Disclaimer: see chapter one
Dedication: Tsukikage1213 (formerly Maiden Samurai, formerly RoseRed2.0) and ThSamurai, who so far have been my only reviewers. Merry Christmas, you two!
Shadows Past, Shadows to ComeBrian watched with eyes the size of the dinner plate in front of him as the stranger known as Elm devoured his third (large) helping of spaghetti, with no sign of slowing down.
By the end of the fourth serving, his chin had followed suit, dropping nearly to the level of the table, though it did take Elm a little longer to finish that one, and the fifth was his last, evidently, as he sat back in his chair and patted his stomach with a contented sigh.
"Thank you, Alex. It's been a little while since I had a proper meal."
She smiled, brushing off the compliment with "It's the least I could do."
Brian's face had returned to normal, only to transform into a puzzled frown. "Mom, he called you Alex. You n-"
"I think it's time for you to go to bed," she interrupted, not allowing him to finish the sentence. He protested that he wasn't tired, clearly fighting back a yawn as he said so. She folded her arms across her chest and stared pointedly at him.
"But I'm not…" the yawn finally escaped, stopping his denial. "Oh all right," he mumbled, getting out of his chair and shuffling down the hall to his room. The sound of his door clicking shut, though faint, was audible to the silent occupants of the dining room, who were now looking at each other.
Elm's eyes twinkled, and one corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. "He's a nice kid."
"He is, isn't he? Though he does tend to chatter on and on like a little monkey a lot."
Elm raised one eyebrow, finding that hard to believe. "Really? He didn't say much while we were eating."
"I don't think he's ever seen anyone eat so much at one sitting. Frankly, neither have I. You must have a very high metabolism."
He shook his head. "Not quite, though I suppose you could say that."
"Oh?" The questioning look on her face was very clear.
"It has to do with the power I wield."
"Well, so you do have some sort of gift. Brian will be glad to hear that I brought home a real superhero. He's always wanted to meet one."
Elm shifted uncomfortably in his seat at hearing the word "Hero," the smile dropped off his face, and he broke eye contact. "Please, I'm no hero, Ma'am," reverting to his original use of the honorific.
"Yes, you are," she insisted forcefully. "You certainly saved me! And I told you before to call me Alex."
"M—Alex, if you knew my past, you wouldn't say that.
"Then enlighten me. Because from what I've seen, you certainly aren't a criminal."
He scowled fiercely at the floor, as if it had insulted him. "Certainly not! I'm a law-abiding citizen, just like you!"
She leaned across the narrow table and put a finger under his chin, forcing him to look into her eyes once more.
"Then why do you so readily dismiss the idea that you're a hero?"
He didn't respond vocally; he blinked and tried to turn away again, but she wouldn't let him do that. He blinked again, hard, and tears began to slowly drip from his eyes and run down his cheeks, and haltingly, piece by piece, revealed how he obtained his power.
"And that's," sniff, sniff "when I saw her," sniff "for the last time." By that time, the two of them had moved to the living room and seated themselves on an old, green couch.
It appeared to Alexandra that the young man before her was more prone to displaying his emotions than many. That was good; too many people, mostly men, seemed to think it was shameful to let others see any emotion other than anger, and bottled up those emotions until they were overcome and broke down where they were. Not so with Elm.
Speaking if whom… "So, you still think I'm worthy of hero status?" He shook his head. "I guess you do; I can tell. You really shouldn't."
Tentatively, she reached out a hand and touched his shoulder, and when he didn't flinch away, gripped it more firmly. "And why shouldn't I? You did what you had to do to protect them, and as for the other, well, it was out of your hands. There was nothing you could do about it!" She gave him a slight shake to punctuate her sentence. "Nothing, you hear me?"
He burst into a fresh round of tears, and she scooted closer, allowing him to drop his head onto her shoulder and sob freely. She patted him on the back, then rubbed it gently, in a soothing pattern, until he cried himself to sleep. Slowly, she laid him on the couch, pillowing his head with a blanket, then covered him with a quilt.
In the morning there was no sign that he'd been distressed at all.
He'd meant to stay only for the one meal, but—one meal elongated into one night, the one night turned into a day, the day to a week, and the week to a month. He kept meaning to leave, but whether it was doing the dishes, helping put up Christmas decorations, showing Brian how to do his homework, or cleaning house, there always seemed to be something more he could help them with.
He could tell the boy admired him. He didn't have to use his Empathy to see that. The first time he'd teleported in front of the kid, Brian had stared, then jumped up and down and clapped his hands in joy. He wouldn't stop jabbering away about how he had a real superhero living in his house, and that he couldn't wait to tell his friends, until Elm solemnly asked him to keep it a secret. "After all, we wouldn't want villains to come after you to get to me, would we?" Brian snapped his mouth shut, agreeing to keep quiet. "Cross my heart, and hope to die," as he put it.
But finally, the interlude came to an end.
Everyone in the house was in bed, sleeping soundly. However, in the midst of a pleasant dream, Elm sensed something that didn't belong, and shot up, instantly awake. For a moment, all he heard was the thunder of his heart pounding. But then he calmed down, casting his awareness around in an attempt to find what had disturbed him. It didn't take long to find an intruder in the house—he or she (or it) was in the kitchen.
But there was something strange about that person. The emotion was… it was… hunger… a feral hunger. And yet, it wasn't hunger so much as a thirst, an almost unquenchable thirst.
