Although I still wasn't fully convinced my step-father hadn't lost his mind, true to his word I signed some papers saying the hospital wasn't liable for anything that happened to me next and that they had indeed warned me about the perils of going home this early into my recovery.
As expected, when my dad saw me walk into the apartment I thought he'd blown a fuse, but Adrian dragged him into their room for a hushed yet tense conversation that I tried in vain to overhear. When they eventually emerged twenty minutes later, they acted like nothing was amiss, overly cheery and not at all as concerned as I thought they ought to be.
Incredibly bizarre.
My birthday passed in a flash of bubble tea, cake, and forced bed rest. I continued to view them both with suspicion over the next fortnight, waiting for them to come to their senses and force me back into a hospital room, though they never did.
One good thing did come out of this disaster, and that revealed itself in the unmatched euphoria of not having any exams while all my friends suffered for a week of cramming and then another week of physical test-taking. Their obvious bitterness was music to my ears, the ambrosia that sustained me through my unparalleled boredom. Unfortunately, their torment ended too soon and thus began our preparations to graduate. After intense negotiations between me, my dads, and the school administration, we all agreed I could walk with my class at minimal risk to my health.
After several days of the dads trying their best to convince me graduation ceremonies were overrated exercises in abject tedium — and I was inclined to agree with them, actually — I put my foot down and insisted. If I didn't get cheesy pictures of myself and my friends in our caps and gowns there would be hell to pay.
Standing in that alphabetically ordered line several hundred students strong, I searched out my attending family in the crowd.
And while, yes, that whole nearly dying thing was horrible — traumatic, even — I felt fine. The fact that I'd been frisked of no fewer than three strategically placed sharp objects before being granted my gown was a coincidence. The actual purpose of the frisking had been to relieve us of distracting cellphones and disruptive foghorns, so the security officer got a lot more than they bargained for with me.
"Let me explain."
Leigh approached carefully, one hand open in front of her like a lion tamer, equally poised to attack or defend at any given moment, her royal blue gown, an identical match to my own, draping low on her forearm.
Immediately, my eyes narrowed. "Explain what?" She greeted my question with resounding silence. Crickets, even. Surprise flashed across her face at the question, there and gone again in an instant. So I repeated myself, slower, "Explain what, Leigh? What did you do this time?"
She took a small step back. Laughing with discomfort and shifting uneasily from foot to foot, she said, "I thought Nicole already told you."
"I haven't gotten the chance to see her yet, since she's off doing all her Salutatorian duties." Reluctant as I was to step out of line, I did, Leigh matching my inching forward with a second step back. "Don't make me chase you in front of all these people, because I will," I warned. "Unlike you, I don't have a family reputation to protect. Just tell me what you two did."
"It's nothing bad, per se."
"That doesn't instill in me the sense of peace and confidence that you think it does," I replied. "The doctors said to keep stress to a minimum for my recovery, and the suspense is not helping. Just spit it out."
Just when Leigh opened her mouth to put me out of my misery, a staff member swept by to drag her back into the line, sternly announcing that the graduation was starting and "You can mess around with your friends later".
Part of me wanted to march right on after her and get to the bottom of this before paranoia could needle away at my consciousness. The rest of me knew better than to test the faculty after the whole knife debacle an hour prior. I'd been lucky they were privy to my hospitalization and sympathetic.
Already, the beginnings of a headache blossomed in my temple and I began to wonder if maybe I ought to have listened to my dads and stayed home.
My unfounded vanity grounded me in the present moment. I wanted those grad photos. Either I looked cute and it fed my ego, or I would look hideous and years down the line I could blame it on another near death experience. Besides, I barely had any pictures with my friends where we were all on top of our game; usually Leigh ambushed us to post on social media when she looked camera-ready and the rest of us looked homeless.
Heaven help her if she ever left her phone unlocked and unattended within my reach. My heart warmed fantasizing about the deep cleanse her photo albums would suffer under my discrimination.
That lovely little daydream carried me through a handful boring speeches, from the principle, from the class president, from the Valedictorian, from Nichole — who I felt morally inclined to listen to, as a friend, and cheer most aggressively — and finally from the "surprise" guest speaker.
