Red
For weeks and weeks Robert had put up a stoic front. At this point he was all out of tears. A heavy, deadened feeling had replaced the grief, as well as something else that had been steadily growing, entwining more and more of its black tendrils around his heart everyday - anger.
Anger at Alistair Krei's greed and refusal to listen to all the warnings about it still being too early to launch a demonstration of Silent Sparrow. Anger at himself, as the idea of his daughter being involved with such a significant scientific breakthrough and seeing her own pride and delight at being a pilot had left him effectively blind as well.
He would frequently drink to numb the pain, but it only seemed to feed his wrath towards Krei. If one more person came up to him to tell him that they were sorry for his loss, then they were going to get punched right in the face (if that person was another man. He didn't know what he would do if it was a woman).
Over the years he'd mellowed out as he'd grown older, though unlike the popular stereotype of the Irish Robert had never been a bad-tempered or violent man by any means. Whenever he did become angry about something, it was usually more of a focused, icy anger as opposed to uncontrollable red-hot fury. But not today. Today he'd stormed and raged through his big empty house, had wrecked some pictures and furniture and put a good-sized hole in the kitchen wall with his fist.
His only child was gone. He didn't even have a body to bury. Realizing that his right hand hurt, it vaguely occurred to him that he should probably get something for it. So upstairs he went, only to end up standing in the doorway of Abigail's old bedroom. His eyes roved around the tidy space to take in the full-sized bed with its slate blue and white comforter, the big stuffed purple hippo sitting there on it smiling blankly at him, the pictures and posters of various musicians, nature scenes, and animals hanging on the wall. Even after she'd moved out and got her own place he'd kept it like this out of nostalgia. He was so glad he'd never gone through with his half-hearted but playful threat to turn it into another office.
A flash of light, crimson as freshly-spilled blood, suddenly illuminated the room and mercifully interrupted the flow of agonizing memories. And there it was, hovering soundlessly in front of him. A red glowing ring.
For a moment Robert could only stare at it through bleary, reddened eyes, uncomprehending, confused. How was it floating? Where had it come from?
Then something - no, someone was speaking to him. In his mind. Whatever or whoever it was, it was ancient. Powerful.
"Robert Callaghan. You have great rage in your heart. You belong to the Red Lantern Corps."
And in that instant all became clear. He would have his vengeance on Abigail's murderer, and this Red Lantern ring would help him.
Without any hesitation he reached a well-worn hand out towards the ring.
