The General persisted toward his point. “I understand if you want to take some time off. You can return whenever you’d like. Just tell me when, and we’ll put you back on the roster.”
There was silence on the line as David considered the offer. The funeral had disappeared for him, the telephone conversation becoming his sole concern. Sybil turned, sensing David’s sudden tension. Her reddened eyes grew wider.
“No thanks, General,” he said at last. “I’m staying with Senator Williams’ project.” He smiled, liberated by the words. He winked at Sybil. “I’m one of them now.”
__________
Azure waves rolled toward the sandy shoreline and broke in the near distance, a gentle breeze following the tide inward. Sea birds rode its currents, and dark clouds huddled offshore as an afternoon storm passed. Billy Moffett closed his eyes, enjoying the gentle swing of his hammock as soothing tropical winds tousled his hair and cooled his sunbaked skin.
Disappearing soon after the incident with Dr. Malorius, he had quit school and left his old life, finding his way to a tiny island in the Vava’u chain of Tonga, nestled in the warm climes of the South Pacific. With a bank account full of his ill-gotten gains, he planned to live the rest of his life here in absolute comfort. He sipped from a straw embedded within a small coconut, a sweet mixture of tropical fruits and alcohol splashing over his tongue. He relished the flavor.
There were no responsibilities here, no guilt or fear. All was simple and perpetual enjoyment, but as he rocked in the shade, the last moments on the rooftop entered his mind again.
Billy tried to push them away. Had he opposed Malorius, he would have died. That seemed a certainty. All of his money and opportunity would have been wasted, and for what? To struggle alongside the Aegis in his final battle? To save Meredith’s life by sacrificing his own?
Yes, he had made the right choice. There was no reason to think otherwise. It was true that the heroes had somehow defeated Malorius, but had he stuck around, Billy may not have been so lucky. He’d played it smart. There was no reason for doubt.
Billy set the coconut on a small side table, looking at the mobile phone next to it. He could call. A simple dialing of her number could answer the questions that plagued his dreams. What had happened to her? Was she alive?
Local papers had carried the story of the battle, their headlines declaring Malorius’ defeat. The heroes had lived to receive the nation’s adulations, and the world seemed safe again, but the more personal account of his former girlfriend had never been revealed. Meredith had never told her tale, if she lived to tell it at all.
He shook his head. No. He couldn’t be thinking about this, not again. He was free of it all, living his dream life in paradise, and she wasn’t important. If she lived, fine, but if she didn’t, well, he’d taken other lives in his short career as a super criminal. He was beyond it all now. He was free.
Unfortunately, his freedom had brought the questions back. Without worries or responsibilities, he had nothing else to occupy his mind. Even the bronze-skinned goddesses strolling across the beach served to remind him of the girl.
One phone call, that wouldn’t be so bad. One call, and the question would be answered. His mind would be at ease.
He entered the number, hesitating before pressing the “Send” button. His thumb hovered, doubt clouding his mind. He closed his eyes, and with a gulp, pressed it.
A faint noise purred from the earpiece. It stopped, then purred again. On the third ring, a female voice answered. It was Meredith.
Billy hadn’t thought this far ahead, hadn’t prepared himself to hear her voice. He stayed on the line as she repeated her “Hello” twice more, wanting to speak, to tell her why he had left and what had happened. His mouth opened, but no words came. He pressed the phone again, ending the call.
With it, his true regrets began.
Chapter Forty-eight
Six months later, Red Cunningham again waited in the hospital, sitting by the bedside of his wife, Cynthia. It was late, and the adrenaline of rushing her to seek medical care lingered in his bloodstream. He grasped her hand, foot bouncing as he tried to burn away the unwanted energy. The constant motion seemed to make it worse.
Cynthia was resting now, her labor pains pausing after their initial surge. She was close to giving birth, all of the staff agreed, but the baby refused any timeline but its own. A little well administered medication had helped her comfort, and her eyes closed in a fitful sleep.
Red watched his wife doze, his anticipation lingering. The evening had held no respite for him, not even a nap, and the restless hours began to weigh upon his mind. Flashbacks of another night, not so long ago, seemed to replay in his consciousness, and those same fears, worries, and regrets threatened to resurface. He forced himself still, fighting the urge to roam the halls. That was as terrible a night as he had ever known, and he had no wish to reenact it.
