Super Powereds: Year 3 (83 page)

154.

The soft knock was followed almost immediately by the door opening. Ralph Chapman didn’t bother to look up from his desk at first. Given that today was Christmas, and he was sitting in his Washington office, there were really only two possibilities for who’d be barging in. It was either Derrick, or it was some crazed Super who’d tracked him down to kill him, in which case, his murderer could damned well finish this paperwork while Ralph traipsed off to the afterlife. When he finally looked up, it was Derrick standing before him. Pity, the idea of passing off his work was quite appealing.

                “Merry Christmas,” Derrick Conner said, setting a small gift on Ralph’s desk. “It’s your year with the stapler.”

                Derrick and Ralph had been re-gifting the same ancient stapler to one another every Christmas for nearly thirty years. It had begun as a small prank when they were both starting out, working a campaign for some now long-forgotten, minor politician. Though much had changed since those early years, at least this tradition had persisted.

                “Did you stuff it with anchovies again?” Ralph set his pen down and motioned for Derrick to sit.

                “Gummy bears that I soaked in old salmon juice,” Derrick said as he slid into the wooden chair. “Jen and I would love to have you over for dinner tonight. Place isn’t the same with the last one off to college.”

                “I forgot that Pepper left this year. What college did she end up choosing?”

                “Sizemore University, over in Chicago.”

                Ralph felt his hand clench involuntarily, a response he tried desperately to hide from his only friend. There was no reason to react that way; Pepper was a Super, true, but her ability didn’t lend itself to being in the Hero Certification Program. Though Ralph worked to keep his feelings concealed, Derrick still easily saw through them.

                “Relax, she picked it because the girls’ volleyball team is nationally ranked, and they offered her a scholarship. Thankfully, her power doesn’t have any athletic applications, so she doesn’t have to go through the SAA. Changing the way food tastes might be a great dieting aid, but it wouldn’t get her into the HCP.”

                “I know. I’m still sorry for my reaction. Even if she were enrolled, you’ve raised a fine young woman. She’s not the sort I’d be worried about. Forgive me; this recent job just has me a bit frazzled. I keep hitting walls at every turn.”

                Ralph reached into his desk drawer and pulled out two sodas, offering one to Derrick, who declined. He put the other in his desk, and then poured himself one. Ralph didn’t drink, hadn’t for so very many years. Carbonated beverages were his only real vice now. There was no time to be muddled, to have his thoughts broken. He had too much work to do.

                “Try not to let it get the best of you,” Derrick advised. “If they’re hiding something, they’ll make a mistake, sooner or later. Everyone does.”

                “All too true. So, how are things over at the Treasury Department?”

                “Oh no, not going to work. You still haven’t responded to my dinner invitation,” Derrick said, leaning forward ever so slightly in his chair. “Jen’s even making the tiramisu cake you liked so much last time you were over.”

                “I appreciate the invitation, I do, but I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me. I have to find some sort of new avenue for attack before school resumes. If I don’t think of something, then they’ll keep boxing me out.”

                Derrick gave his friend a long, measured look. When he spoke again, his voice was much softer. “Ralph . . . look, you know I understand, right? Even if no one else does, you know I get it. I was there when you got the news; I was there when you first decided to apply for the transfer. I’m always on your side, but you can’t go at this so hard that you forget to live in between. That’s not what they would have wanted.”

                Ralph stared at the slowly popping bubbles bursting up from his soda. “I know, Derrick, and I thank you for all the support you’ve given me over the years. Maybe you’re right; maybe they would have wanted a different, happier life for me. Sadly, this is the only one I can manage. When I’m doing my job, when I’m hunting down Heroes who think they can skirt the system, that’s the only time I feel any sense of peace. Otherwise, whenever I shut my eyes, I just see them. Them, and that damned bridge.”

                “My brother was the one driving the car. I won’t say I know how you feel—much as I loved him, I can’t imagine our pains are the same—but I at least have an idea.” Derrick rubbed his hand across a chin that had once been masculine and pronounced, though age and weight gain had taken much of its grandeur. “Sometimes, when I’m in the area, I’ll go look at where the San Witmer Bridge used to be. I’ll check out the new one, read the plaque they have at its base, and reflect on what happened. You know what I feel when I do that?”

                “What?”

                “Nothing. Not a damn thing. I still miss my brother just as much, but at this point, it’s just become this background pain that never really leaves or intensifies. It doesn’t give me peace, or closure, it doesn’t even stir me up enough to get pissed. I get literally nothing out of it, but I still go once or twice a year all the same.”

                “You think I’m holding on to my pain too tightly.”

                “No, Ralph. I think it’s holding you. These gestures, these habits, these compulsions: they aren’t ours. They’re what the holes in our heart demand from us for the ability to fall asleep at night. We’re slaves to them, but that doesn’t mean we have to be obedient ones. You need to fight back on occasion. Come live a bit, if only for tonight.”

                Ralph sighed and downed the rest of his soda. “With that tongue of yours, I’m shocked you never made a run for Congress.”

                “Who knows? I still might. We’re not dead yet; there are still years of potential in front of us. That’s kind of the point I was leading up to, anyway.”

                “You win,” Ralph said, putting the papers in his desk. “At least the rest of the office is out this week, so I have peace and quiet to work in.”

                “Way to see the bright side,” Derrick replied. He and Ralph headed out the office door, still hanging slightly ajar, and clicked the lights out as they exited.

