by Jenn Gott
“But you wouldn’t have.” Tears pricked at Jane’s dry eyes, hot manifestations of the guilt that had been eating her alive since they’d gotten back. She took off her glasses only long enough to brush them away. “Not with the way you feel about me.”
“And don’t you dare try to take that away from me,” Amy said. “I own that. Those are my feelings. You didn’t make me fall in love with you, like I was under the influence of some kind of potion. I did that all on my own.”
Jane looked down. Her nails were chipped from the scramble, the only sign that she’d gotten into a fight. “I know,” she said. “But . . . I still could have done something. I could have tried using my powers, it’s just—”
“You’re scared of them.”
Jane made herself nod—there was no point in lying, not to Amy.
“It’s okay,” Amy said. “You wouldn’t be the first person to get freaked out by the sudden appearance of superpowers.”
“I think it’s more than that.”
The words came out in a whisper, though of course Amy heard them. Still. Jane bit her lip, nervous about her half-confession. She hadn’t said a word about the whispers in City Hall, and didn’t know if she could now, either.
The back of Amy’s gloved hand brushed against Jane’s.
“Jane . . . you’re going to get a handle on this. Trust me. I believe in you.”
“Thanks,” Jane said, her voice small.
“Come on, stop beating yourself up. You didn’t do this to us—that’s on UltraViolet, you got that? Besides, look at me. I’m going to be okay.”
Jane nodded again, though she still couldn’t bring herself to look at Amy yet. It wasn’t even the bandages, the scrapes that lined her face, the IV sticking out of her arm, the sunken look of her as she struggled back to health. All of that, Jane was used to. Clair had looked worse, and it hadn’t mattered.
No, it was precisely what Amy was saying that made it so hard to look at her now. She was going to be fine. She would recover, in a way that Clair never had, never could. Jane twisted her wedding ring around her finger, her heart torn in a thousand different directions. The moment of Amy waking up had been wonderful, more wonderful than Jane could have ever imagined. It was what to do now that was difficult. What to do now that left Jane floundering in uncharted waters.
But Amy didn’t deserve that turmoil. So Jane forced a smile, and forced herself to look up. “You’re right,” she said. The brave one. The healthy one. “You’re absolutely right. You’re going to be fine.”
Jane would make sure of that, personally. Even if it broke her.
* * *
They transferred Amy back to headquarters as soon as it was safe to move her, to recuperate in a rejuve pod. The doctors wanted to keep her a while longer, but, well—there are benefits, being secret superheroes. People who owe you favors. You don’t necessarily need to reveal your identity to leverage your assets. Amy was still bed-bound, still weak, but getting stronger every day. This, Jane held on to with both hands and all of her heart.
While the rest of the team was busy sweeping the city, trying to track down either their Jane or the location of UltraViolet’s base of operations, Jane spent her time with Amy. Watching her sleep, helping her to the bathroom and back again, getting her food.
“You really don’t need to stay with me 24/7,” Amy said at one point, two or maybe three days later. It was hard to keep track of time, one hour flowing to the next and the next. Jane had just helped Amy back into her bed, the healing glow of the rejuve pod lending a bright sheen to her skin.
“I think you’ll find it’s closer to 22/7,” Jane said. “I took two whole hours yesterday, to go back to my own quarters and shower.”
“Oh, well. That makes all the difference.”
Jane fluffed Amy’s pillow before easing her against it. “Are you really going to complain about my excellent level of care and service?”
Amy smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Though, I will say, my toast was burned this morning.”
“That was hardly my fault.”
“How so?”
“I think Marie was futzing with the toaster yesterday. When I turned it on this morning, it greeted me in fluent Japanese.”
Amy laughed, then grimaced, then grabbed her side.
“Sorry,” Jane said.
“It’s fine,” Amy said, still wincing. “It’s good to laugh . . . even if it hurts.”
“And now you know why I stay here 24/7,” Jane said. She picked up Amy’s hand—still in her fingerless gloves, even now—and kissed it through the knitted fabric.
