The Last Superhero (33 page)

“
And
when did the fantasy training start?”

“
A
little after I began working with them, my father filled me in on the
fantasy thing and the research he'd done about it, but it was my idea
to try and manipulate them. We thought Steven's previous
relationship...”

“
Genevieve.”

“
Yes,
Genevieve. We came to the conclusion that he used his fantasies on
her too much.”

“
No!”
I give a jolt and he jumps. “No, no, that wasn't it.”

“
Now
we know it wasn't that.”

“
Everything
okay?” Suárez has rushed to where we are, along with
Dad.

“
Yes,
everything's fine.” Ross dismisses him, but Dad's still staring
at me.

“
It's
okay. I'm sorry.”

Dad takes his questioning
look somewhere else and I'm free to go back to listening to Ross.

“
Your
friend Wyatt explained to me your theory about the Id and Superego
thing.”

“
What
do you think about it?”

“
Could
be, as well as it could not. I don't think we'll ever know for sure.”

“
Look,”
I brave a hand over his forearm on the table and he peers into my
eyes while I say, “remember that thing I told you I needed time
working with? It was the nightmares; I think I know how to neutralize
them.”

“
And
how is that, exactly?”

I'm about to answer when Dad
has come back and his face is serious.

“
President's
here. Give me those glasses.”

“
What?”

“
You're
not meeting the President of the United States wearing a frame held
together by tape.” He takes them off my face and I'm about to
slap him when Ross's standing up and ushering me away from our table.

Swallow and feel how every
pore in your body is about to betray you by releasing extremely cold
beads of sweat.

Ross to my right, Dad to my
left.

Suárez and Powell
hold the door.

Mari Paz and Daphne stand in
a corner.

I'm pushed forward as the
Secret Service agents sweep the room and in comes the man dressed in
an impeccable suit, sporting a smile of pearly white teeth,
proffering a hand I take even when I can't see clearly.

“
Miss
Armstrong. It's a pleasure to meet you at last.”

Awestruck. Starstruck.
Dumbstruck.

Shake it the fuck off.

“
Pleasure's
all mine, Mr. President.”

Smiles. Satisfied.

Let Ross introduce the rest
and try and see through the blur while we sit around the living room
and Dad's taken a place next to me and I want to puke.

Then
the president asks me how I am and all I want to answer is:
How
the fuck do you think I am?

34

I talk like a normal person.

Breathe like a normal
person.

What I don't is feel like a
normal person.

Who can feel like a normal
person when your heart is broken into tiny little pieces?

But I do like momma tells me
and sit with my knees together and say I'm fine and Mari Paz brings a
jug of water and glasses and I can't drink anything unless you want
me to spit it all over Mr. President's perfect suit.

“
I'm
aware of your relationship with Mr. Waldorf, Miss Armstrong, and I'm
very sorry for what you must be going through. However, you must
realize Mr. Waldorf was under a very strict set of rules and he broke
them.”

“
It's
all my fault,” I say and feel a whimper trapped in my throat.

Dad elbows me to raise my
head and see Mr. President's looking intently at me.

“
Excuse
me?”

“
It
was me he saved from that thief because I preferred to talk him out
of robbing me instead of running like anyone else would've done. It's
because of me that he kept going back to the bookstore, why he
decided to come out of hiding.”

“
Do
not torture yourself with this, there's no need to. We're not
searching for a culprit, Miss Armstrong. We're simply dealing with a
situation for which instructions were specified in the contract he
signed all those years ago.”

“
Instructions?”
I'm not asking, I'm demanding, as my eyes meet the president's, then
search for Ross's, but his are on his shoes.

“
Yes,
Miss Armstrong, instructions, very specific ones.”

“
And
those are?”

Oh, this has got to be bad
because even Dad is sitting on the edge of his seat and the
atmosphere is turning so dense everybody's breathing hard.

“
Execution,
Miss Armstrong.”

Before I know it, I've
sprung to my feet and arms are holding me back from jumping over the
table and the Secret Service agents have closed the distance.

Well, that escalated
quickly.

“
I'm
sorry,” says the president, getting on his feet.

“
Clam
down now,” says Ross.

“
You
can't!” I scream. “He's got rights like everyone else!”

“
Shush,
Giana,” whispers Dad.

“
There
must be a way to work around this,” Ross interjects.

“
I'm
sorry, there's nothing I can do about it,” answers the
president.

And I can't talk because
fuck the mascara and the politeness and the holding back the tears.

“
There
must be something,” Dad says. “There's got to be a way.”