It was never a true surprise. Be it through espionage or loose lips, the information about which Super would speak at the years graduation ceremony always got out somewhere around mid April, to mixed reactions. This year, my class lucked out in a major way. The Constable himself stood beside the principle at the podium. He had been the most iconic Super of the previous generation, the most powerful Telekinetic ever, and now headed the Guild after taking a step back from active duty some years ago. Despite doubtlessly pushing the far end of middle age, he still struck a striking figure in his head-to-toe white suit, monochrome save for gold clasps and detailing. Unlike most heroes, his attire revealed the whole of his face, a handsome one, were he not old enough to be my father.
The Constable stepped up to the mic, a charming smile beaming out at his audience. "I'll keep this short and sweet, since I know you all want to get home to your families and the parties they have in store." He adjusted the long black cord hooked up to his microphone, whipping it around playfully across the stage for a minute or so while we laughed, though it wasn't all that funny.
"It takes more than a little power to be a hero," he began. "I've personally met dozens of Super level Thaumaturges who could easily make our world better if they set their minds to it, but choose to fight only for themselves, they choose to forsake the greater good in favor of making their own lives easy. Is that wrong of them? Maybe, maybe not. I do not judge my brothers and sisters who recognize the great risk to themselves being a Super entails and decide they can't live that way for their own sake, or that of their families. Likewise, I've encountered hundreds of normal people, born without a single special ability, who make a world of difference every day, in medicine, in science, and in random acts of kindness." He paused, craning his neck to scan over his rapt listeners, as though seeking each of us out. His grin returned in full force.
"So why am I telling you all of this? Am I telling you because I know what you really want, on your last day of lower education is another lecture? Not quite. While there is nothing wrong with not making grand gestures of heroism, not all gestures must be grand. They can be small, but that does not make them any less meaningful. I believe you all can be heroes in little ways that makes our society run so smoothly."
Smoothly is a matter of opinion, I thought privately, images of Shade and his collapsing buildings and ice storms flashing through my mind's eye.
The Constable continued. "If you save one person, even if that one person is only yourself, you are a hero in your own right, and I couldn't be happier to welcome the next generation of heroes into adulthood, who I have no doubt will surpass my generation in every way. I know together you'll change the world." A roar of clapping and cheering ensued, attributed more to his fame than to the speech itself. The speech was alright but not quite deserving of such a standing ovation. "Now," the Constable held out a hand for the principle give over a clipboard of names, "without further ado, please join me to receive your diploma when I call your name. Winston Abbot."
A blond boy I'd never seen in my life, despite having probably shared at least one class in the last four years, strode forth from the front of our line, royal blue robes swishing wildly around his legs. He greeted the Constable atop his raised platform. Before Winston had the chance to finish shaking hands with the principle and the legendary Super in our midst, the Constable was already calling out for a Jonathan Adams to make his way over, then, shortly after, a Maria Alvarez.
I tuned them out. Slowly the A-Surname students thinned, taking their place in the proffered chairs, diplomas in hand. A few even appeared a bit starstruck, a noticeably glazed look in their eyes. I would have laughed at their expense, except I one hundred percent understood the sentiment.
I spotted Tempest flying around above us, obviously on duty protecting the ceremony and all those involved, especially his Guild leader. His constantly moving attention glided over the line of waiting students. I was nearly at the front, given my last name came towards the end of the B's.
I waved both hands above my head wildly until he took notice, and although he was too far away to be sure, I could have sworn he smiled. He saluted good-naturedly back in my direction, to which there may or may not have been a degree of swooning going on around me from other people who noticed. His gesture could have been meant for any of us, or even all of us, but a breeze whisked by, jostling my hair and mine alone, leaving the others untouched, before he and the breeze both flew off to places unknown. Out of sight.
Not out of mind.
The girl in front of me, Daria Buckley, got called up to the stage, leaving me to lead the line, only for a moment. Then—
"Lily Burdett."