The day stretched on. Amy slept. Jane kept watch.
After a couple of hours, her timer chimed. Jane swiped it off, glancing at Amy to make sure it hadn’t woken her. Jane’s stomach rumbled, a Pavlovian response after all of this time, but Jane really didn’t feel like eating.
She turned so that she could get to the top of her uniform, hanging off the back of the chair like a jacket. There was probably some gum in the pockets—she thought she remembered dropping a pack in there, a cheap little peppermint brand, full of crunchy breath fresheners. Jane rummaged in first one pocket and then, finding nothing, moved on to the next.
Her fingers brushed against a folded sheet of paper.
The memory of it came to her in a rush: retrieving Clair’s journal from the nightstand, the paper fluttering down from somewhere pressed between the pages. Jane had stuffed it into her pocket without any further thought, and in the crisis of everything that had happened since, had forgotten it.
She held it now, her breath frozen in her chest. In the healing light of the rejuve pod, the paper seemed to have an ethereal glow, like a holy relic.
Clair’s handwriting peeped out at her as she inched the paper open. Neat letters in rich black ink. Clair was the only person that Jane knew that still used cursive for anything other than a signature or the occasional check.
Jane shut her eyes, giving herself a minute. She didn’t know if she was ready for this. She glanced up at Amy, suddenly self-conscious. It felt wrong to do this here, and so Jane got up and slipped out the door. She didn’t stop walking until she was outside, the warm breeze teasing her hair.
She leaned against the side of the building. Blue glass chilled her back—there was little in the way of sunlight to reflect these days. Jane opened the note back up. Her eyes shifted back and forth, taking it in quickly. It was only two lines, neither of which made sense. Lasers are just light, it said, and then below that: I believe in you.
Jane snorted. I believe in you. Yeah, Amy had said that, too, and what good had their faith in Jane gotten them so far? Disappointment stung at Jane’s heart. All that effort, all that sacrifice, and this is all they had to show for it? Briefly, she was tempted to crumple the note up and burn it—but no, she realized with a tug in her chest, she could never do that. Instead, she folded it carefully, and slid it into the back pocket of her jeans. Jane walked to the corner, her stomach churning with guilt. Past closed-down flower shops and newsstands, past a gas station packed with a snake of cars fueling up, just in case. Rumors of UltraViolet’s weapon were spreading, however much the mayor’s office tried to deny them, and grocery shelves were emptying faster than they could be restocked.
Jane was almost to the Beef-Up Burgers on the corner when her phone buzzed. She pulled it out, annoyed. Mrs. Maxwell and Allison had both been texting her once in a while, and Jane hadn’t been able to bring herself to reply to either of them, even though she knew she should.
It was a text message, but not the one that Jane expected. Her eyes went wide as she read.
We found Jane, Cal’s message said. Meet me?
* * *
The stretch of road looked different in the daylight, years later. Jane almost didn’t recognize it, as Cal drove them in silence out of the city, beyond the suburbs, through the expanse of crumbling industry that had built the town up so long ago. She only caught on at all because she’d come ba
ck here once, when it was time to draw the origin story of the Heroes of Hope.
ChemWerks Industries. White letters, faded almost to the point of obscurity, ran just beneath the flat roofline of the old brick building. A scraggly field of knee-high brown grass stood as skeletal sentries between it and the sagging chain-link fence that ringed the perimeter.
Jane stared at the building in disbelief as Cal shut the engine off.
“Here?” she asked. “Really?”
Cal’s blank stare revealed nothing. “What’s wrong with here?” He was reaching over to unbuckle Jane’s seatbelt for her, as if she was incapable of punching a red button on her own.
“Don’t you recognize it?”
For one fleeting moment, she wondered if maybe things had happened differently here. If the origin story that she’d dreampt up for her imaginary heroes was somehow different from their real-life counterparts, despite the fact that everything else important had remained the same.
Cal shrugged. “There are only so many abandoned factories around here. It’s a coincidence.”
