by Tom Andry
"Damn," I muttered.
I afforded Tay, who was now being handcuffed, one last glance. He had lines of blood seeping from his eyes, nose, and ears. The red of burst blood vessels replaced the white in his eyes, giving him a demonic look. His eyes, now focused, glared at me with raw, naked rage. I wished my look was filled with just as much hate, but I couldn't manage it. I pulled my eyes away and darted around a corner and toward a side exit from the hospital.
# # #
Chapter 19
I didn't care how much Flamer or Fire Arc or whatever he was calling himself these days loved his car - it was a piece of junk. The mostly white, except for the pink flames coming from the headlights, import subcompact seemed to have had only two modifications since its manufacture date. Obviously the paint job, but the second was an aftermarket muffler that made it sound like a souped-up go-cart.
I wasn't sure which of the two embarrassed me more.
I'd considered looking for my car, but I didn't want to hang around the hospital too long. If those cops got another look at Nineteen, I'd have a lot of explaining to do.
Well, not as much as Tay, but a lot.
I looked over at the seat next to me. Nineteen was sitting on the red blanket to prop her up to make the seatbelt fit a bit better. She was alternating playing with my hat and looking out the window. Her cheeks were flushed, though she looked more alert than I'd yet seen her. I reached over and felt her head. It was still hot. I'd hoped the heat I'd felt earlier was just a part of her power, but that didn't seem to be the case. I'd only given her the medicine about half an hour ago. Perhaps it'd kick in.
I sighed and turned back to the road. The girl was dying. Tay was a lot of things, including a dead man if I ever got my hands on him, but I didn't peg him for a liar. Plus, my new security system corroborated his story. I didn't have much time with her. And then I'd have a dead girl on my hands.
What the hell was I doing?
I shook my head, trying to clear it. I knew it may just be her power, but I didn't want to leave her. I didn't want her to die in some hospital or lab or fighting The Raven. Of course, I simply didn't want her to die at all, but that I couldn't stop.
Or could I?
A glimmer of hope flickered through my mind, sending a chill across my whole body. I shifted in my seat, my mind racing. A week ago, I'd have had tons of options. But after The Raven's attack on the Tournament, I didn't know who was still alive. And of those who had survived, I only knew of one who was definitely around. If anyone would know of someone who could help Nineteen, it was him.
But he was out in the 'burbs. Mel was right around the corner.
I glanced at my watch. Nearly eleven a.m.. Right about now, Mel Lepel would be getting out that great big, gold spoon to start his pre-lunch ritual. I shivered thinking about it. He didn't eat the processed stuff; he had his own hives on the roof. Ate it right from the comb. His affinity with bees meant he never got stung. It also meant he could, to an extent, control them. They didn't understand English or anything, but it had proven useful from time to time in my investigations.
I gritted my teeth. I wasn't so angry that he'd known the people involved, but that he'd kept it from me. I'd be back at the hospital with Liz if he'd just told me up front. I wouldn't have gone to Inhumanitas with Nissa, wouldn't have learned of her power, and she wouldn't be off with my ex-wife to face the most deadly super ever produced.
A tiny pressure on the back of my hand broke my train of thought. I looked down to see Nineteen staring at me intently. She didn't have that blank look she had worn since I'd rescued her. She looked...worried. She reached a tiny hand toward my face, but I pulled away.
"You don't need to do that." I looked intently into her eyes, well, sunglasses, "I'm not sure if you understand me, but it's okay to feel things. It's okay to be upset or angry. I don't need you to take that stuff away." I looked back toward the road, "I'm not sure what that asshole did to you, but forget all that. Forget everything he taught you. You aren't a weapon or a shield. You're not a drug to be used to distract from reality. You're a little girl. Just a little girl who deserves to be held and loved, not..."
I looked down as Nineteen put her head on my lap.
