Chapter 33

A/N: Hi, guys! Thanks so much for your patience and all your wonderful responses to the last chapter! Seriously, I did anticipate reactions when I left, but you guys warmed my heart. And I am so sorry I took so freaking long to get this chapter posted. Unmasked readers, your update will come along in a few days. I love you too! :)

Guest reviews:

Guest: Lol I do watch it every now and then, too…we needn't feel ashamed. Embrace your fandom, fellow nerds! (I do mean that as a compliment, by the way…a high compliment, whenever I call someone a nerd.)

Cristi-anitaXD: I have a secret—where I live, it snows so seldom it's like a big event. But I have been to places that do have it, at times when there is real snow. And it does at least get cold and dark in our winters, too, where I live, so I did my best to give an accurate description. Yeah, Gwyneth does have a boyfriend, and the real question is WHAT NEXT? I did enjoy my vacation actually, so thank you. Got to see lots of cousins I hadn't seen in awhile. I'm so glad you enjoyed the twist!

HiedyBowDean: The wait is over…hang on to your hat! Thanks for the well wishes! (Waves back, smiling, jumps around in the confetti) I did enjoy my vacation, as a matter of fact, got to see my grandmas and all my cousins, but there really is no place like home.

Gwyneth

The sound of the phone ringing woke me up. I started to raise my head up, but then it stopped. Everything looked dark and sounded quiet, except for the distant murmur of a voice.

Whatever, I thought, and went back to sleep.

Then I felt someone shaking me, and heard my mother's voice. "Honey, wake up."

"Mgh," I said, and nestled deeper into the blanket.

"Gwyneth, come on. You need to wake up." Something in Mom's voice tugged at my sleeping mind. Groggy as I felt, I sensed something off in it.

"Wha," I said.

"Mrs. Peace. She's—the doctors in the Meta Wing think she might be dying."

What? Wait? Mrs. Peace…dying?

With a violent effort, I pulled myself upright, shoving the covers aside. Mom sat on my bed, her face drawn and somber. Except for the light from the hallway admitted by my open door, the room remained dark, even behind the blinds.

I rubbed my head, groaning softly. Damn, what a dream. Couldn't be real. Ms. Peace can't be dying. She can't even be hurt. Relax, Gwyneth, it's just a dream. But why is Mom waking me up?

"What's going on, Mom?"

My mother looked down and took my hand in hers. Something jumped in my stomach. Her expression and her actions gave off alarm signals.

"Gwyneth, the Meta Wing just called." Her voice was soft, gentle, almost subdued. "Ms. Peace was just brought in. Someone…," she pressed her lips together and lifted her eyes from the floor. She looked like she was trying to hold back bad words she wanted to say. "Someone beat Ms. Peace within an inch of her life."

Icy fear—the kind of unpleasant cold normal people felt—shot through my veins before I even had a chance to think it through. "What?" I didn't sound like myself. "B-but that's impossible. It can't be. It's…there's gotta be a mistake. Ms. Peace is pretty much invulnerable, Mom. Nothing can kill her, nothing. It takes…neutralizing her powers…to even injure her. You know that."

"I know, Gwyneth." Mom raised her voice just a little, and then dropped back to that dull, heavy tone. "Someone must have managed to surprise her and slap power binding shackles on her wrists before she could stop them. Then they beat her."

My stomach plunged again, and I could feel knots tightening in my chest and throat. They couldn't have killed her. She couldn't be in the hospital, right now, in danger of…no. It just couldn't happen.

But she was. Mom had just told me so. All of a sudden I felt sick.

"Do…is that why you woke me up?" I couldn't swallow either. All this felt unreal, like some horribly vivid nightmare that I should wake up from any second. "Are we…can we go to the hospital?"

"Yes. That's exactly why I woke you up." Mom hugged me from the side, tightly. "Get dressed; don't worry about bundling up for show. I'll be ready to go in just a few minutes."

"How about—Warren. Oh God, does Warren know?" Oh, shit…Warren would lose it if he knew. What would he do? Where could he go? An even more horrible thought suddenly entered my head. Would the LMA, (League of Metahuman Affairs) the authorities in charge of things like this, think Warren could be a suspect?