Jane snorted. “There are no coincidences in stories, Cal. Any writer can tell you that.”
“This isn’t a story, Jane.”
“Could have fooled me,” Jane muttered. But she got out of the car all the same. Jane’s red uniform reflected in the black door of Cal’s SUV. She paused for a moment, trapped by the sight of it. Framed in the window, she looked as though she belonged on the cover of a comic book.
Jane pulled herself away. Cal, dressed as Deltaman, was already trudging toward the building, gun drawn. His cape fluttered in the afternoon breeze, brushing the tall grass. They’d met up halfway to the factory, Cal tossing Jane a bag with her uniform in it. The others would be along as soon as they could, he’d said. Until then, they needed to hurry. They found an empty gas station for Jane to slip into the restroom and change, and then they were off.
They approached with caution, but the door was unlocked this time. The hinge was rusted off, busted open.
Deltaman led the way. A light strapped to his wrist illuminated empty corridors and decaying offices.
Not that Jane needed it. Her training had done more good than she realized, because an infrared haze superimposed itself over her vision in the blink of an eye. It was a shift that she didn’t even need to consciously work for anymore, though she didn’t know if she would ever get used to it. Most of the factory stretched out in pale shades of artificial blue and gray and green, while Deltman’s body heat stood out in glaring orange/red/purple combinations. It was all rather psychedelic for Jane’s tastes.
“Shouldn’t we wait for the others?” Jane whispered.
Deltaman shook his head. “No time. My contact said he spotted Shadow Raptors hauling equipment out of here, just a few hours ago. If they’re moving shop, then Jane’s likely to be next, and we can’t afford to lose her again.”
“But you’re sure they’re on their way?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I texted them myself. They all replied. I promise, they’ll be here. Now, please . . . can we just focus on finding Jane?”
Jane fell silent, cheeks flushing without understanding why. But then . . . this was probably hard for Cal, Jane realized. If any of what he’d said about the two of them was true . . . She watched his back, the stiffness of his shoulders, the nerves easy to read even for her.
Nobody was here.
“Cal,” Jane hissed, but Deltaman held up his hand, a signal for quiet. Jane bit her lip, following him through the darkness, through the emptiness. Jane’s heart pounded in her chest. This whole thing felt wrong. Like UltraViolet keeping the antidote right there, in City Hall. Like the way that she’d shown up in Jane’s apartment, knowing somehow exactly what they were looking for.
They needed to get out of here. Every instinct told her that, and so she rushed forward again, trying to grab for Deltaman’s shoulder, but then he was turning a corner, throwing open a door, and . . .
And there she was.
Jane Maxwell.
Jane stopped in the doorway, dumbfounded, as her vision switched back to normal. Her double was tied to a chair in the middle of the room, a bare bulb buzzing over her head. This other version of Jane had her hair thrown back in a ponytail, and her uniform was dirty and battered. Her body was slumped forward as if she was unconscious.
Deltaman rushed forward. “Jane!” he said, and the concern in his voice twisted Jane’s heart like a knife.
“Cal, wait!”
She had no choice but to follow. A sense of wrongness pulled at Jane as they approached. She wanted to tell herself that it was nothing—after all, no traps were springing, were they? No Shadow Raptors bursting out of the darkness, no alarms blaring, no bullets piercing the air. And yet . . .
Deltaman was the first to reach Jane’s double. He checked the slumped Jane’s pulse, nodding at Jane to indicate that her duplicate was still alive and well. Jane crept up. Her stomach was twisting up on itself as she approached. Part of it was the paranoid feeling that had crept up the back of her neck since they’d first stepped out of Cal’s SUV. Another was more basic than that. It was hard to look at her double, harder than she’d ever expected it to be. Which was weird to her, because she’d been living with this messed up, alternate-universe version of everyone else for a while now, and while she wasn’t exactly comfortable with it all yet, it had at least taken on a sense of familiarity.
