by C. C. Ekeke
The Vanguard faced universal backlash, the social media hashtag #JusticeForMorningstar trending for days. Charities and commercial organizations cut ties with the superhero team for enabling Titan’s behavior. Several superheroes, like the Champions and that famewhore Tomorrow Man, had condemned Titan’s actions. And Vanguard's complicity. From what Quinn heard, Ramon Dempsey wasn’t returning to the Vanguard after his exposure as Dynamo. Wyldcat, Titan’s ex, was taking a sabbatical. Quinn barely had time to process all this, being thrust into the spotlight herself. Praise from former colleagues, the key to San Miguel, and interviews across Central Coast and SoCal.
Yet, newfound fame included hate mail from angry Titan and Vanguard fans about Quinn ruining the heroes' reputations. And, of course, there were the predictable death threats. Helena had pushed for a bodyguard, which Quinn had refused.
On a positive note, charges against Lord Borealis had been dropped. The reformed supervillain would get released tomorrow.
Presently, Quinn sat with a Beach Bum Burger Double combo skimming over email negotiations with SLOCO Daily’s human resources. Since she'd been unemployed when her exposé got published, Quinn got compensated as a freelancer. Helena had lobbied to rehire Quinn immediately. But after getting advice from her auntie, a lawyer, Quinn had pushed to renegotiate. The move had paid off. Several major news organizations came calling with insane offers. That had forced SLOCO Daily to make a better deal.
Quinn marveled at the Guardian’s great job offer. “Life in London wouldn’t suck,” she pondered aloud.
Flattering as these jobs were, Quinn wanted to stay at SLOCO Daily. But with the bargaining this exposé’s power, she wouldn’t return to the same job or salary.
“Quinn?”
Quinn looked up and saw her lunch date. “Hello!”
Veronica Carson slid into the seat across from her wearing a puffy jacket, scarf, baseball cap, and shades. Quinn understood Lord Borealis's wife needing the disguise.
“Thanks for meeting me.”
“Absolutely.” Quinn pushed the untouched extra burger toward her. “Beach Bum Double Cheeseburger?”
Veronica, taken aback, accepted graciously.
“How are things?” Quinn inquired after a few minutes.
Veronica looked haggard but much less burdened than when Quinn had met her months ago. “I’m hopeful again. Because you saved my Carmine.”
Quinn waved away the praise like a bee swarm. The last thing she wanted was to start believing her own hype. “You’re the real hero, Veronica,” she deflected, meaning every word. “You sought me out even though I wasn't interested.” She took Veronica’s hand and squeezed. “That takes bravery. I hope he realizes how lucky he is.”
Veronica turned red. “I’ll remind him every day.” The older woman’s smile shed ten years off her face. “And he’s getting released tomorrow.”
Quinn’s heart swelled watching her joy. “What’s next for you?”
“Leaving San Miguel.” Veronica's joy faded in short order. “So many people hate him, understandably. And countless others still think Carmine killed Titan. I’m getting death threats about what will happen after he’s released.” She shuddered. “There’s too much darkness for us to stay.”
“Understandable,” Quinn agreed. After Morningstar’s capture, she’d been staying with her auntie and uncle. Her own apartment no longer felt safe. “Where will you go?”
“The FBI will relocate us,” Veronica said, finishing her cheeseburger with satisfied lip-smacking. “With a huge government settlement. It’s the only thing they can do after a superhero hacked OSA’s systems to frame my husband.” Anger flashed across her worn features. “We’ll discuss locations after Carmine's release.” A strange look bled into Veronica’s face. “Enough about me, young lady. What’s next for you after that amazing exposé?”
Quinn smiled, a flush creeping up her neck. Everything was still surreal and crazy; verbalizing didn’t make it feel any more tangible. “I’m flying tonight to New York for two days of interviews. All expenses paid. Still processing.” Those interviews included Good Morning America, The Today Show, and The View. “Then I’m visiting my parents in Massachusetts so they stop freaking out. After that…” Quinn’s mood soured thinking of her next investigative reporting gig. “I’m heading to St. Louis for a freelance piece. Not sure if you heard about the Hurricane?”
“Yes.” Veronica nodded, suddenly morose. “Such a loss.”