The idea made my fists clench and my stomach began to really churn. I couldn't breathe properly. What if—

"He's at the hospital. He found his mother, and contacted the hospital-," Mom took a look at me and squeezed me a little tighter. "Breathe, sweetheart. You look like you're going to faint or something."

"I'm fine," I said automatically. "Can I get dressed now?" Focus. Gotta focus. Gotta keep it together.

"All right, Gwyneth." Mom squeezed me again and got up to go. She turned on the overhead light.

Just before she closed the door behind her, I spoke up suddenly. "Mom…Ms. Peace…she isn't really…dying, is she? I mean, you were exaggerating, right, just to wake me up...weren't you?"

I'd hoped Mom would turn around, and say yes. Instead, she stayed standing, one hand poised on the door, her back to me. When she spoke, her voice was far too quiet.

"Not quite. They said…," she paused and to my shock, I heard her own voice sounding tight, as if with suppressed tears, "They said she might make it, but it was also equally likely that…she wouldn't."

I sat very still, staring at Mom's back. Everything seemed suddenly cold and uncompromising, nightmarish, but far too vivid and realistic.

This can't be happening. This can't be real.

"Oh."

After another silent moment, the door closed.

Almost immediately, I made myself get up and go over into my attached bathroom. I splashed my face vigorously with water. The rock in my throat suddenly swelled even more, but I kept on splashing, mindlessly.

All at once, I stopped, my chest heaving. The pressure in my eyes had moved to burning, and my panting breaths sounded like sobs.

All at once I remembered going to Ms. Peace's apartment to talk about TJ, and then sitting there just to talk. I remembered her warm smile, her eyes, her holding me when I cried and cursed the universe. And the whole time Warren sat in the background, a silent but comforting and contented presence. Looking at comics of Ms. Peace and seeing pictures of Titanium in costume, laughing silently in wonder, and getting angry over the last issue.

Suddenly, my mind supplied a picture. If the comic writers ever found out about Ms. Peace's death, they might run an issue. The Lonesome Death of Helena Peace, the shocking story of how Titanium had been living in hiding for years…

I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my face with my hands as it crumpled. Strangled, choked noises wrenched out of my throat and I crumpled over the sink, the tightness in my eyes, chest, and throat so intense it hurt. For several moments I simply rocked against the counter, unaware of anything except the flood of tears and the pain.

Then I visualized Warren, in the hospital, as in his darkest moods, body tense and slouched over, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes burning with pain, and I began trying to choke the sobs back. We needed to go to the hospital as soon as possible if we really didn't want to leave Warren to face this alone. I had to calm down now.

It took a couple minutes, but I finally managed to get my tears under control. The worst of them had been gotten out of my system anyway, and I soon stood up and washed my face all over again. In the mirror, my nose looked pink and my eyes red-rimmed.

Soon I emerged from my room in jeans, a shirt and shoes. Mom was in the living room, quietly talking to my dad, who had his hair sticking up all over, and an old t-shirt and shorts. "I'll stay behind," I heard, "We can't leave Grayson alone, and you don't want to wake him up now. It'd be pretty tough to give his school the truth as a legitimate excuse for his missing the next day.

I ducked back into the hallway and waited for a minute. A few minutes later, my mom walked right by me. She stopped in front of my open door, confused, and started to turn around, then jumped.

"Sorry," I waved a little.

"It's all right. I'm all ready." Mom took a deep breath. Unlike me, she had a heavy overcoat on and a scarf wrapped around her head. "Are you?"

"Yeah," I lied. But then again, I'd never be ready for something like this.

As soon as I stepped outside, I gasped. The winter air cut through me like a knife—not making me shiver, but making me stand up straighter, energy flowing through me. It subsided only a little when Mom and I got into the car.

But now the dullness and focused purpose that settled over me after my cry gave way to thoughts and anxiety circling around inside me like crazed rodents.

