The doctor thought, a distance entering his eyes. “A virus could do it, but it would have to be one powerful bug. We didn’t alter your immunities, only your outward ability.”
Jack sat again, leaning toward the other man. He took another swig, ice clanking as the beverage disappeared. “I need you to figure this out, Steve. If this is happening to me, I need to know why.”
Steve Miller nodded, lost in thought. Without a word, he stood, emptying his glass of alcohol with a single gulp. “I’ll be in touch,” he called back, hastening toward the door before it slammed between them.
Jack stood, watching his friend exit. He moved to the window and pressed his palms to the cool panes. Dull moonlight greeted him from outside, his view of it mottled by his own frosty reflection.
No good could come of this discovery. It threatened the delicate balance of normality that he had enjoyed. If his powers truly were returning, then another’s could be as well. Two people were “cured” that night, and Jack found it hard to believe that he was alone in relapsing.
A semitransparent version of Phillip appeared in the window. “Still no word of Mead or Cunningham,” his voice called from behind. “They never checked into the medlab, or any local hospitals.”
The senator sighed, pressing his forehead to the glass. “Bring the car around,” he commanded. “I think I know where Mead will go, if he hasn’t been there already.”
Phillip’s reflection turned in the doorway.
“One more thing,” Jack said before the man could leave. “Clear my schedule for the morning. It’s time I take a more active role in this game.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
Two hours later, Red looked in on his guests sleeping in the spare room. A triangle of the hallway’s light split the darkness as Femme Fatale dozed, her arms wrapped around an exhausted Lieutenant Mead. She had been unwilling to release her iron grip from the man, even after both were cleaned and their wounds dressed. In the end, Mead hadn’t had the strength to care. They both slept now, his eyes having closed not long after hers.
Red knew that the man deserved a good night’s rest. He eased the door shut, causing the sliver of light above his shadow to thin and disappear.
Cynthia whispered over his shoulder, approaching from behind. “How are they?”
“The Lieutenant just fell asleep, and Femme, well, she’s had a rough night.” Red turned and regarded his wife, drawing her into a bear hug. Her body felt good against his.
“And how are you?” she asked.
He didn’t answer her, squeezing a little tighter. The events of the day had left him on edge, never able to relax. The explosions still rang in his ears, and the Aegis’ memories confused him. He didn’t know what to think or do. All he knew rested in his arms.
Why had he done any of this? Cynthia should have been his sole focus. He had spent weeks away from her, chasing some foolish dream, and what was his reward? Nearly getting himself killed by some preternatural maniacs?
“Let’s go in and watch some TV,” she said at last, perhaps sensing that he had no answer to give. They made their way down the hall and to the couch. Red sat, welcoming an end to this day. Vigor drained from him, but sleep did not come. He palmed the remote, and pressed the power button. Soon, the couple was bathed in the television’s flickering blue glow.
Strange memories bounced within his head, but he paid them little mind. He instead treasured the warm pressure cuddled against his right side. “Thanks for doing this, C,” he said in the empty gap between late night talk shows. She smiled, curling beside him and pressing her head to this shoulder.
They sat like that for a long while, enjoying each other’s simple company. The mindless entertainment helped to calm him, and little by little, the old Red Cunningham emerged. He watched Cynthia as she began to issue soft exhales, her hazel eyes closing for the night. Smiling, he turned the volume low, just above mute, and allowed his wife’s velvet cooing to dominate his ears.
Channel 32 held a man selling steak knives. Channel 46 advertised get-rich-quick schemes involving real estate. Flicking through the programs, his own eyelids rose and fell, the television light turning to black and back again. Even the steak knives faded away, and he released his waking mind into the gentle warm abyss of slumber.
Dreaming, he found himself in the Hall’s conference room, waiting for another of the senator’s speeches. Everyone was there, even those newly dead, and Cynthia stood in the crowd, searching for him. Her breathing, slow and rhythmic, was the room’s sole soundtrack, drowning out his shouts as he waved, trying to get her attention.
