by John Jr. Yeo
“You mean you don’t want a chaperone?”
I glared at him, not needing to repeat myself. But he left the room with a frustrated huff, leaving me alone in the room to think about just how much longer I could stand without speaking to my son.
I was running out of the willpower required to do it.
18
Some Innocent Little Venting
Sunday, June 2 - 9:00 a.m.
The next morning was a quiet, drowsy Sunday morning. A night of recuperative rest and toxic flushes had me feeling a hundred percent better, but still anxious and cornered. But there was one wonderful high point that had me leaping out of bed, and it wasn’t the fact that I had amazing abilities or that I was getting approval to go on patrol without any of the others looking over my shoulders.
Today was a scheduled Skype call with my son.
I began the day with a quick stop at the medical lab to make sure that all of the poisons had been purged from my system, and then I sat down with Submission and devoured an omelet and probably more bacon than was good for me.
At ten on the dot, I was in Captain Eric Quincy’s private office. I was dressed in the bright orange prison jumpsuit they made me wear every time I made a call to home, so we could continue running the charade that I was a federal prisoner.
“Did you get hold of my sister?” I asked him anxiously.
“The conference call is all set up,” he assured me. “Just change clothes when you’re done talking, and come on out when you’re ready.”
It seemed like such a convoluted mess, just to speak to my sister and child. But I wasn’t allowed to let them know what I was really doing out here. So to keep the good colonel happy and keep my chances of eventually returning home alive, I had to jump through every stupid hoop they set up for me.
“Hey, honey.” Ann-Marie’s voice rang out over the computer screen before the image of her face became visible. When it did, I saw my sister’s face lined with worry and stress. “How you holding up?”
Perfectly fine, I wanted to say. I’ve made some friends, they’re easing up on the restrictions here, I fly frequently and I’ve saved a few lives and punished a few psychopathic criminals. I’m having more fun than I did before my best friend accidentally killed America’s most popular heroine, except for the fact I haven’t seen my son in over a month or spoken to him in two weeks.
“The food sucks,” I said at last. “But I’m doing okay.”
“Your lawyer got in touch with us a few days ago. She said that she really thinks she can get your hearing moved up to the end of June, and hopefully she’ll be able to get your case thrown out. That means you could be home for Independence Day.”
Wow. They really set up an elaborate cover for me. I didn’t even really have an attorney.
“It’s a bunch of bullshit charges,” I told her, improvising the script as I went along. “If I have my way, I’ll be home even sooner than that. Listen, I love you sis, but I’d really like to talk to Caleb.”
Ann-Marie bit her lip, nodded, and looked off to the side anxiously. I’ve known her my whole life, and I knew she was being evasive. Something was going on.
“Ann? Where’s Caleb at?”
“He’s getting dressed for church,” she said slowly. “He….”
“What the fuck’s going on, Ann-Marie?”
She looked me directly in the eyes and squared her shoulders, facing up to the fact that I deserved the truth. But she looked it was tearing her apart.
“Caleb has been putting off talking to you, Emily,” she admitted. “He’s confused about your situation.”
“It’s a misunderstanding,” I told her. “I’m going to beat this.”
“I think he’s ashamed of you,” she continued. “Dad was a cop, and you were a cop, and the first time he saw you wearing that prison uniform, I think it really messed him up.”
This was a nightmare. This was an absolute nightmare, and I could barely look her in the eyes anymore. If they just knew what was really going on with me, this divide between Caleb and I wouldn’t be festering. “Son of a bitch…”
“It’s a lot to absorb. He’s only nine, Emily,” she reminded me. “Well, ten. He’s ten.”
I knew I had missed his birthday last week, but this was the first time it had really hit me with a tangible force. I wanted to scream and wave my fists, but she would have seen the gauntlets that had attached themselves to my skin. So I stayed completely still, paralyzed by the crushing weight of circumstances that had exploded beyond my control.
