever hope to receive.” He leaned slightly into the embrace, and Clarissa felt her heart speed up by several beats. “Merry Christmas, Clarissa.”
“Merry Christmas, Phil.”
153.
Gerry died two days after Christmas. No one knew the exact time. Nick had left to go take a shower, as Gerry was insisting the funk had grown intolerable, and he’d allowed himself a brief nap as well. When one of the nurses on retainer went to check on Gerry in the interim, he was already gone. It was fitting, in a way. He’d never been one to let others see him suffer, and he’d left without any witness to his final breaths. If Nick didn’t know better, and he wasn’t sure he didn’t, he would have believed Gerry sent him away on purpose, so that Nick’s final memory of the man would be living, breathing, and talking. Being Gerry, in other words.
The world became a blur of activity as people came to take him away. Seeing strangers enter Gerry’s room, Nick felt an instinct rise in his gut to fight them away. He even took a step forward, but a strong hand fell on his neck, guiding him carefully back to his own room. Ms. Pips led him there wordlessly, and, just before releasing him, pulled Nick in close for a brief yet powerful hug. It was a move that stunned him; he couldn’t remember the last time Ms. Pips had embraced him like that. Not for the sake of form or greeting, but with real emotion behind the gesture. By the time he came
to his senses, she was already out the door. It had probably been a ploy to confuse him; that was the explanation he ultimately settled on.
Nick sat on the couch in his suite’s living room, staring out at the other casinos on the Strip and past them to the desert on the horizon. They looked wrong in the daylight, unlit by their fanciful neon glow. He’d always preferred Vegas at night, when the city came alive in its truest form, when there was money, sex, booze, and crime at every turn for those who knew how to look. That was the world he’d been raised in, that Gerry had taken him by the hand and led him through. At least that version of Vegas felt familiar. Now, with only the harsh daylight greeting him and no Gerry to turn to, Nick felt more lost than he had in a very long while.
He genuinely wasn’t sure what to do with himself. The casino was out; by now news would have spread, and while the staff would be keeping their game faces on for the sake of the tourists, Nick would still see the sorrow in their eyes. There were always other casinos, true, but the idea of gambling held no appeal. Sitting at a table, counting the cards or reading his opponents, all of it would be falling back to the very things Gerry had taught him, and Nick couldn’t handle those memories right now. There was always drinking, and for a moment that idea seemed like a solid choice, but Nick ultimately dismissed it. With Gerry gone, things could be chaotic, and someone might try to take advantage of the Family’s momentary disorganization. Being too drunk to handle his affairs would be a piss-poor testament to Gerry’s memory.
Nick was still sitting on the couch, gazing at the desert, sometime later when his phone rang. He made no move to answer it, letting it ring until it stopped. Anyone with real cause to contact him could come to the door, and those who couldn’t didn’t need him that badly anyway. The phone started to ring again, then again, and finally, on the fourth attempt, Nick gave in and answered it without so much as looking at the number.
