by C. S. Won
“Very much alive. The other one with him was his partner. Both were neo-humans.”
Gabe sat back down, eyes going wide. “Neo-humans? Then . . . the rumors? Morgan Duffy was right? He wasn’t full of shit after all?”
“That’s not even the worst part. The bomber—he can create explosions out of nothing, Gabe. Out of nothing.”
A long silence stretched out between them. Finally: “He can do what?”
“He can detonate himself through sheer force of will. He doesn’t need a bomb strapped to his chest. That’s his ability. He’s a literal human bomb.”
Gabe’s jaw loosened until it hung loose from the rest of his face. “You’re shitting me.”
Jae shook his head.
“Then did he—”
“I didn’t see him blow up, no, but I did see him building up for one as proof. I think it’s real. I saw no reason to think that he would lie about this.”
“And blowing up doesn’t kill him?”
“He can blow himself up all he wants, and it won’t leave a single scratch.”
“Mother of god . . . what the hell kind of power is that?”
My thoughts exactly. “And he only bombed the dorms just so he could get my attention and lure me in for a conversation.”
Gabe gave a double take. “Wait, he went through all that just so he can have words with you? Are you serious? He couldn’t just pick up a damn phone and call you?”
“Terrorists aren’t exactly the most logical of people.”
“What did he want?”
“He wants to engage in some sort of holy war against mankind, and he wanted me to join forces with him.”
Jae wasn’t sure how it was possible, but Gabe’s jaw managed to drop even further, almost past his neck.
“. . . War?” Gabe’s voice was thin.
“He thinks of humanity as flawed and inferior, so he wants to exterminate them, so neo-humans can rise up and right the supposed wrongs humans have committed.”
“I . . .” Gabe rubbed his brow, suddenly looking very tired. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it as if he thought better of it, then opened it again. “What did he look like?”
“He had a mask on so I couldn’t get a good look, but he said his name was Daniel Duffy.”
Gabe removed his hand from his brow, slowly. “Daniel Duffy? Did I hear that right?”
“You know the name?”
“As in, Daniel Duffy, the son of Morgan Duffy?”
“I . . . what?”
Gabe took his phone out and began scrolling through it. “See, right here: Daniel Duffy, only child of Morgan Duffy.”
“Let me see that.” Jae took the phone and looked at the picture. “This is Morgan’s son?”
“According to Google.”
That couldn’t be. Daniel looked Asian. It was a farce to call him Morgan’s son. They shared no resemblance whatsoever. The only way Daniel could be Morgan’s child was if he was adopted. The stark differences between the two were too vast to think otherwise. Father and son they were not.
But Jae took a closer look, almost squinting at the picture, and realized that Daniel was a lot more racially ambiguous than he initially thought. While Daniel’s hair shared the same color as Jae’s—black—and his eyes resembled Jae’s too, almond-shaped with dark brown irises, his nose, on the other hand, took after Morgan’s: sharp and beak-like, almost crooked. His lips were also thin, almost nonexistent, and his skin hue, while possessing an undertone of gold, was essentially pink, traits that he also shared with his father.
Was Daniel mixed?
Jae looked up Morgan’s personal history, and found that his wife—or former wife, rather, since it said she had died several years ago—was of Chinese descent. Further research revealed her name to be Lihua Zhou, before she had it legally changed to Becky Howell, then later Becky Duffy. Like an ornery fog being lifted, things started to become a bit clearer, and Jae finally understood where the ambiguity was coming from. But even so, despite sharing a few similarities, Daniel’s mixed characteristics provided him with an overall canvas that contrasted sharply with his father, and he definitely did not have the look of a stone-cold mass-murderer. Daniel looked more compliant than threatening, the type of man who found comfort in quiet solitude then bloodshed and chaos. His picture screamed Ivy League trust fund baby, not a terrorist. Could this really be the bomber? At first glance, and even many glances later, Jae found it hard to believe.