Nothing compared to this. Her own brown hair tied up in a hasty ponytail, her own prone form slumped in a chair. Her own uniform, a copy of the one that she was currently wearing, her own mask. Her own collarbone, visible where the neck of her uniform pulled back. Jane looked, tried not to look, looked again.
And then she went very cold.
“Wait!” Jane said, just as Deltaman was reaching to cut the ropes binding Jane’s double in place. She grabbed his arm, stilling him.
Deltaman sighed. “Jane, we don’t have time for this.”
“No, but look.” Jane pointed at the exposed length of neck on her double, the line where her collarbone jutted toward the base. The uniform had taken a beating, a rip exposing more of her skin than normal. “I broke my collarbone when I was nine, remember?”
“So?”
“So, it’s never healed properly. See?”
Jane reached up, zipping down the top of her uniform’s jacket just enough to pull the neckline over. The line of her bone was slightly jutted, a bump rising in the middle. Jane’s finger ran along the knob, the place where two halves of her bones had fused together. But all the while, she was staring at the person slumped in the chair, her collarbone intact.
“This isn’t me,” Jane said. She reached over, pulling the mask off of the nearly perfect mimic of her own face. Jane crouched down for a better look, her heart twisting up in her chest. “Oh my god. It’s Allison.”
“No way,” Deltaman said from behind her. “Jane, you’re imagining things.”
Jane shook her head. “No, I’m not.” She looked up sharply, her attention flying to the edges of the room. The nervous flutter in her stomach leapt to her throat, unable to be ignored. “It’s a trap,” Jane said as she stood up. “It has to be. We’ve got to get out of here! We’ve got—”
But whatever else she was going to say died as she turned around. Jane froze in place, shocked into silence as she found herself staring at the barrel of a gun, so close to her face that she went cross-eyed looking at it.
Cal’s gun.
In Cal’s hand.
Past the weapon, up the straight shot of Cal’s arm, his shadowed face seemed to have dropped the Deltaman persona, despite the fact that nothing had technically changed.
He heaved a weary sigh. The sigh was battle-worn and ancient beyond his years, as if the world was simply too much to be borne another moment. “I’m sorry, Jane. But you’re not going anywhere.”
Jane managed to shake her head, just once, side to side. “Oh, Cal. No.”
The thing is, she
should have seen this coming. Jane had written so many dramatic reversals, so many betrayals—how had she not seen it coming? Hadn’t she said it herself, there are no coincidences in stories? Jane realized, suddenly, that they were not here by accident, that Cal had been the one to bring Jane here, that no one was coming to join them after all.
Panic flared in Jane’s stomach, seizing her up. “Why?” she managed to ask, the only question that mattered anymore.
Cal smirked. “There’s someone that wants to meet you.”
Jane knew before she even turned around what she would find. Sure enough: Cal jerked his head, indicating something behind Jane. Jane’s every muscle protested as she made herself move, first one foot and then the other, her body swiveling reluctantly to follow.
In the doorway, a shimmering purple blur shifted in and out of partial focus. UltraViolet strolled in with languid steps, the factory rippling around her like heat rising from a car’s hood on a summer day. She began to slow-clap as she approached, a digitized laugh escaping her.
“Well done,” UltraViolet said as she came to a stop in front of Jane. “You’re not quite as stupid as I thought you were.”
Jane forced herself to swallow, though her throat had gone completely dry. “You’ll never get away with this.”
It was a dumb line, meaningless really, but it was all Jane had at the moment. Panic danced freely through Jane’s body, tempered only by a feeling of disconnect, a sense that what was happening around her couldn’t possibly be real.
UltraViolet put her hand on her hip. “And there you had to go and ruin it. Oh well”—she shrugged—“it won’t matter for long.”
“Stay back!” Jane raised her hands defensively, flickers of light already bursting free of her fingertips. “Just stay back!”
“Please,” UltraViolet sneered, “do you really think that your powers are going to intimidate me, of all people?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Seriously? You haven’t figured it out yet? God, no wonder you had to steal all your ideas from Clair.”