I swallowed back watery eyes, shaking my head. Just a child. One of nineteen...twenty if Tay was to be believed. Hell, maybe more. How could he watch one after another die? More importantly, why did he come back for her? But she'd fought back. It'd looked like she'd done worse to him than she'd done to either Nissa or me. Whatever bond he had with her was broken for good, it looked like. I sighed, trying to focus on the road.
Mel Lepel, or Spoon, lived in a multi-unit complex that was built in the shape of an L. The end of the long part of the L faced the street and afforded some off-street parking for a select few tenants, a luxury in this neighborhood. There were nine units in the two-story building, eight of which were stacked on top of each other. Mel's was the only two-story unit and it was all the way at the end, taking up most of the short end of the L.
I stood outside the door thinking, the red blanket I'd brought with me in one hand. Spoon was surely inside. He didn't usually venture out, at least not without his insect companions. I could hear them above me over the din of the traffic on the major thoroughfare just half a block from Mel's building. The fact that I could hear them at all meant that he was, in fact, getting ready to eat. I took a deep breath, steeling myself.
The real question was Nineteen. I wasn't sure if I should take her in or not. I certainly didn't want to leave her outside...not that she couldn't take care of herself. I looked down at her. Again she had taken my hand without my noticing. She looked up at me through her white, flower-rimmed sunglasses. I squeezed her hand softly. She smiled back.
Well, that was that. I wasn't leaving her.
I bent down and turned her toward me, "Now listen, Nineteen..." I faltered. I hated that name. "God, there has to be something better to call you." I looked her over. Her hair had washed out to a golden blonde, though the curls were even more pronounced. They were loose ringlets that pulled her hair up to her earlobes. If I had more of a mother's touch I'd have tied her bangs back in some way. As it was, she had to continually push her hair out of her eyes. Her white dress with embroidered flowers at the trim flared out at the bottom, but seemed perfectly natural on her. As if she was always meant to be dressed for church or as a cast member in a musical.
She reached up toward my temple again. I blocked her hand, but she grimaced. I wanted to stop her, but her expression told me that she wouldn't take no for an answer. I lowered my hand and she touched my temple.
It seemed nothing happened. No tingling, no pain, no pleasure...nothing. But Nineteen's glasses had fallen down her nose and away from her face and I could see her white eyes fixed on mine. Slowly, the black pupils appeared, followed by the blue of a summer sky. I was so transfixed by the transformation that I almost missed her eyes tightening slightly. Confused, I looked down to see the first really large smile on the clone's face. Wide and toothy, whatever she was seeing, whatever she was exploring in my mind, was bringing her the sort of joy that she should have been feeling every day of her life.
My lips pursed to a tight smile as a tear escaped the corner of her eye. I reached up and caught it, smearing it away on her creamy, white cheek. I ran my hand to her forehead. She still felt hot. Why hadn't I bought a thermometer?
Because I sucked at being a dad, that's why.
My breath caught in my throat. And there it was. The reason I couldn't leave her at the club, the reason I didn't want Gale or The Bulwark to get a hold of her. I wanted to keep her safe, sure, and she didn't deserve to die as a tool for someone else, but those were just side effects of the real reason.
Abigail.
My daughter had died at birth. I'd never even had a chance to hold her. It had shattered my marriage and changed the course of my life. But when I saw Nineteen in the hands of that madman, I couldn't help but want to protect her. It wasn
't for her; it was for me. I wanted my daughter. I wanted her so badly I'd latched onto this poor girl as a surrogate.
But was that so bad? No one did anything without some sort of selfish reason behind it. Surely in my hands, she'd be better off than...
Nineteen broke my train of thought by leaning in and kissing me on the cheek.
My mouth dropped open.
"Are you trying to tell me something?" I asked, my voice unsteady. "Are you trying to tell me it's okay? That you want to be with me?"
She only continued smiling in response, dropping her hand from my temple.
I pushed her hair out of her eyes and pushed her glasses back on. "Alright," I coughed, "let's get some of this in you." I pulled the medicine from my pocket and filled the dropper top. Nineteen dutifully swallowed the medicine. I felt her head again, hoping, more than feeling, that it was less hot. "Now, we're going to go in there. I don't want them to remember you, just like always. But don't hurt them. Believe me, no matter how much they want to, they either can't or won't hurt me or you. Is that clear?"