“I’ll really try to get him to talk to you next Sunday, Emily,” she promised me. “And don’t worry about anything. The rest of the family thinks you’re vacationing in Europe to clear your head, we’ll sort all this out as soon as your lawyer can get you home.”
“I love you,” I told her with an emotionless whisper. I couldn’t even look at her while I reached towards the keyboard to disconnect the line. “I’ll be in touch soon.”
“Is there anything I can—“
I killed the connection, and the screen went as black as my spirits. I was losing my son. I was losing myself.
I needed to hit someone.
In the privacy of the small office, I changed clothes and stuffed the prison garb back in Eric’s closet. I probably shouldn’t be alone, but I didn’t want to stop and talk to anyone. Not even Eric, who had been kinder to me than anyone else here.
He was there at the door to greet me, and his face revealed a sympathetic and pitying expression. He started to say something, but he only exhaled uselessly.
My eyes were hot and wet, and I didn’t want to look at him directly. “Isn’t a federal crime to eavesdrop on a private phone conversation?”
“Colonel’s orders,” he said apologetically. “You know that. I have to cut the line in case…”
“In case I start blabbing about what I’m really doing here,” I finished. “Yeah, I know. It’s not your fault.”
“I’m sorry about your boy,” he offered. “I really am. But it’s not going to be forever, I promise you.”
“I wish I could tell him that.”
“Is there anything I can get for you? You know, we have a terrific base counselor you could talk to. She’s done wonders for Necromancer when he’s—“
“I don’t need a shrink,” I snapped. “I need to hit somebody. If you want to help me, get me a radio. I’m going out on patrol.”
“Sure, if Dr. Progeriat approves it,” he replied. “Anything else?”
“Yeah, I need to use a computer,” I decided. “I have to google an address.”
Dr. Progeriat wasn’t too happy with my decision to go out alone. If the colonel hadn’t flown off to Washington to get ready for his committee appearance, he probably would have put up an argument, too. But I wasn’t going to be stopped. I had to take out some aggression on somebody who deserved it.
Fortunately, I knew exactly who that somebody was. He was the man I had originally planned to have an extended conversation with just before my entire world fell apart.
It wasn’t hard to find Christopher Whitfield. I wasn’t as skilled at research as my friend Sadaf was, but someone as wealthy and connected as Whitfield was couldn’t stay completely off the radar. He owned several homes all over the world, but one of them wasn’t far away. It was a penthouse in New York City, and that’s where I was currently heading.
It would take me an hour to fly to New York. It was an easy flight, not having to worry about traffic or long winding roads—just a leisurely path hundreds of feet above the ground. The only thing that I found distracting was Eric’s voice buzzing in my ear, and it was getting more and more urgent.
“Emily, you’re not cleared for Philadelphia,” he was telling me. “You’re not even cleared to leave the district. Turn around…”
I removed the ear piece and stuffed it into one of the pouches on the slim utility belt they provided me. I didn’t want to take the radio in the first place, but they weren’t goin
g to let me off the base without one.
I know what they were worried about. I was flying directly over Philly, and they were worried that I was going to go back home. The truth was, the thought had crossed my mind. But I had promised them I wouldn’t spill the beans about Andromeda. Besides, my mission was to find the asshole that had been peddling kiddie porn. These were the guys that slipped through the cracks, beneath the notice of most police officers and certainly all of the super-heroes. I was going to find him, and teach him the error of his ways. Maybe break his arm and burn off his eyebrows, too. Haven’t decided yet.
Christopher Whitfield owned an apartment in a luxury tower on Franklin Street, in the Tribeca neighborhood. His 20th floor apartment gave him an undeserved yet fantastic view of the New York harbor. The building was also home to at least one Oscar-winning actress, a famous rapper and a celebrated television journalist. The front entrance didn’t just have a doddering old man in a fancy coat. It employed a phalanx of security personnel, high gates to deter intruders, and enough cameras to cover every access point on the ground.