“
The
damage is already done. Now everybody knows he's alive,” the
president starts. Pauses. “We can't risk it. With the
international pressure this has put on us, it's the best thing to do.
We're trying to dissuade other nations from developing nuclear
weapons while we've been secretly sheltering a weapon of mass
destruction ourselves.”

“
WHAT?!”
Okay, that wasn't just me.

“
Are
you out of your mind?” Now Ross is all agitated. “Weapon
of mass destruction?! He's a human being!”

“
That's
where you're wrong. He's not human; he has superpowers that could
very well annihilate the whole planet Earth if he wanted to.”

“
But
he wouldn't!” Dad's still hugging me and I'm digging my nails
into his arms. “He's not a murderer! Now you sound like that
man on the news.”

“
Colonel
Briggs? You have no idea the lengths we've gone to keep him from
getting to Waldorf.” He gives something akin to a repressed
snort. “As I said, Miss Armstrong,” his collected eyes
meet my agitated ones, “I'm very sorry, but put yourself in my
shoes. If a superhero like him fell into the wrong hands, it would be
of great danger for our nation. As of now, he's being kept in a
secured facility to which I'll be more than glad to grant you access
to so you can see him one last time before his execution.”

No one can speak while
gasping so hard for air.

“
What
I ask from you in return is that you agree to this.” He glances
at one of the Secret Service agents – Dagget, I remember him –
and he sets a folder with the Seal of the United States embedded next
to the water jug. “I'll await your answer.” An apologetic
smile, a small bow, and he's leaving.

And I'm dying, slipping,
falling.

“
Are
you sure there's nothing you can do?” I ask to his back, making
him stop to listen to me. “Are you sure there aren't people out
there that would actually thank you for saving his life? Because I
can give you a list if you don't.”

He wheels back to me. “I'm
sure there are, Miss Armstrong, but I must act on what was stated in
that contract.”

“
Why?”
Dad's released me now. “Can't make decisions for yourself? Look
around you, at people like Agent Ross here whose family was saved
from a fire by Steven. My own mother was saved from suicide by him.
Yes, he's done many bad things, but what about the good? Does one
wrong action really undo a lifetime of good? And no, I'm not saying
he's been an angel, but he isn't the reincarnation of the devil
either.”

He breathes, surveys the
faces around him, all waiting, expecting.

“
Steven
Salvatore Waldorf is the man I love and I won't give him up without a
fight.”

He
tilts
his head to the side, “And what do you suggest we do, Miss
Armstrong? Because that display of his powers the media covered, the
one you all were involved in, was more than enough to turn the public
opinion against him.”

“
I
know how to neutralize that.” That gets me frowns aplenty. “I
have a theory that might work towards neutralizing the part of him
that utilizes his sleep to manifest itself.”

“
What
about the rest? He'll still have his powers.”

“
Don't
you think that having spent twenty-eight years without stirring even
the faintest of leaves is proof that he, given the chance,
can
be trusted?”

“
There's
very little I can do.”

“
You
can buy us time. I know we can do this.”

He raises both eyebrows,
“We?”

“
Yes.
We. I've managed not only to fight his fantasies but attack him in
his nightmares. Agents Ross, Suárez, and Powell have trained
to deal with Steven's fantasies and managed to help during the
nightmare incident at the manor, as well as my friend here, Daphne.
And I have three more people ready and willing to help with this, one
of them a psychiatrist. All we need is the chance to do so.”

He ponders my words, not
caring to exchange glances with anyone else. Why would he? He's his
own man, right?

“
How
much time do you need?”

“
I
can't give you an exact...”

“
Three,
four weeks?” Ross interjects.

I open my mouth to protest
but shut it again.

“
What
do we do in the meantime? What do I tell the throngs of American
citizens taking to the streets? What do I tell the international
community? The people might forget in a week or two but not the
presidents and prime ministers who are blowing up my phone lines.”

Easy. Say something without
actually saying anything. “That the issue is being dealt with
in the best possible manner?”

I should run for something,
shouldn't I? Mayor? Governor maybe?

“
You're
a very brave young woman, Miss Armstrong.” Mr. President eyes
his Secret Service agents before proceeding, “I'll see what I
can do. We'll be in touch with you soon.”

He heads for the door.

I see the folder on the
table and take it in my hand. “You forgot this.”

He pauses. “Keep it.
As I said, I can't make any promises,” and exits all suave and
president-like, ahead of his entourage.

Drop the folder on the
table, feel the bile come up your throat.

Is that how brave feels? I
don't think so.

Rush to the bathroom, kick
the door shut.

Drop your weight on the
concrete, hug the porcelain god.