by Drew Hayes
“Mary, I know this is hard to understand right now, but we humans are multi-faceted beings. For example, I can bake an excellent soufflé, but I am utterly incapable of writing poetry worth reading. See the conflict?”
“Actually, no, not really.”
“Good, because there isn’t any,” he replied. “Baking has nothing to do with writing, just as me being a criminal doesn’t mean I don’t love and worry about my son. It is possible to be a bad citizen and a good father.”
Mary took a moment to stir her tea, the desire to have something calming her nerves outweighing any residual fear she felt that he might have slipped something in it. This was Vince’s mind, so he couldn’t hurt her real body, and somehow she doubted that Vince finding her slumped over at the table suited his agenda.
“Okay, let’s strike a deal,” Mary said at last. “What are you willing to trade if I wait a little while to go have them wake up Vince?”
“You’ve been hanging around Nicholas Campbell too much,” Vince’s father said, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “I’ll give you three things: a promise, a bit of advice, and a message.”
“Sounds vague.”
“I could throw in another cup of tea,” he said. “Or you could listen to what I’m offering and decide if it’s worth it.”
“Couldn’t I just listen and then screw you over?”
“Yes, however I like to think our next generation of Heroes can conduct themselves with a bit more decorum than that. So what do you say?”
Mary added a bit of honey to her tea and stirred it in.
“Deal. Now start talking.”
165.
Vince came back to reality slowly, grogginess tempering his perception as he slowly sat up on the surprisingly comfortable hospital cot. The first thing he noticed was his blurry vision, but close on its heels was a sense of overwhelming thirst. Luckily, a blurry glass was shoved into his line of sight before he even had to try and articulate this problem.
“Drink it all,” Dean Blaine instructed unnecessarily as the student grabbed the glass and begun taking the water in over-sized gulps. “Mr. Weaver’s ability has the strange side effect of leaving its victims with cotton mouth, and the longer the duration of being under, the worse it is.”
The glass was empty in no time, so Dean Blaine refilled it from a carafe on a nearby table. This process repeated three more times before Vince felt there was adequate moisture in his throat to speak.
“Rich put me under.”
“While we generally discourage the use of powers on other students outside of class, in this case I think it was a prudent call. It seems you had a bit of an uncontrolled reaction at the news footage.”
Vince swallowed hard and felt a tickle of pain still lingering in his throat. “Did I hurt anyone?”
“Not a soul. Mr. Weaver reacted before the bit of fire you were releasing could spread. Once you were out the flames dissipated quickly. No one even got so much as a hot flash,” Dean Blaine assured him, handing over another glass of water. This one Vince sipped slowly, letting it wash over his throat in small increments. “They brought you here as soon as you were stable, and your friends have been watching over you ever since. In fact, once Mr. Weaver released you there was quite a tussle getting them all to leave the room.” That was an understatement if ever he’d told one. Dean Blaine had been certain that Camille Belden was going to scratch and bite before she went willingly. Only Stella and Violet had been able to get her to temporarily retreat.
“They wanted to stay?”
“Don’t be stupid, of course they wanted to stay. You have very loyal friends, Vince. Never doubt that. I just felt it would be better if only I were here when you awoke.”
“In case I was still out of control.”
“Yes, that is certainly part of it. I’m glad to see such is not the case,” Dean Blaine admitted.
“I owe that to Rich, I guess. He made a pretty incredible dream for me. I got to talk things out with my father and put everything in perspective.”
“Mr. Weaver only provides a template and a suggestion,” Dean Blaine informed him. “In this case, he told you to go somewhere safe and work through what you’d seen on the screen. He left you with a fleeting awareness of reality and a compulsion to make peace with your father. That was it, all the rest was you.”
“I think I still owe him anyway,” Vince said.
“Unquestionably,” Dean Blaine agreed.
“So, what was the other part? You said you only stayed here in part to make sure I didn’t lose control of myself.”
“I needed to tell you that what you saw on that television has changed everything,” Dean Blaine said, his voice heavy with responsibility. “It was bad enough when you had a potential connection to a deceased former Hero, but with the revelation of him being alive and the confirmation that he is indeed the man who raised you... the time to come will not be an easy one for you.”
Vince nodded and downed more of his water.
“I’ve been keeping most of the parties interested in you at bay,” Dean Blaine continued. “I will continue to do so as best I can; however, this has opened new doorways for them, ones that I cannot, and in all good conscience should not, block.”
“What will they want from me?”
“To ask you questions about Globe, to know about everything he ever said to you and what you two did together. They’ll be combing through your testimony for any clues that could lead to his capture. They will doubtlessly petition to bring in a telepath, but thankfully courts have ruled that no person can be forced to submit to a telepathic reading unless they are charged with a crime.”
“Couldn’t they just bring one in and not tell me?”
“They could, although that information would be equivalent to breaking into a home and recovering evidence without a warrant. Not only would it be inadmissible, it would invalidate anything connected to it. Still, there are some who would try it in a case like this, which is why I’ll be with you for every interview that is conducted.”
