Chapter 16 #3
I read the words on the page, my pre-written, pre-approved adulations, but none of it sticks in my brain. My attention drifts to the sounds behind me, the scuffle of the service elevator opening up and something heavy being wheeled out, set up in the corner.
“Boss said wait for the speeches before we let this one out,” a voice mutters some distance behind me.
“Did he say which speech?”
“No, just like when the speeches start.”
I’m terrified of turning around, to do more than peek over my shoulder as they bicker over the exact right moment. They covered whatever they’re talking about with a large tarp, but I recognize the glow of the luminescent liquid in the bottom few inches it doesn’t cover.
My heart thuds in my chest so hard I nearly choke. Ellis.
Watching Clayton parade around in his powered armor through the slim part in the tall velvet curtains, I realize that’s why he insisted on wearing it tonight. Clayton is going to fight Ellis, here.
And just like every mutant he’s fought before, it’s been a set up.
In that moment, all I can think is we need to get Ellis out now. There isn’t time for me to hang my head and cower, waiting for a better time, a better plan. Every time I’ve shrunk back, thinking it would preserve me, has only ever prolonged the suffering.
It has to be now or never. I scurry ungracefully over to the tank, crouching down where there’s a lot of buttons, hoping one of them will help.
Searching the control panel frantically for something to turn it off, to open the lock, I quickly realize none of the tiny text the buttons or dials are labeled with makes any sense to me.
I know the time is running out. I can hear Clayton approaching, climbing the stage stairs to come back here. Each heavy, jackbooted footfall closer echoes inside me, a countdown to our doom.
Why couldn’t there be just a big, bright red “OFF” button somewhere?
Clayton’s cold metal grip closes painfully around one of my wrists. I cry out as my skin is pinched in several places. The sensation is only made worse by the sudden yank that twists my arm back. I try to untwist, but he wrenches me up to stand and slams me against Ellis’s tank.
The back of my head impacts the glass, and for a moment the only thing I can do is try to blink the stars out of my eyes. The power of his cybernetic arm is too much for me as its grip pins my hand painfully above my head.
I put my other hand out to push him away, but his body crushes mine against the tank, pinning it awkwardly to my chest. Wincing, I look directly into his eyes, horrifically familiar.
“Really, Lacey. It’s not that difficult to just do what you’re told.”
I seethe pathetically, unable to break free of his grip. My hand clutches between us, grasping for anything at all, and my fingers snag on something clipped inside the ruffles of my dress’s neckline. A button presses in under my fingertip, and I realize what it is.
The lavalier microphone.
My hand is trapped uselessly between our bodies as he pins me between him and the tank; I manage to pluck it off and conceal it in my hand. “You’re a fraud. All of it, you never saved anyone.”
“Really, Lacey, you were there. I saved you every time,” he croons softly. His breath smells like bourbon and the garlic from the crab hors d’oeuvres.
“Every time but one,” I correct him, and his expression tightens with anger. “Not when it was real. You could only play hero when you knew I was heading into danger. You sent me to those experts on the ooze, you knew I would find them succumbing to it! You used me!”
I try to stick it on his jacket, but I don’t know if it catches on the fabric of his tux before he notices the movement, and I shove at his chest to distract him. Even I’m a little disappointed in it, two out of ten on that shove.
“All along, you were making the mutants under the Steel Spire. No one ever knew,” I say quickly, as his eyes brighten eagerly at my unsuccessful struggle.
“Part of settling my lawsuit was that the public would never know my company was responsible for the ooze. It was only meant to avoid a PR crisis.” He grins at me, like he’s proud of himself for that one.
“After that, people simply assumed the mutants were being created by the ooze. You blame me, but I didn’t have to do a thing. ”
“You’re not going to get away with this!” I snap, but even I can feel how empty it sounds.
“They already love me,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes like it’s beneath him to explain this to me. He twists my arm above my head a little further, before releasing my wrist to push me onto the ground.
I land hard on my hip, my shoulder smacking a table. The award wobbles precariously behind me on it.
“Who’s going to stop me? Him?” Clayton gestures back to Ellis floating helplessly in the tank and actually laughs at the idea.
“The mutants I created were nothing like this,” he says, looking at Ellis, who looks pained inside the capsule, his palms pressed to the inside, his arms tensed and the cords of his neck straining. “Tonight will be particularly spectacular, I think. Now be a good girl and memorize your lines.”