Death—the whole concept should stay at a comfortable distance, unpleasant to be sure, but something that happened to other people, maybe sometimes to relatives you weren't particularly close to. But to someone you knew well, and cared for, someone who needed to stay in your life, in the lives of multiple people, someone who didn't deserve anything like that, those people should be off limits. I'd often thought that before, with TJ, but time with him alive had put a nice safe distance between me and thoughts like that. Now all of a sudden, here it was. Come to think, TJ-

TJ. I couldn't tell him. He knew in abstract about Warren, as a friend only. But he didn't know anything about Warren's mom, and even if the worst happened, even if she…I would never be able to talk to him about it, not really, because he would want to start learning more and more about the Peaces, to comfort me, and the Powers That Be, once knowing about TJ, had decided that it was best to keep the secret of our identities quiet from him. We'd rebuilt our friendship so that it was almost like the old days, but now loss struck me again. Just when I really needed him, I couldn't have my best friend back. Not completely. I'd never completely have him back. The knowledge I'd come to live with had come back to haunt me in a way I'd never planned on.

Tears blurred my vision again, and I leaned my forehead against the window, struggling to keep my breathing quiet, and regular. The lights of the streets and traffic blurred into watery lights among a sea of unchanged night. After a minute or two, I felt I had enough self-control, and I sat up straight.

I'm not alone. A soft smile spread over my face. I had Emily. I had Becky, and Kat, my two oldest friends. They knew every part of my life. I had my parents, and my little brother—annoying as he could be—and Jacob…I could talk to him, and of course I had Warren…who right now, needed someone far more than I did.

My fingers fumbled in the dark car, in my darker pocket, for my phone. The light of the screen as it turned on made me blink and wince. Mom glanced over at me but didn't comment.

As soon as my phone turned fully on, I texted Kat, Becky, Emily, and Jacob this simple message, Warren's mom was attacked. She's in the hospital, & there not sure she's gonna make it. Going to Meta with Mom. After typing that, I felt better. Mom and I rode there in silence. Every now and then we would glance at each other, and the anxiety in both our eyes made me feel less alone. Nothing had changed, but I had support, and so did she.

Warren needs support. I stared into the night, silently begging the car to move faster.

Just as we pulled into the parking lot of the building that housed the Meta Wing, I checked my phone just in case. To my surprise, I saw a text from Jacob. The sick feeling in my stomach began to ease as I opened the text.

Then I looked at the screen.

I know, I only gave sunami the fucking address. Why ru telling me at 11:48?!

I blinked at the screen, and then reread the message. Then I checked the text I sent, and checked to be sure it was Jacob. There had to be some mistake.

I know? How the hell would Jacob know about Ms. Peace? Maybe he was up and saw a news broadcast about a break-in. But…

I only gave sunami the fucking address. Why ru telling me at 11:48?!

Gave sunami…probably a misspelling of the word Tsunami…the address?

Jacob acted like he knewthe attack would happen—took it for granted, even though he probably had no way of knowing about it. He knew it would happen. That was impossible, unless…

"Gwyneth? Will you please stop staring at your phone and get out of the car?"

Mom stood outside my opened car door, tapping one foot, her face tense. She'd apparently parked the car, turned it off, and gotten out while I sat there.

"Mom…," I held the phone out. "This—this is a text from Jacob. I-I told him,"

"I don't care who it's from." Mom cut me off, which she almost never did. She was never short with anyone unless under a lot of strain—which she certainly had reason for now. "Are you coming or not?"

Stung, I hopped down and slammed the door. "But Mom, listen. This is important. I told him about Ms. Peace, and he sent this text-,"

"Gwyneth-,"

Frustrated, I shoved the phone toward her. "Mom, you have to read this," quickly I rattled off, before I could be stopped, "I think I know who hurt Ms. Peace!"

Mom started to push the phone away, but then she paused. She took the phone out of my hand, staring at the screen, and I let her. Then she pressed a button, and studied whatever she saw intently.

Then she lowered the phone, and her face actually made me feel a twinge of fear. "We're going inside," she said quietly, and the deadly calmness of her voice scared me more. "Gwyneth, I apologize. I should have listened to you." She turned and began to march towards the building without looking to see if I followed. I did.

Warren

I'd visited the Meta Wing twice in my life. The first time, I'd come inside my mother, and left in a baby seat. The other time, I'd gone to unfreeze TJ. Neither time endeared me to the hospital, and I didn't like it anymore this time, with its cold, colorless walls and floors, and the feel I got when I stepped inside. This place had seen suffering, grief, anxiety, pain, and death, with not much of the joy of new life mixed in, and I could feel it.