“You don’t have to do that, sir.”
“I most certainly do, just as I’d have to do the same for any other student here. While you are enrolled in the Hero Certification Program at Lander, you are all my responsibility. That means it is up to me to protect the outside world from your untrained abilities, but it is just as much my job to protect you from factions in the outside world who would take advantage of your relative inexperience. I assure you, while these interrogation sessions are likely unavoidable, they will proceed with everything on the up and up. That much, at least, I can still do.”
“Thank you very much,” Vince said, setting down his empty glass. “I’m starting to get the feeling this is about more than just Globe.”
“It shouldn’t, however it probably will be,” Dean Blaine said. “What you five students are, and more importantly what you were, has gotten a lot of people very interested. It was far more manageable before Mr. Clark’s outburst last year. We’ve still managed to contain any official leaks about your existence. Sadly, that doesn’t stop rumors or determined investigators.”
“So they want to know about the process?”
“They wanted that since last summer. No, what they’ll want now is to know exactly what the son of Globe can do, and once they realize how strong you are, the question will shift from ‘what’ to ‘why’, which is silly because no answer will satisfy them. That’s all to come; for right now you need to rest and recover. Final match is in a week, you know.”
“Oh yeah,” Vince said.
“I’ll go let your friends in now, before they decide to riot and cost me yet another door.” He was halfway across the room when Vince called to him.
“Dean, all this help. It isn’t just because I’m student, is it?”
Dean Blaine sighed; the boy might not have Campbell’s perception but he did have his father’s gift for seeing right to the bone of a person.
“Not entirely, no. Your father and
I were in the same class, and we worked together on more than one assignment. Before he was a villain, Globe was a friend of mine, and he saved my life on many occasions. Heroes help each other; it’s part of the code we live by. I can’t do anything for him, not since he’s just committed another crime on national television. So if nothing else, I can at least look after his son.”
There was no more talk before Dean Blaine left the room, leaving the door open to the flood of Vince’s fellow students clamoring through it.
166.
“Not so fast. I’ll have you know I’m a delicate sunflower,” Nick protested. Mary paid no heed, dragging him through the Melbrook entrance and over into the girls’ lounge. Snapping the door shut behind them, she paused to listen for the thoughts of Mr. Numbers or Mr. Transport. Both were absent, and with everyone else back at the infirmary waiting for Vince to come around, that meant they had the dorm to themselves.
Perfect.
“So are you going to tell me why you dragged me away from my buddy’s bedside or what?” Nick asked, flopping into one of the sizable plush chairs.
Mary paused long enough to gather her thoughts. What she’d learned from Globe, or even that he’d been there, all of it was too much to deal with. She didn’t know who she should tell, or how much she should reveal to other people. Too much could cause Vince to break down again, too little could result in an unexpected catastrophe. It was a morally grey area with large-scale implications, which was way out of Mary’s wheelhouse. Thankfully, she knew someone who felt right at home in these situations.
“I talked to Globe while I was in Vince’s head,” Mary told Nick.
“Can’t say I blame you; I’d be tempted too. Then again, my money says he was sort of boring given how Vince remembers him.”
Mary shook her head. “Not Vince’s memory of his dad. Globe. The real Globe. He was there, just like me.”
Had the situation not been so dire, Mary likely would have savored the look of genuine shock that came over Nick’s face. He leaned forward slowly, his hands coming together under his chin and a slight wrinkle appearing in his forehead. It was strange how with a few minute changes the carefree version of Nick could seamlessly evaporate away, leaving a very serious young man in his place.
“Tell me everything.”
So she did, explaining how she kept tabs on Vince in the dream, prodded him the right direction, went to check on him only to meet Globe, and how he asked her for more time with his son.
“I assume you did it,” Nick said as they reached that point in the story.
“With that deal? I’d be stupid not to.”
“Agreed. Were the results good enough to make it worthwhile?”
Mary nodded. “They were. And I didn’t see the harm in giving Vince a little more time with his father.”
“So what was the promise?”
“That he wouldn’t try to kidnap any of us again, nor would he allow anyone who worked for him to,” Mary recounted.
“Kind of a shitty promise now that we’re all watching for him.”
“I said more or the less the same thing. Then he reminded me that he’d just broken a heavily-guarded man out of a prison that was supposed to be impenetrable.”
“The man does know how to make a point,” Nick complimented.
“Indeed. He made another as well. What we are, and what we represent, it’s not a small thing. Many people are very interested in us, and it’s not impossible that they might try to kidnap one of us and hope he gets blamed,” Mary said. “So his promise only tells us that we’re safe from him, and that if one of us goes missing not to waste time chasing him down as a suspect.”
“I see the value, but I find it strange. What was so compelling about you last year that has now devalued so much that he won’t even try for it?”
“I get the feeling they hoped my kidnapping would succeed, but that they didn’t necessarily expect it to. Whatever piece of his plan that was, it seems like they’re past the part where it was useful. If he’s telling the truth.”
“From what you say, it sounds like Vince got his ability to lie or deceive from his father, so for the moment let’s assume he’s being honest,” Nick concluded. “Next was the piece of advice.”
