by Ekeke, C. C.
Trench Coat did a sharp hand chop. “Ms. Malo will wake up in her home with a bad hangover,” he said. One flunky tossed Rhonda over their shoulder like a sack of meat. “Follow us, and she’ll join your friend, Walt.”
"Walt?" The name was an armor-piercing round to Quinn. “Where is he?”
Trench Coat sneered. “Which part of him?” he answered coolly, before his crew vanished with Rhonda through rows of grape hedges.
Soon Quinn sat alone holding Therese in the middle of the vineyard.
And the weight of everything came crashing down.
Helplessness, terror, and shock.
Knowing that poor Walt was dead.
And for Helena to survive, Paxton-Brandt had to get away with their crimes…
Quinn cradled Therese’s broken body in her arms and burst into tears.
Chapter 43
“Quinn? It’s me,” Hugo announced outside her condo. At ten past midnight, he heard two heartbeats inside. She and Longshadow were home. He frowned, knocking again. “We need to talk.”
At Genex Labs, Hugo had deposited most of their prisoners at the nearest St. Louis police precinct. It had broken Hugo’s heart not rescuing all thirty, but Paxton-Brandt’s ferocious paramilitary had arrived, nearly catching him. He’d reached San Miguel in just over two hours, almost shattering the sound barrier.
Once at Lady Liberty’s underground HQ, Hugo had shed his costume for normal clothes. Lying low there would’ve been smart with Paxton-Brandt probably hunting him. But Quinn needed the Genex Lab and Dr. Michelman data.
After downloading footage of the Titan clones into the thumb drive with the Elite data, Hugo had zoomed to Quinn’s in a gale-force sprint.
After over five minutes of knocking, Quinn’s heartbeat and footsteps finally neared. A quick shadow passed over the peephole, followed by several locks unfastening. Paranoid much?
The door opened slightly, Quinn peeking around it in loud dinosaur nightclothes. Her thick curls were disheveled. Dark circles ringed empty eyes. Her usually vibrant features looked drained of any vigor. “Hugo,” she spoke in apathetic tones, opening the door completely.
“Hi…hey.” Hugo shook off his surprise and entered. “Sorry for stopping by this late…” He watched Quinn close and lock the door with extra diligence. “You okay?”
The reporter trudged past him. “No.” The curt answer had no further explanation.
She plopped on the couch and leaned over, cradling her head.
“Sorry to…hear.” Hugo almost pried further, but that wasn’t why he’d come. He pulled out the thumb drive. “I have the motherload of Paxton-Brandt dirt—from Paxton-Brandt! They mindwiped and genetically altered The Elite against their will.” He was grinning his face off. “And I have footage of the Titan clones!”
Quinn didn’t look up. “Doesn’t matter.”
Hugo stopped smiling. In fact, he got annoyed. “Why not?”
Quinn lifted her head, eyes shrink-wrapped with tears. “The Paxton-Brandt exposé’s dead.”
The news caught Hugo in the throat. “Wait, WHAT?”
“Paxton-Brandt infected SLOCO Daily.” Quinn shook her head in defeat. “There’s nothing I can do.”
Hugo refused to believe this, or Quinn surrendering. “Yes, there is.”
Her eyes flashed. “No, there isn’t, Hugo!” She popped up and dragged him by the hand to her bedroom.
“Look!” The reporter jabbed a finger at her queen-sized bed. “Look what they did!”
Longshadow lay asleep on Quinn’s bed in a tank top and boxers. Fresh bruises marred the vigilante’s pale and pretty face, to Hugo’s dismay. Hastily tied bandages wreathed her waist, stained in deep red. Clearly, she’d been on the losing end of a fight, laying too still. A quick listen confirmed a heartbeat.
“Therese…” Hugo struggled to speak as anger clotted his throat. “Who?” Quinn’s temper deflated. “Paxton-Brandt kidnapped us, nearly beat Therese to death. She’s sleeping thanks to painkillers.” She stared up at Hugo, her vacant eyes haunting. “They took Helena,” Quinn confessed whisper-soft, as if someone was listening. “They’ll kill her unless I hand over everything…”
The response pierced Hugo through the heart. “Damn…” Paxton-Brandt had struck back.
