The Last Superhero (37 page)

It takes milliseconds for
the Internet to give us all we need to know about the Onna-bugeishas,
upper-class Japanese female warriors in all their ass-kicking glory.
We scroll through images of them in training, in battle, with their
armors and naginatas (this long pole with a blade on the end) and
swords and bows and arrows.

Damn. I so wish I could be
like that.

“
You
can,” Daph quips. Did I say that out loud? “Read about
them before going to sleep and see if you can dream about it.”

“
But...”

And, before I can say
anything else, she's turned her back to me and I hear a loud snore.

What the fuck?! I'd
forgotten that falling asleep in an instant is one of her many
talents.

Look at the clock on the
mantelpiece and see it's almost midnight.

The excitement probably got
the best of her.

On to look at images and
read until my eyes get blurry then.

39

Morning comes and my neck's
stiff as hell. Tiredness won over my research and I fell asleep in a
sitting position with the laptop on my lap. At least I managed to
close it somehow.

Daphne's still snoring so I
tiptoe my way to the bathroom.

Did I dream anything? If I
did, I can't remember a thing.

Dammit.

A hot shower helps with the
neck pain even when it doesn't take it away completely.

I can only imagine how much
pain Steven must be in.

Daph's up when I come out
and quick to shut herself in behind me.

Find a pair of jeans and a
shirt in the bags and head out for the first smoke of the day.

The sun's punishing the
landscape, but it's still a bit cold around these parts.

Light up, lean on a column
and let the smoking settle the nerves that start creeping in on you.

What if I fail? What if I'm
not good enough with the imagining myself as a samurai and then
Steven keeps aging at this accelerated pace?

What if that's not the cause
at all?

“
Fucking
shit.”

“
Eh?”

Look to my left and Ross's
taking in the view, inhaling some fresh air as he stands with his
hands on his hips, pushing back the sides of his jacket.

“
I
said
fucking
shit
.”

“
Good
morning to you too. Sleep well?” Sardonic smile is sardonic.

Put my hand on my neck when
I try to turn and it hurts. “Not at all.”

He approaches me. His face,
his voice, all soft. “I know this is tough and I can't help
feeling responsible, but believe me, we're all here to help.”

“
Even
Bitchy Dr. Morgan?”

He swallows down my comment.
“She's my ex-wife.”

“
Oh.”
Sorry, not sorry.

“
Yes.
The one Steven saved from that fire along with my daughters.”
When he faces me again, there's a frown wrinkling the bridge of his
nose. “We're all working together thanks to funding from the
private sector.”

“
Private
sector?”

“
As
we said yesterday, there are a lot of people who owe Steven – some
of them pretty influential – and want to take this chance to
thank him for what he did for them.”

“
And,
may I ask since when have you been working together?”

“
We've
been keeping an eye on Steven from our different positions for the
last thirty years.”

“
Your
ex appears to know quite a bit about superhumans.”

“
It's
been one of her fields of study. It was what brought us together in
the beginning.”

“
Did
you know Steven was dying?” Ah? Did you?!?

“
She'd
comment on his appearance, but we never had the chance to examine him
so there was no way of knowing what was really going on. Don't go
thinking I've been lying to you.” I stare. He stares. We stare.
“Okay, maybe a bit. But only when necessary.”

“
What
if he weren't dying? What would you have done with him then? Tell him
to run as fast as he could while one of you aimed a gun at his back?”

“
Noooo.”
His tone's tainted with disgust. “We'd probably pull the same
stunt as before, just relocating him somewhere less close to
civilization.”

“
But
you've got me this time.”

“
I
did warn you.”

“
Don't
you know that the more you tell someone not to do something, the more
inclined towards doing it they become?”

“
I
know all about it; I've got kids of my own.” A wicked grin
curves his lips. “I was kind of hoping he'd find someone to
spend what's left of his life with. Someone who wouldn't make a
spectacle of it.”

The sincerity his words
carry is working its way into my heart.

“
I
didn't think he'd have so little left, though.” The tone drops,
changes. “None of us did.”

“
Things
happen for a reason,” I say, getting rid of the cigarette that
burnt itself between my fingers. “He had to come out and get
arrested for you to get your hands on him and save his life.”

“
They
say God acts in mysterious ways.”

“
Don't,
please,” I raise a hand and he's laughing, finding it amusing,
“I don't need another father figure preaching me down.”

“
Nah,
I'm not the preaching kind. I used to leave that to Tiffany.”

His eyes wander to his feet.

Did she have to share her
name with a fancy-shmancy jewelry store?

“
What's
the catch, though? There's always a catch. I mean, there are people
out there who want him dead.”