At least they let me see Mom. Well, at first. But I couldn't keep still, and kept hopping up to demand questions, and eventually they shooed me out. So I just kept pacing around outside, because if I sat still and did nothing, then I'd explode.

The Meta Wing looked even quieter and less busy than I remembered it, so that my echoing footsteps could be clearly heard. Then again, the Meta seldom had too many patients to handle, since quite a few superheroes had natural built-in defenses against getting hurt, though fewer than most people knew.

Every few minutes, I would peek into Mom's room. Though I knew I shouldn't, I couldn't stop myself. I had to go and look in, and then rage and grief would swell up so strong my hands would spontaneously burst into flames. Instead of controlling it, I let them burn until I felt better. It helped make me feel as if just a little of my feelings were burning away and releasing themselves. But only for a little, and then the tide would rise again.

When the paramedics came, and took my mom, I nearly broke down. So instead of focusing on my grief, I focused on the anger as best I could. The thoughts of my mother, beaten and bloody, would make my whole body simmer with fury.

Until now, I'd thought of myself as temperamental and too angry for my own good. Oh, yeah, I knew. I'm no idiot. I knew I shouldn't be so touchy and get so angry when the right button was pushed.

But I hadn't known what real anger meant. I had never truly wanted to hurt someone before. Oh sure, when I got pissed I always wanted to burn something, or kick a chair, give someone a good scare. But actually using my powers directly on someone, using them not to frighten but to really hurt, even to kill…

But oh, I wanted to hurt now. I wanted to find the person who beat my mother, and beat them just as senseless as they beat her, and then I wanted to burn their hair off, blister their scalp, and sear my handprints into their flesh, multiple times, so it tracked all over their body like a fucked-up version of a kid's hand painting. I could almost see an image right in front of me…

Mom would kill me. Worse, it would break her heart. Again.

The thought of my mother always brought me up short, like a bucket of cold water to my mind. Her husband, the love of her life, had gone dark, and effectively thrown my mother and me to the wolves. I couldn't do the same thing to her, no matter what the reason. Part of me was busy internally freaking out at the thoughts I'd started having, but I could still feel that dark tide of killing fury, like a shadowy demon lurking inside my brain, ready to pounce. Yet it had a disturbing tinge of familiarity to my rages, just the overwhelming feeling of the anger, but now mixed with a violence I'd never thought of as part of me.

After the whole scandal erupted, my mom instantly made hundreds of enemies. Villains who might support my father—though those were few, they did exist—would feel that my mother betrayed my father by not actively joining him. And the hero community—I knew how many of them felt about it. Hell, a lot of famous "heroes" said that Mom probably helped Dad, or at least that she knew and did nothing to stop it. It was all bullshit, but during Hell Summer, nobody exactly wanted to simmer down and be reasonable. Heroes and villains had reasons, so they thought, to come after us. So once she sent out an official plea of innocence, Mom went into hiding and took me along. After everything calmed down, the officials proclaimed-surprise, surprise!-that the evidence pointed to Mom's innocence, but I knew there were people out there who still disagreed. And now one of those sick bastards had somehow managed to track us down.

What if it happened this way with my father? Had he felt like this when he first began to go over the edge? But he hadn't had anything like this to deal with—he'd gone batshit so suddenly. Even my mother never figured it out.

Maybe I couldn't know why he'd done what he did, but for the first time, I understood how people could go dark. I knew how it felt to want to hurt, to want to kill.

Was this it? What if Mom…

No. She couldn't.

But what if she did? What if she left me on my own? Could I ever make it, especially if they didn't figure out who did it—or if they did? How could I ever hope to become what she wanted? I had a positive gift for fucking up good things in my life. If Mom hadn't slapped me to my senses, I would've lost Gwyneth, before I ever even had her in any sense.

Gwyneth. That brought me up straight. My breathing automatically began to slow down, and the dark tide gave way immediately before a wave of memories. Gwyneth's smile, her piercing blue eyes, her short, slim body, pressed against me, her arms wrapping around me, with a lack of warmth that should have felt uncomfortable but didn't, because it belonged to her. All of a sudden, I wanted her, wanted her with me right now. I needed it so badly it made me ache. I needed to see her.