But then again, maybe that’s what made Daniel so dangerous. His blend of average, vague looks made for the perfect cover. Who would think to give him a second glance as he maneuvered in and out of crowds? He was just another plain face in a sea of already similar looking plain faces. No one would ever suspect this lanky kid to be a terrorist, and perhaps that’s what made him so scary and effective. It allowed Daniel to hide in plain sight, to operate without suspicion, to strike when no one suspected it. He could take as many shots at his enemies as he wanted to, and no one would even begin to know where to look to launch a counterattack.
None of this made any sense. His father, Morgan Duffy, had been campaigning excessively against neo-humans for months. If it came out that his son was the bomber, and a neo-human one at that, then the implications would be huge, especially if the mogul had prior knowledge of his son’s activities. Down the drain his credibility would go, and support for his opposition to the neo-human encroachment would fall apart in an instant. It would be a PR disaster. Too much was at stake for Morgan to allow his son to run amok like this. Either the bomber stole Daniel’s identity and was using it to harass Morgan Duffy, or he was Daniel Duffy and for whatever reason, acting independently of his father.
Or was he?
“How did Daniel get away from you?” Gabe asked.
Jae handed the phone back to Gabe. “The man that was with him, his partner, he was someone who could . . . I’m not even sure how to describe it.” Jae pantomimed a circle in the air. “Basically, his partner was able to create these doors, or rifts, out of thin air that led to an entirely different location.”
“Rifts out of thin air?” Gabe scrunched his face, pondering the statement. “Like a portal?”
“Exactly like that. A portal. Or gateway. Very much like it.”
“These powers are getting too weird for me, man. Why can’t they be more straightforward like yours?”
The chief waved them over, shouting that he needed their help.
“Looks like we’ll have to ruminate later. Duty calls,” Jae said.
Gabe placed a hand on Jae’s arm. “Wait. About what you said earlier, when Daniel asked you to join his group: you’re not actually contemplating his offer, right?”
Jae furrowed his brow. “Are you really going to ask me that?”
“People, as stupid as they are, are starting to become afraid of neo-humans, if they weren’t already, and people like Morgan Duffy, with his loud, shitty speeches, are not helping. If it comes out that the bomber was a neo-human, then the wave of hate that’s going to come down on people like you will dwarf anything that came before, and I feel it’s going to escalate into the war that Daniel Duffy wants. Hell, even now, I’ve already seen people glaring at you and whispering insults behind your back—you, of all people! If it comes down to people being forced to choose a side, then I can’t help but wonder—and I feel shitty having to say this, but I have to say it—if all that hate is going to push you in the wrong direction.”
“Listen, I get it. I can understand why people feel the way they do about neo-humans or even me. People like Morgan paint a pretty convincing negative picture of neo-humans, so they look at me suspiciously because I’m a neo-human too. I wish it didn’t have to be like that way, but I get it. So, whatever. Let them vent, I can take it. It’s nothing new for me. I’ve dealt with this sort of thing all my life. I’ll just continue to do what I’ve always been doing, and let my actions do the talking.” Jae placed a hand on Gabe’s shoulder. “I want nothing to do wi
th Daniel Duffy or his insane crusade. It’s the complete opposite. God willing, I’m going to do whatever I can to stop him.”
Gabe looked relieved. “I’m not doubting you, it’s just I don’t want you to get radicalized. Hate tends to push people to the extremes.”
“I won’t change. You’ve known me nearly my entire life. I’m the same man I’ve always been. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Chapter Seven
“I saw the rescue on TV. What you did was incredible,” Clay said.
They sat on the back porch of Jae’s home, reclining in their chairs, cold lemonade in hand. Shaded from the heat, Jae gazed up at the tarp of blue that covered the sky above, untarnished by any formation of nimbus, the sun a bright yellow orb. The expanse of trees that stretched before them shifted slightly with the wind, leaves sighing and branches creaking in movement, and it was there Jae saw Marlowe maneuvering in and around the tall trees that surrounded him, a thin stick in his hands as he swung it against imaginary foes.