Unaware, she continued to scan their faces, stepping on her tiptoes to find him.
He noticed then the large display behind her, clicking down the seconds in huge, red digits. Ten, then nine, appeared on the screen.
Somehow, he knew what to expect, what was going to happen. He tried to shout, to tell his friends and allies to get down. Five seconds remained.
Cynthia’s sweet inhales and exhales ticking off each moment, the assembly finally looked to him. He had managed that much, but it was too late. The clock turned to zero.
Red flinched with expectation, but no fire came. No death exploded around him. The people continued to stare, and he sat, confused. His foreboding did not dissipate.
A great blackness issued from the clock, thick and consuming. Spiraling outward, it drew in everything it touched. The senator disappeared, as did Lieutenant Mead. Cynthia was next.
Red couldn’t move.
In the blink of an eye, his Faction uniform was on him, where civilian clothes had once been. His muscles frozen, he reached with his mind and preternatural gifts. All was blank, except for Cynthia and the unknown mass, growing second by second. As pure thought, he dove into its blackness. Inside, all was warm and dark.
Cynthia’s breathing was thunderous now, as was the beating of her heart. Despite the volume, it soothed and welcomed him. He found no evil within, rather a confused jumble of emotion. There was something else there, beyond Cynthia and himself. It was simple, and with his power, he conquered it.
Red had never felt total control over a living being before, not like this. The unseen thing trembled under the influence of his preternatural ability, as a marionette at the flick of the puppeteer’s hand. He ordered it to fight, to dissipate the darkness, and it did its best, struggling against the void.
Cynthia’s breathing changed. She gasped.
Red popped awake, looking to his wife. She writhed beside him, pain wracking her face as she grabbed her stomach. In the sparing light of the television, he could see the agony in her eyes. Another hampered groan escaped her, then a scream.
Tired as he was, Red wasted no time. He scooped her into his arms, heading for the door. He wasn’t going to take any chances, not after he had fought so hard to see her.
Whatever the cause, they were going to the hospital.
__________
The silvery carcass landed hard on Stephen Detch’s desk, its massive tail curling over its edge. The Aegis stood behind, delivering his report in a mechanical monotone. The details of the day’s events unraveled for his employer.
Detch examined the corpse as the mercenary spoke, eyeing it with care. “Unfortunate,” he said, cutting the report short. He wheeled his way around the body. “I had such hopes for him.” He stopped to finger the wound, and looked toward the Aegis.
“Nightgaunt.”
“Really?” Detch pressed his lips in admiration of the kill. “Impressive. The kid has it after all. And the warehouse?”
The armored mercenary did not move. “The white-hats found it. It’s useless to us now.”
Detch interlaced his fingers. “Pity.” He returned behind the desk, staring over a row of metallic, dorsal scales. “I’ll begin work immediately, as we agreed. I should be able to adapt Kroncik’s technology to help us both.”
The Aegis nodded. His contract was coming to a close, and it wasn’t a moment too soon. These new
memories had shaken him, and he needed to go into hiding, to take time and sort through the various pieces within his head. “I will leave you to it.” He turned to walk away.
“It’s quite exciting, isn’t it?” Detch asked. He smiled as he spoke, unworried by sharing his thoughts. He pointed to his lower limbs, resting useless in the chair. “I’m going to walk again.”
The Aegis nodded, waiting for the conversation to end.
“I’ve never told you how I lost the use of them, have I?” The man wheeled out, drawing nearer. “I was seven when it happened. My family was returning from a downtown shopping trip. How I used to love those.” He looked into the distance, a light entering his eyes.
“We were crossing the Jefferson Bridge when it happened. As we passed beneath one of the towers, a large chunk gave way, falling and smashing across our car. My parents were killed upon impact, and I was pinned by the weight of the debris. Only my head and shoulders poked out from under the car’s fractured roof.”