                The office went dark, though a stuck blind allowed a small amount of illumination from the pale-yellow street lights outside. This rogue light was just enough to cause a glare on the single picture that sat on Ralph Chapman’s desk. It was at least a decade old, taken in a park that had been paved over to create a smoothie shop. In it was a much younger Ralph Chapman, wearing a smile that would have seemed entirely out of place on the face he now possessed. He was crouched down in the grass, his wide arms outstretched as he hugged a pair of young girls, the eldest no older than five years old.

155.

                “You need to take a break.”

                George didn’t have to look to see who was talking. After working with her for so long, he knew Persephone’s voice without a second glance. He didn’t spare her a glance, though, staying in position on the stone floor of the warehouse. It would have been cold had he been in human form, but his body was metallic, with wires running from his arm to a small computer set up on a wooden table.

                “This thing isn’t going to crack itself.”

                “And you’re not going to beat it in the time it takes to come have lunch,” Persephone said. “He’s big on family meals, especially during the holidays. You know that.”

                “Family. Don’t tell me you’re buying into all that shit.”

                “He can be pretty persuasive.”

                “Of course he can, look at what he’s talked us all into doing.” George finally turned toward his fellow former coach. She was leaner than she had been at Lander, closer to the fighting shape she’d worn during her Hero days. That wasn’t surprising; the only thing to do around here was train. The others, at least, had some ability to move about in the real world. For George, Persephone, and Gerard, though, such things were impossible. They were wanted criminals, and one person spotting them would potentially bring down the entire operation. At least Globe had the ability to create the illusion that he was someone else, though, unless there was business, he kept himself confined with the others. He never said why, but he didn’t have to: he was the kind of man who would suffer with his troops rather than use his status as grounds for special treatment.

                “So save us all the trouble of him walking in here and making a speech, and just come eat lunch.”

                “Fine. But only because I’ve been here for twenty hours and probably need some damn food anyway.” George unplugged the connection from his arm to the computer, and then stood. “I don’t buy in with any of this ‘family’ or ‘togetherness’ stuff. I’m here for the job, nothing else.”

                “Even though that sentiment is why we spent months planning and executing your jailbreak?”

                “Please, you just needed someone to crack the cipher. If you’d managed to find someone else you could trust, I’d still be locked up, getting smacked around by guards for my smart mouth.”

                “No, George, you wouldn’t be. And you know it.” Persephone stared at him unflinchingly, and George felt his stubborn resolve weaken. After what had happened to her, the fact that she was able to trust someone the way she trusted Globe was tremendous. She needed the belief in him the same way George needed his anger and guilt. It was what kept them trudging forward, even though they’d fallen so far from grace.

                “Fine, so he would have gotten me anyway. But I bet it wouldn’t have been as quick or as flashy.”

                “Most people don’t consider a year ‘quick.’”

                “Most people don’t know how well guarded that fucking hellhole was. Of course, it would have been a lot easier if he hadn’t been determined to avoid casualties.”

                “Yes, but that wouldn’t be him. And you know you wouldn’t have wanted to get out that way. Not by killing people doing their jobs.”

                “I don’t know, a few were pretty enthusiastic with the discipline. I might not have minded seeing them get put down.”

                “And if you were working there, you wouldn’t have done the same?”

                Persephone had him there, so George decided to change the subject.

                “What’s for lunch, anyway?”

                “Dressing, green beans, potatoes, the usual sides. Oh, and Gerard made a Turducken.”

                George shifted back to human just in time for his face to scrunch up in a mix of worry and disgust. “Christ, isn’t that the abomination of a chicken stuffed in a duck stuffed in a turkey?”

                “It is, and you’ll eat a big portion. Gerard worked all through the night on it.”

                George shook his head, but followed Persephone out of the room anyway. “I know we live in a world where people have the powers of gods and demons, but even to me, that just seems . . . 
wrong.
”

*              *              *

                Chad sat on the porch, staring up at the stars. Though the crisp evening air tried to invade his skin, he kept his body at the optimal temperature. Sometimes, he wondered what it was like to have a normal body, one that bucked and ran wild, doing whatever it pleased despite the brain’s commands. It always sounded terrible when others described it, but then again, so had emotional entanglement. Angela had proved that not to be nearly as unpleasant as he’d expected.

                “See any new constellations?” Blaine—only Blaine while here in the house—stepped out from the kitchen and looked up at the sky. His power afforded him no protection from the cold, so he wore a thick jacket that was a bit too small in the shoulders for him.

                “Nothing so far. Has Mom calmed down?”

                “Moderately. She’s at least stopped trying to pry Angela’s contact information out of me in order to invite her over. Honestly, Chad, you really didn’t tell your mother you were seeing someone this whole semester?”

                “It didn’t seem relevant to my progress.”

                “Look, you can pull the totally oblivious act around the other students, but I know you’re smart enough to realize your mother would care about you having your first girlfriend.”

                “Perhaps I was worried her reaction would be a bit more . . . enthusiastic than I wanted to deal with.”

                “So instead, you let me blurt it out over Christmas dinner. Smooth.” Blaine sank into a wooden chair next to his godson, eyes still sweeping the heavens. “How have things been going between you two, anyway?”

                “Chaotic. We both were so caught up in the end of semester training that we saw each other infrequently. Normally, I would be concerned, but Angela seems to fare well in a chaotic environment.”