Part 22 (1/2)
Mr. Sage nodded his head.
”But how did you guys even-”
”Become superheroes in the first place?”
I sighed. ”I really wish you would quit doing that. It's rather disconcerting. Some of us like to finish our KarmaGirl.
own sentences.”
”Sorry. It's a bad habit of mine. Finola died of cancer when Fiona was in high school. That was a dark time for us.” A shadow pa.s.sed over Chief Newman's face. ”Fiona knew what I did in my spare time.
With her mother gone, she demanded I take her along. Said she wanted to look after me. I said no at first, but Fiona can be quite stubborn, a trait she gets from her mother.”
Fiona? Stubborn? I never would have guessed.
”One night, I gave in. Fiona had been making my costumes for years and had already designed one for herself. She even had a superhero name already picked out-Fiera. To my surprise, we worked well together. It was nice to have someone to watch my back after all those years alone. At first, it was just Fiera and me. We would go out and catch criminals or fight other minor ubervillains like the Hunter or the Prankster or Johnny Angel. One night, we ran into Striker. He was after the same thieves we were.
Of course, being a billionaire, Striker was much better equipped to be a superhero than we were. He had a leather costume, twin swords, and lots of fancy computer equipment. We were in store-bought masks and the homemade costumes Fiona had sewn.”
”Striker helped us apprehend the thieves. Over the next few months, we ran into him again and again.
We seemed to be on the same wavelength, so we joined forces. Striker brought Tornado on board, and I found Hermit a few months later. The five of us just gelled. The rest is history.”
The scenes flashed through my mind. Mr. Sage and Fiera stalking criminals on the streets, running into Striker, Tornado and Hermit joining the group, the five of them forming one of the greatest superhero teams in the world. A few months ago, I would have taken this knowledge and splashed it all over the front page of The Expose. Now, I felt as though I'd been trusted with a precious secret. I almost felt like one of the gang. Or at least a sidekick. Almost. I certainly had the sidekick habit of needing to be rescued every few minutes down pat.
But the Fearless Five's backstory, no matter how intriguing, still didn't help me figure out how to deal with Fiona. Or help me find a cure for these killer headaches. I rubbed my temples.
”Has Fiona always been so . . . combustible?”
”Oh yes. You should have seen her as a child whenever she didn't get her way. We went through a lot of furniture, tables, lamps, chairs.” Chief Newman grinned. ”It was a good thing we lived next door to the fire department. Although the firefighters thought Fiona was quite the little arsonist.”
I smiled at the chief 's joke, but my thoughts turned to a more serious matter. ”Can I ask you something?”
The chief looked at me. His blue eyes glowed. ”You want to know why Henry and I were still your friends after Travis died.”
I nodded. ”I don't understand it. The two of you should have hated me, should still hate me for what I did. But you never showed the slightest bit of anger towards me. Not once.”
”That's because it wasn't your fault, Carmen.”
”Of course it was,” I snapped.
”Suicide is a person's choice. You might have exposed Travis, but he was the one who decided to end his life. He made that decision himself. If anyone is to blame, it's me.”
”What? Why?”
”I should have sensed Travis's pain, his intentions.” Raw pain filled the chief 's eyes. Lines of grief etched his face.
The sight only fueled my own guilt. Despite the chief 's kind words, I was to blame for Travis's suicide.
KarmaGirl.
n.o.body else.
Chief Newman let out a long breath. ”Unfortunately, Fiona hasn't accepted Travis's decision yet. She still misses him terribly. We all do, and we all loved him, but Fiona more so than any of us.”
”So how should I handle her?” I asked. ”I don't want to fight with her anymore.”
”You could try explaining the reasons you started exposing superheroes. Fiona might be hot-tempered, but she's not unreasonable.”
It was worth a shot. What was the worst Fiona could do to me? Fry me like a slab of bacon? Melt my eyeb.a.l.l.s out of my head? My veins throbbed and pulsed in my skull. Melted eyeb.a.l.l.s didn't sound so bad. They would be much more preferable than the ten-trombone parade marching through my mind.
I popped another aspirin into my mouth. On the bright side, if Fiona reduced me to a pile of ash, I wouldn't have any more headaches.
I didn't get a chance to corner Fiona until that afternoon. The superhero strode through the halls of Sublime, her impossibly high heels pounding on the marble floors. How on earth did she walk in those things?
Fiona entered the wine cellar, and I followed the hollow echo of her footsteps. I hurried over to the secret door and jabbed the keypad. After several long seconds, the elevator arrived. I dashed in and punched the appropriate b.u.t.tons. It descended. The elevator slowed, and the doors opened. I dashed down the hall, wanting to catch up to Fiona before she got to the library. I didn't want to try to explain myself and my actions in front of everyone. I rounded a corner. Up ahead, Fiona opened a door and went inside. I skidded to a halt in front of Tornado's room.
Uh-oh.
I stood outside. How was I supposed to handle this? I didn't want to disturb Fiona in what was a moment of private, personal grief. I chewed my lip. And yet . . . I had to go into the room. I wanted to explain to Fiona why I'd done the things I'd done. I needed to. We would never be friends, but I wanted her to understand, wanted her forgiveness.
Do it . . .
Do it . . .
Do it . . .
The inner voice whispered in my head, the voice I never doubted.
I reached for the door handle.
When I eased open the heavy door, I found myself in the middle of a suite remarkably similar to mine upstairs. Bedroom, living room, bathroom. Glossy magazines about meteorology leaned on a coffee table next to a half-eaten piece of moldy toast. The bedsheets had been thrown to one side as if someone had just gotten up. A man's clothes lay scattered on the floor, and a thick layer of dust covered everything. The room smelled like old mothb.a.l.l.s. I knew nothing had been touched in six months. This was exactly the way Travis Teague had left his room the day he committed suicide. Guilt sparked to life in my stomach. For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
Fiona sat on a low, long sofa in the middle of the living room. She clutched a silver picture frame in her hands. Tears slid down her pink cheeks and evaporated off her flushed face.
”Um, Fiona? Can I talk to you a minute?”
”Get out,” Fiona snarled. ”I don't want you in here.”
I felt physically sick from the hurt and anger in her voice. I took a step back. I should go.
No . . .
KarmaGirl.
Not yet . . .