He quietly got out of bed, throwing on his cloak and grabbing his staff from the corner of the room. He eased the door open, then tiptoed down the hall. He was almost to the kitchen when "Cre-eak!" He froze, inwardly berating himself for forgetting that one spot in the hall.
The intruder's emotion spiked, and whomever it was let out a low growl. He could hear their footsteps thudding into the wooden floor of the kitchen as they came to investigate the noise. Elm gripped his staff tightly and prayed fervently, hoping he could end it quickly before anyone got hurt. A small layer of sweat formed on his brow, and his heart rate rose. He was as tightly coiled as a spring, waiting to strike.
The intruder stepped around the corner, and quick as a rattlesnake, Elm lashed out with his staff. And just as with the street thug, the blow impacted on the intruder's temple, with a solid thud that knocked it back heavily into the wall. But the intruder shook its head as if shrugging off the attack, then focused on Elm. Rage entered into the mind of this mysterious stranger, mingling with the strange hunger/thirst. He barely had time to contemplate the change before the intruder lunged with almost supernatural speed, forcing him to retreat down the hall. Another lunge forced him to reveal another power. By compressing the air between himself and his attacker, he formed a shield that stopped the lunge in its tracks. The intruder shook off this impact as well, and began mindlessly beating at the shield.
Then from behind him, he heard two bedroom doors opening. "What's all that racket? I'm trying to s—"
"Get back, both of you!" Evidently, they saw the intruder, because two doors slammed shut.
The hammering at the shield was still going full force. He didn't know how much longer he could keep this up. It was time to go on the offensive. He dropped it and swung with his staff, hitting the thing hard across the face. Whatever it was, it wasn't human. No normal man could take a hit like that and still be standing, much less charge at that speed. Elm was caught unaware and was spun about. He shook off the ensuing dizziness, only to almost have the staff ripped out of his hands. He held on tight and turned—and what he saw made him sick. The attacker had impaled himself on the end of the staff. It was all Elm could do to keep from throwing up, and his grip on the staff slackened. The intruder staggered a few steps back, staring down at the weapon protruding from his chest, then burst into flame. A moment later all that was left was a spot of ash on the floor.
Slowly, cautiously, mother and son peeked their head out of their doors.
"Is it safe?"
He barely made it to the bathroom in time, and didn't come out until his stomach was completely empty.
The morning I got my powers, it was still dark outside. Mom and I'd been gotten up early and rushed to the facility. They said they'd made a breakthrough in the research, and they needed us right away.
I was still yawning when they hooked up the machines in their lab and asked us to lie down on the beds they had for us. I would've fallen asleep, but I was too excited. They said that if it worked, the whole thing would be over, and I'd have my power. That kept me awake despite the lack of sleep. I barely noticed when they said there was a slight risk. Who cared? It wasn't likely. In fact, they said it was less than a one percent chance of anything going wrong.
I don't know how long they had those wires attached to our heads, but it couldn't have been more than a couple hours, because when they woke me (I guess I wasn't as excited as I thought, to fall asleep like that), it was still dark outside, though at the time I couldn't see that. After all, I was in an enclosed room.
I sat up, and right away, I felt different. There was a swirl of emotions running through me, and it took me a few minutes to figure out that they weren't all mine. Triumph, well, that was to be expected. Awe, that was a little surprising, but again, understandable, considering I was no longer normal, and a small dose of fear was intermixed with it. Inevitable, that one, though I wish it were otherwise. And…sadness? Why would anyone be grieving? Shouldn't they be elated that it worked?
I glanced over at mom, but she wasn't moving. I figured she must have fallen asleep like me and just hadn't woken up yet. I jumped of the bed and started walking towards her, then realized I still had the wires attached to my skull. I stopped, glancing at one of the scientists, who started and rushed to remove them and once that was out of the way, I looked at my mom again. And then the excitement finally hit me. I could be a hero!
Without conscious thought, I found myself instantly at her side, and I reached out and gently shook her. "Mom, wake up. It worked. It really worked!"
She didn't so much as twitch. I shook her again, a little harder. "Mom? Come on, faking sleep is something I'm supposed to do, not you." I chuckled a little at the idea of her switching our roles like that, but there was still no response from her.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned. The scientist whom I looked down at shook his head, not sure what to say. He gestured helplessly when asked, "What?" He shook his head again, then picked up her wrist, putting his fingers on the point where her pulse would be. He couldn't mean…I snatched her wrist away from him and put my own fingers on what I though was the pulse point, but I didn't feel anything.
I noticed she wasn't breathing. What was going on here?
I reached out instinctively with my mind—and felt nothing; it was an empty void where she should have been. And she wasn't asleep. Even in sleep there would be something to feel, some subconscious awareness of the surroundings. But there was nothing.
I broke down right there, not caring who saw me cry, and wishing that I'd paid more attention to the risks they highlighted earlier. Perhaps if I had, mom would still be alive.
The tears didn't last long. After all, there were things that still needed to be done. I needed to "die" in the real world, so my family would never be threatened because of me, and I did want to say goodbye to my sister, even if I couldn't actually use that word. I needed a weapon. I needed a disguise. And so on and so forth.
I didn't like having my family deceived. It felt a little too close to telling a lie, even though I wouldn't actually be the one who told it. I salved my conscience with the thought that I would tell my sister the truth, which I did later that same day. But I swore her to secrecy. After all, the more people who knew a secret, the more likely it could be leaked.
And so, my new career as a "hero" was born.