Accelerant

by Katelyn Beckett

  And how the fuck do they know what a spring valley smells like? It's the kind of shit they torture men with.

  In the end, I wasn't good enough. Nothing was good enough. It turned out that she didn't want my little girl. Allison just up and left the maternity ward on the second day and abandoned our Emma.

  My Emma.

  Without a conversation, I'd gone ahead and transferred her across country. If I'd known then what I knew now, I'd have kicked her out of the Alliance.

  She left two years later anyway. Never bothered to come see Emma, never called on her birthdays. What I didn't understand was, why had she left? I'd have made her queen of the Alliance if that was what she'd wanted. All she had to do was love me for it. At some point she must have cared, must have known that I did, too. We'd had a daughter together. You don't just have children for no reason, with people you don't love. I supposed some folks do.

  I hadn't.

  My heart was still in shreds over her though I was damned if I'd admit it to anyone but myself. Instead, I turned my back on all of them just in case. It was easier that way, bolder to manage and faster to work.

  Then Cassie went and killed Nishelle; well, she didn't, but we thought she had, and everything fell apart. Isabella stepped up. Chaos reigned. And I couldn't get it back under control if I tried; not really.

  "You're being released early, sir."

  The nurse, a handsome man of perhaps 25 or so, walked in with a wheelchair. I eyed it, every metal surface, and resigned myself to the fact that I was going to have to get used to static shock. I'd never met another Zap that didn't deal with it, even before I'd passed the legislation.

  And I hadn't been so cruel. We still taught Zaps to manage their skills, we just worked on their control; not their manipulation. We taught them to bury their talents so they wouldn't be in violation of the new laws. It was better that way, I'd convinced myself. Easier.

  Definitely not motivated to drive Allison out of her comfort zone. Sure, she'd registered as a Psychic, but she was a Zap, too. And maybe, after getting thrown into that generator, I understood that it hadn't been much of an accident when it came to where I landed. That maybe she was trying to get back at me for what I'd done to her career.

  The hell with her, she deserved it after what she'd done to me.

  "And why's that?" I asked, even as he took me under the arms and helped me into the chair.

  He grunted as he strapped me in. "There's a problem over at the Alliance. It looks like everyone fell asleep, but no one can seem to get them up. A couple of them have had seizures, but nothing that a little medication won't fix."

  "The Dream," I muttered.

  The nurse wheeled me toward the door. "Sir?"

  "It's a superhero thing," I answered. "You wouldn't understand. I appreciate the heads up. I'm being released to go mop it up?"

  "Orders from on high."

  I wasn't stupid enough to say his name among so many cameras, but I cursed Logan Patterson deep in my heart. The man could have sent anyone to deal with it, no matter who it was. There were plenty of others among the PTB Alliance hierarchy. It was like telling me to clean up my own room when I had the flu; the sort of thing only a cruel parent would do to an unruly child who "deserved" another punishment.

  He'd been livid with me since my affair with Allison all those years ago. Mind you, that was because I'd found out later that he'd had an affair with her, too. Perhaps some jealousy had seeped into the old man. Couldn't blame him. I hadn't been pleased when she'd turned up on Isabella's arm, beaming at me and daring me to say something about our relationship.

  We wheeled our way down to the road and the nurse helped me into the black town car that was waiting for me. It took more effort than I liked, flinching as I lowered myself into the seat and strapped the belt across my own chest.

  I knew the driver. I gave him a silent nod and tipped my head back, closing my eyes. Everything hurt, but it was a pain level I could manage. Had I retained my normal powers, I could have simply written it away. I could have written so many things away, but I hadn't.

  As far as we knew, I was the only Scribe in the world. The only person who could change time and fate, I had a unique position in the Alliance. And if I'd wanted to change it, it would have only taken the work of a few milliliters of ink and a thin tip breezing over a piece of paper.

  I hadn't. I'd spent my time carefully managing my way to the top, proving myself a thousand times over just to take another step. I didn't want to play dirt, abuse my powers or ever be accused of it. I didn't want to take the easy way; because if I had, I would have simply deleted Allison from existence.