As always, she didn't respond. But at least she was smiling. It was something.
I took Nineteen by the shoulders and directed her to the side of the door. I stood and flipped the switch on my Inertial Dampener. If Mel had someone in there stupid enough to take a shot, it'd be at me. No one shoots at a child. I examined the door to make sure Mel hadn't upgraded his "security" system. Still a single knob and deadbolt. There would be a chain on the inside as well.
There is an art to kicking in a door. It isn't about raw force, it's about placement. First of all, only an idiot who watches too many movies rams it with his shoulder. All you're going to do is hurt yourself. No, the best way is to plant your heel just to the side of the strongest lock. This works great with interior doors, but exterior doors take a bit more work. I wouldn't classify myself as lazy, but there was no point kicking at his door ten to twenty times. Spoon probably wouldn't have the deadbolt locked most of the time, but there was a way to make sure.
I knocked.
After a few moments a male voice called out, "Who is it?" Mel's building was so old that the doors didn't have peepholes. There were frosted glass panels to one side, but I knew from experience that you couldn't see much more than a vague outline through it.
I held my nose, "Delivery. I need a signature."
Some more noise from behind the door, "Who's it from?"
I grabbed the blanket by the ends, making sure I could easily raise it to cover the doorway, "Listen bud, I've got a truck full of shit to deliver. You don't want to open the door? You can pick it up at the office. Just bring your driver's license. I'm leaving a note on the door."
I could make out Mel's congested voice, speaking rapid-fire, "Just get it already."
I smiled. If he was too paranoid to open the door, he'd be way too paranoid to go pick up the package himself. I heard locks and chains being manipulated. I watched the handle carefully. The minute it turned, I kicked.
What followed was the second part to remember about kicking in a door: never run in right afterward. That's a one-way trip to a broken nose. The door slammed into the opener, sending him stumbling back. It bounced back toward me and I kicked again, a bit softer this time. This sent the door fully open. The unfortunate gentleman who had opened it was sprawled out on the ground. When I kicked it the second time, it'd gotten wedged behind one of his feet. He was holding his head and moaning.
Things had changed since the last time I'd been in Mel's apartment. First of all, the bees had moved in. While I could still hear them from above me, now the noise was even louder from inside. The smell of beeswax and flowers washed over me. Strangely, I thought of bananas. Blue carpet, probably older than me, covered the floor. In front of me was a couch to the right, facing a small entertainment unit with a TV blasting video game noises. A number of controllers and consoles littered the ground between. Past that was a sliding glass door that led out to a small courtyard, a major selling point of the unit.
But the walls were where my eyes were drawn. Covered floor to ceiling with honeycombs, they literally crawled with bees. Bees dripped from the ceiling, from stalactites of comb. But mostly, they swirled around a bulbous form in the center of the room. Covered from head to toe with bees, it could only be Mel. There wasn't an inch of him visible. He looked like an egg made of bees on two small bee tree trunks.
I slammed the blanket up in front of the doorway just as the bees began to swarm. While not the physical barrier I'd have liked, bees can't see red, a fact that Mel had shared over one too many drinks. On the other side of the blanket, I could hear the bees hitting it. I could also feel them landing and the blanket's weight increasing exponentially.
I yelled over the din of angry insects, "Mel, call them off!"
From behind the blanket, "Bob? Is that you?"
"Now, Mel!"
Slowly, the weight on the blanket decreased. I had on my Inertial Dampener, but it wouldn't be much use against the bees. Sure, it'd halt their forward momentum, but once they moved slowly enough, they'd get through. And then the stinging would begin. Not to mention that they could cover me completely and perhaps cut off my air supply. The fact was, the bees would do anything for Mel; he was the ultimate queen. While it wasn't the sort of power that impressed other supers, it sure was intimidating to tippys. No one wanted to be attacked by bees.