Oh my God.

The thought hit me like a lightning bolt. I stopped dead in my tracks. My hands dropped from my mouth, which also dropped, wide open.

Mom was right. She was RIGHT. I'm…I actually am.

Oh, for fuck's sake, just admit it. You're in love.

"Warren!"

The voice sounded so familiar I knew it instantly, and instantly dismissed it. It couldn't be real. My imagination had distorted a stranger's voice and words into what I wanted to hear now.

"Warren!" That voice sounded vaguely familiar, but different. After a moment, I turned around.

Mrs. Patrick stood behind me, and recognition clicked on in my head. But then I zeroed in on the person standing beside her. Gwyneth.

"Hi," Mrs. Patrick came toward me, eyes softening, holding her arms out, and hugged me while I stood there, stiff. Not because I didn't like her, but the hug caught me off guard.

"How are you?" After a long moment, she withdrew.

"Um…I don't know," I said, honestly.

Mrs. Patrick nodded sympathetically, and then glanced to the side, at Mom's room. "Are we allowed to see her?"

"Sort of," I said. "I was, but then they kicked me out. Said I was bothering them, asking too many questions."

"Well, I don't suppose it'll do any harm if I just pop in and see her," Mrs. Patrick turned and headed towards Mom's room. Gwyneth looked like she wanted to say something, but then she turned back to me.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice soft, almost timid.

That question did it. Of course Gwyneth couldn't ask something like, 'Is Ms. Peace all right,' or 'Do you know what happened.' She asked about me, and that made me think about the answer.

I don't know which of us moved first. But then it was just like my imagination. Gwyneth was holding me so tight I had trouble breathing, and I was clutching her like my life depended on it. It was like Anna's suicide only worse; once again the pain inside suddenly felt actually physical. I felt like everything inside me was breaking apart, but holding onto Gwyneth made me feel anchored. Gwyneth's shoulder and hair gave me something to bury my face in, to hold on to. I realized belatedly that I'd started shaking even harder than Gwyneth, and she was running her hands up and down my back, as if to soothe me. At almost the same time, I noticed that Gwyneth's hair on my face felt damp and sticky; and then I realized that tears had been streaming down my cheeks, and I hadn't even noticed them.

Gradually, calm began to settle over me, and I felt steady. Gwyneth had stopped shaking a long time before I did, but she still held on to me. After about a century, I pulled back. The strands of Gwyneth's hair peeled away from my face. My breath still came in shaking gasps, and I felt suddenly weak and completely hollow.

"Ugh." Gwyneth sniffed, and let go of my waist. She wiped her face with her hands, but I could still see the flushed tearstains all over her face.

"Ugh. Jesus." I sniffed and dragged my sleeve across my eyes. Even my voice sounded choked and twisted.

"You said it." Gwyneth's mouth twitched a bit like she wanted to smile but couldn't manage it. She glanced up at me, then down, as if embarrassed, and wiped her eyes with her other hand. "Oh, God, I probably look awful."

"You look fine."

"No, I don't." But Gwyneth looked back up at me, and this time she did smile, a little.

"Yeah, you do." I reached out, then stopped, my hand halfway to Gwyneth's face, unsure what I'd meant to do.

"I guess that's an answer." Gwyneth sniffed again. It took me a few seconds to remember what the question had been.

"Yeah."

Someone cleared their throat, and we both turned. Mrs. Patrick stood in the doorway, looking a little self-conscious.

"Oh. Uh, hi, Mom." Glancing to the side, I started. Gwyneth's cheeks had turned pink, and she seemed very bent on not looking my way.

"Hi. Um, I didn't mean to intrude. I just wanted to let you know that Ms. Peace…your mother," she nodded to me, "has apparently stabilized. She's not healed yet, but her natural recovery systems have started to kick in. So she has a good chance at pulling through."

What?

"What?" Gwyneth repeated, louder, her eyes widening, her face opening up into a grin. "What? Mom, are you serious? That's the best thing I've heard all day—oh my god!"

I backed up a few steps and sank down into my chair. After my outburst a minute ago, this took the last bit of energy out of me. After over an hour of holding myself together in a ball of tension, I could relax. The words chance at pulling through prevented my relief from being complete, but still…as Gwyneth had said.

