As her bare feet slap down the hallway, I shake my head and look at Norman. “Watch her closely while I’m gone tonight.”
“Master Parish, don’t you see what you’re doing? I beg you, tell her the truth. You’re causing more damage than the Cartel ever could.”
I snort. “You don’t know the lengths they’d go through to get to me. They’re the enemy. Not me.”
“You hit her.”
I glare at him, the asteroid of anger burning through me again. My ears prick when I hear a dense thud. “What was that?”
Norman’s head tilts. “What?”
“That noise.”
“I don’t hear anything, sir.”
It comes again, and I walk toward the door. “What the . . . ?”
The sound of shattering glass has me sprinting down the hallway, flying down the steps two at a time. Cataline’s door is locked, so I burst through it, sending splintered wood all over the floor. The room is black and freezing. My eyes sharpen on her immediately. Through the broken window, wind swirls white gauze curtains around her as she drags a shard of glass up her forearm, a bloody trail in its wake.
“Cataline, what—”
“Stop. Stay away from me.” She switches hands, and red drops spill over her glowing white skin. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m done. I’m so done.”
I step toward her.
“Stop,” she says. “Or I will drive this into my heart right now.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying. Put that down, and we can talk.”
She throws the shard on the ground and screams, “I want to die. As long as I’m here, I’m already dead. Just let me do it!”
“You don’t want that,” I say with as much calm as I can muster. My heart is in my ears, and my blood is pumping as I take more steps. “You’re in shock.”
She tears at her hair with disjointed claws, smearing blood over her face. Glass crunches under her feet as she backs up against the windowsill. “I’d rather be dead than stay here another minute with no answers.”
“Cataline, my Sparrow, I will give you your answers. Just come to me.”
“Are you Hero?” she asks.
I suddenly understand the fear of all my victims. It combines into a mass in my chest and grows inside me. Fear that she’ll jump. Fear of the truth. If I tell her, her hate for me will be a living, breathing thing. I swallow it down. “Yes.”
“Oh, God,” she moans up at the ceiling. “Why? He was supposed to save me. Why?”
She climbs backward onto the cushioned seat with her palm out. “Stay back. You've done enough. You can’t fuck with me anymore.”
I ignore her, sprinting as she falls backward out the window.
My skin is sucked around my bones like shrink-wrap. I’m dry, like I’ve cried and bled everything from myself. I can’t escape the overpowering smell of blood, the metal-in-my-mouth taste, the thickness of it smeared over my hands and in my hair. Every choice that mattered was taken away from me. Only one was ever truly mine.
My decision ensures I’ll never see Calvin again, and the pain is so acute that I think I’m dying all over again. None of it was fair, least of all that I should be the one left with a broken heart.
“Calvin.”
“Cataline.”
I raise my chin toward the voice. He’s here. Calvin is with me, and wherever I’m going, I hope he’s coming. He speaks again, and I know if Hell is the final destination for what I’ve done, I’m not there yet.
“I know you’re awake. I can see you smiling.”
I frown. There’s black now, whereas before I saw nothing. Light is trying to get in, but I reject it. I’m supposed to be dead, but I’m only lying down. My skin is so tight, it suffocates.
“Open your eyes.”
And just like that, I do. Calvin is there, standing over me, looking terrible but still handsome. Scruff covers his normally smooth jawline, but all I can think is I could wrap myself up in him and live and be happy in his beauty. “Calvin?”
He nods.
“Am I dead?”
He shakes his head.
“No?” I choke out. My cheeks tickle, and I want to scrape at them, but my hands are heavy. “I don’t even have that choice?”
He runs his hand over his forehead and through his disheveled hair. “Fuck, Cataline. I know you don’t mean that.”
I nod that I do.
He lowers himself onto the edge of the bed. “Norman gave you something for the pain, so you might feel a little out of it.”
“What’s broken?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know how I survived that fall, but I must’ve broken some bones.”
“The medication’s for your arms.”
My bandaged wrists. I can feel the stretch of the wounds underneath, trying to reopen and swallow me whole.
“You didn’t fall,” he informs me slowly. “I caught you. You won’t remember. You were out of your mind.”
“No. That’s impossible. You were across the room.”
“I’m fast. I’m Hero.”
I shake my head as I struggle to sit up against the headboard of Calvin’s bed. “You can’t be. Hero is good. He’s a protector. He doesn’t hurt or kidnap or rape. You can’t be Hero. You’re the enemy.”
His face is passive. “I know. But it’s the truth.”
Everything is wrong. I hold my scratchy, bandaged wrist under my eyes to stem the tears. This can’t be happening. There were nights I prayed for Hero to rescue me. I sat by the window, waiting, hoping, silently screaming for him. But I’ve been living under his control all along. I bury my face deeper in my hands and weep as Calvin watches, motionless and rigid. “You bastard,” I say.
When the crying finally subsides, I wipe my nose and look up at him. There’s still nothing in his expression. I’m that way now too. I transfer the wetness from my cheeks to my forearm and take a deep breath. “Tell me everything.”