When I judged that the majority of the bees had left the blanket, I took it down and shook it hard. The remaining bees bounced into the air and returned to the walls. Now, instead of the mass of bees in the middle of the room, stood Mel Lepel. The shape of a huge teardrop with legs, Mel's bulk belied his speed. He was tanned and leathery with an outline of sunglasses on his face. He wore black sweat shorts and a ripped, stained yellow T-shirt. All around him, angry bees swirled and swarmed. His voice always sounded like he needed to blow his nose. His eyes, deep set in the fat of his face, avoided mine.
"I know you're mad, Bob," he began quickly. Despite his bulk, he always did everything, including talking, fast. A side effect of the high sugar diet, I suspected. "But you didn't have to kick down the door."
"I wanted to impress upon you the importance I place on the information I need."
He swallowed hard, eyes darting, "Not sure what you're talking about."
"Community college classes paying off I see. Weren't you studying to be a crime scene guy or something?"
He scratched his head, a number of bees falling out of his longish, unkempt mop, and walked briskly out the back door. I was used to this sort of behavior. Mel rarely stayed in one spot for long, "Didn't work out," he called out, "teachers had it out for me."
I picked up Nineteen, stepped over the boy on the ground, and followed Mel out the back, "Or maybe they just didn't want to get continuously stung by your entourage."
"Not my problem. It's like a...what d'you call it...like them guys that can't see good?"
"Disability?"
"Yeah. That's it. Disability. I should have special dispensation or something."
Behind me, the boy on the ground rolled over, still holding his head.
"You don't really think I'm here to talk about your continuing oppression by 'the man' do you?"
Mel grabbed a watering can with a long spout and started to tend to his extensive garden of flowers that filled his back patio. The patio was not deep, but it was very wide. Mel had flowers of all shapes, sizes, and colors (except for red, of course) in planters as high as he could reach, lining the wall of the building on one side and the fence on the other, "I can't talk about that, Bob."
"And why would that be?"
He looked around desperately, "Can't say."
I pursed my lips. In a normal situation, I'd offer to buy him off, tit-for-tat or something. Hell, I'd probably paid for those classes he hadn't finished. But I was in no mood. "That's not good enough, Mel," I growled.
"Come on, Bob. This is serious. I really can't say."
I
set Nineteen down on one of the chairs around the table Mel had set up outside for dining when the weather was nice. A bowl of honey with a large piece of comb sticking out held his golden spoon. Nineteen looked at it intently, "I don't get you, Mel. I've known you for years. I've never seen you afraid of anything. These streets," I motioned around, "how many times have you told me they are yours? How many times have you talked about protecting your own? And you let this happen to Liz?"
"I didn't let nothing, man. You got to believe me."
"You know, she thinks it was one of you. One of your people. 'Just kids' she told me. But that's not it, is it? You're not afraid of 'just kids'."
He locked his mouth tight. Nineteen leaned over and put a finger in the honey, sucking at it greedily.
"Fine," I growled. "You think I'm bad? You think you'll get in trouble for telling me? Wait until Liz gets out of the hospital. When she comes looking for answers and you clam up, what do you think she'll do? Just give you a pass? Or will she cut off you and everyone you know? Remind me, isn't your mom still living off of her settlement?"
Mel stopped tending flowers, the bees around him slowing at the same time, "Yeah."
"Hmm..."
I let the silence grow. There was a chance Mel wouldn't talk. If that was the case, I couldn't do much about it. It was clear I couldn't buy the information out of him and if the threat of Liz pulling TOP support away from his mother wasn't going to do it, well, I wasn't sure anything would. If I was desperate I could come back tonight with a smoker and a suit and grab the hives off the roof. That'd get him to talk. But I didn't want to be that desperate. I didn't think I had the time; that she had the time.
Mel bounced between the flowers, smelling, stroking, and watering. I made a show of studying him, his expression pensive and unsure. When he finished, he moved to exit the row of flowers, but I blocked his path.