“And that’s when I saw him. Dr. Malorius! He fell to the road and struggled toward me, his gauntlets issuing a sweet perfume that I will never forget. I could smell him, his hand was so close. Its odor hangs in my nose even now.” Detch paused his story, staring into space.
“Before he could reach me, Captain Valour landed not far from us. The man ignored my agony, an agony that he had caused, choosing instead to scoop up his unconscious prey.” Bile dripped from Detch’s every word. “Valour offered me nothing more than a few token platitudes as I lay there, feeling my legs for the last time.”
The Aegis waited for more, but none came. He replied to the story with a subtle nod, and the words “I’m sorry” sprang into his mind, but he did not speak them. In his line of work, empathy was a flaw, a weakness. He could not allow it to gain traction within himself.
He held his tongue even as something about the reminiscence seemed to align itself with his own recovered memories.
“Leave me,” Detch said, his mood changed by the story. “I have much work to do, as you well know.”
The Aegis nodded again. “I will be back, per our agreement.” He walked to elevator and let the door close behind him.
Chapter Thirty
Red sat in the hospital’s waiting room, looking over the torn pages of a home improvement magazine. The article on bathroom remodeling was pretty good, and though most of his attention was scattered, he scraped together enough to read it. It seemed best to occupy himself and try not to think about Cynthia, no doubt sitting in some cold, sterile, examination room down the hall. No matter how difficult a task, he had to think about something, anything, other than her.
They had taken her in over half an hour ago, and he had heard nothing yet. He read the same paragraph covering decorative sinks three times without comprehending what it said. Doubt nagged him, and he wondered if he should have accompanied her inside.
He had considered going in, but had been afraid, frightened by the consequences of his presence. His dream remained forefront in his memory, and a resultant fear lingered. If his powers had caused this, then caulking and ceramic tile must be paramount in his thoughts.
He read the paragraph a fourth time, but the words didn’t help. Disgusted, he put the magazine down and searched the scattered collection for another. He found nothing.
Red chose instead to watch the people waiting with him, trying to determine their stories. An announcement over the hospital’s speakers interrupted his thoughts, but all he could make out were some garbled medical codes. The voice sounded strained, and many of the heads in the room looked up to hear it better. They all worried; the same sense of concern permeating everything here. He hoped, for all of their cases, that it was unwarranted.
A hand came down upon his shoulder, causing a slight jolt of panic. Red turned, expecting the doctor with some news. Lieutenant Mead stood in civilian clothes, concern in his eyes.
“I read your note,” Mead said.
“Thanks all the same, Lieutenant, but she’s going to be fine. You needn’t have come all this way.” It helped to try to convince the other man, aiding Red in believing the idea himself. The more he said it, the more it took on a sense of reality.
“You’re right, Red,” Mead said, coming around and sitting in a chair to his left. “She is going to be fine, but she’s not the reason I’m here. I’m going back out.”
Red leaned and put an elbow upon each knee. He rested his forehead in one hand and studied the man. “Why? What’s left?”
Mead’s face appeared as if chiseled from stone. “I’m going to get my spare pack.” His voice sounded firm. “And then I’m going to find the Aegis.”
Red nodded. “What about Femme?”
The Lieutenant shook his head. “She’s asleep. That lizard did a number on her, and it’ll take her a while to recuperate. I gave her some pills, so she’ll be out for the night.”
Red tried to think about the idea, but his mind no longer seemed to work. Even the most basic thoughts were beyond his current ability. Rather, he sat there, trying to understand the man’s plan.
“There’s something about the Aegis,” he said, sorting through everything. “He’s not who he seems.”
“I don’t care who he is,” David replied. His tone was cold and laden with resentment. “I’m going to end this thing, and that means taking him down.”
The Lieutenant patted Red on the shoulder and made his way to the exit door. It opened, but he paused just inside.
“You’re a good man, Red. You didn’t deserve to get caught up in all of this. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
Red listened as the man spoke. “It’s alright, Lieutenant,” he replied without hesitation. “We got her out.”