"She's going to make it." I repeated it louder, starting to smile. "Mom's going to make it."

"Darn right!" Gwyneth grinned and squared her shoulders.

"I hope so." Mrs. Patrick really did smile, hopefully, but I could see a flicker of doubt in her eyes, like she wanted to be sure before she got her hopes too high—something I could identify with. Then her eyes hardened. "I asked the doctor in there where I might take evidence to. They said a Dr. Ibanez was coming in, to survey Mom's memories for evidence, but I should call the LMA, and he said the front desk would have a number. Gwyneth, I'll have to borrow your phone, show it to them as evidence."

"Evidence? What evidence?" I asked.

"Oh. Yeah." Gwyneth's face clouded, then she held out her hand. "Wait a second—Mom, can I borrow this real quick? There's something I have to take care of first."

"What do you mean?"

Gwyneth shot her a meaningful look. "My soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend…needs to be, uh, informed of his new status." She smiled like a shark.

"Oh." Mrs. Patrick's eyes widened, and then she grinned. "Oh. Go right ahead."

"What?" I asked, but they both ignored me. Gwyneth took her phone out of her mom's hand and walked a short distance away. She pressed a few buttons, then put the phone to her ear and waited.

"Hi, Jacob," I overheard her say. "…I got your missed calls…yeah, it was a mistake. But—wait, don't panic, please. Just wait a second…I have something important to tell you."

Gwyneth took the phone away from her ear, and screamed into it, "FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE!"

She slammed the phone against her ear and added, almost as an afterthought, "Oh, and by the way, consider yourself dumped."

Then Gwyneth hung up and strode over to us, her eyes blazing, but her face strangely calm, almost satisfied, in a fierce way. "Okay. Take it now." Her voice sounded too sweet, almost as if she hadn't just screamed expletives at her boyfriend and dumped him over the phone fifteen feet away from me and her mother.

Mrs. Patrick accepted the phone, looking like she was trying to fight back a smile and raise her eyebrows at the same time. "I will." She turned and walked down the hall.

"What the hell is going on?" I tried to sound casual, but it had been kind of a crazy night, and I wanted some answers.

Gwyneth lost her satisfied look. She looked both nervous and really unhappy.

"You're not going to like it."

"I'll decide. Just tell me."

"Warren, it's going to piss you off. Really piss you off. I'm just warning you. You're going to want to actually roast Jacob alive, and I'm actually not sure I could blame you."

"Ice Cube," I said desperately, "it's been a long night. Like, Lord of the Rings long, and I don't know much of anything that's going on, so for god's sake could you give me some fucking answers?"

She sighed heavily and sat down next to me.

"Okay. Fine. But just remember, I warned you."

"Fine. Whatever. Just tell me."

"Okay." Gwyneth took a deep breath. "Well, when my mom got a phone call from the hospital saying your mom was here, she got me up, and we drove here. I texted Jacob, and Emily, and Becky, and Kat, just letting them know what was going on. I honestly didn't expect them to respond, at this time of night. But Jacob did."

"Yes?" I prompted, when she paused.

"He said…," Gwyneth looked down at her hands, folded them together. "He said, 'I know. I only gave Tsunami the fucking address. Why tell me?'"

"What?" I stared at Gwyneth. "Ice Cube, what…,"

"I know. That was my reaction. But…but I checked to be sure who sent it. I think he must have thought I was someone else. I don't know how, but I probably woke him up. Good riddance." She sounded bitter. "I knew there had to be only one explanation. I mean…he knew what happened, before I told him. He said so. He acted like it was supposed to happen, and he said he gave…whoever Tsunami is the address…of your house. You and your mom's house."

God fucking damn him to hell. My breathing started to pick up and deepen again. My hands were smoldering, smoking without so much as a thought from me. All at once, I found myself literally seeing red. Jacob had given the killer, this Tsunami, our address. Jacob had helped put Mom here. Before, I hadn't had any good reason to hate him. But now...

"Warren?" Gwyneth's voice shook. "Warren, you're scaring me. I gave Mom my phone. He's going to jail. They're going to find out what Jacob did, and put him in jail, along with whoever Tsunami is. Do…do you need to go burn something? Non-living, I mean? Because…you look like you want to."

