Issue #23
A Time of Heroes 127: Broken Wings
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Zeema
arrived on foot, after Pentacle sent her a telepathic message, telling her what
had happened, and that she had taken Gryphon and Unicorn home.
The magical telepath had asked if Zeema would speak to the police, tell
them that Gryphon and Unicorn would come and speak to them when they could –
but that Celeste had been a friend, not just an employee of Legends, Inc, and
that they needed time.
Not
having a reliable method of transport had once slowed Zeema down – but, the
winter months were kind to her. And
then Nathan – Minuteman – had talked her into seeking Gryphon’s advice
about moving, and the first hero had come up with a method for her to get
around.
She
skated, using her power for skates, rather than any physical skates, on a
thin-but-tough layer of ice that formed in front of her – and unformed behind
her, leaving the ground safe for normal people.
At first, this had taken great concentration, but, as Gryphon and Na—
Minuteman had assured her, it quickly became automatic.
And she could hit speeds of almost 50 miles an hour, by accelerating
herself with her power. And
maintaining a steady not-quite-forty was effortless.
She
slid to a stop at the spot where all the police cars – and, unless she missed
her guess, FBI cars – had gathered, and waited to be noticed.
She didn’t have to wait long.
“Zeema!”
a voice called, and she turned to see John Parsons – who was rapidly becoming
the FBI’s unofficial-official-super-being liaison agent.
He
came to the roped-off area where she was, and lifted the ropes for her.
Unsure of her welcome, still, Zeema stepped under the ropes, and let him
lead her to his vehicle, where his partner was conversing with a police
detective.
“Zeema
– are Gryphon and Unicorn okay?” Parsons asked, when they stopped near his
car. “The witnesses said that
Gryphon got a nightstick shoved into his chest – is he okay?
Is Unicorn?”
Pentacle
had told her what had happened, and what had been done about it, so she was able
to answer.
“Gryphon
is well,” Zeema said, slowly. “Unicorn
healed him, as soon as they got home. But
. . . Agent Parsons, I do not think you will hear from them tonight.
Celeste . . . she was more than just an employee of Legends, Inc – she
was a friend, a dear friend, to them both.
They are physically well . . . but they are hurting.”
“Damn,”
Parsons sighed. “Damn it to Hell.
Look . . . when you see them, if I haven’t yet – tell them I’m
sorry, and to come in when they can, okay?
And make sure that they understand – we’re investigating, of course
– but, based on what we’ve heard so far, there won’t be any charges
pressed against Gryphon.”
“Thank
you, Agent Parsons,” Zeema said. “I
don’t think they were thinking about that, right now – but I was. It is well that I can assure them not to worry.”
“What
I don’t get is why Eidolon chose Miss Nguyen,” Parsons said.
“She’s obviously not family to either of them. If he could find her – why not a family member?”
“It
was about Teck, I think,” Zeema said. “Because
of him, Eidolon chose Celeste.”
“Huh?”
“Celeste . . . she is the one who found Teck’s identity,” Zeema said.
“And told Gryphon. And that is why he tried to kill her, remember?
I think . . . I think Eidolon felt some sort of revenge was necessary.
I don’t know why he felt it necessary – but I think he did.
“And
this is the building where Teck died.”
“Yeah,”
Parsons said, and shook his head. “Damn
it – I hate this job, sometimes.”
“As
do I,” Zeema said. “I hope I
never have to kill. I know that
Gryphon dealt with it all right, when he killed Teck . . . but I could not have,
I do not think.”
“I
just hope Gryphon is dealing with it all right this time,” Parsons said.
“So
do I,” Zeema said.
_________________________________________________
Pentacle
wasn’t sure what to do, at first – but, she remembered the place she had
taken Gryphon and Unicorn when he had found his cousin’s body.
She had never been to the house as Claudia, or even as Pentacle after
that night – but she remembered – and she knew that Holt needed all the help
he could get right now, even though Unicorn’s power was automatically taking
care of the terrible injury to his shoulder.