“Yeah,” Quinn said, staring off. St. Louis’s patron superhero, the Hurricane had been murdered by two of his apprentices. Greyson Hirsch and Constance Ishibashi. The Washington Post had called Quinn directly, knowing her newfound notoriety would elevate the story. “I’m heading there for two weeks to cover what happened.” She scratched her blown-out afro. The Hurricane, one of the more prominent black superheroes, murdered. “So sad...”
The two women exchanged small talk a few more minutes. As the restaurant’s lunchtime traffic surged, Veronica took her leave. “You take care, Quinn.” She gave Quinn a hug.
The reporter returned the affection, surprised how much she’d needed it. “Give Carmine my regards.”
Soon after, Lord Borealis’s wife walked out the front door. Thanks to her disguise, no one looked twice.
A little later, Quinn was driving to one more meeting before heading home to pack for New York. She spied a motorcycle tailing her from Beach Bum Burger. Prickling in irritation, Quinn dialed an encrypted cell number.
“Good afternoon!” Therese Levesque’s jubilance filled the car.
“You don’t have to follow me,” Quinn reminded sternly. Having a security detail felt so extra. And Therese must have more important tasks.
“Given the more serious death threats over your article,” the archer replied, “Geist demanded it. At least until you’ve left San Miguel this evening.”
Seeing that she was speaking to a brick wall, Quinn let out a resigned sigh. “Thanks.”
“Where to next?” Therese inquired eagerly.
A wistful smile pulled at Quinn’s lips. “Seeing a friend,” she said, hoping the feeling was mutual.
She reached San Miguel Hospital ten minutes later. After parking, Quinn received an urgent text.
Jodie: The boy offered to tutor me for Geometry. AH!!! I declined because of Breezy. Smart?
Me: Yes. But if you’re still tanking tests in a month, let him help. Avoid the SEX, youngster!
Jodie: LOLOLOL!! Thanks, prima guapa.
Quinn chuckled, heading for the garage elevator alone. Therese remained parked beside Quinn’s car, respecting her wishes.
Once she walked down the hospital floor, Quinn kind of wished she’d brought backup. “You can do this,” she reminded herself until reaching the patient’s room. Flowers filled the interior, but the bed was empty. Annie Machado stood in a baggy hospital gown, hair piled atop her head. She shuffled around like a geriatric, clinging to the scrolling pole carrying her IV bag.
Quinn yelped at Annie’s paler, thinner appearance, used to her BFF’s voluptuous and sunkissed beauty. She hadn’t seen her since that horrible day at Mistura.
Annie saw Quinn and froze.
It took every atom of the reporter’s courage to not run. “Hey…” She waved timidly. “Quinnie!” Annie’s frail exclamation was unsettling. “You’re here.” She shuffled over.
Quinn couldn’t bear watching her spend unneeded energy, marching toward Annie. She spotted the bouquet she’d asked Geist to order. “Got my flowers?”
Annie nodded. “I’d rather had you.” She stared down, closing her eyes, clearly in pain. “I woke up and heard you'd gone missing, I went insane…”
Quinn took Annie by the arm, guiding her back to bed. “It wasn’t safe, Annie. I…” Cumbersome guilt pressed onto her. This time, Quinn didn’t stop it. “I couldn’t risk your life again.”
The moment Annie drew her into a one-armed embrace, Quinn burst into tears. This kept happening sporadically the last f
ew days, but in private.
And by how Annie’s body shook, her friend was sobbing too. “Don’t ghost me like that again,” she wept. The blubbery embrace lasted a while before either regained composure. They sat on Annie’s bed, wiping each other’s tears with attentive fingers. Quinn was thankful for waterproof mascara.
“I know you’d never intentionally put me in danger,” Annie stated, sounding stronger.
Quinn looked down. “Tell Johnny.” His accusations after Annie’s injury had struck with withering force. Because he’s right…
Annie scoffed. “I cursed him out after hearing how he'd treated you.” She cupped Quinn’s jaw and searched her face, intensely serious. “It was unacceptable.”
