by C. C. Ekeke
But the hatred in Dad's eyes increased. For the first time in months, Greyson saw his father’s true self.
He was lying the whole time… That realization killed whatever love Greyson held for his father.
Dad finally regained enough strength to speak. “You’re…no son of mine,” he snarled. “Never...were.” Hefting the cane over his head, the old man swung down for a knockout blow.
The cane stopped inches from Greyson’s face. Confused, Dad raised the cane and swung again. It froze mid-swing again. The old man struggled to attack, eyes ablaze. “What…are you doing?”
“Negating the cane’s gravity,” Greyson huffed, clutching his bruised ribs. He hurt all over. Blood spilled from his mouth, one eye half-swollen shut. Yet cold, nourishing hate forced him upright.
Glowering at this frail man, Greyson slapped the cane away with a lazy backhand and grabbed his collar. The old man struggled to free himself. “Let me go, freak!” he cried, fear dominating his words.
Greyson shook his head, holding Aaron fast. He searched inside himself for any remaining affection to Aaron Hirsch, finding nothing. “All I ever wanted was your approval,” Greyson said. He had no more emotions left to spend on this pitiful man. “I just wanted you to love me.”
Aaron opened his mouth to reply. Or shout for help.
Greyson slapped a hand over Aaron’s mouth. “Since I’m not your son.” A smile played across his lips that he couldn’t contain. “Then you’re no one to me.”
Greyson focused his power on the old man, squeezing on Aaron's mouth. The air in the room immediately began vibrating, heavy gravity pooling around them. Aaron’s eyes widened as his left femur cracked first, producing a muffled scream beneath Greyson’s hand. More bones snapped, each contorting Aaron’s face in deeper agony. Greyson held the old man still, drinking in every spasm. After several sickening crunches, Aaron’s frail body crumpled inward like paper. The heavy gravity collapsed Aaron’s lower extremities into stacks of shattered bone, meat, and blood. He let out horrific noises unlike anything Greyson had heard, soaring over the pulverizing of his own bones.
Greyson increased the gravitational forces around Aaron, showing zero restraint. The screams became wet grunts after Aaron’s chest caved in. The old man’s thin arms scrunched against his crushed ribcage. Aaron’s cheekbones cratered inward, jaw flattening. The choked grunts ceased when Aaron’s eyes burst, leaking blood and brain matter. Greyson gritted his teeth, amplifying the gravity until Aaron’s entire head imploded. He let the compacted corpse drop with a wet thunk.
Greyson stared down at the remains in blank fascination. “To think that held such power over me,” he murmured, smiling. Even though he was going to prison, Greyson was free of Aaron Hirsch.
“My God.”
The shocked voice turned Greyson about. He didn’t hear the front door open.
Greyson saw who’d arrived, and his heart stopped. “Oh shit…”
His presence dominated the room in that iconic costume—blue and grey Kevlar armor coupled with a goggled mask to cover most of his face. The Hurricane had arrived.
Even with his partial mask, the superhero’s bald-faced horror was evident. “Greyson.” Dr. St. Pierre gawked from Aaron Hirsch’s remains up to his former patient. “What have you done?”
Chapter 33
“What I’ve done?” Greyson repeated, a smile on his bloodied lips. He looked from St. Pierre’s horror to Aaron Hirsch's crushed corpse. It gave him such immense relief. “Well…” Greyson turned his attention on the superhero in his parents’ common room. “Dad and I played a game of show and tell. I told him I was a super. He told me how he really felt. Then I showed him my powers.” Greyson chuckled at his own words. Then he laughed hysterically. Greyson couldn’t help himself.
St. Pierre didn’t share the amusement. “You murdered your own father,” he stated quietly.
Greyson shrugged, still entertained. How could he not? “The bastard stopped being my father years ago. He deserved this.”
“Did Lauren deserve it?” St. Pierre approached, still favoring his injured leg. “I saw what you did to her.”
That sucked the mirth out of Greyson, setting his soul ablaze. “Is she...alive?”
“I’m not sure.” St. Pierre sighed. “The ambulance reached the apartment in time.”
Physical and emotional agony radiated all over Greyson. His vision swam in circles. “That…was an accident.” He glanced at his hands; they quivered. “I just got so angry and…I couldn’t stop.”