She
teleported them to his Uncle’s house, at the back, where she had gone last
time, and Whitewing helped her lead them inside – both were still crying too
hard to move unaided.
“Josh!”
Whitewing called, her voice choked with tears, as she pulled off her mask and
made her wings go away. “Laurel!”
In
seconds, Holt’s aunt and uncle had come into the kitchen, almost running.
They took in the sobbing Holt and Alyssa, and went to them immediately,
helping them to the living room and a couch where they could sit.
“What
happened?” Josh asked, once they were seated.
“What the Hell happened?”
“You
– you weren’t watching the news?” Kasey choked.
“No,
we were watching a movie,” Laurel said, from where she sat next to Alyssa, untying
the girl's mask, taking it and the wig she wore off of her.
“I
. . . he . . . Eidolon . . . .” Kasey
wasn’t able to say it.
“Eidolon
murdered Celeste,” Pentacle said, aloud, and never mind that her accent would
probably give away her identity, and that her voice was thick with unshed tears.
“He killed Celeste – and Gryphon – Holt – killed him.”
“Oh,
fuck,” Josh said, his own voice sounding rough and unsteady, just that
quickly. “Damn Eidolon's lousy soul to
Hell!”
Laurel
was sobbing, and trying to hug Holt and Alyssa at the same time. Josh sat down next to Kasey, who had dropped her face into
her hands, and was crying hard, and carefully dropped an arm around her
shoulders.
“Pentacle
– ”
“I
think you better call me Claudia,” the telepath answered, pushing back her
hood, and pulling off mask and wig. “Holt
trusts you – I can trust you.”
“Claudia
. . . can you call our daughter down?” Josh asked.
“Kelly? For Kasey?”
Pentacle
did as he asked, and less than a minute later, the other girl was holding Kasey,
hugging her hard, and crying with her. Josh
moved, then, to sit next to Holt and pull him into a bear hug.
“It’s
okay, son,” Josh said. “It’s
going to be okay, you did the right thing.
Don’t go away from us, Holt. Don’t
go away again, son. You had to kill
him.”
Holt
didn’t answer, just sobbed harder, turned, and clung to his uncle like a child
to his father.
_________________________________________________
An
hour later, Holt and Alyssa had been put to bed, in one of the guest rooms, and
Kasey and Kelly in Kasey’s room. Laurel
had gone to bed at Josh’s orders, after a whispered conference between the
two, and he walked downstairs with Claudia.
In the kitchen, he poured himself a knock of whiskey, and offered Claudia
a glass, gratefully accepted.
“Tell
me what you know, please?” he asked, once they were settled.
She
told him everything, from Holt’s frantic call for her, to his killing Eidolon
and falling apart afterwards.
“I
. . . Mr. McKay – ”
“Josh,
please.”
“Josh,
then,” Claudia said. She
hesitated, for a long moment, before asking what was on her mind.
“You said somethin’ to Holt . . . about not going away, again.
What did you mean? If you can tell me, I mean.”
“You’re
his friend,” Josh said. “I can
tell you.”
He
told Claudia of the murder of Holt’s parents and sister, and his killing of
the man who had done it, and of the deep depression that had claimed Holt
afterwards. Of his seeming
recovery, and subsequent vanishing.
“He
hates the idea of killing,” Josh said. “He
dealt with Teck, well enough – but that, I think, was because Teck was a mass
murderer. I’m afraid . . . I don’t
want him to start to hate himself, not over a fucking waste of flesh
like Eidolon.
“You’re
a telepath, Claudia. How bad is it,
can you tell me?”
“It’s
. . . very bad, Josh,” Claudia said. “He
is hatin’ that he killed. I
don’t know how deep it goes, if he really hates himself – but he’s afraid
he did it for the wrong reasons.”
“Damn
it,” Josh said, and knocked back the rest of his whiskey. “Holt’s only human – and he tries to hold himself to
impossible standards! I
would have killed the son-of-a-bitch!”