I push off the ground, my eyes, my heart, all burning with anger. “No. You don’t control me.”
I don’t know what to do but stand as he crosses the darkened stage to me.
I swallow, watching the cybernetic armor shift and adjust from its sleek, powered down design, mechanical pieces whirring as it transforms into a jagged, menacing weapon.
The LEDs even fucking turn red as its engines rev, loud and powerful.
I’m so focused on his superhero armor, I don’t even see him swing his bare hand down at me until it makes contact with a dull slap.
My head rolls back against my shoulder from the smack, a biting, ringing sensation spreading over my cheek.
Clayton scoffs as if I’m not even worth dealing with. “You think you’re going to stop me? You’re just a stupid girl. You’re nothing. Sit down.”
Suddenly, in the middle of this strange lab equipment, the backdrop of mutant-making serums and robotic armor, his weird costume, all of it becomes startlingly mundane.
A hot tear streaks a line across my stinging cheek. I see Clayton for what he is, now. I see all of it clearly.
It’s all fucking pageantry.
All his wealth, his grandeur, his power, and for what?
Kayfabe. Illusion. It was never about saving people, it was always narcissistic at its core, a theater of violence where he cast himself as the undefeatable leading man.
That instead of helping people with his wealth, the most he could conceive of was to dress up as a superhero.
I’m so sick of all of it, I act with barely a thought.
Surging forward, I hurl hands and elbows at whatever I can reach of him—it’s not a great plan. Clayton reacts, trying to hold me off with his robotic armor while one of my nails nicks the side of his neck. Shock and anger flash in his eyes as red wells up along the scratch.
I don’t know what I’m doing, really, but it doesn’t matter.
Clayton isn’t exactly a practiced fighter, as much as he likes to post photos of himself in the training ring with famous coaches.
We’re an awkward tangle of arms for a few uncomfortable moments, neither of us willing to let go, to cede an inch.
He grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks my head back.
I flail and throw out a hand wildly as my balance violently twists, grabbing his armor.
A blast of eye-searing plasma flies into the lighting equipment above us.
Some of it catches fire, sending a cascading power surge through from one stage light to the next.
Distantly, I’m aware of the growing unease of the crowd just beyond the heavy velvet curtains, the shrill voices raising alarm.
Clayton tries to throw me off, and for the first time that night, my heels fail me. I fall back hard on my ass and go sprawling.
Breathing heavily, Clayton presses his bare hand to the cut on his neck. He looks back and forth from the blood on his palm to me in disbelief as I shakily push myself to stand a few feet back from him.
Apologies are ingrained in my jaw, but I catch myself before the rote memory of the words manifests aloud. Instead, I straighten and close my mouth. I level a look at Clayton and nod.
From the look in his eyes, I know he understands: I’m not sorry.
Anger contorts Clayton’s features, his face reddening up to his ears. Grabbing his robot armor and turning it on me again as it revs, he spits, “You stupid bitch.”
Panicking, I backpedal and semi-intentionally dive behind the table holding his award while the glove sings with power. The laser blast shakes the table. I feel the heat curl around the edges.
It dissipates quickly. In a moment he begins flipping switches on his robot glove again, revving it up for another blast. The desk jerks away from me as Clayton kicks it with one of his robot boots.
I shuffle back from him on the ground, my hand touches something cold and metal behind me. Groaning, I pull myself up as quickly as I can.
With a scoff and a smile, Clayton holds his palm up to me again and fires off another beam.
In a panic, I grab the award and hold it up to shield my face. The laser collides with the award, plasma radiating out, deflecting.
The room is too bright to see for a moment, but when my vision returns, I’m a little singed, and probably smell like a campfire, but I’m alright.
I meet Clayton’s eyes, defiant. I can’t help but grin. It feels good.
The humor falls from his face, as he slowly lowers his palm.
Then he pivots on his heel, turning his palm back toward the tank. The light on his palm glows a bright, horrible red upon Ellis’s face as the sound of his laser charging fills my heart.
I’ve been so scared of my anger for so long, thinking it would resemble Clayton’s, that it would make me willing to hurt people without a care. But anger wasn’t what moved me, then, to throw the award at Clayton.
