Wicked Revenge

by Gladden, DelSheree

  Anger squeezes my hands into fists. “But you have a guess?”

  “This was the council.”

  “You’re sure?”

  He nods. “I’ve led hits like this. I know their methods.”

  His body is as tense as a tripwire, but he’s better than me at controlling urges to run off and do something stupid.

  That thought spears straight through me and I feel as if the air has been sucked from the room. Chris is back at my side in an instant and grips my hand. “I’m so sorry,” I gasp. “I never should have run off like that. They tried to stop me. I gave the council the exact opportunity they were waiting for and Ketchup almost died.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t,” Ketchup says.

  My gaze snaps up to the doorway, where he’s leaning casually, a smirk on his face. I stare at him. I’m desperate to touch him, but terrified this isn’t real.

  “Actually,” Ketchup continues, “considering how things played out, I can’t really complain with the results. Sure, getting shot twice hurt like hell, but who doesn’t want to be a medical miracle?”

  “Nobody!” I snap. “Nobody wants to be a medical miracle!” What is wrong with him? Being an anomaly is horrible. It means there’s something wrong with you to begin with, that people want to study you and pick you apart.

  Ketchup frowns. “Okay, maybe all the tests do kind of suck, but I’ve literally never felt this good. Thanks to you.”

  Anger and hurt mix with the intense relief swimming through me right now, and I lose it. “How could you not tell me you had a hole in your heart?” I shriek. “What if you had just dropped dead one day and I had no idea what was happening? How could you do that do me?”

  Ketchup’s grin falters. “You had enough going on without having to worry about me all the time.”

  “What is wrong with you?” I shout. “That is not a good enough reason for not telling me!”

  Dropping his gaze, he shrugs. “You never guessed something might be wrong? I mean, I thought maybe you already knew and that’s why it took so long for you to admit we were more than friends. I thought maybe it was like all this Godling stuff. We both knew the other person’s secret and would stand by them through anything, but just didn’t talk about it because it was too hard.”

  “What?” I shake my head, completely at a loss. From the corner of my eye, I see Chris step out of the room, but I don’t pay him any more attention than that.

  Ketchup looks up at me, uncertainty in his eyes, and maybe a hint of hurt. “You never thought it was weird I got a lot of special privileges? What parent lets their kid have a ketchup sandwich for lunch that hasn’t been told their kid could die at any minute and they should just let me enjoy life? Or why my mom lets me do pretty much whatever I want, even when it doesn’t make sense? And, other people have asked me why I don’t play sports or train with you, but you never have. Seriously, how much trouble have I gotten into at school over the years and never really been punished for? You never wondered why everyone lets me slide on stuff?”

  “I…well…,” I stutter. “You’re too sweet to want to kick people around, and I guess I just figured you charmed your way out of all that other stuff. Your mom…she’s always been a pushover.”

  Breaking into laughter, Ketchup swaggers over to me. “I’m just too charming, huh?”

  “Shut up.” I look away, embarrassed I was so dense, hating the fact that I didn’t see it and make sure our time together was everything it could have been.

  His hand slides onto my cheek and he forces me to look at him. Brows pulled together, he’s being serious now. “You really didn’t know?”

  “No,” I say as tears spring to my eyes. “I would have done things differently if I had, and I’m so pissed at you for not telling me.”

  Ketchup smiles. “What would you have done differently?”

  “I would have told you I loved you a long time ago! I wouldn’t have wasted so much time trying to keep my distance.” Exasperation is thick in my voice, but Ketchup kisses me anyway.

  When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far, his lips pressing right next to my ear. “Wanna know what I would have done differently?”

  “Tell me the truth?” I grumble.

  He chuckles. “Nothing. I’ve loved my life with you, Van. Knowing it could end at any minute only made me cherish it even more. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just knew it would change things, and I didn’t want that. I wanted exactly what we had, even when I was frustrated with you for holding back. I wanted you honestly, not because I had a messed up heart.”