“No. Not just that,” David called back. The firmness left his voice, revealing an inner self-consciousness. “I mean all of this.”
Red sat up and turned, confused.
“You’ve got a good life. Take care of it.” David’s face hardened. “I’ll see about the rest.”
Red exhaled to himself, staring more at the wall than anything. “You know. I thought I was doing this for her.” He looked down and sighed. “Now I realize I was just doing it for myself.”
David watched him, his eyes holding a strange combination of pity and respect. “I’m sure you had worthy reasons.” He took another step through the doorway. “Men like you always do.”
The Lieutenant left, and fifteen minutes passed before Red had another visitor. A doctor entered the waiting room, seeing him and closing the distance between them.
“Mr. Cunningham?”
Red gave a nervous nod, fearing the worst.
The doctor sat. “I believe congratulations are in order,” he said, a smile replacing the tender yet emotionless expression his profession required. “Your wife is pregnant.”
Red stammered. His first instinct was to ask how, but that question seemed a poor one given the circumstances. He opened and closed his mouth a few times.
The doctor continued to smile, patting Red on the shoulder. “Your wife will be fine. We’d like to keep her a few hours for observation, but everything looks normal.” He stood, but his hand remained on Red’s shoulder. “You can go in and see her now, but let her get some rest. She seems to need it.”
Despite the shock, Red did not wait any longer. He followed the man’s directions, finding Cynthia’s room down a short hallway beyond a nursing station. Pushing the door open, he discovered the inside of the room dark, the lights low. Cynthia was asleep.
He stepped to her bedside and for some time, he simply watched the peaceful form of his wife resting in the bed. The sounds of her breathing mixed with the rhythmic beeps of the monitoring equipment, causing a lulling monotony of sound. He approached her slowly, afraid to get too close. One thought seemed to resonate within him.
Had he put her here? Had his dream caused her agony? The possibilities disturbed him. All he knew was that while he was near her, and while she and the baby w
ere on his mind, they were not safe. As soon as he again slept, another dream could take them from him. That prospect was too much to bear.
His eyelids drooping, he withdrew from her bedside and exited the room. He couldn’t leave her, but couldn’t stay either, not like this. He needed to master himself, to remain awake and in control. If he could do that, she would be fine. The fate of his wife, and their unborn child, rested upon his wakefulness.
Desperate, Red walked down the empty corridor of the hospital’s wing, looking for a coffee or soda machine, something to help him stay alert. He wandered, taking in the late-night peace. The area felt like a ghost town at this hour, the people and their hurried movements gone. Most halls and rooms were empty, and all seemed quiet.
He paced his way along another hallway and descended a flight of stairs, moving toward one of the larger lobbies. There, he found a coffee station tucked into a small alcove. He filled a flimsy, paper cup, and sipped the steamy mixture of sugar and java. The dark liquid tasted bitter, but its warmth brought a slight reassurance: caffeine. The stuff kept him up for hours. He enjoyed another gulp.
A small sound breaking the stillness, he turned to see a figure moving behind him. Violet eyes met his, and he noticed a young woman entering the lobby area. Her skin was pale as any Red had ever seen.
“It’s harder than it would seem, keeping dreams away.” She spoke with a whispery thin voice that flowed to caress his ears.
Red nodded. He offered the young woman a coffee, and she accepted, drinking it like a child broached with something new.
He took his own beverage to a nearby couch, finding the remote and turning on the television. Channel surfing, he hunted for something to watch until the caffeine kicked in. His attentions waxed and waned with his own internal discord.
She sat in a chair next to the window, staring out at the night. Her silhouette was eerie, the pallid moonlight playing across her skin. “Your wife will be fine, Mr. Cunningham,” she muttered.
He couldn’t explain it, but he could sense that this girl possessed a preternatural ability, and her voice seemed to strengthen his notion. Even when he could not make out what she had said, or even if she had spoken at all, her meanings were clear. He understood her without a single word.
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