Cataline’s crushing grief comes with hollow, expectant eyes. There’s only one option left. Perhaps the truth will liberate her. Perhaps she’ll hate me after. She’s given me more than I can handle, and right now, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to fix the look in her grayish eyes. They sparkle but with nothing more than unshed tears. Behind the gloss, they’re just blank.
I pull a chair to her side and sit, pushing a hand through my hair and leaning my elbows on my knees. I start at the beginning.
“I told you my mother was a doctor, my father a scientist. They met while serving food at a homeless shelter in New Rhone. They were drawn to each other because they were both science-minded, but in their hearts, they were humanitarians.
“When my mom got pregnant with me, her mom came to visit. She went into the city one day to shop while my parents were at work. She was stabbed and mugged in broad daylight. After some time in the hospital, she was desperate to return home. My parents left the mansion to be with her while she recovered, but she died shortly after. My mom refused to leave, so they decided to stay in Fenndale, and that’s where I was raised.”
Cataline inhales a sharp breath. “So was I.”
“I know. My parents . . . smartest people you’ve ever met. They were experts in their respective fields with all kinds of awards. Until I was born, they had assignments all over the world. But what set them apart was that they wanted to do good. My mother loved being a doctor because she genuinely wanted to help.
“After school I always had activities—karate, tutoring, volunteering, baseball, and more. It wasn’t unusual, my friends did that stuff, but mine were nonstop. I didn’t know at the time that each hobby was selected with a greater purpose.
“Everything changed on my sixteenth birthday. I learned that during my mother’s pregnancy, my parents began developing a formula to take the human body to the next level. My mom was heartbroken over my grandmother, and my father, who loved her more than anything, didn’t know how to fix it. He blamed New Rhone, though he never said i
t out loud.
“They called the formula K-36 because that’s the number of processes it took until it was right. A few weeks after I turned sixteen, I got my first injection.”
“Your parents just injected you with some random formula?”
“It wasn’t random, Cataline. They spent almost two decades modifying it. We started with small dosages to ease me into it. My body responded well and essentially, I became superhuman. My senses are enhanced to an unnatural degree. My vision, for instance, is precise, day or night. I can get by on minimal sleep. I exercise to maintain stamina, but I’m more powerful than your average man. And it’s not only my body; my intuition is also honed.”
“The woods?” she asks, and I nod.
“It’s how I found you.”
“That doesn’t explain how you can survive getting shot.”
“My skin is dense.” I pinch my side as if to demonstrate. “It slows down bullets enough that they don’t fatally damage internal organs. The shooter has to be close for one to penetrate, and if it does, I heal quickly so I don’t bleed out.”
“You can’t be killed?”
“I can. It would take a lot, but I can. My reflexes ensure I’ve never been shot in the head, so that hasn’t been tested. And gunpowder, for whatever reason, is like poison to my system. Something about the way it reacts to the K-36. It would likely take days to kill me though, and bullets are always removed before it gets to that.”
“This is . . . I never realized Hero was different from us.”
I clear my throat. “That’s not all. The activities and extra classes were to turn me into the man I needed to be. I became a black belt to learn how to fight. Sports taught me coordination and teamwork. Volunteering showed me the rewards of selflessness. My parents, whether they realized it or not, instilled in me that the world needed this at any cost—even myself. But the supplement never promised to turn me into a hero. It only gave me the tools to become one.
“The injections have a downside. Above all, I’m human just like you. I have cravings, needs, urges. Those things are amplified. My senses get overloaded and as a teenager, I couldn’t control that part of it. I was often unstable—temperamental and angry one minute, emotional and sensitive the next. The stimulation to my hypothalamus makes me more predatory, aggressive, and sexual than what’s healthy.
“My parents worked with me tirelessly to manage my reactions to the never-ending stimuli. They believed in this fanatically. Almost obsessively. Together, we adapted, and at the same time, I learned of their intentions and expectations.
“When I was ready, I would be a guardian. I would serve justice for those who couldn’t. I’d protect, eliminate danger, keep the streets safe. It’s my duty. It’s what I was born to do.”
Cataline is watching me closely, but her expression gives me nothing. I glance at my hands. “They died in an unrelated lab explosion when I was seventeen. We’d been working for over a year, but I wasn’t ready. I needed more help. Suddenly I was on my own. One thing they’d drilled into me was that nobody could ever know my secret. It would turn into something ugly. I’d be condemned for it. I was to help, selflessly, without recognition, and that was all.
“Norman worked for us and had worked for my father’s family too. By the time they passed, he could concoct the formula himself. But I shut him out when it happened and turned to my friends. I handled my secret and my loss with drinking, partying, drugs, sex. If I injected before I smoked, my highs would take me to another world. They were so intense that sometimes I thought I could communicate with the dead.
“When I moved out of that phase—”
“How?” Cataline asks.
“I’ll get to that in a minute. Once I cleaned myself up, I realized my purpose. I have an obligation to this city. To my parents. K-36 is groundbreaking, and it’s saved many lives. Every night I patrol. Parish Media is to keep up appearances and to stay plugged into the real world, but sometimes I’m hardly a part of it.”
