Eclipse the Flame

by Ingrid Seymour

  “He needed me and something that is NOT me chose to play the superhero for the wrong person. He was all I had left and now he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone.”

  “They will pay for it, Marci. I will make sure they do. He was just a boy. He was brave and wanted to fight, but he—”

  “Shut up!” I can’t take James’s anger, his empty words. “Shut up!”

  Something that James pulls out of his back pocket pricks my arm. In an instant, the ache in the middle of my chest goes numb. My hysteria dies with it. I blink several times, look up at James who takes me by the shoulders and gently lays me back down.

  “Rest, Marci. It’ll help you find the strength you need.”

  My arms and legs feel like remote appendages with uncertain functions. James brushes hair off my forehead and kisses me above my right eyebrow.

  I grind my teeth and, as I slip into oblivious sleep, I curse the pity in his gaze.

  * * *

  “You woke me up for this?” I say in a groggy tone.

  “Your mother will need you now more than ever,” Kristen says again. She’s standing by the foot of my bed, her previously pristine, high-end haircut looking anything but. I bet she’d kill for an appointment with a pair of sharp scissors. The circles around her eyes are so huge that, for a moment, I try to make myself believe James has been beating her. Fat chance.

  “Don’t pretend you know anything about my life, lady. You didn’t want us to be together. You’re probably happy he’s … he’s dead. Now you don’t have to worry about our relationship endangering our little Symbiot secret. Now I’m not a risk to IgNiTe and they don’t have to know there are freaks in their ranks, especially when their supreme leader, James ‘Flash’ McCray, is one of them. You’re a hypocrite. Do you think I’m blind and didn’t see there’s something between you two?”

  Dr. Kristen Albright is the master of cool. She doesn’t even flinch and, to her credit, doesn’t try to deny anything.

  “Xave was a good boy.” Her green eyes are steady and full of sadness. “He didn’t deserve to die.”

  My throat falls in the grip of a giant hand, and I hate her, hate her because she has no right to make me feel anything but contempt for her presence here.

  “I got to know him while he was here,” she says. “He wouldn’t want you to waste your life like—”

  “Oh great! Now you’re presuming to know what he would want. You know what? Just leave. Go to the hair salon or something.”

  “What a waste!” She walks to the side and drops a syringe on the end table. “Here you go. There’s plenty more where that came from, in case you’re planning to run from your problems forever,” and with that she walks out.

  I would curse at her, but, for that, I’d have to care. I don’t. She means absolutely nothing to me, except as my drug peddler, I guess. I grab the syringe, uncap it and stick the needle in my arm. Numbness spreads through my mind and body like a gift from some chemist god.

  As I wait for the world to blink out I wonder who they’ll send next, because this is definitely a pattern.

  * * *

  I laugh, really laugh.

  They’ve sent Aydan. Aydan of all people. He’s even wearing that stupid, white lab coat which now has his name stitched across the front pocket: Aydan Varone. The arrogant dick. He’s standing at the foot of the bed, in the exact place where Kristen stood just hours ago, or maybe it was days or weeks. Who knows? Who cares?

  If I’d had to guess who would be next, I would have said Clark, but, for all I know, he’s in the next room, lying on a bed like mine, struck by the same realization as me: none of this matters.

  Fighting or not fighting, both amount to the same.

  “Save it,” I say. “Whatever you’ve come here to say, just shove it.”

  “Classy.” One of his dark eyebrows arches against his pale skin.

  “Give me the syringe and get the hell out of here.”

  “This?” He pulls it out of his lab coat pocket and holds it up for me to see.

  My limbs ache at the sight of it. I crave the numbness, the oblivion its contents will bring.

  He uncaps it and pushes the plunger in one swift motion. Clear liquid squirts into the air. I sit bolt upright and watch the sedative form a momentary arch, then spill down onto the floor. He gives the plunger one last push to make sure all the liquid is out, then throws the syringe over his shoulder with a wicked glint of satisfaction in his black eyes.

  “There,” he says, “you can lick it off the floor if you want it that badly.”

