The Last Superhero (30 page)

The fear that I might not
see him again.

The fear that they might
hurt him.

The fear that he must be as
fearful as me right now.

Open the door and there's
Daphne and she's quick to embrace me and I start to cry because of
the fear.

“
He'll
be all right,” she whispers and I know it's just a
well-intended lie.

Raise my eyes to see who I
believe to be Agent Powell standing in the middle of a small living
room with a giant TV and then I see it – the news, the frantic
reporters outside the hospital.

My feet move on their own
accord and my arms slip from Daphne's embrace and she takes my hand,
doesn't let go, as I make my way to face that portal to another
reality I feel so far from yet so near. The TV station's put the
words BREAKING NEWS in front of everything and they say they've
paused their usual broadcasts to keep covering what has become the
biggest news of the last decades. And there he is handcuffed and his
face is bloody, and there he is being pushed into a police car and he
hisses in what appears to be pain.

And there I am losing
consciousness on the grass and looking all so not TV-ready.

Back to him, to the dart,
the shot, watch him fall face first on the floor, hence the blood.

The cars driving away, the
paramedics, the shocked SWAT team, the police captain talking about
the moments of horror they witnessed as all of those near Steven
suddenly fell into a trance and they couldn't tell where it came
from.

Shots of the hospital and
the doctors talking about how we all were. And... Dad? Dammit they
got him and police helped him through because they weren't letting
him in until he spoke about what had happened to his daughter. These
news people are quick as the devil, aren't they?

“
This
man is a menace to society,” says this man with a square jaw
and stern face. “What you witnessed here is nothing compared to
the damage he can inflict.”

“
What
kind of damage are we talking about, Colonel Briggs?” the
journalist asks and the man starts talking about mass killings and
mind manipulation and no, I can't listen to that or I'll punch the
TV.

But then the interview's
over, thank heavens, and now they show riots.

WHAT?!

People on the streets being
all crazy and raging about the government and oh my god this is bad,
this is so, so bad. I'm glued, can't move. They're interviewing
people and some say he's Satan, some say he's God, some say he's
evil, some say he's good. Some are calling for his head, some are
pleading they don't harm him. Some feel threatened by him, others say
that now, knowing he's around, they'll feel safer.

What does Guy Fawkes have to
do with this anyway? Those masks just pop up everywhere, don't they?

All I know is I'm sinking
onto a sofa and curling into a ball when the cameras show the
bookshop. People got there and they're talking about the thief and
how he was murdered by Steven and then they say my name, my fucking
name, and I've become the murderer's accomplice.

Where do they get these
things? What sick mind can come up with this?

Now the bookstore's front is
destroyed and the firefighters are dousing the flames consuming its
insides because I'm as guilty as him of having the knowledge of his
existence. I knew he was alive, I knew he'd killed the thief, I kept
seeing him and didn't tell authorities and that makes me public enemy
number two to them. Steven's a psychopath on a killing rampage from
what they're saying. So far from the fucking truth, these media
outlets; they have no grasp, no sense of what or who he really is.

Daphne's spooning me and
sobbing into my shoulder and I can't take it. It's too much.

Pictures of him. Headlines.
They'll be showing a documentary on the Waldorf family tonight.
Interviewing professionals, scientists, and academics on the subject
of what they don't realize is a human being.

A fucking human being.

Mari Paz coaxes me to look
up and see the men have retired from the room to the balcony.

“
Giana.”
Her hand's soft and warm on my forehead. “Do you want to lie in
bed for a while? They're ordering lunch soon.”

How can I eat if I can't
even breathe?

Daphne reacts and we're off
to bed to try and not look at the ceiling, try not to make sense of
the last twenty-four hours.

There are two beds and we
lie there like sisters that share a bedroom and halfway through our
nap I've crawled into Daphne's because I can't stand the feeling of
an empty side on mine.

Having naps with sleepless
Steven made it impossible for me to later sleep in my bed alone.

To think I may not have that
again is devouring my insides.

Then someone knocks on the
bedroom door and I hear Wyatt's voice and leap out of bed to find
he's brought Jake and Frances with him.

We sit around the living
room and Dad's not there because he's making sure Mom isn't bothered,
so it's Ross, Suárez, Powell, Daphne, Wyatt, Jake, Frances,
and me sitting there and Mari Paz taking in some sun in the balcony.

Ross isn't happy that Wyatt
brought company but what the hell, man, now everybody knows he's
still alive.

And we're sitting around a
coffee table as if it was a blazing fire and we're about to start
telling scary stories. Only the story is the same for all of us who
were in the nightmare.