Quinn recoiled from her fury. “Easy, sister friend.” She had no wish to drive wedges between the engaged couple. Quinn drew Annie’s hand from her face, entwining their fingers. “Don’t blame Johnny for being overprotective. He’s crazy about you.”
Annie was unmoved. “You’re my person, Quinn. Always.”
Satisfied, Quinn leaned in for another hug. “Love you,” she breathed, burying her face in Annie’s neck.
“Love you more,” Annie replied.
“Love you most!” Quinn threw back, not to be bested. Now both women laughed uproariously. And like that, all was forgiven. Stupid fights and angry fiancés couldn’t divide them. Quinn couldn’t stop smiling. Since meeting Annie seven years ago, she’d known their friendship would last a lifetime.
“I’m stuck here four more days,” Annie declared tartly after Quinn had eased her into bed. “But I can help your interview game before your NYC trip.”
Quinn grimaced. “Were my local interviews that bad?”
Annie shook her head. “But as your personal PR goddess, I saw areas that need my polish.”
Quinn relaxed, knowing Annie would be honest if she’d sucked. “I’m up for any advice.”
“But first, I want the whole story,” Annie requested. “The good, the bad, the everything!” She rubbed her hands together, eyes bright with anticipation.
Quinn beamed. “Thought you’d never ask.”
Annie’s enthusiasm was infectious. She was the only person Quinn wanted to tell everything. Everything included Geist being real, Hugo Malalou, and the Seraph/Blur/Sentinel love triangle.
Quinn dashed around the bed to close the room door. Then she dashed back, curling up beside Annie in bed.
“Okay, okay,” Quinn began with a toothy grin. “Here’s how it started…”
Chapter 46
The stink of the Mississippi River wafted under Greyson’s nose. Wind chill prickled his newly bald scalp. He frowned at the rundown barge on the dock and a gaggle of silhouettes lined up to board.
Life these last few weeks had been a waking nightmare, bouncing from one underground site to another, staying a step ahead of authorities. What little time Greyson had slept revisited his many sins, especially shattering Lauren's bones.
The underground network of supers aiding his and Connie’s flight had provided an escape from St. Louis, and America. Desperate and low on resources, Greyson and Connie had accepted.
He threw a skeptical look at his companion. “You sure about this?”
“I have to be,” Connie replied, looking completely different. Buzzcut hair, distressed biker wear for the “Claire Chen” identity the underground had provided. “The underground claims this route has a ninety-four percent success rate for fleeing the US.”
Greyson remained welded to the ground, biting his bottom lip. “And the other six percent?”
“We blew through our remaining cash for this. You can’t back out, Hirsch—”
Greyson clamped a hand over Connie’s mouth. “Not. In public.” He turned about, taking in every shadow with hair-trigger doubt. Even sporting the newly shaved head, growing facial scruff, and ridiculous trucker wear, Greyson knew OSA or the police could be near. Their names had been all over the news since killing the Hurricane, making Greyson and Connie St. Louis's most wanted.
He slowly removed his hand from her mouth. “I’m Nicholas. You’re Claire.”
“Sorry,” Connie apologized, frozen stiff from his outburst.
I still scare her. The realization unsettled Greyson. He closed his eyes, drawing in a long breath.
“I’m joining you,” he confirmed gently, staring back at St. Louis’s radiant skyline. This city was no longer home. Mourning that had been as unbearable as living with what he’d done to his family…and Lauren. “I just…what we’re losing…”
Connie grasped his shoulders, also emotional. “I know.” She turned her back on the skyline. “But there’s nothing left for us.”
Greyson nodded. “Yeah...” He mimicked her actions, turning away. He held Connie’s hand and approached the barge one step at a time.
A boulder of a man stood before the ramp, scowling at them. “Passes?”
Connie smiled and produced boarding passes they’d purchased yesterday.
The boulder-like man scanned the passes. “Welcome aboard.” He waved them toward the ramp connecting barge and dock. Greyson boarded with Connie in one of the lower decks, well-lit and windowless. Watching St. Louis shrink away would be too much.
As he and Connie settled in, pockets of other passengers entered. Some were supers but most appeared normal-looking. One had skin resembling bark. Another had a dog's face. Greyson couldn’t stop gawking. A super with glowing eyes huddled across deck in boisterous discussion with two others about Titan’s killer.