“I
wanted to, too,” Claudia said. “And
I didn’t love Celeste the way that they do.
And to tell you the truth, Josh – I can’t think of a single way of
holdin’ someone like Eidolon.”
“Me,
either,” Josh said. “Question:
How do you hold a teleporter, who can also walk through walls?
Answer: You don’t.”
“Maybe
Holt could think of a way – he told us how he could probably have held
Teck,” Claudia said. “He said
it was simple – put him in an old fashioned cell – keyed lock, heavy iron
bars, constant-flow toilet. Put one
light in, way up high, in a steel cage. Search
everyone who went near him – nothin’ more advanced than pencil and paper
ever went into his cell. It might
have worked.”
“Given
what Teck did,” Josh said, “I’m glad we’ll never know.”
“Me,
to,” Claudia agreed. “He
hadn’t thought of any way to hold Eidolon, as recently as Wednesday night,
though. But he still thinks . . .
oh, Josh, he’s hurtin’, and I hate it, ’cause I can’t help!”
“You
already have helped, Claudia.” Josh
reached over, and squeezed her hand. “And,
if you’re willing, I’d like you to help some more . . . ?”
“Anything,”
Claudia said.
“Well,
in that case . . . teleport home, and get a change of clothes, or a few changes,
and then come back here,” Josh said. “Laurel
and I would really appreciate it, if you’d stay, while Holt and Alyssa are
here. To give us early warning, if
Holt starts slipping further into depression.
A telepath could be handy, that way.”
“I’ll
stay,” Claudia said. “And thank
you, Josh!”
“You’re
more than welcome,” Josh said. And
thank you!”
She
teleported home, and got her things, while he made up the guest room next to the
one Holt and Alyssa were using.
Soon,
Claudia was asleep, listening to the quiet, pained thoughts of the two people in
the next room, and wishing she could do more than slide quietly comforting
thoughts in with those – and all of this, even as she slept.
_________________________________________________
Holt
didn’t get any worse in the time between Celeste’s death and her funeral.
But he didn’t get any better, either.
He barely spoke, and even more infrequently spoke first.
He
went to see the FBI the day after it happened, taking Alyssa, and Pentacle, in
costume, as witnesses. He said his
piece, repeated it until the FBI agents in charge of the case were satisfied,
and left. He barely even slowed,
when told that Slam, Sunburst, and Blockade had escaped from jail in Milwaukee.
John
Parsons tried to engage Gryphon in conversation, but he was barely responsive.
The only good that came of the trip was an assurance that Gryphon
wasn’t being charged.
Not
even Alan, Holt’s autistic cousin, could get more than a few words out of him,
though the boy was, as he always seemed to be when needed, fully cognizant.
Josh
asked Alan if Holt was all right, the day that they flew out to San Diego, for
Celeste’s visitation and funeral. The
boy’s answer didn’t really make him feel any better.
“Holt’s
not gonna try to kill himself or nothing, Daddy,” Alan said. “And he’s not going to go away like last time, not for
long. He thinks he needs to go for
a while, to think, but not for too long.
“But
Daddy . . . he’s thinking he may not be Gryphon anymore!”
“Damn,”
Josh said, and picked up his nearly-crying son.
“Oh, damn. Alan, how . . .
how do you know?”
“Daddy
I don’t know how I know. I
don’t know how you don’t know!”
“It’s
okay, son,” Josh said, and kissed Alan’s cheek.
“Holt . . . he’s strong, inside, Alan.
He’ll do what’s right.”
“Will
he?” Alan asked.
“I
think he will,” Josh said. “I
think so.”
“I
hope so.” With that, Alan dropped
his head to his father’s shoulder, and slept for the first half of the flight
to California.
The
visitation and funeral were bad. Celeste’s
family were anywhere from cool to openly hostile, blaming Holt and Alyssa for
Celeste not coming home at Christmas, and for what her mother called “that
unnatural lifestyle.”