Now I get a good look at
Suárez and Powell. The first one is from a Latino family,
Puerto Rican to be exact, and he's got these almond-shaped eyes and
dark brown hair, while Powell's a strong-built African American. They
talk about the nightmare, trying to analyze it along with Ross and I
stay mute until they turn to me in silence.

“
Giana?”
Ross pokes me.

“
I'm
sorry.” I'm spaced out.

“
You
were in his nightmares before.” Wyatt's got his elbows on his
knees and his fingers entwined. “And you said you were able to
control things inside his fantasies.”

Jake and Frances are staring
at me, trying to take all this in; however, I can see Wyatt already
filled them in on the details.

“
Yes
and yes.”

“
They
were in it with you, like I told you we could be.”

“
There
was a man at the end of the nightmare who told me he did everything
he could to help Steven. He was with Genevieve. You were all gone by
then.”

“
We
were trapped,” Suárez says. “There was an
invisible wall we couldn't go through.”

“
Daphne
made it through.” I twist my head and she's there, pondering.

“
I
felt the wall and concentrated on bringing it down enough to make a
crack in it. I banged my whole body against it until it gave way and
I was able to pass and push him off you.”

“
So
you could see me?”

“
Yes,”
Suárez answers. “We saw him attacking you in front of
that house.”

Turn around with a
questioning look. “So you saw the man, and Genevieve, and the
children?”

“
That
was my father,” Ross's voice cuts through the air like a grunt.
“He was the one who convinced the then-Secretary of Defense to
strike the deal with Steven. My father was a psychologist, he
certified Steven as non-threatening and believed him to be so until
the day he died three years ago.” Deep intake of breath and I
see there's more to this. “He was the only person Steven kept
contact with after his seclusion. He was appointed the case and had
sessions with Steven to ensure his safety and, up to a point, his
sanity.”

“
You're
saying he did have contact with at least one person during his
hiding?” Is that good or bad? I don't know.

“
My
father would visit him from time to time.”

“
What
did he die of?”

“
Nothing
to do with Steven. He died of old age.”

Phew.

“
I
don't think they talked about the nightmares, though. My father never
shared too much information about him anyway. It was too sensitive a
subject and we all had to keep it Top Secret, for his own good.”

Suárez and Powell
give me a knowing gaze and I'm able to see just how serious they are
about this. Also, that they don't mean Steven harm and fear, as much
as I do, that this could get out of hand real quick.

“
So
you didn't actually know about the nightmares?”

“
We've
trained to work with the fantasies, not the nightmares.”

File that for later. “Who's
with him now? Where did he spend the night?”

“
As
I said, he was taken to a secret facility. They've assigned more
people to safeguard him after what happened.”

A knock on the room's door.
Jeez. There's no space for any more people in here.

Agent Powell opens the door
and there are two men dressed in black suits on the other side.

Ross is the first one to
leap to his feet.

“
Miss
Giana Armstrong?” one of the dudes in black asks and Powell
nods my way.

This is not good, or so say
my knees, too weak to stand to the point that Ross pulls me by an arm
with the aid of Wyatt.

“
Miss
Giana Armstrong,” the guy repeats himself, shakes my hand. “I'm
Agent Stewart and this is Agent Dagget and we're here to extend you
an invitation from the President of the United States to meet with
him at your earliest convenience. He realizes you've had a terrible
last twenty-four hours but believes this situation should be dealt
with as soon as possible.”

“
Wait.
What? Who?”

“
The
President of the United States wishes to meet with you due to your
involvement with Steven Salvatore Waldorf.”

Well, fuck me sideways!

31

The President of the United
States of America could wait, though; I had to go see my mother
first.

Dad said she was doing
better, but I beg to differ. To me she looks worse than ever. One
thing is to be asleep and let your body do the living, a whole other
thing is being awake and letting your mind push your body to its
limits in order to stay alive.

Her breathing is laborious.
Hell, even glancing around seems to take every ounce of effort she
can muster.

And she looks so fragile, so
pale.

I smile and feel like an
award-winning actress when she forces the ends of her lips to curve
upwards in reply.

“
Giana.”

“
I'm
here.”

Sit next to her and feel my
chest hurt when I crouch, but I want to be as close to her as I can.

“
You
okay?”

“
Don't
speak. It's not necessary.”

Lots of things that were
unnecessary before have suddenly become necessary. For example, the
two police officers guarding the room's door to protect this woman
that had nothing to do with the shit I've gotten myself into from the
psycho reporters outside.

“
I'm
good. I'm okay.”

“
Steven?”
She asks the one thing I don't want her to ask since I haven't
thought through what the hell I will answer to that.

“
He's
okay. Home. Waiting for me.”

She grins and it stabs me,
right in the bruise.

“
He
loves you so much.”

“
Mom,
please, stop talking, you're using up your energy.”

“
Don't
need it.”