But three things were in my favor that day. First, there were no cameras monitoring the activity on his spacious balcony. Second, the large glass doors leading into the apartment were wide open, but the only way to reach the balcony was with expensive grappling hooks or the power to fly.
Third, of course, was that I could fly.
On the balcony, a table had been set for breakfast. Whitfield must have been enjoying a little food with the sunrise, which explained why the doors were opened.
I landed by the table, and I was still surprised with how easily flying was coming to me. The more I practiced, the more I seemed to get the hang of maneuvering around in mid-air. By now, I could take off and land as if I’d been doing this my entire life. I wondered if the real Andromeda got used to her powers as easily as I had.
When a pale tall man with icy grey eyes came out onto the deck to confront me, I also wondered how the real Andromeda managed to resist the urge to toss pieces of shit like this off the twentieth floor.
“You didn’t go past security, did you?” It was a calm display of bravado, he didn’t want me seeing him sweat. Super-heroes don’t just land in your home uninvited, and I’m sure he knew the reason why I was there.
“You’ve been doing some very bad things,” I began. “Do you know what they do to people like you in prison? I’ll bet it’s probably even more disturbing than some of the things you’ve filmed for the internet.”
“You’re Ambrosia, right?”
I kept my hands on my hips, and just flashed him a raised eyebrow.
“Andretti? Anderson?”
“Andromeda,” I finally said impatiently. “As in, the galaxy I’m going to kick your ass into if you don’t go to the police and tell them what you’ve done. I really have better things to do than beat the hell out of you, but I’ll make the time if I have to.”
“I’m sorry, lady. I have no idea what you’re talking about, but the only crime I’m aware of is that you’re on private property. Why don’t you fly away back to your little super-hero club house before I call the media.”
Spoken like a truly smug, entitled dirt bag. When I was a cop, he’d be absolutely right. To be honest, from what I understand about Department of Superhuman Activities policies, he’s still absolutely right. But he caught me on an angry day, and I really needed to flex some muscles. With a snap of my fingers, I set my hands on fire. I saw his pupils widen, and I knew it was setting just the right tone of intimidation.
“All I have to do is snap my fingers, and Christopher Whitfield is going to go from albino to deep fried and extra crispy. Don’t piss me off.”
“Capes aren’t killers,” he replied, but he didn’t sound like he believed it as I hovered closer. “What they hell do you want from me?”
“Is this where you do it? Is this place where you film the movies you sell on the dark web?”
Whitfield took a step back, chewing on his bottom lip. He was starting to sweat, but he still trying to stonewall me. “You’re trespassing in my home with vague threats and accusations. You should know that I enjoy a certain amount of protection from harassment like this. If you know what’s good for you, I’d suggest that you go out the way you came and not come back.”
I was going to have the last word on the subject, and I was just pissed off enough to make some ill-advised choices. I looked at the table, thinking about how it would probably cost several months of a cop’s paycheck to afford it, and took a step closer.
“Nice breakfast table. What is it? Ikea? Target?”
“It’s a YumanMod, from Italy,” he said impatiently. “Now, are you going to be a good little hero and fly away, or am I going to have to make a phone call?”
This punk was really starting to piss me off now, and I wanted to send a message. With a snap of my fingers, the expensive wooden table burst into flames, and black smoke started pouring from the wood and into the afternoon sky. He ran towards me, but I tossed a warning shot of fire that burned his knuckles. I had my hands on the collar of his jacket before he had a chance to rub his burned skin.
“I need you to listen to me, and I need you to listen very carefully.”
“I don’t care who you are lady, you’ve just made a huge mistake!”
I backhanded him across the face, leaving a burning mark scorched across his cheek. The impact and his whining sounded immensely satisfying.