  My upper lip twitches. Hatred seethes in my chest, tries to push its way into my unwavering stare. I’m imagining his heart in my hand, between my fingers, beating his useless life away, one thump at a time. Suddenly, red flashes in front of my eyes, a confusing network of tissue and bones, the inner working of a body. A throbbing heart! Primal fear seizes me. I pull back, shut myself to my despicable impulse.

  Aydan flinches and takes a step back, eyes open wide, betraying surprise for just a moment. His mouth opens to take a deep inhale. He makes a fist and pounds his chest with it, a quick, jump-starting type motion.

  He clears his throat. “Well, I guess the saying ‘if looks could kill’ becomes a reality with you. Nice. If you were to use that skill against your enemies, that is.”

  I shake my head—denying my murderous instinct and wondering why my skill has come to me at this moment. I am not in imminent danger, even if I’m in the worst kind of pain imaginable and Aydan is pouring acid into the wide-open wounds. Maybe I just hate him that much.

  He moves closer to the bed, his legs almost touching the foot of the mattress. He should be scared of me, running for the door, but he only looks disgusted.

  “They sent me here to talk sense into you.” There’s a mocking quality behind his words, as if he thinks I wouldn’t know sense if it bit me in the ass.

  He looks longingly toward the door, the desire for escape written all over his face. “I’m surprised that, with all that’s going on, they still give a damn.” His depthless gaze returns to me. “Because I sure don’t. There are too many people who need saving to worry about someone who’s too weak to fight.”

  Aydan pauses as if to let that sink in, then continues, “James is under the delusional impression that you can help IgNiTe, that you can help save our city. But he couldn’t be further from the truth. You’re wasting everyone’s valuable time here. He doesn’t want to accept you’re too self-absorbed in your own misery. How could you save others, if you won’t even save yourself? I don’t know what makes him think you’re worth keeping around.”

  He pauses and waits for me to say something, but my lungs are in hyperdrive. If I could, I would shout, curse at him, but I can’t. Oxygen is shocking me, too much, too fast.

  “At a loss for words?” he asks, his expression arrogant, perfect to cast in stone for posterity, if he was as important as he thinks he is. “Well, that has to be a first.”

  His eyebrows go up, giving me another chance to say something. Only curse words come to mind, nothing logical. Nothing.

  “You’re mute because you know I’m right. If you don’t get your act together, all you are is a waste of good space and even better time.”

  A vein throbs on his temple, blue-green behind his white skin.

  “You’re not the only one in pain,” he continues. “You’re not the only one who’s lost somebody. In order to get out of this one, we need to be the strongest we can be. Weak people are of no use to IgNiTe, to Seattle, to the world. It is survival of the fittest, after all. Humanity and altruism only exist when there’s a Starbucks around the corner. When the world becomes a jungle, the weak fall through the cracks.”

  My throat works. My lips move.

  “What?” Aydan asks. “Did you say something? Speak up if you wanna be heard.”

  “I am not weak!” I shout.

  Aydan opens his mouth to say something. He looks ready to tear into me, to tell me how worthless I
am, how he would rather be picking his nose than be here talking to me. But he stops. For a moment, he seems to ponder what to say. His face relaxes. All the fight goes out of it and morphs into something that, if I didn’t know better, I’d call kindness.

  He walks around the bed and stands next to it. His inscrutable eyes reveal nothing. His face is back to the usual mask of conceit and self-importance. He lifts a hand as if to touch mine. I pull away. His fingers twitch, then still as he presses them against the edge of the mattress.

  Jaw clenched, he leans forward ever so slightly.

  “Prove me wrong, then,” he says and walks out of the room.

  Chapter 14

  After Aydan leaves, I cry and cry and cry.

  I allow myself to be weak, to be the girl who lost her boyfriend and sees her future melting away into nothing, not even a miserable puddle in which to see the reflection of what used to be.

  I let grief, fear, anger, guilt, all my emotions, seethe in my chest. I rock back and forth, hugging my knees. I become what I’ve never been before.