"Yeah, I want to." The urge to kill had come back, but now it had a specific target. A face, a name. Jacob-

"Warren?"

I turned to look at Gwyneth, and saw her eyes wide. She actually looked a little frightened, and that got my attention even in this moment.

"What?"

"You know what." Gwyneth looked down at her feet. "I suppose I can't blame you. If anyone hurt my Mom…," she faded off. "Yeah." Her tone turned bitter. "I suppose I certainly can pick them, huh? My first boyfriend turns out to be an accomplice to kill my second mother."

That got my attention off my anger, and I turned to Gwyneth. "It's not your fault. You didn't know."

"That doesn't help now, does it?" Gwyneth's voice was shaking. "God…he must have gotten the address from me. I talked to him about you…said I'd been to your place…I must have said the name of the…the apartment complex or something…,"

"Ice Cube…," I struggled for words. "Look, if you did…," the words were hard to say, "If you did, that's not your fault. But still...I mean, it's not like there's no other ways to find out where Mom and I live. There might be a school directory of everyone's addresses for all I know-,"

"Mr. Peace? Warren?"

A doctor stood in the doorway of my Mom's room. He looked shaken. My gut twisted. No…Mrs. Patrick said Mom was stable…she said…it can't be-

"What is it?" I sounded hoarse. I also didn't care.

"Your mother…she's conscious. She insists on seeing her son."

"What?" Gwyneth sounded even more shocked. "Wait…are you serious? She's recovered that fast?"

"Apparently." The doctor practically beamed at us. "Her body is recovering amazingly fast. I knew she was incredibly resilient, but to actually see it…,"

"I want to see her."

"Of course you may," the doctor pointed to the room, like I needed directions. "She's in there."

On the way in, I nearly ran into three or four nurses heading out. They all backed up, surprised, but then made a way for me as I headed into the room.

The hospital bed still looked very large, and Mom looked very small in it. Her body still lay still and her face looked too pale. But her left eye was open most of the way, and her purple, swollen other eyelid twitched, and a gleaming slit peeped through before her right eye gave up the effort and closed completely. And when I had taken a few steps into the room, she turned and looked right at me. Her scabbed, bruised lips stretched painfully into a weak smile.

"Hi, Warren," she rasped in the most strained, raspy, dry-throated voice I'd ever heard.

Something inside me cracked. I took one tiny, hesitant step, then a steadier one. Everything inside me had already cracked and now it all jumbled together, joy and disbelief and shock and sadness and anger rasping against each other like uneven pieces of a broken bone.

Then I cleared the last two or three steps in one stride and knelt beside Mom. Her image turned blurry around the edges, a pale-blue-and-tan blur, so that nothing about her looked distinct except the gentle, loving, battered face.

I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around Mom's body, burying my face so far into her chest that her hospital gown blocked out all light. The horrible mixed-up jumbled feelings in my chest finally dissolved and melted, and I melted with it. My body shook like a leaf in a hurricane as Mom's weak hand ran very gently over my hair and I clung to her and cried for the second time in the same goddamn night, except this time I didn't grieve. For the first time in my life, I cried from feelings I couldn't identify, except the one that came out in the lead—joy.

*Whew!* So, I have to say, that this chapter was possibly the hardest to write. It just seemed so hard, several times, to put words to a concept, or to say just what I wanted to say, and I might have spent more time editing than I did writing the first draft. Hopefully you guys, in your HONEST reviews will tell me whether I did a good job or not.

This is the final stretch, my dears. The final countdown (…starts dancing...)…anywho. There's one more chapter after this, and then there's an epilogue of sorts, but then this story, Mask, is DONE!

Now mark you, it's not the end of Warren and Gwyneth. As I've said before, a sequel will come out almost immediately after, and it will cover the events of the movie, which was my original source material It's been a hell of a ride, and I feel like I've grown a great deal throughout. Besides that, I've enjoyed far more support, not only in reviews, but in follows and favorites and lurkers, than I ever anticipated, especially for a fandom this old and this neglected (so I thought). Have to admit, while I'm a little relieved to finally be in the home stretch, I'm a bit sad that it'll be over…or at least this part.