  But then, I wasn't entirely certain that Emma would have stayed had I made that move, either. And the thought of losing my little girl, of never knowing that she'd existed, had sent shivers through me.

  So, I'd allowed Allison to do as she wanted, to meander and cause conflict, to break Isabella's heart and... had she caused Cassie and Nishelle's court case? Had she made Cassie overdose the girl? What about the other deaths or career-ending injuries we'd had? I could have put her behind any of them with no real way to know if she'd done it or not.

  There was no way to track a Psychic’s influence and, had I attempted to create some method, I had little doubt that the entire Clark clan would have risen up against me. There were too many of them, too many with their fingers deep in the Alliance's inner-workings. And if Allison had turned my building into some sort of problem, again, it was likely that I was about to be elbows deep with those same Clarks, too.

  We turned into my private driveway and I stumbled out of the car. The driver was quick to bring over the wheelchair, but I shook my head. "If there's a cane, that will do. If there isn't, I’ll manage without the chair."

  It turned out that there was, indeed, a cane. He offered it to me and I took it, leaning heavily upon the dark tip as I found my way across the parking garage and into the hallway that connected the main floor lobby with my personal parking lot.

  The lobby was entirely empty, the building dead silent. I sighed and headed for the elevator. I started with the first floor and worked my way up, my drive following me the entire way. We'd need endless ambulances and several nearby hospital wings, I noted, as I headed for my office. Strikeout lay unconscious on the floor of Creed's apartment, safe and sound but for a little bump on her wrist. I did note that she was in uniform and wrinkled my brow at that. Hadn't I ordered the girl away from active duty?

  They never listened to me.

  I found several more superheroes out cold in the gym, perhaps having been driven there by Allison's powers. I didn't know but I was surprised not to find myself affected by some sort of Psychic powers upon entering the building.

  It was with Creed's discovery that I found out why. He lay off to her side, his hands bloodied and matching the wounds in her neck. His nails had bitten through her flesh, driven in and ruined that beautiful throat. I remembered my lips touching it, teeth scratching it as she panted beneath me, begging, asking for more and-

  Down to the floor I went, drawing her broken body into my lap and checking for a pulse I knew wasn't there. It didn't matter if I looked, she was cold to the touch and starting to stiffen. How long had she been gone? Could I have stopped it?

  My breath came out of me with a tremor to it. Would it have been ethical to stop it? Allison had been a thorn in the side of the Alliance, at least my part of it, for too long. Creed had done something unforgivable; unless I could prove otherwise, but had it really been bad?

  Adam would take the brunt of it, I had no doubt there. He would pull himself apart, hating what he had done and what had happened. Even if it had been unavoidable, if it had been his attempt to escape from her grip or fight her off, he would never forgive himself for killing her. He didn't know her past, was unaware of what she was capable of. And good for him; I didn't want anyone in the world to have met her bad side after I had.

  Yet, I hadn't made the move myself.
r />   During my street beat years, I had never been afraid of taking down a villain who had betrayed the world around us. My powers had been the epitome of the pen being mightier than the sword, but I had gotten into plenty of scrambles and fights on my own. Every superhero needed to know how to throw a punch, just in case your powers were out of control, out of reach, or if you were under immediate threat. If someone were trying to kick my head off, I didn't have the time to write a novel about how they needed to be in a prison cell.

  My fingers drew through Allison's hair and I lowered my head to kiss her brow. That cold skin, so much cooler than I remembered it, broke some part of me. Had I held a torch for her for so long? Had I been so in love with someone who hadn't wanted me to begin with?

  "I'm sorry this is how it went," I told her. "But I'm not sorry you're gone."

  She would never answer. I had the driver call for a coroner, too. The death was to be marked as a mystery. I hobbled into the bathroom and cleaned Adam's hands for him, first with soap and water and then with bleach, then again with soap and water. I opened a window to let the acrid bleach stank out and looked out on the darkness of the city.

  “I knew you wouldn't care, but telling me that you aren't sorry about my ill-timed death? How cold of you.”