  Weak. Frail. Pathetic.

  My hands shake with need, with the desire to lose myself in the dreamless, empty sleep of Kristen’s sedative. Pulling my fingers inwardly, I make fists and press them against my eyes. It takes all I’ve got not to jump off the bed and retrieve the syringe to see if there’s anything left in it. A metallic taste fills my mouth. Blood pools under my tongue. I swallow it even as I gag, wanting to spit out.

  My whole body trembles as I fight and, suddenly, I realize that the grief and tears don’t mean I’m weak. On the contrary, they are what I’ve been hiding from, what I’ve feared, thinking I wouldn’t be able to survive them. Except I’m still here. Even as my heart shrivels and shrivels. Even as the pain tears me down, and I put myself back together just to shatter again.

  It’s not easy, but it seems I am strong enough.

  Just as Xave said I was.

  You’re strong.

  You can take care of yourself.

  Strong enough to withstand the crashing waves of pain, the loneliness, the tears. Strong enough to face this reality fully awake. Strong enough to speak and shape words to make an oath against Elliot, Zara, Luke, anyone who dares call himself an Eklyptor. To make them pay for what they’ve done. Strong enough not to let my enemies cancel me out without a fight.

  Strong enough to shine through this darkness and not be snuffed out like a candle.

  Because I’m meant to burn. I’m meant to ignite the shadows.

  And so I will.

  * * *

  Hours later, as I walk into The Tank, where the large area is divided into clear-wall quadrants, I do my best to hold my head high and stifle the shame that keeps forcing my eyes toward the polished wood floor. I’m dressed in my leathers which I found folded on a chair together with my keys and cell phone. My lace-up boots were on the floor next to the chair and, now, reveal my presence with a tap-tap that echoes throughout the expansive area.

  The first one to notice me through the clear partitions is Rheema. She looks up. Surprise fills her dark brown eyes. Leaving her work behind, she exits the auto-repair pod and walks in my direction. I stop and wait for her, focused on her blue, grease-stained coveralls. When she’s only a few feet away, she pauses and smiles. Her eyes search my face, then, without words, she wraps me in a hug and holds me tight.

  At first, I’m stiff, reminded of all the reasons why she’s still here and Xave isn’t. I squeeze my eyes shut. My throat aches as if a white-hot iron has been pressed against it. When the urge to dissolve into pieces goes away, I remind myself that being vulnerable requires more strength than shunning all my feelings and sticking my head in the sand. I relax and pry my heart open, letting the tidal wave of emotions move in and out. It takes everything I have not to fall to my knees and beg for drugs, for shadows, for death, anything that would be easier than this.

  But it was my strength which Xave admired most. He told me that much. So I imagine armor plates clasping around my legs and knees, and I stay upright, return Rheema’s hug and spill not a single tear. She pats me on the back and pulls away after a long minute. With a final smile, she turns and leaves—never having said a word. One down. How many more to go?

  After a few steps, I spot Oso coming out of the kitchen area. A broad smile appears on his gentle face as soon as he sees me. I stop, trying to reinforce my armor, wondering if he’ll be the one to undo me.

  “Hey, little girl,” he says. “It’s a good thing to see you up.”

  “Thank you.”

  He seems unsure of what to say next, then he turns to what he’s comfortable with. “Are you hungry? You name it, I’ll cook it for you.”

  “No, not really, but I appreciate it.”

  He nods several times, then his thick hairy arm comes up and he lays a hand on my shoulder. “It may not seem that way right now, but it gets better. I lost someone, too. It’s never the same, but the pain eases up enough that you can breathe again.”

  I look at his boots. He pats my shoulder and walks away. The angle of his shoulders and his entire posture spell sadness; so much so that I doubt the truth in his words.

  I press forward. Kristen is in the lab pod, head down, nose practically touching the large notebook that rests on her work area. As I walk by, she barely acknowledges me. Her green eyes peer up for a second, then turn back to her work. She’s not friendly by any means, but not hostile either, which is more than fine by me.