  “But, what if…”

  He shakes his head. “No what ifs. I learned that early. I’ve lived my entire life on the edge of death. My doctors told my parents sending me to school was a bad idea, but I wanted to go and they gave in. Doctors told me I should lead as anxiety free of a life as I could manage, but I chose you instead.” He chuckles. “There are a million different things I could have chosen that would have been safer, more logical paths that gave me a chance at a longer life. I made my choice to be a part of your life, if you’d let me, and I don’t regret that for even a minute. Healed heart or not.” He kisses me again, and this time I kiss him back.

  I want to stay in that moment with him, but he pulls back too soon and asks, “How’d you do it, anyway? When you were trying to help your grandma…”

  I gasp and start yanking at the blankets and tubes and wires tying me to the bed.

  “Hey! What are you doing? The nurses are going to freak out,” Ketchup says as he tries to restrain me.

  “Grandma! Ketchup, we have to get to her. I have to help her!”

  I feel his body go still and dread seeps in through every pore. “Van,” he says gently, “you’re not strong enough, and…it’s too late. She’s already gone.”

  Hot tears pour down my cheeks. “No,” I say, shaking my head. “No. She can’t be gone. I know how to fix her now!”

  Ketchup’s hands press gently to my face. “She was too far gone.”

  “You don’t know that,” I cry. “I fixed you, didn’t I? She can’t be gone yet. Not when I could finally save her!”

  “Van,” Ketchup says harshly, yanking me to face him. “You healed two gunshot wounds and a defective heart, and it almost killed you! Healing her would have been too much. Every organ had shut down, not just one. Her tissues were too damaged. You would have drained yourself of power and killed yourself before you even made a dent in what was killing her. She wouldn’t have wanted that. You can do a lot of crazy things, but you’re not a superhero, damn it!

  “You’re pissed at me for not telling you about my heart, well I’m pissed at you, too. If I could have stopped you from healing my heart, I would have, because waking up to realize I was fine while you were in a coma, and nobody could feel your hunger or power anymore, scared the shit out me! Nobody knew if you were ever going to wake up again, and I was losing my mind thinking you might have traded your life for mine. You already gave me more time that I was supposed to have. You aren’t allowed to die for me! Your grandma wouldn’t have wanted that either, and you know it!”

  Spinning away from me, Ketchup runs his hands through his hair, tangling his fingers in the black strands and pulling to vent his fear and frustration. I’m so shocked by his reaction and words, I can’t even attempt a response.

  “I’m sorry she’s gone,” Ketchup says, “but there are some people you can’t save.”

  Looking away from him as tears burn my eyes, I struggle to accept that. “Then what’s the point of all of this?”

  Sighing, Ketchup turns to face me. “I know Godling means demigods, but you’re not, okay? None of you are gods. Yes, you have power, but not to control fate or destiny or even everyday life. Every damn horse in this race thinks they have the key to victory, but they don’t. Godlings have the option to do either more good or more bad than the average person. That’s it. You can only do what you’re capable of, Van. You can’t save the entire world.”

>   “But,” I say quietly, “isn’t that exactly what I’m supposed to do?”

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Head and Heart

  (Oscar)

  Emily watches, biting her lip, as I pull the long sleeved, black shirt over my head and into place. Fear keeps her body tense, but there is a hint of something else in her posture. When I meet her gaze, she blushes. “I’m scared to death about what you’re doing tonight, but you look really good in black.” She giggles nervously, battling with the tears forming in her eyes.

  The last few months of our relationship, before the worst, before David and my parents, before the lies imploded, she and the knowledge I was going to be a father were the only things that kept me from taking my own life. Not out of depression or more mental illness than what I already knew I had. It wasn’t just the missing pieces that have made my mind a treacherous place, at times. Something was off from the beginning.

  Killing myself, that was a rational decision. One of the few I had during that time. I knew I was losing control. Putting my family, both the old and the new, in danger. From me. From enemies I had made. From Godlings. It wasn’t altruistic, or noble, or heroic. It was logical. I have always liked logic, along with truth.