Holt
didn’t argue, didn’t defend himself – just took it, quietly.
The one time he said anything, was when Celeste’s older brother started
the same tack on Alyssa. Holt
didn’t explode – but the tone of voice he used to tell the man to stop was
cold enough to make him do so immediately – and cause him to walk away
without another word.
Holt
and Alyssa couldn’t be there as Gryphon and Unicorn – but, the flowers they
sent came in a huge bouquet, and the donation to the charity of
Celeste’s choice (she’d actually had a will, made out not long after she got
involved with them – it hadn’t made them feel any better, at all, to know
that), was very large.
They
went back to Chicago, the day after the funeral.
Holt and Alyssa went home, to her place – their place, now – and made
the last of the arrangements that Celeste had wanted them to make.
She
had “deeded” the online fanclub to the writer who had written the novel
“Fires of Justice,” and that insightful article about heroes and their
powers. Holt had e-mailed the man,
explained the situation, and given him the passwords to the site, to make the
changes in administration. And both
he and Alyssa had been gratified to see a bouquet from the man, at the
visitation, and to find out that he had made a large donation to the charity
Celeste had chosen.
Holt
checked the site – and there was a huge message, at the top of the page,
eulogizing Celeste. It was tactful,
and tasteful – and the author didn’t pretend to know much about her – just
talked about what he did know, and how he wished he’d known her better, and
that she hadn’t been a victim to a monster like Eidolon.
Suddenly,
he was crying, again, and he’d thought he had no tears left. Alyssa came, and they held each other, and she cried with
him.
Neither
of them even thought about putting on a costume.
Minuteman was in town, covering for them, with the help of Pentacle,
Whitewing ,and Zeema.
Holt
got no better. Alyssa didn’t
push, didn’t pry – but, she felt what was coming.
Part of her understood, but the rest . . . the rest was frightened.
Three
days after they came home from the funeral, she got up to find herself alone in
bed. Holt was outside, on the
patio, staring over the railing, through the snow that was beginning to fall.
“Lyssa
. . . I . . . .”
“You’re
going away,” Alyssa said, trying to sound calm.
“I know.”
“It
isn’t about you, Alyssa,” Holt said, turning, and gathering her in his arms.
“It’s just that . . . .”
“You
need to not be here,” she whispered, against his chest.
“Like I needed to not be here, after my parents died.”
“I’m
not going to run away for good, Lyssa. I
love you too much to do that, ever.” Holt
squeezed her, tightly. “I just .
. . I have to make a decision, and I can’t think clearly enough to make it,
not here. And it’s the most
important decision I’ll ever make, I think.”
“You’re
thinking of giving up the Gryphon,” Lyssa said, trying not to show how close
she was to tears. “I . . . I hope
you decide not to.”
“I
know you do,” Holt said. “But .
. . Alyssa, this is twice. Twice
I’ve had to . . . to kill someone. Only
. . . oh, God, honey, this time, I’m not sure that I had to!
“I
think . . . I’m afraid I did it because I wanted to.
And I can’t . . . I can’t be Gryphon, if I did.
And I can’t think here! Everywhere
I turn, there’s something that makes me think of Celeste – and I feel that
hatred for Eidolon all over again and I can’t think!”
“I
know,” Lyssa said. “I know,
Holt. And . . . I’ll be here,
when you come back. And it
doesn’t matter to me, if you’re not going to do it anymore, Holt.
I’ll still love you, want to be with you. But . . . I won’t quit.
I hope you won’t, but I know I won’t.”
“I
figured.” He kissed her. “I figured, Alyssa. And
that’s fine, if that’s how it is.”
“When
do you want to leave?”
“Today,
I think,” Holt said. “I called
Jack, already – he’s gonna straighten things out with the band. And . . . I’m going to drive, at least part of the way.”
“Do you know where you’re going?”
”Somewhere
north,” Holt answered. “Canada,
maybe. Somewhere . . . new.