“Jumping from that window must have taken a lot of guts,” Clay went on.
Jae waved it off. He was never comfortable with praise. “Would have been better if I was able to catch Daniel.”
“A man like that is difficult to snare. I’m surprised he even exposed himself like that.”
“Do you have any intel on him?”
Clay sat forward in his seat. “Not much. He was struck by the global storm last year like the rest of us, but nothing more revelatory than that. My sources knew nothing about his involvement with the bombings.”
“Do you think it’s actually Daniel Duffy, or just someone who coincidentally shares his name?”
“I can’t say for sure. If it is his son, then Morgan will have a lot to answer for.”
“Any background info?”
Clay shrugged. “Born into unimaginable privilege, and with the shiniest silver spoon in his mouth. The moment he drew his first breath, he was already wealthier than ninety-eight percent of the entire world combined.”
“Do you know if he had any problems growing up? Mental issues or disorders? History of abuse?”
“Sorry, I got nothing. Despite Morgan’s affinity for the spotlight, the rest of the Duffy’s are a very private family. Whatever issues or problems Daniel may have had were hidden from the rest of us.”
Jae sighed, and gave his lemonade a small swirl. The ice tinkled in his glass. “What could compel a kid like that to become a terrorist?”
Clay took a sip of his drink. “I’m not sure, but it’s a story I’d like to write about.”
A loud thwacking sound caught Jae’s attention. He looked over and saw Marlowe smacking the trunk of a tree that was torn from its roots—a tree Jae had pulled free from the ground weeks before. Chipping away at the bark with a focused intensity, Marlowe was enthusiastic in his work, the stick swinging in a steady rhythm.
“He used to play baseball. Batted cleanup for his Little League team,” Clay said.
“That explains the good swing,” Jae said.
“He was well on his way to breaking county records too. The next Hank Aaron.” Clay gave a melancholic sigh.
“It doesn’t make sense that the government would go after him. How can a child be a threat to them?”
“It’s me they want, not him, but that’s no consolation when Marlowe could very well be collateral.”
“Has there been any trouble lately?”
Clay shook his head.
“Any word from my brother?”
“I’ve been asking around, but no one’s heard anything yet. We’re all still waiting for a sign.”
“You don’t think that—”
“Naw. If something happened to him, then I would know.”
Cold comfort, that. If anything, it made Jae a bit more anxious, although he wasn’t sure why. He should have been used to this by now. He’s already waited twenty years to see his brother. What were another few days, weeks, months, or even years to him?
“Why haven’t you published anything yet with what my brother gave you? It’s a hell of a story you’re sitting on,” Jae asked.
“As I said before, I don’t have any context. If I went ahead and broke the story, I’d only be able to write the what. I need the how, why, when, and where to complete it. It wouldn’t make any sense otherwise. Plus, I need story attribution, mainly from your brother. He has to be willing to put his name to these claims. Otherwise, people will think it’s fake if I don’t back up every assertion,” Clay said.
“But if something were to happen . . .”
“I have contingencies in place. Your brother may have only trusted me with this information, but he didn’t say anything about me disseminating this information to people that I trusted. If something were to happen to me, then the story breaks. It’s not ideal, obviously, as the story would be incomplete, but it’ll be better than nothing.”
“Smart,” Jae said. He looked at Marlowe again, who was chasing after a squirrel this time, waving his stick around in frantic motions. The critter outran his pursuer with ease, sometimes even stopping to look back at Marlowe and shaking his tail at him mockingly before turning back to resume the chase.
“Why not leave Marlowe with a relative or friend? They’d have no reason to go after him if you’re not there,” Jae said.
“Then they’ll simply take him and use him as leverage against me. I can’t risk that. He’s safest with me. I can keep him hidden. Besides, I’m his father. He needs me. We’ve been through too much . . .” Clay trailed off, his gaze going towards the floorboards at his feet. He rubbed his lips with his finger and blew a sigh through his nose.