  Knowing how much it would hurt Emily, how it would leave her alone to raise our child, made me wait. Maybe I was selfish. Perhaps it still would have been better to have done it. Spared my parents’ lives. Not destroyed my siblings. Allowed Joshua to be raised outside this chaos and evil. Put me out of my misery.

  When I look at the woman who inexplicably loves me, I feel mostly sure I made the right decision not to end my life. Joshua fills in the certainty even Emily can’t offer. Even with a damaged mind and brutal history of violence, there is a part of me that still whispers I should get to have at least some happiness in this life. Some good I can accomplish in this world to make up for all the pain I have caused.

  Hating that Emily is afraid, and I am the source, I reach out to her and she immediately wraps herself around me. My grip is gentle as I hug her, silently reassuring. Her tears dampen the front of my shirt and I feel my chest constrict. I fought Chris to allow me along tonight. Doubts that I should stay assail me, but I know this is right. I must go. Even with the risks.

  “How do people do this on a regular basis?” Emily asks as she wipes her face. “Spouses of law enforcement or military. How do they handle knowing someone they love could die at any moment?”

  Kissing the top of her head, I force my thoughts to center before I speak. “I am not easy to kill,” I say, “but I’m sorry for making you worry. This is too important. Their threat too great. I have to go.”

  “I know,” she whispers.

  “Not just for Van,” I remind her.

  She nods. “For me and Joshua, too. For all the Godling students here.”

  I don’t care a great deal about what happens to the rest of the Godlings. I do care about my family. Taking care of the people who hurt Van will help secure their safety. At least in part. There is still Isolde. She will be another night of waiting and fear for Emily. I regret that even though we don’t yet know where she is but, as with tonight, I can do nothing to change it.

  “Being with me is not an easy thing,” I begin.

  Emily reaches up and presses both hands to my face, directing my distracted gaze to hers. “Easy or not, I am with you. No matter what. I’m just scared. Not just that you’ll be killed, but that you’ll be involved in the killing and what that might do to you. I want you to come back safe, and I want you to come back still you.”

  “I have considered this,” I tell her. Pulling away from her, I go to the box of supplies Chris left with me. I had removed all the clothes to dress, but had yet to touch what was left. I have never liked guns or knives. Not only because I am weapon enough for any situation and feel that if I am too kill, it should be me actually doing it, not a tool to make it easier.

  Emily watches as I loop a holster through my unbuckled belt and secure it around my thigh. The barrel of some sort of gun disappears inside it and her eyes widen. She is silent as I add an ankle holster and smaller gun, then several knives, grenades, and various other death-dealing implements. Most would probably argue it is a bad idea to arm an escaped mental patient. I made my case to Chris and he agreed it was the best option.

  Turning to face Emily, I say, “Killing is not good, but killing alone doesn’t cause missing pieces.”

  “It doesn’t?” Uncertainty plagues her features.

  “Killing with power is what breaks me apart.”

  The more power I use, the worse the effects. For the most part. Killing my parents was worse than killing David. There was reason behind killing David. Goodness amidst evil. Killing him saved others. My parents were an accident. Guilt, shame, horror, all mixed with the devastation of killing with power and tore too much from me to be rebuilt on my own.

  “So,” Emily says slowly, “if you have to kill people tonight, you’ll use the weapons? Not power?”

  I nod. “Chris agreed it would be enough. I will be safe, and I will come back no more insane than I already am.”

  Sighing, Emily frowns. “You’re not insane, Oscar. You’re damaged from the life you’ve lived and the effects of the power being held in and starving your hunger for so long. You’re healing, though. You’re so much better now. I just don’t want to see you set back.”

  She is partly wrong, because I know I was not perfectly sane to begin with, but she needs comfort more than details. Kissing her gently, I pull back and tell her, “I will be fine. We should be back in a few hours.”