He remained in his chair, listening to the soft music of Cynthia’s breathing. By contrast, everything now seemed peaceful and benevolent. His mind held worries for his wife and their soon-to-be son, but it seemed a different sentiment. Even knowing the risks, he felt nothing but promise. Their child was coming at last, and their lives would be forever altered. The Cunningham family was about to grow by one, and Red and Cynthia would gain new titles, that of parents.
He stuffed his good hand into his jacket and fingered the metal cylinder that Jack had given him. The sludgy goo inside generated a slight heat, and withdrawing it, a new illumination fought back the room’s darkness.
Perhaps it was time. While Sybil had helped him to control his powers, and avoid any accidental influences, he did not ignore the prospects that the liquid represented.
How many times would he be tempted to use his powers on his child? Parenting was hard, one of the most consuming responsibilities in the world. Would he find himself slipping under its weight? Would he crave relief so much as to control his own son?
He wrapped his hand around the parcel and unscrewed the cap, shading Cynthia’s eyes from the brilliance inside. The cylinder’s exposed tip culminated in a small needle, and he studied it, pushing upon the tube’s other end until a tiny bit of the fluid escaped. He pressed the point to his arm, its sharp end meeting, then entering, flesh.
Red pushed the liquid fire into his bloodstream, feeling the burn as it rocketed through him. His muscles pulsed and tightened, sometimes contracting in painful asymmetry. He gritted his teeth against it, letting out short gasps as the sudden anguish wracked him.
Still, he continued emptying the syringe until its plunger hit bottom.
Cynthia awoke as the last drops exited the hypodermic. She watched Red’s agony, and seeing the metal cylinder, understood what he had done. She held his hand as the change took him, and when it was complete, patted and caressed his forearm.
“You’ll always be my hero,” she said, comforting him and wiping the sweat that glistened from his forehead.
He nodded, reaching out and hugging her immobile body. “How do you feel?”
“Better,” she smiled, enjoying the numbing epidural. “But it won’t be long now.”
“Good,” he said, kissing her forehead as he leaned back into his chair. “I think I’m finally ready.”
She smiled.
They sat in silence for a while before the nurses came in to check on Cynthia’s progress. It was an easy, comfortable time, a calm before the storm of childbirth. After everything that Red had experienced, it seemed to him like bliss.
The memory of that small reprieve propelled them into the hours that followed. They held to it as the nurses guided them in bringing their next generation to life. Through it all, Red remained beside his wife, feeling a little of the helplessness that she must’ve felt every time he was away. He marveled at her strength, comprehending more than ever the trials she had faced. Although his understanding could not ease her current pain, his loving support never wavered.
At 4:23 AM, Red saw his s
on for the first time. A strange mixture of love, relief, and pride filled him as the nurses made certain that both parties remained healthy. A long ordeal seemed over, and another just beginning. He listened with relish to the infant’s strong cries. Cleaned and swaddled, the junior Cunningham was returned to his mother.
Cynthia held the baby, a wide, exhausted smile finding her lips. She looked up, tender pools gathering at the bottom of her eyes. “What do you want to name him?”
Red stared, beaming with his own fervent emotion. The project and the training, the long nights and threats of danger, the battles and the other preternaturals, he had faced them all without knowing this sense of accomplishment. It was true that the appeal of a superhero lifestyle had beckoned him, but in the end, this was everything that he needed. This was his family, the true key to his own internal happiness.
He thought back to that morning in the kitchen, and how it had changed his life forever.
“Jack,” Red said, remembering. “Let’s call him Jack.”
About the Author
Allen Kensington grew up on a small farm in rural Indiana, where the picturesque landscapes and relative isolation drove him to enjoy the genres of science fiction, fantasy, and horror. (He also has a bunch of dorky friends, so that doesn’t hurt either).
When not travelling other worlds, he reads books about history or hikes the national parks of North America. Halloween is his favorite holiday, and Donatello his favorite ninja turtle. Unfortunately, he has never dressed as a ninja turtle for Halloween.
Allen sincerely hopes that you’ve enjoyed this book, and that you will be so kind as to rate it on Amazon or your favorite fiction review website. Find out more about him, and his upcoming works, at allenkensington.blogspot.com.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
About the Author
Preternaturals: A Superhero Thriller Page 25