  I stiffened and looked around the room, frowning. Allison's voice echoed in my ears, but that was impossible. Maybe not. We'd had another superhero come back to life recently. I made my way over to check her pulse again and found it just as dead as it had been before.

  "Where are you?"

  “Somewhere you can't reach me. A place where you can never get rid of me again, Lamar. I'm inside your head. And it's a bleak, terrible place. Did you know that?”

  Those last words rolled off her tongue, or they would have if she could still move her tongue. Psychic Echo was a problem I had never dealt with and assumed Allison was too weak to pull off. When Psychics died, sometimes they left a ghost behind that could wander through the minds of others. It happened rarely and it hadn't occurred in decades; not since my predecessor had been in charge of the Yarborough PTB Alliance.

  I left them on the floor and headed for my office, my mind building up what few blockades I could muster. There were things in there that she didn't need to see, things she didn't need to know. It was best for everyone if I managed to hold on with the tools certain members of the Clark family had given me in years past.

  “Where are you going?”

  I ignored her and, grip tight on the cane, tried to listen to the screaming ambulances peeling through the city in their desperate attempt to get to us. I shouldn't have called them. If Allison was emitting a Psychic Echo, she could kill every EMT via suicide. Just run them up the stairs and send them leaping to their deaths straight off the roof. I smashed that thought away, not wanting to give her any ideas. Since she didn't purr or laugh, I assumed that she missed them.

  The first call I made when I reached my office was to check in on my daughter. Her sitter said she was well, doing her homework and behaving. Dinner would be served shortly and I shouldn't worry about it. That, at least, was a relief.

  My old Rolodex was on its last leg and wobbled as I tried to balance it on a book. It had been from my early years, a relic from my former boss, with every old superhero's name and phone number in it. I had to hope that they hadn't changed their number over the years. Sure, I could have looked it up on the database but who knew if it was otherwise incomplete?

  We tried to leave superheroes alone once they retired. We gave them their heads, let them lead out their lives, and have the families they desired. Some wished to remain employed with the Alliance. We encouraged them to become teachers, trainers, and politicians to serve the goals of the PTB Alliance as necessary. No, we didn't try to manipulate the government any more than we had to.

  But we'd all seen those mutant and outcast superhero books, the comics, the movies, the television shows. There was a point when humanity turned on those who served them, be they superheroes or doctors who were unable to cure a sick family member. When we failed, we failed cataclysmically and we did it in sight of everything they held dear.

  Everyone who holds on to power is terrified of the little guy. The masses at large are an incredible force and most were happy to listen to an old superhero who had served his or her time, rallying the general public to a cause that would help us. Much like the Zap law that now left me at odd ends. I had no idea if I would be allowed to continue on as a superhero or if I would be decommissioned in some way.

  The Alliance had its means.

  I flipped through the Rolodex and sighed at the alarming amount of Clark, Reed, and Baker names in it. Some of the names belonged to those who had died a decade ago. I knew, because I insisted on ordering the flowers placed on their graves on a monthly schedule.

  But one card was very much alive and well.

  "Clark residence, Vicki speaking," answered the phone.

  I took a breath and gripped my desk. "I'm afraid there's an issue at the building, Mrs. Clark. Your daughter and others have been involved in an incident. We need you."

  "Got it. Be there in ten minutes," she said, and I heard the phone come to rest on the handle. "Michael, there's a project and Cassie screwed the pooch again."

  I hung up and looked at the phone, trying to reconcile the fact that I'd just re-activated the two most powerful Psychic superheroes of their generation... in the middle of a crisis with a Psychic superhero gone rogue.

  God, I hoped they were on our side.

  What the fuck was I going to do if they weren’t?

  About the Author

  Katelyn Beckett is the kind of woman who likes her coffee black, her stories dark, and her heroines strong. When not writing, she's usually busy adding to an endless pile of useless knowledge such as exactly how much force a couch can withstand and how to break out of cable ties. Katelyn writes Reverse Harem Romance with Happily Ever After endings guaranteed... eventually.

  You can find Katelyn on Twitter @Kbeckettloves

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