St. Pierre visibly prickled. “I cannot help if you don’t own your actions,” he declared, pointing at him. “Let’s start there.”
Greyson’s self-loathing quickly became contempt. “Like you helped Tom take the fall for crimes he didn’t commit? Like you protected Kathy and Big Izzie? Or Connie?” His anger rose as he named each teammate.
That retort struck St. Pierre like a slap. Even with the partial mask, guilt colored his features. “I’m here to protect you now. To keep this from getting worse,” he admitted, sounding so sad.
“Fuck your help!” Greyson shouted, aiming a kick at the crushed ball of flesh that was Aaron. It rolled away, stopped by the coffee table leg. “Lauren would’ve been safe if you protected us like you promised. She didn’t know any better…” Greyson’s grief knifed him repeatedly. Tears spilled again for the love he’d destroyed. “And I…I overreacted…”
St. Pierre shook his head, lost. “What are you talking about?”
“She sold out the rest of the team. Not Tom,” Greyson said hoarsely. “To protect me.”
St. Pierre flinched away from the revelation. “Oh my God."
Greyson stared at St. Pierre in his absurd Hurricane costume. To think he’d respected him at one point. Just like he’d thought Dad could forgive him. All that felt so foolish. “I should’ve never agreed to your call,” Greyson tilted his chin up in defiance. “You ruined my life.”
“I thought you all could shoulder the responsibility,” St. Pierre threw back, staying calm. “Clearly, I was wrong.” His sigh was heavy, resigned. “And no one made you agree.”
Greyson had heard enough. “Good God! You superheroes parade around like you’re some higher moral authority,” he exploded, gesturing about. “Titan couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. That Seraph chick is getting into barroom brawls. Those repulsive Extreme Teens only care about being famous. And you, the not-so-mighty Hurricane,” he said sarcastically. “You got owned by a bunch of overpowered degenerates, so you needed five rookies to do the job you couldn’t. Fuck you!”
St. Pierre absorbed the insults, standing stock-still. He nodded in slow agreement. “I can’t let you walk after what you’ve done,” the superhero said. “OSA is coming, but they gave me a head start. They also intercepted your mom and sister. For their own safety.” He tensed up for a fight.
Greyson snorted. All the power and anger bled away, leaving him empty. He was ready for the end. “Be my guest.” Greyson held his hands out to be cuffed.
That caught St. Pierre off-guard. “Then answer this.” The superhero relaxed, grasping at the dampening cuffs hanging from his right hip. “Where’s Connie?”
Greyson’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“She’s directly involved with the deaths of multiple citizens.” St. Pierre approached, holding the slim dampening cuffs. “If Connie runs, the criminal charges only get worse.”
Greyson dropped his arms. Connie was the last one left. He wouldn’t betray her. “I’m not saying shit.”
St. Pierre’s expression darkened. “Fine.” He reached for Greyson’s right arm to slap the cuffs on his wrists. “Connie was driving Lauren’s car—”
Greyson snaked a hand out, gravitational power fountaining through him.
St. Pierre cried out. Suddenly, he lay pinned down under escalating gravity.
“Correction,” Greyson growled. “I’m not letting you near Connie. You’ve ruined enough lives.” He held a hand over St. Pier
re’s pinioned body, increasing the gravity. The power coursing through him tasted pure and unyielding. Did this useless dolt think he could win?
St. Pierre struggled to rise, only to slump under his own body weight. “Greyson, stop…please.”
Greyson sneered, increasing the gravity. “Not until all your bones break.” And Connie was safe.
St. Pierre twitched. “Have…it…your way.”
A savage gust slammed into Greyson, bowling him over. He shouted as everything went upside down. The floor reached up to smack his face. Another whoosh lifted Greyson up, ramming him against a wall. Pain and panic washed over Greyson as the Hurricane ping-ponged him across the living room. Pictures and vases shattered, walls fissured, furniture flipped over.
Finally, the gales stopped. Greyson crashed down on the coffee table, its legs buckling beneath his weight. He lay breathing hard, body on fire. Turning his head, Greyson saw the compacted ball of flesh and broken bones that had been his father. Sickened, he jerked away and rolled onto his back.