“
There
are, yes. However, all we want to do is thank him for what he's done
for us. And, really, I can't see a better way to do so than saving
his life.”

Like clockwork, sleepy faces
start emerging from their rooms and we're off to get a quick
breakfast composed mostly of large mugs of coffee before heading back
to the secret bunker that isn't so secret anymore, at least to us.

Dr. Morgan is waiting for us
and she separates me from the group, almost dragging me into a small
room that looks like one of those interrogation ones from detective
movies.

“
Am
I in trouble? Can I see Steven first?”

She
cocks
her head. “I prefer we talk first and no, you're not in any
kind of trouble. What I need is for you to answer a couple of
questions before we do anything else.”

“
You
could've asked me nicely,” I say more to myself than anything
else, not that she's paying attention to me anyway.

We sit across from each
other over a table where a clipboard and a pen await us and she
wastes no time on pleasantries, going straight to some demographic
questions. Full name. Age. Sex. Previous conditions. Medications. She
makes a face when I say 'yes' to smoking and 'on and off' to exercise
and 'so long I can't remember' to the last time I gave my doctor a
visit.

Then the questions turn to
Steven and what happened that night of the mugging. I tell her all
about his asthma attack after that and after the dance. She keeps her
eyes on what she's writing, but I swear she made a face at the
gravity-defying dance part.

“
He
almost doesn't use his powers so I couldn't tell if he's losing them
or not. He's never shown signs of exhaustion after the fantasies
though.”

“
Those
of us who've studied him for a long time can tell. That thief didn't
die immediately.” I'm about to open my mouth when she shuts me
down with a raised hand. “Also, as I told you before, his DNA
tells it all.” I can see how she stirs in her seat. “DNA
replicates itself. However, some is lost in the process, which causes
aging. Superhumans have longer DNA strands and, therefore, their
aging process takes longer than normal humans. In Steven's case it
appears as if his replication process is happening at an accelerated
pace, causing the aging. Science hasn't been able to pinpoint where
in their DNA their superpowers lie; all we know is they do diminish
with time, even when they don't go away completely. Steven could've
destroyed this whole place by now had this happened fifty years ago
but not today.”

I scoff at that. “Because
he doesn't want to!”

She cocks an eyebrow at me
and I can't begin to tell you how angry that makes me.

“
He
can't, believe me.” She's totally dismissed me. “I had a
phone call last night with Agents Ross, Powell, and Suárez
about the nightmare issue. I hope you can shed some light on that
before we proceed.”

So I tell her all I know
about the nightmares and it sends chills through my body to remember
them, to remember him in them, to remember myself in them.

She nods, writes, stares,
imagines, sees it in her mind's eye.

I've got her attention all
through the account and she doesn't interrupt me until I've switched
subjects to how I believe we can stop them.

“
I
have the medical reports of your visit to the ER and it says your
chest showed some bruising. Can I see it?”

I should've expected that.
It's kinda cold, not that she cares to about the gooseflesh as I get
rid of my jacket and T-shirt. She eyes the bruise but doesn't touch
it.

“
Does
it hurt to the touch?”

“
Yes.
It does.”

“
You
went into that ER vomiting blood. Had that happened before?”

Oh, I can put my shirt back
before I catch a cold? Thank you for telling me...

“
Not
exactly vomiting but coughing it out, also the taste in my mouth.”

She's scribbling stuff when
she says, “You mention you fought back and that when your skin
made contact with his, electricity shot out and it burned you both,
yet there are no burn marks on any of you.”

“
Yeah.”

“
Interesting.”

“
I
think that's the way to stop him. Electrify him, or burn him or
something. If we can get into his nightmares as a team, I know we can
stop nightmare Salvatore Jr. and end this.”

“
And
what makes you think he'll survive? What makes you think
you'll
survive? It's clear these nightmares have physical consequences on
everyone that gets in them.” Now she stops scribbling, now she
peers into my eyes, “It could be the solution, but it could
also be a way to get all of you killed.”

“
Having
a medical team could help.” I peer back.

“
We're
more than willing to do this.” She pauses. “Nevertheless,
the fact that I can't give you any guarantees unsettles not only me
but the person behind this whole operation.”

“
What?
Who?”

“
I
can't disclose that information. The person has asked to remain
anonymous since what we're doing is highly controversial, but let's
say
he
wants what's best for Steven's interests.”

“
Did
he know about the nightmares?”

“
None
of us did until the arrest. This issue has changed our plans
slightly. The original plan was to fake his execution and give him
the chance to go into seclusion once more, but when this new problem
arose our benefactor decided to tackle the issue, for Steven's sake.”