  When I reach the computer pod where James and Aydan are so deep in conversation that they don’t even notice me, I clear my throat. James looks up. When he realizes it’s me, surprise flashes across his face, but he hides it quickly. He stands and gives Aydan a quick nod that looks like a “thank you” and an “I knew you could fix her” all rolled into one.

  I think a smile curves Aydan’s lips, but when I look closer, he turns away and rolls his chair to a gutted computer that rests on one of the many work tables.

  “How … do you feel?” James asks.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You were sedated for three days. It might take a few days to feel completely normal after …” He pauses, searches for the right words.

  “You don’t have to walk on eggshells,” I say. “I won’t fall apart again. I promise.”

  Strong. Be strong.

  James nods slowly. Out of the corner of my eyes, I notice Aydan’s hand become still and hover over the motherboard he’s repairing. His ear is cocked in our direction.

  “That’s good to hear, Marci,” James says, then sighs. “Especially since I need to talk to you.”

  I frown, feel my chest tighten.

  “I wish you could have more time to rest and clear your mind, but, as you well know, time isn’t a luxury we’ve had in a very long time.”

  “I know,” I say, hands locked tightly behind my back, fingers stiffening and relaxing compulsively.

  “Good, give me a moment to talk to Kristen, then we’ll go into one of the conference rooms.”

  He pats my shoulder and leaves. I stay back, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, looking in every direction except Aydan’s. I focus on all the pictures of geniuses he has taped to the server racks and CPUs that occupy the pod. A few of them have underlined quotes written in quick scroll. I get closer and read a few of them.

  “Reality is only an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.” – Albert Einstein.

  “Intelligence is the ability to adapt to change.” – Stephen Hawking.

  As I pretend to deeply ponder each quote, Aydan slips on a pair of goggles, then picks up a soldering gun and begins to deposit a few drops of solder here and there. His hands don’t look very steady. He must be tired. My eyes flick back and forth from Einstein’s frizzy hair to Aydan’s trembling hands.

  His words ring in the back of my mind.

  Prove me wrong, then.

  I don’t care for proving anybody wrong. I just want to prove Xave right.

  �
��No!” Aydan exclaims, setting the soldering gun in its stand. “Crap.”

  He picks up the circuit board and looks at it closely. After a moment, he straightens his back, rolls his neck and takes a huge inhale. I know just how frustrating this type of work can be, especially when you’re tired.

  Aydan pushes his goggles up to his forehead and bends his head over the circuits once more. On autopilot, my feet shuffle closer to him, curiosity getting the best of me. When he notices me, his head moves almost imperceptibly in my direction. I stop, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he acts as if he hasn’t noticed me and continues to work.

  Infuriating prick.

  And even as I curse him, I peer over his shoulder, thinking it would feel good to lose myself into work, doing some productive hacking or hardware rigging, anything to take my mind to better places.

  From the looks of it, he’s trying to replace the motherboard’s capacitor. There are a few key places where he needs to solder the leads. It’s delicate work, but nothing to cause him this type of frustration.

  “If I could just …” he says under his breath, pointing at one of the tight spots where he needs a connection. His index finger twitches. A strange crackle fills the air. The back of my arms erupt in goose bumps and Aydan’s jet black hair stands on end. I frown.

  Suddenly, a blue spark erupts from the tip of his finger, zaps and fries the small circuits in front of it. In one quick, freaked-out motion, he rolls back in his chair and jumps to his feet.

  “What the crap?” He looks back from his hand to the now smoking motherboard. His gaze drifts to mine, dark eyes round and full of questions and incredulity.

  “Something the matter?” James asks, returning from his discussion with Kristen.

  “Uh, not really.” Aydan frowns at the ground. I frown at him.

  “I just burned my finger,” he says.

  I turn to face James and, as I do, Aydan catches my gaze and shakes his head ever so slightly. I turn my back on him without acknowledging his request. I don’t owe Aydan anything. Why shouldn’t James know there might be some power brewing inside of one of his crew members?