St. Pierre loomed over him in full Hurricane mode. And Greyson knew he’d lost. “You’re right. I failed you,” the superhero admitted. He sounded weary, about to crack. “I failed you all.” With a twirl of his fingers, unseen winds swirled around them.
Greyson was floating again, helpless. The living room spun round and round with growing speed. At first, Greyson didn’t understand, until breathing became difficult. He’s making me pass out.
St. Pierre sucked the oxygen away, making Greyson’s rotating consciousness dwindle rapidly.
“The only way I can fix this,” he heard the superhero say before his world went black, “is make sure you’re no longer a threat to—ARRRGH!”
Somewhere in the dark, St. Pierre yelled. The spinning stopped. Greyson landed hard.
Everything swam, colorless and foggy. Feeling slowly returned to his extremities. Someone was shouting, but Greyson’s mind couldn’t comprehend.
“Greyson?” the voice repeated, a female he recognized. “Wake up.”
Greyson opened his eyes, gasping in sweet oxygen. Someone cradled him. He stared up at a lovely youthful face looking as scared as he felt. Greyson sat bolt upright. “Connie?”
His petite former teammate smiled. “Hi.”
Greyson scrambled to his feet, almost collapsing again from dizziness. Fortunately, Connie caught him. He then spotted St. Pierre sprawled on the other side of the living room. He’d been blindsided by Connie, no doubt using her enhanced density.
“What…why are you here?” Greyson demanded.
Connie scowled as if the answer was obvious. “I came back for you.”
Greyson almost lectured her about the risks. Then he recalled his near defeat. “Good.”
St. Pierre groaned and stirred. Connie grabbed his hand, pulling Greyson toward the front door. “Let’s go. Before he recovers."
A woozy Greyson saw neighbors’ lights igniting along the dark streets from the common room.
You’re not done. Lauren’s voice stopped him cold. He swiveled around, searching. Of course, the woman he loved wasn’t here. Greyson’s gaze found St. Pierre struggling to all fours. And he understood.
Connie was confused and concerned. “What are you doing?” She tugged him more desperately. “Let’s go!”
Greyson pulled free from her and approached St. Pierre. His next actions couldn’t have been clearer. “Hurricane will never stop hunting us.” He tapped within. His body began glowing bright yellow, radioactive energies swelling around him.
Connie’s eyes widened as she watched. “What are you talking about?” she asked carefully.
“You know what I mean.” Greyson stood over St. Pierre, burning like a sunrise.
St. Pierre looked up and scrambled backward on his behind. By how he clutched his ribs, Connie had injured him. “Greyson, no,” he pleaded.
Greyson was awash with churning light. Raw power roiled around his hollow soul.
“Greyson…” St. Pierre backed against a wall, holding out a pacifying hand. He was afraid. “Remember how you said you didn’t want to hurt anyone. You can still be that person.”
Greyson chuckled, remembering the day this false hero had told that lie. “That person’s dead. Just like you.” He thrust out his hands, unleashing a white-hot torrent.
A chilling shriek proceeded the blinding flash, and it was over. A gaping hole remained in the living room wall, and burnt shadows of Hurricane’s body.
Greyson exhaled loudly. God, that felt even better than killing Aaron. He turned around to Connie. Her eyes were glued on Dr. St. Pierre’s remains.
“You okay?”
She looked up and nodded. “Great.” Her voice had gone three decibels higher. Connie’s afraid of you.
“Good.” Greyson grabbed her hand. Scared as she was, Connie didn’t resist him pulling her toward the door. “We're leaving.”
When they stepped outside, almost all the neighboring lights were on. Curious folks were stepping onto their front yards to see the commotion. In the distance, Greyson heard approaching sirens. The desire to surrender was gone. Greyson wanted to live. But staying in St. Louis meant imprisonment. Or death.
Connie moved toward Lauren’s car, parked on the street.
Greyson stiffened and drew her away. “Not the car. OSA knows you’re driving it.” He scooped Connie into his arms, like the other day. Focusing intensely, Greyson negated the gravity around them and rocketed into the skies.
There was no grief or joy or pain flying away from Chesterfield one last time. He felt nothing.