Quinn was pacing. “They’re too powerful,” she murmured, more to herself than him. “Killed Walt… Could’ve killed me and anyone I love if they wanted. And there’s nothing I can do.”
Hearing this made Hugo angry. But not at Quinn. He stepped in the reporter’s path, forcing her to stop. He held the thumb drive in her face. “Take this.”
Quinn backed away like it was diseased. “I can’t—”
Hugo reached out, gripping her shoulders. “We’ll save your friend.”
Quinn’s eyes went saucer wide as she stiffened in his grasp, so petite and breakable.
“Paxton-Brandt can’t win.” He took Quinn’s hand and placed the thumb drive in her palm. “The fight’s only over if we win or surrender.”
Longshadow stirred in bed, then stilled.
Hugo closed Quinn’s hand and stepped back. “Keep fighting.” Remaining longer could put the reporter in more danger if Paxton-Brandt was tracking him. He prayed his encouragement had resonated.
“Don’t forget to relock your door.” He opened Quinn’s four locks in half a second before dashing off.
For safety reasons, he didn’t go home or to Lady Liberty’s HQ. Too risky. He headed to a safehouse in the heart of downtown San Miguel. Geist had given him access to three locations in case of an emergency.
The pitch-black room wasn't an issue for someone with night vision. Hugo parked in a seat before the safehouse’s command center, wrinkling his nose at the mustiness. This place hadn’t seen much use. Clicking one of the larger monitors revealed news feeds and threat reports all across California. Hugo would lay low for a few hours, then go home. He reclined in his seat to process today’s craziness.
He closed his eyes for a moment, only for a buzzing cellphone to rouse him. Hugo sat up, brain fuzzy. He checked his phone, seeing a text from Mom.
Mom: Where are you?
It was 4:09—in the afternoon.
Hugo shot out of his seat. Had he been that exhausted? He turned to leave. Yet, something onscreen caught his attention.
Rainmaker's silhouette-like physique dominated the monitor. The angular patterns decorating his costume burned bright blue. He hurtled through the air at frightening speeds. According to the news, he was headed for a northern Washington state supermax. OSA was on an intercept course.
Hugo glared a hole into the screen. “Rainmaker.” Lady Liberty’s orders came to mind. Except, he’d already left San Miguel last night to destroy the last Titan clones. Hugo considered which other heroes could stop Rainmaker. The Vanguard was on life support. The Extreme Teens were probably off shooting another movie or something. The Elite couldn’t be trusted. And the local Seattle superhero team, he’d forgotten their name, wouldn’t reach Rainmaker in time.
Fuck the rules. “It’s gotta be me.” Hugo raced out of the safehouse. Another of his costumes was stashed at home. He almost beelined to his bedroom but spotted Mom at the kitchen table.
Hugo braked beside his mother, startling the daylights out of her.
He laughed, which helped dispel his mounting worries. Better to check in before facing his biggest challenge yet. “Hi, Mom,” he announced, waving. “Wanted to show that I’m fine. Now I gotta curb-stomp this Rainmaker asswipe.”
Mom looked up at him, wide-eyed and dazed. “Sure.” She resumed staring at nothing.
Hugo scowled. First Quinn, and now Mom? “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Mom forced on a joyless smile. “Go save lives.” Hugo didn’t buy that, but Rainmaker and Paxton-Brandt consumed his thoughts. “Okay.” He made moves to go upstairs.
Yet his feet were welded to the floor. He couldn’t just ignore his mother’s problems. “No.” Hugo wheeled around and marched
back. “You’ve been acting weird ever since I told you about Zelda’s dad. Then Dr. Michelman’s visit.” He dropped to a crouch before her. “Talk to me.”
She stared back, really stared, into his soul. “I’ve dreaded this.” She closed her eyes for a long moment before continuing. “Dr. Michelman and I have met before.”
Hugo wasn’t surprised. “At school, right?” What was the big deal?
Mom gave a bitter laugh. “See… Before you were born, your father and I had split up. I didn’t believe we’d ever reconcile. He wanted to travel the world and make art. I wanted to settle down, start a family.”
Hugo didn't expect that. This had the ingredients of a long story he didn’t have time for. He didn’t protest, since Mom rarely opened up this way.