“Clay? Something wrong?”
“No, it’s just . . . damn.” Clay sighed again. “Osteosarcoma. Ever heard of it?”
“No.”
“Cancer of the bones. My son was diagnosed with it a year before the storm arrived.”
Jae was taken aback. “He was?”
“It started with his left knee, which swelled up to an unnatural size. He wasn’t sure how or why it got like that. Damn thing appeared out of nowhere. I thought at first it was just a sprain. At worst, maybe a tear or break that he didn’t realize he had or something. But once I took him to the hospital and got the bad news, I was floored. Cancer? My family never had a history of problems, and Marlowe was healthy and energetic. How could a boy so young and strong get cancer?”
“Jesus, I had no idea.”
“My wife, Mona, didn’t handle the news very well. It crippled her emotionally. She spent her days crying and confined to her bed and refused to even see her son. I did my best to encourage and console her, and I tried to convince her that our boy was going to get better, but she wouldn’t have any of it. She was committed to the idea that our son was going to die. I needed her to be strong, and she gave me the complete opposite.”
“Is she okay now?” Right when Jae asked that question, he realized that Clay never mentioned his wife before, not even in passing.
Clay flared his nostrils. “When I came home one night from the hospital, I found her gone, along with all of her belongings. The only thing she left behind was a note on the kitchen counter that simply said: I’m sorry.”
Jae was astounded. “She left you?”
“It was the worst thing she could have possibly done. I called everyone she knew, but no one knew where she had gone. Or maybe they did, and they were just lying to cover for her. I don’t know. But it wasn’t until two months later that I finally got wind of where she was. Turns out she was shacked up with an old high school flame of hers, now some hotshot lawyer out in LA.” Anger twisted Clay’s expression, although he tried his best to suppress it. “I guess she just wanted to be far away from the pain and misery of her old life. Couldn’t be bothered by that shit no more.”
“Damn. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“She twisted me up real bad, man. Real bad. It’s partly the reason why I got this.” Clay set his drink down and took out
his gun. “It pains me to admit this, but I didn’t get this gun to protect my family, although it’s the excuse I give now. No, I got this gun because in my maddest, darkest moment, I wanted to track down my wife and kill her, to punish her for abandoning her sick child when he needed her the most.”
“Jesus. Clay, are you serious?”
“I know how it makes me look, and I won’t blame you if you think less of me because of it. I deserve all the shit in the world for it. I feel like shit every time I think about it. The only thing that I can say in my defense is that common sense won me over, so I never went through with it.” Clay held the gun with both hands, turning it over. It made noises, faint clacking sounds that emitted somewhere deep inside its cold, mechanical belly. He put it away, holstering it in his belt. “But when I held this gun in my hands for the first time, I felt . . . righteous, almost as if it was filling me with an unnatural strength and confidence to carry out my plans. It fueled my lust for retribution. It nearly overpowered me.”
“How did you overcome it?”
“Time. In the days after I bought the gun, doubt festered, and clarity emerged. Like a cold bucket of water splashing on my face, I suddenly realized what would happen if I actually went through with this madness, and in my despair, I nearly turned the gun on myself. I was convinced that a man who lusted after his own wife’s death was unfit for this world. But thoughts of my boy stayed my trigger finger. Marlowe already had his mother abandon him, and he didn’t need to lose his father too. So I pulled the gun away from my mouth and vowed to use it to only keep my boy safe.”
Jae sipped his lemonade, slowly. Marlowe had stopped what he was doing and was staring at them, most likely listening in to what his father was saying. Jae wondered if Marlowe already knew about all this.
“Sorry I went a little morbid there. Talking about my wife tends to darken my mood,” Clay said. “It’s funny, because I still kind of miss her, despite everything she’d done. She may have effectively stabbed me in the back, and I may have lusted for her death, but we had a life together and shared a son. We were held together—well, once held together—with love and passion and commitment, and that’s the sort of thing that I can’t really brush off and walk away from.”