“I have solid evidence that you’re responsible for the creation, sale and distribution of child pornography. Whatever protection you think you had, I’m here to tell you it’s been revoked. If you don’t turn yourself into the authorities before that fire goes out, I’m going to come back and turn you into the world’s wealthiest eunuch.”
“You know, the real Andromeda was a lot smarter than you.”
Had I heard this guy right? He couldn’t be saying what I thought he was saying, so I tried to keep a straight face. “What’d you say to me, you little prick?”
“You’re definitely hotter, though,” he continued with a smug grin. “You have better tits, way nicer than those sad little fun bags she carried around. You ever thought about what sort of job you’re going to get after the League fires you?”
“Are you trying to make me toss you off the balcony?”
“When the League fires you, I’m always hiring. There are so many guys out there that would pay big money to see videos of you on your knees. You know, where you belong.”
I slammed my forehead into his nose as hard as I could. It hurt like hell, but I just wanted to shut this creep up. I think it hurt me more than it did him. He had a slight nosebleed, but he was still laughing, and my head was ringing.
“Yeah, you like the rough stuff, don’t you,” he went on. “You like the hard bodies and the big dicks, yeah? I could make you a star, baby. A wet, nasty, jizz-covered super star.”
I felt like I was going to throw up, and the only thing that would keep the bile from coming up was to toss this giggling shit off the balcony. While still holding him, I floated off the balcony and directly over the ground. I thought if I’d just scare him by holding him over the edge, he would shut the hell up.
“Say another word! Say one more word, you ugly motherfucker! I dare you to try and piss me off any more!”
Oh, you cape and mask types are so predictable.” He was laughing, barely noticing that there was no ground beneath our feet. “And people just love to tear their heroes down, they really do. Go ahead and drop me. All the cameras are ready to capture you in all of your fury and splendor.”
Okay, absolute full disclosure? Even after he was trying to antagonize me, there was no way I was really going to toss him off the edge of the balcony. I was just trying to scare the guy, and I would have at least been satisfied to see that smug grin on his face replaced by a look of sheer terror. But he was outright daring me to do it, and when I followed his gaze, I spotted the discrete camera in the corner of the balco
ny I hadn’t originally noticed. Either he had no fear of death, or he was just calling my bluff.
I dropped him safely on the balcony, and I at least got a little pleasure in seeing him bang his knee when he fell.
“If you don’t turn yourself in before sundown, I’m bringing the rest of my team here to redecorate the rest of your tacky-ass apartment.” The threat sounded emptier than I would have liked, and this prick knew it. But he let me have the last word, at least, and I flew off wondering if I had made a foolish mistake.
I was flying back to the Dome in Washington D.C., and my thoughts were wildly bouncing between my reckless antics at Whitfield’s place, and the fact that my own son didn’t even want to talk to me.
Colonel Bridge hadn’t given me much of a choice. I was partially responsible for the death of the world’s greatest heroine! If the government had pressed formal charges, no jury in the world would have let me off with anything less than the electric chair. At the very least, it would have been a life sentence in a supermax prison, and I definitely wouldn’t have seen Caleb again.
I was flying over Philadelphia, still dwelling on the fate that I was enduring, and I subconsciously began dipping lower towards the ground. I had ditched the earpiece hours ago. Without Captain Quincy or Colonel Bridge or any of the other voices able to bark commands at me, it was so tempting to just take a quick stop at a certain little green house in the suburbs. Just a few minutes would be all that’s needed to set the record straight.
Ann-Marie could keep a secret. Caleb could, too. He’s a smart kid. He’s my kid.
If I could just hold my kid for a few moments, I could keep up this charade for the rest of the world for a few more weeks.
Before I even knew what I was doing, I was hovering a few hundred feet above my sister’s house. My sister and her husband’s cars were in the driveway, which meant the whole family was probably there. Caleb was there, just down there and behind the door.
My heart was beating loud and fast, and my breathing was becoming faster. The thought of talking to my boy again was actually making me feel dizzy, and I knew that I was going to have to land soon.