“What?” He reached for his face. “I can’t?—”
See? No, he couldn’t.
Eyeballs turned black; his world had gone dark. I stomped across the floor. As he swung the blade, I caught his arm. With a fast hook of his elbow, I smashed the joint, breaking bone. He tried to howl as my knuckles caught him in the jaw. The moment he threatened Booker, he sealed his fate.
I snatched him by the neck, pulling him tight. “This is going to hurt.”
Between blinks, his eyes returned to normal. I wanted him to see my face as I dismantled him, one bone at a time. I held him tight, stepping to the side. My heel struck his knee, and another bone snapped. The cocky attitude faded, replaced by whimpering and begging. The bad guy thought all heroes lived by a code of do-gooding.
Hellion didn’t.
A chop to the throat had him gasping for air. I grabbed his broken arm, swinging him against the wall. Drywall crumbled, and ceiling tiles fell. I got behind him, wrapping an arm around his throat. He flailed, but I think the scientist realized he had lost this fight. He could pray that I wouldn’t kill him. Unfortunately, his god wouldn’t hear his prayers.
I squeezed, ready to crush his neck. His body went limp, slipping into unconsciousness. Another few seconds and he wouldn’t threaten anybody again… he wouldn’t…
…see his family. I tried shaking the images from my mind, but they played out like movies I couldn’t turn off. An image of a daughter in need of braces and him trying to make ends meet bombarded my thoughts. In the back of my head, I could almost hear her sobbing as she stood over his grave. The pity was overwhelming, consuming the rage like a tidal wave. This wasn’t Hellion; he didn’t care about the unintentional victims.
No. Cypher was a bad man. He didn’t get to?—
I could see Booker on the floor, his hand reaching for me. His expression begged me to stop. He pleaded in silence. I let go, painfully aware I had all but killed a man. Cypher fell to the floor. He hit, his body instinctively gasping for oxygen.
The images didn’t stop playing. “I— I didn’t?—”
The guilt hit like a hammer, harder than a powered blow to the chest. I had nearly crossed the line between being the good guy and the bad. Hellion didn’t care about the means, but even he had boundaries he never crossed. Tears streamed down my face; a sob caught in my throat. Shaking my head, I pressed my back to the broken drywall. I slid to the floor, eyes watery.
“What did I do?”
Truth be told… I had no idea what had come over me.
Silence.
I didn’t ask how Booker knew my address. There were no questions when he followed me inside. The coolerrattled by his side as we climbed the stairs to the third floor. Under other circumstances, it might be sweet that he saw me to my door. I fished the keys from my pocket, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. How did I apologize for almost making him an accessory to murder?
I turned. “I’m—” Sorry? Despite the guilt sinking in my gut, I couldn’t lie.
Booker rested a hand on my shoulder. His eyes had softened, as if he were attempting to hide the accusation. I remembered the look of horror. Not so different from the expression on the daughter’s face, still haunting me. Another wave of guilt came.
He applied pressure, pushing me inside my apartment. I thought he’d pull the door shut and run away. He’d go to Ricardo, hand him the cooler, and tell him what happened. How much detail would he give? Would it shatter any hope of returning to work without disappointed glares? Without knowing it, Booker held my fate in?—
He stepped inside, kicking the door with his foot. It shut with force. In the confines of my tiny kitchen, I felt like we were sitting in the interview room. At any moment, he’d hit me with a deluge of questions. How much of the fight had he seen? I didn’t just show the violence; I hid behind the mask. He might have seen me use my abilities. All at once, my life could come crashing down.
Booker didn’t speak as he popped open the fridge, putting the cooler inside. I should have been confused,angry even, not at him, but at myself. Every night Hellion went on patrol, he toed the line. He wasn’t a hero. He was a vigilante who operated in the gray. Tonight, I had gone one step too far. Despite the cacophony of emotions, all I could focus on was the guilt.
Booker studied me like I was one of his interviewees. His gaze had a weight to it, and the longer he stared, the more I could feel it crushing me. The tears were already welling in the corners of my eyes. Try as I might, I couldn’t pull myself together.
“You shouldn’t be alone.”
He could have said anything in that moment. Accusations. Concern. Worry. Instead, he said the four words I was too scared to ask. I didn’t respond. I’m not even sure if what I thought was a nod of the head registered. My eyes dropped, staring at the drop of dried blood on the toe of my shoe.
I would have remained a statue if he hadn’t gently pulled at my shoulder. Sliding his hand between my shoulder blades, he nudged me forward until my feet took over. He provided the momentum, and I steered the ship. We walked into my bedroom, the soft glow of neon radiating from my alarm clock. With a flip of the light switch, my bed awaited, the soft gray comforter ready to protect me from the world.
Sleep. I needed sleep, a chance to reset and rebound.
My only goal: climb into bed and cry myself to sleep. Iturned to say thanks. I don’t know why, but it felt appropriate. He had driven me home while I wallowed. It was the least I could do for having him watch me as I lost control of my emotions. Before I could form the words, he pulled at my shirt, untucking it.
“Blood.” No judgement. No inquiry, a simple statement.
He had seen me nearly kill a man. A government agent had witnessed an attempted murder. I didn’t know where it would leave us in the morning. He didn’t step back as I unbuttoned my shirt. It dropped to the floor, and my white undershirt had several smatterings of blood. Without thinking, I pulled it off.