“Right. This is where it gets a little weird. The promise was given to all of us. But you’re the one he wanted to receive the advice.”
Nick’s impassive stare gave away nothing; he merely motioned for Mary to continue.
“Globe wanted you to know that Vince is much stronger than any of us realize, and that his kindness is both the cage that holds him back and the key to unleashing his potential. Does that make sense to you?”
“Did he actually say ‘any of us’ in that statement?” Nick said back.
“Yeah. Exactly those words. He even seemed to emphasize them. Why?”
“Never mind for now. I need to ruminate on that for a bit before I can give a complete answer. What about the last one? The message?”
“That’s the one I understand the least,” Mary admitted. “Since dream-walking isn’t his ability, he had to call in a favor from someone who could get him there. He just asked me to tell Alice the name of the Super who brought him into Vince’s mind.” Mary started to say the name, but she was interrupted by Nick.
“Fuck!” Nick hopped up from the chair and began prowling about the room. “I’ve been afraid this would happen. You cannot tell Alice the name until after our final match. Promise me that, Mary.”
“Why? I didn’t even tell you what it was.”
“It doesn’t matter what it was, I already know what it means, and Alice will too the moment she hears it. The second that happens she will be completely unreliable, at least for a while. That cannot happen right now. Especially since Vince just became the confirmed son of the world’s most wanted villain.”
“So I should keep it to myself?”
“Only until after the final match. One week, Mary, that’s all I’m asking for. After that, not only can you tell Alice, I’ll even help deal with the ramifications. For Alice’s own sake, and for the rest of ours, especially Vince’s, please just give me one week.”
“Fine,” Mary said after a long moment to think. She’d come to Nick because she trusted his judgment in these affairs. It wouldn’t make much sense to throw out his advice, especially since he seemed to genuinely care. “So what about the rest of the information? Is there something we should do with it?”
“Absolutely,” Nick replied. “The first part is to get Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport in on this. We’re going to need a lot of help with the next step, because you haven’t even realized the question that should have dawned on you by now.”
“Which is?”
Nick stopped pacing and strode over to her, far closer than Mary was comfortable with. He leaned in and lowered his sunglasses, giving her a rare stare with his naked eye.
“How did Globe know that Rich put Vince under in the first place?”
167.
There is a common discussion topic posed by philosophers who fancy themselves scientifically capable and scientists who have gotten thoroughly drunk: What would happen if an unstoppable force were to meet an immovable object? The folly in this discussion lies in the inescapable fact that neither of these things can exist. Both imply a limitless amount of mass or energy, and even in a world where certain humans can occasionally bend the laws of physics, all things have their limits. That said, there are objects that, while not immovable, possess sufficient staying power as to make the act of attempting to move them a highly likely exercise in absolute futility.
Camille Belden, sitting in a plastic chair at the side of Vince’s infirmary bed, was currently such an object. She’d rebuffed the attempts by the healers to get her to leave by pointing out that, as a healer herself, she was not bound by things like visiting hours. She’d politely declined invitations from Stella or Violet to go grab a quick bite while Vince slept, though she had accepted the food they eventually b
rought her. Dean Blaine had popped back in at one point, and while he’d given her a curious glance or two, he’d made no efforts to convince her to give up her seat. Such was the benefit of experience: he knew a hopeless battle when he saw one.
Vince had been predominantly resting since the departure of the crowd of friends checking on him. Evidently whatever Rich did was different from sleep, because Vince had quickly realized how exhausted he was. The others noticed the yawns and left. Camille pulled up her chair and sat. She’d offered a weak excuse of staying in case he had any unexpected side effects and needed healing. She doubted even Vince was naïve enough to buy it. Camille knew she wasn’t doing a good job at hiding how she felt. Eventually, she would care about that.
There was no gentle holding of his hand as she watched him, nor any carefully placed touches against his forehead. Camille’s dainty hands lay in her lap, their tremendous potential to heal or hurt restrained with the lack of physical contact. Those sweet gestures were things a lover would do. That was not her. She had no illusions about her role in his life. Camille had gone to great lengths to cast herself this way, a pillar of support in his trying times, a friend he could always lean on. It meant she could always be near him, and the cost was that she could never close the final bit of space and touch him. Not the way a lover would. Not the way she wanted to.
Vince didn’t need a lover; there would always be women drawn to his strong character and simple, honest manner. What he needed was someone to watch over him, because despite all his good traits, the boy didn’t have more than a thin flicker of self-preservation. He would always charge headlong into situations where people were in need, not paying more than passing heed to whether or not he could actually survive. It was the thing that Camille loved the most about him. It was the thing she knew would ultimately kill him. There was no hope of changing him, of making him more cautious. Even if she could, that would just be a crueler way of killing off Vince Reynolds. No, all she could do was stay close and push back that inevitable day for as long as possible. What she might have wanted to be, to him, with him, in a perfect world, was irrelevant. Not when it was weighed against the risk of seeing him leave this world even one instant sooner than was avoidable.