“One night, I was driving home from a nursing shift through downtown. A superhuman battle diverted traffic.” Her eyes grew unfocused as she relived this fateful night. “On a detour through side streets, I saw two injured heroes. One was near death. And as a nurse…I couldn’t ignore them.” She gulped. “Because of the risk to their identities, I took them home, treating both.”
Mom stood, forcing a rapt and much taller Hugo to do the same. “His other friend healed up within hours.” Slowly lapping around the kitchen table, she couldn’t meet Hugo’s fixated stare. “They stayed with me a few days until the more seriously injured hero could be moved. During that time, I grew close with one hero. We were lonely, and something clicked.”
Hugo went rigid. Mom was a super groupie?
“Then, his friend was healthy enough to transport,” Mom went on, forehead glistening in the afternoon heat. “The heroes left for a proper medical facility. They gave me their contact info in case I needed anything. Thought that was the last I’d see of them.”
Hugo had a good idea whom the heroes were. Dread seeped through his body. “December and Titan?”
Mom rubbed her arms. She was afraid. “Yes.”
“The nervous system injury that retired December?”
Mom nodded, still looking down. “The day after they left, your dad called out of the blue from Bogota, Colombia. We talked for hours and reconciled.” She smiled at the memory, tears budding. “I flew down to him the next day. Nine months later, you were born.”
Hugo now wished he’d ignored his mom’s behavior. Yet he was stuck listening to this terrifying tale.
Mom’s voice was thick as she leaned against the kitchen table. “We were a happy family, traveling the world. But a suspicion kept nagging me.” She grew angered at something unseen. “During a brief stay in Southern California, I contacted Ezra for some blood tests. I kept the results to myself.” She shuddered. Her eyes stabbed into Hugo. “Then your father caught me in a lie.”
“Over what?” Hugo managed to say, despite his bone-dry throat.
“One night,” Mom ran both hands down her face, “your dad saw you floating over your bed in your sleep. Since neither of us had the superhuman gene, he wanted to know how that happened.” Her shame was a tangible presence. “I lied and claimed ignorance. But he eventually learned the truth.”
Hugo staggered backward. He’d possessed powers before Titan’s death? That made no sense, unless… Hugo recoiled from that possibility. “When?”
“Two years ago."
Hugo’s mind wandered back to Dad’s suicide, a tragedy he’d learned to live with. But instead of picking at old wounds, the discussion ripped open new ones. Hugo’s head swam. “I remember the suicide note on Dad’s laptop,” he stated. The words had made no sense then. “He said: ‘Whatever you find out about me or yourself, I'll always love you.’” Hugo glared at Mom, vision blurry from unshed tears. "Did your secret make Dad kill himself?"
By her twinkling eyes, Mom was crying, too. “Your father was unwell for a while,” she admitted. “This made things worse.”
Hugo exhaled strenuously. “So you’re saying…” The words were so farfetched, he almost couldn’t verbalize them. “Titan’s my real dad.”
Mom’s features crumpled. “Yea…”
The single word punched Hugo in the stomach and out through his spine. The Central Coast Saint, the Almighty, was his biological father. Everything Mom revealed converged on this single, unavoidable fact.
Hugo flashed back to when his powers had manifested and Mom's reaction. As if she'd seen a ghost.
That vision of Titan saving his life? Just a dream...
Had Titan known? Had he even cared?
And poor Dad, or whatever Angelo Malalou was, couldn’t handle that truth.
More questions arose. “Zelda’s my half-sister?”
Mom nodded again with a sob. “Yes…”
That meant AJ was only his half-brother. Mom had lied to them both. Rage burned away bafflement. “Did Ms. Ortiz know?”
Mom looked away in greater shame. “She moved to our neighborhood so you and Zelda could grow up near each other.”
That hard truth struck Hugo even harder. Home suddenly felt unfamiliar and suffocating. Rainmaker was a faraway priority.
Mom reached for him. “Bogota…”
Hugo flinched from her reach. “Don’t touch me.”
The rejection rattled Mom. “I’m so sorry!”
“I can’t be here.” He supersped away from home, leaving a windblown, sobbing mother in his wake.