Maybe I screamed when I did it, I couldn’t say. I saw it hit his arm as he fired off the blast; a glint of light cut through my vision. My ears popped. Clayton crumpled backward, and the whole end of the room erupted—everything breaking, falling, flying, shattering.
Clayton is on the ground in a crumple, a section of pipe from the tank pinning him down. His robotic glove skitters across the metal grating, partially melted from the reflected blast. A small wave of relief hits me, but we’re not out of the fire yet.
For several moments, I can’t see anything.
The whole end of the room is consumed in dust and smoke.
The curtains are on fire, and the flames cut an ever-widening gap into the ballroom.
The only guests still present are shrieking and pushing each other at the doorways, trying to get through the crowded hall to the fire exits.
On the stage, luminescent liquid seeps out in a small radius around the tank, draining away between the floorboards. I stare into the billowing clouds, pulse pounding in my ears as shards of glass hit the ground.
The dust clears just enough to spot a bat-like wingspan stretched out upon the ground.
“Ellis?” I call out shakily, hoping against hope that I didn’t hurt him. He doesn’t move. I hurry over to him, kneeling down beside him. Shit, I don’t remember nearly enough about first aid or anything. “Ellis, oh my God. Can you hear me?”
His eyes aren’t totally closed, the dim light glints off his golden irises, dull with a thousand-yard stare.
I think he’s breathing, at least. I put a hand on his chest and thank fuck I can feel his heartbeat.
The relief is so overwhelming, my vision blurs with hot tears, and I melt a little against him, laying my cheek against that wonderful heartbeat.
For a moment, all I can do is touch his face, brush his hair back from his eyes.
The quiet ding of the backstage service elevator makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up, but after a moment I hear Maestro’s slippers shuffle through the glass strewn floor, followed by Vin.
Maestro bends shakily over to pull an IV from Ellis’s ankle. He tosses the needle-tipped line aside and looks at me warily, like after all that he’s still not sure if he trusts me.
“Everything feels like an off-brand lemon-lime soda,” Ellis rasps from under me, and I startle.
I’m so happy to hear his voice. I throw my arms around him with maybe a little too much enthusiasm, from the way he winces and chokes on a breath.
I start to let go of him, but his hand closes over top of mine. “Oh my God, Ellis. I thought I was going to lose you.”
Tears flood my vision as my throat constricts, realizing how close we might have come to that.
“And you would have, if he was going to keep making me listen to that dudebro podcast with all the protein powder ads,” he groans, like he doesn’t have bigger concerns. His long dark eyelashes flutter as he looks at me. His thumb brushes over my wrist reassuringly.
Despite myself, a wobbly smile takes over my face as the tears spill over. I sit back on my heels and try to dry my eyes, but only manage to smear my mascara everywhere. I love this weird guy who can’t even take almost dying seriously.
Oh, God, I really love him.
“I was going to text you back,” he murmurs, and I give him a watery smile.
“No, I know. It’s ok.”
“I was a little tied up. There were zip-ties.”
“Ellis—”
“There isn’t time for your stupid jokes,” Vin grumbles as he kneels beside his brother, but his expression clearly shows his concern.
Ellis glances at Vin and grimaces. “Ugh, not you. Go away.”
“We should take him back to my lab to make sure he’s ok,” Maestro says, holding my gaze carefully. I can’t help but feel he’s silently telling me I can’t go with them.
My hand tightens on Ellis’s.
“Wait, wait,” I protest, even as Maestro frowns. I know he’s right, but I still have so much to say to Ellis.
For a few heartbeats, I don’t know where to start. My feelings are all too much to parse through, the apology for the fight and not listening to him before, and how much he means to me and . . . there isn’t enough time.
I bend down and press a kiss to Ellis’s mouth, holding his face carefully. It’s not enough, but for now it will have to be.
My eyes stay lowered as I pull back and brush another inky tear off my cheek. “Ok.”
“Did you see that? She kissed me,” Ellis says to Vin as the other blue mutant threads an arm under his knees and another around his back.
Vin lifts him easily with a grunt and rolls his eyes. “That looked all cheek to me.”
“No, man, I’m telling you she digs me,” Ellis protests weakly as Vin turns and takes him back toward the service elevator. Maestro shuffles behind him and presses some security guard’s badge to the panel.
“I’ll call you,” I blurt out after them, the desperate words echoing gently in the ballroom, making them sound incredibly hollow.