To me.”
“Oh,
Holt,” Alyssa said, beginning to leak tears.
“Holt, I wish I could . . . could make this easy for you, and not cry,
but I’m scared! I don’t want to
be Unicorn alone, but . . . I can’t stop.
Not now, not yet!”
“I
know, honey,” Holt said, sighing, and hugging her.
“I know.”
They
went inside, and made love, before he packed.
He called his aunt and uncle, told them what he was doing, and promised
to be back inside of a month. They
were obviously frightened by his need to go away – but, they trusted him
enough not to try to talk him out of it.
At
a little after one that afternoon, he kissed Alyssa good-bye, got behind the
wheel of his old Charger – now in good shape, though still primer gray, mostly
– and drove.
He
left Chicago, headed west on I-90, on Thursday, January 13th. On the afternoon of Sunday, the 16th of January,
he pulled into Seattle, Washington, never having left I-90 for more than a meal
or hotel break.
For
two days, he wandered the city, trying to think.
It wasn’t working. It
wasn’t enough – wasn’t far enough.
On
Tuesday the 18th, he boarded a plane headed north.
_________________________________________________
Wednesday,
February 2nd, 2000, found Holton McKay, dressed only in a pair of
jeans and hiking boots, standing outside of the tent he had brought along with
him, an hour or so after lunch, doing katas in the light snow that was falling.
He was maybe 50 miles south of Mount McKinley, in Denali National Park,
Alaska.
And
he was starting to feel like maybe he at least could answer the question of
whether or not there should be a Gryphon, anymore.
He didn’t have the answer, not yet – but he felt that he could find
one.
He
had killed. He had wanted to
kill. That was the thing that
stopped him. The wanting – not
the doing. He hadn’t wanted to
kill Teck, not really, not when he did it.
There had been neither choice, nor a way to find the time for a
choice.
But
Holt could not forget the barbaric glee he had felt, when is energy blade
entered Eidolon’s chest, and tore out with such ease.
That
feeling kept coming back when he thought about the act.
And that scared him.
He
let go of thought, finished his katas, bowed out of the last one – and went
two feet in the air, when a voice from the other side of the clearing he was
camped in said, “Nice form, son – couldn’t see a single flaw.”
He
spun before he landed, and regarded the man who was watching him from his seat
on a fallen log at the edge of the clearing.
He was slim, in very good shape for his sixty or so years, dressed in
jeans and flannel and a parka – and vaguely familiar.
“Sorry,
didn’t mean to scare you,” the man said, chuckling.
He had a trace of southern accent, though just a trace, and he spoke with
the air of a man used to giving orders, even when he was making casual
conversation. “But seriously –
I’ve judged kata competitions, as well as ring matches – and you’d have
won anything I ever judged.”
“Thank
you, sir,” Holt said. “And
don’t worry about scaring me – I’m not sure it would have scared me any
less if you’d said hello, when you came up – I didn’t think there was
anyone else crazy enough to be out here, this time of year.”
“Aren’t
many.” The man lit a cigar, and
regarded Holt, looking at him over the top of the aviator’s shades that he
wore. “Shouldn’t you put on a
parka? Or at least a shirt?”
“Yeah,
I should,” Holt admitted. He’d
barely bothered with a coat – his powers kept him comfortable.
He ducked into the tent, threw on a flannel shirt, and grabbed the parka,
before coming out. The man had
moved closer, and was sitting next to the fire Holt had going from lunch, still.
“Hi,”
Holt said, and offered his hand. “I’m
Ho—”
“I know who you are, son,” the man said, with a hawkish grin. He stood, and shook anyway, with a firm grip, that Holt liked. “Spent most of yesterday tracking you down."
“Huh?!”
Holt said, looking confused.
The
hawkish older man smiled wider, and said, with obvious amusement, “You
didn’t think I’d come out here in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of
winter, to talk to just anybody, did you . . . Gryphon?”
Holt couldn’t answer – he could only stare.
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