Chapter 44
Greyson floated miles above El Galaneño, levitating Connie and Diablo’s limp body overhead.
Wreckage and corpses littered the square below. Greyson avoided focusing on where Tom and Izzie lay. Residents finally emerged, tiny ants swarming the scene and the still-burning cars.
Greyson waited until another group of cars arrived, sending the citizens scattering back to their homes.
He squinted. Even this high, their strict formation told Greyson of their affiliation.
Connie nodded. “That’s them.”
Greyson smiled. “I see.” The American intel operatives who had forced Connie into their service. “Be right back.” Partially focused on keeping Connie and Diablo afloat, Greyson increased his own gravity and plummeted.
The ant-sized group below grew larger by the instant to where Greyson now heard their argument.
“No clue.” One burly man in fatigues crouched beside Brickhouse’s charred corpse. “They just vanished.”
Orr stood among them, smoking a cigarette. “Find them.”
Greyson landed in front of him. “No need.”
Orr jumped back. “What the hell—?” he barked, cigarette falling out of his mouth.
Nine operatives around Greyson drew their guns.
He scoffed. “Goodbye.” Energy flooded Greyson from head to heel, discharging a radiant shockwave of white.
The glow faded, soon after, revealing nine smoking skeletons.
Greyson looked around, openly content. Slaughter really is the best medicine…
Reversing his gravitation pull, he flew skyward.
Within minutes, Greyson was floating next to Connie. “Problem solved,” he reported, as if talking about the trash. Which he had.
Connie pulled him into a ravenous kiss. He savored the taste of her lips before drawing back.
“Thanks, baby.” Connie’s eyes shone, even in the dark.
He felt at peace, grabbing his phone from one of Connie’s pockets. “One more thing.”
His call was answered after one ring. “We have Diablo. Here are the meeting coordinates…”
Three hours later, Greyson and Connie stood within one of Delgado’s ruined processing plants. Holes from Diablo’s blasts punctured the ceiling, revealing cloudy skies. This plant was several miles from most towns, taking away Delgado’s home advantage.
Behind Greyson, Diablo remained cuffed and motionless.
Finally, an entourage of headlights blazed outside. Delgado soon marched in flanked by guards and his son, Hernando. No sign of Cristóbal or Dayanara. Greyson fought back laughter.
Delgado approached Greyson, surveyin
g the surroundings dispassionately. “Why here instead of my compound?”
Greyson met Delgado’s stare without wavering. “You placed dampeners all over your compound.”
Hernando smirked.
Delgado grumbled something nasty in Spanish before noting Connie. “And this?”
“My partner,” Greyson replied curtly. He’d rather not share much about Connie with him.
Delgado’s eyes drifted past Connie. “Diablo?” he asked, nodding at the limp figure behind her.
“Yes,” Greyson acknowledged.
“Why is he still alive?”
“To prove Diablo’s identity,” Greyson explained. “Then you can choose the bastard’s fate.”
Connie dragged Diablo forward. Excited murmurs bubbled among Delgado’s group at their adversary’s defeat.
“Take it off,” Hernando ordered.
Greyson squinted at these hard-bitten mercenaries before giving Diablo’s mask a hard yank.
The shocked reactions were varied and visceral. Hernando fell on his behind.
Delgado stared. And stared more. From afar, he appeared stone-faced. Up close, Greyson watched the blood drain from the cartel leader’s wizened features. “Is this some joke?”
Greyson wasn't fazed by the cartel leader’s venom. “No.” He gestured at the vigilante’s bruised and bleeding face. “Here’s Diablo.”
Dayanara Delgado trembled, hands cuffed behind her back. She unwillingly faced her father’s disbelief. “Papa…” she whispered.
Hernando looked from his sister to Greyson, climbing back up. His pain was uncomfortable to watch. “Nara?”
“Hija…is this true?” Delgado asked with icy composure.
Dayanara stiffened, then nodded. “Yes.”
That sucked the air out of the room.
Hurt contorted Delgado’s face as he fixated on his daughter. “Why?” The one-word question held so much pain.
Dayanara rose, her face a study of disgust. “I want you to stop selling death,” she demanded. “I want my father back. Not this monster you’ve become!”
The anger behind her words scorched down Greyson's spine.