"Congratulations," the principle said in a hushed voice, so as not to be caught by the Constables microphone. With one hand, he shook mine, and with the other he handed over a rolled up sheet of parchment I presumed to be my diploma. "Good luck."
"Thank you," I murmured, and stepped to the side to meet the Constable.
Up close, if possible, he stunned even more than from afar and in his various press photos, filling out his immaculately ironed suit without flaw, his dark brown eyes practically radiating warmth. It left me immediately sheepish in a way I couldn't remember ever being before, not even for Tempest.
When we clasped hands, his firm grip grounded me in place. He gave a reassuring nod and a compulsory wink, then patted me twice on the shoulder to indicate it was time for me to move on for the next graduate.
I moved away, taking the three steps down the stairs and back onto the fake grass. Readjusting the tassel from my cap to be out of my field of view and, grinning uncontrollably, I cast my eyes over the field, again searching out my family to briefly share my giddiness.
I froze. My grin slipped as I stared into the deep shadows behind the podium, formed from the powerful stage lights illuminating the sports field. I squinted, coming to a full stop, then stumbled a half-step back, diploma slipping through my slackened fingers. My cap collided with my shoulder on the way to the ground.
"You," I breathed.
Distantly, they were still calling out names, still clapping politely, still cheering. They didn't notice we were in danger, not yet, not until I yelled.
"What are you doing here?" I demanded, my words coming out at a high, shrill note, even to my own ears. "Why do you keep coming after me?"
Silence — his silence — greeted me like a wall of ice built between us, ice that stretched its smokey tendrils deep beneath the skin, showing nothing in his eyes. No emotion beyond primal instinct.
Don't tell me you haven't noticed, Tempest had said. He's completely out of his mind.
Now, unlike last time, I felt inclined to agree. My words meant nothing to dark robed man in front of me, if he registered them at all. There was no reasoning to be had.
Assuming I believed Shade nearly a fortnight ago when he told me he wasn't about to kill me — and I didn't think I did believe him — one look from him at that moment told me all bets were off.
This was an entirely different man in every way except for physically, the same slant to his dark eyebrows, the same two-toned eyes, the same well defined physique dwarfed by a billowing cloak of black and lined with gray.
The predatory way he watched me sent chills down my spine, carefully documenting my retreat.
I shouted, "I don't want trouble, so leave me alone!"
The name calling had stopped, a murmur rose amongst the people in the stands at my disruption, as heads began turning our way.
Shade wielded no ice like the last time we met, nor telekinesis as with our first encounter. In mere moments that seemed to stretch far beyond their breadth, he stepped back into a deeper shadow that swallowed him whole, just as I made up my mind to run. Simultaneously, I felt something press up behind me, erupting out of the shadow cast from one of the flags waving above us. The next second, an arm wrapped around my middle, a second one snaking up over my own arm, pinning it to my side, while that same hand came to grasp my throat. I felt each individual finger pressing into my jugular, too tight for comfort, though not enough to cut off air. Yet.
I was caged in by his body from all sides, feeling and seeing and hearing too much, absorbing all that which should have been a blur in startling clarity. I saw my father's horrified expression from an insurmountable distance away, hurtling over lines of benches to do the impossible; Alexia leapt up in her metal seat, hands cupped over her mouth, and Adrian swept Alexia into the safe shield of his chest, as if to dare danger to threaten her with him there. The Constable, only a handful of paces away from me, lacked the time to do anything besides watch as Shade tightened his hold and dragged me back into darkness so thick it swallowed my vision in black. Three steps and the Super could have reached me. Just three and I would have been saved.
I should have been safe with him so close.
But we were already slipping away, vanished by the time Tempest's breeze began swirling through my hair, or the first pitter-patter of the other Super running security, Aqua's, rain hit my cheeks in preparation to combat Shade.
My dad's fear about no one being around to help me had been unfounded. Everyone I could ever ask for surrounded me at each side — hundreds of people, including three Supers — and it was still not enough to save me from the inky dark stealing me away.
"Help me!" I screamed at nothing, at a void utterly lacking in light or color.
Too late. On the chance they heard me, my last desperate plea, I was too far out of their reach for them to do anything but hear what could possibly be my final words.