  Nodding, I know she isn’t fully convinced, but nothing will completely satisfy her worry. Turning to Joshua, I scoop him up off the floor and jiggle him in front of me until he’s laughing. When I settle him in my arms, my son grins at me. “Dada. Ba?”

  He pouts when I shake my head. “No games tonight. Daddy has to go help Aunt Van, okay?”

  Joshua sighs. I am almost positive he understands everything we say when we speak to him, which Cat confirmed is not normal—even among Godling children. Another secret, but not one I will complain about. “We’ll play later, okay?”

  His head bobs up and down, causing Emily’s to shake hers in disbelief. “How do you guys do that? He doesn’t understand me when I tell him things.”

  “He doesn’t?” I ask, surprised.

  “Definitely not,” she says with a laugh as she takes him from me.

  I am more curious than before, but the others are undoubtedly waiting for me. “Do you want to come down?”

  Emily shakes her head, worry blossoming on her features all over again. “I’ll probably cry if I do.” She laughs at herself, trying to shake off her fear. “Wil you ask Van if she’ll come up and play with Joshua while I do laundry?”

  Smiling at my wife, I am reminded again how I was drawn to her goodness. Terrified as she is about me going on a raid, she’s still thinking of Van being angry about being left behind and is trying to distract her. Both of them, probably. “I’ll send her up as soon as she finishes making one last plea to Chris to let her come.”

  Emily laughs at my sister’s predictability, then frowns. “He won’t change his mind, will he?”

  “No,” I say firmly. I don’t always agree with Chris, but on this we are both adamant. “She’s still not recovered. She’s staying here.”

  “Good,” Emily says. She kisses me on the cheek quickly and ushers me out the door before her fears can take over again.

  It is a quiet walk down to the lobby. Until I reach the adjoining hall and hear Van’s raised voice arguing with Chris. I shake my head and stalk toward them.

  Whatever pitch she’s making, it isn’t going to work. She knows that. I know that. Chris knows that. Yet, she still tries. I don’t have the patience or desire to listen to an argument which is pointless. “Van,” I say as I enter the open space of the lobby, “Emily would like you and Ketchup to entertain Joshua while she does a few chores.”


  Van’s head snaps around, glaring at me when she meets my gaze. “Ketchup’s not here.”

  “Is he still mad at you for healing his heart and almost killing yourself?” I ask.

  The tone of my voice isn’t teasing, though that is intentional on my part. I am well aware that Ketchup’s miraculous recovery has his doctors in a tizzy and his mother clinging to him. He hadn’t been around much in the three days since Van was released from the hospital. I don’t like needling her, but she needs to be distracted from the mission she isn’t going on.

  “No!” Van barks, then winces. “Maybe, I mean, a little. But I’m still pissed at him for not telling me about his heart, so we’re even.”

  “You’ll both get over it soon enough,” I say dismissively as I roll up my left shirt sleeve. “What you have not yet gotten over is nearly dying. You’re not going. Now go help Emily.”

  Van’s face reddens as she prepares to argue…again…that she should be allowed to take out the people who tried to take her out. She freezes when I rip a knife from my belt and sliced through my arm. “Heal me, and you can come.”

  She gapes at me. “What?”

  “You aren’t going out on missions until you’re fully recovered. Heal me, and I’ll let you come.”

  As the realization that I’m not joking set in, Van’s anger rages. “You know I can’t yet.”

  Sending power to my arm, the cut seals itself with little conscious direction from me. Leaning down to Van’s level, I say, “And you know you aren’t ready for this. Go upstairs and help Emily. Now.”

  She spins on her heel and storms away from me. When I turn back, Zander and Chris are both staring at me with startled expressions. I expect one or both of them to admonish me for taking such a dramatic approach, but Chris only shakes his head and says, “She’s been yelling at me about this for the last half hour. Thanks.”

  Zander chuckles before motioning to the door. “Everyone else is already in the vehicles. Let’s get this done.”