Chapter 34
Hugo’s life had been boringly normal these last three days. Keeping a low profile, doing classwork, hanging with friends. Being a normal teenager. Hugo even walked at normal speed to and from school. The school’s investigations still hadn’t found who’d attacked Baz, TJ, and DeDamien. And from what Hugo overheard, Baz remained silent on whomever had attacked him.
But the cloud of Fall Fling remained heavy over Paso High. Hugo could feel eyes watching him all over school. Mr. Combs remained convinced of Hugo’s guilt, even though other school officials weren’t. A few basketball players, mainly Cody Banks and Lionel Wagner, eyed Hugo with muted hatred. But others, like Taylor von Stratton and Jordana, devolved into a flurry of whispering and giggling when crossing his path. Hugo had his Fall Fling performance to thank, one good outcome from that awful night. Hugo smiled and waved, causing more giggles and lustful whispers he couldn’t unhear. Though his heart remained for Presley, who he’d avoided since Sunday, Hugo couldn’t shake his horrible suspicions about her. He promised to meet at Presley’s on Friday for a much-needed talk. Yet as each day passed, Hugo felt more terror at what he’d learn.
Fall Fling had affected someone else positively. With Baz injured, Brent was now a starting point guard. That left him rife with insecurities. “I wanted to earn this another way,” Brent fretted at lunch. “Now I’m just keeping Baz’s seat warm.”
Hugo popped up in annoyance, getting in his friend’s face. “That attitude? Not cool. Your coaches could’ve chosen someone else, right?”
Brent frowned. “Right.”
“Meaning, they see something in you beyond that left jump shot,” Hugo jabbed at Brent’s chest. “Don’t be Baz’s substitute. Own that you’re the best varsity player on the team. No one can tell you that except you. Every game, go shove your talent down everyone’s goddamn throats until they choke. We clear?”
Brent gaped at him, as did Raphael and Simon nearby. “Yes, sir.”
Hugo patted his friend’s shoulder. “Alright.” Given his role in this promotion, a pep talk seemed apropos.
Then Brent ruined the moment, by being Brent. “Are you secretly Santa Claus? Cuz you slayed that speech.” He raised his fist for a bump. “Ring that bell, brosef.”
Scowling, Hugo turned and left.
“C’mon!” Brent called over Simon’s howling laughter. “That wasn’t too corny.”
“Oh
, it was,” Raphael snarked.
Later that day, Hugo walked home at normal speed. His mind was awash with homework and dance practice with the Fab Phenoms for the first time in ages. Three houses from home, Hugo spotted a familiar Volkswagen van outside his house, rusted yellow and white.
He’d seen that a few times before at… His eyes widened. “Presley’s." Hugo focused his hearing on his house. Mom and AJ were home…along with Vargas, Paul, Nikilesh, Thin Shady, Gabby, and Presley. It took every iota of control for Hugo not to superspeed home in broad daylight. Instead, he sprinted down the sidewalk…at normal speed. Panic twisted him up at how long regular running took, and what might happen. Would Presley hurt his family? The realization chilled Hugo as he finally reached his front door, about to kick it down.
Thankfully, AJ opened it first, leaving Hugo standing with one leg in the air.
AJ scowled. “What are you doing, Bogie?”
Hugo awkwardly lowered his leg and looked AJ over. He seemed fine. “Are you guys okay?”
“Why wouldn’t we be?” AJ asked after locking the door. He trailed behind Hugo’s urgent strides.
Hugo tossed his backpack on the couch. Laughter and conversations spilled from the kitchen. “Your friends are here BTW,” AJ announced. “One of them said you were at the door. Is he a telepath?”
Hugo placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Stay in the living room, okay? No questions.”
The younger Malalou scowled but did as asked. “You’re so weird.”
As Hugo entered the kitchen, seven heads turned. All discussions stopped
Mom was holding court with Presley and her crew, serving leftover lasagna. She was also unharmed, wearing a casual sundress with her hair pulled back. “You took longer than usual, Bogie,” she greeted. “And you have guests.”
“I see that, Mom.” Hugo glared at Presley. She and her crew all wore what resembled dark quasi-tactical gear. Her short hair was spiky, her expression borderline cherubic.