Even with the unloading of my life’s work and one of the world’s greatest secrets, Cataline remains still and unresponsive. After a few moments, she speaks in a controlled tone. “So what am I? A distraction? I’m supposed to be grateful for your sacrifices?”
I search her face, trying to make sense of her words. “No.”
“Then what does this have to do with me? And what’s your connection to the Cartel?”
With this information, she has the power to destroy me. Still, telling her was easier than what comes next. I sigh and scrub my hands over my unshaven jaw. When I hesitate, instinct urging me to flee, I’m driven forward by the searing image of Cataline’s blood seeping from her arms.
“If you watched the news, you knew I took out the Cartel’s leader a little over a few months ago. When I did, they started looking into me. I didn’t realize right away, because I didn’t give them enough credit. Since then, they’ve been after Hero with everything they have. They’re starved for revenge and information because they can’t get near me. But because of a fuck up a few weeks ago, they know my identity.
“I’m a lot of things, but like I said, I’m not immortal. The Cartel has manpower and is out for blood. I killed members of their crew hoping to send a message, but it only incited them. Within two weeks of my killing Ignacio Riviera, they managed to discover the one thing outside of New Rhone that has Hero’s attention. One other . . . weakness.”
After a long silence, she asks, “What is it?”
“Not what. Who.”
“Okay,” she prompts. “Who?”
“I told you when my parents died, I self-destructed. I numbed everything with alcohol, drugs, and girls. Something had to happen to put me back on track. One afternoon, I injected and was smoking quality bud with some friends. I was out of my mind. When we heard about the apartment building fire on the other side of Fenndale, I didn’t react right away. I knew this was the sort of thing I was supposed to fix, but I’d never done anything real up to that point because Fenndale was pretty quiet. I was scared shitless. I tried to ignore it, let the high take over, but I couldn’t stop picturing the burning building. The gravity of the situation began to cut through. I realized that if I saved even one life, then all my work, all my parents’ work up to that point, would be worth it. And I did. I saved one life.”
Tears drip onto her trembling hands. “Mine.”
“I should’ve been there to save them too. I didn’t reach the building in time because I was high and when I did, that slowed me down. You were a child. I rescued you first. I was too late for your parents. Their death is my fault.”
“Why don’t I remember any of this?”
“You were barely conscious. I was discreet because of my secret. Once I knew you were safe and there was nothing more I could do, I took off.”
Her shaking continues while pain and blame are clear on her face. Selfishly, this is why I never wanted her to know the truth. I made up excuses for hiding it from her, but this, here and now, is the real reason. I can handle her hating me for imprisoning her, but not for the death of her only family.
“There’s more,” I tell her, and she sniffles. “Do you want me to keep going?”
“Yes.”
“After that, it all finally connected for me. I understood my place in the world. As penance for that mistake, you would have a guardian from afar. It was for my parents and for yours. You were almost seven at the time, and I would split my time between New Rhone and Fenndale, checking in when I could and watching over you.”
“You—what? Since I was a child?”
“I don’t know if you remember—”
“The Andersons? That was you?”
“Yes. I found you under the bed. Promised you you’d be happy. I wish I’d taken you then instead of letting you grow up with that excuse for a family.”
“I moved to New Rhone,” she says and then looks up. “There was never anywhere else.”
“I told myself when you turned eighteen, my senten
ce would be served. But you came here, and I couldn’t stop. The deeper I descended into the pits of this city, the more corruption, murder, and rape I was exposed to. Protecting you from that became an obsession.”
She looks away. “I don’t believe you. It’s just not possible.”
“I ensured your job at Parish Media. I came into the office more often. I walked you to and from work, but you never knew it. I’ve kept you from being pickpocketed. Russ—the guy across the hall from you? He made you uncomfortable.”
She swallows loudly. “How do you know that?”
“He used to hit on you, even though he was married. But I was there, Cataline. I would’ve driven him out of town before he could put his hands on you.”
Her head shakes. “Why?”
“In the beginning I felt responsible. But the more I watched, the more you felt like mine.”
“Yours?”
“You had no one else but me. It’s a dangerous thing to feel needed that way.”
“None of this makes sense. You did things to me that . . . you kidnapped me. You’ve kept me here and . . . you hurt me.”
“I know.” I press my fist into my other palm. There’s no mark to show for slapping her last night, and I wish there were. I deserve to see what I did. But that isn’t what she means. “I had no idea that bringing you here would turn out this way. For so long I watched you, thinking you were mine. It’s not that I loved you, but that I felt like you belonged to me. Watching you grow up, saving you—I couldn’t be a part of your life, but I was intertwined with you. And you never even knew I existed. I thought I could keep you at the mansion and foolishly, design it so we never crossed paths. I justified it because I was keeping you safe from them.” I pause, still unable to gauge her reaction. “Having you finally in my possession was too much. I’ve learned to control myself, but you revert me back to the teenager who can’t handle his impulses. And since then, I’ve seen too much evil, killed too many people, and it’s turned me into this.”
“I’m the thing the Riviera Cartel wants.”
Hero Page 20