Curiosity pulled Greyson toward the trio. “Was Lord Borealis found guilty?” Connie tailed him, which he appreciated more than she could know.
The man with glowing eyes and his companions looked up, chortling.
Their derision rankled Greyson. “What?”
“You living under a rock?” the man remarked.
“Our news access was limited,” Connie clarified before Greyson replied irately.
“Borealis didn't kill Titan,” one of the others answered, a woman with vines for hair.
Greyson exchanged surprised looks with Connie. “Then who did?”
“A teammate,” the glowing-eyed man said. “Morning Glory or something.”
Morningstar. The news mule-kicked Greyson, a strange feeling given how numbed out he’d been for weeks. “Why?” he asked, his voice desperate.
“Titan was fucking her,” the vine-haired woman added, her tone sounded like she had opinions on that. “Morningstar got clingy, and Titan ended things. Then she went full Fatal Attraction and killed him with an EMP while framing Borealis. Fatal Attraction...ha!”
Greyson didn’t know what to say. Connie looked horrified. Were all superheroes amoral? And suddenly, Greyson felt less guilt over Hurricane's murder. I did St. Louis a favor.
You did. Lauren’s voice caressed his ear, startling him. He fought the desire to find where that came from. No need to attract unwanted attention when escape was near.
“Guess even superheroes have rotten eggs,” the man with the glowing eyes murmured.
“Heroes don’t exist,” Greyson refuted. “Eventually, they’ll reveal themselves to be monsters.”
That ended the conversation, everyone standing around awkwardly. Connie wisely guided Greyson back across the deck. Minutes later, the barge jolted forward to leave St. Louis.
Greyson bid the city a silent farewell, letting go of his attachments. Mom. Sara. Lauren, if she’d survived. The community center boys. Greyson released every single one.
He laid his head on Connie’s lap, and for the first time in weeks, sank into a dreamless sleep.
Epilogue
Hugo awoke to find a folded piece of paper on his nightstand.
Bogota. I’d tell you this myself if not for my twelve-hour shift today. I know what you, Simon, and AJ are planning. And I accept how much this means to you. Be careful, don’t get caught, and protect bystanders. I’ll still worry, even though you have Titan’s powers.
Love,
Mom.
P.S. – Your father would be so proud of you.
Hugo pressed the note over his heart. “I’ll be careful, Mom,” he promised. His clock said quarter after seven on Sunday morning. Almost time. Nervous excitement swirled within Hugo’s stomach as he called Simon.
“Yo.”
“Yo,” Hugo replied. “You awake?”
“Since 6:30.”
“You ready?” Hugo asked.
“Born ready,” Simon replied.
A smile slashed Hugo’s face. “Let’s do this…after breakfast.”
He opened his closet, beholding his new costume courtesy of AJ and Simon. The top was a fireman’s suit with the arms cut off over a thick water-resistant sweater. Black denim jeans with Kevlar reinforcement. A fireman’s hood covered his head and ears with opaque black goggles glued to his nose and mouth mask. Some testing ensured the mask didn’t hinder his hypersensitivity. Mining gloves covered fingerprints and could take a beating. An earpiece in Hugo's mask connected to his belt walkie-talkie. It had taken a few days to buy the right pieces in cash at various out-of-town locations. Another day of testing confirmed the costume wouldn’t rip apart while Hugo ran. The results had been satisfying.
Half an hour later, Hugo raced through San Miguel’s alleyways in costume. He moved well, no stiffness. One street to the left, Hugo heard an armored car blowing through red lights like some video game. Four occupants, including the driver, had stolen some bank deposits.
“How close are the police?” Hugo asked, cruising at 160 mph, slow enough to speak with Simon and AJ.
“Still several blocks away.” AJ’s excitement over the comms was infectious. “It’s all you.”
“Take them!” Simon encouraged.
“Gladly.” Hugo smirked beneath his mask. “Going turbo. Call you when I’m done.” He accelerated past 225 mph and banked right. Hugo braked in a wide alleyway, seeing several intersections for the robbers to escape from. With police sirens wailing louder, Hugo suspected they’d come here. I hope, he worried, moving behind a trash bin.